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memories Justification
or otherwise A
word about letters Akhtar Jamal may have talked and written of the daily exploitation of human beings in her stories, but they were also filled with a strange optimism By Dr Tariq Rahman She was Akhtar Jamal, the
Urdu short story-writer for the world; she was only Khala for me in my
childhood and later, when my peer I discovered that uncle Ahsan was a poet of Urdu and that Khala was a short-story writer. My mother used to read her first collection Unglian Figar Apni and I loved to read whatever I could lay my hands on including her Urdu women’s magazines, P.G Wodehouse which my father read, Enid Blyton which I got from my school and even Bahishti Zewar and the Bible. So how could I desist from reading Unglian? I did read it though they taught us only “easy Urdu” in my school. I not only understood them easily but also loved some of the stories. Much later I even translated some of them into English and I still remember the appreciative smile with which she received my translation. But she did not press me to translate all her work because, as Tariq put it, she did not want to ‘exploit’ me. Oh yes! The whole family was much concerned with exploitation. Uncle Ahsan talked of the exploitation of the working classes and the peasantry--he had once been active in Marxist politics--and Tariq talked of the exploitation of the Third World by imperialists. And Khala talked of the daily exploitation of human beings--the warp and woof of life; the saga of hopes dashed to the ground; the meanness and the savagery life it self. This was the stuff of her stories, but they were also filled with a strange optimism; as if people could be wise and loving! As if life could be wonderful in the final analysis. My own feeling was just the opposite so we never agreed on this count. When I met her on an almost
daily basis during our life in PMA and Islamabad, I met a housewife, a
neighbour, the friend of my Khala taught in Burn Hall School during the fifties and the early sixties. Later, after completing her M.A in Urdu literature, she became a college lecturer. Once-- I do not remember when -- she was transferred to Gujrat and I still remember her anguish at having to leave her home and live there for the working week. But one thing she gave the world from this experience, a powerful short story which I cannot go into for lack of space. I saw so much of her human side that her books Zard Patton ka Ban, Khilai Daur ki Mohabbat and Samjhauta Express which came from time to time seemed to belong to another person, another existence. But as I read them I translated them and discussed them with her. I even inverted her story about the ideal conditions of love in the space age in which she had praised the ethic of work and modernity in the space age. I rewrote the story in English arguing that such an age would be too regimented for anything like an emotional commitment--it would be a dystopia not a utopia. She laughed about my pessimism. After all, despite all the setbacks of her life, she remained an optimist. But, soon after Tazeen’s death, came Tariq Ahsan’s incarceration at the hands of Ziaul Haq’s tyrannical regime. I was ill and Khala as well as Tariq tried to keep me away from the nerve-wracking goings-on. Khala even swallowed the paper containing a silly little verse I had written in English against the martial law when the police raided their house so that I should not be implicated in that terrible case. But I found out that Tariq was in the lockup and did whatever I could--which was not much--including taking Khala to the jail. For Tariq Ahsan--an angel and a saint if ever there was one--to be in jail was something which simply numbed me. But she coped with this great trauma as well. Tariq’s friends rallied around her in adversity. Especially Shala Rafi, a childhood friend of ours from our PMA days in the sixties, visited her almost daily. And finally one day, three years after his arrest for possessing a pamphlet called Jamhoori Pakistan, Tariq went off to freedom in Canada. In those days she confided to me her worries about Tariq’s health. He was in a state of depression--one would call it post-traumatic stress--and was no longer interested in finishing his Ph. D. But she continued to write; to lecture in her college and attend literary sessions of the Halqa-i-Arbab-i-Zauq in Islamabad. She found a wife, Nausheen, daughter of Ahmed Ali Khan, long time editor of Dawn and the Urdu short-story writer Hajra Masroor, for Tariq. I found her optimistic after both of them settled down in Canada. But she herself stayed back in Islamabad where she served me with tea and food whenever I went to see her. It was as if I had replaced Tariq Ahsan. In September 1991, Uncle Ahsan died of cancer and she left Pakistan for the alien shores of Canada. From that time onwards she became a voice on the phone. She praised the welfare system of that country every time I spoke to her. But I met her only once in the April of 1998 when she came to Pakistan. She talked of her father, also a political activist, in Bhopal and the spirit which had animated (and ruined) her whole family--the desire to give all human beings a decent living; democracy; freedom and egalitarianism. I never saw anyone of my acquaintances paying such a heavy price for a socially just and democratic Pakistan as she did. And then came an e-mail on February 10, from Tariq Ahsan: “Pray for Ammi. She had a cardiac arrest.” It was the night of Wednesday in Pakistan. On Thursday morning came a telephone call from Shala. I panicked. What could be wrong? “Don’t you know? Tariq’s mother passed away,” said Shala. I do not remember what I said. So Khala was no more--but what about Unglian Figar Apni? Justification or otherwise The popularity and possibility of nasri nazm will not let it collapse despite all dismissive comments By Abrar Ahmad Creativity in literature
thrives on anti-thesis. Any digression from the format is necessarily born
out of the change in the dynamics of Viewing Urdu poetry in retrospect, we find that ghazal remained unchallenged for a very long period of time. Its acceptance coincides with a relatively sedate and less turbulent era in our history. It was in the 1930s when free verse or Azad nazm surfaced with force -- a form in fact paband in meter but entirely different from the ghazal. A fierce criticism ensued and the “pundits” of the time dismissed it as an imported western art form which had no relevance to our tradition. But the brilliant and brave Meera Ji and Noon Meem Rashed refused to give in -- risking their immediate popularity and wide range acceptance. Obviously they won in the ultimate analysis.
Our present day critics
consider a poet “complete” only if he expresses himself in all three
forms i.e. ghazal, nazm and nasri nazm. Recently a valuable book Pakistani Urdu Verse: an anthology was published by Oxford University Press giving representation to 63 poets of nazm from the post-Iqbal era. The nazms were translated by celebrated poet Yasmeen Hameed with an amazing display of command both on Urdu and English. It is a book worthy of a warm welcome and applause but Mr. Rauf Parekh in his review published in a contemporary English daily has opted to brush it aside. In an unfriendly tone he opens his piece with the question: “Is Prose, Poetry?” as if the anthology contained just nasri nazm and not the metric stuff. The learned journalist observes, “The paband nazm (the poem bound by the metric restrictions) makes just twenty percent of the book, a proportion not really representative of the popularity and currency of this form of verse in Urdu.”
The entire article address the justification or otherwise of nasri nazm and that too as a question of criticism. He recalls how Hali lashed out at the older poetic forms and themes and how he criticised the ghazal to pave the way for free verse but is quick to add, “I wonder how he (Hali) would have reacted to the concept of Prose Poem.” It seems Muqaddama Sher-o-Shairi remains the only and the ultimate book of criticism to him. Mr. Parekh, in the same vein, goes on to reflect: “I would rather say with due apologies that those who do not know anything about vazn (metre) and aroz (prosody) favour this kind of poetry.” This judgmental and
injudicious statement is as old as the inception of this genre in Urdu. It
has been aptly addressed and is It is true that those who do not know vazn and arooz do try their hands here, but then those knowing these tools write ghazals as well that are mechanical and worthless. Qamar Jameel, critic and an exceptionally gifted ghazal poet who also wrote nasri nazm led the movement in Karachi where a bunch of talented young poets laid a solid foundation for the genre to grow. In an article he wrote: “Prose poems are written in personal, not a collective rhythm. Here the poet expresses himself in a battery of new metaphors including the most private ones… only metric obligations are absent here, not the rhythm.” Jameel also implores the casual poets, not to break the hypnosis which a nasri nazm is capable of generating. If we read the contemporary nasri nazm without prejudice, one cannot help meeting the unique intensity contained within the unrhymed lines, the harmonious linguistic patterns, richness of experience and an unbending creative energy tamed within the poem. It suffices to say that any art form not futuristic in its possibilities is bound to die its death without any undesirable efforts. The popularity of nasri nazm and the persistently appearing phenomenal pieces are the actual custodian of the genre which refuses to collapse under unnecessary and illogically dismissive comments.
A word about letters National languages A private bill introduced recently in the National Assembly by 22 members, most of whom belong to the ruling Pakistan People’s Party, seeks a constitutional amendment to deprive Urdu of its status as the only national language of the country. It proposes seven languages to be recognised as our national languages. The list includes Punjabi, Seraiki, Sindhi, Pushto, Balochi, Shina/Balti and Urdu. Tabled on the first private members’ day of the new session of the Assembly, the bill has to be passed by two-thirds majorities in the Assembly as well as the Senate to become part of the constitution. The bill was expected to be greatly lauded by various nationalist groups and intellectuals who have since long been demanding national status for various Pakistani languages. But the response has been quite different. The octogenarian writer and intellectual Muhammad Ibrahim Joyo, who is also known as Sheikh Ayaz’s literary mentor, was the first to raise his voice against it. Commenting on the bill, he has been reported as saying that if implemented the bill is bound to create problems as it seeks national language status for all mother tongues. As a result each province will have more than one national language. The move would adversely affect the long-standing demand of making Sindhi the national language of Sindh, he observed. Some other eminent Sindhi writers and scholars have supported Joyo’s point of view. They include Dr G.A. Allana, Dr Fahmida Hussain, Imdad Hussaini, Dr Sehar Imad, Qalandar Shah Lakyari and Inam Sheikh. The Sindh Democratic Forum too is not happy with the National Languages Bill. It believes that the bill will “further cloud the issue and the entire historical case of the national languages would get weakened and defused.” Sindhi writers demand that only the language spoken by the majority of the people in a province should be accepted as its language. Take the example of Punjab, they point out. Many dialects of Punjabi language are spoken in different areas of Punjab but its language will always be called Punjabi. The same is the case with Sindhi. Various languages and dialects are spoken there but only Sindhi is its majority and historical language. Expressing appreciation for the standpoint taken by the Sindhi writers, novelist and activist Nazir Kahut who is also the convener of the recently launched Punjabi Language Movement has come down heavily on the backers of the National Languages Bill for demanding national status for Seraiki. He says Seraiki is not a language: it is only one of the 32 dialects of Punjabi. It has been included in the list of proposed national languages only to “find a ground for the division of Punjab and counter the demands to make Punjabi the medium of instruction in the province.” Seraiki writers have not yet come up with any noticeable response to the bill. However, it goes without saying that the demand made by Sindhi writers will not be acceptable to them. The bill gives the impression that its presenters have not given due consideration to the “political dynamics and historical perspective” of the language issue in the country. It carries some contradictions too. Perhaps it will be in the fitness of things to convene a national conference of politicians, educationists, intellectuals and writers to work out a policy on the complicated issue of national languages. 75 years of the Adab-e-Latif Adab-e-Latif is billed as the oldest publishing Urdu literary journal. It was launched by Chaudry Barkat Ali in the mid 1930s from Lahore when the city was the major centre of Urdu literary activities in south Asia and many literary magazines were published from there. All those magazines have stopped being published, but the Adab-e-Latif is still continuing its publication because of the interest of the members of the family of its founder. The magazine is now edited and published by the late Chaudry Barkat Ali’s daughter Siddiqa Begum. More than a dozen noted writers have served as editors of the magazine. Songster and teacher Talib Ansari was the first editor and was followed by Mirza Adeeb who remained associated with it for quite a long time. Among the other editors were Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Ahmad Nadim Qasmi, Fikar Taunsvee, Qateel Shafaai, Arif Abdul Matin, Intezar Husain, Nasir Zaidi, Zakaur Rehman, Kishwar Naheed, Masood Ashaar and Azhar Javed. They are all respected names of modern Urdu literature. Perhaps no other literary magazine has ever been served by so many eminent men and women of letters. Adab-e-Latif has completed 75 years of its publication and Siddiqa Begum has brought out a two-volume special number spread over more than a thousand pages to mark the occasion. Edited by Dr Ziaul Hasan, the special number carries articles written by Dr Wazir Agha, Dr Anwar Sadeed, Dr Tehseen Firaqi, Nasir Zaidi, Mah Talat Zaidi, Dr Nasir Baloch, Syed Ahmad Saeed Hamdani and many others. The section on fiction offers short stories of Altaf Fatima, Samee Ahuja, Rashid Amjad, Mansha Yad, Tariq Mahmood, Tahira Iqbal, Younas Javed, Mirza Hamid Baig, Mahmood Ahmad Qazi and others. Atiya Syed hosted a party past fortnight to celebrate the 75th anniversary of the Adab-e-Latif to which a number of writers were invited. Siddiqa Begum, Zakaur Rehman, Azhar Javed, Dr Saadat Saeed and Absar Abdulali were there as were Hussain Majrooh, Sarwar Sukhera, Shiba Taraz, Shahid Bukhari and some others. They talked about the roll the magazine played in promoting literature. They congratulated Siddiqa Begum and lauded the efforts she has made to upkeep the publication of the magazine. |
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group switched to “aunty,” she was Aunty Ahsan among our circle of
friends-- all friends of her son, Tariq Ahsan. I do not remember when I first
met her, but it could have been as early as 1953 when I was only four years
old. I do, however, remember her wooden hut across some open land at the back
of my hut in PMA. And I remember vividly--but this was in the late fifties--a
tall, somewhat grim gentleman called Ahsan Ali Khan who walked to and fro
from that hut every day. This was Tariq Ahsan’s father who served as a
director in the Foreign Office later. And these were the years when I
encountered Tariq Ahsan, younger than me by several years, and later my best
friend.
mother, an aunt and, above all, a highly devoted and doting mother to Tariq
and his sister Tazeen. But Tazeen came like a whiff of fresh air. She died
soon after her twentieth birthday leaving a wound which never healed in the
family. Aunty Ahsan filled the house with her pictures. She even called her
friends on her birthday. And she mentioned her as if she was living but only
in another part of the city. But the fact that that part had only gravestones
marked by names--that she hid painfully even from herself.
life itself. As generations face different social and political situations,
their subjectivity and existence shift and change. The spirit and sensibility
of the era, consequently, tends to explore new possibilities and methods to
express it. That is why different themes fade away in oblivion with time and
are constantly replaced by new shades and thoughts. The same holds true for
art forms. It is a continuously changing and on-going process.
In
the 1960s, the modernists mercilessly dismissed and rejected the ghazal as an
outdated orthodox form incapable of accommodating new themes and ideas. A new
genre, nasri nazm or prose poem, was introduced with a missionary spirit and
immense theoretical support by the most intelligent literati of those years.
It was a little aggressive advancement one would have thought, un-necessarily
attacking the ghazal. But nasri nazm gradually picked up and today enjoys a
reputation not even imagined.
The debates addressing the presence or absence of the formal metre in nasri
nazm have all settled for good. All literary journals and anthologies
regularly include it as an essential component of the section on poetry. More
significant poets rise above these prejudices and theoretical bias and create
in accordance with the truth of their subjective experience.
Is
it error of judgment, miscalculation or simply the fact the book was not even
opened? I have gone through it and found exactly the reverse to be true.
Twenty eight percent of the offerings included are nasri nazms.
considered settled now since long. A detailed account to dwell on the genesis
of nasri nazm and how it got established would be out of place here. I can,
however, conveniently place a long list of poets of undisputed stature to
disprove the dismissive claim.