Itna Sannata Kyun Hai Bhai?
By A.K. Hangal
Translated by Anwar Iqbal
Atlantis Publications
ISBN: 978-969-601-817-9
198pp.

For some, Avtar Krishan Hangal (1914-2012) is remembered as the actor who appeared alongside Amitabh Bachchan, Jaya Bahaduri, Sanjeev Kumar, Rajesh Khanna, Zeenat Aman and Dev Anand in a number of films. For many others, however, he was far more than an actor. He was a living witness to history, with a life and character larger than life itself.

A convincing actor who could get into the skin of any character offered, he is known for films such as Bawarchi, Abhimaan, Des Pardes, Satyam Shivam Sundaram, Shauqeen and Aamir Khan’s Lagaan. But he is best known as Imam Sahib in Sholay. That’s why Itna Sannata Kyun Hai Bhai? [Why is it so quiet?] — one of the most iconic dialogues from the movie — has been chosen as the title of the Urdu translation of his autobiography, Life and Times of A.K. Hangal.

Originally published in 1999, the English book traces Hangal’s life, much of which was spent in what is now Pakistan. The memoir chronicles his years as a stylish tailor, trained theatre actor, trade unionist and committed social activist. The recent Urdu translation by Anwar Iqbal is a remarkable effort.

The story begins in Sialkot, Hangal’s city of birth. From his earliest memories of his mother’s funeral to his father’s transfer to Peshawar, he records the 1920s and 1930s with such clarity that the period feels almost contemporary. For anyone seeking a glimpse of Peshawar in the 1930s and Karachi in the 1940s, this book is an invaluable read.

Best remembered as Sholay’s Imam Sahib, A.K. Hangal was also a tailor, theatre stalwart, trade unionist, political activist and eyewitness to some of South Asia’s defining moments. His autobiography is now available in Urdu

Hangal recalls how a transmitter gifted by Marconi, the inventor of radio, became the foundation of the Peshawar Radio Station. He evokes an era before electricity was widely available, and when theatre productions, lasting four or five hours, were major cultural events.

He watched Peshawar grow into a large city, yet Karachi already seemed immense when he moved there in 1939. His work took him to Elphinstone Street — now Zaibunnisa Street — at a time when the world was engulfed in the Second World War. Trams still ran through a city far less sprawling than it is today. Karachi had a lively cultural scene and subscribing to communist ideas was not yet considered taboo.

The autobiography covers his childhood, school days, political activism, imprisonment, involvement in theatre and eventual film career, offering both a personal narrative and a valuable historical record. Through straightforward storytelling and unwavering honesty, Hangal presents a life shaped by resilience, integrity and a commitment to progressive values. For an actor who always required scripts in Urdu, Hangal’s affection for his homeland is evident throughout the memoir.

The book is rich in detail about historic events. He recounts the efforts to save Bhagat Singh, including appeals for clemency, petitions bearing countless signatures and attempts that ultimately proved futile. He also vividly recalls the firing at Qissa Khwani Bazaar and the extraordinary resolve of a sepoy who refused to fire on his own people.

The 198-page book moves effortlessly between humour and heartbreak. There is the day when ‘Dadamoni’ Ashok Kumar and A.K. Hangal passed through airport customs without being checked because the officers believed they were the only two decent actors left in Bollywood. Then there are his final years, when a barber asked Hangal whether he was related to the “Maulvi Sahib” from Sholay.

The memoir also recounts more difficult times: the boycott of A.K. Hangal ordered by Bal Thackeray, and the period when, long before becoming an actor, he was considered a wise man.

If one thinks that A.K. Hangal was simply a family man who found success in films late in life, this book will change that impression. His life spanned some of the 20th century’s most turbulent events: from meeting Uzbek schoolmates who had fled the ‘Bolsheviks’ to witnessing the break-up of the Soviet Union; from watching South Asia drawn into the Second World War to living through the bloodshed of Partition; and from knowing Inder Kumar Gujral in Karachi to seeing him become the prime minister of India. In many ways, he had seen it all.

Hangal led a remarkably active social and political life. A socialist at heart, he was deeply involved in communist and trade union activities and remained committed to his ideals throughout his life. The hardships he endured were inseparable from that commitment: political consequences, professional setbacks and personal sacrifices followed whenever he refused to compromise.

A tailor by profession and a skilled chief cutter, Hangal was known to make clothes primarily for diplomats and the elite. Yet, his passion for theatre often took precedence over his work, sometimes at the cost of his job and, on several occasions, leading to his dismissal. The reason was simple: clients would often come in the evenings, but Hangal reserved that time for cultural activities.

The shadow of his communist past followed him well into later life. A muhajir [immigrant] in India, he was accepted by mainstream society only gradually. Yet, despite the pressures and setbacks he faced, Hangal remained a man of principle and stood firmly by his convictions.

His career in films began relatively late. It was only in the mid-1960s that he was invited to appear in movies. Already a prominent figure in the Indian People’s Theatre Association (IPTA), Hangal had once hoped to establish a similar movement in Pakistan. But his political beliefs and identity placed him in an increasingly difficult position, eventually forcing him to leave the country.

As a film actor, Hangal vividly recounts the rise of Sanjeev Kumar, whom he had once known as a peer. By the time they worked together in Aandhi, Kumar had become a leading man, while Hangal played his servant — a reversal that Kumar himself reportedly found difficult to deal with. Often cast as the father of one of the lead characters, Hangal was admired for his natural acting and shared a warm rapport with nearly everyone he worked with. Although Hangal died in 2012 at the age of 98, he remains fondly remembered as the gentle, smiling uncle of Hindi cinema’s golden era.

The memoir offers relatively little about many of his acclaimed films. Some readers might, therefore, wish for a fuller account of his cinematic career, particularly because he is better known to the public as an actor than as a trade unionist or political activist. Keeping that aside, this book is highly recommended for readers interested in South Asian history, theatre, cinema and the life of a remarkable artist whose influence extended far beyond the screen.

For those familiar with the region’s history over the past century, the book is a treasure trove. For others, it offers an engaging and accessible introduction to that history.

The reviewer writes on old films and music and loves reading books.

X: @suhaybalavi

Published in Dawn, Books & Authors, August 2nd, 2026