Postcolonial Studies: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

 

Postcolonial Studies: Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie 

Hello, this blog is part of a Sunday reading assignment given by Dilip Sir. In this blog, we will discuss the ideas presented in Chimamanda Adichie's videos. Click here

for more information.

Video 1 :- Talk on importance of story/literature

1. Early Influence of British/American Children’s Books

Growing up in Nigeria, Adichie was an early reader immersed in Western stories. As a result, she unconsciously wrote characters who were white and spoke of snow and ginger beer—despite never having experienced those things herself.

2. Discovery of African Literature

Her perspective shifted when she discovered African writers like Chinua Achebe and Camara Laye. Suddenly, characters with her skin tone and lived experience started appearing in literature—and she began writing stories she could recognize.

3. Danger of the Single Story

When a story is repeatedly told about a person or place—without counter-narratives—it can flatten the complexity of human experience. Adichie describes how her perception of her houseboy Fide’s family was shaped solely by poverty, until she saw their talent when visiting them.

4. Personal Encounters with Stereotypes

In the U.S., her roommate assumed Adichie couldn’t speak good English, refered to “tribal music,” and was surprised by her pop music taste. This highlighted how deeply ingrained single stories about Africa can be.

5. Power Dynamics in Storytelling

Adichie introduces the Igbo word “nkali”, meaning "to be greater than another," to illustrate how stories are a form of power. Whoever controls the narrative can define what becomes the central story—often with lasting consequences.

6. Critique of “Authentic African” Stereotypes

A professor criticized her novels for not being “authentically African” because her characters were educated and middle-class. Adichie suggests that those definitions are limited and often shaped by stereotypes.

7. Self-Reflection and Own Single Story

Adichie also admits to initially embracing a single story herself—about Mexicans as abject immigrants—until she visited Mexico and recognized the richness and everyday humanity she had ignored.

8. Broader Impacts of Single Stories

She emphasizes that single stories are not always false, but they are incomplete. They limit our understanding, emphasize difference over commonality, and ultimately rob individuals or cultures of their dignity.

9. Toward a Balance of Stories

Adichie advocates for multiple, diverse stories: about successes, resilience, joy, innovation—not just catastrophe. She cites examples like Nigerian publisher Muhtar Bakare, passionate readers, Nollywood’s creative energy, and everyday entrepreneurial spirit. She and her publisher have launched Farafina Trust to support libraries, workshops, and literature access in Nigeria.

10. Stories as Restoration

Ultimately, Adichie reminds us that stories can both wound and heal. Rejecting the single story allows us to embrace depth, empathy, and a richer, more human understanding—what she calls “a kind of paradise.”

Video 2 :- We Should All be Faminists

1. Gender Socialization Limits Us All

Adichie illustrates how societal expectations box us—boys into restrictive masculinity and girls into diminishing themselves to appease men.

Boys are taught to suppress vulnerability and equate worth with toughness.

Girls are trained to be overly accommodating—"shrink themselves" to avoid threatening men.

2. Outdated Gender Roles

She points out that while leadership once required physical strength, today's world values creativity and intelligence—traits where gender makes no difference. Yet, gender stereotypes persist.

3. Everyday Examples of Gender Bias

Adichie provides real-life anecdotes to reveal subtle sexism:

A woman entering alone is assumed to be a sex worker.

Waitstaff addressing men while ignoring women in mixed groups, reinforcing invisibility.

4. Marriage Expectations & Female Limitations

She criticizes how women are conditioned to prioritize marriage above all—sometimes sacrificing careers, property, or even authenticity to avoid intimidating men.

5. Double Standards in Behavior

Adichie highlights the divergent expectations:

Men comfortably show dominance and are seen as assertive.

Women risk being labeled intimidating or unfeminine if they assert themselves.

6. Questioning “Bottom Power” & Cultural Norms

She challenges the idea that women exercising sexual power (“bottom power”) is real empowerment—instead, it often legitimizes dependency on male privilege. She emphasizes that culture isn’t immutable—people can reshape it.

Video 3 :- Talk on importance of Truth in Post-Truth Era

Chimamanda Adichie’s speech revolves around the value of truth as a guiding principle in life. She insists that sincerity with oneself and with others is essential, even though it may not always bring external rewards. What honesty does offer, however, is a sense of inner peace and dignity.

She underscores the need for self-awareness and the acceptance of one’s own flaws. Drawing on her personal experiences, Adichie admits that her earliest writings were not strong, but facing that reality allowed her to grow and ultimately achieve success. For her, mistakes and setbacks are not failures but opportunities to learn and improve. She calls on graduates to lead with integrity and to recognize truth as a central quality of strong leadership.

Adichie also points to the role of literature in shaping empathy and broadening perspective. By reading widely, she argues, one can develop deeper insight into others and make wiser choices. She acknowledges that telling the truth can be difficult—particularly in political or public settings—but stresses the importance of speaking honestly with courage.

Sharing her own battles with procrastination and anxiety, she highlights that self-doubt can coexist with confidence and can, in fact, help propel success. She encourages graduates to pursue their individual journeys rather than conforming to traditional expectations of success.

Ultimately, Adichie urges her audience to see truth as the foundation of a meaningful life: to admit imperfections, to embrace learning through failure, and to use literature and empathy as tools for navigating challenges and leading with wisdom.

References : 

Harvard University. “Author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie Addresses Harvard’s Class of 2018.” YouTube, 23 May 2018, www.youtube.com/watch?v=hrAAEMFAG9E.

TED. “Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie: The Danger of a Single Story | TED.” YouTube, 7 Oct. 2009, www.youtube.com/watch?v=D9Ihs241zeg.

TEDx Talks. “We Should All Be Feminists | Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie | TEDxEuston.” YouTube, 12 Apr. 2013, www.youtube.com/watch?v=hg3umXU_qWc.

Screening Film Adaptation of The Reluctant Fundamentalist

 Screening Film Adaptation of The Reluctant Fundamentalist

This blog is based on film screening adaption of the Reluctant Fundamentalist. This blog has been assigned by Dilip Barad sir. for more information Click Here.

Introduction: The Reluctant Fundamentalist in Post-

9/11 Postcolonial Studies

Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist (2007) is a metafictional monologue staged in a Lahore café, where Changez, a Pakistani Princeton graduate and former analyst, recounts his journey from Wall Street success to disillusioned exile following the events of September 11, 2001. Hamid initially drafted the novel before 9/11 but ultimately restructured it to address the seismic shift in his protagonist’s identity and the broader cultural landscape.

Positioned at the crossroads of empire and diaspora, the novel interrogates the formation of “reluctant” identities shaped by suspicion, mimicry, hybridity, and marginalization. Drawing upon postcolonial theory—such as Bhabha’s “third space” and hybridity—the text explores how Changez negotiates a fractured self between East and West.

In the post-9/11 milieu, the novel challenges dominant narratives of the Global War on Terror. It refuses simplistic binaries of terrorism and civilization, reframing fundamentalism not solely as religious fanaticism but also as the unyielding ideology of corporate and state power.

Mira Nair’s 2012 film adaptation premiered at Venice and Toronto Film Festivals, positioning itself as more conciliatory: attempting to mediate East– West mistrust, yet still entangled in the cycle of orientalism and re-orientalism.

Hence, both the novel and the film gesture toward the persistent structures of empire—territorial or deterritorialized—under which resistance, identity formation, and mistrust continue to circulate.

A. Pre-Watching Activities :

Critical Reading & Reflection

Ania Loomba’s discussion of the “New American Empire” reframes globalization not simply as the domination of a Western center over a marginalized periphery, but as a more fluid and pervasive network of political, economic, and cultural power. In this view, empire operates through dispersed systems of control—financial markets, cultural industries, media networks—that integrate and discipline both “center” and “margin” within the same global order. Michael Hardt and Antonio Negri’s Empire similarly moves beyond the center–margin binary, presenting empire as a decentered, deterritorialized apparatus of sovereignty that functions through a web of global governance, transnational capital, and military presence. In their model, power is less about one nation controlling another and more about a constantly shifting, borderless network that shapes subjectivities and relations worldwide.

When applied to Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist, these frameworks illuminate the novel’s portrayal of post-9/11 geopolitics as an entanglement rather than a simple opposition of East and West. Changez’s journey from Lahore to Princeton and Wall Street, and back again, embodies hybridity—not as a harmonious blend but as a space of tension, negotiation, and fracture. His immersion in American corporate culture reveals how empire recruits talent from the “margins” into its global machinery, while his eventual disillusionment signals the limits of this inclusion when geopolitical crises erupt.

Loomba’s perspective helps us see that Changez’s alienation is not just a reaction to U.S. political dominance, but to an entire system of neoliberal globalization in which identities are commodified and loyalties are conditional. Hardt & Negri’s decentered empire explains why Changez’s struggle is not against a single nation-state but against a transnational order that shapes both Pakistan and America. The novel thus becomes less about a binary clash of civilizations and more about the uneasy position of the hybrid subject navigating a networked empire that is everywhere and nowhere at once.

Contextual Research

Mohsin Hamid, a Pakistani writer educated at Princeton and Harvard, began The Reluctant Fundamentalist in the late 1990s, initially envisioning it as a cross-cultural love story. The early drafts focused on themes of identity, migration, and the tensions of belonging between Pakistan and the United States. However, the September 11, 2001 attacks and the subsequent U.S. “War on Terror” profoundly altered the global political climate—and Hamid’s narrative. Returning to the manuscript after 9/11, Hamid reframed the story to foreground the shifting perceptions of Muslims in America, the rise of Islamophobia, and the reassertion of imperial power in a globalized world. The transformation of the novel mirrors the transformation of its historical moment: what began as a tale of personal and cultural negotiation became a meditation on empire, suspicion, and alienation. Hamid’s own experience of straddling multiple worlds lends authenticity to a work shaped by both pre- and post-9/11 consciousness.

B. While-Watching Activities :

Character Conflicts & Themes

1. Father/Son or Generational Split — Corporate Modernity vs. Poetic-Rooted Values

Symbolism: Changez’s father embodies an older, culturally rooted identity — a poet and intellectual who values heritage, language, and artistic dignity over material wealth. His dignified poverty contrasts with the gleaming skyscrapers and sleek offices of Underwood Samson.

Narrative Tension: Changez’s work in valuation represents corporate modernity’s cold efficiency, reducing complex realities to “focus on the fundamentals,” in contrast to his father’s holistic, human-centered worldview.

Implicit Conflict: The father never openly condemns Changez’s path, but the difference in their lifestyles suggests a quiet generational rift — one where tradition is eroded by global capitalism.

2. Changez and Erica — Objectification & Emotional Estrangement

Thematic Layer: Erica’s fixation on her dead lover Chris mirrors the West’s nostalgic hold on a selective past, while Changez remains an outsider she can’t fully see or love.

Visual Cues in Film:

Erica photographing Changez suggests an objectifying gaze, reducing him to an image rather than engaging with his full humanity.

The blurring/fading of Changez’s image in her viewfinder reflects emotional distance.

Narrative Function: Erica’s inability to connect parallels America’s estrangement from “the other” — fascinated yet unwilling to engage deeply beyond the surface.

3. Profit vs. Knowledge / Book — Commodification vs. Cultural Value

Metaphor: In Istanbul, Changez visits the book market — a space rich in cultural heritage — but his business purpose is to dismantle a publishing company.

Cinematic Contrast:

The warm, textured visuals of old books and artisans stand against the sterile, metallic look of Underwood Samson’s offices.

This juxtaposition stages a symbolic battle between the marketplace of ideas and the marketplace of profit.

Theme: Commodification transforms knowledge into numbers; cultural artifacts become “assets” rather than living repositories of meaning.

Title Significance & Dual Fundamentalism

Corporate Fundamentalism:

At Underwood Samson, “focus on the fundamentals” becomes a corporate creed — ruthless efficiency, profit maximization, and valuation stripped of human context.

This mirrors the rigidity of religious fundamentalism — both reduce the complex world into a simplified, inflexible framework.

Visual Parallel (Film): Cold, angular office interiors with sharp lighting echo the austerity and dogma often associated with extremist spaces.

Religious/Political Fundamentalism:

Changez is never shown as embracing religious extremism, but post-9/11 racial profiling forces others to see him through that lens.

The film’s interrogation framing device blurs lines between legitimate dissent, nationalism, and extremism.

The “Reluctance” in the Title

Toward Terrorism:

He rejects joining any militant cause outright; instead, his “resistance” becomes intellectual and cultural.

Film captures this through his controlled, deliberate tone in conversation with Bobby (the American journalist).

Toward Corporate Dominance:

Even at the height of his success, Changez begins to doubt the morality of his work.

In Istanbul, surrounded by centuries-old cultural richness, his unease is palpable — close-ups on his face linger as he listens to the valuation pitch, suggesting internal conflict.

Ambivalence as Theme:

The reluctance is not passivity but a refusal to be fully claimed by either ideology — a liminal position that is both isolating and self-defining.

Empire Narratives

Post-9/11 Paranoia & Mistrust

Visual Language:

Surveillance shots — Changez being watched at airports, followed by security — reflect the era’s culture of suspicion.

Recurrent close-ups of eyes watching through glass, CCTV imagery, and metal detectors convey constant monitoring.

Narrative Effect:

Even mundane actions (boarding a plane, entering a building) are tinged with threat.

Changez’s brown skin and beard become “evidence” in the eyes of the security apparatus, symbolizing how racial profiling flourishes in imperial paranoia.

Dialogue Across Borders

Framing Device:

The conversation between Changez and Bobby (the American journalist) is the film’s central “border” — an intellectual exchange bridging opposing perspectives.

The café setting is semi-neutral, yet the presence of armed guards outside reminds us that this dialogue exists under threat.

Power Dynamics:

Both characters control the narrative at different moments — Bobby probing for a confession, Changez asserting his own story — illustrating the contested nature of “truth” in empire discourse.

Spaces of Ambiguity — Complicity or Resistance

Café as Liminal Space:

Physically located in Lahore, but layered with global political tensions, the café becomes a “third space” (Bhabha) where meaning is constantly negotiated.

Ambiguous Acts:

Changez’s teaching inspires nationalist pride — is it a form of cultural resistance or a subtle complicity in anti-Western sentiment?

Bobby’s role is unclear until the climax — he could be an ally, a spy, or both.

Visual Ambiguity:

Shadowed interiors, partial reflections in glass, and shots framed through doorways suggest moral and political uncertainty.

C. Post-Watching Activities :

Short Analytical Essay

Negotiating Identity, Power, and Resistance in The Reluctant Fundamentalist: A Postcolonial Reading

Mira Nair’s 2012 adaptation of Mohsin Hamid’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist offers a visually and narratively rich meditation on the complexities of identity, power, and resistance in the post-9/11 world. While Hamid’s novel is structured as a dramatic monologue, creating intimacy and sustained ambiguity between speaker and listener, the film reframes the story through a dialogue between Changez and Bobby, an American journalist. This shift opens space for cinematic strategies—visual symbolism, cross-cutting, and mise-en-scène—that reconfigure the postcolonial negotiations of selfhood found in the text. Through the lenses of hybridity, third space, orientalism, and re-orientalism, the adaptation articulates the tensions of being simultaneously shaped by, and resistant to, the dominant narratives of global power.

Hybridity and the Third Space

Homi Bhabha’s concepts of hybridity and the “third space” illuminate the instability of cultural identities in a globalized, post-9/11 environment. Changez, a Princeton-educated Pakistani who thrives in the corporate world of Underwood Samson, embodies hybridity: he moves with ease between Urdu poetry at home and Wall Street valuations abroad. Yet the film underscores that hybridity is not a neutral blending—it is a contested position.

Visually, Nair stages hybridity in transitional spaces: airport terminals, corporate lobbies, hotel corridors. These are not homes, but liminal zones where allegiances are tested. In one key scene, Changez gazes at the New York skyline from his office, his reflection superimposed over the glass. The image literalizes the “third space” as a site of negotiation between his Pakistani heritage and his corporate persona. In the novel, such negotiations are internal and rhetorical; in the film, they are given physical and spatial form, showing hybridity as lived, embodied tension.

Orientalism and the Post-9/11 Gaze

Edward Said’s concept of orientalism—where the East is constructed as exotic, dangerous, or backward—takes on renewed intensity in the post-9/11 moment. Nair’s film highlights how Changez is subjected to an orientalist gaze that shifts from fascination to suspicion. Early scenes show Americans admiring his accent, sophistication, and “exotic” charm; later, the same features mark him as a potential threat.

A pivotal sequence depicts Changez being detained at an airport, ordered to strip, and subjected to invasive searches. The camera adopts a subjective perspective, placing the audience in Changez’s position—lights glare, questions barked, hands intrusive—turning the viewer into the object of the gaze. This direct visual strategy mirrors the novel’s rhetorical challenge to its reader, asking them to consider their complicity in such surveillance logics.

Re-orientalism and Narrative Framing

According to Lisa Lau and Ana Cristina Mendes, re-orientalism describes how authors of Eastern origin, writing in English for Western markets, may reproduce orientalist tropes—consciously or otherwise—because they are mediated by Western publishing and consumption patterns. Hamid’s novel both exploits and critiques these expectations. The dramatic monologue form plays with the reader’s suspicion: Changez could be confessing to militancy, or simply telling his life story. This sustained ambiguity forces the reader to examine their own assumptions about a Pakistani Muslim man post-9/11.

The film’s adaptation complicates this dynamic. By introducing Bobby as an interlocutor and visible listener, Nair shifts the power from readerly imagination to an onscreen character who embodies Western skepticism. While this makes the exchange more dialogic, it also risks softening the novel’s sharper re-orientalist provocation. In the book, the “you” addressed has no voice and cannot defend itself; in the film, Bobby can challenge Changez, question his motives, and even express empathy. The result is a more balanced exchange, but one that may resolve ambiguity more quickly than the novel intended.

Corporate and Religious Fundamentalism

The title The Reluctant Fundamentalist operates on two registers: religious fundamentalism and corporate fundamentalism. Underwood Samson’s mantra—“focus on the fundamentals”—demands a ruthless stripping away of human complexity in pursuit of profit. This reductionist ethos mirrors the absolutism of extremist ideologies, which similarly compress reality into rigid dogma.

Nair uses visual parallels to connect these worlds: the uniformity of suits in a corporate boardroom mirrors the disciplined lines of protestors in Lahore. Cold, angular interiors and warm, chaotic street scenes are edited in rhythmic alternation, suggesting that both spheres demand loyalty, discipline, and ideological conformity. Changez’s rejection of Underwood Samson, catalyzed by his Istanbul encounter with a centuries-old publishing house, represents a refusal of both forms of fundamentalism. In the novel, this moment is narrated introspectively; in the film, the warm textures of old books and the owner’s dignified resistance to corporate dismantling create a tactile, sensorial rejection of commodification.

Resistance and Ambiguity

The question of whether Changez is a figure of resistance, a victim of empire, or both is central to postcolonial readings of the story. The film foregrounds his transformation from corporate insider to public intellectual, framing his teaching and nationalist rhetoric as a counter-narrative to American hegemony. Yet Nair preserves enough ambiguity to avoid making Changez a straightforward hero. His lectures, while impassioned, are delivered under the watchful eyes of political activists and possible militants, suggesting that resistance exists within a web of competing powers.

The final sequence heightens this uncertainty. In the novel, the ending remains entirely unresolved: the reader never learns whether Changez is complicit in violence or simply caught in a tragic misunderstanding. The film introduces more overt action—a hostage crisis, armed intervention—which provides closure at the cost of some ambiguity. However, even here, Nair keeps the camera on Changez’s face in the aftermath, inviting viewers to question whether reconciliation between East and West is possible, or whether mutual suspicion is too deeply entrenched.

Spaces of Ambiguity

Postcolonial theory emphasizes liminality—the in-between spaces where identities and power relations are negotiated. In the film, the Lahore café where Changez and Bobby meet functions as such a space. It is geographically in Pakistan but politically charged by American interests. Armed guards outside and soft, intimate lighting inside produce a visual tension between danger and dialogue. This mirrors the novel’s use of a single sustained conversation in a public space, where the possibility of violence is always present but never certain.

These spaces of ambiguity resist the binary logic of empire. They suggest that complicity and resistance can coexist, that identity can be multiple rather than fixed, and that dialogue can occur even under the shadow of mistrust.

Conclusion

Through its visual strategies and narrative restructuring, Nair’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist reimagines Hamid’s postcolonial meditation on identity, power, and resistance for the cinematic medium. By drawing on postcolonial concepts of hybridity, third space, orientalism, and re-orientalism, the film captures the unstable negotiations of selfhood in a post-9/11 world. While the adaptation inevitably shifts some of the novel’s rhetorical ambiguity into more concrete visual forms, it preserves the core tension between belonging and estrangement, complicity and defiance.

In doing so, The Reluctant Fundamentalist refuses easy categorization. Changez remains a figure suspended between worlds, a man shaped by the forces of global capitalism and imperial suspicion, yet unwilling to submit fully to either. The film’s greatest strength lies in its ability to stage this liminality—not as a failure of allegiance, but as a conscious act of resistance to the totalizing narratives of empire.

Reflective Journal

Watching Mira Nair’s The Reluctant Fundamentalist made me aware of how much my own position as a viewer shapes the way I interpret narratives of identity, power, and representation in a post-9/11 world. Before engaging with the film, I was familiar with the language of postcolonial theory—hybridity, orientalism, the third space—but I saw them mostly as analytical tools. The viewing experience made these concepts feel less like abstractions and more like lived realities for people negotiating between cultures, loyalties, and systems of power.

As a viewer who has not experienced the specific racial profiling and geopolitical suspicion depicted in the film, I found myself reflecting on the privilege of safety and unquestioned belonging. In scenes where Changez is detained at the airport or followed by security, I felt a mix of empathy and discomfort. The camera’s point-of-view shots pulled me into his experience, but I also recognized that my ability to “step out” of that discomfort once the scene ended is a form of distance that Changez, as a fictional representation of many real individuals, could not claim.

The film also challenged some of my unconscious assumptions about the neatness of “resistance” versus “complicity.” Initially, I wanted to read Changez’s return to Pakistan and his public critique of American foreign policy as a clear act of resistance. However, the film’s ambiguity—showing him surrounded by political activists, speaking in spaces that could be co-opted by militant groups—complicated this. I began to see how postcolonial subjects under a global empire often navigate moral “grey zones” where every choice is entangled with competing forms of power.

My understanding of hybridity deepened through the film’s visual strategies. Changez’s ability to operate fluently in New York’s corporate world and Lahore’s intellectual circles initially seemed like a strength—a form of cultural dexterity. Yet, as the narrative unfolded, hybridity also appeared as a site of vulnerability. His “in-between” identity made him both an insider and an outsider, accepted temporarily by corporate America until suspicion set in. This mirrors Bhabha’s idea of the third space as unstable and contested—a site of potential creativity, but also of surveillance and control.

Perhaps most significantly, the film pushed me to reconsider my expectations of representation. I entered the screening curious to see a Pakistani protagonist on an international platform, hoping for a narrative that would “humanize” and “explain” him to global audiences. This, I realized, was its own re-orientalist trap: expecting the story to perform cultural translation for my benefit. By withholding definitive answers about Changez’s political affiliations or moral “innocence,” the film resisted becoming a neat counter-narrative to Western stereotypes. Instead, it left me in a state of uncertainty—forcing me to confront how much I still rely on binaries like “guilty/innocent” or “East/West” to feel comfortable.

In terms of postcolonial subjects under global empire, the film reinforced that identity is not only shaped by historical colonial legacies but is constantly re-negotiated in response to global capital, security regimes, and cultural representation. Changez’s journey showed me that resistance is not always loud or pure; sometimes it is the act of maintaining complexity in a world that demands simplification.

Ultimately, this reflection has made me more cautious about the interpretive authority I assume as a viewer. It has also encouraged me to value ambiguity—not as a lack of clarity, but as a truthful acknowledgment of the messy intersections where identity and power meet.

References : 

The Reluctant Fundamentalist (Film). (2012). Directed by Mira Nair. Premiered at the

Venice Film Festival.

Loomba, A. (2009). [Quote on post-9/11 postcolonial urgency]. (Original source as

provided in your materials.

Barad, D. (2022). Globalization and the Future of Postcolonial Studies. Journal of

Higher Education and Research Society: A Refereed International, 10(2), 186–? (Full

page range as per journal). Retrieved from ResearchGate.

Midnight's Children

 Midnight's Children

"Midnight’s Children" (1981) by Salman Rushdie is a landmark novel that captures India’s transition from British colonial rule to independence and the turbulent period following the Partition. Narrated by protagonist Saleem Sinai, the narrative intertwines actual historical events with elements of magical realism. It explores themes such as destiny and choice, identity, memory, cultural diversity, and the fusion of myth with reality. Combining postcolonial and postmodern perspectives, the novel offers a distinctive portrayal of how India’s political and historical changes influence both personal lives and the nation’s identity.

Salman Rushdie, born on June 19, 1947, in Bombay (now Mumbai), India, is a British-American author known for his novels that mix imaginative characters with dark humor to tackle big historical and philosophical ideas. His 1988 book, 'The Satanic Verses', stirred up a lot of controversy because of how it dealt with religious and political themes, leading to death threats against him. This made Rushdie a major figure in the debates over free speech and censorship.

Brief Overview : 

The lecture video provides an in-depth postcolonial analysis of Salman Rushdie’s *Midnight’s Children*, focusing particularly on the intertwined concepts of nation and hybridity. The narrative of *Midnight’s Children* is closely linked to the birth of modern India, with the protagonist Saleem Sinai symbolizing the nation itself, born at the exact moment of India’s independence. This connection highlights the novel’s use of history and personal identity as inseparable, illustrating how national and individual identities are socially constructed rather than natural or fixed.

The video elaborates on the idea of the nation as an “imaginary community,” a socially constructed entity often shaped by dominant power structures and ideological forces such as nationalism and the nation-state. It explains how nationalism, influenced by European imperialism, creates exclusive and homogenizing narratives that marginalize cultural plurality and diversity, often serving hegemonic interests. This is contrasted with the concept of hybridity, as theorized by Homi Bhabha, which celebrates cultural mixing, plurality, and the “third space” where identities are fluid, ambivalent, and transformative rather than pure or singular.

The lecture also critically examines the role of language, law (such as the colonial-era sedition law), and institutional power in perpetuating colonial and postcolonial forms of control and oppression. It stresses that postcolonial discourse not only involves resistance against colonial powers but also challenges the internal mechanisms of domination within postcolonial nation-states themselves.

From the videos, my learning outcome is a nuanced understanding of how *Midnight’s Children* functions as a postcolonial text that problematizes fixed notions of nationhood and identity. It reveals the ambivalence and contradictions inherent in nationalism and the nation-state, while also illustrating hybridity as a space for cultural resistance and creativity. The novel’s narrative style—its use of magical realism, oral storytelling traditions, and metafiction—reflects this hybridity and the complex, fragmented realities of postcolonial nations. 

Brief Overview : 

The video presents an in-depth discussion on the use of symbols in Salman Rushdie’s novel 'Midnight’s Children', analyzed through the lens of post-structuralism and Derrida’s philosophy, particularly focusing on the concept of 'pharmakon'. The concept 'pharmakon', derived from Plato’s 'Phaedrus', is crucial because it embodies a dual meaning: it signifies both a remedy and a poison simultaneously. This duality challenges the traditional binary oppositions such as speech/writing, good/bad, and interior/exterior, which Derrida deconstructs by showing that meanings are never fixed but always in flux—there is a continual "play" of meanings that prevents us from arriving at a definitive interpretation.

In *Midnight’s Children*, symbols like the perforated sheet, the silver spittoon, and pickles exemplify this duality. For example, the perforated sheet both reveals and conceals, symbolizing fragmented memory and partial perspectives, much like the novel’s fragmented narrative. The silver spittoon represents both memory and amnesia: it survives a bomb blast preserving the family’s memory but simultaneously causes Salim’s memory loss when it hits his head. Pickles stand for preservation and destruction, echoing how Salim preserves his story while also experiencing decay and fragmentation, much like the pickles fermenting and rotting over time.

The discussion also highlights the binary oppositions between characters like Salim and Shiva, representing complementary yet opposing forces good and bad, creation and destruction akin to yin and yang. Salim’s amnesia, caused by the spittoon, metaphorically parallels the nation’s struggle with its collective memory and forgetfulness, illustrating how personal memory intertwines with political history and identity.

My learning outcome from the videos is a nuanced understanding of how symbols in 'Midnight’s Children' function not as fixed entities but as sites of multiple, often contradictory meanings. The exploration of 'pharmakon' and Derrida’s post-structuralist ideas encourages a reading that embraces ambiguity, multiplicity, and the instability of meaning. This approach enriches my comprehension of the novel’s narrative technique and thematic concerns, particularly its critique of historical meta-narratives and the complexities of national and personal identity formation through memory and forgetfulness. The video thus deepens my appreciation of how literature can reflect philosophical concepts and how symbols serve as dynamic tools for exploring the intersections of history, memory, and identity.

Metaphor of the Bulldozer in 'Midnight’s Children' :

In Midnight’s Children, the bulldozer is a strong metaphor for the destructive power of authoritarianism, especially during the Emergency in India (1975-1977). It represents the state’s ability to erase, suppress, and control society under the disguise of progress and modernization. Salman Rushdie uses the bulldozer to highlight the devastating impact that political power can have on marginalized communities. It's not just a machine for destroying buildings, but also something that wipes out homes, memories, and resistance, showing how the state is willing to sacrifice people and their cultures for its own goals.

In the novel, the bulldozers are used to clear the "ghetto of the magicians," symbolizing how the government, in its pursuit of development, is ready to erase poor and vulnerable communities without caring for them. This links to a bigger theme in the book, where modernization and nation-building often harm ordinary people who are already struggling. Rushdie uses the bulldozer as a way to show how political power dehumanizes, silences, and erases those who don’t fit into the government's vision of progress.

This symbol of the bulldozer also connects with current issues of state violence and oppression, especially in how power is used to silence those who oppose it. In today’s India, the bulldozer has become a symbol of state intimidation, particularly against minority groups like Muslims. It is used to destroy homes and livelihoods, sending a clear message to anyone who speaks out against authority: if you resist, there will be serious consequences. So, the bulldozer doesn’t just erase physical spaces, but also the voices, memories, and identities of people under authoritarian rule, making it a sadly relevant symbol even today.

References : 

Barad, Dilip. “Erasure and Oppression: The Bulldozer as a Toolof Authoritarianism in Midnight's Children.” researchgate.net, ResearchGate,https://www.researchgate.net/publication/383410297_Erasure_and_Oppression_The_Bulldozer_as_a_Toolof_Authoritarianism_in_Midnight%27s_Children. Accessed 13 August 2025.

DoE-MKBU. “Deconstructive Reading of Symbols | Midnight’s Children | Sem 3 Online Classes | 2021 07 13.” YouTube, 13 July 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=KgJMf9BiI14.

“Nation and Hybridity | Postcolonial Study | Midnight’s Children | Sem 3 Online Class | 15 June 2021.” YouTube, 15 July 2021, www.youtube.com/watch?v=S9pC4Fxg9KY.

Rushdie, Salman. Midnight's Children. Jonathan Cape, 1981.

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. "Salman Rushdie". Encyclopedia Britannica, 27 Jul. 2025, https://www.britannica.com/biography/Salman-Rushdie. Accessed 14 August 2025.

Film Screening—Deepa Mehta's Midnight's Children

 Film Screening—Deepa Mehta's Midnight's Children

This task is based on the film screening of Midnight's Children by Deepa Mehta. This blog assigned by Dilip Barad sir. 

1. Pre-viewing Activities:

A. Trigger Questions :

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

• Common view: History is often narrated by the victors, which means dominant powers shape the “official” record to justify their actions and worldview.

• Postcolonial critique: Scholars like Gayatri Spivak (Can the Subaltern Speak?) argue that the marginalized—the colonized, the oppressed—are frequently silenced or misrepresented in dominant histories.

• Personal identity link: When a community’s history is erased or distorted, its people may internalize the dominant narrative, leading to identity crises, shame, or loss of heritage. Conversely, reclaiming suppressed histories can restore pride and a sense of self.

• Example: In India, colonial histories often minimized indigenous resistance; recovering those narratives reshapes modern Indian identity.

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

• Geography: Physical borders can define a nation but are often artificial (e.g., Partition of India).

• Governance: Shared political structures and laws can unite people but may not reflect cultural realities.

• Culture: Language, religion, traditions, and shared customs create emotional bonds.

• Memory: Collective memory—both historical events and myths—creates a sense of belonging. Benedict Anderson calls this an “imagined community”: people feel connected not because they know each other personally but because they share a mental image of unity.

• Postcolonial insight: Many nations are products of colonial map-making, so “nationhood” is often an uneasy blend of imposed borders and self-fashioned cultural identity.

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

• Colonization of language: During British rule, English became the language of administration, law, and higher education, marginalizing native languages. It carried the prestige of power and shaped thought patterns (Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o calls this “linguistic imperialism”).

• Decolonization of language: Writers like Salman Rushdie, Arundhati Roy, and Kamala Das have appropriated English, infusing it with Indian idioms, rhythms, and cultural references—turning the “master’s language” into a tool of self-expression.

• Ongoing debate: Some see English in India as a lingering colonial legacy; others view it as a hybrid, globalized Indian language that bridges cultures and expands literary possibilities.

• Term: Rushdie’s “chutnification of English” describes this playful mixing of languages to reflect India’s multilingual reality.

2. While-Watching Activities :

Time Marker / Scene	Observation Focus	Postcolonial Angle to Notice
Opening Scene	Note how nation and identity are intertwined in Saleem’s narration.	Observe whether the narrator treats personal life as inseparable from the nation’s political history—reflects Benedict Anderson’s imagined community idea.
Saleem & Shiva’s birth switch	How does the identity of each child become hybridized—biologically, socially, politically?	This scene reflects Homi Bhabha’s concept of hybridity, where identity is a mix of origins, circumstances, and power structures.
Saleem’s narration	Is the narrator trustworthy? How does metafiction (storytelling about storytelling) affect your perception?	Think of unreliable narration and how postcolonial literature often questions “official” truth, making the audience aware of constructed history.
Emergency Period depiction	What does the film suggest about democracy and freedom in post-independence India?	Consider whether political oppression mirrors colonial control, challenging the idea that independence automatically ensures liberty.
Use of English/Hindi/Urdu	Spot moments where English is blended or subverted with Hindi/Urdu.	This is Salman Rushdie’s “chutnification of English” in action—language as a hybrid postcolonial identity marker.

3. Post-Watching Activities :

“What does it mean to belong to a postcolonial nation that speaks in a colonizer’s tongue and

carries the burden of fractured identities?”

To belong to a postcolonial nation is to live in a space where the past is never entirely past. The nation breathes in two languages at once—the inherited rhythms of its own speech and the lingering cadences of the colonizer’s tongue. In Midnight’s Children, Salman Rushdie turns this linguistic and cultural tension into the heartbeat of Saleem Sinai’s life. India, as Rushdie depicts it, is not a single, seamless story but a thousand overlapping fragments, stitched together with borrowed words and contested memories.

The use of English in India is perhaps the clearest reminder of this colonial inheritance. During British rule, English was the language of law, administration, and intellectual prestige, creating a hierarchy in which native languages were deemed provincial. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o calls this linguistic imperialism, a subtle but enduring form of domination. Yet Rushdie, like many Indian writers, refuses to surrender English to its colonial past. He reshapes it through what he calls the “chutnification of English” (Imaginary Homelands), seasoning it with Hindi, Urdu, and regional idioms. This transformed English is not the Queen’s; it is Saleem Sinai’s, crowded with the smells of pickle jars, the sounds of Bombay’s streets, and the pulse of India’s political upheavals. Language here is both colonized and decolonized—colonized in its origin, but decolonized in its irreverent, hybrid use.

Belonging, however, is not only a matter of language. It is also about identity—and in Midnight’s Children, identity is always unstable. The birth-swap of Saleem and Shiva is more than a plot twist; it is a metaphor for hybridity in Homi Bhabha’s sense: the creation of something new from the collision of cultures, classes, and histories. Biologically, socially, and politically, each boy lives the other’s life. Saleem, born poor but raised rich, becomes a symbol of India’s elite English-speaking class, while Shiva, born rich but raised poor, embodies the resentment of those excluded from privilege. Their intertwined fates mirror the divisions of postcolonial India: linguistic, economic, and ideological.

The nation itself is portrayed as an imagined community (Benedict Anderson), held together less by geography or governance than by shared narratives—narratives that are themselves fractured. Saleem’s unreliable narration forces us to question the very act of telling national history. His life runs parallel to that of India, but he constantly digresses, contradicts himself, and blurs fact with fantasy. This metafictional style suggests that any history—especially a postcolonial one—is as much invention as truth. As Ana Cristina Mendes and Joel Kuortti note in their analysis of the film adaptation, the removal of Padma as Saleem’s interlocutor changes the dynamic: without her interruptions, the narration becomes more authoritative, less dialogic, and perhaps less reflective of India’s polyphonic identity.

The Emergency of 1975–77 becomes the novel’s most pointed commentary on post-independence freedom. Declared by Prime Minister Indira Gandhi, it suspended democratic rights and silenced dissent. In Rushdie’s allegory, this political repression mirrors colonial control, reminding readers that the nation’s liberation did not end the experience of subjugation. The film’s depiction of forced sterilizations and censorship reinforces the idea that belonging to a nation is not always synonymous with liberty—it can also mean carrying the scars of authoritarianism.

For me, to belong to such a postcolonial nation is to inhabit a space where identity is never singular. It is to speak in a language shaped by a history of domination but made one’s own through creative adaptation. It is to live among competing memories of the past, each claiming to be the true story. It is to recognize that the nation’s unity is fragile, built from fragments—just as Saleem describes himself as “handcuffed to history,” a body holding together the cracked mosaic of India.

In the end, belonging is less about purity of origin and more about the ability to navigate hybridity with honesty. Like Saleem, we inherit both the burden and the blessing of fractured identities. And perhaps, in embracing the fractures rather than hiding them, we come closest to belonging.

References : 

Bhabha, Homi. The Location of Culture (1994).

Mehta, D. (Director). (2012). Midnight’s children [Film]. David Hamilton Productions.

Mendes, Ana Cristina & Kuortti, Joel. “Padma or no Padma” (2016)

Rushdie, S. (1981). Midnight’s children. Jonathan Cape.