There is something loathsome about racial and religious bigotry. While racism has abated in recent years, religious fanaticism has taken an upward swing and assumed medival proportions. The phenomenon is more evident in the Islamic world because Muslims have lost their past glory and are desperately trying to regain it. One section is trying to modernise themselves while the other believes that their salvation lies in reviving Shariat laws. Such are the followers of Osama bin Laden, his al-Queda and the Taliban.

I have done my best to understand the Muslim bigots’ point of view but without much success because there is very little written to explain it. I was, therefore, very eager to read Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist (Penguin Viking). I had good reasons to do so: I had read his first novel Moth Smoke and gave it a favourable review. He is a Lahoria (from Lahore), so am I. I was fascinated by his description of his conversion from an Americanised Pakistani, a topper in studies, holding a lucurative job and in love with a Princtinian.

The change is dramatic. He is on an assignment in Manila. He has completed his job and is packing up to return to New York. He sees the New York Trade Centre being rammed by a passenger plane on TV. Instead of being appalled by the magnitude of death and destruction in a country to which he owes so much, he says to himself: “Serves you Yankees right”. He stops shaving and starts growing a beard. On arrival at New York, he is subjected to body search and questioning by immigration officials while his colleagues are let in without a fuss.
He becomes a split personality. His mind is no longer in his work. His girl-friend is in a psychiatric clinic and no longer keen to marry him. On his next assignment in Chile, he leaves his job unfinished and knows he will be sacked. But his mind is made up on hearing one word Jaan Nissar — life sacrificer. They were a kind of suicide squad formed of young Christian slaves, trained as bodyguards of the Sultans of Turkey. He returns to Lahore, takes up a job as a lecturer and becomes leader of the anti-American agitators.

It is a well-told story but I could not find any cogent arguments justifying his conversion from rationalism to fundamentalism.

No punctuation
Am I right in believing that none of our languages have ever used punctuation marks: no commas, colons, semi-colons, exclamation marks or even full stops? Why? And, why has not any of our bhasha writers ever suggested that it is time we introduced them in languages recognised by our Constitution. We do not have to manufacture them; just take the whole lot from European languages and adapt them for our own purposes.
In many of our ancient scriptures, even words were joined together with one line running from left to right across the pages. I recall having to battle with them when first inducted to read the Granth Sahib as a child. It not only made reading difficult but also led to confusion of meanings. It was said that a curse was placed on anyone who separated the words. It was only in the 1920s that scholars took courage and new editions of the scriptures, with words separated, were published. But to this day the only punctuation mark is a full-stop in the form of a straight line like the letter “I” and “II” at the end of every hymn.
Punctuation marks are important. If wrongly placed, they can change the meaning of the sentence. Rightly placed, they help the reader in understanding what the writer wants to say. I wish some writer of eminence like Gurudev Rabindranath Tagore or Munshi Prem Chand or Allama Iqbal had taken the initiative in this direction. It is something our Sahitya Akademi and regional language academies could put on the top of their agendas.

Satyamev jayatey
A judge took his car for repairs to his mechanic, who was running his workshop in a rented house. His landlord was abusing him and the judge asked him the reason.

Landlord: Sir, I hate a liar. This mechanic is a liar. I do not tell lies except in courts.
Judge: Why so?
Landlord: If I tell the truth, I would lose my case.
(Contributed by Vikram Singh, New Delhi)