Baajoo Kee Gulley (The Side Lane)

murli bairan..

Jane Kahan Gaye Wo...

Urstruly & Farzana

Errata: from 32

Instead of:

[``Jis ko chaha tha ADA uss ko to hum paa naa sukay

Iss bahaanay sey magar,daikh lee dunyaa hum ney ``]

Please read the first line as:

``Justjoo jis kee thhee,uss ko to naa paaya ham nein``

Someone ( I think Hamzad) recounted the story of Manto`s final moments of life. By coincidence I am reading a collection of short stories by the American writer, Raymond Carver. In one story he writes about the death of his mentor, the Russian writer and dramatist Anton Chekov. He was lying on his deathbed in a spa town in Germany, suffering from consumption and in the middle of the night, he started having convulsions and so on. The doctor was called, who upon seeing his state, knew he only had minutes to live, and any attempt to even give him morphine would be futile. So he calmly walked to the phone and ordered a bottle of champagne and three glasses, opened it, and he, Chekov and his wife each drank a glass. His last words were ``I have not had champagne in a long time``, and then he was no more. Like you say, not a bad way to go...

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Aamir---51

``Iss saadgi pey kaun naa mur jaaey aiy khudaa

Lartay hain aur haath mein talvaar bhee naheen``.

Oh meria DOLLy sipahayaa tenoo rubb diyaan rakhaan

Eh kuryaan hattan tey naee vik deen,kee lubnaa hai vich bazaar munday.

farzana versey---49

Tumm aao,rim jhim krtee

payaal kee jhankaar liyay

nain bichha-ey baithhaa koi

phoolon bhuree bahaar liy-ey.

.

The interjection part was about the introduction only.

Please read the ADA shair which I quoted.The more you will ponder over it the more its` universality & timelessness will enchant you.It becomes non-contextual,unlike other ones.Now that is GHAZAL.

Majrooh seems to have this refrain in his poems ever since his first became a hit,sung by Munna Day(GREAT!)

``Teraa haath,haath mein aa gayaa keh charaagh rah mein jul gaey

Mujhey sehl ho gaeen manzilein,voh havaa kay rukh bhee budul gaey``

PS:Ismat is Master(mistress?) of indoors,Manto of outdoors.

Every event(as in philosophy) has its niche in Life and ascribing and attributing it to Man/woman is futile.Please don`t.

Each man`s(& woman`s) death (& life) diminishes( & augment) me (& you)



& thereforeetc etc.

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HN---43

Thank you for reminding me that Gautams` journey starts from Sharasvatee. The first chapter is so beautifully written especially the dialogue between Shankar & Gautam AND the character(role) of Champaa?----jee chahtaa hai abhee gode mein bithha kurr choom loon.(aur buss!).

.

I rank ``Seetaa Haran`` & ``Housing Society`` as her great works as well. In fact there are few passages in Seeta Haran which are worth their weight in...... plutonium!

Thank you for your encouraging comments.

Hamzad Afaqui:

An interesting way to delve into the mind of a writer, though I was waiting for Manto’s interjections, especially since you had granted him permission!

A few thoughts…how rebellious was Manto really? I have not read much of his work (and I can only read the translations), but quite a bit on him. I think by portraying reality you do not expose hypocrisy. Besides, from one story that I remember, there was an element of the writer exploiting the subject as much as the people he was exposing. I am referring to the one where a rich man lures a woman in need of money. Manto’s description was less vivid and more voyeuristic. In that sense I feel Ismat Chugtai’s work was more commendable. She was fighting against the social mores of the time. It must not have been easy for a woman to go against the tide.

Anyway, I am discovering Urdu literature and seeing it in a new light. I still remember attending a poetry reading session and this shayar acquaintance said, “Wahaan tau wah-wah koi keh nahin sakta, tau mazaa kahaan?” How true. I realise too that all my mellow dreams happen in Urdu :)

Urstruly (#35):

[I think our writers and our poets (urdu) have a penchant for attaching a mystery to the woman, especially, the women of loose character and sometimes even to the at`tar ka londa. Sure they have a story to tell but so does everyone else.]

Loose woman? What an archaic term! If you insist, then the men writing about such women were loose themselves, or perhaps felt that by stooping they could conquer and having done so, package that. The woman as underdog had greater appeal if she was legitimised by literary intervention.

Hamzad mentioned Umrao Jaan…she went a step further and legitimised herself. The couplets following the one he quoted are even more poignant….

“Ae Adaa aaj sunaayegi tau kya haal apna

Umr ka lambaa safar taey kia tanha humnein.

Kab mili thi, kahaan bichdee thi humein yaad nahin

Zindagi tujhko tau bas khwaab mein dekha humnein.”

HN (#43):

[One of my favourite romantic example of poetic conceit are these lines from Majrooh Sultanpuri`s song from Mere Jeevan Saathi...

Yoon to akela bhi aksar gir ke sambhal saktaa hoon mein

Tum jo pakad lo haath mera, duniya badal saktaa hoon mein

Maanga Hai tumhe duniya ke liye, ab to sanam faisla keejiya]

Come on, Harish, you can’t be serious. Majrooh is in fact talking about emotional dependence, the power of love to change and rebel. If there is any conceit it is FOR the partner. It is a sort of opposition to the Majnoon idea of love.

Regards,

Farzana

freethinker---46

I am so glad you have access to Urdu literature through a great collection of your.

Yeh I have read Vajidaa T....& despite her too much ``openess``,she has still managed to record the Hyderabaadi four-wall dramatics.

.

Syed Rafique Hussein is a writer which must be resurrected.In fact a writer like him is perhaps nowhere in the world.The characters of his novels are animals & their symbiotic relationship mith mankind.Kipling etc & even the time-less PanchTantraas or Kaleela O Dumna seem too adolescent in his presence.In fact he is a class of his own.

I translated one of his stories & submitted the first installment to CHOWK last year,but in their wisdom they have not considered it fit to print----or maybe they will one day but at least they should acknowledge it.

Maybe I should remind them.They could have forgotten.

dost-mittar:

(CHOWK seems to have gobbled up an earlier post)

It is Kaali SHalvaar.I urdu it is always SHALAVAAR. In Panjabi it is also Salvaar(sometimes & someplaces).

Turkish/Mongol word.Another one for a different style is Shalooka.

Very Urdu-ish,These words.

__________________________.

As you must be well aware the word URDU means :army,cantonment,etc.

Ibne-Inshaa writes(humorously)that he was delighted to see a grand majestic building in Istanbul/ankara which said URDU in bold letters.He praised his Turkish guide for their devotion to our language--but was soon brought back to earth.It was the Army Headquarters.

The word Horde or Urad of the Mongols(Remember Horde of Genghis Khan--wondered why horde is always used for Mongols only?)is the origin of our URDU.From Urud of Mongols it entered as Horde in Norwegian(they were terrified!) and thence into the English language.

``Mujhh sey pehlay uss gulley mein meray afsaaney gaey``..:)

I hope this was not too overbearing.

Please note a correction in my last posting. Instead of Manto`s novels, please read `Manot`s short stories`. Sorry for this mix up.

Dear Hamzad:

I was touched by Manto`s Mauzail and Khol Do. I was Intermediate student in 1953 when one of our English Professors discussed Manto`s Khol Do in the class. He was a great professor; in addition to his normal teaching, he used to discuss Faiz`s poetry, Manto`s novels, newly released films, M. Aslam`s novels which he ridiculed, Nasim Hijazi`s novels, and much else.

I must have read almost all of Manto`s works excepting those which he wrote in the last days of his life.Besides Mauzail and Khol Do, there are numerous other stories whose profiles I remember only vaguely. His Ganjay Farishtay left a lasting impression on my mind. I had read much of Krishan Chandar, Ismet Chughtai and other `Tarraqui Pasand` writers but Manto was a class in himself.I have lost touch, by and large, with Urdu literature since 1970 although I still leisurely and occasionally leaf through Deewan-e-Ghalib, Iqbal`s Kulliyat,Faiz`s Kulliyat, and a few other books that I have in my collection. Since 1970, I have read Shahab Naamah and a few other pieces such as Mufti`s Labbaik.

It`s good that you and Godot before you, found time to write on Manto. Have you read Wajida Tabassum? You must have.

Regards.

This business of being disowned by the progressives and the leftists hurting Manto and the poetic conceit in his response reminded ``if they do not consider me progressive let them do so. I am not progressive I am Manto only Manto.``

Salvadore Dali did a wittier one when he was thrown out of the Surrealists` group by Andre Breton.``The only difference between me and the surrealists is that I am the integral surrealist.``

Come to think of it, they did more or less mean the same thing.

Manto`s epitaph is another case of this trait in writers.

One of my favourite romantic example of poetic conceit are these lines from Majrooh Sultanpuri`s song from Mere Jeevan Saathi...

Yoon to akela bhi aksar gir ke sambhal saktaa hoon mein

Tum jo pakad lo haath mera, duniya badal saktaa hoon mein

Maanga Hai tumhe duniya ke liye, ab to sanam faisla keejiya

Hamzad Afaqui saab:

Aag ka Dariya mein Gautam Nilambar goes to Takshashila from Shravashti. The ruins of Shravasti are still there at Sarnath outside Banares/ Varanasi.

Am enjoying the discussion on your thread.

Harish

dost-mittar--41

``TUMM shehr mein ho tO,humein kyaa ghumm,jubb uthhaingay

Ley aaingey bazaar sey jaa kar dil O jaan aur``

.

This ghazal is like a nazm which basically means that there is only one subject which runs throughout the ghazal.The mood is situational & contextual.Each couplet is connected to the next.

It is addressed to a Hasseena who has spurned Ghalib & obviously Ghalib is not too happy about it.In a trifle departure from a ghazal-ethos this has a tinge of frustration.(generally a no-no in ghazal).He wears this singed heart on his sleeve.

So this is also called a ``Vasokht``(cry from a burnt heart).

So she has gathered all kind of lovers around her and treating Ghalib as no one special....giving mixed signals(unn key isharay mein--),doesn`t understand lingo of heart(dey aur dil unko---) and have hearts & souls(dil aur jaan) at her behest.So it has become a kind of auction(my term) and everything is for sale.Ghalib is still trying to convey that he has already lost his heart & soul and since she has spurned so many & strewn in the bazaar,he can just get another one.

On the one hand,he is castigating her for her amoral & `democratic` coquettishness and on the other he is still saying that he should be let in again because his love-pangs for her the most.

So typical of Ghalib.

PS:Now this was my take on it.No one has to agree & I do not have to agree with anyone either.:)

azraadil---38

Thank you very much.

Manto belongs to a previous generation and I live with him through his work.He,however,will live for centuries.

You write pretty well.Please continue.CHOWK is a good sounding board.Faiz has written:

``Koshish ba`har`haal kaisee bhee huqueer kyoon naa ho,funn sey faraar aur sharmsaaree pur faique hai``(dust e sabaa).That gave me a lot of nerve---and I hope it works.

freethinker--34

Out of so much stuff he wrote, I think there are only three which are about the mundane, garish, and insipid side of the prostitutes viz Hathak, kaali Shalvaar, and Khoshia.

It is again to Mantos credit that somehow the public remembers him for only these ones.Toba TS is good but it was also hyped,politicised and co-opted by `progressive` do-gooders. Otherwise, in all probability, that would have also remained buried as an unknown.I think Nayaa Quanoon and Mozail deserve more, if not equal, attention.

Dear Hamzad afaqui, hello.

I really liked the way you wrote about Manto. I am also a fan of urdu literature and giants like Manto. I also write but it`s never good enough, may be some day before I die I`ll have something in my hand, but what`s the use then.

I like the way you interact with Manto, true!he`ld be bit ticked off by guys like you, but then if you two were living in the same period, he must have been humongous giant, in the world of urdu literature. Not that he is not now, but imagin the size of Manto!

Keep it up and I wish you all the best in the world of literature, be it urdu or english

Urstruly--35

Shamsur-Rehman Farooqui has covered the territory about ``Attar`s Launda`` very well in his monumental & seminal work on Meer.It is NOT what you & so many others have in mind.

``Kis ney?

Kis----ney,

Yeh khail rachayaa.

Upnay aap subhee kuchh kar kay

Upnaa AAp chhupayaa

Kis ney?

Komal komal pyaarey poday

dhaan paan matvaray poday

inn pey aakar kis ney chhirkee

rang roop kee mayaa?

Upnay aap subhee kuchh kar kay

Upnaa AAp chhupayaa,

Kis ney?

Undhharay mein sotay thay yeh

bilkul bai-sudhh hotay thay yeh

Neend-puree key mudhh maaton ko

Neend sey aan jagayaa

Upnay AAp subhhee kuchh kar kay

Upnaa AAp chhupaya

kis ney?

_____________________________________.

What I said was if you know the end of the movie would you enjoy it as much or even consider seeing it?Story-telling is everything,my reformed Casanova.

Remember a woman is all Ears & a man is all Eyes.

(Explaining this would ruin it---but it has truly been coined by,-----urstruly(MEEE).:-)

Manto was a rebel; he rebelled against the hypocrisy of our society. And luckily he knew the art of exposing these hypocrisies in his stories. In a way, he was more familiar and friendly with ‘heera mandi’ than the ‘shahi masjid’, (I do not honestly mean to offend any sensibilities; we are talking about Manto,right.), for the simple reason that a mosque is a brick and mortar structure while the ‘mandi’ is populated with living human beings whom the society have discarded like a filthy rag. Yet the society needs this filthy rag for its own pleasure and exploitation; it cannot totally dispose of it. Manto was sick of this dualism.

Another beautiful story written by Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, I believe, was called Anandi; Anandi was the name of a prostitute. This is the story of prostitutes, their brothel, and the ‘respectables and elders’ of the ciry. The story goes something like this:

The respectables of the city assemble, discuss and decide that the brothel was indeed a ‘cancer in the heart of their city’ and should be removed. On their vehement protest, the city management expelled the prostitutes and ordained that they would not inhabit within a certain radius, say ten miles (I do not remember the details accurately).

The prostitutes had no recourse and perforce moved to a suitable location at the specified distance. In the beginning, their dwellings were shabby and simple mud houses with minimum utilities. There were no ‘paan wala and cigarette wala’ shops. But those of the old city, who needed to ‘let it out’ were not deterred by these obvious shortcomings of the location. The business flourished, and money started flowing in steadily. By and by, the prostitutes built impressive houses and furnished them for comfort and a degree of luxury. Small businesses grew up; paan and cigarette stalls came into existence and restaurants followed suit. The initial shabbiness disappeared. In time, the city respectables found it inconvenient to drive on muddy roads. They pleaded with the city management to build new roads, new utilities, e.g., electricity, water, etc., on the plea that the prostitutes were also human beings and deserved to be cared for. The roads were built and the new development was not handicapped in any way, compared with the city; it was indeed better than the city. And then?

The newer generation of the city respectables comes into action. How could they tolerate such a ‘cancer in the soul of their city’. But this time around, the prostitutes decided to fight. Their spokesperson was Anandi who was familiar with the whole story. The suit was fought in the court and won by the prostitutes. Although this story is not written by Manto, but it sure is in his spirit.

The kind of rebel that Manto was, is really hidden inside all of us. Most of us keep it hidden for fear of the society in which we live. But once in a long while, a ‘Manto’ comes along. He had an exquisite skill to portray such hypocrisies in his short stories.

He was a great short story writer and many of us are discovering him belatedly. Better late than never.

Regar

Hamzad Afaqui

I think our writers and our poets (urdu) have a penchant for attaching a mystery to the woman, especially, the women of loose character and sometimes even to the at`tar ka londa. Sure they have a story to tell but so does everyone else.

But I fear that if everybody starts thinking like me, that will be an end of storytelling. God! I cannot imagine a world more horrible than that; a world where no one has to tell a story. Shuddering.

semipreciousme---16

When Manto was working at All India Radio as a scriptwriter there among others was Noon Meem Rashid.

Manto did not like Rashids` phoniness and so in one of his scripts for radio he lampooned Rashids writing style.

Rashid was infuriated,perhaps also because he was the section-head of the department as well.But he just iternalised it and went about as if nothing bothered him.Until of course the right time---.

So when Manto wrote his next script he went around showing it to his collegues.Now Manto was full of impatience & impulse and wanted opinion on the piece right away.Then,walked in Rashid.

Manto had an Urdu typewriter which he was very proud of & typed all his scripts.He showed it to Rashid & anxiously watched Rashids face & was getting edgy to get Rashids` opinion.

Rashid read it real at ease & then handed the papers back to Manto and turned to leave.

``Kaisaa hai?Kaisaa hai?--Manto was really pushy.

And then Rashid in his classic,cool,& collected

style said:

``Nihayat achha type huaa hai``

And Ashk,who observed all this with glee wrote:``aur Manto,buquaul e khud `jull bhun kr kabaab ho gayaa```.

___________________________.

I hope you see the context & enjoyed this.

usrtruly--28

[Well, c`mon, she is a woman who used to leave her husband, sleeping, to see her lover-it is hard to expect such conviction from a woman of such character. Dont you think.]

No.I do not think so.

In matters of heart,I believe,there are no convictions.....only convenient compromises and ticking-tickling heartaches.

Umrao Jaan Adaa,in her asides to Mirza Rusvaa,has unpeeled some layers of the inner-most sanctum of a womans` heart & mind.

One of shair from HER ghazal(not Rusvaas`):

``Jis ko chaha tha ADA uss ko to hum paa naa sukay

Iss bahaanay sey magar,daikh lee dunyaa hum ney ``

SUPERB!is`nt it?-----very universal.taghghazul intoxicated.

__________________________________________________

``Aur phir uss nein kahaa:`Manto saab!aagul raastaa koi naeen,idhar baajoo kee gulley sey nikal jao```.

``Aur yoon mein baajoo kee gulley sey Pakistan bhaag aayaa``.

This is the last paragraph of a story(not fictional)---I cannot recall the title right now--where he narrates his last night with his friends.There is an emotion-heavy discussion,logical/illogical,coherent/senseless and sober/drunk which somehow manages to click and capture the kodak-moment of parting/partition.

He just couldn`t handle it.When he returned home,his friends thought that they have convinced him to stay.He on the other hand was completely shattered and just couldn`t be a party to take sides---so when the corner paan-waala tells him to take the baajoo kee gulley he feels he has been set free.

So,next day,like a thief,afraid to be caught,without talking to any of the friends,he leaves for Pakistan.

This story in many ways is such a succinct commentary on Partition,from a non-political non-leader view-point from which most of the scholars/intellectuals can benefit.

Urtruly,Dost-mittar,and Harpareet,free-thinker,tahmad(& others) would really appreciate it.

hamzad afaqui

semiprecious---16

”Thank you.

I had specifically requested CHOWK STAFF to edit this and also make the corrections you pointed out.It seems you at least read the piece with care & observed the punctuation errors.”

…i would never be as so presumptuous and hasty as to comment on anything without reading/thinking about it….ahem…

Sorry. plz replace the word Manto with Krishan in my last post.

Hamzad Afaqui

As a matter of fact Preeto also took my breath away when I read it the first time. I still remember it even though I had forgotten the title. When I read it some time, over a decade ago, it made me timid and cautious (for a while)on my the then lying-cheating-two-timing-heart-breaking spree. Manto did make his point very well. But now when so much time has gone by and I have travelled across the oceans I see the story from a very different angle. I think the way Preeto acted, when her husband tells her that it was him who killed her lover years ago, was not because she never forgot her first love but it was because of the embarassment of having coming to know that her husband knew all along about her escapades. Well, c`mon, she is a woman who used to leave her husband, sleeping, to see her lover-it is hard to expect such conviction from a woman of such character. Dont you think.

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http://www.theonion.com/onion3804/indo-pakistani_tensions.html

DETROIT— Indo-Pakistani tensions continue to escalate this week at the Eight-Mile and Telegraph Road Amoco, where hostilities between owner Rajesh Srinivasan and in-store Subway mini-franchise manager Majid Ashraf threaten to spill over into all-out war.



``We have made every effort to extend the hand of friendship to the Pakistani delegation that runs the Amoco Mart`s Subway Express,`` said the India-born Srinivasan, 49, in a statement to the press Monday. ``But that hand, my own hand with which I built this business for my family, has been repeatedly and without remorse slapped away.``

Leased and operated by Pakistani immigrant Ashraf and his family since March 1999, the in-store Subway occupies 30 percent of the Amoco Mart`s total retail space. Ever since their arrival, the Ashrafs have been the subject of increasingly inflammatory rhetoric from Srinivasan, who charges, among other things, that they are not mopping their fair share of the disputed territory near the coolers.

In a terse Feb. 1 statement to reporters, Ashraf struck back.

``I come to America to make business, not to be insulted by the son of a New Delhi whore,`` Ashraf said. ``I take my orders from [Subway regional manager] Larry [Ferber], not from son-of-b itch Indian dog who says to me where I mop and where I not mop.``

Though tensions have existed ever since the Ashrafs took over the Subway, the situation began sharply deteriorating in December of last year. Upon seeing Srinivasan sweep the parking lot at his wife`s behest, Ashraf mocked his Indian counterpart, calling him ``a quaking little baby goat`` and questioning the manhood of ``anyone who would take orders from a woman.``

``What Majid doesn`t recognize is that there are significant differences between his Islamic culture and Rajesh`s Hindu culture regarding gender roles,`` said Dr. James Sasser, a Harvard professor of Middle Eastern studies. ``But, to be fair, Rajesh didn`t help matters when he came after Majid with that squeegee.``

Relations further deteriorated on Jan. 20, when a dispute over cleaning-supplies inventory led to a full-blown shouting match between the small-business owners. For 45 minutes, Srinivasan and Ashraf loudly traded insults in full view of customers, and the episode reached its apex when Srinivasan called Ashraf ``a filthy, lying cheat lower than the untouchable caste of my native land.``

Srinivasan then spit on the floor in disdain, prompting Ashraf to retaliate by hurling an economy-sized container of Janitor In A Drum™ at his rival`s head.

Though the skirmish resulted in no serious injuries, it did end what little dialogue there had been between the two sides. Neither Ashraf nor Srinivasan is currently speaking to the other, and both are said to be hiding the employee bathroom key in an attempt to force the other out.



Acquired by the Srinivasan family in 1987, Eight-Mile and Telegraph Road Amoco has long been a hotbed of Indo-Pakistani tension, as its strategic location makes it critical to Pakistani cab drivers needing to refuel on their way from Detroit garages to the more lucrative suburban trade routes. Fluctuating gas prices have, over the years, resulted in strained relations between the station`s Indian owners and its Pakistani cab-driver customers, but the economic interdependence of the two groups in a highly competitive climate kept such tensions in check.

Given the volatility of the current situation, officials from Amoco and Subway, who license franchise rights to the Srinivasan and Ashraf families, are keeping a close eye on the troubled region.

``Something must be done, or we`re looking at a situation that could lead to all-out war,`` said Frederick Foss, Subway director of franchise relations for southeast Michigan. ``It`s in the best interests of everyone in the area that positive relations are maintained between the two sides.``

Community members are equally eager to see stability restored to the once-peaceful Amoco. Among the concerned local residents are Sandy Kreil, the nurse who gets coffee at the Amoco Mart on her way to work; local panhandlers ``Dan-O`` and ``Malik``; and Frannie Koenig, the elderly woman who drops in every morning for a Diet Dr. Pepper and a pack of Newport Lights.

In spite of the concern, diplomatic initiatives on the part of Subway and Amoco officials have met with failure.

``I do not see why I must refill ice machine every day when Ashraf`s customers have taken away 40 percent of my business for soda,`` said Srinivasan before walking out on a Jan. 11 negotiating session. ``You go die, Mr. Ashraf. I am not listening to you anymore.``

In the wake of the breakdown in negotiations, many observers are fearful that the Indian family will ``drop the bomb`` and refuse Ashraf access to the Dumpster behind the station, effectively forcing him to pay for a separate commercial garbage service and increase his costs beyond profitability. This move would leave Ashraf with little choice but to retaliate with a strike against the candy aisle.

``If such a scenario were to unfold, the devastation unleashed upon the Amoco and its surrounding environs would be vast,`` Sasser said. ``Without the Amoco Mart, locals would have to go all the way over to the Exxon on Gratiot [Avenue] for gas and snacks. Something must be done immediately, or it could spell doomsday for everyone.``

URSTRULY--23

Thank you that you noticed.I have attempted to retain the Manto diction in the dialogue.Although,I never met or heard his voice I tried to glean his speech mannerisms from the sentences he uttered in various ``dialogues`` which he utters.

I immensely like only one story by Krishan Chander(not that I`ve read most his work) and the name is ``PreetO``.I was a teenager then and I learnt so much from that story that it embedded as a creed as far as a womans` ``psyche`` is concerned.You must get hold of it pronto.

Just one line:``Aurat naheen bhooltee,aurat kabhee bhee naheen bhooltee.Jo loag sumjhtain hain kay aurat ko palang pur litaa kur chaar buchhay paidaa karday voh aurat ko bilkul naheen jaantay``

(This naa-bhoolnaa is about the FIRST man who awakens a woman sexually,whether he batrays or abandons her.)

On the other side is N.M.Rashid talking about a mans` psyche:``Uss kaa chahraa,usss kay khut o khaal yaad aatay naheen.

ikk birahnaa jism ubtukk yaad hai``.

_______________________________

Aag kaa daryaa has taught me a lot of the stuff which has become CHOWK staple now.That is why I do not participate in the Jinnah jinxes & Ghandhi-ghouls.

Gautams journey starts from Taxila where he is studying at the Takischilaa university(Did you go?).Oh how many times have I then visited this university & tried to relive the moment as Gautam Neelamber(my folks have forsaken me for my wierd ways).I made a very nice video where I tried to play Gautam Neelamber on the spot for one hour but then somehow my brood & their mother-hen saw no-money in it and cajoled me with their kajal-eyes to feed them at the foot of the hill.Later on they recorded something else on that tape ``To save you money!``--they tried to be nice.

semiprecious---16

Thank you.

I had specifically requested CHOWK STAFF to edit this and also make the corrections you pointed out.It seems you at least read the piece with care & observed the punctuation errors.

I hunt & peck and after his tedium I have no desire left to review or edit.It is a bad habit and I`ll try to overcome it.Your instructios have been a help.

____________________.

Sac---18

The ones who prosecuted Manto did so under British law(as adopted by Pakistan & India--British East India Act,1935).Please remember that both the countries were still a Dominion before 1955/56.It was a nominal ``self-rule`` masquerading as ``Independance``.

The court-trials were more to stifle criticism and commentary about the ``gentry``(inheritors of imperialistic culture) than the class you have in mind.The charges about lewdness & vulgarity were just a cover.Far more ``pornographic`` literature is available in Urdu,both in prose & poetry,and some writers were even a part of the curriculum.

During his last trial it was a heavy-bearded Jama`at e Islami judge who let him go free with a nominal fine.In fact he asked Manto how much should he be fined(to be easy on him).Manto, being hard of hearing thought that the judge is asking what time it was.Whatever Manto said (i do not recall now,maybe 4/5) that is the amount he paid.Later on the judge,Manto & some friends were together at a restaurant where all except the judge were drinking.There is a very interesting account of that meeting,narrated by Manto and the Judge.The judge has expressed so much love & admiration for Manto because Manto came across to him as an innocent & pure baby.``Kyoon jee, aap ney mujhay jurmaana kyoon kiyaa?`` was the first forthright question, without rancour Manto put to the judge when they met that evening.Their exchange of letters after that are a masterpiece on expression of free ideas & the importance of censorship/censure in a healthy society.

PS:I fully relish my ``complexity``,I am what DRUMZ/YLH would be about two decades later---or at least so I hope.Just teasing you DRUMZ/YLH,no offence fellas.

Hamzad Afaqui

The dialogue between you and Manto was interesting.

For some strange reason I never developed a liking for Manto. Not that I dislike him but for me it was always the question of ``Krishan Chandar or Manto``. And my vote is always for Chandar.

I was horrified today when I came to know that I was beginning to forget the great work of such great writers as Manto, Krishan Chandar, Amarta Preetam, Bedi, etc. Well, I practically grew up reading them. The other day I brought Aag ka Darya from a local library to re-read it but counldnt go past first two pages.

I remember Mantos` one short story titled ``Mootri`` (tr:Urinal or public toilet) in which he describes a public toilet so vivedly that the stench of crap and urine just fills your mind, and I think that is the ultimate test of a great writer. One sentence that I liked most is ``deewaroN par aurat or mard kay bachcha paida karnay walay a`aza ki moheeb tasaaweer bani howeeN theen``.

And just imagine my helplessness that I cannot even remember the title of his short story that I like the best. In this story he (or the narrator) brings home a teenage prostitute who is dying on the street because of the syphilis that she contacted due to her profession. He takes care of her, tries to cure her with whatever meager resources he has-and she starts to get better. She is not bed ridden anymore. One day he finds her humming a song standing under the tree in his small courtyard. He describes the innocence and the return of that childhood that she never had so beutifully so eloquently, and so softly that it can melt ones heart. And as the days go by he becomes fond of her happiness and the inner beauty and then time comes when one day for a moment he sees her as a woman when she is little made up -but at the very next moment he realizes the innocence of the child that was beginning to return to her and he feels bad.

He admonishes her in a very harsh tone ``dekho tum mujhe yooN da`wat-e-nazara nah dia karo`` as he (or the narator) is a writer.

She replies so innocently and so ashamedfacedly and reluctantly ``Yeh da`wat-e-nazara kia hota hay ji``

I wish I could describe the innocence and beauty of a human being like him.

The girl dies after few days.

sac - ``Just like everybody `discovered` Schumpter or Hegel in silicon valley a few years ago, every Tom, Dick and Harry has `discovered` Manto recently``

yes well not everyone is born a literary giant! So if they discover it at some stage in their life - what of it? Live and learn is probably right!!

aicha

anNy - that story you put up somehow reminded me of - An Affair to Remember - have you seen it? But it has a corny ending - maybe because of hollywood!

aicha

sac

well said.

Just like everybody `discovered` Schumpter or Hegel in silicon valley a few years ago, every Tom, Dick and Harry has `discovered` Manto recently. This article in typical farangi_kush style is badly punctuated and even worse more pretentious(if that were possible) than his usual vitriolic utterings. The introduction serves no useful purpose and the ensuing descrtiption of Manto`s life sounds like straight from the jacket of his collected works.

Manto is probably rolling in his grave considering he is now the adopted son of the likes of farangi_kush and all the `critics` that keep coming up with new `insights` into his work. The guy spent all his life defending himself against the twin regressive forces of religion and nationalism. He was dragged through the courts umpteen times on obscentity charges by the farangi_kushes and hamzad_afaquis of his time. How the world turns? By the look of things, Manto may soon replace Mishkat shareef in the madressahs of Pakistan.

Just like Jinnah was dubbed Kafir-i-Azam when he was alive later to be anointed as the saviour of Muslims, Manto has now been co-opted by the establishment to be unleashed upon the unsuspecting as Pakistan`s answer to Flaubert and Maupassant. Live and learn. Life is so much fun.

later

-sac

AnNY----13

This story is one of those hurriedly written ones.If I remember correcly,it was written as a radio play(sketch/fikahyaa).Such are not supposed to be printed & saved but I guess printers & publishers do us a favour.

Manto,Ismat and to a certain extent Quasmi were not `spoiled` by education.There is no intellecualism in their stories and that is precisely why they are so original.Such guys spawn schools of art rather than being followers of a certain school.Certainly geniuses.

Now because the most important element in their stories is not anecdotal or dramatic but more about peculiarities & motives.It is for this reason it is not easy to translate these writers.The niharee ends up as a bloody curry.

Welcome back temporal :) Nice to see you here .. me excited ! however are you actually here or still there ?

love,

sa:)

chowk staff:

….really, the LEAST you guys can do is place quotation marks, spaces after commas, periods etc…shoddy presentations really detracts from your site…

freethinker:

“As a practical man, he was most irresponsible. He drank all his money in whiskey and alcohol.”

….gasp!…lahol wala quwat…are you saying that mulana afaqui’s hero was a….a…sharabi??!?!…..

just recently read manto`s english transalations..i did not enjoy them very much...most of it is horrifyingly morbid...but some stories are nice (am pasting one of the best below)what i liked about him was a very crack qissam ka humour...late professor karrar hussain`s son wrote in the letters to the editor section of dawn last week something along these lines about manto..speaking of the charges of vulgarity against manto the professor said manto was not vulgar at all..he just presented to us humans with his particular brand of humor, how he saw us...very vulgar creations of god..(this is not verbatim, infact quite hazy)

http://www.alhamra.com/ (excerpt...book can be brough from same address..no theyre not paying me:))

Saadat Hasan Manto

``Kingdom`s End``

Translated from the Urdu by Khalid Hasan

The phone rang. Manmohan picked it up.`Hello, 44457.`

`Sorry, wrong number,` said a woman`s voice.

Manmohan put the receiver down and returned to his book. He had read it about twenty times, not because it was anything extraordinary, but because it was the only book in this room.

For one week now, Manmohan had been the sole occupant of this office room. It belonged to a friend of his who had gone out of town to raise a business loan. Since Manmohan was one of this big city`s thousands of homeless people who slept nights on its footpaths, his friend had invited him to stay here in his absence to keep a watch on things.

He hardly ever went out. He was permanently out of work because he hated all employment. Had he really tried, he could easily have got himself hired as director with some film company, which is what he once was when he had decided to drop out.

However, he had no desire to be enslaved again. He was a nice, quite harmless man. He had almost no personal expenses. All he required was a cup of tea in the morning with two slices of toast, a little bit of curry and bread in the afternoon and a packet of cigarettes. That was all. Luckily, he had enough friends who were quite happy to provide for these simple needs.

Manmohan had no family or close relations. He could go without food for days on end if the going got hard. His friends didn`t know much about him except that he had run away from home as a boy and had lived on the broad footpaths of Bombay for many years.

There was only one thing missing in his life-women. He used to say, `If a woman were to fall in love with me, my life wold change.`

Friends would retort, `But even then you wouldn`t work.`

`It would be nothing but work from then on,` he would answer.

`Why not have an affair then?`

`What good is an affair when the initiative comes from the man?`

It was afternoon now, almost time for lunch. Suddenly, the phone rang.

He picked it up. `Hello, 44457.`

`44457?` a woman`s voice asked.

`That`s right,` Manmohan answered.

`Who are you?` the voice asked.

`I am Manmohan.`

There was no response. `Who do you wish to speak to?` he asked.

`You,` the voice said.

`Me?`

`Unless you object.`

`No . . . not at all.`

`Did you say your name was Madan Mohan?`

`No. Manmohan.`

`Manmohan?`

There was a silence. `I thought you wanted to talk to me,` he said.

`Yes,`

`Then go ahead.`

`I don`t know what to say. Why don`t you say something?`

`Very well`, Manmohan said. `I have already told you my name.

Temporarily, this office is my headquarters. I used to sleep on the city`s footpaths, but for the last one week I have been sleeping on a big office table.`

`What did you do to keep the mosquitoes away at night? Use a net on your footpath?`

Manmohan laughed. `Before I answer this, let me make it clear that I don`t tell lies. I have slept on footpaths for years. Since this office came under my occupation, I have been living it up.`

`How are you living it up?`

`Well, there`s this book I have. The last pages are missing, but I`ve read it twenty times. One day, when I can lay my hand on the missing pages, I will finally know what end the two lovers met.`

`You sound like a very interesting man,` the voice said.

`You are only being kind.`

`What do you do?`

`Do?`

`I mean, what is your occupation?`

`Occupation? None at all. What occupation can a man have when he doesn`t work? But to answer your question, I loaf around during the day and sleep at night.`

`Do you like your life?`

`Wait,` Manmohan said.` That is one question I have never asked myself. And now that you have put it to me, I`m going to put it to myself for the first time. Do I like the way I live my life?`

`And what is the answer?`

`Well, there is no answer, but I suppose if I`ve lived my life the way I`ve lived it for so long, then it`s reasonable to assume that I like it.`

There was laughter. `You laugh so beautifully,` Manmohan said.

`Thank you.` The voice was shy. The call was disconnected. For a long time, he kept holding the receiver, smiling to himself.

The next day at about eight in the morning, the phone rang again.

He was fast asleep, but the noise woke him up. He yawned and picked it up.

`Hello, this is 44457.

`Good morning, Manmohan sahib.`

`Good morning . . . oh it`s you. Good morning.`

`Were you asleep?`

`I was. You know I have become spoilt since I moved here. When I return to the footpath, I`m going to run into difficulties.`

`Why?`

`Because if you sleep on the footpath, you have to get up before five in the morning.`

There was laughter.

`You rang off abruptly yesterday,` he said.

`Well, why did you say I laugh beautifully.`

`What a question! If something is beautiful, it should be praised, shouldn`t it?`

`Not at all.`

`You are not to impose conditions. I have never accepted conditions. If you laugh, I`m going to say that you laugh beautifully.`

`In that case, I`ll hang up.`

`Please yourself.`

`Don`t you really care if I get upset?`

`Well, to begin with, I don`t wish to upset myself, which means that if you laugh and I don`t say that you laugh beautifully, I would be doing an injustice to my good taste.`

There was a brief silence. Then the voice came back: `I`m sorry, I was having a word with our maid. So you were saying that you were partial to your good taste. What else is your good taste partial to?`

`What do you mean?`

`I mean . . . what hobby or work . . . or, shall I ask, what can you do?`

Manmohan laughed. `Nothing much except that I am fond of photography-just a bit.`

`That`s a very good hobby.`

`I have never thought of it in terms of its being good or bad.`

`You must have a very nice camera.`

`I have no camera. Off and on, I borrow one from a friend.

Anyway, if I`m ever able to earn some money, there is a certain camera I am going to buy.`

`What camera?`

`Exacta. It`s a reflex camera. I like it very much.`

There was silence. `I was thinking of something.`

`What?`

`You have neither asked me my name nor my phone number.`

`I haven`t felt the need.`

`Why not?`

`What does it matter what your name is? You have my number.

That`s enough. When you want me to phone you, I`m sure you will give me your name and number.`

`No, I won`t.`

`Please yourself. I`m not going to ask.`

`You`re a strange man.`

`That`s true, I am.`

There was another silence.

`Were you thinking again?` he asked.

`I was, but I just can`t think of anything to think about.`

`Then why don`t you hang up? Another time.`

There was a touch of annoyance in the voice. `You`re a very rude man. I am hanging up.`

Manmohan smiled and put the phone down. He washed his face, put his clothes and was about to leave, when the phone rang. He picked it up. `44457.`

`Mr. Manmohan?` asked the voice.

`What can I do for you?`

`Well, I wanted to tell you that I`m not annoyed any more.`

`That`s very nice.`

`You know while I was having breakfast, it occurred to me that I shouldn`t be annoyed with you. Have you had breakfast?`

`No, I was just about to go out when you phoned.`

`Oh, then I won`t keep you.`

`I`m in no particular hurry today, because I have no money. I don`t think there`ll be any breakfast this morning.`

`Why do you say such things? Do you enjoy hurting yourself?`

`No, I`m quite used to the way I am and the way I live.`

`Should I send you some money?`

`If you want to. That will be one more name on the list of my financiers.`

`Then I won`t.`

`Do what you like.`

`I am going to hang up.`

`Hang up then.`

Manmohan put down the phone and walked out of the office. He came back very late in the evening. He had been wondering about his caller all day. She sounded young and educated and she laughed beautifully. At 11 o`clock the phone rang.

`Hello.`

`Mr. Manmohan.`

`That`s him.`

`I`ve been phoning all day. Could you please explain where you were?`

`Although I don`t have a job, I still have things to do.`

`What things?`

`Loafing about.`

`When did you come back?`

`An hour ago.`

`What were you doing when I called?`

`I was lying on the table and trying to imagine what you looked like, but I have nothing to go on except your voice.`

`Did you succeed?`

`No.`

`Well, don`t try. I`m very ugly.`

`If you are ugly, then kindly hang up. I hate ugliness.`

`Well, if that`s the case, I am beautiful. I don`t want you to nurture hatred.`

They didn`t speak for some time. Then Manmohan asked, `Were you thinking?`

`No, but I was going to ask you . . .`

`Think before you ask.`

`Do you want me to sing for you?`

`Yes.`

`All right, wait.`

He heard her clear her throat, then in a very soft, low voice she sang him a song.

`That was lovely.`

`Thank you.` She rang off.

All night long he dreamt about her voice. He rose earlier than usual and waited for her call, but the phone never rang.

He began to pace around the room restlessly. Then he lay down on the table and picked up the book he had read twenty times. He read it once again. The whole day passed.

At about seven in the evening, the phone rang. Hurriedly, he picked it up.

`Who`s that?`

`It`s me.`

`Where were you all day?` he asked sharply.

`Why?` the voice trembled.

`I`ve been waiting. I haven`t had anything to eat, although I had money.`

`I`ll phone when I want to . . .`

Manmohan cut her short. `Look, either put an end to this business or let me know when you will call. I can`t stand waiting.`

`I apologise for today. From tomorrow I promise to phone both morning and evening.`

`That`s wonderful.`

`I didn`t know you were . . .`

`Well, the thing is that I simply can`t bear to wait and when I can`t bear some thing, I begin to punish myself.`

`How do you do that?`

`You didn`t phone this morning. I should have gone out, but I didn`t. I sat here all day fretting.`

`I didn`t phone you deliberately.`

`Why?`

`To find out if you miss my call.`

`You are very naughty. Now hang up. I must go out and eat.`

`How long will you be?`

`Half an hour.`

He turned after an hour. She phoned. They talked for a long time.

He asked her to sing him the same song. She laughed and sang it.

She would now ring regularly, morning and evening. Sometimes they would talk for hours. But, so far, Manmohan had neither asked her her name nor her phone number. In the beginning he had tried to imagine what she looked like, but that had now become unnecessary. Her voice was everything-her face, her soul, her body. One day she asked him. `Mohan, why don`t you ask me my name?`

`Because your voice is your name.`

Another day she said, `Mohan, have you ever been in love?`

`No.`

`Why?`

He grew sad. `To answer this question, I`ll have to clear away the entire debris of my life and I would be very unhappy if I found nothing there.`

`Then don`t.`

A month passed. One day Mohan had a letter from his friend. He said he had raised the money and would be returning to Bombay in a week. When she phoned that evening, he said to her, `This is my kingdom`s end.`

`Why?`

`Because my friend is coming back.`

`You must have friends who have phones?`

`Yes, I have friends who have phones, but I can`t give you the numbers.`

`Why?`

`I don`t want anyone else to hear your voice.`

`Why?`

`Let`s say I`m jealous.`

`What should we do?`

`Tell me.`

`On the day your kingdom ends, I`ll give you my number.`

The sadness he had felt was suddenly gone. He again tried to picture her, but there was no image, just her voice. It was only a matter of days now, he said to himself, before he would see her. He could not imagine the immensity of that moment.

When she called next day, he said to her `I`m curious to see you.`

`Why?`

`You said you would give me your phone number on the day my kingdom ends.`

`Yes.`

`Does that also mean you`ll tell me where you live? I want to see you.`

`You can see me whenever you like. Even today.`

`Not today. No, I want to see you when I am wearing nice clothes. I have asked a friend of mine to get me some.`

`You`re like a child. When we meet, I`ll give you a present.`

`There can be no greater present in the world than meeting you.`

`I have bought you an Exacta camera.`

`Oh!`

`But there`s a condition. You`ll have to take my picture.`

`That I`ll decide when we meet.`

`I shan`t be phoning you for the next two days.`

`Why?`

`I`m going to be away with my family. It`s only two days.`

Manmohan did not leave the office that day. The next morning he felt feverish. At first he thought it was boredom because she hadn`t phoned. By the afternoon, his fever was high. His body felt on fire. His eyes were burning. He lay down on the table. He was very thirsty. He kept drinking water all day. There was heaviness in his chest. By next morning, he felt completely exhausted. He had trouble in breathing. His chest hurt.

His fever was so high that he went into a delirium. He was talking to her on the phone, listening to her voice. By the evening, his condition had deteriorated. There were voices in his head and strange sounds as if thousands of phones were ringing at the same time. He couldn`t breathe. When the phone rang, he did not hear it. It kept ringing for a long time. Then suddenly there was a moment of clarity. He could hear it. He rose, stumbling uncertainly on his feet. He almost fell, but steadying himself against the wall, he picked it up with trembling hands. He ran his tongue over his lips. They were dry like wood.

`Hello.`

`Hello, Mohan,` she said.

`It is Mohan,` his voice fluttered.

`I can`t hear you.`

He tried to say something, but his voice dried up in his throat.

She said, `We came back earlier than I thought. I`ve been trying to call you for hours. Where were you?`

Manmohan`s head began to spin.

`What is wrong?` she asked.

With great difficulty he said, `My kingdom has come to an end today.`

Blood spilled out of his mouth, making a thin red line down his chin, then along his neck.

She said, `Take my number down. 50314 . . . 50314. Call me in the morning. I have to go now.`

She hung up. Manmohan collapsed over the phone, blood bubbling out of his mouth.

© Nighat Patel, Nuzhat Arshad, Nusrat Jalal

© Khalid Hasan, for English translation

Harpreet--8

Manto never aligned or even feigned or implied his bent in any direction.Quite an achievement given the times when practically every writer or wannabee just could not be ``in`` or glamorous if he/she did not become a bullhorn for communism & anti-colonialism.

Manto was so completely free & non-subservient that it sometimes came as a surprise to him that what he had written was not palatable to authorities.

His first taste of state censorship & proscription came when he wrote a story about soldiers(british) returning drunk,boisterous,and throwing up on the return train to Bombay(from andheri--I think,after gambling at the races).It was a crime,then,to be critical in any way(kind of like these days)to cast aspersions on the absence of sainthood of such creatures.

These laws are still on the statute books of Pakistan(perhaps India too--``whats the hurry to rid of them,not a priority``).

_____________________.

``Mujhay jail jaanay sey dar lagtaa hai.Mein vahaan khatmal kee maut naheen marnaa chahtaa``

tr:I am scared to be incarcerated in a dungeon.I do not want to be squashed like a bed-bug.....is how he viewed ``revolutionaries``.

He was like a video-camera of the times--except that he could also record emotions and mood of the era.

No mean feat,you`ll agree.

Aamir:

thanks for the urdubazar site.

This short story TTS must be savoured word by word and sentence by sentence and one should linger on the subtelities & nuances to truly appreciate its power & beauty.

For example:

When a muslim lunatic who was read the newspaper,zamindar,for twelve years,apprehensively asked maulvi sahib where is pakitan---gets the answer ``It is a place where barber-blades are manufactured``.

First:Choice of the name of newspaper ``Zamindaar``

(there WAS a very radical muslim paper by that name but others were too--but Zamindaar,the one with land so much fits in the context)

Then about barber-blades:They are used for circumcision as well as to remove hair----now what could be more terrifying for a sikh...

Just thought inter-actors would enjoy this `analysis`.

Manto needs to be projected more on CHOWK.

Sometimes I wonder if Pakistanis and Indians will
ever get beyond the ``Toba Tek Singh`` mentality.
It often appears to be a mad house out there...

Ras

Umer Murtaza--1

Thank you.

``poochtaayn hain voh key ghalib kaun hai

koee butlao,keh hum butlain kyaa``

tr:They enquire who is this Ghalib

Someone tell(me),what should I say.--;)

_________________________.

Freethinker---2

I am envious of you sir.Please tell us more of that occasion.

I never ever as much as attended a mushaira back home.That is how much I was in awe of those who knew literary Urdu & in contemt of myself to be not worthy enough for such gatherings.Later on,I discovered that I was not entirely right on both counts.

Hamid Jalaal in his article,``Manto Mamoon kee maut``,written shortly after Mantos death,vividly describes the last moments.When he was about to breath his last a full bottle was emptied in his throat to give him the final comfort.Most of the sketches about his Bombay days were written as cheques for a couple of bottles only as payment.

AAysha Jalaal(YLH where are you) is perhaps the daughter or niece of Hamid Jalaal.

__________________________.

Kim--3

And what led you to belieeve that?I know,I know but then please uderstand that everything has its time & place.

``Aye shakhs agar Josh ko too dhoondnaa chahay

Voh pichhlay pehr hulqua e irfaan mein milay gaa.

Aur subh o ko voh ----::------nazzara e qudrat

tarf e chaman o sehn e gulistaan mein milay gaa

aur shaam ko vo --sargushta e asraar o maani

buzme turub o sohbat e rindaan mein milay gaa

aur raat ko vo -----::------kaakul o rukhsaar

aghosh e --::---- koocha e khooban mein milay gaa``

(---::--- words I cannot recall now,very frustrating but I hope the intent is conveyed)

Many more would be ``surprised`` as well,but then masjid & maikhaana have their own utility.....:)

(This is all metaphorical,please do not take it literally---or maybe not;).

_______________________.

Subroto--4

True.

And thank you very much for referring me to that site.I subscribed to the annual of urdu studies at one time.Maybe I`ll renew it.It is a great way to begin the nostalgic odyssey.Umar Memon is doing a yeoman service in this regard.

____________________________.

temporal---5

Thanks for this tidbit.Did you have a chance to visit this house?

I hope through inter-acts we could re-introduce him a little more.It was not easy for me to repress the urge to outpour details.It would all depend on the interest expressed here.

Please write about some of his stories,with an appreciative angle--rather than as a ``critique``;).

__________________________________________________

Manto is the only Urdu writer I have ever read.I rate him very highly.

In the back of my Penguin India edition it says he was born in Jalandhar, not Ludhiana district though.

Hamzad Afaqui, please elaborate on ``the Progressive writers,for whom he had nothing but contempt``

thanks

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...sadly...Manto still needs to be reintroduced to newer readers...in Pakistan as elsewhere...one minor observation...the last phrase is missing from his tombstone...as his daughter revealed last month...having been deliberately omitted...

...digression...

...any visitor to lahore can visit his home in lahore in a quaint litlle town-home complex behind the busy regal chowk and see the plaque put up by his daughters to mark the home...and if you knock on the door i am sure she would let you in to see his portrait and offer refreshments...

...t

One of the advantages of having been brought up in a pre Cable-TV age was that of being an avid reader having books as constant companions. It was only in college that I started taking a deeper interest not only in writers from the sub-continent but those from the third world. By that I mean those who did not write in English but were available only in translation. True many a nuance is missed when a story is translated but the essence remains. Manto was a revelation and immediately became a favourite. There is certain rawness about his characters, coming as they are from the fringes of society driven by complex moral impulses. But we are grateful to Manto for introducing us to them and for letting us look at another aspect of life that we would otherwise ignore.

On a lighter note Manto was proud of his association with Bombay Talkies, here is a link to what he has to say about one of the leading stars of his times

http://www.urdustudies.com/pdf/20_Manto_AshokKumar.pdf

And an interesting write up on another great writer Ismat Chughtai

http://www.urdustudies.com/pdf/21_Manto_IsmatChughtai.pdf

Subroto

I didnt know Hamzad you were a Saadat Hasan Mantos Fan

I did not know Manto died so young before 40 yrs.of age

I faintly remember in my younger days reading Mantos account of Bollywood behind the scene honest appraisal of life & lies of actresses & others.Nimmi,Nargis,Madhubala,Meena Kumari ,Nasim Bano(saira Banos mom ),etc .

There have been similar account of Bengali movie industry much later and i mention this to re inforce urdu & bengali literature being very similar in richness .

Mr Hamzad Afaqui:

Thank you for writing on my favorite Urdu Short Story writer. He was quite a man! I saw him in person in 1955 when he read his `Malbay Ka Dher` at Lahore College of Engineering and Technology; at that time I was a student there.

As a practical man, he was most irresponsible. He drank all his money in whiskey and alcohol. In his last days of life, he wrote short stories at a neck- break speed and sold them for a few annas a piece. He was very creative and an invaluable assett to Urdu literature.

Nice one, mate.

Now I know you must be F_K;)

UM