Movie Starlets and Lonely Harlots
by Irfan Yusuf
It’s about time we took a critical view of our ‘religious’ attitude to prostitutes
article copied from the Friday Times
(sorry cant post the url due to technical reasons)
Back in the days when I was young and innocent, mum would regularly sit me in front of the VCR and force me through a 3-hour Urdu/Hindi movie. It was mum’s way of getting her piyara beta to brush up on his language skills. It was also her attempt to immunise me from totally assimilating local ways (which in my white Protestant sectarian retro-Aussie neighbourhood meant ensuring I did not hate Catholics too much).
After 10 of these awful sessions, I knew the drill. I could predict the story, the actors, even the playback artists. I knew that Muhammad Rafi was dead, and that chances were his amazingly sweet and versatile voice would be replaced with that of Kishore Kumar, a gentleman mum often referred to as the dude with an avaare ki avaaz. I could even measure how far the fist of the ghunda was from the victim’s face during a fight scene. And up which trees the orchestra was hiding when the couple were dancing and singing in the park.
But then one day mum showed me a movie whose storyline still haunts me. It haunted her when she first read the novel as part of her undergraduate studies at Aligarh Muslim University. The story was yet another illustration of what an awful deal corrupt and violent men dish out to women. And that includes Muslim men.
Umrao Jan Ada is said to be a masterpiece of Urdu literature. It is set during the eve of the East India Company’s move out of Bombay and across the rest of northern and central India. These were the last days of the decaying and decadent Mughal Empire. Yes, they were tolerant (apart from Aurangzeb who mercilessly massacred the followers of sufi-inspired Guru Nanak and pushed them beyond the fringes of the Indian Muslim community). Yes, they were cultured. Yes, they were rich. Yes, they were my ancestors.
And yes, they were decadent. Many a courtesan entered the Mughal court. Religion and religiosity did not seem to matter when it came to sexual pleasure. But I daresay the Mughals were just doing what everyone else did. Visiting courtesans and prostitutes was a gentleman’s game. The great nawabs and princes would gather at the mahkhana (a glorified brothel) where they would marvel at the poetic skills, the linguistic masonry and the sheer intelligence of girls who were often kidnapped from their families at a young age and trained by poets and musicians and other cultural technicians on the art of being a respectable courtesan. Of course, my semi-drunken Mughal ancestors weren’t just interested in the great minds and sweet words of these highly cultured women. For a few bags of gold, they had access to other treasures.
Umrao Jan Ada has been filmed in both Pakistan and India. Mum reckons the Pakistani version has better ghazals, but the Indian one is more true to the novel. I differ, but that is not the point of this article. The point is that the character of Umrao Jan is typical of the hypocrisy many have toward women (and in some cases, men) who work. Yes, it is true that this is a most oppressive and exploitative industry. Yes, women are often physically and psychologically abused. But they are still women. They have made their choice. And some may not have even had a choice.
Umrao Jan was kidnapped and sold to a pimp in her early teens by one of her father’s enemies as revenge, just after she became engaged. She was raised as a courtesan in a brothel for 6 years, during which she was taught classical music, poetry, etiquette and other tools of the art of seduction. Emerging, princess-like, she attracted a prince who wooed her, seduced her, and then dumped her when mummy found him a ‘decent’ girl. Fleeing British attack, Umrao found herself with many other refugees in a town with a familiar feel. After going walking, she met an old, familiar woman who turned out to be her own mother, and she introduced Umrao to a handsome young man saying, “Look son! Your sister has returned.” The boy looked at her scornfully and spoke words that represent the attitudes many of us have. “She cannot be my sister. She is Umrao Jan. She is just a prostitute”.
Umrao Jan left after hearing that. The Indian version of the movie ends by showing Umrao looking at herself in the mirror and touching the mirror. The novel tells us she committed suicide.
So how should we see Umrao Jan? How should we, allegedly pious and spiritually astute people, view someone like Umrao Jan? I suppose the first step is to declare that prostitution is haram, that prostitutes will go to Hell, and that society should reject and shun them.
But let me ask all you mullahs and mullettes this: Why do prostitutes exist? Why is there a plentiful supply of sex-on-tap? It is simply because there is plentiful demand. And who are the clients? They are usually the most respectable of people: the judges and politicians and businessmen and lawyers and doctors. And priests and rabbis and maulanas too. Why are the customers, the real reasons prostitution exists in the first place, let off the hook so easily? And why are the workers, the service providers, the women with often multiple mouths to feed condemned?
Among those of you reading this will be people who claim to believe in Jesus (peace be upon God’s noble messiah). And some will even claim to be following him. Now I ask you this. Who was Jesus’ closest female companion? Who was the one who went to the Garden where his tomb was to rub herbs on his body in accordance with Jewish custom? Who was the one who spent so many hours and days with him? Who was the one who shared his own blessed mother’s name?
Jesus had two Marys in his life. One was his mother, the one who miraculously conceived him whilst still a virgin. The one whom the Quran says was chosen over and above the women of all nations. And the other Mary? Why, she was a prostitute, at least according to later tradition.
Real Islam, indeed real religion, is designed to rid us of the pomposity and self-righteousness that plagues so much religiosity. The prophets of God sat with and made time for those whom society pushes away. Christ spent time with tax collectors, fishermen and prostitutes.
We know that the Prophet Mohammad (pbuh) was known to spend time with a person in Medina who suffered from schizophrenia. The Prophet (pbuh) also had a close friend, Julaybib, who had no known ancestry and apparently suffered from physical deformities. And Mohammad (pbuh) was fond of a black woman, whose name has not come down to us but whose place in paradise is assured, since she spent so much effort sweeping the Prophet’s mosque. And where did the great sufis come from? They originated from those poor starving semi-naked ‘People of the bench’ ( ashab as-suffah), the equivalent of today’s street people.
We don’t look up to street people or schizophrenics or cleaners. We look up to scholars and philanthropists and martyrs. Yet the Prophet told us that a person from each of these honoured categories will be amongst the first to be dragged into Hell. He also told us about the prostitute. The one who finished her shift and went to the well. She saw a dog that was dying of thirst. She took pity on it, dropped her shoe into the well and dragged it out full of water for the dog. For showing kindness to a dog, the prostitute earned God’s mercy and forgiveness.
During his recent visit to Sydney, Shaykh Nuh Ha Mim Keller referred to this incident. And he made a comment to this effect: “How I wish I was that prostitute. We should all wish we could have been her. She understood the reality of things. May God give all of us the understanding possessed by this woman.”
Yes, these are God’s women too.