Lahore with a Bite

Lahore, La- hore, the heart of Punjab and therefore also the land of the pure; The city has always had a mystical halo around it; history suggests the city’s original name, "Loh" or "Lava", was named after the son of Rama, one of the Gods from the Hindu tradition, the name is seen in the ancient scriptures of the Ramayana.

There are many faces of this city, and it would be difficult to capture them in any one piece; nevertheless, I had the fortune of a view through a window now perhaps half shut,  ‘Lava’s’ world of Urdu writing, literature and creativity.

No longer on Mall Road, the literary cafes, Intizar Husain graciously met my friends and I in his Shaadman home. His home piled up with books from top to bottom the Deon of Urdu fiction was equally amused at entertaining our curious questions. An open house to those still interested in literary discourse; vivid and clear memories of old ‘Loh’ were revealing and reaffirmed how the city’s culture has irrevocably shifted since ‘Independence’.

Independent movie artists, and Urdu writers gather at Nairang Gallery every Sunday, to ‘hang’ and remind themselves, yes in spite of the stifling smoke of the city’s haze, genteel ideas have a corner still. Surprisingly, the restoration of the famed ‘Pak Tea house’ was of little interest to those who were its luminaries’.  At Nairang, Nayar Ali Dada, gratefully created a space for those who freely gather and banter about all things culture and literature. The gallery is adorned with art, furniture and a few books for those who would like to peruse.

Amidst, bookshelves and old Lahori furniture, Aqeel Ruby, Zahid Dar, Ikramullah, Eruj Mubarak, Khalid Ahmed and more discuss, over a simple cup of tea and pakoras,  the state of Urdu fiction writing in Pakistan. Not too bright but still hopeful, the conversation continues. I heard and observed two facts;  the group’s  average age was 70 years old and Pakistan has no ‘independent of Government Literary Award’. Hmmm Wow. Why?

A delightful evening with a young lawyer cum poet- of Urdu, was also insightful.  The language Urdu, in its contemporary form, has limited tools to express, explore and espouse modern ideas and realities we live in NOW. Why I asked? Rational argument, the process of a logical progression of thought is rare in Urdu prose. There is no original philosophical thought, ideas, and tools developed in Urdu. Moreover, the reality of modern life, lifestyles, and individual feelings are rarely explored in contemporary Urdu fiction. The use of allegory, poetry and suggestion is preferred- an avoidance tactic, one could say, however beautifully evoked or constructed.

 The world of fiction is a reflection of the pen’s worldview. The language must expand to include new social, intellectual and contemporary lived experiences and more importantly, allow it to influence the world of  the language and hence the writing- otherwise the thought tools will remain time-bound and limited.  If the body of work remains nostalgic, and its narrative restricted the Adab will also.

The contemporary writers in Urdu cannot or do not explore social issues ‘outside’ of the ‘accepted’ norms determined by writers  primarily before 1947 or through the 1960s only. The necessary evolution of writing since then is absent. How apt yet ironic that even in the world of the artist the heavy hand of the  ‘censor’ has  penetrated to stunt the development of how we communicate amongst ourselves in Pakistan. George Orwell would be proud. History will not remember us.

Pakistani exceptionalism , a concept I revisited while in Lahore. Most Urdu writers’ audiences are in India, why, because the readership market is larger, and if the body of work is decent it will be translated into Hindi and possibly other regional languages. Fact. To remain alive these are simple realities of Urdu writers, (the lingua franca of  the land of the pure). Moreover, literarily, the most  respected critics of Urdu writing are in India. Exceptional we maybe, since the Urdu writers of  ‘note’ are in Pakistan, but certainly Urdu, remains alive and thrives, because we maintain our natural and historical links with next door.

A biting incident took me to a Christian Hospital in Gulberg. Deserted, clean and run down I was treated by two smiling lady nurses. Throughout my treatment, I couldn’t remove the image of Mohammad Hanif’s Book  ‘Alice Bhatti’ ; I asked them if they had read  his book, very amused they replied with a shake of their heads. The cost of my treatment Rs.100. Exceptional. How can a medical establishment run on such returns? I was also surprised at the absence of any patients in a hospital in the middle of the city?

As  I drove out of the city along the Canal,  negotiating through the insane traffic of animals and like minded vehicles, I wished some day, my generation could also witness the glory and culture that once walked and breathed in this grand city, instead of reading or hearing of it, that too in the historical sense, wondering if that was really possible in Lahore.