WE are living in times where we, in general, have developed an acute sense of self-importance. And so a flood of autobiographies. This situation compels us to be selective. We have to sort out from a heap of autobiographies of personalities, who really matter. In their cases, an autobiography comes as a boon to us, providing an opportunity to understand the personality in an intimate way.
An autobiography, in the first place, brings before us the self-conceived image of the autobiographer. But as personalities in our society, especially the writers, have a tendency to idealize themselves, so what we have from them is an idealized version of their personality. But shrewd writers don’t betray themselves easily. We have to be shrewd enough to read between their words their concealed intentions.
But Salim Akhtar likes to call himself a Biba, a simple innocent soul. That is what he really is as now testified by his autobiography Nisan-e-Jigar-e-Sokhta lately published by Sang-e-Meel, Lahore.
A critic is rarely a popular writer. But Saleem Akhtar is. His concise history of Urdu literature Urdu Adab ki Mukhtasir Tareen Tarikh has been a bestseller for a number of decades. His annual surveys of Urdu writings had also earned immense popularity. But, as a man he is really a Biba in the true sense of the term as used in Punjabi. And you need not go far to know it.
His autobiography will tell you all about his innocence as a man. He had not cared to learn the art of concealing his envies, disappointments and frustrations he had in life as a man and as a writer. So innocently he blurts out all what had been rankling within him.
For instance, he will not hide his frustration at not getting an Award because of the conspiracies, as he suspects, of his so-called friends. But after blurting it out, he has the ability to console himself by saying that he little cares for these petty things. Then he tells us about his renunciation, about his sadhu-like life he has chosen to lead. This choice on his part is admirable. But, perhaps, he has not yet succeeded in achieving that calm, that indifference to worldly things a sadhu is known for.
In his self-estimation Saleem Akhtar has, no doubt, shown a lot of humility. But at one point I will beg to differ with his opinion about himself. On one occasion, he tells us that most of the writers regard him as a very cruel critic, Phansian Dainai Wala Naqqad.
I wonder at the association of this kind of image with him as a critic. Who are those who think of him that way. He is perhaps the most accommodative critic we ever had in Urdu. Those who could not find place in his critical articles were graciously accommodated in his annual surveys. Really a sadhu. Gracious to all, cruel to none. What else can the writers expect from him.
In fact, it is in matters other than literary that he shows his teeth as a critic. His journey to Mecca for the purpose of Umra provided to him such an opportunity. In dealings with the Arabs on Saudi Airlines, and in the city of Mecca he found them most rude, impolite and uncooperative. He makes scathing criticism on the attitude of the Saudis towards Islamic relics. He is horrified to see that while other nations try their best to conserve their cultural heritage, here the attitude is quite opposed to that. Much has been demolished, including a number of mosques of historic importance. What little has escaped demolition is under lock. He wonders how a visit to these places can be branded as ‘shirk’.
Strictly speaking about the nature of this autobiography, it is very different from those of scholars and academicians. Though a critic, Salim Akhtar does not come to us in his autobiography with the pose of a scholar. Instead, he gives the impression of being a playboy and a romantic. Of course, we have been having our romantics. But they have been either poets or the fiction writers.
Salim Akhtar has the distinction to be the first romantic in the field of Urdu criticism. The romantics in general like to be loved than to love. So is the case with Salim Akhtar. He has a number of tales to tell us as to how he was pursued by a beautiful damsel. He so innocently imagines himself to be a lady-killer.
While narrating his sweet little adventures he appears to us more as a replica of Mustansar Husain Tarar than as Dr Salim Akhtar, the critic. He takes pride in telling us that, in fact, he was born to be a music director. But as ill-luck would have it, he turned a teacher and a critic.
Of course, he attempted at short-story writing to offer a different image of himself. But, unfortunately, he was recognized as a critic rather than as a story writer. However, notwithstanding his scholarly engagements, he remains a playboy sharing his romantic secrets with us. And he tells us that when faced with beauty, he is under a spell unable to speak even a word.
How innocently he lays bare his heart before us. That makes him a lovable personality and his autobiography seems turning into a tale of romantic adventures. At the same time he insists that he is a faithful husband. How fondly he pays long compliments to his wife.
WE are living in times where we, in general, have developed an acute sense of self-importance. And so a flood of autobiographies. This situation compels us to be selective. We have to sort out from a heap of autobiographies of personalities, who really matter. In their cases, an autobiography comes as a boon to us, providing an opportunity to understand the personality in an intimate way.
