[My dear readers-! You will be happy to know that last week on 12th August 2011, exactly at 10-30 a.m. My Column writing and humour writing entered its fiftieth year. Smiling continuously and continuous bursting into laughter for fifty years is no joke.
Had it been a matter of one or two moments, it wouldn’t have mattered much. It is a matter of fifty years. In this long literary journey of mine, innumerable praisers and well-wishers have showered so much affection on me and my column was well received. I don’t find words to express my gratitude for all that, although I have been dealing with words all the time in my life. On this occasion, I present my writing to my readers-!
My own assessment about my column is that in the field of column writing and humour writing, my literary journey has finished one complete circle so to say that I reached the same place again from where I had started my journey. It can also be said in this way, thus,
PAHOONCHI WAHEEN PAY KHAK JAHAN KA KHAMEER THA
[Reached the dust from where it had come.]
Sometimes, man should look back whether something is seen or not but by doing this exercise, at least his neck will be alright. It is very useful in spondylitis. Today, when I look back, I recollect the day of 12th August 1962 when I reached the office of Siasat, as usual to attend to my usual work, my elder brother Mahboob Hussain Jigar and Abid Ali Khan, Editor Siasat instructed me that I write satiric column ‘Sheesha Wa Tesha’. It was only accidental. I thought in a newspaper office many people perform may routine and casual works. Not only this, the man is in search of such opportunity. But the casual work of that time has become the basic routine work of my life and I am identified with it. What should I say, my life is full of such accidents. It is an incident of many years ago. I was in a hurry to go to the university. One of the buttons of my Sherwani came out. I asked my cousin to tuck it to my Sherwani. The poor girl tucked the button but after that incident, I don’t know what had happened to me that I became addicted to removing the button of my Sherwani quite often, and getting it tucked by my cousin.
This went on to such on extent that instead tucking the button to my Sherwani, my family members tucked her to my life. Quite often, I think, had the button of my Sherwani not come out, my life would have been different today. What to do. If it has to happen, it will definitely happen. However, my entry into the field of writing humour is like the man who was pushed into the river by someone to save a child who was getting drowned in the river. The man, saved the child and came out of the river to ask “Tell me who pushed me into the river?”
But my case is different. I am in the river, I could not however, save humour writing from drowning but I feel sorry for my stubbornness that I did not drown myself in the river. I did not come out and did not reach the bank of the river. What could I have done after coming out of the river because I know very well that these two elderly persons had pushed me and had fallen me down. I could not muster courage to ask them when they were alive. Now that they have passed away, who do I ask now. I pray even if God does not drown me in the river but drown them into the sea of mercy. (Amen).
For the sake of humour writing I had adopted happiness, good taste, pleasant talk, good sense of humour and the nice time consciously fifty years ago. These attributes have now assumed the status of natural attitude. It has, therefore, become my habit that I go only to places where there is something to enjoy. It is God’s gratitude that He gives not only sugar to a man who is fond of consuming sugar, but if He is very sympathetic, He not only gives him sugar but gives ‘sugar disease’ (diabetes) also. He is a great causer of causes. Thus, I have suffered from an evil or wickedness that I start laughing when people weep. There is an old example that if a tumbler is half full of water, from the point of view of a pessimist, or a disappointed person, it is half empty, but for an optimist it is half full.
My case is different. Whether the tumbler is half full of water or it is completely filled. If a few drops of water are not found in the tumbler, either the tumbler could not be seen by me or I don’t look at it at all.
I remember those early days of my humour writing when I had to write the humour column many times in compliance with the orders of my elder brother Mr. Jiagar. Thus, that day and today, humour has become my sole interest. People cry for employment and I was compelled to laugh for employment. I had started my literary journey by writing humour. In the first phase, nearly for fifteen years, I wrote columns everyday. However, after a year of commencement of my humour writing, the stylish writer like Maulana Abdul Majid Daryabadi, in his magazine “Sidqe-Jadeed” wrote, thus, “Siasat Daily, is a serious, noble and adequate newspaper full of information. The great thing is that it is maintaining the standard of its humour column, otherwise people neglect the subtle distinction between humour and humiliation, vexation and burlesque.”
For a less educated person like me, Maulana’s review was no less than a surprised revelation. Besides column writing, I have also written, essays, personal sketches, travelogues reportage, minutes of literary gatherings and many other essays but I maintained the style of humour in all those writings. It so happened that in August 1993, when Mr. Mahboob Hussain Jigar came to Delhi for the first & the last time, in the light of the suggestion made by Mr. Zaheeruddin Ali Khan, he ordered me to start writing again a humour column for the Sunday editions of Siasat.
I expressed my desire that the title of this column this time should be ‘Mera Column’ and not “humour column” so that I can write something based on my personal experience. It is also an accident that after a gap of seventeen or eighteen years I started the second phase of my column writing also on the 12th of August. Since then, I have been conversing with my readers regularly through my column.
There is nothing left in this world which has not been said earlier for the past millions of years. Right from Aristole to Plato, all the famous writers have said all those matters in their own styles. So, no important thing has been left out now. What is left out now is how you say anything. Now that everything has been said earlier, literature has become the name of style of writing only.
Zeenat Aapa (Dr. Zeenath Sajida) has been my one of my early well wishers. Forty years ago, suddenly a rumour was spread that the tank bund of Gandipet’s Osmansagar has been destroyed. There are still present many eye witnesses of the panic which was created after the spread of this rumour.
It is a concidence that I and Zeenath Aapa got the opportunity to express our opinions in our own ways. Two days after the publication of the articles, Zeenath Aapa met me and said “ O Joker – ! you have written false and fabricated things in your article whereas I have written my experiences and observations”. I told her what a strange thing -! You have written one full article on hearfing the false rumour. Now that I have added something with my imagination for the adornment of my story what is wrong in it? However, whatever I have written all of that is true.”
She said, “You are a liar-! ‘In the adornment of the story, of which you are talking, adornment becomes enlarged whereas the story gets shortened’. How could I have told Zeenath Aapa that in photography, when enlargement is not treated as bad, why then shouldn’t it be treated so in literature? In fact, whatever I write in essays, all of them are true. My only mischief is that I enlarge them a little bit. I don’t write ‘fiction’ but I combine fact and fiction and write ‘faction’.”
Today, I am feeling that eighteen years have passed writing ‘Mera Column’ in the second phase. During the present era, eighteen year’s period is not an ordinary span. If a person spends even one day with good repute these days, it can be presumed that he lived a life of one year. I passed on the information of my spending eighteen years of column writing to one of my friends happily. He then said, O lad-! What is so great thing about it. In this manner, things keep on coming and going. You may perhaps remember that exactly eight months before the commencement of your column writing, Babri Masjid was demolished. Some people think that it was demolished on 6th December 1992. It is not so. I say that the process of demolition on has been continuing for the past eighteen or nineteen years. Everyday, I read such news in the newspapers which make me feel that today again, some portion of Babri Masjid has been demolished. I admit that the structure called Babri Masjid has already been demolished but our social structure, which had tolerated Babri Masjid for the past five hundred years with generosity and broad mindedness, the fabric of which was woven with tolerance, humanism, affection and brotherhood is being dismantled so mercilessly. It is a strange thing that people are not able to know who demolished Babri Masjid although the entire world watched it on the TV. After listening to my friend’s review, I realized that I had started the second phase of my column writing in very disastrous circumstances. Imagine what has not happened in these eighteen years.
We saw with our eyes on TV the dreadful destructions on Iraq and Afghanistan. In no time, the World Trade Centre vanished from the page of existence. The terrorist activities of the terrorists were seen throughout the world. Hundreds of scandals were exposed. Leaders were shown on TV taking bribe publicly.
The dreadful communal riots of Gujarat have unveiled the true face of our leaders in such a way that there is no need of masks now. Prestigious institutions of democracy and judiciary have been torn into pieces. What was a lie earlier, is being perceived as truth and the truth is being considered falsehood.
I am not able to comprehend whether we are human beings or turned into beasts. During the earlier period, even when a dog was killed in a road accident, people used to gather in large numbers to see it and to express the feelings of grief. These days, in a road accident, dead bodies lie down for a long time but no one gets the idea of stopping by the road. Sometimes, if someone gets the divine guidance to stop there, he gets no spare time. In early days, when a house used to be destroyed, people used to come in large groups to express their sympathies. Today, colonies together are being destroyed, civilizations are being erased but no one wants to pay attention to these problems in this nauseating environment of indifference, helplessness, dejection and destitution. If, somehow, I have maintained some cheerfulness, pleasure and good literary taste, imagine with what heart I might have done so.