Outside the 'Bierhaus' in Frankfurt's over 1,000 year old Romez Platz, just opposite its famed 'Dom', the scene is picture perfect. Colourful flowers burst forth from exquisite pots on windowsills of ancient oak-framed houses painted in pleasing hues. In the huge cobbled square neatly dressed waiters serve. Japanese tourists with the latest cameras click away. That is where I met Herr Bott, a former Nazi soldier, and, to my surprise, originally from Lahore.
In the last 30 years, this is the second original Lahori I have met who was a Nazi soldier in the Second World War. Both of them set out as young men from Lahore to liberate their homeland. The first, Syed Wazir Ali Shah, lives in Lahore. He suffered a lot, spent years in Mach Jail, and, finally, was released never to be given a government job. He, however, after much poverty has done well in his own business.
On my annual holidays this year I travelled through Germany, Holland, and, naturally, across the sea to England. We sub-continental Muslims invariably wish either going to Allah's house in Makkah or the second best is London, or "Allah's glory" as one loves to call the place. But this year I opted for Germany. It is clinically clean, some would say 'uncomfortably' clean. I had always wanted to follow the trail of Iqbal, and of the forgotten genius, Allama Mashriqi. So I was headed towards Heidelberg, and from there to Cambridge in England. But this story starts and ends outside the 'Bierhaus' in Frankfurt.
I ordered the 'needful' and sat back alone in my chair under a table shade. Next to me sat an old German couple, both sipping cold German beer. The waiter returned and told me the order would take 20 minutes. He was, to compensate for the time taken, patronizing and asked me where I was from. "Lahore, where else?" I said. He could not place in which country Lahore was.
The old German sipping beer looked at me with intense interest. In chaste Punjabi, he said: "Lahor toan ho?" I looked around to make sure it was not anyone else. The German asked if he could join me on my table, and he and his wife shifted over. I was alone and company is always welcome.
He introduced himself as Lattf Bott in excellent German. He was a red cheeked gent, as German as any one could meet. He broke into chaste Punjabi and said: "My name is Abdul Latif Butt. I am a Kashmiri from Mochi Gate Lahore. I left home to liberate our motherland in 1940 along with my friends, and I have never been back". The story of Bott, or Butt Sahib as I started calling him, does make sense, because in my columns I had already interviewed similar person, Wazir Ali Shah.
When Herr Bott left Lahore to join the forces of Adolf Hitler in 1940, he was only 18 years old and was fired with a patriotism that bordered on 'rashness' as he now jovially recalls. He joined the 'Indien Corp' as they called it and worked in the propaganda section in Berlin. He was Goebbels 'brown boys' literally speaking. They broadcast in all the Indian languages every day urging Indians to revolt against foreign domination. "My countrymen ignored our calls", he lamented. "By the time Hitler died, my countrymen had taken to religious extremism", he shakes his head in distress.
What about your family? I asked. He looks wistfully into the horizon and says: "My mother had died before I left, and there was little that I could return to except for grinding poverty and religious fanaticism. Time is today proving that I took the correct decision". He looks lovingly at his wife Greta, a tall German lady from Berlin. They had been friends in Berlin in the war, and escaped to West Germany when the end came.
They have three daughters, all of whom are married. So Herr and Frau Bott live in Frankfurt in their own house. He worked as an electrician in Frankfurt. He is retired, has a nice State pension and is respected by his neighbours. "What else should we desire? I have a beautiful roof, good food, excellent beer, a beautiful wife and all the books I need to read. We travel once a year." He sounded so content.
He asked about Lahore and I told him about it in as truthful a manner as was possible. He laughed and said: "You try to hide the ugliness of our society. The poor are getting poorer. You spend the least on this planet on education and health. You have discarded your own mother tongues. You journalists love to avoid reality and present a romantic picture of a very unhappy population those rulers are all crooks".
He was scathing in his attack, which just did not cease. He was very angry over how Pakistan had fared in the last 57 years. The old freedom fighter still had fire in his belly. But then he was telling the truth. I had earlier seen such fire in Syed Wazir Ali when I met him in Lahore. He was definitely a greater realist than us living in Lahore. In my books he is really 'free'. Yes, his army lost the war, but he won his 'peace'.
Neruda remembered
By Ashfaque Naqvi
Born in 1904, in a far flung area of Chile, he was named Neftali Ricardo Reyes Basoalto by his father, a railway worker. Growing up among wilds of the countryside, and stung by the bug of poetry, he was so inspired by the Czech writer, Jan Neruda, that he changed his name to Pablo Neruda. He died of cancer at the age of 69 only 12 days after the September 11, 1973 coup led by Gen Pinochet which imposed a 17-year military dictatorship on his native Chile.
A poet and activist known for his Bohemian lifestyle as also for his leftist politics, he was awarded the Nobel Prize for literature in 1971. However, his work was banned in his country during the military dictatorship, 1973-1990. Even when he lay terminally ill, his house was sacked by soldiers who came in search of weapons. "Ah", he managed to whisper, "the only weapons here are words".
Pablo Neruda led a colourful life. Quick at falling in love with women, he married three times. Active in politics as well, he became a senator and his country's ambassador. During his employment in the foreign service, he got an opportunity of visiting countries in the Far East including China, Burma, Indonesia and Ceylon as well as Russia.
Witnessing the civil war in Spain where he saw the destruction of the house of Rafael-al-Berti and the murder of poet Fredrico Carcia Lorca, he joined politics thereby losing his job with the government. Living in Paris during World War II, he joined his country's communist party. He went into exile when the party was outlawed. Escaping on horseback to Argentina in 1949, he travelled round the world. During this period, he wrote the Canto General, a lengthy ode to Latin America's geography and people.
Pablo Neruda's first collection of poems, Crepusculario, was published when he moved to Santiago at the age of 16. The very next year his second collection, La Cancion dela Fiesta went to make him recognised as a poet of merit. His best known works include Twenty Love Poems and One Song of Despair (1924) and 100 Love Sonnets (1960).
It goes to the credit of the local chapter of the Pakistan Academy of Letters that a function was arranged on the occasion of the 100th birth anniversary of that great poet. However, it is unfortunate that it received a poor response. Dr Anis Nagi did turn up to preside over it but the invited speakers, Dr Suhail Ahmed Khan and Sami Ahuja were nowhere to be seen. Even those in the audience could be counted on one's fingertips. Perhaps the blistering heat of the afternoon prevented people from moving out.
The Academy's resident director, Kazy Javed, threw some light on the achievements of Pablo Neruda in the field of literature. He particularly pointed out that he was the only communist ever been awarded the Nobel Prize for literature.
The only other speaker that afternoon was Prof Javaz Jafri who read out a detailed paper on the early life and family background of the poet.
In his presidential remarks, Anis Nagi, who is mainly responsible for introducing Pablo Neruda to Urdu readers by presenting translations of his poems, stated that he considered him to be the greatest poet of the 20th century. He said that more than two thousand books had been written about him and many museums established in his memory. He also recounted the close relationship between the Chilean poet and Faiz Sahib.
In the end, Tasnim Kausar presented the Urdu version of three famous poems by Pablo Neruda. The veteran journalist and man of letters, Hameed Akhtar, was present that evening among the sparse audience but preferred to remain quiet all the time.
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It is rightly said that "the aesthetic dimension of Islamic civilisation found its finest expression in its architecture and calligraphy". An integral part of Islamic civilisation, calligraphy is more than a millennium old tradition. A widely practised art since the 11th century, it has seen the flowering of many scripts and striking variations. In a span of about 1,400 years, calligraphy has progressed from a single 'khat' to a multiplicity of 'Khatoot'. Calligraphy happens to be a purely Islamic art.
It goes to the credit of those who practised it. By perfecting and diversifying it they have added a new branch to the existing branches of fine art like painting, sculptor and music. It was because Islam, in its earlier phase, had forbidden sculpture and paintings of living creatures, the aesthetic cravings of the Muslims led to the development of calligraphy which they managed to turn into an exquisite form of art.
Deep rooted among the Muslims, calligraphy flourished throughout the Islamic world-Muslim Spain, North Africa, Iran, Turkey, etc. The Turks have been the greatest patrons of the art as they set up schools for calligraphy in the 19th and 20th centuries. These were closed down when Mustafa Kemal Pasha took over the country.
I was reminded of all this when I went to visit Saeed Ahmed Bodla's exhibition of Quranic calligraphy which was opened by the noted artist and the calligrapher of high merit, Aslam Kamal, in the arts gallery of the Alhamra Arts Council.
Bodla happens to be a qualified graphic designer and hence is one of those who belong to the calligraphy group. A dervish by any standard, his exhibition consisted of about a hundred specimens of calligraphy of Quranic verses. It was a pleasure going round the exhibition with Aslam Kamal and listen to his remarks about each of the displayed items.
The exhibition attracted a large number of people.