Love stories
Tariq Baloch Sehrai's collection of short stories deal with the unattainable
By Sardar Hussain
Lahasil Mohabton Ka Zaraf
By Tariq Baloch Sehrai
Publisher: Al Hamd
Publications
Pages: 222
Price: Rs 200
Lahaasil Mohabton Ka Zaraf, a short story collection by Tariq Baloch Sehrai is like a prism showing different colours of life, love and reality. Though the short stories deal with different themes but the underlying message of all of them is the love of life. Though unique and different in themselves they make a complete whole just like different petals join to make one beautiful flower.

Zia Mohyeddin column
"Only when
I am alone"
(A tribute)"And when I frown
that power-house of love, the eyes
affect a mild hangdog look,
a prerequisite of poets…"
He has often been described as the greatest English poet of Pakistan -- a delightful oxymoron -- but I shall not dispute that, as a poet, writing in English, he was the best we have produced.

Jinnah:

India-Partition Independance

By Jaswant Singh

Publisher: Rupa & Co.

Pages: 669

Price: Rs 1395

More than 62 years later, the scars of Partition are still fresh amongst many, the boundary sketched by Radcliffe a sore point, and tensions run high between the two countries; India and Pakistan.

Therefore, former BJP leader Jaswant Singh's book Jinnah must firstly be commended for its bravery; as the countries daily trade allegations of cross-border terrorism, inquiries, and more, Singh has skilfully attempted to clear some of the accusations that have been pointed at the founder of Pakistan, Mohammad Ali Jinnah, that he was solely responsible for the creation of Pakistan, a sore point amongst many of Pakistan and India's divided families. From the first chapter, when Singh asks, "Is not Indian histography, therefore, (at least in part) responsible for creating a mindset of separateness, and that too, only from Islam, or fixedly as Hindus and Muslims?", one gets a sense that this is not a book that will demonise Pakistan's founding fathers but perhaps help the Indian intelligentsia understand better what led to the creation of Pakistan.

The book, while academic in prose and at points painfully slow to read, particularly the initial chapter India and Islam, picks up pace some 3 chapters in, when we begin reading about Jinnah's rise as a lawyer and then a politician, the factors and personalities shaping his political beliefs, and the rivalries that existed in that time and age. The comparisons between Jinnah, Gandhi and Nehru and the rivalries and differences that existed between them are a fascinating read.

However, even though Singh is quick to point out how Gandhi and Nehru, amongst other members of the Congress with their wrong decisions and mistrust of Jinnah and other Muslim leaders pushed them to the point of breaking from the concept of Hindu-Muslim unity, which Jinnah was clearly a torch bearer for, Singh does not seem to understand, or agree with the idea of Pakistan. Singh attempts to highlight how the idea of Pakistan was not even clear, till even a year after Partition, in the eyes of Jinnah.

"He (Jinnah) refused to spell the details of this 'Pakistan', principally because he had none and his followers were thus left to picture a Pakistan as their fancy led them to. The orthodox dreamt of a state representing the purity of a pristine Islam; those with a more 'secular outlook' succumbed to the prospects of financial benefits from their 'own state'. Besides, this vision of a sovereign Muslim state was redolent with memories of the past glories of Muslim rule."

Singh is quick to point out that the idea of Pakistan and the concepts it was founded on, were weak even non-existent at times, and have hence led to the creation of a nation that is still struggling to find its feet. One can quite agree with this assertion, even 62 years later, the country is wrecked apart by sectarian, ethnic and religious beliefs, amongst others.

Where Singh blames the Congress for its mistakes that led to the division of the subcontinent, he also pours scorn over the British rulers, who were adamant, in 1947, to pack their bags and leave, leaving behind a vast region with a glorious history with divisions that were not just represented by a line on the map. In fact, according to Singh's account of the Partition:

"Pakistan came into being on 14 August, as did India on the 15th. Neither of these newborn countries knew where their borders ran, where was that dividing line across which Hindus and Muslims must now separate?"

Singh's Jinnah is a great history lesson for many in both India and Pakistan. While one did wish it was written in a style that would make it accessible to a larger audience, Singh has attempted to humanise Jinnah, and even in his retelling of the Quaid's mistakes, Singh's fascination of the man is apparent. One hopes that the book will, as Singh desires, help heal the scars of Partition and help both countries' leaders and its people make a fresh start.

------

Ashu

By Professor Raz M Raz

Publisher: Fikr Nau Adabi Forum, Pishin

Pages: 304

Price: Rs 300

"Which variant of life is better of the two: A sinful life wherein one is fully conversant with one's existence? Or an abstemious and virtuous life wherein one is psychologically diseased?" writes the author. What to do with the devils within us? Should we cast them away or be at peace with them? Should the sense of guilt be blown out of proportion or brushed aside? How do the two halves-- spiritual and sexual--complement each other? These and other such questions have been taken up in Ashu.

The main theme of the novel is the mystical dimension of intimacy and its physical actualisation. The story revolves around Ashu and her aunt's husband Ayaz. She looks up to him for spiritual guidance during her troubled days and in the process, ends up in a physical relationship with him. The dynamics of their relationship have been written from psychological, philosophical and societal perspectives in a breathtaking way.

Spiritual contentment in sexual experiences is not a new idea. Writers like D H Lawrence have dealt with the same theme beautifully and the author draws inspiration from him, but adds something new to the mix.

The sense of guilt, contracted after Ashu enters into a relationship with Ayaz, which weighs heavily on the reader, is diluted somewhat when nature comes to the help of Ashu. The experience, of Ashu befriending stars and other natural objects, is astoundingly thrilling. It is human, spiritual, mystical and sexual at the same time.

One also finds a fresh philosophy of sin. Sin, the novelist contends, is not a monster, which if once comes into being would disappear without psychological damage. Instead, Raz writes, let instincts, including sex, play their destined role in the universal scheme of things.

The bold treatment of the sexual relationship in all its complexity might shock many; especially those reading it in Pashto, but how long shall the theme remain taboo? Raz has made a courageous attempt to break the taboo. The reader, in Ashu, will not only find Freudian ideas being talked about, lesbian ties being ripened, disproportionate sexual desires of the "very religious" being unclothed but also Pushtoon nationalism, aesthetics and the love of God being described.

Love stories

Tariq Baloch Sehrai's collection of short stories deal with the unattainable

By Sardar Hussain

Lahasil Mohabton Ka Zaraf

By Tariq Baloch Sehrai

Publisher: Al Hamd

Publications

Pages: 222

Price: Rs 200

Lahaasil Mohabton Ka Zaraf, a short story collection by Tariq Baloch Sehrai is like a prism showing different colours of life, love and reality. Though the short stories deal with different themes but the underlying message of all of them is the love of life. Though unique and different in themselves they make a complete whole just like different petals join to make one beautiful flower.

A preacher of eternal human values, Sehrai writes about various shades of life, his protagonists seem to be his shadows. They find salvation after their earthly love gets transformed into spiritual love.

In one short story named Yaqeen, he differentiates between the love for a human being and love for god: "What is the difference between Ishq-e-Majazi and Ishq-e-Haqeeqi? In the former case one sees the beloved first and then chases goes after her, whereas, in the latter case, one wanders about in search of Beloved and then sees Him.

"Strong and meaningful dialogues are a dominant characteristic of his characters. In the story Jogi, this is what a character says about love. "Love is beyond victory and defeat. A man may deceive a woman but he can never win her heart this way."

Most of Sehrai's characters are city dwellers. They are restless and passing through a transient phase of life. They want peace of mind and heart but to no avail until they meet a Baba or Jogi who alleviates their mental agony with folk wisdom. He takes them near nature where they find eternal salvation. In the short story Jagtay Rehna, Sehrai writes about insensitivity of city life," Whosoever, strong and stable a man is, he always needs an attentive ear to pour his heart into. But in city there are only the deaf who don't listen despite having two ears."

While reading the collection, one comes to realise that, for Sehrai, the message is the end and the stories a means to the end. He has a certain world view dominated by values, spirituality and idealism. He skilfully knits the story to convey the desired philosophy of life. The author seems in to be everywhere, in characters, in dialogues, in selection of themes, but his presence is like the breeze which one can only feel and touch and not see. In this respect, he is, to some extant, inspired by Ashfaq Ahmed and Paulo Coelho. The stories are brief, with some no more than two pages, but the brevity does not obscure the message, rather, Sehrai knows how to be effective with the economy of words.

(A tribute)"And when I frown

that power-house of love, the eyes

affect a mild hangdog look,

a prerequisite of poets…"

He has often been described as the greatest English poet of Pakistan -- a delightful oxymoron -- but I shall not dispute that, as a poet, writing in English, he was the best we have produced.

He wrote his name as R A F A T so I shall call him Taufiq Rafat. I once asked him why he spelled his name with an a instead of an I -- the Urdu word is pronounced as Rif-aat -- and he said with a broad smile followed by a sharp intake of breath, which was one of his endearing mannerisms, "Mein-tey-ainway-ee likhnain". This was way back in 1949.

Unlike other poets who wrote in English -- I will not name them -- Taufiq never made any effort to emulate the Oxbridge accent. He spoke in the accent that he had picked up at his school in Dehra Dun, an accent redolent of what the pucca sahibs dubbed as chi-chi. It never bothered Taufiq. He hated pretence. He always spoke in Punjabi with a relish even when there were non-Punjabis around. I persuaded him to converse in Urdu once or twice, and he condescended to speak a couple of sentences, but then he reverted to Punjabi. Urdu sat heavily on him.

My friendship with Taufiq began when we were both students. I was at Government College, reading history and philosophy for my degree; he was at Hailey College of commerce reading accountancy or whatever other subjects they taught in that college. I used to see him in the Coffee House. He was usually in the company of his two chums, Khalid Iqbal and Ansar Hussain, but having heard me recite, "Let us go then you and I, /When the evening is spread out against the sky" with all the wrong inflections (I now realise), he would often invite me to join their table. He thought I had an ear for poetry which amused Ansar Hussain no end because, in Ansar's estimation, I was a mere Urdu debater. Apart from our rendezvous at the Coffee House we shared a few walks to Lawrence Gardens and back.

He was an exceptionally good looking young man with an athlete's figure. My image of him coincides exactly with the picture that appears on the title page of his book Half Moon. His nose was sharp and chiselled, his moustache was always neatly trimmed; his resolute chin was perfectly in proportion to his lower lip and his smile, revealing perfectly formed teeth, was endearing and heart-warming. In Europe he would have been sculpted often.

Our time together was not all spent around poetry or literature. I remember that in those days (1949 to 1950) he was rather fond of playing hockey. He played for his college team, but he was equally fond of cricket, and it was cricket, we discussed mostly. I left Lahore in 1951 to go to far-off shores.

I returned from England in 1956 and for the next three years stayed in the country staging plays (which gave me not a penny) and directing plays on radio (which gave me a pittance). It was during this period that I was invited by the kindly Margaret Harbottle, who headed the department of English at Edward's College in Peshawar, to read some of Taufiq's poems. He was present too, but he did not read anything.

In those three years Kaleem Omar organised other poetry-reading sessions, on behalf of the British Council, in Lahore and Karachi. In most of those sessions Taufiq insisted that I read his work. He was always hesitant about reading his own poems.

It wasn't just at the poetry soirées that we met. He used to come and watch me rehearse the plays I was producing and he always appeared on the first night. He laughed heartily when I mentioned that I had heard the great T.S.Eliot reading his verse in London and that in my view he was an unimpressive reader. "Couldn't be as bad as I am," he said.

Our association deepened during that period. I recall now that he never acceded to my request to explain his poetry. I had much enjoyed reading his poem Karachi 1955 and I remember telling him that the lines:

"And malice moves like a rainless cloud

over the brown cliffs of the teeth"

were reminiscent of Dylan Thomas. Had he picked up this trick of relating the animate to the inanimate from Dylan Thomas? His intake of breath was sharper and this time it was followed by a hiss. "Mein naqlan naeen mardan," he said. After a while, with a sardonic smile, he said, "Did you mean to flatter me?" To this day I am embarrassed by my faux pas.

Taufiq Rafat did not like to talk about this work or his inspiration or the method he chose to employ when composing verse. In a rare interview conducted by Rashid Rehman, he stated that in his later poems he had deliberately tried to master descriptive verse: "Whether or not I have succeeded, I can't really say, but it is an important element of my work."

So many of his poems have a particular story which he tells with consummate skill. Mundane, day to day things, people, situations, mattered to him "All good poetry", he said, "has the ability to convert the general into something particular and I have attempted to do the same."

He is also on record saying that W.H.Auden influenced him greatly in his youth. T.S.Eliot, Ezra Pound and W.B. Yeats too, impressed him but it was Auden who inspired him the most. Auden's influence is certainly there in his earlier poems.

I think what he learned most from Auden was that a poem shouldn't have too much fat on it -- any fat for that matter. If you read his poetry today you would realise that, apart from being wistful and ironic, it is lean -- and economical. He told me once that he believed in working on his poem until he felt he could do no more.

"Thirty five years

and thousands of poems

and what remains?

What really remains

say forty, when you mean ten,

and that too, hopefully."

Poets in our part of the world rarely discard their poetic efforts. Only those who are deeply critical of their own work have the courage to cast away poems they feel are not up to mark. Ghalib certainly did so.

Taufiq must have written a lot more than a hundred and twenty five poems which he put into his two collections of poetry. He destroyed all the other poems because he felt they were not really expressive of himself.

(to be continued)