The narrative was in full swing when the doorbell rang. Majju Bhai stopped mid-sentence and said, ‘Who has come?’ Nemat Khan came out of the kitchen and leapt towards the door and returned almost immediately. ‘Rafiq sahab is at the door.’
Rafiq sahab followed close on his heels. Majju Bhai got to his feet and met him with great warmth. ‘Yaar, well done … good of you to come!’
‘I thought Majju Bhai does not have the time, so let me go and meet him. So, how are you?’
‘Don’t ask about Majju Bhai right now; he is in fine fettle and going on and on,’ I tacked on.
‘Going on? But what about?’
‘Muhajirs.’
‘Splendid!’ Rafiq sahab laughed loudly.
The talk turned towards Lucknow-walas. Majju Bhai said, ‘They have such delicate temper. They won’t allow the veritable fly to sit on their nose. You know our Aqqan sahab …’
‘Aqqan sahab?’ Rafiq sahab could not quite place him.
‘Yaar, the same Aqa Hasan … we were talking about him earlier. Actually, his daughter is being married to Tausif. The poor thing is in a quandary.’
‘Why?’ Rafiq sahab asked. ‘What’s wrong with Tausif?’
‘Is it a small fault that he belongs to a family from Meerut?’
Rafiq sahab laughed uproariously. ‘So, the gentleman is in a dilemma, is he?’
Majju Bhai said, ‘I told him, “Saiyad sahab, don’t you have relatives from Lucknow who have given their daughter to a family from Lahore? I am talking about Rafiq sahab; he is a true blue Lahori.” Tell me, Rafiq sahab, how was that?’
‘Well said,’ Rafiq sahab answered. ‘So what did Saiyad sahab say?’
‘What could he say? He was at a complete loss for words.’
Rafiq sahab said, ‘Now listen to the tales of our relatives. Once, when one of them had to come to Karachi, he decided to bestow us with the pleasure of his company. The first thing he commented on, as soon as he came to our home, was my wife’s pronunciation. But what worried him more was why I had chosen to live in this neck of the woods in Karachi. As soon as my wife went out of earshot, he asked in a hushed undertone, “Paaji, you are trapped; you should get out and look for a safer place.” I said, “It will make no difference; no matter where I go I will be living in a trap.” He asked, “What do you mean?” I said, “My wife is from Lucknow. Unfortunately, all my children are ahl-e-zubaan. So I am trapped even inside my home.” And I laughed loudly.’
‘Well said,’ Majju Bhai said approvingly.
‘Let me tell you about my younger son. As I was talking to my relative in Punjabi, my son was gaping at me. As soon as the visitor left, he asked, “Papa, what was this language you were speaking?” I said, ‘Son, this is the language of your father and his forefathers.’ Once again, Rafiq sahab let out a loud laugh.
I asked with utmost surprise, ‘Rafiq sahab, you are a native of Lahore and your children do not know Punjabi; how is that possible?’
‘Jawad sahab, first you must ask if my children know any Urdu at all?’
‘Now that is a new one,’ I said in increasing surprise. ‘You have reduced Urdu to a language of the domestic realm, and that too not any Urdu but the pure Urdu of Lucknow.’
‘Arre, Jawad sahab, don’t ask about my state of affairs … our children do not know any Punjabi because their mother is from Lucknow. And they know no Urdu because their Lucknowi mother studied in IT College.5 So our children are bereft of both Urdu and Punjabi.’
‘So which language do your children know?’ Majju Bhai asked with some irritation.
Rafiq sahab heaved a long-suffering sigh and said, ‘These
IT-College types also write novels, you see. Children like ours speak in a pidgin of the IT-brand Urdu of these novels. I grew up reading Aatish and Mushafi; I cannot understand this language. Only they can understand it; them and their mother.’ Rafiq sahab let out another loud laugh.
‘Subhan Allah,’ the words broke out of Majju Bhai’s lips of their own volition.
‘Yaar, Majju Bhai, you must help me in one small matter. You know all sorts of muhajirs; only you can help me.’
‘Bhai, what do you need? I am at your service.’
‘I am researching a special subject … a truly unusual topic. You will praise me when you hear of it. The subject I have in mind is “Poetry and Hijrat”. What do you think?’
‘Very nice topic. Carry on.’
‘Now I need two muhajirs who are ahl-e-zubaan but not poets.’
‘Have you gone mad?’ Majju Bhai asked. ‘Are you bent upon proving the impossible?’
‘All right, let me relax my conditions … find me two muhajirs who may be poets but not writers of the ghazal.’
‘Brother, you have taken up a difficult subject. Jawad, can you think of two such names?’
‘It is a difficult question,’ I answered softly.
The doorbell rang out. Once again, Nemat Khan came out of the kitchen and ran towards the door. This time when he returned, Tausif sahab was trotting behind him.
‘Aaah … Tausif sahab …’ Rafiq sahab rose to his feet and greeted the visitor.
‘Rafiq sahab, it is a good thing we have met here; I have been calling you all morning and no one is picking up the phone.’
‘I had left the house in the morning as soon as my wife left for her college; there was no one at home. Is all well?’
‘Yes, all is well. I am in a hurry; I won’t stay for long. I have come to tell you about the programme.’
‘This is no way to show up … you can’t come charging on the horse of the wind! Sit down, chat, have some tea,’ Majju Bhai called out to Nemat Khan, ‘How much longer for the tea?’
He answered from the kitchen, ‘Just bringing it.’
‘No, Majju Bhai, I am in a hurry; just hear me out. Tonight at 7:30 in the evening, in the kothi of the Nauchandiwalas….’6
‘In the kothi of the Nauchandiwalas?’ Majju Bhai interrupted him. ‘Talk straight … you mean in your home … Okay … Carry on …’
‘In the kothi of the Nuachandiwalas, that is, my home, tonight at 7:30 pm first, there will be a programme of parathas and seekh kababs and then a mushaira.’
‘Are seekh kababs and parathas not sufficient unto themselves?’
‘That is what I was about to say,’ I added my bit.
‘You misunderstood,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘The real programme is the mushaira; the seekh kababs and the parathas are the carrot … Think about it, gentlemen.’
‘It is difficult,’ Rafiq sahab and I spoke in unison.
‘No, it isn’t difficult at all,’ Tausif announced the waiver. ‘There is no compulsion to stay for the mushaira. You can leave after gracing the kabab-paratha programme with your presence. This special waiver will be applicable only for the two of you gentlemen.’
‘But Tausif Miyan,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘Have some fear of the Lord! Is this the time for kabab-parathas? Terror has been unleashed upon the city and you are thinking of these indulgences!’
‘Majju Bhai, poetry and kabab-parathas are entirely free of the snares of this world. ‘
‘But what is the occasion?’ Rafiq asked.
‘Curfew has been lifted from our neighbourhood; that’s it.’
‘But this is a fleeting happiness,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘Is there any knowing where things are headed? Every day, there is a new mischief, especially in your neighbourhood. Who knows, there might be some uproar tomorrow and curfew may be clamped again.’
‘We will see what tomorrow brings; there is no curfew today.’
‘Subhan Allah … what a wonderful philosophy!’
‘Majju Bhai,’ Tausif said, ‘Each one has to carve out one’s own philosophy in order to survive. If not this, tell me a better way to stay alive in Karachi?’
Majju Bhai laughed, ‘Yaar, you have left me speechless!’
‘Majju Bhai,’ I said, ‘his way is not very different from yours.’
‘Yaar, I have already conced
ed defeat; you too want to extract your pound of flesh right now?’
‘All right then,’ Tausif got up. ‘We will talk again another time; I am in a hurry now. Please reach on time. If you are late, the kabab-parathas will be cold.’
‘But, Miyan, how will the mushaira reach its real glory. The poets from Liaqatabad will not be able to come; their area is still under curfew.’
Majju Bhai’s words stopped Tausif in his tracks.
‘Majju Bhai, you are the limit! Can any power in this world stop a poet from coming to a mushaira? After all, what is a curfew?’ And with these words, Tausif glanced at the watch strapped at his wrist and said. ‘It is getting late; I must go.’
And like an arrow, he shot off …
1 Liaqatabad is a densely populated neighbourhood in central Karachi named after Liaqat Ali Khan, the first Prime Minister of Pakistan; though a mixed neighbourhood, muhajirs form an overwhelming majority in the ethnic mix.
2 Fani Badayuni (1879–1961) was a renowned Urdu poet who wrote sweetly lyrical ghazals in the traditional mould, marked by an extreme despondency and richly symbolist melancholy. His hometown, Badaun, a historical city near Bareilly in Uttar Pradesh, has produced many poets and is regarded as a centre of learning and good taste; it is also well known for its pedas.
3 This is characteristic of Intizar’s Husain’s impish sense of humour; he is poking fun at people like himself since he was born in Dibai and educated in Meerut.
4 A small qasba near Lucknow famous for its laddus.
5 The Isabella Thoburn (IT) College in Lucknow was set up by an American missionary in 1870 to provide quality education to native Christian girls; it was a pioneering effort in the area of women’s education in India.
6 This is a pretentious way of referring to himself and a sign of the upward mobility that is common among diaspora communities. Tausif is using the word kothi, which sounds grander and more royal, for his own house and calling Meerut by its more archaic name, Nauchandi.
‘Ai Majju Bhai, this wretched city has dealt us a strange blow,’ Basho Bhabhi burst out the moment we went and sat beside her. ‘This sounds like the preface of a long shehr ashob;1 Majju Bhai has got us in a fine mess,’ I said to myself. Actually, we had set out from our home to eat the kabab-parathas of Meerut, and that too with some hesitation on my part. I had told Majju Bhai to go on his own as I wasn’t at all keen.
‘Arre yaar, how can you say that? It isn’t such a bad deal … you will be treated to kabab-parathas from Meerut.’
‘Of course it is a bad deal … there is the rider of the mushaira attached to it. It is all right for the poets … rather for them it is a two-in-one deal. But for someone like me, who is not at all interested in poetry, of course it is a bad deal.’
‘Yaar, you don’t have to listen to the mushaira; it isn’t as though it is mandatory. In any case, Tausif has already exempted you from attendance.’
‘You mean I should eat the kabab-parathas and run away without paying their price? That isn’t respectable, is it?’
‘Then sit in the mushaira for some time, make some excuse and leave early.’
‘No, Majju Bhai, you go.’
‘No, yaar, that can’t be … I can’t go and eat the kabab-paratha alone. My conscience will prick me.’
When I saw there was no escaping Majju Bhai today, I decided to go … whatever will be, will be. And when Majju Bhai got me along, he revealed his true motive.
‘Actually, Jawad Miyan, you are becoming somewhat dense. You become agitated in the company of your fellow men. You go to the office and come back … and that’s it. Is that any way to live your life? You should meet people, or else you will become a mental patient.’
‘Meet whom? Your kind of people bore me.’
‘They seem boring to you because you don’t meet them. They are boring, yes, but not as boring as you seem to think. They are as interesting as they are boring. Now I will introduce you to
them properly.’
‘So, this will be a long programme?’
‘Yes, you might well say so. Now that we are stepping out, we will stop by briefly at Saiyad Aqa Hasan’s house first. The husband and wife are a very interesting couple, typical Lucknow-walas!’
Majju Bhai has always had the same modus operandi. He has never walked the straight path; he always has these halts along the way. So, this was our first halt. And Basho Bhabhi did not let us pause to draw breath. She got going from the moment we sat down.
‘Bhabhi,’ Majju Bhai said. ‘It isn’t just Karachi; this is happening all over the country.’
‘Bhai Majidul Husaini, you are correct; this turbulence has engulfed the entire country,’ Saiyad Aqa Hasan agreed with Majju Bhai in his ponderous tone. ‘This is what I keep trying to tell your sister-in-law that, my dear, why do you fret over Karachi; the entire country is in a mess. It is a reign of tyranny and dictatorship. Those who were low born roll in wealth and the shurfa go hungry for even one meal. And on top of it all, no one’s life or property is safe.’
‘It’s all very well to say that the entire country is up in arms,’ Basho Bhabhi stressed, ‘But my brothers, what is happening in Karachi today has probably never happened anywhere else in the world … no home is safe. Arre, I am saying go and rob the homes of those who have mounds of wealth, but spare the respectable folk. What riches did poor Achchi Bi have in her house? Those black-faced wretches jumped into her home too.’
‘Oh,’ Majju Bhai said in alarm, ‘So there was a theft in Achchi Bi’s house?’
‘Ai, brother, you didn’t know?’
‘No, I had no clue.’
‘It is a good thing that she escaped with her life at least. Nowadays, one loses one’s life along with one’s goods. You know how easily I get upset; when I heard about this I nearly fainted. I immediately took a taxi and reached her house somehow or the other. I saw her alive and was hugely relieved.’
‘So what were the losses?’
‘Brother, forget about losses; after all, Achchi Bi is a Delhiwali. She is not one to suffer fools gladly. She gave them such a tough time that the thieves ran off. But, brother, I am asking you: After all, what is going on in Karachi? Robberies and thefts have been going on since time immemorial; even dacoities are an old practice. My elder uncle used to tell us how once, in his Faizabad,2 there was such a robbery that the Basant Mahalwalas were nearly swept clean. The thieves had even taken off the chandeliers and walked away with them. My elder uncle used to tell us how the robbers had come armed with pick axes as well as a monitor lizard and ropes. You know how the monitor lizard sticks to walls as though stuck with glue. They tied ropes around it and flung it up the parapets. No wonder they scaled the high walls of Basant Mahal with such ease! But these things happened when we were barely in our senses. Now when we see what is happening before our eyes, it is enough to make us lose our senses. Who are these trouble makers? May the curse of Hazrat Abbas fall upon them … O Sher-e-Khuda,3 why are you tarrying? Why don’t you destroy them?’
‘Yes, Sher-e-Khuda can be the only saviour; it is no good expecting anything from these rulers.’
‘Arre, I call out to Maula Mushkil Kusha five times a day; I ask him to remove our troubles, rid us of these robbers and thieves. May they be wracked by diarrhoea; they have sown such calamity. They have not the slightest fear of god. The robbers of the past had some fear of Allah and His prophet. Take for instance, Sultana Daku4 from our part of the world.’
‘Sultana Daku?’Aqa Hasan spoke with a gleam in his eyes. ‘He was one of his kind; you don’t have dacoits like him anymore.’
‘The poor thing was needlessly defamed. He was a God-fearing man,’ Basho Bhabhi paused, then carried on, ‘This wretched world has a strange custom: the bad are good and those who have acquired a bad name are necessarily bad. You can carry on doing the worst misdeeds as long as you have drawn a curtain over them. Those who don’t draw a curtain over their actions are the worst culprits. What did poor Sultana do? He robbed t
he rich and helped the poor. He arranged for the dowries of so many daughters of poor fathers. He only needed to know which home had a young unmarried girl; then, whether he had to rob or pillage, he would arrange for the girl’s dowry. And these modern-day robbers? They are stone-hearted.’
‘Bhabhi,’ Majju Bhai said, ‘You are right, but a robber is a robber.’
‘Ai Bhaiyya, I am not disputing that; a robber may turn into an angel, but he will remain a robber. All I am saying is these new-fangled robbers are not even real robbers. They are pickpockets. It is like putting a blade in the hands of a monkey. These robbers have got hold of guns, which they use with great alacrity. They don’t see who they are using it on, or which house they are breaking into. May the heavens fall upon them! May the blood of Husain curse them! They broke into the home of our Laddan sahab, pointed a gun at his chest and robbed him of his entire life’s savings and still they were not satisfied. One said, “Qibla, you have disappointed us. Maulvis are supposed to have great wealth. I am sorry to trouble you, but give me a talisman.” The maulvi asked, “A talisman for what?” The wretch said, “Qibla, what shall I say? I am always troubled; there is no prosperity in this work. No matter how much I gather, everything goes away and I remain as poor as ever. Write a talisman for me so that I may remain in a state of plenty and prosperity.” … Plenty and prosperity indeed,’ Basho Bhabhi made a face and muttered, ‘Someone should ask that black-faced scoundrel: Has any one heard of plenty and prosperity from ill-gotten gains?’
Saiyad Aqa Hasan began as soon as Basho Bhabhi fell silent. ‘Bhai Majidul Husaini, this is nothing but vengeance and calamity. People are being robbed in broad daylight. No one takes any action against the robbers.’
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