Literary firmament
Translation of literary works into international languages may be a way to project a softer image of the country.
The writer is a public policy analyst and former interior secretary
In these days of gloom and doom, any talk of literature comes as a breath of fresh air, more so when the Pak Tea House was recently resurrected in Lahore. In a recent column in this newspaper, Dr Ayesha Siddiqa talked about the Lahore that was and which is no more. Times have changed. Disruptive technologies have shaken the fabric of society and a morphed existence has overtaken the sedate and rich traditions this city was known for.
It was heartening to see the revival of the Pak Tea House but where do we get those dozens that were its lifeline? I moved to Lahore in the early 1970s after winding up my innings as a student in the erstwhile East Pakistan, yet another fascinating place known for its rich literary and cultural ambience. Lahore, at that time, had umpteen places that served as hideouts for the literati. Leave alone the Tea House, lesser mortals could be seen participating in literary discourses at the Capri in Tollinton Market, at Cheney’s Lunch Home, at the Shezan restaurant in the Dayal Singh Mansion and at Lord’s Cafe. Connoisseurs of literature went the extra mile in arranging adabi nishests in their homes. My first interactions with the late Qudratullah Shahab and with Ashfaq Ahmed were at the late Jamila Hashmi’s residence located in St James’s Park. In those times, writers relayed their experiences on a creative note, evoking the empathy of the reader. Journeying with the words of the renowned romantic fiction writer A Hameed, for example, was akin to exploring oneself.
We live in the times of literary festivals, where a creeping corporatisation of the literary scene is taking place with “journalised” discourse dominating the creative vibes of hardcore literature. One may glean this through the media reports on the literary festival held in Lahore last month. Some critics talked about a ‘missing connect’ with literary reality. That may not have been the objective of the sponsors of the event, who are driven by commercial considerations. I do not question their motives but wish to add a note of caution. We witnessed how the age-old tradition of Basant was taken over by the corporate world. In my childhood, Basant was a daytime event. With the entry of corporate sponsors, it turned into a series of night-time events with the glitterati making a beeline for the rooftops of high-rise buildings. Basant became more about musical concerts at the expense of vandalising places of heritage.
In my view, Pakistan is a rich place for creative experiences. So much has happened in the past and so much is happening right now. We witnessed one of the largest and bloodiest transmigrations in history at the time of Partition. People deeply rooted to their land were uprooted and are still undergoing the process of re-socialisation. As if that was not good enough, we were the only country in the post-Second World War era where the majority population seceded from the homeland through a bloody civil war. To gauge this trauma, one needs to visit the war museum in Dhaka and have a look at the monuments created at conspicuous places throughout Bangladesh. Our rural landscape still continues to present a picture of contentment, resilience and bonding despite the pulls and pressures of predators of power and influence. This is the thematic environment which offers so much content for the creative writer.
There are no two opinions about the quality of Urdu and regional literature that is currently being produced. This avenue needs a window to become part of the mainstream. Not much is being done to promote the art of translations except for isolated individual efforts. Our publishing houses have their own limitations. Our state-sponsored academies and adabi boards, instead of working on reproduced archival material, should focus on translations of literary works in international languages. This work can be tied with performance-based grants with well laid-out benchmarks. This may be a way to project a softer image of the country, which is otherwise known as one of the most dangerous places in the world.
Published in The Express Tribune, March 29th, 2013.
It was heartening to see the revival of the Pak Tea House but where do we get those dozens that were its lifeline? I moved to Lahore in the early 1970s after winding up my innings as a student in the erstwhile East Pakistan, yet another fascinating place known for its rich literary and cultural ambience. Lahore, at that time, had umpteen places that served as hideouts for the literati. Leave alone the Tea House, lesser mortals could be seen participating in literary discourses at the Capri in Tollinton Market, at Cheney’s Lunch Home, at the Shezan restaurant in the Dayal Singh Mansion and at Lord’s Cafe. Connoisseurs of literature went the extra mile in arranging adabi nishests in their homes. My first interactions with the late Qudratullah Shahab and with Ashfaq Ahmed were at the late Jamila Hashmi’s residence located in St James’s Park. In those times, writers relayed their experiences on a creative note, evoking the empathy of the reader. Journeying with the words of the renowned romantic fiction writer A Hameed, for example, was akin to exploring oneself.
We live in the times of literary festivals, where a creeping corporatisation of the literary scene is taking place with “journalised” discourse dominating the creative vibes of hardcore literature. One may glean this through the media reports on the literary festival held in Lahore last month. Some critics talked about a ‘missing connect’ with literary reality. That may not have been the objective of the sponsors of the event, who are driven by commercial considerations. I do not question their motives but wish to add a note of caution. We witnessed how the age-old tradition of Basant was taken over by the corporate world. In my childhood, Basant was a daytime event. With the entry of corporate sponsors, it turned into a series of night-time events with the glitterati making a beeline for the rooftops of high-rise buildings. Basant became more about musical concerts at the expense of vandalising places of heritage.
In my view, Pakistan is a rich place for creative experiences. So much has happened in the past and so much is happening right now. We witnessed one of the largest and bloodiest transmigrations in history at the time of Partition. People deeply rooted to their land were uprooted and are still undergoing the process of re-socialisation. As if that was not good enough, we were the only country in the post-Second World War era where the majority population seceded from the homeland through a bloody civil war. To gauge this trauma, one needs to visit the war museum in Dhaka and have a look at the monuments created at conspicuous places throughout Bangladesh. Our rural landscape still continues to present a picture of contentment, resilience and bonding despite the pulls and pressures of predators of power and influence. This is the thematic environment which offers so much content for the creative writer.
There are no two opinions about the quality of Urdu and regional literature that is currently being produced. This avenue needs a window to become part of the mainstream. Not much is being done to promote the art of translations except for isolated individual efforts. Our publishing houses have their own limitations. Our state-sponsored academies and adabi boards, instead of working on reproduced archival material, should focus on translations of literary works in international languages. This work can be tied with performance-based grants with well laid-out benchmarks. This may be a way to project a softer image of the country, which is otherwise known as one of the most dangerous places in the world.
Published in The Express Tribune, March 29th, 2013.