Two Day, Two Deaths

This past weekend is one I would like to forget very quickly. It took away two people I liked very much.

Prof. Obaid Siddiqi was a celebrated biologist. He pioneered research on molecular biology, genetics and development in India. He built institutions and trained numerous students who will carry forward his legacy. Obaid received every possible award and recognition one could get in India, but those did little to curb the child-like enthusiasm he had for his own work and that of others, or to reduce his good-natured humility even an ounce. Obaid passed away on Friday evening and we buried him on Saturday in Bangalore.

Dr. Sabiha Saleha, or Apiya to me, was the elder sister I never had. She was not a famous scientist, but was equally proud of what she had achieved professionally. She was the unknown crusader who gave up everything, including her health, to raise her children and ensure that they get a good education and grow up to be decent human beings. They will carry forward her name. Apiya passed away on Saturday night and we buried her on Sunday in Aligarh.

As I reflect on these two individuals who did not know each other and were only connected through me, some common threads begin to emerge in my mind from the two lives and the two deaths.

They were both educated at the Aligarh Muslim University.

Obaid was a local boy who had his undergraduate education at AMU, excelling not just in academics but also in leftist politics and debates (especially Urdu debates), before he left for a job in Delhi and higher studies in UK and USA. This was the 1950s.

Apiya entered AMU immediately after finishing her High School in Lakhimpur-Kheri in the Terai belt of UP, her father being an erstwhile zamindar and a practicing Advocate there. Over the next ten years or so, she came out with a PhD in Organic Chemistry. This was pretty remarkable for a middle class Muslim girl, who was the first from her family to achieve this distinction. This was the 1970s and early 80s.

The Aligarh Muslim University, a hotbed of Indian Muslim intellectual activity, nurtured people as diverse as Obaid and Apiya. It gave them a platform to express themselves and become confident in their own ways to tackle the challenges of life. It accommodated diverse points of view with ideological leanings being strong, yet never in the way of personal or professional relationships. At the same time, it provided a secure environment into which a middle class Muslim family could confidently send its 17-year old daughter. Both are as relevant today as they were then.

But these values are eroding in times when they are needed the most, at AMU, in India and the world. Is it not our duty to preserve them locally and apply them globally? Perhaps the custodians of institutions as well as the self-appointed custodians of faith and morality should ponder over this with some honesty.

They both succumbed to matters of the brain.

Obaid spent his life trying to understand the mysteries of our nervous system, especially how we remember smell and taste. He used the fruitfly as a model and devised simple yet ingenious experiments to understand the genetic and molecular basis of these processes. He was as comfortable giving a lecture on his work to accomplished scientists as he was talking to High School and college students; I have attended both. It is ironic that he died due to a freak head injury that destroyed among other faculties, the same abilities he spent much of his professional life trying to understand.

Apiya suffered from a neurological disorder that was diagnosed about four years back. Despite all advances in neurosciences, no two doctors from India to Saudi Arabia to USA, agreed on her prognosis. Some called it Parkinson’s, others called it Multisystem Atrophy and yet others thought there were iron deposits accumulating in her brain. But all agreed that it was progressive and her condition would deteriorate rapidly. And this did happen. When I saw her last, about ten days back in Aligarh, her eyelids were the only body part she could move on her own. How painful must it be to hear everything, to understand everything, yet not be able to communicate her feelings? Yet, she had the courage to smile, when her facial muscles allowed her to.

And they were both lucky to be surrounded by people who loved them.

Through the five days Obaid was in the ICU, the Bangalore Baptist Hospital witnessed a constant vigil by his immediate family and people at all levels in the institution he created. They were with him, hoping without hope. But they also had the moral courage and sanity to not press charges on the 16-year old girl on a moped, who unknowingly knocked down this giant of Indian science. What a tragedy!

Apiya required much longer care. For over two years, her family – husband, daughters and son, tended to her with love, often getting frustrated, sometimes losing hope, but never really giving up on her. When the end came, her husband was there, struggling against a condition that had progressed beyond hope. Apiya was relieved of her agony, both physical and mental, in the wee hours of July 28.

It is said that writing can be therapeutic. And for me it is. I will remember these two who meant so much to me in their own ways. Expressing my association with them will hopefully diminish some of my personal anguish.

But what about the anguish of an institution and community in which debate and reason has taken a backseat to guile and self-interest? Or a system that allows a 16-year old to drive without a license? Or the anguish of a family that witnesses their loved one afflicted by a disease that no “expert” really understands.

Can we channel our anguish into coming together to find solutions?

Because only solutions will take us forward.

A Walk Through Nostalgia

One sign of getting old(er) is to often visualize images of childhood and youth, and to revisit them. I did some of that today.

I grew up on the campus of the Aligarh Muslim University (AMU) and took a circuitous walk today absorbing the sites of my youth. Much has changed, but much remains the same as well.

My walk started from the Old Physics Building, a grand red stone building, which besides being home to the Physics Department in yesteryears, also gave birth to the Jawaharlal Nehru Medical College and sustained it for many years in the 1960s. It now houses the Biochemistry Department. This has a special place in my life as my father started this department and chaired it for many years.

Walking through the Science Faculty and in front of the Engineering College, I arrived at the Arts Faculty, with Theology Department on one side and the General Education Centre across the street. Besides my core (and serious) classes in the Science Faculty, this part of campus provided comic relief in the form of compulsory courses.

Sunni Theology from our time at AMU is synonymous with Iqbal (Barula) Bhai. I remember the time he admonished a fellow student (now himself a Professor at AMU) for questioning why the ‘qurbani ka bakra’ should have certain attributes. Iqbal Bhai was a loveable character despite his insistence that we buy his book from the Educational Book Depot (in Shamshad Market) before he would give the sessional marks. It was widely believed that Iqbal Bhai did not know either English or Hindi, so it was safe to answer the Sunni Theology paper in those languages. Those who answered it in Urdu were usually in trouble; others got passing marks. May he rest in peace.

My memories of Arts Faculty go back to friends who were studying History, but also to two widely divergent experiences. I registered for a French language class, but left it rather quickly because the teacher could exercise little control over his spit, which those in the front had to bear. Moving to the rear was not an option since the professor also liked to walk around the class. The Advanced English course, however, was a joy. We read George Orwell’s ‘Animal Farm’ and Henrik Ibsen’s ‘A Doll’s House’ and the professors who taught these were outstanding. We got engaging commentaries on communism gone awry and gender equality from a leftist and a feminist, respectively.

The General Education Centre was the hub of cultural activity with many a memorable play and evenings of music and ghazals in the Kennedy Hall Auditorium. The play Agra Bazaar, the Mock Convocations and late Maqbool Mahmood are still etched in memory. The GEC was also the site for our compulsory general awareness course ‘Science and Society’ taught by Surti Saheb. A course that you only had to pass, and whose class met at 3 pm in the summer of Aligarh, was bound to attract all sorts of mischief. But Surti Saheb went on undeterred and managed to give us a decent overview of the subject.

Maulana Azad Library

Time to move on. My walk took me to Maulana Azad Library. It looks as lovely as ever, with an extensive green lawn in front and the imposing Moorish arch adorning its main gateway. It was encouraging to see many students studying on the sunny lawns and hectic activity in and out of the Library. So, I walk through the Library Complex towards the sports fields. Soon, my optimism turns into disbelief.

The football ground now has a cricket pitch in the middle. Why? There were two dogs enjoying an afternoon snooze and just two boys dribbling with a football. There was some activity on the basketball floor, just a few boys shooting the hoops. The tennis courts and hockey ground were major disappointments. In the mid-1970s when I played on the AMU tennis team, four courts were set up every day, with at least 15-20 students playing there on a given day. Today, there was just one court and no one was playing on it. The attendant said the University Team had just left to play the Inter-Varsity tournament. But where were the others? The hockey ground of my memory was always full, with two full teams playing a match every day and many boys waiting on the stairs. Today there were just two boys dribbling and one shooting at the goal post. Will AMU hockey ever produce another Zafar Iqbal (my friend and contemporary at AMU)?

Realizing that this is the age of cricket and AMU has just won the North Zone Inter-Varsity Cricket, I started walking towards the Willingdon Pavilion, and took the path through Sir Syed Hall. This place was alive. The AMU Students Union elections have just been announced and every major candidate has a camp in SS Hall. There were groups sitting around in the sun discussing strategy over endless cups of tea. I enter through Bab-e-Ishaq and walk through Strachey Hall towards Bab-e-Rahmat. This part of campus has no equal in terms of its architectural grandeur. But the drying laundry in front of Asman Manzil and Mushtaq Manzil does spoil the scenery. The University Mosque stands out like a pure jewel.

University Mosque

I arrive at the cricket ground to find seven boys at the nets. Just the other day there was a programme on NDTV about the Toyota University Cricket Championship in which 16 university teams are being invited to participate in a T-20 format. AMU is one of the teams. But why are those players not on the nets? The weather was perfect.

My disappointment is growing. So I take the road in front of Victoria Gate to walk towards University Road. The red stone architecture is lovely and well preserved and lifts the mood. As I approach University Road, there is Faiz Gate, popularly called Bab-e-Himaqat, either for its ceremonial role in welcoming dignitaries or the story that an elephant towed it from a ‘riyasat’ around Agra to Aligarh. Opposite the Faiz Gate is the newly made University Circle, which today sported the banner of one of the election candidates. Such a pity!!

Bab-e-Himaqat

I turn left to find a group of students demonstrating in front of the administration building, and overheard someone saying – “phir yeh drama shuru hua”. I move on towards Bab-e-Syed, the youngest of AMU gates that looks quite nice. I hope it does not get plastered with election posters as in yesteryears.

Next to Bab-e-Syed is 3 University Road. This is the house where I was born and spent my childhood, living there till 1968. Naturally, I turned into it. The beautiful house with 10 rooms, a large outer verandah, a portico and a large heart-shaped lawn, has changed over the years into a mess that now houses the AMU Admission Office. When the Administrative Complex was built where the AMU Nursery used to be, it took away some space from 3 University Road as well - the one that occupied the left driveway populated by palm trees and bougainvillea. My neem tree is still there but the ‘morpankhi’ in my favourite lawn was no longer there. What stared back at me was something I did not recognize. How can I expect it to recognize me?

3, University Road

I turn towards Muzammil Manzil and quietly melt away in the cacophony of Dodhpur.

All major roads on AMU campus are dug up right now, but this will hopefully lead to a better future. But many more students who aimlessly ride motorcycles on university roads compared to those present on sports fields, is something to be worried about. This is not a good sign for the future.

AMU has some of the best sports facilities of any Indian university. On this winter afternoon every single sports ground was ready to welcome users. Sadly, the users were missing. Can we not make it compulsory for every first year student to participate in a sport? The lessons of discipline, rigor, competition, defeat and triumph learnt on a sports field will help our next generation better face the challenges of life.

The challenge however is to get them there.