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review Zia
Mohyeddin column Ghazal’s
avant-garde poet
review In literary circles
Ravish Nadeem has already established himself as an audible voice. His
attachment to the progressive school separates him from a number of
pretenders on the other side who strut about in the corridors of the literary
world through their hard and wide work in public PR. His book on Manto’s
female characters, Manto Ki Aurtain, is a scholarly study that traces back
the evolution of the traditional image of the desi woman from prehistoric
times to the formative decades of our society’s adolescence and dubious
adulthood in the last century. That was the time when Manto was writing his
stories in which, through his women, he exposes the contradictory nature of
our moral values. Objects and playthings in the hands of men, they seem to be
claiming their place in society as humans. Manto’s awareness of his
society’s double standards and its predilection for macho values surfaces
in the fortunes of his women. Whether whores, wives or mothers, they are an
exploited lot, even if they accept that as their fate or look for a different
destiny. He allows them to speak for themselves; he does not moralise or
comment on their morals or use his story to bemoan the times as most writers
of fiction do. But only when asked does he explain his apathy towards women,
those naik beebies who would take a beating and then sit down to polish the
shoe they were beaten with. His kind is the woman who walks away to see a
movie after threatening her husband she was going to commit suicide. The
woman who is happy with her situation and has no complaints at any level in
this society is not acceptable to Manto. He wants to see men and women in
that natural relationship which is based on sincerity, and genuine and
spontaneous expression of love and freedom. Nadeem has mentioned a
number of critics who have allowed their intellectual fancy to run wild in
assuming that Manto is using the woman as a symbol for the lot of the general
populace under colonialism. This is humbug. Manto had no need for symbolisms
as he had the story. Fiction writers drift in labyrinths and make far-fetched
allusions to all manner of woolly hypotheses when they have lost the thread
of the story. In Gadarya, that brought Ashfaq Ahmad much fame, the author
goes on and on labouring over his lecture to a tiresome length, unable to
wound it up. The chapter on the
evolution of Manto’s women is an exhaustive study and assessment of his
female characters. Nadeem tries to relate these characters to the changes
that were taking place in not only the author’s life but in society as a
whole under the impact of socio-political developments like the massacre and
mayhem of the Partition in which women became the handy tool for the communal
mind to exercise its savagery on. But the excessive caution and dithering in
Nadeem’s analyses often dulls the true import of his finding, landing the
critic in inanities like: “at last reaching the height of his art Manto
seems to be succeeding in the creation of such female characters, that by
becoming the complete representative of his contemporary politico-social
awareness, look like realising his artistic and intellectual approach.” There is no doubt Manto’s
great achievement, which few others have been able to equal, is his ability
to preserve the “Indianness” of his women. In whatever role they appear
in his stories their “Hindustani” (or South Asian if you like) identity
remains unfailingly intact, not through type casting as we see in the movies
or plays or in the stories and novels of our women writers, but by allowing
them to remain what they are, attached to households and afflicted with
domesticity even in brothels, quite unlike the romantic, sophisticated,
unearthly femme fatales or the timid, ornamental Barbie dolls that some of
our popular writers and playwrights turn them into. But again, because his
stories are homegrown in the soil of the land, their actors too remain
effortlessly sub-continental. The last section of the
book deals with the charges of smuttiness against Manto’s stories and what
was said in his defence and against. Nadeem has dug up some new material also
on the subject. But this matter has only a historical interest now.
Pornography in all its forms has become so rampant it has lost its intended
effect. Ravish Nadeem’s book is a
thorough going critique of Manto’s women, though in a general way. Some of
the major characters like Mozel’s could have been studied in greater
detail. Perhaps, that would have spared the critic the need for extensive
patrolling of the socio-political catacombs of Manto’s time. Manto Ki Aurtein By Dr Ravish Nadeem Publisher: Poorab Pages: 350 Price: Rs 400
Zia
Mohyeddin column English is spoken by millions of people in India. It is the language of India’s judicial system. It is also the preferred language of most of the Indian universities. In Pakistan too, some of the high profile lawyers use English when they appear in the higher courts. Needless to say that English in the sub-continent has developed a distinctive vocabulary. The number of Urdu and Hindi words that have crept into the Oxford English dictionary is now over two thousand. I do not mean words like chappati; Balti or vindaloo (which entered the jargon of most Midlanders as a result of the influx of Pakistani and Indian eateries) but hybrid words like policewalla and his weapon the lathi. Indian English was, in the
1950s and 1960s, an endless delight for stand-up comics. The late, Peter
Sellars became an icon because of his renditions of what he considered to be
the Indian accent in BBC’s popular programme Take it From Here. Indian and
Pakistanis were often addressed with “Goodness gracious me” (a
catchphrase of Peter Sellars, inserted in nearly every line he spoke) to make
them aware that their speech was highly risible. It had a curious effect on those who were greeted with a “goodness gracious me” Some grinned sheepishly, but most of them nourished the illusion that the accent which was being made fun of was not their speech, but that of the illiterate working class immigrants whom they themselves often referred to as “wogs.” They happily joined in the game by aping the “Sellarised” accent, thus trying to create the impression that they were not only on the same level as their interlocutors, but that they, too, considered the Indian accent to be laughable. That era, which lasted nearly forty years, is over. You rarely hear the word wog, (acronym from Westernised Oriental Gentleman) these days. Indians and Pakistanis may not be welcome in some sections of society in England, but they are no longer derided for their manner of speech. The new forms of English emerging in Asia have now come to be accepted by quite a few academics as an innovative branch of a language that has not only developed its own pronunciation but its own vocabulary and its own distinctive grammar. A few days ago the following application landed on my desk: “…with respectfully stated that the letter is writing to your goodself in respect of the confirmation about my status as storekeeper….” Some years ago I would have moaned pleasurably after reading this gelimatias. I don’t any more. In the sub-continental jargon some standard phrases are often rearranged or abbreviated. “Give me the scissor,” instead of a pair of scissors or “Where is the key bunch?” instead of “a bunch of keys.” Duplication is often used for emphasis: “I like hot hot coffee” and “She has been crying all night.” We have conveniently altered some expressions to satisfy our sense of the syntax. “Thanks God” is a most commonly used phrase. “I am only pulling his legs” is another. We have a propensity not only for variations in noun numbers but for progressive verbs as well. “I am having four brothers and two sisters. How many brothers and sisters are you having?” are lines to be found in a Primer which promises that the reader would be able to converse in English in double quick time. No wonder the educated people like lawyers often say, “I am believing that you can’t be telling the truth.” It has always been known that Asian English is famously different from Queen’s English. I am not referring to the strong rhythmic pronunciation which differs from region to region, but the language as it is spoken. One of our high profile movies stars, who has now decided to converse only in English, showed off her newly acquired skill by greeting me with. “It is very pleasure meeting you.” On other occasions I have heard people say “It is very nonsense” or “It is very impertinence.” The simple adjective ‘very’ has assumed a new flavour in our jargon. ‘Even’ is another adjective which in our everyday speech has assumed the meaning of ‘also.’ “He even called you to confirm the news.” Our newspapers too show a complete indifference to nouns and prepositions and pay scant attention to the difference between an adverb and an adjective. The reporters do not know how to use a preposition. The humble word ‘the’ and ‘a’ suffer most in their copy. I once pointed it out to the editor of a newspaper and instead of being apologetic he said, rather tersely, “We have never had any complaints from our readers. I think you are too much of an intellectual.” The word intellectual was uttered to imply snooty, highbrow and a fuddy-duddy. This is the passage that had confounded me: “A magistrate on Sunday granted bail to the police inspector after recovery of four stolen articles and illicit arms from his house.” Are the stolen goods recovered from the magistrate’s own house or the inspector’s? Would the bail have been denied if the goods had not been recovered? Sunday too, plays an important part; the magistrate is not harassed by too much work, he is in a relaxed mood; he grants bail. Do magistrates hold court on a Sunday? Just as “Hinglish” — a combination of Hindi and English — is spoken in most cities in India, Singlish is the language of the Singaporeans. On a recent visit to Singapore I was informed that the Singapore pidgin was once banned from television, but Singlish refused to be stamped out. This was not surprising considering that people who spoke it were influenced by Malay and Chinese dialects. Many Malay words have entered the flow of English and many English words leaven taken on eccentric uses. If someone offers to “follow you home” it does not mean that he is going to stalk you, but rather offering to accompany you to your house. In Singapore the word ‘no’ is used as a suffix just as we use the word ‘na’. We say, ‘I can’t refuse chocolate na’. In Singapore they say, ‘You are joining me next week, no?” The most typical example common to both Singapore and the sub-continent is the usage of the question tag: ‘is it,’ without any reference to the verb that has gone before, resulting in “You don’t like, is it” and you don’t mind, is it? There are many hidden pleasures in a new language.
Ghazal’s
avant-garde poet Raghupati Shahia, popular known as Firaq Gorakhpuri (1896-1982), is a renowned Urdu poet and critic, whose prolific works spanning over more than half a century left deep imprints on Urdu literature. He is credited for introducing a modern sensibility in the poetic tradition and inspired a whole lot of younger generation. In the early 1990s, Dr Nawazish Ali did his PhD thesis on Firaq’s life and art under the supervision of Dr Sohail Ahmad Khan, which has now been published as a book. Firaq Gorakhpuri : Shakhsiat Aur Fun is significant as Firaq’s works have been out of print for some time, and there is no other book available in the market reviewing his achievements. The book gives a detailed
account of Firaq’s life, family history and a sketch of his personality,
citing written sources and some details obtained from the interviews of his
friends and family members the writer conducted during his visit to India in
1988. Firaq’s unhappy relationship with his wife, Kishori Devi, is well
known in literary circles, but Nawazish Ali took pains to dig out more
details on their unhappy marriage. We come to know that Firaq’s father,
Ibrat Gorakhpuri, was also an Urdu poet, whose works served as an initial
inspiration for Firaq’s poetry that began in 1919. He was a pupil of the
poet Wasim Khairabadi who came from the tradition of Amir Minai. The book’s real value lies in the critical evaluation of Firaq’s poetry. Ali writes that Firaq’s ghazal is a rare and creative juxtaposition of different trends found in Urdu, English, Persian and Hindi poetry. In one chapter, covering nearly 150 pages, Ali traces the influences of classical Urdu poets, like Mir, Dagh, Amir Minai, and Momin on Firaq’ ghazal and afterwards his own contribution to this genre. In fact, Firaq’s style kept changing and he imbibed influences of many other classical poets. He was also associated with Progressive Writers Association since its beginning and wrote some poems under its influence. Although Firaq started his poetic career in 1919, he came to be widely recognised in 1937 when Niaz Fatehpuri wrote an essay on his poetry in the annual issue of the noted literary magazine, Nigar. In 1941, the same magazine published Firaq’s poetic works. In 1945, Nia Idara, Lahore published the first anthology of his poetry, Shola Saz. By that time, Firaq was one of the most influential literary figures. He inspired a whole generation of new poets that surfaced during the late 1940s and the 1950s. Ali writes: “The new generation of Urdu poets has learnt a lot from Firaq. No other contemporary of Firaq influenced more the poets representing modern ghazal than did he alone. Firaq’s ghazal is the avant-garde of modern ghazal.” In 1965, Urdu’s distinguished scholar and critic Rasheed Ahmad Siddiqui had also written that “Firaq’s contribution will be very important in whatever form the Urdu ghazal acquires in the future.” Nawazish Ali has given scores of examples to prove Firaq’s influence over the poetry of Nasir Kazmi, Khalilur Rehman Azmi, Ahmed Mushtaq, Saleem Ahmad, Aziz Hamid Madni, Aslam Ansari, Ubaidullah Aleem and Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi. The writer says Firaq is neither a wholly traditional poet nor modern. Instead, he says, if we evaluate Firaq in the period of Hasrat, Asghar, Fani and Yagana, he emerges as a modern poet. “Firaq’s ghazal was modern in that it represented the tone and sensibility of his times, while showing sensitivity to the classical expressions as well. Firaq enabled ghazal’s creative tradition to imbibe modern sensibility of the contemporary world.” At a time, when his contemporaries were following the traditional themes, in Firaq’s ghazal, we encounter a new man who ponders over universe afresh and tackles the issues of modern thought and a changed attitude towards romantic relationship. Although physical beauty and love are dominant subjects of Firaq’s ghazal, his lyrics encompass such thoughts, emotions and themes which had not been represented in the old classical ghazal before him. In the words of scholar Ali Jawad Zaidi, the entire field of human yearning and suffering forms his canvas. Firaq’s art is also distinct in his portrayal of mood and external settings and atmosphere — the qualities that lacked in Urdu lyrics and which he might have learnt from English literature of which he was a teacher at the Allahabad University. One major distinction of Firaq’s verse is his creative use of Hindi words thanks to his intimate knowledge of Hindi language and literature, which added a new colour to Urdu poetry. The Indian culture and the spirit of Indian civilization seek expression particularly in his rub’ais, writes Nawazish Ali. A married woman’s charms, a woman’s love for her family, romance of the married life and colourful pictures of husband-wife’s relationship are the dominant themes of his rub’ais. The author says the use of Hindi and Sanksrit words in his rub’ais have created a magical effect in these verses; Firaq has portrayed the physical charms of the beloved in such detail that the poetry appears to be painting. A chapter deals with the poems of Firaq and their critical evaluation. His two poems, “Aadhi Raat” and “Parchain” have been mentioned as a great contribution to the genre of Urdu poem. Nawazish Ali’s thesis summarises and compiles other critics’ work on Firaq which are spread over hundreds of books and literary journals.
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