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Asserting an Identity

H. Shaji

The turbulent times that Indian Muslims are passing through are, perhaps, the worst since the Partition. An agonised Shabana Azmi was forced to admit, “I’ve never had the word Muslim hurled at me before.” In this light, Magrib, the directorial debut of Kerala filmmaker P. T. K. Muhammed, is a bold assertion of the Muslim identity and a response to the communal challenge.

 Shunning the staple diet of so-called ‘serious’ cinema, the calculated understatement of emotions and expressions, Magrib, instead depicts the living, complex, and multi-layered life of a Valluvanadan (South Malabar) Muslim community in Kerala.

Although Kerala is known for a high degree of political awareness and religious harmony (as compared to other States in India), the portrayal of Muslim life in Malayalam films continues to be dominated by clichés.

Despite the fact that films focussing on Muslim subjects proved to be instant hits, the Muslim characters presented in these films have, by and large, been unreal and Muslim life has largely been appropriated merely as a decorative frill.

Besides films like Umma (1960), Kandom Becha Kottu (1961), Mailanchi (1982), Maniyara (1983), and Manithali (1984), a large number of films belong to the genre of popular ‘Muslim films.’ In fact, such was the box office success of these films that some directors came to exclusively handle films that focussed on Muslim subjects.

Outside such ‘Muslim films’, Muslim characters were relegated to the comedy section or treated as mere props to hold up the ‘communal amity’ theme. In the rare instances when they were featured as main characters, they were turned into spectacles as in 1921, a film by I. V. Sasi on the Malabar rebellion of 1921.

It was only the rare film that tried to rise above the conventional, formulaic treatment of Muslim life in cinema. Pavithran’s Uppu (1986) is one such example of a refreshingly bold attempt to delve deep into the subtle details of the lives of Eranadan Muslims. But, Magrib, shot with a more subtle self-assurance, surpasses Uppu’s power and content.

While focussing on a rather neglected area of India’s heterogeneous social fabric, Muhammed’s film paints an extraordinary portrait of a society without the slightest hint of the sluggishness that is often the hallmark of films which try to counter the prevalent aesthetics of popular cinema.

Steeped in the middle class milieu of a Muslim community of South Malabar, Magrib asserts the existence of a middle class life among the Muslims. Fighting shy of even the slightest communal undertones, Magrib is an illustrious statement about ethnic identity within the framework of secularism.

This unapologetic and beautiful visual ensemble, made by a director who is also from South Malabar, transcends the philosophy that speaks for the supremacy of the majority sections and inferiority of the minorities.

 The deeply disturbing fate of Razak (played brilliantly by Murali) is at the centre of the film’s plot. For years, Razak has been confined to a mental asylum because in a temporary fit of insanity, he killed his wife. However, the attending doctor pronounces Razak as completely cured since he has been off medication for the past three years.

 Magrib opens with a visit to the asylum by Razak’s brothers who want to inform him about the arrangements made for his daughter’s marriage. Razak’s close friend Sreenivasan (also called Muhammadunni in the film) initiates efforts to secure Razak’s release through a government order so that the father can attend his daughter’s wedding.

But the release of Razak becomes a social issue with wider implications encompassing Razak’s social status and family decency, among other things. Because his return is perceived as a threat to society’s value system, all those who were intimately connected with Razak finally surrender to this reality and abandon their efforts to help him attend his daughter’s wedding.

Muhammadunni, however, is unwilling to give in. he tried to talk to Razak’s daughter, Mumtaz, only to find that for her, Razak is nothing more than the killer of her mother. Ultimately, Mumtaz’s marriage is conducted without the presence of her father.

Meanwhile, an eager Razak prepares himself to come out of his forced isolation only to find that nobody has come to receive him on the planned day. Thus, his dream of returning to a normal life, like Magrib (Dusk), plunges into the grim darkness of the night.

 Magrib is richly layered with signs, symbols, and lively rituals deeply embedded in the terrain of Muslim life. It is also free of the spectacular presentation of their lives that one often sees in mainstream cinema. By simply juxtaposing shots of how customs are done in different social and religious groups, the films reveals the age-old co-mingling and cultural transactions between the Hindu and Muslim communities.

Another striking feature of the film is the virtual absence of any kind of overtly secularist postures. The recent attempts to resist the onslaught of fundamentalism have resulted in a certain reductionist secularism that has tended to equate almost anything religious with a fundamentalist purpose. Instead of attempting to present any rational/modern alterative to a religious society, Magrib adds to its power by grounding itself in the specifications of our cultural context.

The search for a Muslim identity is a natural sequence to the social and political demeaning that Muslim identity has had to face. In India from Mahatma Gandhi onwards, many leaders have practised various methods to maintain the harmony between the two major communities. The Partition and related riots proved the inadequacy of the paternal secularism of Gandhi. After independence, another type of secularism, say the Lucknow style, emerged. By adopting Muslim-like dresses and listening to ghazals, this new style of secularism tried to blend the two cultures. Nehru can be seen as the best representative of this tradition. But that too proved futile.

Old clichés and old idioms are not sufficient to analyze new dilemmas. Secularism is not something to be lectured on only through available platforms and art forms. It is also not possible to promote it through films like Amar Akbar Anthony. What is needed to checkmate the monolithic use of faith, is not the ‘non‘ or anti-religious secularism, but instead a useful examination of our cultural resources, pertaining to rituals and customs. And Muhammed’s Magrib is definitely a product of such a quest for identity.

 The Economic Times

29 January 1994