On Qurratulain Hyder -

This piece was published in The Friday Times (on August 2005), Pakistan as “Writer’s Muse”

In my otherwise uneventful life, something significant has happened. It may seem unimportant to some people but it’s a big deal for me: I finally met Qurratulain Hyder, twice, in Delhi. The journey to get to Ainee Apa (the affectionate title bestowed on Hyder by her admirers in the Urdu-speaking world) took fifteen long years, for despite my familiarity with Pakistani literary circles, I never met her in Pakistan. On my recent visit to Delhi, however, fate smiled upon me.

Dr Enver Sajjad introduced me to her writings when I was in high school and since then, I have read almost every word published by her. Once, I composed a long letter to her that I never sent, thinking that it was a bit melodramatic to do so. Over the years, I internalised its contents and a part of me has been perennially nurtured by the magic of her writings. I still remember the glorious London summer when I finished Aakhir-i-Shab ke Humsafar during my college days; I looked around and discovered that the world was a different place. Henceforth, I lived the better part of my life in her books.

Ainee is arguably the greatest living Urdu writer. The Times Literary Supplement once commented that she can be counted alongside her contemporaries Milan Kundera and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, as one of the world’s major living writers. Her novels and short stories have dealt with the inextricability of Hindu and Muslim subcultures in terms of literature, poetry and music, and the historical forces of colonisation, Independence and Partition and their impact on the current of individual lives. Her first novel was published in 1947 and her magnum opus Aag Ka Dariya (translated by her as River of Fire ) undertook a groundbreaking examination of issues of identity in the context of South Asian civilisation; Darya is to Urdu fiction what A Hundred Years of Solitude is to Latin American literature.

Born in the UP in 1927, Hyder comes from an accomplished upper-crust family of writers. Educated in Lucknow, she spent a stint in London as a young reporter on Fleet Street before immigrating to Pakistan after Partition and returning to India around 1962. Ainee was awarded the Jnanpith – India’s highest national award – and before that, the Sahitya Akademi, Padma Shree and Ghalib Awards.

On my first visit to Delhi, I was invited for lunch at Ainee Apa’s house. She lives in Noida close to Delhi. Quite symbolically, the real-mythical Jamna River separates the two localities. In Noida, I buy rajneegandha flowers (much loftier than the prosaic ‘tube roses’) and standing under a jaman tree, wonder why life is treating me so well. I was, after all, buying flowers for Ainee Apa.

She is entertaining a guest who had brought some books for her to read. There is no electricity and she repeatedly apologises for the humid afternoon and her utter helplessness in getting the supply restored. Evidently frail, there is nevertheless something electric in her manners and conversation. It takes me a while to register the reality of that afternoon. Her house is full of books; I later find that each room has bookshelves and yet more bookshelves. The walls are adorned with a decade’s worth of her paintings, some of which I recognise as they feature in her books.

Mindful of her legendary irritation regarding literary small talk, which she has always considered ‘boring,’ I launch into a ‘natural’ dialogue of sorts. She hurls at me several questions on the state of Indo-Pak relations, the visa policy and my projections on the peace process. I am a bit taken aback, my cynical self not ready to offer coherent replies. Nevertheless, I conjure up answers that are cautiously optimistic or, shall we say, “moderately enlightened.” She appears amused by my assertions and insists that her generation suffered due to conflict; my contemporaries and I have to rise to the occasion. I can appreciate her point given that the world that she has lived in is no more; the composite Indo-Muslim culture is fast diminishing and the RSSs and Lashkars – illegitimate children of the historical upheavals – are better known than Mir and Kabeer.

She also inquires into the state of the Pakistani intelligentsia and I am again a little nonplussed. I lament about the middle class and how it is not playing its historical role (except for crass consumerism) nowadays. Then I mention Kamal, a character from Darya , who is disillusioned by the aesthetics and politics of the 1950s but sees no option but to integrate into the changing Pakistan. She smiles and avoids a direct answer by saying that was an old tale. Earlier in the conversation, I was chided for citing my favourite thesis of territorial re-adjustment (shifting boundaries) as a recurring theme in South Asian history. Ainee, the iconoclast, vociferously opines that medieval trends are over and communications and technology have changed our futures. I am struck by her buoyant thought process and led to question my own historical determinism. I notice that she has a terrific sense of humour, her sharp wit unaffected by her age and illness.

We lunch in the dining room amidst more of her paintings and books. The setting is quite cheerful as we talk of the Raj, vanishing Anglo-Indians and Lucknow, while the domestics sway hand-fans. She holds that Zia-ul-Haq’s era damaged Pakistan irretrievably. Pakistan, she adds, was progressing before Zia took over. She recalls Pakistan’s first female pilot, Shukriya Ahmad, the day Bhutto was hanged and how Lucknow appears desolate. I am nothing short of enchanted. She saw Bhutto on a steamer-ship in 1954 and remembers vividly how he was ‘wading’ outside the ballroom. Her memory is fantastic.

Lucknow is a constant point of reference that lurks in the shadows of her conversation. Ainee insists that I should visit Lucknow on my next trip – and I will, God (and visa) willing. I am reminded that in Lucknow, religious identities were secondary to those of the secular Lucknavi culture and even the street vendors used language such as: hazoor dekhiye ye jalaybee aap ki mohabbat mein ghulay ja rahee hai . I inform her that the ‘Lucknow nostalgia industry’ is vibrant in some parts of Karachi. She likes my blasphemous remark but wonders how I can be Punjabi, given that I speak Urdu! But I am now used to this identity crisis.

Getting rather familiar, I start discussing her books and, of course, the narrator. Her answers are delightfully original and utterly self-effacing. She recounts how her parents were born at least a hundred years before their time. Her father’s liberal outlook and her mother’s love for the arts were the inspiration for Ainee to devote her life to writing. She never got married; it was quite evident that she could not have met a man capable of complementing her. I suppose the rich inner universe makes up for the ‘loneliness’ syndrome in exceptional individuals.

When I mention a real character, the Calcutta singer/courtesan Gohar Jaan (who died in 1930) from her novel Gardish-i-Rang-i-Chaman she is most excited. I tell her that a musicologist friend has discovered some thumrees in her original voice. (These I deliver to her during my second visit, and when we listen to them she is in a state of disbelief.) She asks me to search for the music of Janki Bai, another luminary of the early 20th century. (When I later call my musicologist friend to request that he dig out Janki’s music, he is stunned when I tell him why). Ainee is fluent in the language of music; she co-authored a book on Ustaad Barray Ghulam Ali Khan and in her heyday, played the piano and the sitar with equal ease.

She corrects me when I use the term a-historical (she calls it anti-historical) noting the systematic destruction of heritage across the subcontinent. We talk about her discovery of the first subcontinental novel written by Hasan Shah in 1790 – The Nautch Girl – which she translated in 1992. She is angry that no one bothered until she unearthed the manuscript from the Patna Library. We drift back into lost eras and she remarks that Dara Shikoh was a 21st century man. Small wonder that he was beheaded in the 17th century, I respond.

On my second visit, our conversation ends when Ainee, preempting my melodrama, warns me, “now don’t you do the conventional: it was great that I finally met you as I have been dying to meet you for so many years.” She also mocks a shudh Hindi version at me. We laugh endlessly, and I tell her that all the clichés are true and need to be expressed shamelessly.

As I leave, I promise that I will return very soon to present her with Janki Bai’s music. My undelivered letter to Ainee is getting longer. . . I shall need a lifetime to complete it.

permalink Comments 9 Jun 28th, 2007

9 Responses to “On Qurratulain Hyder -”

  1. Qurratulain Hyder - Information at Halfvalue.com Says:
    July 6th, 2007 at 9:43 pm

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] Hyder, Qurrat-ul-Ain (b. 1926) is an Urdu novelist and short story writer, an academic, and a journalist. She is the daughter of the famous writer Sajjad Haidar Yaldram,(1880-1943) . Her mother, Nazr Zahra (later Nazr Sajjad Hyder) (1894-1967) was known as one of her time’s foremost novelists. LifeBorn in January 20, 1926 in Aligarh, Uttar Pradesh, Qurratulain Hyder is one of the most celebrated of Urdu fiction writers. A trendsetter in Urdu fiction, she began writing at a time when the novel was yet to take deep roots as a serious genre in the poetry-oriented world of Urdu literature. She instilled in it a new sensibility and brought into its fold strands of thought and imagination hitherto unexplored. She is widely regarded as the “Grande Dame” of Urdu literature.After graduating from Lucknow University, she moved to Pakistan in 1947, then lived in England before returning to India in 1951. She has been writing since she was 11 years old.A prolific writer, she has so far written some 12 novels and novellas, four collections of short stories and has done a significant amount of translation of classics. Aag Ka Darya (River of Fire), her magnum opus, is a landmark novel that explores the vast sweep of time and history. It tells a story that moves from the fourth century BC to the post-Independence period in India and Pakistan, pausing at the many crucial epochs of history. The [London] Times Literary Supplement wrote that “[River of Fire] is to Urdu fiction what A Hundred Years of Solitude is to Hispanic literature. Qurratulain Hyder has a place alongside her exact contemporaries, Milan Kundera and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, as one of the world’s major living writers.” Other books include Patjar ki Awaz (‘The Voice of Autumn’, 1965); Roushni ki Raftar (‘The Speed of Light’, 1982); the short novel Chae ke Bagh (‘Tea Plantations’, 1965); and the family chronicle Kare Jahan Daraz He (‘The Work of the World Goes on’). Amitov Ghosh writes that “hers is one of the most important Indian voices of the twentieth century.”She received the Jnanpith Award in 1989 for her novel Aakhir-e-Shab ke Hamsafar (Travellers Unto the Night). She received the Sahitya Akademi Award, in 1967, Soviet Land Nehru Award, 1969, Ghalib Award, 1985. She was conferred Padma Shri by the Government of India for her outstanding contribution to Urdu literature, and in 2005 she was conferred the Padma Bhushan by the Government of India, for her contribution to Urdu Literature and Education. The Padma Bhushan is the third highest civilian honor awarded by the Government of India. Hyder has served as a guest lecturer at the universities of California, Chicago, Wisconsin, and Arizona. She was Professor, Khan Abdul Ghaffar Khan Chair, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Dehli.She was Managing Editor of the magazine, Imprint, Bombay (1964-68), and a member of the editorial staff of the Illustrated Weekly of India (1968-75). Her books have been translated into English and other languages. The Library of Congress has twenty-one books by her. External linksLibrary of Congress South Asian Literary Recordings ProjectWriter’s Muse found at Jahane Rumi blog [...]

  2. Jahane Rumi - In search of the unsearchable: “…O, my soul! where would you find your house?” » Qurratulain Hyder is dead! Says:
    August 21st, 2007 at 12:56 pm

    [...] of course there was romance - the notion of eastern and Indic romance - that touched our lives. As I wrote earlier, that the way I have understood the world and perhaps parts of myself were deeply influenced by [...]

  3. Top Literature - Qurratulain Hyder Says:
    August 21st, 2007 at 6:06 pm

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] Writer’s Muse found at Jahane Rumi blog [...]

  4. Sad Demise of Qurratulain Hyder : ALL THINGS PAKISTAN Says:
    August 21st, 2007 at 6:31 pm

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] of course there was romance - the notion of eastern and Indic romance - that touched our lives. As I wrote earlier, that the way I have understood the world and perhaps parts of myself were deeply influenced by [...]

  5. Qurratulain Hyder « Reflections Says:
    August 29th, 2007 at 7:13 am

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] Please also read this piece that I had written after meeting her in 2005: http://www.razarumi.com/on-qurratulain-hyder/ [...]

  6. QURATUL AIN HAIDER is no more... - GupShup Forums Says:
    August 30th, 2007 at 2:12 pm

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] I would like to take this opportunity to share with you an article by Raza Rumi, which is an account of his encounter with "the literary giant"Qurat-ul-ain Haider. Raza himself is a sensitive individual with multi-dimensional interests; he is a prolific writer, an avid reader and a budding artist. Infact, an aficionado of literature, art and architecture. He has most graciously agreed to share his thoughts and written works with us. On Qurratulain Hyder - This piece was published in The Friday Times (on August 2005), Pakistan as “Writer’s Muse” In my otherwise uneventful life, something significant has happened. It may seem unimportant to some people but it’s a big deal for me: I finally met Qurratulain Hyder, twice, in Delhi. The journey to get to Ainee Apa (the affectionate title bestowed on Hyder by her admirers in the Urdu-speaking world) took fifteen long years, for despite my familiarity with Pakistani literary circles, I never met her in Pakistan. On my recent visit to Delhi, however, fate smiled upon me. Dr Enver Sajjad introduced me to her writings when I was in high school and since then, I have read almost every word published by her. Once, I composed a long letter to her that I never sent, thinking that it was a bit melodramatic to do so. Over the years, I internalised its contents and a part of me has been perennially nurtured by the magic of her writings. I still remember the glorious London summer when I finished Aakhir-i-Shab ke Humsafar during my college days; I looked around and discovered that the world was a different place. Henceforth, I lived the better part of my life in her books. Ainee is arguably the greatest living Urdu writer. The Times Literary Supplement once commented that she can be counted alongside her contemporaries Milan Kundera and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, as one of the world’s major living writers. Her novels and short stories have dealt with the inextricability of Hindu and Muslim subcultures in terms of literature, poetry and music, and the historical forces of colonisation, Independence and Partition and their impact on the current of individual lives. Her first novel was published in 1947 and her magnum opus Aag Ka Dariya (translated by her as River of Fire ) undertook a groundbreaking examination of issues of identity in the context of South Asian civilisation; Darya is to Urdu fiction what A Hundred Years of Solitude is to Latin American literature. Born in the UP in 1927, Hyder comes from an accomplished upper-crust family of writers. Educated in Lucknow, she spent a stint in London as a young reporter on Fleet Street before immigrating to Pakistan after Partition and returning to India around 1962. Ainee was awarded the Jnanpith – India’s highest national award – and before that, the Sahitya Akademi, Padma Shree and Ghalib Awards. On my first visit to Delhi, I was invited for lunch at Ainee Apa’s house. She lives in Noida close to Delhi. Quite symbolically, the real-mythical Jamna River separates the two localities. In Noida, I buy rajneegandha flowers (much loftier than the prosaic ‘tube roses’) and standing under a jaman tree, wonder why life is treating me so well. I was, after all, buying flowers for Ainee Apa. She is entertaining a guest who had brought some books for her to read. There is no electricity and she repeatedly apologises for the humid afternoon and her utter helplessness in getting the supply restored. Evidently frail, there is nevertheless something electric in her manners and conversation. It takes me a while to register the reality of that afternoon. Her house is full of books; I later find that each room has bookshelves and yet more bookshelves. The walls are adorned with a decade’s worth of her paintings, some of which I recognise as they feature in her books. Mindful of her legendary irritation regarding literary small talk, which she has always considered ‘boring,’ I launch into a ‘natural’ dialogue of sorts. She hurls at me several questions on the state of Indo-Pak relations, the visa policy and my projections on the peace process. I am a bit taken aback, my cynical self not ready to offer coherent replies. Nevertheless, I conjure up answers that are cautiously optimistic or, shall we say, “moderately enlightened.” She appears amused by my assertions and insists that her generation suffered due to conflict; my contemporaries and I have to rise to the occasion. I can appreciate her point given that the world that she has lived in is no more; the composite Indo-Muslim culture is fast diminishing and the RSSs and Lashkars – illegitimate children of the historical upheavals – are better known than Mir and Kabeer. She also inquires into the state of the Pakistani intelligentsia and I am again a little nonplussed. I lament about the middle class and how it is not playing its historical role (except for crass consumerism) nowadays. Then I mention Kamal, a character from Darya , who is disillusioned by the aesthetics and politics of the 1950s but sees no option but to integrate into the changing Pakistan. She smiles and avoids a direct answer by saying that was an old tale. Earlier in the conversation, I was chided for citing my favourite thesis of territorial re-adjustment (shifting boundaries) as a recurring theme in South Asian history. Ainee, the iconoclast, vociferously opines that medieval trends are over and communications and technology have changed our futures. I am struck by her buoyant thought process and led to question my own historical determinism. I notice that she has a terrific sense of humour, her sharp wit unaffected by her age and illness. We lunch in the dining room amidst more of her paintings and books. The setting is quite cheerful as we talk of the Raj, vanishing Anglo-Indians and Lucknow, while the domestics sway hand-fans. She holds that Zia-ul-Haq’s era damaged Pakistan irretrievably. Pakistan, she adds, was progressing before Zia took over. She recalls Pakistan’s first female pilot, Shukriya Ahmad, the day Bhutto was hanged and how Lucknow appears desolate. I am nothing short of enchanted. She saw Bhutto on a steamer-ship in 1954 and remembers vividly how he was ‘wading’ outside the ballroom. Her memory is fantastic. Lucknow is a constant point of reference that lurks in the shadows of her conversation. Ainee insists that I should visit Lucknow on my next trip – and I will, God (and visa) willing. I am reminded that in Lucknow, religious identities were secondary to those of the secular Lucknavi culture and even the street vendors used language such as: hazoor dekhiye ye jalaybee aap ki mohabbat mein ghulay ja rahee hai . I inform her that the ‘Lucknow nostalgia industry’ is vibrant in some parts of Karachi. She likes my blasphemous remark but wonders how I can be Punjabi, given that I speak Urdu! But I am now used to this identity crisis. Getting rather familiar, I start discussing her books and, of course, the narrator. Her answers are delightfully original and utterly self-effacing. She recounts how her parents were born at least a hundred years before their time. Her father’s liberal outlook and her mother’s love for the arts were the inspiration for Ainee to devote her life to writing. She never got married; it was quite evident that she could not have met a man capable of complementing her. I suppose the rich inner universe makes up for the ‘loneliness’ syndrome in exceptional individuals. When I mention a real character, the Calcutta singer/courtesan Gohar Jaan (who died in 1930) from her novel Gardish-i-Rang-i-Chaman she is most excited. I tell her that a musicologist friend has discovered some thumrees in her original voice. (These I deliver to her during my second visit, and when we listen to them she is in a state of disbelief.) She asks me to search for the music of Janki Bai, another luminary of the early 20th century. (When I later call my musicologist friend to request that he dig out Janki’s music, he is stunned when I tell him why). Ainee is fluent in the language of music; she co-authored a book on Ustaad Barray Ghulam Ali Khan and in her heyday, played the piano and the sitar with equal ease. She corrects me when I use the term a-historical (she calls it anti-historical) noting the systematic destruction of heritage across the subcontinent. We talk about her discovery of the first subcontinental novel written by Hasan Shah in 1790 – The Nautch Girl – which she translated in 1992. She is angry that no one bothered until she unearthed the manuscript from the Patna Library. We drift back into lost eras and she remarks that Dara Shikoh was a 21st century man. Small wonder that he was beheaded in the 17th century, I respond. On my second visit, our conversation ends when Ainee, preempting my melodrama, warns me, “now don’t you do the conventional: it was great that I finally met you as I have been dying to meet you for so many years.” She also mocks a shudh Hindi version at me. We laugh endlessly, and I tell her that all the clichés are true and need to be expressed shamelessly. As I leave, I promise that I will return very soon to present her with Janki Bai’s music. My undelivered letter to Ainee is getting longer. . . I shall need a lifetime to complete it. http://www.razarumi.com/on-qurratulain-hyder [...]

  7. Desicritics.org: Qurratulain Hyder - End of an Era Says:
    November 8th, 2007 at 6:36 pm

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] was wary of Pakistan, though it remained her second home until her last breath.I am fortunate to have met Ainee Apa twice. Even though I met her in the twilight of her fascinating life, she had not lost her brilliance as [...]

  8. Qurratulain Hyder - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia Says:
    August 2nd, 2008 at 10:10 am

    Kramer auto Pingback[...] Writer’s Muse found at Jahane Rumi blog [...]

  9. Asif Says:
    August 9th, 2008 at 3:29 pm

    one question always disturbs me, whenever I think about her life, why did she return to India?
    is it because pakistan did not turn out what she and her generation dreamt for?
    or is it because the panjabi who poison the pakistan and still doing?

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