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feature History An
evening of poesy Zia
Mohyeddin column
feature By Jazib Zahir Flipping through a mesmerising novel by the likes of Kamila Shamsie or Vikram Seth, it is natural to wonder what it would be like to be able to compose such lucid prose by yourself. Many cherish the thought of being able to weave intricate plots and memorable characters into the imagination of others. Some intrepid souls actually venture beyond this state of wonder and dabble in writing in their spare time. They consider it a hobby just as rewarding as sports, movies and computer games. This includes people who prefer to keep their writings to themselves, others who share them on a variety of public forums and the lucky few who succeed in getting their work published. Asjad is a college student
pursuing a degree in accounting. He recalls being enthralled by Enid "But writing was much more intricate than I imagined," he concedes. "I realised very quickly that I didn't have the patience or skill to write something of epic proportion but I could still write interesting short stories based on my own experiences. I had to do a fair bit of creative writing during my O Levels and that taught me about describing family relations, emotions and the conflicts inherent in a great story." Six years down the road, he proudly boasts a portfolio of eight short stories varying in length from three to ten pages. "I've started a lot more," he explains, "but the bulk of them get scrapped at some point. These are the stories I think stand out and thus have preserved them for posterity." Does he plan to share these concoctions with the public at large? "Oh no, I never wrote these with the intention of getting them published," he says firmly. "I've shown these to my friends and family but for the most part I consider them reflections of my private thoughts." Others are not as shy about publicising their work. Several capitalise on the ubiquity of the World Wide Web to distribute their contributions on forums that promote creative writing. Some have invested in a few published copies of their anthologies which make for ease of distribution to friends and well-wishers. The resume building value of published work is not lost on students. "About half a dozen of my classmates got their books of poetry or fiction published," says a student of Aitchison College. "It's partly the peer effect at work since people get inspired by seeing others with published work. But it can also be an asset when applying to competitive universities since they seek initiative takers with unique achievements." Poetry is perhaps even more popular than prose as a tangible outlet for creative juices. Mehreen has been experimenting with poetry since secondary school and considers it an integral part of her life. "It's the ideal format in which to reflect upon my sentiments," she says. "Writing poetry forces you to put your thoughts into words that are meaningful for anyone who reads them." How did she hone this talent? She attributes her skills to avid participation in a plethora of poetry writing and recitation competitions in her school days. She fondly recalls spending days polishing her creations before major competitions and then proceeding to dazzle audiences at Kinnaird, Lahore College of Arts and Sciences and Lahore American School. She was also a regular contributor to her school magazine that served as a showcase for budding literary talent like hers. "But most of all you have to love reading stuff by others and that is what inspires you to take it up yourself," she explains. It is not lost upon our youth that formal training in creative writing is difficult to receive. "It would be great if our finest universities could acknowledge the raw talents of our students and provide them some more outlets for their work," says a student of Aga Khan Medical College. "Students in many western countries get to pursue their talents in such fine arts in an academic environment even if their professional goal is to be a doctor or engineer." Others are wary of parental pressure to avoid pursuing a career in the volatile marketplace of literary ideas. Fahad is a student in a liberal arts college in the United States pursuing a dual degree programme in creative writing and economics. "I have to complete a practical degree in economics to keep my parents satisfied," he confides, "but creative writing is my true passion and I vow to keep it a part of my life. If I'm lucky, I'll be able to land a job in a publishing house evaluating the work of others while continuing to try my hand at some of my own stuff." Some particularly tenacious writers keep the spark going even with age. Dr. Ahsan is a practicing surgeon and on his desk you will find a published book of his poetry which he thumbs through when seeking inspiration. "A doctor who connects with poetry is a doctor who can connect with human nature," he says with a smile. There seems to be plenty of latent literary talent brimming in our society. Who knows, there may yet emerge a Shakespeare in our midst. Imam Abu Hanifa's intellectual journey was meant to keep away from politics and power By Sarwat Ali Hazrat
Imam Abu Hanifa Ki Siyasi Zindagi History and religion have often got up inextricably interwoven in Islam. Often the bare historical facts are so coloured by its religious implications that it has been difficult to access it with any decent level of objectivity. Dispassion and some degree
of detachment so that the scholarly work should not be seen as a The author Syed Manazir Ahsen Gilani was associated with the Osmania University in the early part of the twentieth century. Osmania University in Hyderabad Deccan was one place where the medium of instruction even at the higher level was Urdu. At the same time the people running the university just did not want to impose the syllabus that was drafted, designed and approved by the colonial masters but desired their own history and religion to be the bedrock of higher education. The need to write history was necessitated by the need to learn from history. During the seventeenth and eighteenth century history in Europe was written by focusing on the historical forces and not the overriding influence of individuals. Among the Muslims, too, the downfall and subjugation made them sit up and think what had gone wrong and a new zest was seen in writing history objectively. Sir Syed Ahmed Khan, Shibli Nomani, and Maulvi Zakaullah probably led the way and wrote history in this new light but there were many others too like Syed Manazir Ahsen Gilani. During his formative years, Gilani had read somewhere that Abu Hanifa was whipped and thrown into prison a number of times. That aroused his curiosity, he decided to research into the reasons of his punishment and came up with this analysis which is very valuable for it sees history in a more objective light than through the eyes of a sectarian-based interpretation. The Banu Ummaiya was committing more mistakes to cover up their earlier mistakes. There were uprisings against them and as a result the Abbasids came to power. But there was hardly any qualitative difference in their rule, misuse of power and manipulation of the existing laws to their own advantage. Abu Hanifa had realised much earlier that there was no gain in power politics and he decided to establish his own khanqah and took upon himself the responsibility of teaching and preparing a cadre of 'ba amal amil'. By the time the Abbasids took power this cadre was ready to fill in the slots of the qazis and hundreds of them did do so. The rule of the Ummaiyads had been very barbaric. The grandson of the prophet with his companions had been martyred, the city of Hirra had been attacked and pillaged, Madina itself was under unprecedented siege and even the house of God had not been spared. If Umar Bin Abdul Aziz brought some respite, it was during his reign that Abu Hanifa started his intellectual journey. He wanted to keep away from politics and power but due to his stature and brilliance the rulers wanted him desperately in their camp. During the Ummaiyad reign, Abu Habira was the governor of Kufa and he wanted Abu Hanifa to accept some government office. When he received an answer in the negative an infuriated Abu Habira sent him to prison and had him lashed as well. Later when Abu Jaffer Mansoor had finished with the task of building Baghdad he wanted Abu Hanifa to become the qazi of the city. This offer was also declined and again he was sent to prison and lashed yet again. According to some, this became the cause of his death. The author credits the Imam for strengthening the institution of the qazis and this institution, with the passage of time, became strong with the establishment of the office of the chief qazi, 'qazi ul quzzat'. This office was always manned by a qualified qazi. The office of the qazi ul quzzat gradually became so strong that it could keep a legal check on the rulers, even the caliphs. Qazi ul quzzat was a very important office and it meant executing the powers that are these days distributed among a number of constitutional offices. The author credits this office to have made rules and then had the power to see whether these rules were implemented or not in their true spirit. In case of any violation, remedial action was enforced. This fiqah was the binding rule that kept the power of the ruler circumscribed and made him aware that the law was bigger than him and could not be transgressed at will according to political exigencies. This fiqah, according to the author, developed and the schools of jurisprudence came into being. The Hanafi School dominated the Mashriq while the Shafi School had more influence in the Maghreb but the function of both was to draw a line which was meant not to be crossed even by the one who had the power to do so. These days due to the international situation the need is much greater for introspection and self-examination and the better course to take is to look at history dispassionately. It puts many values, edicts and principles in perspective, adds to our knowledge of the multiplicity of meanings and educates us as to how the universality of something as absolute as religion works out in the relative parameters of time.
An
evening of poesy By Mina Malik-Hussain I had the privilege to make a jaunt to the All Pakistan Music Conference (APMC) this month. The APMC's programme includes what it calls seminars -- short lectures that illustrate something artistic, musical or literary to the audience at hand. It is a platform that deserves more recognition for the mere fact that the APMC has been having concerts of high quality music in Lahore for over forty years. The brainchild of Hayat Ahmad Khan, the APMC is now in the capable hands of his daughter Dr. Ghazala Irfan and continues to delight and inspire Lahori audiences. This time around, Hajrah Khan from LUMS presented an excerpt from her bachelors' thesis. It examined the intricacies of the sonnet and ghazal, making a case for their similarities. To this already intriguing mix she cleverly added the formidable talents of Professor Sirajuddin junior -- Shaista Siraj -- who is the chairperson of the English department at Punjab University and Dean of the Arts and Humanities and Dr. Arifa Syeda Zehra, who is the chairperson of the National Commission on the Status of Women; the former read sonnets and the latter ghazals. And what a reading it was. Between Khan's deconstruction, the rather appreciative audience was treated to Keats, Donne and Shakespearean sonnets, followed by Ghalib and Mir. It is one thing to read criticism and quite another to have the works in question brought to life so skillfully and unassumingly, and the presentation as a whole was a marvellously balanced blend of the pedantic and the artistic. Hajrah Khan spoke about the basic technical structure of the sonnet and ghazal and how both forms of poetry are most often used to express themes of love and longing. The strictly fixed forms of both genres of poetry provide the rigorous challenge to the imagination, and the beauty of the outcome is thus made even more potent. Ghalib needs only a couplet "aah ko chahieye eik umr asar honey tak/ kaun jeeta hai teri zulf ke sar honey tak?" to evoke a wistful 'wah' from any audience. We perpetually lament the dearth of writing in Pakistan, but what we often neglect to bewail is the dearth of real, valuable research too. Countless students like Khan have produced works that sows the seed for deeper inquiry, but are often shunted aside in the quest for a job or go into the sad folder of 'Past Work' on one's computers. The APMC has provided a most genteel, intellectually sound opportunity to researchers, academics and intellectuals to be able to come and speak of their work, and be assured of finding an attentive, interested audience. The years the APMC has under its belt have also the added benefit of having long since separated the wheat from the chaff.
Zia
Mohyeddin column My father who taught English most of his life was a part time dramatist and a part-time musicologist. Normally, he talked to me in Punjabi except when there were guests in the house. Then he addressed me in Urdu and expected me to answer in that language. He could, with great ease, converse with me in English but he never did, for he firmly believed that I should learn my own language before I took on another. I mention this only because during my recent talk to the Shakespeare Association of Pakistan on "What does Shakespeare mean to me?" I said that when I was a growing lad my father sometimes took me along on his evening walks. We walked on dusty tracks that stretched for miles beyond our solitary house in Model Town. We would walk in silence and then, flicking a leaf or a stone with his walking stick, my father would intone loudly. "O, what a rogue am I?" Why he omitted ..:"and pleasant slave", I do not know. So I merrily went everywhere exclaiming "O what a rogue am I?", imagining a rogue to be an old man with a walking stick. You could say this was my first tentative introduction to Shakespeare. The lady who wrote a review of the event in a national newspaper was full of praise for my presentation, but did not quite get the drift of my introduction. Otherwise, she would not have written that my father, "who insisted that his children speak with him in English, quoted profoundly from Shakespeare." Reading this, anyone would get the impression that I grew up on Shakespeare. This is far from true. Apart from an odd line like "I have bedimmed the noontide sun", which he tossed at my mother when he was in a jovial mood, my father did not ever quote Shakespeare. My mother, who knew no English, covered her face with her veil and giggled silently. I, naturally, thought that my father had made some kind of a joke which I did not understand. It was years later, when I joined a drama academy in London, that I learned that it was a quote from The Tempest. My next encounter with Shakespeare was at college and, frankly speaking, I was not endeared to him. The gentleman (may his soul rest in peace) whose task it was to teach us As You Like It, a prescribed text, read out the 'All the world is a stage' speech in such an atrocious manner that I felt the Bard was a bore. Our great moment of mirth was the last line. "Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything". This was because our worthy lecturer pronounced the word 'sans' as though it rhymed with 'science'. We found it hilarious that 'science' was without teeth or eyes. Every time we went past the chemistry laboratory, which was situated near the exit gates of our college, we winked at the students holding up their test tubes and intone, 'sans everything' much to the bewilderment of the chemistry students. Juvenile humour can be very juvenile. I got hooked on Shakespeare when I saw Richard Burton's Hamlet at the Old Vic, way back in the early 1950s. Was it his voice or the intensity of his passion that mesmerised me? It was both. He created magic and I do remember thinking that Shakespeare was a world that I needed to explore myself. Clifford Turner, one of the greatest teachers of Voice Presentation, in the 20th century, used to say that in Shakespeare the meaning of the line very often resides in the second half so one should go towards that. It has the additional advantage of sustaining the forward movement of the verse. He once told me, in his enchantingly resonant voice, that the two lines I had been sweeping into was an energy rundown. The lines were: "Like as the waves make towards the pebbled shore/So do our minutes hasten to their end". I had been rendering them as "Like as the waves make towards thepebbledshore/So do our Minutes hastentotheirend," -- making 'toward the pebbled shore' and 'hasten to their end' into one word. He pointed out that I had to simplify and say, 'Like as the waves make TOWARDS THE PEBBLED SHORE/So do our minutes HASTEN TO THEIR END.' The meaning, he pointed out, becomes clear and poetry begins to move. "Giving the metaphor its life is the secret", he used to say. Shakespeare's blank verse does not work if you turn it into naturalistic prose. Most actors kill the pace by putting in realistic pauses to make it sound as if they have really thought of the words at the very moment that they are speaking them. An actor is used to breathing when he runs out of breath; he breaks up the text naturally whenever his lungs need refilling. This wont do. Shakespeare asks that the actor shall always have breath in his lungs to shape the full line, which is not the end of the line. It is sometimes possible for the actor to take a tiny breath at the end of a line, but that is only to top up the supply of air. Shakespearean text can only be sustained if the lungs are always full of air. Sir John Gielgud, the only actor I know who spoke Shakespeare as though he had written the lines himself, once said that a classical actor should be able to take three lines on one breath. Many such actors are able to do so but they speak the three lines as if they are one, rushing from one to the other. Gielgud's advice was that you should lie in the verse. It's like lying on the water when you are trying to swim. If you do that, he said, the verse will sustain you and burst with life. One line flows on to the next without a break and you can feel that it is bouncing you with what the language is saying: "But that the dread of something after death The undiscovered county from whose bourn No traveller returns, puzzles the will And makes us rather bear those ills we have Than fly to others that we know not of?" In these torrid times when everything around us is being reduced to rubble, I turn to Shakespeare because he cuts across the inarticulacy and the sickening rhetoric of political posturising and the bombastic moral platitudes of the clerics. How well he makes me realise the hollowness of those who claim that they alone know the true path of righteousness.
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Blyton's popular series The Famous Five and The Secret Seven during his
childhood. "I remember being fascinated by the incredible depth of
detail in which every character and plot twist was described," he
rhapsodizes. "I didn't think it would be that hard to emulate something
like it and started scribbling out fragments of stories on my notebook in
class eight.
manifesto, a platform of pamphleteering or part of some larger campaign, has
largely been missing from the discourse. Unfortunately, this is how all
analysis of the past and present have hindered an objective analysis. Imam
Abu Hanifa's life too has not really been assessed on pure objective terms
and mainly for that reason so little has been written about it. If it is not
a hagiography, then it is silence, and many scholars and historians have
chosen silence over controversy leading to persecution.