Daneesh Majid

For Hyderabadis, the month that follows India’s Independence Day is just as significant. Since 1948, the violent, but necessary accession of Asaf Jahi-ruled Hyderabad remained caged in the consciousness of various Telanganites. The more innocuous name given to this method of merging the Muslim-ruled, Hindu-majority state into India was “police action.” This man-made catastrophe, which saw the massacre of at least 27,000 people, resulted in many personal family tragedies. The upheavals that followed still pined for their place in public memory as well as political discourse. And so did the continuation of the military action in the Telangana districts that ended in 1951. But only during the past decade, the push for narrative building regarding 1948-51 has regained steam. Timely interventions In 1988, the US-based Omar Khalidi’s seminal academic anthology “Hyderabad: After the Fall (1988)” laid the foundation for a lot of work relating to Operation Polo. But unlike North India, Punjab, Bengal and Sindh-centric partition oral histories, it would be a while before similar writing about police action/Telangana armed rebellion would be collated as well as compiled. That too in the form of books palatable to general audiences. And the scarce resource of time, which isn’t seen as such in Hyderabad, was running out. Upon commencing research for my book in mid-2020, only a handful of those who had first-hand accounts of that period were still around. Certain books pertaining to eras their families lived through became unattainable rarities. Only in this decade has a more contemporary corpus of literature relating to the police action/Telangana rebellion come to be. “Hyderabad” by Manreet Sodhi-Someshwar, the Ruthvika Rao-authored “Fertile Earth,” and Zeenath Khan’s novel “The Sirens of September” comprise this corpus’ fiction contingency. In non-fiction, “The Hyderabadis: From 1947 to the Present-Day,” along with Afsar Mohammad’s “Remaking History: 1948 Police Action and the Muslims of Hyderabad” etched those two events’ place within the lore of the subcontinent’s independence-cum-partition. And it’s about time. Accessible accounts Nostalgia does provide respite to present-day woes or anxiety about the future, temporarily at least. Today’s India is ridden with the latter two. Arguably, in some more regions than others. But is that enough for compelling and, more importantly, accessible counter-narratives to the communalism which is no longer on the fringe? Because even before some vitriol reared its head through revisionist political rhetoric post-2014, the most well-crafted contemporary literary writings in English – be it on Hyderabad’s rich past or 1948-51 – can be classified as one of the following two. The prose is either accessible, but reminiscent, or hagiographic. Or pertinent yet academic. Plus, those three years aren’t always the main focus of many compilations and single-authored books. That period is only alluded to in certain chapters or personal essays. And the world-building required to contextualise the circumstances that lead to police action and the Telangana rebellion remains elusive. The Aminuddin Khan-authored essay, “Hyderabadi Roots,” however, struck the right balance between individual nostalgia and accessibility. The personal account from the collection “Hyderabad Hazir Hai: Writings From the City of Nizams,” waxes eloquently about his aristocratic lineage without making it the focal point of his essay. Being a personal essay, it glosses over the darker side of princely Hyderabad and its monarch’s shortcomings. The seventh Nizam, whom Khan was privileged enough to call a family friend, could have avoided the calamity that befell his people. The larger pan-India/Pakistan dynamics familiar to non-history enthusiasts are blended seamlessly with Khan’s police action memories. But the well-to-do and powerful always have their say about tragedies that affect ordinary people. This has been true for Operation Polo. The memoirs of KM Munshi, Laiq Ali and General Edroos are such top-down accounts of statesmen who staged the 1948-51 tragedy. But people’s histories and fiction novels are scarce. Micro-histories Yes, for those who had witnessed and suffered due to the police action and Telangana massacres, generational trauma did inject in them a reticence to speak about those experiences. As mentioned above, time is a fluid concept among various Hyderabadis. That and a fragmented artistic, intellectual landscape which is disconnected from the traditional publishing milieu which has churned out many partition narratives, begs one question. How can writing about and in the aftermath of police action emerge from such an environment? In 2018, I began pursuing more Hyderabad-focused reportage amidst a renewed, youth-driven and social media-savvy push to showcase Hyderabad’s rich heritage. The ingredients for such activity were always there. Telangana’s capital was yet to achieve the calibre of heritage walks, documentaries and pertinent long-form journalism seen in other metro cities. Despite this renaissance of sorts, many – young and old – who were a part of this emerging cultural infrastructure lacked a collaborative spirit. Of course, it is naïve to expect everyone to get along. Within artistic/academic/intellectual circles, cliques and individuals looking to upstage each other are a given. That being said, Hyderabad is progressing in its quest to become the cultural capital it has long been capable of becoming. But the lack of urgency with which people prolifically put out writing doesn’t provide much incentive to do so quickly. Gatekeeping-cum-leg pulling Barring some exceptions, the unwillingness of many Hyderabadi historians, journalists, authors, academics, renowned older denizens and cultural stalwarts to promote, let alone help out, upcoming talent is a defining characteristic of this city. From getting over the fear of how to go about connecting with agents and publishers to post-release activity for my book, navigating the Delhi-publishing scene has mostly been a solo endeavour. Even today, there is still a lack of awareness about that world among many veterans. Those with such exposure don’t share their knowledge on how an aspiring writer can bring out his/her work while simultaneously jumping through the hoops of publishing. This doesn’t bode well for the motivation of the other few who are looking to put out their work about a landmark event through traditional publishing. On top of that, most – if not all – of 1948-51’s direct witnesses are no longer around. My emphasis on more traditional avenues outside of more digital ones like Instagram doesn’t mean an aversion towards social media as a tool to disseminate alternative narratives. With certain veterans refusing to empower younger historians and researchers, where else would they go? Nonetheless, to look at a contemporary as a rival in what is still a developing, yet burgeoning cultural landscape has become so intrinsic to Hyderabad. That a person looking for and/or deserving of help is a direct or indirect competitor doesn’t matter. Sure, it is a feather in my cap that my book is the first to look at police action/Telangana armed rebellion and all that followed through the eyes of its people. Local and diaspora Hyderabadis keep complaining about the dearth of police action narratives. But when it comes to facilitating a system of grants and other funding initiatives to help writers, documentary filmmakers, etc, craft their work, those complaining seem to have better uses for their money. Then we wonder why the recollections of those who had directly experienced 1948-51 weren’t granted a more literary existence? Soul-searching In March, I received an email from an overseas Telanganite. Besides expressing gratitude that s/he had purchased my book as part of their research for a fiction book that is in the works, the aforementioned gatekeeping and crab-like tendencies had no place in our interactions. What did I have to lose by making intros for that person? Chances are that this person’s “outsider” status will overshadow his/her prose when that historical novel comes out. A prominent figure in the city’s heritage-history scene refused to feature a fiction writer’s beautifully written historical fiction novel through his/her organisation because “s/he would only attract uncles and aunties from her fancy school.” Now that such narratives have finally come to the fore, a lot of cultural stalwarts should reflect about this sad state of affairs in Hyderabad’s arts landscape. A lackadaisical attitude isn’t the badge of honour that the city’s denizens like to proudly flaunt. More importantly, what good does a crab-like mentality in a pond without much water?

Daneesh Majid

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