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A man for all seasons: Shahid Jalal

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Posted by Mohammad Farooq in Art, Family Portraits, History, Humanity, Inspiration, Life, Memories, Tributes

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Image Credit: Ayesha Jalal

There are few places like home where you find yourself mystified by its aura of artistic and literary beauty. These places are not only visuals and spectacles of it but are vestiges of those who have lived there, made their presence felt and left an indelible impact. Their permanent imprints not only remain etched in our mind but are explorable around us.

Such an artist and painter extraordinaire, Shahid Jalal left us yesterday for the heavenly abode. A larger than life character, whose persona not only evoked his soft but outspoken demeanour, but who was also an intellectual, avid reader, a successful chartered accountant, but last and foremost a brilliant painter. He was a humble man, jovial, cheerful, and empathetic human being who was least candid about his achievements but was very approachable unlike other maestros of the art. He was an all-rounder, with a swathe of hobbies which included cooking, travelling, watching movies, and ingratiating with different cultures without any recourse to judgement. His simplicity unlike many of his other contemporaries coupled with a sharp intellect and intuition were hallmarks of his personality. Equipped with an unbelievable sense of humour, Mr Jalal could share tales from yesteryears and astound you with his sharp memory. Born on August 13th, 1948 to Hamid Jalal and Zakia Hamid Jalal, he was the eldest of three siblings which include his sisters Sabiha and the renowned historian Dr Ayesha Jalal.

I was privileged enough to have seen and witnessed him from close quarters courtesy the bond and the close relationship he shared with my mother Nuzhat Manto, who is also his aunt, cousin, and sister-in-law. Mr Jalal’s father was also the nephew of the legendary Urdu short story writer Saadat Hassan Manto and was married to his youngest daughter Nusrat. Married to Nusrat (my aunt) in 1972, both complemented each other and brought the best out of each other. Not only did they share an impeccable bond, but their understanding was exemplary. The fusion of both was reflective in the affection and love they shared for each other. Having virtually grown up seeing Shahid Jalal, I remained in awe of him and the manner, he conducted himself. There was not a hint of materialism in him despite his achievements and successes throughout his life. Honest to the core, but as he once told us that he was extremely ambitious, something we failed to notice personally. Not only was he easy-going, but devoid of any hang-ups, was outspoken and blunt to the core. I observed no notion of pride or ego in him, he was driven by his sociable and charitable causes with The Citizens Foundation with whom he was closely aligned for many years.

Image Credit: Ayesha Jalal

Familial bonds are driven by closeness and love, Mr Jalal ensured he helped those around him whether it was family members or his domestic help, he was always present irrespective of the situation. Morally upright and his honesty remained a highlight of his life, whose credentials could never be questioned. Much akin to his father, Hamid Jalal he shared his traits of empathy and kindness but emulated him in many other ways which would have made him proud. His artistic lineage and legacy remain alive and distinct with the contrasting visual aesthetics which were represented in his paintings. The sprightliness and brightness of his paintings, those contrasting colours his observant eyes captured were representative of who he was. His paintbrushes weaved magic and stroked the contours and beauty of nature’s sumptuousness in his artistic canvas. His paintings were a visual delight to see and left you stunned with his repertoire of skills he possessed. Imbued with multiple talents, not only was he a food connoisseur but he was so well-read and well versed in many facets of life, it was nigh unbelievable.

Image: Mohammad Farooq
Shahid Jalal’s paintings exhibition circa March 2017

Shahid Jalal’s paintings exhibition circa March 2017
Shahid Jalal’s paintings exhibition circa March 2017

I recall a trip as an eight-year-old in the summers of 1992 to Shogran, Naran and Kaghan in Khyber-Pakthunkhwa. His sense of adventure and passion knew no bounds; he genuinely knew how to enjoy holidays. He took us for long walks in the mountainous terrain around Shogran, we passed forests and our sense of foreboding knew no bounds. His keenness of exploration and revelling in those long walks, having food from a roadside Dhaba and introducing us to exotic new foods was his speciality. Around him, you could never feel bored but his candidness and frankness of tolerating guests for long periods was not his forte. Being an early riser, he was meticulous about his routine which included taking his dog Brandy for a walk, eating healthy food intermittently before lunch which was inculcated by my aunt Nusrat. Also, he used to go for painting early morning to capture the spirit of what he observed and saw before sketching it on his canvas. The Jalal household legendary for cherishing its afternoon sleep was also in-built in him and he derided those who visited or called in the afternoon. He was disciplined in his way and never imposed his will or thoughts on others. Equipped with a sharpness of mind, he never advised anyone of us unless we sought his counsel. Magnanimous at heart and frugal, Mr Jalal never exhibited any materialistic tendencies but evoked humanity and equality throughout his chequered life. A self-made man who rose through the ranks with sheer hard work and diligence, his career and life were an example for all of us on how to climb the ladder of success but not to lose sight of who we are and where we come from.

Embedded with a keen curiosity, he was a joy to interact with. It would be a disservice to not mention my aunt Nusrat, who as Mr Jalal’s wife and foremostly a friend complimented each other throughout their married life. The two individuals could not be more different; Mr Jalal a brash, outspoken, and frugal individual, on the contrary, is my aunt Nusrat, very principled, methodical, and quiet but with a mind of her own. However, I always felt that they were the ideal couple, not only did they have telepathy but the level of understanding and respect they developed for each other was unmatched. As my mother Nuzhat says, both were able to take the best of qualities of each other and forged them to the point of fruition. It is a testimony to the fact that my beloved uncle Shahid was unlike any other individual in our family, he was unique and special to all of us.

Rather than mourn my beloved uncle’s loss, I would like to celebrate his life which was full of accolades personally and professionally. He left an indelible impact on all of us, with his enthusiastic and positive approach towards life. As a father, husband, son, and brother, he vested his duties with genuineness and heartfelt love and retained no bitterness or grudges against anyone. He was like the changing seasons, who was always blossoming, bringing diversity and contrasts to our lives. His happy disposition, charisma, compassion, empathy, and kindness will keep illuminating our lives and those memories that he left behind will keep being cherished, remembered by every one of us. May God bless his soul. Amen.

The renaissance of reading books again

25 Wednesday Sep 2019

Posted by Mohammad Farooq in Books, Depression, Disorders, Hope, Inspiration, Motivation, Struggle

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Anxiety, Books, Challenges, Depression, Determination, History, Hope, Knowledge, Learning, Life, Motivation, Reading, Struggles

When everything around you is collapsing, hope fading away into oblivion, you feel like giving in to the feeling of capitulation and breaking apart. Since the past few months, I have written little to nothing about what I have undergone mentally, but I can vouch for the fact that during this period books have helped to resuscitate my ailments to the brink of positivity. Reading history has always been my passion, the happenings, the past and major events have always aroused my interest.

My interest in reading had waned and I became distant from books like I had cast them away and locked them up for good. As my problems with anxiety and panic disorder compounded my miserable state of affairs, I was abject, hopeless, despondent and deprecated. I had hauled myself into a dead end, a point of no return and a state of self-induced apathy that was only aggravating my misery. The self-implosion was evident, there was no scope for hope and positivity in my mind or heart. I was hell-bent upon believing that recovery was an impossibility and fallacy by the mid of June. There was no effort to counter this anomaly, I kept suffering within and refusing to give myself a breather.

Devoid of energy, like a lifeless corpse lying on the bed with severe anxiety attacks, I was unable to chart myself through this turbulent period. These are trials and tribulations so to speak, a test of our tenacity, the survival of our spirit and how we respond to it. There is no strategy, methodical approach which can work miracles in an instant and make things wonderful for us. It is a long grind, hard-earned way to recovery and restoring ourselves. In the realm of darkness, I had deliberately surrounded myself with, my unwillingness to escape and fight it was strikingly evident. There was no coping mechanism, no effort to reverse the tide of misfortune I had brought upon myself thanks to my obstinance.

Call it a stroke of luck or my good fortune, I picked up my smartphone without thinking and started searching for history books on Amazon that I could read on my Kindle. Till that point, several months had passed, probably even a year since I had divulged myself into reading a book. While browsing on Amazon, I came across a book Destiny Disrupted: A History of the World Through Islamic Eyes by Tamim Ansary on the 24th of June which piqued my interest and I got it to read on my Kindle. What I never realized then what I was about to initiate and the reverberations it would have three months down the road.

The resumption of reading history started with the usual distractions and disturbances. My focus and concentration levels initially were appalling. Previously, I had been a voracious reader with an unprecedented appetite for history and swift reading speed. Initially, I stuttered understandably since it had been an eternity since I had actually read any book so to speak. I was exasperated, frustrated by this development and my impatience knew no bounds. I have my bouts of anger which added to my failure and impeded my flow of reading. I was desperate for my old self to renew in terms of reading and seeing it bear fruition.

The first few days were tough, filled with panic and disruption as I found it difficult to get my flow going. It was exacerbating, painful to see myself labour through at a pace of a tortoise while reading. However, slowly and painstakingly the efforts started bearing fruit, my concentration and focus saw a positive turn. Just a few days ago, I was tottering and dawdling at the brink of capitulating again to my endless frustration of the hindrances I faced in restoring my flow while reading and here I was now on the mend. That day, it made me realize the value of perseverance and of continuing the journey, irrespective of what impediments lie ahead. As I prodded slowly page after page, the flow that had been absent or ebbed showed signs of crystallizing.

Finally, my pace and flow of reading fueled my engrossment in the book. Previously, I had failed to even read a few pages without being distracted and now I was steaming ahead at breathtaking speed, finishing chapter after chapter. It was unbelievable! Within a matter of three to four days, not only had I successfully rekindled my interest in reading, but I was enjoying it now. What began as a laborious exercise, became a renaissance and bane of my recovery from the depths of depravity just a week or so ago. I was able to finish the book by the end of June and move onto the next one.

My next book was about Islamic Spain and the Convivencia written by Maria Rosa Menocal named The Ornament of the World. I began the book with an eagerness to complete it as fast I could, it wasn’t a race with anyone but my resurrection as an avid reader that fueled my desire to forge ahead. I started reading the book, so engrossing it was, that I finished it within a matter of days. It seemed like I was living a dream, but I didn’t stop and kept pushing myself to consolidate the momentum I had successfully created. I had conquered my worst nightmare, overcome my anxiety and depression, books were to be the bane of my recovery and resuscitation.

Moving onto the next book, Kingdoms of Faith: A New History of Islamic Spain written by Brian A. Carlos proved to be a colossal challenge. This was the first book where my nerves and tenacity were tested to the utmost limit. I started with a bang, finishing the first few chapters in a blink of an eye before I realized that the book was detailed. As daunting a task, it was, I dithered slightly, fearful that I may not be able to finish this book. I took a pause, recalibrated my thoughts and composed myself. I decided I would give myself a break of a day and then resume the book. Much to my surprise, the strategy paid dividends and after that break, I was able to resume my reading, my unbridled focus allowed me to read for long periods with no distractions. Consequently, I successfully completed the book within a weeks’ time, my third in less than a month!

The renaissance and this remarkable journey of resuscitation continue. My book reading has only increased my vigour, passion, appetite to read more, amplify my knowledge and learning. The curiosity that has piqued my interest in history over the past decade has been a boon to me. Reading has been a calming influence, helped me reduce my stress levels and brought me much needed peace that I had sought. In these three months, I have successfully completed fourteen books and in the previous month, I have read six which include the recently released The Anarchy: The Rise and Fall of the East India Company written by William Dalrymple.

Books are the seeds of learning and knowledge. They are priceless treasures that I have realized need succour and care. Love books, value and treasure them, in them lies the power of transformation and which can unlock the door to infinite learning/knowledge.

 

 

Chronicling Safia Manto

22 Tuesday Sep 2015

Posted by Mohammad Farooq in Biography, Humanity, Inspiration, Life, Love, Tributes

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Manto The Film, Saadat Hassan Manto, Safia Manto

Chronicling Safia Manto, my grandmother would be no mean feat. A woman who lived in the shadow of her beloved husband and renowned short story writer, Saadat Hassan Manto, her story went largely untold till the recent release of Manto: The Film. She has only lived in the folklore of my dreams, I being born 6 years after her untimely demise in November 1977. As much I have heard from familial sources about her magnanimity, humility as a human being besotted with a kindred heart and soul I cannot even fathom what I missed out on. Sometimes fate and destiny are so closely intertwined, that we seem powerless to change the impact it can leave. Missing her out was somewhat destined to happen, her absence being filled in by her youngest sister Zakia Hamid Jalal who has been equally affectionate, loving and caring towards all her grandchildren till date. Safia Manto, had an impact on the lives of many, ranging from her husband, daughters to all the family members that have nothing but fond memories of a lady who showered nothing but love and affection towards them.

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*Safia with her sister Zakia Hamid Jalal*

Chartering through the life of Safia Manto, is like a woven fabric broken from one end but repaired from the other. Her struggles, compassion and challenges she faced throughout her life were immense. Immersed in a period of happiness to downright abject pain, she lived through life smiling and spreading only love all around her peers. Her personality didn’t have many facets besides it was interwoven with simplicity, innocence and forbearance to the core. All throughout her life she bore a hallmark of patience and sustenance, and her large heartedness was particularly striking. Even her proclivity in the light of abject financial stress didn’t hamper her hospitality in any given manner. Safia’s relationship with Manto, was an emotional bond that transcended everything else. In the immediate aftermath after their marriage, Manto documented the commonalities that they shared which included a Kashmiri origin, both wore spectacles, the first letter in their names started from S, and their birthdays were on the 11th of May. Manto’s vicissitudes must have been a tough proposition for Safia to handle. The ingenuity at play with Manto, coupled with streaks of intellectual arrogance and his tenuous relationships with his co-workers must have made things difficult for her. Although his alcoholism wasn’t limited to social circles during his days in Bombay and Delhi, but that period also corresponded to some of his best days in financial terms. As her middle daughter Nuzhat shared, she rarely mentioned about the first 16 years spent in Kenya, but her fond remembrance for Bombay remained etched within her memories for ever.

17 Manto with Safia Zakia

*Safia with her husband Saadat Hassan Manto & her sister Zakia Hamid Jalal*

The period Manto spent working after his marriage to Safia in Delhi and Bombay had its share of highs and lows. In 1940, they both were blessed with a son they named Arif. It was a period of elation for the couple, especially Manto who showered all his love towards his newborn and tenderly took care of all his needs. But that happiness proved to be short-lived as Arif died prematurely within a year a few days shy of his first birthday. That was a rudimentary shock to the couple, left Manto devastated and broke him down completely. The worsening alcoholism of Manto, tempered with bouts of depression during those dark days must have tested Safia’s resolve deeply. Her pain threshold must have been alarmingly high, and the patience a testimony of the nerves she possessed. Safia’s loss as a mother must have been unbearable and unimaginable to the extent that her daughter Nuzhat recently disclosed that she never made even a scant mention about the loss of her first born, Arif. Probably the reason for not disclosing this was to reduce the pain she may have suffered as a mother, and in hindsight Manto’s depressiveness must have forced to act as a calming and strengthening force during that period.

14 Safia Khala

Safia’s influence and significance in Manto’s life cannot be underestimated in any regard. She was the love of Manto’s life in absolute terms of the word. His dedication and loyalty he owed to his beloved life was beyond any description. The extent to which Safia’s hold on Manto can be gauged from the fact that he published short stories like Hameed aur Hameeda which were penned in her name. Manto’s pinnacle as a writer financially reached its zenith in Bombay while he was working in the film industry in the mid 1940’s. Manto’s literary circle evolved and expanded in those days, giving Safia a glimpse of the present and future stars in the Hindi film industry of those days. For example, as mentioned in Ayesha Jalal’s book Pity of Partition, Safia became good friends with Ashok Kumar’s wife and went shopping with her on a few occasions where the shopkeepers went out of the way to favour them both. Safia also shared a very close relationship with Nargis, the renowned film actress who was making her way up the ladder in the film industry during those days. After migrating to Pakistan in the aftermath of Partition, Manto’s financial woes only increased, persecution and a lack of work opportunities took its toll on him. That had obvious ramifications, he became a chronic alcoholic affecting his relationship with Safia who was upset at him being unable to provide financial support for her and their 3 daughters, two of whom were born after Partition. There came a time when Safia contemplated leaving Manto due to a variety of issues at play, unimaginable even for a serene woman like her. The duress associated with Manto’s dwindling earning power turning nil, must have also influenced Safia to take this gigantic step. Thanks to a response penned by her beloved elder brother, Bashir Deen to the letter she sent, he advised Safia that since Manto was a sick man it wasn’t feasible to consider leaving in this situation. So she reconsidered her options and decided against it.

17 safia.manto

*Safia with her husband Saadat Hassan Manto*

Safia used to accompany Manto to all the mushaira’s or public readings of his stories. This stands as a testing ground for her immeasurable support for a man who courted controversy and persecution within his wake to wherever he went. She had the tenacity and courage to face the wrath or applause of the public at large in context of the controversy Manto normally generated. This also highlights the immense love and affection that accompanied their relationship which may have had its share of acrimonious moments but never stalled in any given manner. The support and resilience of Safia is worth commending considering the frailties of her husband which she embraced with great courage. In Bombay, Safia’s simplicity augured Manto to act as her stylist and took it upon himself to ensure that his wife would indulge in the latest of fashions. From getting the most precious of Sari’s made; he ironed them and then stylishly photographed her.  The close proximity and intimacy in their relationship, was a culmination of the understanding between the two and they complemented each other. Manto’s delusions in the last few years of his life, his fading health must have taken an emotional toll on Safia, who couldn’t see the misery of her beloved husband.

17a sc000661d7

After the death of Manto, the financial situation obviously didn’t improve in any regard. Thanks to the unending support of her mother, Mama Jee a towering personality in her own right, and also Hamid Jalal who helped her to raise their daughters up. Interestingly, as shared with me by Shahid Jalal, my maternal uncle, Safia due to her financial distress, she used to buy fruit at night time take the backdoor exit from her home and go to Beadon road to procure it. At her home in Lakshmi Mansion at any given moment of time it was a standard for 10-15 people to dine at her place inspite of all the financial hardships. As her daughters recall, she was a doting but protective mother a disciplinarian yet a bastion of truth and encouragement for them. She hardly ever received any financial aid from the government after the death of Manto in order to help bring up her daughters, royalty payments were scant to say the least. People kept commoditizing Manto knowing well that Safia was alive and kept publishing his works without paying any heed to the copyright laws. Financial compensation was hard to come by and a lack of adequate resources, guidance hardly ever came to her mind. Safia was a contented woman, by standing all the adversities she may have come across her iron resolve kept weeding it out till her dying breath. She had no materialistic aspirations, never got married after the death of Manto, considering she was almost 39 when she became a widow. Safia’s lifestyle was simplistic a reflection of her persona and practices she cherished the most. She hardly ever complained about her problems, confined them to herself totally. Safia Manto breathed her last in Karachi after suffering a cardiac arrest of the heart on November 23rd 1977.

 

Image Credits: Ayesha Jalal is the legal copyright holder of all these photographs and they must not be used in any way without her express permission. 

Books used for research: Uncle Manto by Hamid Jalal from Black Milk, A Pity of Partition by Ayesha Jalal, Princeton Press 2013. 

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Me

Mohammad Farooq

Mohammad Farooq

Busines Journalist and ex-Senior Sub-Editor at Profit by Pakistan Today. Bylines in Dawn, Livemint India, Huffington Post, Express Tribune, MIT Techreview Pakistan,IGN Pakistan, . Interested in Technology affairs, history buff and Part qualified accountant.

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A lot has been going on…

  • My Angelic Grandmother December 14, 2021
  • A man for all seasons: Shahid Jalal August 19, 2020
  • The Merchants of Death June 18, 2020
  • The renaissance of reading books again September 25, 2019
  • Privilege is abusive July 31, 2019

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