Cubist Mansoor Rahi and orientalist Hajra Mansoor, now married for 48 years, think on the same level but work at different levels. In their Islamabad house which they painstakingly and lovingly built 30 years ago, Rahi works in the basement while Hajra’s studio is on the ground floor — which also houses their drawing room where they entertain their guests and meet their buyers. But they sleep on the same level, on the first floor of the house.

To this writer’s surprise, they are much too disciplined in their timings. One would have thought that their working hours would be determined by inspiration, particularly in the case of Hajra, whose style is spontaneous and lines delicate. But she has been influenced by hubby dear’s set pattern of living and working.

They came from different backgrounds. Rahi was born in Maldah (West Bengal) in 1939 but moved with his family to Rajshahi after Partition, where his father was posted as district judge. On completing his schooling in the town, he moved to Dacca (as it was spelt then) and got admission in the Government College of Arts and Crafts, where he had the privilege of learning from two eminent artists, Mohammed Kibria and Abdur Razaq. It was, however, the principal of the institution, the world-famous artist Zainul Abedin, who proved to be a lifelong source of inspiration to Rahi.

Meet Mansoor Rahi and Hajra Mansoor, the first artist couple of Pakistan’s art scene

He met Hajra in the late ’60s when he had come to Karachi for settling down, where he had found greater scope for making use of his talents than in Dhaka. The Zuberi sisters — as Hajra and her elder sister Rabia were known — had migrated from Lucknow where they had graduated in visual arts. Hajra had specialised in fine art, while Rabia had sculpture as her speciality. They were in the process of setting up an art school in Nazimabad — a middle-class locality that emerged after Partition — when they met Rahi in whom they found a gifted teacher and a competent administrator, which is how he became the principal of the Karachi School of Art.

By the way, Rahi was the name given to Abul Mansoor Ahmed by Hajra, as he was bitten by wanderlust. He loved to travel far and wide. The name was short and sweet. It also helped distinguish him from another artist — Mansoor Aye.

The Zuberis, at least half a century ago, were averse to getting their sons and daughters married to non-Zuberis. But to cut a long story short they tied the nuptial knot and a few years later moved up north. Initially, they lived in Peshawar where Rahi taught at the art department of the University of Peshawar. A year or two later they moved to Islamabad where hills, draped in greenery, fascinated him to no end.

Back to their work schedule. The couple gets up before sunrise. She says her morning prayers and feeds the pigeons, while he practises yoga and follows a strict regimen of physical exercise, which explains why he is so alert and agile at 78.

After breakfast, they move to their respective studios and paint zealously till lunch time. In the evenings they meet people. They are no night birds. They hit their beds around 10pm.

During weekends the couple drives up the hills and feast their eyes on natural beauty before returning home for dinner.

“Do you borrow paints from each other when you run out of them?” I ask Hajra.

“No, we don’t. Shall I say we can’t because our materials are totally different. I use watercolour as my base, he uses dry medium. I work on paper and sometimes on canvas he paints only on canvas…” she goes on and on to prove her point.

Their styles are different too. An ardent admirer of Abdur Rahman Chughtai, Hajra appeals to your aesthetic sense, while Mansoor’s rugged style depicts the time that we live in. When terrorism hit in a big way, one saw him working on his acclaimed ‘Raging Bull’ series. Terrorism continues to haunt him and finds expression in a different series.

Every alternate year the couple goes to the US, where their two children are settled. Saima, their daughter, has set up a gallery in her spacious house in Connecticut. The visiting couple set up their studios in two different corners of the large room.

“We can’t risk keeping the works of other prominent artists in Islamabad, which is why the paintings of Sadequain, Zainul Abedin and Jameel Naqsh that we own are in the custody of our daughter Saima,” says Hajra. The prized collection includes some of their own masterpieces as well.

How long do they stay there? Around two to three months. The call of Islamabad and its enchanting environs is too strong to be denied.

Published in Dawn, EOS, July 30th, 2017