Tahrir in the Morning of Revolution

In the morning of the revolution i walked down to Tahrir. This was not far from my hotel. Cairo was slowly gearing up for another busy day. Streets were not empty of cars but most of them were stationary on both sides. Shutters of shops and offices were yet to open. Sporadically filled with graffiti in Arabic, shutters were silently inviting me to a world where I did not know meanings. Yet, with all my inability to decipher the signs, I was curious. I was hooked to these letters. Who writes on these closed doors? What is the message? Are these mere announcements informing when the shop will open in the morning or need an assistant, a receptionist smart, good looking and who can speak English? I did not care. I was happy seeing them written in free hand, a sight which is fast disappearing in Indian metros like Delhi and Mumbai. I recalled Bengal Act of 1976 preventing defacement and Manto’s piece on wall writing came as a bonus. Memories and imagination both are strange. They move in erratic path, disrupt meaning making and make the narrative incoherent. I was helpless. My mind further deviated. This time a dialogue by Gulzar, straight from the mouth of Sanjeev Kumar when in the middle of tere bina jindagi se koi he says, suno, ye jo phoolon ki belen najar aati hain. Darasal ye phoolon ki belen nahi hain, arbi main ayatain likhi hain. Eenhai din ke wakt dekhna chahiye.

Probably it was seeing Arabic letters (ayatain) that brought together my seeing and memory of this song, I thought. May be it was the contrast in the timing when they reveal their messages to the world. In the song it has to be daytime in the case of graffiti it has be when the shops are closed, in the night or at best in the morning.

There was also an anxiety to know whether these signs were connected with the revolution of 25^th January or were merely mundane scripts or urban daily life. The presentations in the conference at Fayoum, for which I had gone to Egypt, had clearly demonstrated the close linkages between visual signage (graffiti, cartoons, posters, stickers etc.) and the spirit of Egyptian revolution. While walking in the previous evening, I myself came across a number of vendors selling stickers, posters and badges of the revolution on the pavements. Already an economy had emerged converting revolution into circulating revolutionary products. I wanted to purchase some of these memorabilia, wanted to carry these products back home, if not the revolution.

A vendor selling revolution stickers, badges and memorabilia

But I wanted to see revolutionary graffiti, angers scratched on the surface of the streets, epitaphs of frustrations and emblems of hope and aspiration of people’s demonstrated potential to change, their capacity to influence the world. People back in the conference had told that soon after the revolution there were massive cleaning drives. Like washing a guilt, like cleansing a sin, like discharging the duty of a good citizen. The government was equally swift in eradicating these signs, remnants of fervor.
I walked to the Tahrir square from the side of KFC which had attracted some media attention during the 18 days protest when a number of rumors were in the air about this KFC branch. The state propaganda machinery propagated stories of KFC providing free food coupons to protestors, an scheme actually financed by CIA.In the account of BBC reporter Yolande knell, KFC was taken over by the protesters and was converted as a make shift medical clinic.The coffee and tea shop next to KFC was open and a couple of customers were quietly sipping from their cups and enjoying the Hukkah/ shisha.

A poster with a picture of martyrs getting salutation. Presumably from post revolution phase.

To me Tahrir Square looked unusually familiar. This was bewildering. I thought this might be my prosthetic memory, a result of watching television coverage so intensely and surfing the net vigorously during the protest. However, it took little time to realise the remarkable spatial similarity between Connaught place and Tahrir Square in terms of visual appeal, character and even function. It took lesser time to find out writings, torn stickers and even sketches filling every possible nook and corner, on the electricity poll, dividers, bus stop and benches. The revolution was more than two months old but smell was fresh in the air.

I frantically clicked a good number of photos from my mobile camera, had a coffee and talked few people about the revolution. Talking to people about their idea of revolution was in mind since my plan to Egypt got finalized. In the course

Mark 25 is written in English not in Arabic

of four days of this stay first in fayoum (a small beautiful village located by a lake at about 300 kms from Cairo) and then in Cairo people I met and interacted all talked about the 25^th January revolution with a twinkle in their eyes. From taxi driver to attendant in the hotel, from shop keeper to primary school teacher people at large felt relieved by the ouster of Hosni Mubarak.

Poster with smiling and innocent photo of Khaled aid (lot of these posters were black and white Xerox copies or inferior quality print outs), car number plates with 25 January written in English and palm size stickers having both Arabic and English letters to communicate the idea and the moment of revolution filled the visual streets. The exuberance of joy and relief was too pervasive to believe. Compare to what eyes saw, the international media reports were more somber. It was difficult to believe that a revolution which began as a facebook even to mark anniversary of torture and brutal killing of this young man Khaled, permeated to the street and shook the entire Islamic world with hopes and zeals of democracy. ‘But, this is not true’, objected a young cartoonist from Cairo when a similar statement was made in the conference back at fayoum. In Arabic he went on to elaborate that the 25^th January and the facebook page were only culmination of long pent up people’s anger and sufferings under Mubarak regime. In the past, there have been intermittent protests against the dictatorial government but as media was under state control news never came out.Is exuberance all pervasive? I wanted to know. ‘No’, I was told. In fact, a good number of peasantry and working class believe that this is merely about middle class, urban dweller and students. They had nothing to do with the revolution. Others contested this social analysis. It will take some time to understand the revolution sociologically. But what about anxieties?

Posters with Khaled Said's picture. While the first image leads us to the politics of appropriation of revolutionary spirit by different socio-religious group the second poster tells another story of inexpensive technology of print and its use to spread the message. Here a juxtaposition of Khaled Said and marraige

Later I met Ahmed (name changed; a young man in late thirties having a

A teashop at Tahirr

degree in accounting who works in his father’s stationary shop (a multipurpose shop with few computers, internet, gaming, Xeroxing and print out services) who was active in the revolutionary protests at Tahrir. He confirmed my apprehension and told that he and a lot of youth who participated in the revolution now fear that the fruits of the revolution will be hijacked by Islamic fundamentalists as these groups are much more organized and were in politics even during Mubarak regime hence have better maneuverability to reap the harvest.

A shop keeper at Khan-el-Khalili, one of the most popular tourist markets of Cairo

I checked the time. It was 8.30. I thought to have another round of tea. A tea vendor was setting up his stall and I observed him. The similarity with my experience in India was again pleasantly surprising. In fact, at larger level, visually I found the city quite familiar. From the over bridge, the city of Cairo looked exactly the same as Patna looks from the Gayghat bridge: palm trees silhouetting the horizon, unfinished buildings sprinkled sporadically in agriculture field… When I shared this with a friend of mine he agreed completely.

Chapatis being sold at Cairo

Despite a lot of similarity, one of the sights that struck me in Cairo was the selling of chapatis. This was quite like the commodity of bread in India which is not produced in homes but is normally supplied from a neighborhood bakery. These chapatis are coarser and people, it seems purchase them and not necessarily make in homes.

By now, offices began populated, stairs coming out of metro station started oozing out commuters, a process that quickly gained momentum and students and middle aged employees in varied attires (the combination of western and conventional Islamic dress produced fantastic hues; it is also worth mentioning that unlike my presumption I found Egyptian streets and public places thickly populated by women of all ages and in different attires and I found a good number of aged women behind office desks and in the shops, a rare sight in India which also shows historical depth of women education and reform in Egypt).

Grafiti on the tree trunk at Tahrir

Soon after finishing tea I found middle age women encircling a vendor of plastic and other household stuff. I purchased three good quality porcelain coffee mugs screen painted with images of the revolution. Back hotel, I was told by the manager a graceful old lady that the quality of these mugs were good and these were quite cheap even by Egyptian standard. I was happy I had some material trace of the revolution in my possession and I was carrying them back home