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FRONT SEAT: Reliving the past
Packed to capacity, the auditorium of the Arts Council of Pakistan was ringing with interesting voices: poets, singers, thespians and broadcasters, all highly accomplished. The audience was spellbound, even though the faces of the performers could not be seen.
But they were not faceless people. Though most of them were dead, they were all well-known personalities. The elderly in the audience had watched them in their youth and the younger lot had definitely heard about them.
Sound is life and silence is death. Those people were brought to life through the courtesy of octogenarian collector of sound items, Lutfullah Khan, who had arranged a one hour feast based on selections from his collection. The selections provided glimpses of the cultural life of Karachi in the 1950s and 60s. Thus, the programme had an added aspect of nostalgia for those among the audience who were in the range of 50 plus.
In this age of pedestrian poetry like Thori see tu lift kara de/Bangla motor car dila de which dominates the air waves today, it was a real treat to listen to the work of those masters of poetic expression
It opened with a recitation from the Holy Quran with an English translation read by Rasheed Ahmad, a former director general of Radio Pakistan known for his remarkable command over the English language and for his rich voice. This was followed by a na’at in chorus style. Lutfullah Khan explained that style for na’at was one of the successful innovations undertaken by Radio Pakistan around 1960. Listening to Mehdi Hasan who led the chorus, Loh bhi tu, qalam bhi tu, one remembered the days when tuning into the radio in the morning while taking breakfast and preparing to leave for the office, was a daily routine for everyone.
The next item on the menu was a rendering of Ghalib’s beautiful ghazal, Hawas ko hai nishat-e-kaar kiya kiya, in the tehtul lafz style by Z.A. Bukhari. It was after a long time that I heard the voice of the ‘Emperor of the World of Sound,’ as he was once known.
The title fitted Bukhari well on two counts: he was the head of Radio Pakistan, and he was himself a versatile radio performer — an excellent drama artist. Many can still recall him as Rustam in a radio version of Agha Hashar’s stage play Rustam-o-Sohrab, broadcast in the late 1950s. Sohrab was played by radio’s legendary newsreader, Shakeel Ahmad, who had once belonged to Agha Hashar’s troupe.
Bukhari was also adept at tehtul lafz. During Moharrum, a majlis was held every year in the studios of Radio Pakistan in which he used to recite a marsia in the presence of a select gathering. His name was never announced as the norms, then followed, did not permit it, but every listener knew him by his voice.
The subsequent part of that evening’s programme included two ghazals sung by radio’s artists. Bano, a blind person, was associated with the Karachi radio since its inception in 1948. The item selected was her rendering of Hasrat’s Azmaya jo unhen tark-e-mohabbat kar key, while Umeed Ali Khan’s recording was that of a ghazal by Daagh, Khatir se ya lehaz se main maan to gaya/ Jhooti qasam se aap ka imaan to gaya.
In this age of pedestrian poetry like Thori see tu lift kara de/Bangla motor car dila de which dominates the air waves today, it was a real treat to listen to the work of those masters of poetic expression.
In those days, radio was an integral part of the cultural life of our society. And drama was its most popular non-music item. Karachi radio’s weekly plays broadcast in ‘Studio Number Nau,’ were rarely ever missed by any household possessing a radio set and its annual drama festivals were an event for the whole city. The radio play selected to represent that segment of Karachi’s cultural life of yesteryear, was Lighthouse ke Muhafiz.
It was a two character play, a father and son, adapted from English by the well-known journalist and playwright, Nasrullah Khan. When it was broadcast for the first time, Bukhari himself played both the roles. Later, it was repeated in the voice of another remarkable artist, Abdul Majid. The recording played that evening was that of Majid’s performance. And that reminded me of his tragic death by electrocution on the last day of the 1965 war, while trying to save the life of his son from a live electric wire lying in the street.
Mushairas were then a regular feature in Karachi. Besides those held almost once a month on the radio, such sittings were also arranged privately. And tarrannum was still in vogue. The last item consisted of recitations by Erum Lucknavi, Mahirul Qadri, Adeeb Saharanpuri and others, each having his own style of tarrannum.
The only thing wrong that evening was that it was too brief, although the retired ad man’s collection could have sustained a much longer evening. I had the privilege of visiting his treasure house several years ago. He is a good photographer, too, and I guess that he has photographs of most of the luminaries who came to record their voices. Every thing is catalogued in neat volumes calligraphed and bound by himself. A lot of effort and money well spent.
Earlier, tributes were paid to Lutfullah Khan by Mahmood Sham, Shakeel Adilzadah and Fatima Hasan. The programme ended with a ‘standing ovation’ or, as the presiding dignitary Dr. Jamil Jalibi put it in Urdu, Khar-taliyan for the painstaking collector.
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