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review Just
poetry Zia
Mohyeddin column
Recounting how our television developed, the many challenges it faced and how it was possible to deal with those difficulties By Sarwat Ali This
is Ptv Andrew Walker wrote a
definitive history of the BBC World Service .Pakistan Television, the most
successful enterprise in the public sector, had been waiting for its Andrew
Walker. After about forty six years, it has found one in Agha Nasir. Nobody could be more qualified to write about the television than him. He has been with the corporation since its beginning and then saw it through its many phases to be all pervasive. He rose steadily through the ranks to also occupy the top position in the organisation. From its conception to being its boss, Agha Nasir has experienced all the shades and hues of television which has been the eye of the storm for a number of reasons, least being its popularity as a medium. It all started in 1962, when television was exhibited for the first time in the country by Phillips Electrical Company at the Pakistan Industrial Fair in Karachi. Taking a cue from there, The National Publicity Conference was held in 1963 which considered the setting up of television as an effective medium for mass education, dissemination of information and public entertainment and soon after a Planning Cell headed by Abdul Qayyum was formed comprising S.A Aziz, Nazir Ahmed Warraich, A.E. Kalimullah and Agha Nasir for this purpose. As a consequence a bill was passed in parliament for setting up of a general purpose television. The finance minister Muhammed Shoaib and financial wizard Ghulam Ishaq Khan were opposed to the idea calling it an unaffordable luxury while Zulfikar Ali Bhutto and Altaf Gauhar supported it. The critical question as to where the investment was going to coming from in case Pakistan did not have the financial resources had two possible answers, either through companies from other countries which invested and operated it as well, or a company with many partners but the majority shares owned by the government of Pakistan. The latter with its running was advocated by Altaf Gauhar. Nippon Electric Company came forward with their Pakistani partners Wazir Ali Industries for two pilot stations in Lahore and Dhaka and recruited Obaidur Rehman, Aslam Azhar, Fazal Kamal and Zafar Samdani. Initially, for this pilot project, called Rehbar by Altaf Gauhar, all expenses were to by a borne by foreign party but after the expiry of the ninety day period, the money had to be reimbursed. A team of programmers employed by the Nippon Electric Company arrived in Lahore and a camp office was set up in a rented shed at the Alhamra for Rs 1000 per month. In many ways Pakistan may have been ahead of other developing countries to foresee the benefits of television. Altaf Gauhar, the main architect of the enterprise, and Ayub Khan as the President of the country may have had different reasons to see the beneficial fallout of the new medium but both saw the necessity for it in a country like Pakistan. Ayub Khan gave approval to the medium and it was inaugurated by him in November 1964, in Lahore. Such was the paucity of programming in the inaugural transmission that after the inaugural speech a live table tennis match was shown, then a quiz programme Boojho To Jainain by Ashfaq Ahmed, folk songs by Tufail Niazi, and Sain Akhter Hussain, a programme, Hawai Jahaz Khud Banao, followed by the news read by Tariq Aziz the announcer himself. PTV’s firsts were producer Aslam Azhar, studio producer Nisar Hussain, announcers Tariq Aziz/ Kanwal Naseer, cameraman Nisar Mirza, compere Ashfaq Ahmed, vocalist Tufail Niazi, music producer Fazal Kamal, makeup artist Kamaluddin Ahmed and set designer Toufiq Ejaz. The model followed was of BBC. The duration of the transmission was three hours daily and six days a week; the seventh day was reserved for maintenance. Eleven plays by Rafi Peer, Ashfaq Ahmed, Enver Sajjad, Asghar Butt, Zakir Hussain and Kamal Ahmed Rizvi were telecast by the pilot station. Non film music was promoted through programmes of Farida Khanum, Bilqis Khanum, Roshan Ara Begum, Mehdi Hasan, Amanat Ali Fateh Ali, Sain Akhter Hussain, Manzoor Ali Jhalla, Mubarak Ali Fateh Ali, Muhammed Ali Faridi and Qurban Tufail. Initially there were apprehensions about the proportionate divisions of the imported and local programmes but local programming soon became dominant and attracted larger audiences. After the expiry of the ninety day period, a private limited company was formed in 1965 in partnership with Nippon Electric Company, Gosho Company of Japan, Thompson Television International of United Kingdom and the Government of Pakistan. It was named the Television Promoters Company. More professionals were hired like Agha Nasir, Sikander Shaheen, Muhammed Nisar Hussain, Mukhtar Siddiqui, Zaheer Bhatti, Kunwar Aftab Ahmed, Jamal Afridi, Nasr Malick, Muslehuddin, Khalid Hameed Rao, Shakoor Tahir and Khalid Mehmood Rabbani. The moment television went on air it generated its own dynamics and became, even in times of severe censorship, a platform for creative expression. It was creativity all round not just limited to plays and music but also extended to news coverage and its analyses. It was creativity that performs and nurtures best in times when there are many a slip between the cup and lip. Due to its growth, by 1967, it was converted into a public limited company and called Pakistan Television Corporation with AMS Ahmed as its first Managing Director. Its logo was designed by the famous artist Abdur Rehman Chughtai. Television did not stay as a government’s spokesman that aired its spin, but a forum where what was behind the news served as an alternative narrative. But actually it was in the field of drama that television made its earliest mark. Radio had developed a high standard of plays and television capitalised on that talent and expertise and soon became the screen that offered entertainment that could also instruct — it was delight and delight and it was also the forum that stood in for the cinema and stage. The talent of the three plus the radio enriched the dramatic content of the mini screen. But while the people in their homes, shops, khokas and roadside restaurants watched with relish the growth of the television as a medium, the fight for its growth and health was in the hands of the founding fathers who made it doubly sure that it retained many of the features that were part of the founding intention. It did not have to get derailed no matter how much the pressure from the outside. This they have done successfully and therefore it is fascinating to read of the many battles that were fought which prevented the baby being thrown out with the bathwater. The book is not a ruthless study of the role television played in the country, but a recounting of how it developed, the many challenges it faced and how it was possible to deal with those difficulties. It appeared that the most testing time was during the martial law of Zia ul Haq when many prescriptions were handed down to the television authorities. The book also quotes a few incidents, some funny, some tragic but all with bearings on the way television was perceived and run. This book being seminal in nature will always retain its value.
Qinghai
Poetry Festival convinced at least one poet that world wide communication is By Abrar Ahmad When I rushed one night to hand over my writeup on Translation to Fakhar Zaman, the then chairman Pakistan Academy of letters, I didn’t fully realise how significant this would prove just a couple of months later. He was sending my nomination for approval to participate in the third Qinghai Lake International Poetry Festival in China — a marvellous excursion I have ever had in my entire life. Entrapped and entangled in
a busy professional life, I have always been a reluctant traveller— my
apprehension was doubled On August 5, I took my flight to Urmichi where I was to wait for five hours to catch the next flight to Beijing. Those few hours were enough to convince me that I was going to face a severe problem in communication since I couldn’t find a single Chinese who could speak or understand English. In Beijing I didn’t have time to go out and could just see the high rise building glittering in the distance from my hotel window. The next morning I reached Xining, the capital of Qinghai Province, along with a dozen other participants including Gary Kleng (Canada), Dr Fatiha (Morroco), Shutapa (India) Javier Bello (Chilli), Headuk (Korea) and a few others. After settling into the comfortable rooms in a magnificent hotel in the heart of the city, we went out to have a feel of the tranquil city, emitting an air of calm intimacy. We couldn’t communicate but were very well received, with children occasionally walking to us and saying some pleasant words — exactly in the manner the children of Lahore greet foreigners. While we spent our time gossiping away, the delegations kept pouring in and soon it was a gathering of around 200 poets from 52 countries. In the morning we were divided into groups and assigned bus numbers with a smart articulate guide. We were to travel the same vehicle for the entire trip. The inaugural session was heavily attended and the provincial governor and the most celebrated poets chaired the session. The main theme of the activity was “The diversity of languages and the creativity of poetry translation under the background of international communication.” In between long sessions we had regular short tea breaks where we all socialised. Soon the air of formality and reserve turned into natural warmth and intimacy. This immediately turned the event into an extremely healthy exchange of views and ideas which continued till we departed. Each aspect of the diversity of languages and translating poetry was thoroughly studied and addressed and we were all convinced that world wide communication is possible only through this activity done in an organised and massive level. The following day we moved out of Xining. After travelling for around four hours, we reached Qinghai and gathered in Qinghai’s poetry square to attend a magnificent prize giving ceremony. The Lithuanian Scholar, poet, author and translator Tomas Venclova was honoured with the second Gold Tibetan Antelope International Award for poetry, 2011. The ceremony was graceful and all the participants paid a befitting tribute to him. It was followed by a performance of a local band who played the symphony titled “ode to the source of life” referring to the origin of Qinghai’s yellow river. Later we were asked to imprint our signatures on the “poetry wall” there. We stayed the night in the quiet dim and rather gloomy small town. It was heavy and silent all around and one could feel the horrifying loneliness of man confronting nature in this vast land surrounded by huge mountains. We all sat on the stairs and felt the cool wind softly blowing across. We talked and laughed late into the night. Our visit to Taer Monastery on August 11 was perhaps the most intimate interaction with the land, local culture and religious traditions. We moved along with the common worshippers for many hours and could feel the sweet, humble and soft manners of the worshippers. It was fascinating to learn about certain Buddhist beliefs and rituals still practiced in these remote areas of China. The people didn’t eat fish and birds as they believed that after death their souls would be taken to Buddha by them. Apart from burying the dead in the earth, we learnt that these Buddhists bury the dead in water too. The closing event of the festival was a poetry recitation session in Xining Television Studios which was reserved exclusively for Chinese poets. A day earlier, in another session, I was to speak and recite some poetry of mine. I gave a careful thought to it and decided to recite a ghazal instead of a nazm, which I thought suited the occasion. After giving a brief account of this unique form, I went on to recite in Urdu-and was astonished to be received very warmly. This triggered a discussion later which in essence was about relevance and possibility to perceive poetry just from the manner of its recitation and the auditory effects it produces. I often thought a poem must be supplemented by some sort of artistic performance for its effective appraised. This concept was practically demonstrated by the Chinese that evening. A poet added an element of drama by putting stress on certain words and taking pauses at appropriate places. This was true for all of them. But this time the poems were actually played as a performance by actors on a stage. It was an ecstatic and unprecedented display. During these memorable days, I interacted with many poets and made a lot of good friends. These include Gary and Maggie Klang (Canada), Jami Proctor Xu (China), Paul Nelson (USA), Shutapa (India), Simon Truelove (Canada), Manjol (Nepal), Jasim Mohammad (Iraq) ,Mehmet Yashin (Cyprus), Fatiha Morchid (Morocco) and Larissa Lai (Canada). We had all sorts of discussions, although we could hardly find enough time. As a Pakistani I felt I was expected to volunteer some information and views on our war on terrorism. It was evident that in spite of being well-informed, many were under the influence of propaganda. On a breakfast table, the remarks of a participant triggered the debate. Gary Klang, Nelson, Larissa and Wilkinson all started giving their views. After some patient listening, I spoke my heart out. While talking of the innocent killings by suicide bombing and the role of world powers, my voice broke and I couldn’t continue, but also felt a cold shudder running down everyone’s spine. Everyone was sincere, honest and humane — and my belief in the eternal goodness of human beings got far more strengthened. All shared a common dream of peace and love on the planet but we collectively also realised that in spite of our unbiased opinions, we were all poor poets — common people. The
third Qinghai Lake International Poetry Festival was held from August 7-11,
2011
Zia
Mohyeddin column The overwhelming majority of people in the Indo-Pakistan subcontinent today only encounter plays by means of television, radio and the cinema. I am not saying that it is a good thing or a bad thing. It’s just a fact. Just as it is a fact that the majority of our people have never been to the theatre. Let me begin by saying what I mean by theatre: the professional performance of plays by professional actors in front of a live audience. Theatre in the three main cities of Pakistan is a sporadic activity. There may be a few months in the winter when you have two, possibly three plays staged during a month. I will not bore you with statistics, but the number of amateur companies that have closed and, in some cases, completely disappeared, is staggering. Other than the six productions of NAPA Repertory Theatre Company every year (which only run for ten days), professional theatre on a regular basis is non-existent in our country. This is not entirely true. Going by the definition that theatre is live performance of plays by professional actors in front of a live audience; we do have a regular professional theatre in Lahore. Night after night they enact a stage play but what they present is vaudeville. The actors, who have mastered the ability to ad lib dialogue which is louche, but which sets their customers roaring with delight, are thorough professionals. The actresses are not; they are only recruited for their sex appeal and the brazenness with which they can spout risqué lines. Looking at their offerings I don’t think anyone, of even moderately discriminating taste, could regard it as a dramatic experience. One reason why theatre has not ever become an integral part of our culture is that our language, Urdu, which has a large store of poetry and prose does not have a substantial amount of drama in its bank. And whatever drama — or melodrama — exists has never been allowed to become part of our literature. It has therefore never been regarded as a cultural asset. I am not too dismayed by this. In England and America too, the vast majority of people only see drama enacted on television and movies. As a consequence, more and more actors are spending more and more of their time supplying the demands of the mass mediums. In the West, “The so-called live theatre is dead,” is a cry I have heard several times in the last six decades. The theatre has always been on the danger list in the West even though it has been a part of their cultural life for centuries. When cinema arrived — and then again when television took its roots — everyone thought that the days of the theatre were numbered. It was the playwright, George Kaufman, who so brilliantly named the theatre, ‘The Fabulous Invalid’. “Anxious well-wishers periodically gather round the death-bed,” he wrote, “They have been doing it from time to time for some thousands of years. But the patient has never yet passed away, nor in my opinion, ever will.” The theatre in the West will not pass away because it holds in its hand a few strong trump cards. First, the great body of classical drama written for the theatre, from Aeschylus, over two thousand years ago, down to any modern authors who may eventually attain classic status. The first of the trump cards is the existence of a whole body of classical drama, plays written to be produced by actors playing to a living audience gathered around them. I must digress here. Although I have seen magical productions of the plays of Euripides and Sophocles (in English) they were translations or adaptations. In the view of many critics translation from a foreign language tends to emasculate it, and it puts a barrier between the original intention and the audience. Goldoni, Moliere, Maeterlinck, Chekhov, and all the other foreign classics, we are told, lose a fair amount of their essence when translated. Let us therefore put aside the Greek, the French, the German and the Italian classical drama and consider only drama written in English. Here I would like to quote Tyrone Guthrie, one of the greatest theatrical directors of classical and modern drama in the 20th century: “We the possessors of the heritage of dramatic classics in the English language are like an enormously rich man with a collection of paints — masterpieces. Now, what would you think of such a man if he kept all the pictures locked away in the dark, and never exhibited them to a soul, never even looked at them himself? That’s you and I and all the rest of us, with the dramatic masterpieces in our language, which we keep, locked between the covers of books...” Guthrie was lamenting about the apathy of theatrical managements who, for economic reasons do not draw upon the vast dramatic heritage that lies buried, and resort only to present what they consider to be saleable drama. It is true that only seven or eight of the most popular of Shakespeare’s plays are produced again and again. Of all the rest most are never done; a small number are seen only in universities of England and America. This may be so but the West is comfortable in the knowledge that the capital asset exists. Their dramatic masterpieces are legacies of enormous potential importance. The theatre is their sole trustee and principal beneficiary. That is the first trump card. The second card is the fact that the theatre is the sole source of custom-made drama, made to the measure of a particular and discriminating audience. The mass medium derives it wealth from mass distribution. If you make a film, or a television serial, costing millions of pounds or dollars, you have to aim at a gigantically wide target to recover your expenditure. (And let us not forget that those who invest in such ventures are never content with the recovery of their money; they want to turn their millions into billions). The film must have immediate success all over the world. It must appeal to millions of people of the most widely different taste and background and intelligence. If you have what you think is an interesting idea for film, it is almost impossible that you can make it unless you can be sure beforehand that it will receive wide distribution. The distributors are not interested in what you may think is a very interesting idea; they are interested in what they think is saleable idea. (to
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because I had to travel alone.