THE death of a close friend often plays games with us. It so artfully diverts our attention from the deceased to the good old days when he was alive, actively leading his life. The death of Ahmad Bashir, who was more known for his journalistic activities than as a creative writer, has evoked in me memories of the times when he was young and had just stepped into the field of journalism. It was also the time when Urdu journalism had taken a new turn, breaking away from the old style of journalism as represented by some dailies that were widely read in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s.
In 1948, an Urdu daily Imroz made its appearance introducing a new chapter into the history of Urdu journalism in Pakistan. Maulana Chiragh Hasan Hasrat was its chief editor. Back then, Faiz Ahmed Faiz was editor-in-chief of both Pakistan Times and Imroz.
The Maulana wanted to introduce some new items into the paper, one being special features on distinguished personalities. Ahmad Bashir was entrusted with this job, who chose Gama Pehlwan for his first feature. He went to the wrestler’s place, talked to him for a while and penned his feature. It was an instant hit. With his very first write-up he was recognized as a promising journalist with a special talent for feature writing.
It was due to his this ability that he won the Maulana’s favour. But the Maulana was a hard task master. Among his team of young journalists Ahmad Bashir was his favourite. At the same time he never spared Ahmad Bashir if he made the tiniest of mistakes. Perhaps it was the Maulana’s way of training Ahmad Bashir so that he could play a significant role in Pakistani journalism in the time to come.
Ahmad Bashir was an angry young man. He, too, never spared the Maulana. After every act of chastizement, he would enter the newsroom and give vent to his anger unreservedly, knowing well that his hostile comments would be fully reported to the Maulana. In spite of all that, the Ustad-Shagird relationship that had developed between the two remained intact. The relationship, no doubt, paid off. Those were the lessons that helped Ahmad Bashir become the kind of journalist that he was.
Ahmad Bashir’s contribution to literature, despite not being prolific, is valuable. At least his character sketches of contemporary writers have a distinct quality of being truthful. Truth, he believed, should be spoken at all costs and with bluntness, something that he himself practised regularly. Perhaps he was more blunt in writing personality sketches than putting pen to paper on national issues. His bluntness knew no bounds. In his character sketches he appeared determined to expose the man he’s writing about. In fact, he believed more in character assassination than in the gentle portrayal of a person. That’s exactly what prevented him from writing sketches of those literary figures who were close to him.
Ahmad Bashir’s penchant for speaking the truth imparted a distinct touch to his sketches, but never helped in his fiction writing. In fact, he used to tell his friends that he had an ambitious plan for writing a novel, which was to cover a wide range of issues.
His friends at the Tea House gradually lost their patience and began asking him when his novel’s going to be published. And his reply would be: “The novel is delayed.”
“But why?”
“How can I help it? The whole international situation has changed. I will have to re-write much of what I have already written.”
The ‘international situation’ kept on changing and Ahmad Bashir kept on re-writing what had already written. The ambitious plan of a global novel remained incomplete.
In his last days he brought out a novel entitled Dil Bhatkai Ga. But I don’t think it’s the novel that he had promised he would churn out. However, it helps us understand his impatience with fiction.
The novel starts off in a fine fashion. But it soon turns into a plain autobiography. There is no harm in being autobiographical. Philosophy, political ideology, religious belief, autobiography, anything can inspire a novelist. The only condition is that it should follow the rules of fiction. But how could Ahmad Bashir’s rebellious temperament submit to the laws that denied him the right to speak the truth in a blunt way? Characters with fictitious names and events surrounded by fictional situations appeared to him strange. He soon casts them off in the novel and begins recording events, naming people who figured in those events.
So here we have an odd mixture of fiction and autobiography. But what is important to understand is the fact that this odd mixture reads well and conveys to us what the author wanted us to know in a meaningful way.
THE death of a close friend often plays games with us. It so artfully diverts our attention from the deceased to the good old days when he was alive, actively leading his life. The death of Ahmad Bashir, who was more known for his journalistic activities than as a creative writer, has evoked in me memories of the times when he was young and had just stepped into the field of journalism. It was also the time when Urdu journalism had taken a new turn, breaking away from the old style of journalism as represented by some dailies that were widely read in the late ‘40s and early ‘50s.
