Nazir Jahangir
Once I wrote to a friend:
Khail Nahi Hai Har Baat Sach Ki Likh Dena
Kuch Baat Bata To Deta Houn
Kuch Baat Chopa He Leta Houn
(Ventilating the truth and calling a spade a spade is not an easy task.
At times, I lay bare the truth, and at others, I choose to conceal facts).
When leprosy (may God shield all) afflicts a part of the body, that part becomes numb—utterly devoid of sensation. You can pierce it with needles or slice it with a scalpel, but it will neither flinch nor feel. The person may continue eating, drinking, and conversing, yet that afflicted part remains lifeless.
Similarly, when a society is plagued by the leprosy of selfishness, greed, exploitation, an insatiable thirst for wealth, power, immorality, and a blind pursuit of luxury and fame, its collective conscience becomes numb. No matter how much you criticize, scorn, or try to awaken their humanity, it’s futile. You can reprimand them, spit at them, or even heap filth upon them—they remain unbothered, shamelessly indifferent. Their hearts and minds are deadened, paralyzed by moral decay.
These individuals eat, drink, and speak, performing the functions of living beings, but no more than animals—or, perhaps, lunatics. Among them, there are even stray rabid dogs: some bite, others attack, while many simply bark endlessly.
In human societies, there are hierarchies, and the highest echelon is not defined by birth or wealth but by nobility of character. Among the noble are the intellectuals, and among the intellectuals, the most revered are writers—those who wield the pen.
But what happens when this elite class of writers and creators—tasked with guiding society through their wisdom, sensitivity, and integrity—succumbs to mediocrity, dishonesty, and selfishness? When tricksters, opportunists, and morally bankrupt individuals occupy the ranks of the so-called intellectual elite, such a society is neither civilized nor honorable. Instead, it becomes a beggar’s assembly, a gathering of hypocrites devoid of dignity. If the very conscience-keepers of a nation are themselves steeped in corruption, that nation ceases to be a community of humans—it becomes a psychiatric ward inhabited by the morally insane.
For a society to thrive with honor and dignity, it requires individuals of noble character. Among these, the writers should stand as the most honorable and principled, not as wandering vagabonds or opportunistic merchants of words.
Now, how do we distinguish between writers who are sincere, conscious, and dignified, and those who are mere ‘bundal-baaz’—tricksters masquerading as intellectuals?
The answer lies in observation. Look at the nations of the world: the Palestinians are brave and honorable; Pakistan is teeming with hypocrites; Americans and Europeans are patriotic, sincere, and conscientious; Africans are often associated with crime; Arabs are consumed by lust; Indians are intelligent and generally mild-mannered; Malaysians and Indonesians are deeply religious; Afghans are fierce warriors.
And then there are Kashmiris. Among them, those considered noble are often crafty manipulators, while the masses display a servile temperament. Most Kashmiri writers are sycophants, bending to every wind of opinion, lacking the courage to speak the truth or stand against lies and injustice. They raise their voices only when their personal interests are threatened, barking in self-defense. True courage, resolve, and bravery demand a living conscience and a sense of honor—qualities conspicuously absent.
True honor doesn’t cry out for personal gain but for justice. It ignores personal pain, yet cannot remain silent in the face of another’s suffering.
This brings me to the persistent grievances of Kashmiri writers. Since 1990, it has been alleged that 90% of Sahitya Akademi Awards for Kashmiri literature were secured through bribes—both material and otherwise—while deserving works were sidelined. This conspiracy, whether due to negligence by the state or the central government’s complicity, not only betrayed Kashmiri literature but insulted the entire community.
Protests and outrage from genuine Kashmiri writers have been repeatedly ignored. Why? Because these voices were isolated, fragmented, and drowned out by the deafening silence of a self-serving majority preoccupied with personal gains. This disunity and moral decay have ensured that Kashmiri literature remains dishonored and manipulated.
Had an organized, principled group raised these protests, using media and other platforms effectively, perhaps Kashmiri literature would have earned the respect it deserves. Instead, the prevailing creed has become this: awards and recognition are not for literary merit but for those who can pay the price—be it in money, influence, or subservience.
When fools occupy seats of authority, prestigious honors lose their sanctity, reduced to trinkets for the unworthy.
Let’s reflect: how are literary books evaluated for awards? What criteria are used? And, most importantly, what qualifies the jury members entrusted with this critical responsibility?
Theoretically, the process is meant to be rigorous, involving nominations, screenings, and evaluations based on creative uniqueness, literary quality, thematic depth, and societal impact. Jury members are supposed to be experts, impartial and well-versed in the art of criticism. But how many of these criteria are actually met when awarding Kashmiri books?
The reality is disheartening. Most jury members, post-1990, have been as incompetent as the majority of Kashmiri fiction writers, who themselves lack any understanding of the craft. These jurors, unqualified to judge literary works, relied on favoritism and mutual back-scratching to distribute awards. Can anyone name how many of these jurors had ever written a critical analysis of a literary book? How could such individuals—unable to distinguish between excellence and mediocrity—determine the merit of a work?
When power rests with fools, they promote only their own kind, forming a self-serving nexus that rewards mediocrity and suppresses genuine talent.
May God protect us! As the saying goes, “Hoyn kheye basta khaler”!
“The dog ultimately devoured the tattered remains of the hide.”
And so, I leave you with this question: Are we truly writers—or just ‘bundal-baaz’?
Once, someone had raised a question in his very long post:
“Why no Kashmiri writer didn’t receive international recognition?”
I responded:
Can someone explain what they mean by the term ‘recognition’? And which Kashmiri writer, in your opinion, deserves an international award but hasn’t received one? Share some of their work, so I can judge if they truly deserved such recognition.
Friends, no one has ever won an international award for their foolishness or outbursts. Don’t confuse international juries with those in Kashmir who select awardees. So far, no one here has won a Sahitya Akademi Award for their Urdu work or English work, and most awards in Kashmiri literature involve favoritism and influence.
Asking why no Kashmiri writer has received an international award is irrelevant until our literature is free from envy, sycophancy, and bias, and until genuine writers take the lead.
For those questioning the lack of international recognition, I suggest reading my Urdu series, “Takhleeq Kya Hai, Tanqeed Kya Hai?” in an Urdu weekly. Measure the literary stature of our writers by that standard, and if anyone stands out, I’ll be the first to support them.
Had I been awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award, it would have been a rather disappointing day for me. I have often observed that the jury members typically belong to the same league and caliber as those who influence their selection. There is no doubt that the procedures and practices of the Sahitya Akademi, particularly in appointing literary clowns and academic jugglers to key positions related to Kashmiri literature, will be remembered as a glaring example of immaturity and incompetence. The decisions concerning literary awards, made by individuals who are largely obscure or insignificant within serious literary circles, seem to be influenced and tainted by both material and non-material considerations. This has reduced the Sahitya Akademi to a subject of ridicule, undermining its credibility and turning it into a mere mockery.
Please do not take my words as a personal attack on any individual or group. I am merely reflecting a general perception prevalent in literary circles. I harbor no ill will toward anyone; in fact, I hold affection for all. However, I believe expressing one’s honest opinion is neither a sin nor an offense. My words should be understood as part of a broader, constructive critique aimed at addressing errors, shortcomings, and misconceptions so that they may be corrected in the spirit of healthy discourse.
We also need to know that political developments have enormous impacting upon literary scenarios also?
Watching the literary ‘developments’ in Kashmir, more appropriate to call them literary dramas, make a sane person to think as to whether or ever serious steps were taken to uplift the Kashmiri literature and a Kashmiri writer? Or bringing these government controlled literary forums to existence were just a pretext to derive political capital out of them? Or was it to keep a group of so-called “writers” in good humour? Or were it to feeding the jumbo-sized staff of these futile literary forums? The truth is, they have become locomotion engines which consume oil without propelling forwards?
We also need to ponder over the impact which Kashmir politics has on the postings and appointments in such literary forums wherever they have been brought to existence? No government ever bothered to examine or look over the accomplishments of those objectives and aims which held the base to bring these literary organizations into the existence or to check if they are just eating the vitals of our economy in terms of millions and millions of rupees? Even literary awards are deemed dramas in most of the literary circles here. I am sure, if a CBI enquiry is conducted for the State Awards and Central Awards, either given by JK Academy or Sahitya Academy startling disclosures will come to the surface. There is a widely held perception regarding these awards that in most of the cases money and other “illegitimate things” played a role in granting such awards while the genuine writers were ignored and neglected. As a consequence, uncertainty and mistrust and disappointment developed in them.
The tragic part of our literary history is that balds actually wrestled for the ‘combs’ and got them. Our land is unique, and peculiar as well, compared to other civilisations. We have a routine here to give combs to balds and mirrors to blinds!
Someone has rightly said that what is true does not always come out, and a lie always takes a prisoner, and a human being will continue to remain a prisoner until the truth is uncovered, and it often consume a human being for life.
Had the people, who hold crucial positions in government-controlled literary forums/organisations/departments, not forgotten that the head proud today of the crown on it, tomorrow there will be the din of mourning song on his head. They did not remember that Amir Minai had long before said:
hue namwar be-Nishan kaise kaise
zameeN khaa Gayi aasmaaN kaise kaise
Alas! Panegyric turned them, megalomaniac. People don’t dare offer them a word of advice, and if anyone does, he is not heard. Finally, the time comes when the dog is told he had his day and time is over. The chair is wrenched from them which they otherwise never deserved!
Writers And Awards Struggle!
When he questioned why his opus didn’t clinch any accolades, I chuckled in response:
“Ah, the vast sea of so-called writers here, penning their masterpieces with the fervent dream of snagging a Sahitya Academy award or any prestigious feather for their cap. Yet, as the years roll by without these coveted prizes, they’re left more disappointed than a cat without its cream. Who has time for genuine art or literature when you’re busy drafting your acceptance speech in your head?
In our neck of the woods, it’s not about presenting literary gems anymore. It’s about mastering the art of running with the hare and hunting with the hound. Have the finesse to play the game, and voila, you might get that award someday, even if your magnum opus is just a collection of words doing the conga.
And heaven forbid you’re a person of principles. Say goodbye to your dreams of awards, my friend. No matter how much literary brilliance you churn out, all you’ll get is a one-way ticket to Humiliationville.
Now, can anyone furnish me with a single example of a Sahitya Academy award winner or any other accolade recipient who’s not knee-deep in sycophancy? I’ll wait.
Then there are these writers who claim they’ve mastered the art of sycophancy, survived invectives with a smile, and yet, the big awards elude them. They settle for the consolation prizes from private literary organizations and turn to me for answers.
I tell them, it’s a tough world out there in the land of flattery. There’s a surplus of sycophantic scribblers; it’s like picking the finest wine in a bottomless barrel. Keep buttering up, and maybe, just maybe, you’ll get your moment in the spotlight. Unless, of course, someone else out-flatters you.
As for the selectors, well, some say they’re masters of both sexual and monetary corruption. Perhaps you lagged behind in that shady race? Who knows?
Regardless, it’s a tale as old as time, the saga of ‘King Bruce And Spider’—a timeless reminder to ‘try, try again.’ Or, in our case, ‘flatter, flatter again.’”
Anyway, “Maa ba-khair tou ba-salam”
I am well, and you stay safe.
The author is a noted journalist & columnist
