March 16, 2002

Sadequain’s was a soul that lived in deep anguish; much like the one experienced by a classical mystic or a miserable poet immersed in the eastern tradition. But he was also very much like the classical Greek hero, who took it upon himself to take on the human tragedy with a defiant will that challenged the gods. Khud apne fan ke khuda sar-basar ham, as Rashid would say, Sadequain revelled in his acts of defiance that he put out in the form of ghastly re-creations of reality; reality, as he saw it. Paradoxical as it was, he painted these with such gusto that they began to redefine the visual aesthetics of his time. All this in a genre — the modern painting — that unlike in the west, did not have a very strong and varied tradition in Pakistan.

Those who have known and seen him at work knew how deeply pained and agitated Sadequain was at all times. It was perhaps his Amroha mannerism — of which he was very proud — that helped him keep up an uncanny appearance of tranquillity. This bizarre calm in turn lent aesthetics to the human suffering so eloquently depicted in all his figurative work. He would recite poetry with the fervour seen only at a mushaira, relate incidents from the good old days at Saeed Manzil in Amroha, boast about his ancestors’ brush with the arts, and get obnoxious while drawing comparisons between the marsiya of Mir Anees and Mirza Dabeer. The former was his pet peeve.

Besides leaving behind a collection of rubaees, which Sadequain himself hand-wrote and illustrated, he used to compose poetry extempore nearly routinely. Then depending on his mood, and if his listener insisted, he would jot it down and give it away as a token of his affection. Liners and markers of various shades and paper were always close at hand. And there was never a dearth of takers. If Josh Malihabadi called Urdu a londi at his doorstep, Sadequain treated the language as a lady on whom his artistic muses came to wait.

Extremely generous by nature, he always helped out family and friends in need. There was no sense of physical ownership that he had about his possessions, be it his art, poetry or wealth. He was enviously endowed with all three. Calling himself a faqir of the mystic tradition, he kept digging into his treasure to distribute happiness around him — regardless of whether the taker was worthy of it or not. For himself he only kept the muses, a frugal dawat-i-Shiraz meal and a potion of the forbidden — and promised — liquid, to feed on. About the indulgence and the futility of resisting it, he readily gave the same rationale as Ghalib: Yeh su-i-zan hai Saqi-i-Kausar ke baab mein. Nay, he shall not sin.

Sadequain was also very fond of driving. Seldom would he sit still in a passenger seat without gesticulating to change the gear, turn the steering, and to apply the break, while the driver ‘drove himself’ to wherever he had to go. Sadequain would only rely on his own hands and feet to get where he had to. Luckily, his driving skills were never put to a test, as he willingly let the host-friend-driver do his bit with the vehicle. Those who have driven him around, say they might have bumped the car on occasions if it weren’t for Sadequain’s loud thumping of his feet to apply the break with full force, just in a nick of time — while sitting watchfully in the passenger seat next to them.

Children, when they asked him for a bottle of a fizzy drink, always got enough to buy a bottle of the adult variety. Smiling, he would say apologetically: Bhai, botal to itne hi mein aati hai. No wonder, he was the favourite uncle to all the nephews and nieces from around the family and friends alike. Drawing realistic sketches of children and doling out these portraits also gave him a unique pleasure, which he cherished unabashedly.

These were indeed a few of the lesser-known sides to the painter, who continued to personify enigma to the best of the judges of his life and work. A living paradox of gentle persona and an egotistical, defiant, creator of his craft, Sadequain would have challenged many a mythological god that dared confront him.

We know he got away with a lot.