Film Screening—Deepa Mehta's Midnight's Children

Film Screening—Deepa Mehta's Midnight's Children

This blog, assigned by our Head of the Department, Prof. Dr. Dilip Barad Sir, engages with Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children and its film adaptation by Deepa Mehta through the framework of postcolonial theory. Drawing upon the works of Homi K. Bhabha and Partha Chatterjee, it reflects on questions of history, nationhood, hybridity, identity, and language. Structured into pre-viewing, while-watching, and post-watching activities, the blog highlights how personal memory and cultural hybridity intersect with the narration of a nation.

For further context, here is the link to the background reading: Click Here

Midnight's Children
Theatrical release poster
Directed by	Deepa Mehta
Screenplay by	Salman Rushdie
Based on	Midnight's Children by Salman Rushdie
Produced by	David Hamilton Doug Mankoff Steven Silver Neil Tabatznik Andrew Spaulding
Starring	Satya Bhabha Shriya Saran Shabana Azmi Anupam Kher Ronit Roy Siddharth Shahana Goswami Samrat Chakrabarti Rahul Bose Seema Biswas Darsheel Safary
Cinematography	Giles Nuttgens
Edited by	Colin Monie
Music by	Nitin Sawhney
Distributed by	Mongrel Media (Canada) Entertainment One (United Kingdom) Paladin 108 Media (United States) PVR Pictures (India)
Release dates	9 September 2012 (Toronto International Film Festival) 26 October 2012 (India)
Running time	148 minutes
Countries	Canada United Kingdom United States India
Languages	English Hindi
Box office	$884,100

 1. Pre-viewing Activities 

A. Trigger Questions

1. Who narrates history — the victors or the marginalized? How does this relate to personal identity?

Homi K. Bhabha’s theory in The Location of Culture reminds us that historical narratives are not fixed but constructed within the “Third Space” — a liminal site where dominant and subaltern perspectives meet and challenge each other. Traditionally, history is framed by the victors, who control the apparatus of documentation, education, and dissemination. In colonial contexts, this meant that imperial powers recorded history in ways that justified their domination.

Partha Chatterjee’s The Nation and Its Fragments complicates this by noting that the postcolonial nation-state inherits some of these Eurocentric frameworks, often sidelining subaltern voices in the name of national unity. The marginalized — peasants, women, ethnic minorities — are relegated to the periphery of official history.

In Midnight’s Children, Saleem Sinai’s narration resists this victor-centered history. He positions himself as the voice of the “midnight’s children,” a generation born into freedom yet shaped by colonial residues. His fragmented, digressive storytelling creates a hybrid historiography — personal memory merges with political events. This reflects Bhabha’s idea of hybridity, where identity is formed through negotiation between multiple narratives. Saleem’s personal identity cannot be separated from the histories he inherits, both colonial and postcolonial, both privileged and marginalized.

2. What makes a nation? Is it geography, governance, culture, or memory?

Partha Chatterjee critiques Benedict Anderson’s imagined communities model for its Eurocentric bias — in colonial contexts, the “nation” is imagined not solely through print capitalism or shared governance, but also through anti-colonial struggle, cultural memory, and indigenous traditions. For Chatterjee, postcolonial nations have an “inner” (spiritual/cultural) domain and an “outer” (political/administrative) domain. While the outer domain may adopt Western modernity, the inner domain preserves cultural authenticity.

In Midnight’s Children, the nation is not simply defined by borders drawn at Partition. Instead, it emerges through Saleem’s memories — of family, language, festivals, migration, and trauma. The film’s portrayal of the Partition riots, linguistic conflicts, and political upheavals reveals that a nation is a layered construct. Governance and geography set the framework, but memory — both collective and personal — gives it emotional meaning.

Bhabha would describe this as a “nation as narration” — the idea that the nation is continually written and rewritten through the stories told about it. Saleem’s life story becomes a metaphor for the nation’s story, showing that cultural and personal memory are as important as political boundaries in defining national identity.

3. Can language be colonized or decolonized? Think about English in India.

Salman Rushdie’s essay Commonwealth Literature Does Not Exist in Imaginary Homelands is key here. Rushdie argues that English in India, once a colonial imposition, has been transformed — “chutnified” — into a vehicle for expressing Indian realities. This involves mixing English with local idioms, grammar patterns, and cultural references, much like chutney blends multiple ingredients into a unique new taste.

Bhabha’s theory of hybridity applies here as well — when colonized subjects appropriate the colonizer’s language and infuse it with their own cultural rhythms, they create a hybrid form that destabilizes the authority of “standard” English.

In Midnight’s Children, the novel and film reflect this linguistic decolonization. Saleem narrates in English but peppers it with Hindi, Urdu, and cultural expressions, reflecting both colonial inheritance and postcolonial creativity. This hybrid language undermines English’s colonial purity, making it serve Indian, not British, purposes.

2. While-Watching Activities 

Midnight's Children Official Trailer

1. Opening Scene — Nation & Identity in Saleem’s Narration

The opening of Midnight’s Children operates on a metonymic fusion of biography and historiography. Saleem claims he was born at the stroke of midnight on August 15, 1947, the precise moment of India’s political independence. This alignment is not a mere coincidence; it functions as a symbolic conceit that allows Rushdie (and Mehta, in adaptation) to dramatize Homi K. Bhabha’s notion of “nation as narration” — the idea that the nation is an imagined construct constantly rewritten through personal and collective stories.

From the very first frames, the personal “I” and the collective “we” are inextricably bound. Saleem’s birth is framed as a historical event, and India’s independence is personified through him. This conflation reflects Benedict Anderson’s “imagined communities”, where the nation is sustained through shared narratives rather than mere geography. However, Bhabha complicates Anderson by emphasizing that such narratives are hybrid, unstable, and marked by ambivalence — precisely what Saleem’s unreliable and fragmentary storytelling reveals.

In Mehta’s cinematic rendering, the retention of Rushdie’s own voiceover lends an aural authority to Saleem’s account, while the rich mise-en-scène situates his narrative within an India poised between colonial residue and postcolonial uncertainty. Thus, identity here is not a static possession but an evolving negotiation between personal memory and national myth-making.

2. Saleem & Shiva’s Birth Switch — Hybridization of Identity

The deliberate switching of Saleem and Shiva at birth by Mary Pereira serves as a narrative allegory for postcolonial hybridity.

• Biological hybridity: The two children’s origins cross religious (Hindu/Muslim) and class (elite/poor) boundaries.

• Social hybridity: Their upbringings invert their biological destinies — Saleem is raised in privilege without biological claim to it, Shiva in deprivation despite elite parentage.

• Political hybridity: Both are born at independence, making them “midnight’s children” whose identities are shaped by the political contradictions of the new nation.

In Bhabha’s “Third Space” framework, identity emerges from the intersection and negotiation of cultural difference. Saleem and Shiva embody the constructedness of social identity in postcolonial India — a rejection of essentialist notions of heritage.

The switch also mirrors Partha Chatterjee’s critique that postcolonial societies are built on rearrangements rather than total ruptures with the colonial order — the outward change in governance (the nation’s “outer domain”) coexists with deep structural continuities in inequality and division (the “inner domain” of social reality).

3. Saleem’s Narration — Trustworthiness & Metafiction

Saleem’s narration is openly subjective, digressive, and self-contradictory — qualities of an unreliable narrator in literary theory. He admits to compressing, exaggerating, and inventing, foregrounding the act of storytelling as much as the story itself. This is a hallmark of metafiction, which — in postcolonial contexts — becomes a political act: it resists the colonial historiographical model that presents itself as neutral and factual.

By destabilizing historical “truth,” Saleem enacts Bhabha’s concept of liminality: the postcolonial subject occupies a space between truth and myth, between memory and history. In Chatterjee’s terms, the narrator’s selectivity mirrors the selective nature of national histories, which privilege certain events and voices over others.

From an adaptation perspective, as Mendes & Kuortti note, Deepa Mehta’s choice to use Rushdie’s voice for narration sustains this metafictional intimacy, making the audience constantly aware that the film is mediated through one man’s highly personal — and politically inflected — lens.

4. Emergency Period Depiction — Democracy & Freedom

The film’s depiction of the Emergency (1975–77) is a pointed critique of the fragility of postcolonial democracy. Historical references to Indira Gandhi’s authoritarian measures — including mass sterilization drives, censorship, and slum demolitions — are presented as a betrayal of the ideals of independence.

Chatterjee’s framework helps explain this paradox: the postcolonial state inherits colonial mechanisms of governance, often retaining their coercive capacities in the name of modernization or national unity. What was once colonial discipline is repackaged as developmental policy.

Visually, Mehta juxtaposes the optimism of 1947 with the violence and fear of the Emergency, creating a historical arc from liberation to disillusionment. Thematically, the Emergency exposes the continuity of oppression, illustrating how postcolonial states can internalize the authoritarian habits of their colonial predecessors.

5. Use of English/Hindi/Urdu — Postcolonial Linguistic Identity

The multilingual texture of Midnight’s Children is more than stylistic — it is ideological. English is used for narration and elite discourse, while Hindi and Urdu dominate intimate and everyday exchanges. This reflects Rushdie’s “chutnification of English” (Imaginary Homelands) — the process by which colonial language is appropriated, blended with indigenous languages, and transformed into a vehicle for postcolonial expression.

By code-switching, the characters occupy Bhabha’s “Third Space”, where colonial and native cultures intersect, producing new, hybrid forms. Importantly, the film often leaves vernacular phrases untranslated, refusing to flatten linguistic difference for a global (especially Western) audience — an act of linguistic decolonization that asserts local authenticity over colonial accessibility.

Thus, language in the film is a site of resistance: it simultaneously acknowledges the colonial legacy of English and demonstrates how that legacy can be subverted to reflect India’s multilingual, hybrid identity.

3. Post-Watching Activities 

Group 1: Hybridity and Identity 

In Midnight’s Children, hybridity functions not merely as a state of fragmentation but as what Homi K. Bhabha, in The Location of Culture, terms a “Third Space” — a liminal zone where the negotiation of difference enables the emergence of new identities. Deepa Mehta’s adaptation visualises this space with striking cinematic devices, while Salman Rushdie’s voiceover narration infuses the narrative with the self-reflexivity of the novel. The intertwined trajectories of Saleem Sinai and Shiva become living embodiments of the postcolonial condition — culturally, religiously, politically, and existentially.

1. Cultural and Religious Hybridity in Saleem and Shiva

Saleem, the biological child of poor Hindu parents but raised in an elite Muslim household due to Mary Pereira’s deliberate baby-switch, is a palimpsest of cultural inheritances: his Muslim upbringing, Hindu biological roots, Anglicised education, and his exposure to India’s multiple linguistic and culinary traditions. He becomes a literal embodiment of syncretism — an “India in miniature.”

Shiva, conversely, is the biological son of the wealthy Sinai family but raised in poverty, developing into a hardened soldier whose political rise parallels the authoritarian turn of the nation during the Emergency. His hybridity lies less in religious or linguistic blending and more in his crossing of socio-political boundaries — from disenfranchised underclass to enforcer of state power.

Cinematic Evidence:

In the birth-at-midnight sequence, Mehta overlays the intimate cries of newborns with the grand fireworks and cheers marking India’s independence. The montage fuses the individual with the national, the personal rupture of mistaken parentage with the collective rupture of political transition. Costume contrasts — white hospital linens against bursts of tricolour fireworks — further underline hybridity’s simultaneous vulnerability and vitality.

Theoretical Link:

Partha Chatterjee’s critique of the “Eurocentric nation” applies here: Saleem and Shiva are not fixed emblems of a homogenised India, but fragments whose identities subvert the colonial binary of coloniser/colonised by embodying plurality within the self.

2. Symbolism of the Birth Switch — Postcolonial Dislocation

The hospital switch is more than a plot device; it is a metaphor for the violent re-mapping of identities under colonial and postcolonial conditions. Just as the 1947 Partition redrew borders overnight, displacing millions, Saleem and Shiva’s life trajectories are uprooted before they can form self-awareness. Their lives become an allegory for what Bhabha calls the translated subject — an individual “caught in-between” identities, shaped by displacement yet never entirely defined by it.

Cinematic Evidence:

Mehta frames Mary Pereira’s decision with tight close-ups, lingering on her moist eyes and trembling hands, then cutting to Nehru’s “Tryst with Destiny” speech. The juxtaposition binds personal moral crisis to national birth pains. The diegetic sound of Mary’s laboured breathing blends with the non-diegetic patriotic speech, creating an auditory hybridity that mirrors the visual one.

Comparative Reference:

This motif resonates with Khushwant Singh’s Train to Pakistan, where identity and belonging are violently severed by political events, leaving characters suspended between past affiliations and imposed new realities.

3. Hybrid Identity as Possibility

Bhabha warns against reading hybridity as the erosion of “pure” cultures; instead, it is a creative force. In Mehta’s film, hybridity is generative, not degenerative:

Saleem’s telepathic congress of the Midnight’s Children — each with a unique magical gift — mirrors the imagined nation as a federation of plural voices. It reimagines the body politic as a literal body composed of diverse, intersecting identities.

The Sinai household’s multilingual exchanges, interfaith rituals, and blended cuisines illustrate how hybrid spaces sustain creativity and resilience even amidst political and communal violence.

The interplay of English narration with Hindi and Urdu dialogue captures Rushdie’s concept of “Chutnification” — linguistic hybridity that refuses colonial purity and embraces the subversive pleasure of mixing tongues.

Cinematic Evidence:

Scenes in which characters switch fluidly between languages without subtitles for every phrase compel the audience to inhabit the hybridity rather than decode it. Camera pans between speakers in different languages without cutting, visually enacting the seamlessness of cultural negotiation.

Adaptation Theory Link:

Linda Hutcheon’s idea of adaptation as “repetition without replication” finds resonance here: Rushdie’s self-narration adds an extra-textual hybridity, combining the author’s literary voice with the film’s visual grammar. The result is a hybrid form — neither purely cinematic nor purely literary — that itself enacts the Third Space.

Comparative Reference:

Like Obi in Achebe’s No Longer at Ease, who straddles colonial modernity and indigenous tradition, Saleem embodies the burdens and freedoms of multiple inheritances. Similarly, Jamaica Kincaid’s Lucy portrays hybrid identity as a site of resistance and reinvention rather than confusion.

 Creative Task:

Take a paragraph from Rushdie’s prose or dialogue from the film and analyze how he “chutnifies” English.

... And here's the point: yes, it is guilt, because

our Winkie may be clever and funny but he's not

clever enough, and now it's time to reveal the first

secret of the centre-parting of William Methwold,

because it has dripped down to stain his face: one

day, long before ticktock and lockstockandbarrel

sales, Mr Methwold invited Winkie and his Vanita to

sing for him, privately, in what is now my parents'

main reception room; and after a while he said, 'Look

here, Wee Willie, do me a favour, man: I need this

prescription filling, terrible headaches, take it to

Kemp's Corner and get the chemist to give you the

pills, the servants are all down with colds.' Winkie,

being a poor man, said Yes sahib at once sahib and

left; and then Vanita was alone with the centre-parting,

feeling it exert a pull on her fingers that was

impossible to resist, and as Methwold sat immobile in

a cane chair, wearing a lightweight cream suit with a

single rose in the lapel, she found herself approaching

him, fingers outstretched, felt fingers touching hair;

found centre-parting; and began to rumple it up. 

Translate it into “standard” English, and then reflect on what is lost.

Standard English Translation

Yes, it is guilt, because our Winkie may be witty and humorous, but he is not quite clever enough. Now it is time to reveal the first secret connected to William Methwold’s centre-parted hair, for it has left its trace upon his face. Long before the hurried sales of his estate, Mr. Methwold once invited Winkie and his wife Vanita to sing privately for him in what is now my parents’ main reception room. After some time, he said, “Listen, Willie, do me a favour. I need to have this prescription filled—I have terrible headaches. Please take it to Kemp’s Corner and ask the chemist to give you the pills. All my servants are ill with colds.”

Winkie, being a poor man, immediately agreed and left at once. That left Vanita alone with Mr. Methwold and his centre-parting, which seemed to exert an irresistible attraction upon her fingers. As Methwold sat motionless in a cane chair, dressed in a light cream-coloured suit with a single rose in the lapel, Vanita found herself moving towards him. Her fingers reached out, touched his hair, found the parting, and began to ruffle it.

What Is Lost in Translation

By simplifying into “standard” English, several important things vanish:

1. Rhythmic Energy and Voice

   • Rushdie’s style is breathless, piling up phrases without pause (“ticktock and lockstockandbarrel sales”)—this creates a sense of oral storytelling, immediacy, and playfulness.

   • The translation flattens this rhythm into orderly sentences, losing the urgency and personality of the narrator’s voice.

2. Local Colour and Code-Switching

   • Words like “Yes sahib at once sahib” carry the historical flavour of colonial hierarchy, the linguistic mixing of English and Indian idiom.

   • The standard version neutralises it into “immediately agreed,” which erases the texture of colonial subordination.

3. Comic Irony

   • “Our Winkie may be clever and funny but he’s not clever enough” has a sly, mocking intimacy.

   • The plain version makes it sound like a neutral assessment, losing the ironic bite.

4. Symbolic Repetition

   • The obsessive focus on the “centre-parting”—repeated and almost ritualistic—gets dulled in standard English, where it reads like a normal detail of appearance rather than a charged symbol.

5. Cultural Texture

   • Phrases like “ticktock and lockstockandbarrel” reflect both colonial commerce and playful linguistic excess. Replacing them with “hurried sales of his estate” reduces that rich cultural-linguistic layering.

 In short: the “standard” English version makes the story more accessible, but it strips away Rushdie’s distinctive hybridity—the mingling of Indian idioms, colonial residues, satire, and oral storytelling cadences. The passage becomes clearer but also less alive, less mischievous, and less culturally resonant.

References :

Barad, Dilip. Postcolonial Voices: Analyzing Midnight's Children Through Theoretical Lenses.  Aug. 2024. ResearchGate, doi:10.13140/RG.2.2.16493.1968. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/383399335_Postcolonial_Voices_Analyzing_Midnight27s_Children_Through_Theoretical_Lenses

Barad, Dilip. Worksheet on Film Screening Deepa Mehta’s Midnight’s Children. August 2025. ResearchGate, doi:10.13140/RG.2.2.13686.31044. https://www.researchgate.net/publication/394324036_Worksheet_on_Film_Screening_Deepa_Mehta's_Midnight27s_Children

Mendes & Kuortti, Padma or No Padma: Audience in the

Adaptations of Midnight’s Children.

Rushdie, S. (1981). Midnight’s children. Jonathan Cape. Mehta, D. (Director). (2012). Midnight’s children [Film]. David Hamilton Productions.

The Patriot By Nissim Ezekiel

‘The Patriot’ by Nissim Ezekiel

This blog task is assigned by Prakruti Bhatt Ma'am (Department of English, MKBU).

Nissim Ezekiel
Born	16 December 1924 Bombay, Bombay Presidency, British India (now Mumbai, Maharashtra, India)
Died	9 January 2004 (aged 79) Mumbai, Maharashtra, India
Occupation	Poet, playwright, art critic, editor
Citizenship	• British India (1924–1947) • India (1947–2004)
Period	1952–2004
Genre	Modern Indian English Poetry
Notable work	Night of the Scorpion; Latter Day Psalms
Notable awards	Sahitya Akademi Award (1983) Padma Shri (1988)

Question : Comment on the ironic mode of ‘The Patriot’ by Nissim Ezekiel

Nissim Ezekiel’s The Patriot is a brilliant example of Indian English poetry that employs irony not merely as a rhetorical device but as the very soul of the poem’s voice and structure. Through the figure of the speaker — a well-meaning, simplistic, and idealistic Indian citizen — Ezekiel crafts an ironic commentary on language, politics, identity, cultural dislocation, and misplaced nationalism. The irony in this poem operates on multiple layers — linguistic, cultural, ideological, and personal — and forms a complex, nuanced engagement with modern Indian consciousness.

1. Verbal Irony: A Comic Tone with Serious Undertones

At the most apparent level, the irony in The Patriot arises from the speaker’s malapropisms, awkward constructions, and hybridized use of Indian-English, which at first glance might seem merely comic.

 For example:

"Wine is for the drunkards only. / What do you think of the prospects of world peace?"

Here, the speaker’s sudden leap from a moral observation about alcohol to a question about world peace is comically abrupt. But Ezekiel’s humor is not to ridicule — it is affectionate. The verbal irony lies in how the speaker earnestly attempts to engage in global discourse with limited linguistic tools, unintentionally creating humor — yet never mockery. His statements, like “Ancient Indian Wisdom is 100% correct, I should say even 200% correct,” are naïve in expression but sincere in sentiment.

2. Dramatic Irony: The Gap Between Intention and Perception

Dramatic irony emerges from the gap between what the speaker intends to say and what the reader perceives. The speaker aspires to be taken seriously — he reads The Times of India to improve his English, quotes Shakespeare (“Friends, Romans, Countrymen...”), and discusses global politics and Indian philosophy. However, his speech is riddled with errors and clichés:

“Be patiently, brothers and sisters.”

The reader sees the struggle of a common man trying to articulate noble thoughts in a foreign tongue, and the tragicomic result is deeply ironic. But again, Ezekiel doesn’t ask us to laugh at this man, but to see the irony in the postcolonial condition — where English is both a means of empowerment and a symbol of alienation. The speaker is ironically caught between love for his country and a desire for global belonging, making his patriotism a paradox of sincerity and confusion.

3. Situational Irony: The Paradox of Patriotism

The title “The Patriot” itself is ironic. The speaker denounces violence (“I am standing for peace and non-violence”) and praises Gandhi, but in the same breath, he stereotypes other nations:

“Pakistan behaving like this, / China behaving like that…”

He also mentions Indian unity — “All men are brothers, no?” — but immediately points out internal divisions:

“In India also / Gujaratis, Maharashtrians, Hindi Wallahs / All brothers – / Though some are having funny habits.”

This situational irony highlights the contradictions within nationalist ideologies — the ideal of unity versus the reality of division. The speaker dreams of Ram Rajya (a utopian India), but his views are laced with unconscious prejudices and simplifications. In this, Ezekiel critiques not just the speaker, but the larger societal discourse of patriotism that oscillates between genuine pride and naïve insularity.

4. Irony of Language and Colonial Legacy

Ezekiel’s deliberate use of Indian English or “Babu English” is a key source of irony. Lines like:

“Not that I am ever tasting the wine. / I’m the total teetotaller, completely total,”

are endearingly clumsy but reflect a deep postcolonial truth — how colonized societies internalize the colonizer’s language but adapt it to their own idiom. The irony is that while the speaker attempts to assert his identity and patriotism through English, he does so in a way that reveals the lasting imprint of colonialism. His English is not “perfect,” yet it is authentic — a hybrid tongue, both comic and valid.

This linguistic irony also carries political weight: it points to the tensions in post-independence India between the indigenous and the imported, the spiritual and the material, the Gandhian ideal and the consumerist reality.

5. Irony as Cultural Critique

Ezekiel does not use irony to undermine the speaker’s sincerity but to reveal the ironies of modern Indian life. The speaker laments that young people are “Too much going for fashion and foreign thing,” even as he himself quotes Shakespeare and reads an English-language newspaper. The ironic juxtaposition of his words and actions reflect the cultural disorientation of the Indian middle class, caught between traditional values and modern influences.

Even the offer of lassi as a superior drink to wine is symbolic irony — it’s a nationalist gesture (asserting Indian traditions), but offered in the language of colonial legacy, highlighting the clash and coexistence of cultures.

6. Irony and Affection: The Tone of the Poet

Perhaps the most important dimension of irony in this poem is Ezekiel’s tone. Unlike harsh satire, Ezekiel’s ironic mode is affectionate, humorous, and understanding. He does not ridicule the speaker for his limitations. Instead, he honors the sincerity, simplicity, and moral clarity of a man who, despite his lack of polish, dreams of peace and unity.

By the end, the speaker becomes a lovable, well-intentioned figure who believes in peace, drinks lassi, quotes Shakespeare, and believes Ram Rajya is coming. These lines are not sarcastic, but hopeful — the irony becomes a tool for empathy rather than mockery.

Conclusion: The Patriot’s Irony is Human, Not Cruel

In The Patriot, Nissim Ezekiel employs irony not as a weapon to demean but as a lens to reveal the complex contradictions of postcolonial Indian identity. The ironic mode here is tender, nuanced, and multi-faceted — a mix of humor, sadness, confusion, and clarity. Through this figure of the “common man,” Ezekiel captures the tragicomic essence of Indian patriotism, which is caught between Gandhian idealism, colonial inheritance, linguistic insecurity, and cultural hybridity.

Thus, The Patriot is ironic — but it is also deeply human. Its laughter is never at the cost of the speaker’s dignity. Instead, Ezekiel invites us to see ourselves — our confusions, aspirations, and hypocrisies — mirrored in this voice. The poem, through irony, becomes both a critique and a celebration.

Question : Nissim Ezekiel as the True Patriot

Nissim Ezekiel (1924–2004), often hailed as the father of modern Indian English poetry, occupies a significant position in post-independence Indian literature. Among his many poems, “The Patriot” is a fine example of his ability to blend satire, irony, and social commentary with deep concern for his nation. While on the surface the poem appears humorous—written in broken, Indianized English—it is in fact a profound meditation on the concept of patriotism, especially in the Indian context. Ezekiel emerges not only as a critic of the superficialities of nationalism but also as a true patriot, someone who questions his society in order to reform it.

1. The Satirical Mode and National Identity

Ezekiel’s use of comic errors, wrong syntax, and colloquial English in “The Patriot” is not mere parody. It reflects the linguistic struggles of common Indians in articulating modern ideals, especially in English, the language of both colonial oppression and modern progress. The exaggerated style—“I am standing for peace and non-violence”—captures the rhetorical enthusiasm of pseudo-patriots, but beneath the irony lies Ezekiel’s genuine commitment to Gandhian ideals of peace and non-violence.

By mocking hollow imitations of Gandhian discourse, Ezekiel is not ridiculing Gandhi himself but rather the superficial appropriation of his principles. In this way, he positions himself as a true patriot, one who believes patriotism must go beyond words into practice.

2. Critique of Superficial Patriotism

The poem reveals Ezekiel’s disapproval of shallow nationalism, where individuals declare love for the country in public but imitate Western culture blindly in private. For instance, the poet-patriot laments that the “modern generation is neglecting” ancient Indian wisdom and is “too much going for fashion and foreign thing.” The tone is humorous, but Ezekiel is genuinely disturbed by the growing cultural mimicry, consumerism, and erosion of authentic Indian values after independence.

This dual stance—criticism of both blind Western imitation and hollow traditionalism—shows Ezekiel’s balanced outlook. He is not a blind nationalist but a critical one, which is the hallmark of a true patriot.

3. Patriotism Rooted in Self-Reflection

What sets Ezekiel apart is his insistence on self-criticism as a mode of patriotism. While many poets and leaders glorified the nation uncritically, Ezekiel chose to expose its weaknesses—its corruption, hypocrisy, poverty, and pretensions. His patriotism is not performative but reformative. By holding a mirror to society, he hoped to inspire genuine change.

This aligns with Rabindranath Tagore’s idea that true love for the nation lies not in blind adoration but in striving for its moral and spiritual progress. Ezekiel’s poetry, especially “The Patriot”, works in this same direction.

4. Gandhian Ideals and the Indian Psyche

The poem echoes Gandhian thought, especially the stress on peace, non-violence, and indigenous wisdom. However, Ezekiel portrays how ordinary Indians fail to live up to these ideals. The speaker’s comic diction reflects a gap between ideals and practice. Yet, by emphasizing the importance of these Gandhian values, Ezekiel asserts their relevance in modern India.

Thus, Ezekiel can be seen as a true patriot in the Gandhian sense: someone who promotes moral awakening and insists on ethical self-discipline, rather than merely chanting slogans of nationalism.

5. Universalism in Patriotism

Ezekiel also broadens patriotism to a global scale. By questioning “Why world is fighting fighting / Why all people of world / Are not following Mahatma Gandhi,” the poet emphasizes universal peace. His patriotism transcends narrow nationalism and aspires for international brotherhood. This aligns with the cosmopolitan element of Ezekiel’s identity as an Indian Jewish poet, deeply rooted in Indian culture yet open to global human values.

6. The Poet’s Indian Identity

Ezekiel was sometimes questioned for his Indian-ness due to his Jewish background. Yet through his poems—whether “Night of the Scorpion”, “Background, Casually”, or “The Patriot”—he consistently engaged with the social, cultural, and political realities of India. In “The Patriot”, he does not romanticize India blindly; instead, he criticizes its flaws in order to strengthen it. This act of honest engagement makes him more authentically Indian than those who merely repeat patriotic slogans.

Conclusion

Nissim Ezekiel, through “The Patriot”, emerges as a true patriot not because he glorifies India unconditionally but because he engages with its contradictions and failings in a spirit of reform. His satirical yet sincere voice unmasks the superficiality of hollow nationalism, calls for a revival of Gandhian values, critiques cultural mimicry, and aspires for a universal human brotherhood. True patriotism, as Ezekiel demonstrates, lies in honest self-criticism and a constant striving for the nation’s moral, cultural, and spiritual growth.

In this sense, Ezekiel is not just a poet of irony but a poet of national conscience—an intellectual who used his art to question, refine, and strengthen the idea of India.

Step 2: Group Discussion Report

1. Which poem and questions were discussed by the group?

Our group discussed Nissim Ezekiel’s dramatic monologue “The Patriot.” Each member contributed from a different angle:

• Rutvi Pal: About the poet, Nissim Ezekie

• Devangini Vyas: Plot summary of the poem

• Shrusti Chaudhari: Critical analysis

• Trupti Hadiya: Stanza-wise thematic study

• Rajdeep Bavaliya: Dual interpretation—satire vs. affectionate portrayal

• Sagar Bokadiya: Question of whether broken English is satirical, sympathetic, or both

• Krishna Vala: Style and form

The central questions revolved around the poet’s purpose, the speaker’s voice, the balance between humor and respect, and the cultural implications of Ezekiel’s language.

2. Was there any unique approach or technique used by your group to discuss the topic?

Yes. Instead of randomly exchanging ideas, we divided the discussion systematically. Each participant focused on one dimension of the poem—biography, summary, themes, critical debate, and style. This technique of role-based division helped us avoid repetition and made the conversation comprehensive. We also compared two interpretative frameworks—satire and affection—which deepened the discussion.

3. Who led the discussion or contributed most to the discussion?

While the discussion was collaborative, Rajdeep Bavaliya contributed significantly by foregrounding the tension between satire and affection. His points encouraged further debate, especially when linked with Sagar’s question on whether the humor was mocking or sympathetic. However, Shrusti’s critical analysis also played a key role in shaping the direction of the conversation.

4. Did everyone contribute equally?

Yes, each member prepared in advance and shared insights. Some, like Rajdeep and Sagar, spoke more at length because their topics opened up debates, while others—such as Rutvi and Devangini—provided foundational knowledge that anchored the discussion. Thus, contributions were not identical in length but balanced in importance.

5. Which points were easy and which ones were difficult for everyone in your group to understand?

Easy Points:

• Rutvi’s contextual background on Ezekiel’s life and works was simple to grasp.

• Devangini’s plot summary gave a clear entry point into the poem.

Difficult Points:

• Rajdeep’s exploration of satire versus sympathy was intellectually demanding, as it required weighing two contradictory interpretations.

• Sagar’s question about the function of broken English demanded nuanced thinking about language as both satire and empathy.

• Krishna’s stylistic analysis of free verse, allusions, and linguistic patterns also required extra effort from the group.

Learning Outcome

The group discussion on Nissim Ezekiel’s “The Patriot” enabled us to achieve several important outcomes. We developed a clear contextual understanding of the poet’s life and his role in shaping modern Indian English poetry, which gave us a strong foundation for interpreting the poem. Through the plot summary and stanza-wise thematic study, we deepened our comprehension of both the surface narrative and the underlying cultural tensions within the poem. The debate on satire versus affection enhanced our critical thinking, as we learned how a single text can sustain multiple interpretations and how irony can function with both humor and compassion. Our analysis of Ezekiel’s use of Indian English further made us aware of language as both a comic device and a marker of cultural authenticity in postcolonial literature. The structured, role-based method of discussion improved our collaborative skills, ensuring that every member’s preparation added value to the dialogue. Most importantly, the exercise strengthened our analytical confidence by encouraging us to balance textual evidence with interpretative arguments. Finally, we recognized the continuing relevance of Ezekiel’s critique of superficial patriotism, reminding us that literature often mirrors contemporary challenges of nationalism, identity, and communication.

References :

Ezekiel, Nissim. “The Patriot.” All Poetry, 1977, allpoetry.com/poem/8592073-The-Patriot-by-Nissim-Ezekiel.

Krishnankutty, Pia. “Nissim Ezekiel, a Pioneer of Indian-English Poetry, Was Bound by Layers of His Identity.” ThePrint, 16 Dec. 2019, theprint.in/theprint-profile/nissim-ezekiel-a-pioneer-of-indian-english-poetry-was-bound-by-layers-of-his-identity/334326.

“Nissim Ezekiel - Poems by the Famous Poet.” All Poetry, https://allpoetry.com/Nissim-Ezekiel.