Tag Archives: History

The renaissance of reading books again

25 Wednesday Sep 2019

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

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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.

 

 

Why does Manto arouse antagonism amongst the intelligentsia?

14 Friday Jun 2019

Posted by in Biography, History, Literature, Psychological Issues, Saadat Hassan Manto, Society, Tributes

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There are writers who run amok, and their stingy criticism is deployed to devastating effect which shames societal practices and exposes the dim realities of life we so much try to avoid. Manto is amongst those rare breeds of writers, whose stories evoke and stigmatize societal hypocrisies, lays bare the truth and makes it evidently difficult to absorb.

A column published in a leading weekly magazine in March, the writer said, “Exquisite short stories are mixed in with works that are at best hurried and slapdash, at worst incomprehensible.” He goes onto add, “Most of this is, no doubt, a result of the life that Manto lived: a life marred by poverty, alcoholism and mental illness.”

The columnist is a much-respected psychiatrist who has also done an exegesis on the famous Urdu short-story writer entitled “The Touch of Madness: Manto as a Psychiatric Case Study.” The writer seems to have stumbled upon Manto as an exhibit of mental psychosis and eccentricity for his research purposes and stamped his opinion about him being mentally ill.

He further stated: “In and of itself, this is of no moment. After all, an artiste is free to create and propagate his or her work any way he likes. But the continuing attention on Manto has had the result of perhaps diverting attention away from a number of other gifted writers some of whom were his contemporaries and some who came later. Writers like Upendranath Ashk, Krishan Chander and even the great Munshi Premchand. In addition, later writers like the exquisitely subdued Ghulam Abbas and Muhammad Hasan Askari have not received the kind of attention or accolades that have accrued to Manto.”

Interestingly, much to my consternation, a column about Manto and Faiz’s connection had an apparent disconnect to it, why would the contributor raise questions over his alcoholism and then express his apparent jealousy as to why he seems to be center of attraction and be so much in the mainstream? As per my observation, the interest Manto has garnered since his post-centenary celebrations is largely a consequence of his fanbase which has grown organically and keeps on increasing.

Is Manto to be blamed for the aforementioned literary luminaries not getting the accolades or attention reserved for Urdu’s greatest short story writer? Has anyone stopped people from exploring the writings of Krishan Chander, Munshi Premchand or Upendranath Ashk and researching about them? No one has cajoled people into reading Manto since his works aren’t for everyone to read, he is still ostracized by many and retains that aura of controversy that plagued him when he was alive and continues unabated to this day.

Manto’s repertoire and skills were unparalleled as a writer, his intellectual arrogance a well-known fact. He made more friends than enemies during his lifetime and never minced words. The spectre of Manto’s presence bears an overlying reality for his critics; they tend to fear him even six decades after his demise.

The movies made in Pakistan and India by Sarmad Khoosat and Nandita Das respectively were due to their love for Manto, the theatre plays, translations and other research are a consequence of his writings evoking the human sensibility. His popularity isn’t a result of marketing machinations or outpouring of investment but largely because of Manto’s loyal fanbase which has ensured that his legacy and works live on.

According to Mujahid Eshai, who has translated several works of Manto in two volumes published by Sang-e-Meel told, “The writer does not quote an example of such works. Again, no reference to any of Manto’s essays and Letters to Uncle Sam has been provided. The writer seems to have been impressed by Khoosat’s travesty of Manto’s life as reflected in the so-called biopic”.

Manto’s daughter Nuzhat Manto refuting his father was mentally ill-explained, “After his migration from Bombay (now Mumbai) in January 1948, the opportunities available for writers were limited. In the aftermath of partition, Lahore’s film industry was in shambles and had been ravaged by the exit of leading Hindu and other investors, which deprived many writers of earning a livelihood.”

She elaborated, “The conditions in a newly-formed state were minuscule, my father didn’t write for many months after his arrival which he mentioned in one of his write-ups. Also, his outright refusal to be associated with any movement, whether the progressive writers or others landed him in trouble with his fellow peers”.

“It is pertinent to note; my father wrote openly about his chronic alcoholism and his nephew’s sketch Uncle Manto shares the ignominy of those struggles and how it distressed the family. Court cases, his avenue to earn a livelihood shrunk as his peers boycotted him out of spite and growing societal opposition to those short stories on partition which drew the ire from all segments of society,” adds Ms. Nuzhat.

“To this day, the profound hatred continues. However, my father irrespective of all his flaws and intellectual arrogance, was not mentally ill. He himself requested his nephew Hamid Jalal to have him taken to the mental asylum for rehabilitation and get cured of his alcoholism,” she said.

Unfortunately, most of the focus on Manto has been surrounded around his penmanship of what transpired during partition were masterpieces. Ironically, his satirical pieces like Hindustan ko Leaderon Sai Bachao, Shaheed Saaz, Dekh Kabeera Roya, Upar Neechay aur Darmayan, Mootri, Mujhay Shakayat Hai, Letters to Uncle Sam and many other eminent works remain unexplored.

The writer has termed Manto’s stories at best ‘hurried and slapdash’. This is irreverently an indication that he hasn’t explored the iconic Urdu short story writer works in full and is at best a halfhearted attempt to malign Manto’s reputation. Irrespective, such efforts have not stopped people from reading his works or neither will it deter them now much to the dismay of his critics and those jealous of him.

In a session at the Lahore Literature Festival (LLF) in February, eminent historian and his niece Dr Ayesha Jalal said Manto was a social critic and a walking spectator to history. She stated the reason for Manto being a constant source of irritation was due to him writing about things which one isn’t “supposed to write or talk about”.

Manto remains a paradox sixty-four years after his death. Moral policing in a society polarized by opinions and influence will continue unabated and in case of Manto, such regressive measures will only elevate his status further considering that his works have reached as far as Croatia, in whose language his stories were translated in 2016.

“People call me black penned, but I don’t write on the blackboard with black chalk; I use white chalk so that the blackness of the board becomes even more evident,” said Manto in a lecture at Jogeshwari College, Bombay in the mid-1940s.

 

 

 

 

History: A fusion of the past and present

03 Monday Jun 2019

Posted by in Faith, History, Hope, Life

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History is a fusion of the past and the present. It tends to diversify; adapt itself to the conventions of a particular time, serving as a glimpse into a bygone era. Being a sanctuary, it acts as an intermediary between the past and the present. The imprints left by the past are influential in shaping the present and both synchronize in terms of their relevance. And it remains a witness and testimony to the transitions and transcendence of time. Centuries lapse, but its existence continues to overlap with the present, forging a bond so unprecedented that anyone would get lost in it.

The past is an entrapment, a reservoir of memories which doesn’t expire. History doesn’t expect anything except reverence, respect and recognition in its wake. The past holds sway in the present, reminding us of its existence. Nothing hurts it more than vandalism, ignorance and infamy. Being the harbinger of the past and present, it tries to be a bastion of peace and prosperity.

Old building

An old building inside New Anarkali. Picture: Mohammad Farooq

In certain situations, history becomes contentious and controversial becoming a tool for propagandists to leverage hate against it. Memories and history eroding, breaking and tearing you apart. No one to console the dampening end of an era, of timelessness that you want yourself associated with. Buildings becoming corpses and living examples of the past.

History is undeniably rich, and the past linked with it can never be denied. As much we try to hide and erase footprints of it, somehow it finds its way to resurface back. It gnaws and pukes at us for living in a fool’s paradise. Disowning that heritage which once was part of us, won’t achieve anything. Being outcast will leave a permanent scar on history, the traditions, practices and reflection of those times it has depicted.

It is an identity, a vestige of antiquity that portrays the past, telling tales about personalities which embraced it. In the present, history offers a narrative of the past, fueling our imagination and making us contemplate what it may have been. In its absence, a dearth and barrenness are experienced which is irreplaceable. History is a gift, which needs caring, nurturing to guarantee its existence. The past and the present are a part of our identity and representative of who we are.

Abandoned balcony inside Lohari Gate
Picture: Mohammad Farooq

Irrespective of the sacrilege, history continues to trudge along broken paths; continuing its journey of mingling the past with the present and evoking our sentiments. Let history’s purity be not diluted and ensure it doesn’t diminish and vanish.

 

A legendary architect: Zaheer ud Deen Khawaja

21 Monday May 2018

Posted by in Architecture, Biography, General, History, Humanity, Pakistan, Struggle, Tributes

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“Travelling is the best way of getting acquainted/accustomed to other cultures, which teaches us a lot about their customs and values said Zaheer-Ud-Deen Khwaja to me, one of the most renowned architects produced by Pakistan almost 20 years ago.” These words, were like pearls of wisdom for me along with many other exchanges with him, that helped transform my thoughts into something more diverse than they may have turned out to be. He had played a pivotal role as an architect who was internationally recognized and won many accolades/awards within his own capacity for Pakistan, but the selflessness this man had displayed throughout his life is worth exploring.

For me, having personal access to him was trivial courtesy of him being my mother’s mamo and brother of Safia Manto, my grandmother. I called him Zaheer Nana, out of sheer love and respect for a man who was revered by the whole family for his wisdom, knowledge, balance and impeccable honesty which may be unbelievable to my readers currently. He has been forgotten with time, achievements of his groundbreaking in many aspects, languishing and largely written off.

I discerned a few decades ago, the role of architects in that era wasn’t as celebrated and given equivocal footing, as say someone who was a writer, an actor or a poet for example. But, what Zaheer-Ud-Deen-Khwaja achieved was unprecedented at a time when broadcast media and the internet did not exist.

Zaheer-Ud-Deen Khwaja, was born in Kenya in the early 1920’s where his father Qamar-Ud-Deen was employed as Public Prosecutor in Zanzibar a British protectorate in those days. His father had originally settled in Karatina, about a hundred miles from Nairobi so due to rudimentary schooling available, the area was majorly populated by traders from Gujrat, India who ran the primary school there. So, his initial instruction medium of education was hence in Gujrati. Qamar-Ud-Deen, his father who was serving in Zanzibar as a Public Prosecutor, headed by an Arab Sultan died an untimely death when he was assassinated for being mistaken as a British Police officer due to his fair complexion in 1936.

The rather unforeseen seen death of his father, must have been a major catastrophic event in their lives, but their mother who was uneducated but a towering personality in her own right took over the family reins. Thanks to the representation of his uncle, Shams-Ud-Deen, a member of the Legislative council and an influential person in his own right, ensured that the widow of Qamar-Ud-Deen was provided financial help by the British Colonial Government, a pension for the entirety of her life, bursaries for the four sons till the age of eighteen and completion of their education.

Also, allowances were allotted for his three sisters till they got married. Considering these events, Miss Qamar-Ud-Deen took the momentous decision of migrating to Bombay (now Mumbai), India. After arriving in Bombay, aged 14 he found himself to be the head of the family, but his mother as mentioned earlier was a woman of virtue and considerable intellect who had an immense influence on her children, which left an everlasting impact on all of them during their respective lifetimes.

Restarting his education, he completed his High School from St. Mary’s High School, Bombay and decided to pursue Architecture on the advice of his cousin Zafar-Ud-Deen, although as per his memoirs he barely scraped through Art as a subject in his Senior Cambridge examinations!  He took admission in the renowned Sir J.J School of Art where he pursued his architecture. It was a time he remembered rather fondly, with his initial struggles in the first two years at university and the development of a close bond with his Professor Claude Batley who was the Head of the Department of Architecture too. During the third and fourth years, all the students were encouraged to visit the northern and southern parts of India, to get abreast of the finest traditional architecture and diversity it had to offer. By the fifth year, doing an apprenticeship was mandatory in a firm of architects and he was attending of 2 hourly classes in the morning.

He then appeared for an external exam of the Royal British Institute of British Architects, as the diploma offered by the college he attended was not accepted internationally back then. After successfully passing the external exam, he applied for a post-graduate scholarship on offer by the Government of India, which he received for a degree in Civic Design at the University of Liverpool, UK. While aboard the ship to the UK in October 1946, he was also accompanied by a future Nobel Laureate and renowned Physicist Professor Abdus Salam, Aslam Raza who later became the Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of Pakistan and Ikramullah Niazi, a P.W.D engineer and the father of iconic cricketer turned politician Imran Khan.

Besides completing his post-graduation at the University of Liverpool, he also got the opportunity to travel around the whole of UK and visited a host of other countries in Europe for which the Government of India generously provided financial assistance. By 1948, after being elected as a certified member of the Royal Town Planning Institute, he made his way back to Pakistan in October of the same year.

Upon his return to Pakistan, the scholarship he had been awarded by the Government of India contained a clause or a surety bond which bound him to serve them in an individual capacity to the field he was linked with. Apparently, at that point of time he was ironically one of the only qualified architect and town planners available within Pakistan! While job hunting for a few months, he landed up a job in East Pakistan (Now Bangladesh) as Assistant Government architect in Chittagong at a salary of Rs 800. The time spent there was remembered fondly, along with this comradeship and close bonding with his Bengali colleagues of that time who never forgot him for his sincerity and kindness he had meted them with. After his marriage to his beloved wife Tahira, in December 1950 and with whom he shared a beloved bond of almost 55 years till her death in July 2005.

After a year’s stint in Chittagong and Dhaka, he was offered an important position of Architect and Town planner of Thal Development Authority (TDA) in West Pakistan to oversee a multi-million regional planning covering an area of six million acres of desert which he graciously accepted. As he narrated it in his memoirs, the five years spent involved in the development of this region was one of the golden periods which included designing of the Quaidabad hospital by him as well.

The Thal Development project is listed by the Britannica Encyclopedia is listed as one of the most important development projects in the world. After his association with TDA for five years, he embarked upon taking charge of Pakistan P.WD  in the then capital city, as Chief Town Planner and Architect on the direct orders of the then Prime Minister Huseyn Suhrawardy who wished to enlist his services in end of 1957.

Also in 1957, a Quaid-e-Azam’s Mausoleum Architectural Competition to build a budding memorial to the founding father of the nation was held for which he was assigned to select a jury of assessors for this momentous project. In a rather unfortunate turn of events, the design awarded as the winning one was not acceptable to Mohtarma Fatima Jinnah and she hired an architect of her own choice from India who designed the current mausoleum built in honour of Quaid-e-Azam Muhammad Ali Jinnah. During 1958, as the architect-in-chief of the P.W.D and later with the Karachi Development Authority (KDA), he was actively involved in the planning and execution of the Korangi township, and various other projects during the time spent there. In his period spent there, he dealt with the growing developmental issues of Karachi which was experiencing rapid urbanization due to being the economic hub of Pakistan and remains to this day.

Also, in an interesting incident narrated in his book with the founder of Dawood Hercules, Ahmed Dawood is shared in this snapshot:

capture

His achievements remain unprecedented, but he was a family man, a principled father, a dutiful husband to his beloved wife Tahira and a doting grandfather to his granddaughters Mahvash, Sarah, Anam and Alizeh.