Pondering Pedigree

I leave religion out. It is not my cup of tea. I believe there are others who are better equipped to write about Vakkom Moulavi as a religious reformer.

Though I don’t look at my grandfather with my faith eyes, my professional pedigree is too heavy to shrug off. Not that I want to wriggle out of that coat of default honour or dim his reflected glory.

Though my father, Mohammed Iqbal, Vakkom Moulavi’s youngest son, was not an intellectual giant or had not done any significant writing to be mentioned in the “intellect parlours” unlike his brothers, he was my early inspiration.

For me, he was a romantic who played the flute by the window on a rainy day or listened to Talat Mahmoud on a moon-lit night or with a few quick strokes did a sketch of Indira Gandhi or Bertrand Russell. He adored Mrs Gandhi for her strength of character and Russell for his philosophy of knowledge and love being the inspirations of life.

He was not an intellectual rabbit either. A Socialist in his younger years, he plunged himself into the world of literature. His collection of books included titles from Chaucer to Chaplin and Russell to Ruskin Bond.

Shakespeare, Keats and Shelley with a smattering of Russell and Koestler, that’s what my sister and I heard during our prolonged dinner. And, when Uncle Abda was around the dinner conversation would prolong further and end up with a brief recollection of family history after a Gandhi-Jinnah rundown.

Though in my teens I had been drawn to the secular, rational and humanistic values, I have moved away from the “logic and rationale” stronghold. It is the heart that takes one closer to the truth, not the brain.

Writing and passion for journalism run in the family. But, if I am not wrong, I am the only one among the clutch of Vakkom Moulavi’s grandchildren who “practises” journalism as one’s bread-winner. In the beginning journalism was a passion for me. A noble vocation no doubt, it has evolved from being a passion to a job to a loan installment provider.

My maternal grandfather, Mohammed Kannu, edited three pre-Independence newspapers—Al Ameen (Freedom), Aikyam (unity) and Prabhatam (Dawn)—before he took up teaching.

So virtues of journalism must run thick in my blood, as far as lineage theories go. But each time I accommodate a PR piece into the magazines that I edit in the hope of turning them into an ad, and making my bosses happy in the next management meeting, my lineage hangs heavy.
It used to stare at me cold. But not any more. I have realised that most stories stop by the buck. You can take the horse to the water but you cannot make it drink. Brave and honest journalism still thrill the public and make the journalist a hero.

But that’s about it. It’s business, and profit-driven as any other business.

Any breaking story is a mere revelation of facts. And, facts are not the truth. We read that Pontius Pilot did not wait to hear what the truth was. If he had, would the human history be different? A good question.

But the early fire has not died out; its embers still turn in my belly. Having a journalist as wife keeps the bloodline alive and streaming.

So much for a glossary of personal facts.

What about Vakkom Moulavi in this bloggers’ and citizen journalists’ era?

…wait for more posts…