These days the topic of conversation is “contemporary literature”. Sympathetic individuals, armed with all kinds of ammunition, have attacked this camel running loose (contemporary literature, that is) in order to prevent humanity, morality, literature and culture from losing their way. And the poor camel appears distraught; who knows whether it will sit or get even more distraught.
It is said that when a camel is angered it can crush the enemy’s skull. Dear God! Well, let us examine the weapons that are used to startle and frighten the camel:
“Contemporary literature is mere obscenity.”
“Contemporary literature is nothing more than an offering of questions associated with sexual matters.”
“Contemporary literature is disintegrating.”
My god, what is obscenity? I had an aunt who was always pestering young girls with injunctions on how to keep their dupattas properly draped over their bosoms. The moment the dupatta slipped slightly from the shoulder Khala would see red. We couldn’t understand why she was so envious of this particular part of the body. Then we discovered that she burned with resentment when she saw the bodies of young girls because she herself was a shrivelled up little pod. Poor Khala! Who knows how many aunts and grandmothers there are who, after they have lost their youth, become the rivals of young women.
The phenomenon is similar to what contemporary literature has suffered at the hands of traditional literature; it is melting in the heat emanating from the former’s youth.
I don’t understand why people get so perturbed when they see eroticism in literature.
It’s true that boys and girls in Europe are raised in such a way that sexual issues are not all that important to them. When they read about sex they are not in the least bit disturbed, whereas in a similar situation here, a cobra begins to hiss immediately. Here’s what I say: is it necessary to keep this sacred cobra alive so that it can suck the blood of our future generations? Why not crush its skull as soon as possible and put an end to the matter? And why is it that the new writers who are seeking out these cobras in order to pulverize them are being seen as enemies of morality and of the whole world?
But it is also a false premise that contemporary literature is nothing but eroticism. The saying that fits here is, “The spirit and the angel are on”. In reading contemporary literature some individuals focus only on those portions that are erotic and leave deep impressions on their hearts and minds. Not only that, they read the erotic segments over and over again. Thus they miss what is of real value. Just think, those who read and enjoy eroticism are let off the hook while the writer is deemed to be the culprit.
It’s not necessary to concentrate on every kind of filth imaginable or to roam naked in the streets for no reason at all, but what is so shameful about exposing a particular part of the body in order to soak up the sunlight?
If removing the bandage helps the wound to dry and heal then that is not obscenity, that’s just treatment. And the elderly individuals who are piqued by this are in need of sympathy. It is true that eroticism is painful, and who knows that people see in the mirror of erotic literature that makes them gnash their teeth and run towards the mirror with a rock held aloft in their hands. But think for a minute – is this the mirror’s fault?
Perhaps when people encounter eroticism in stories and afsaanas their latent emotions are stirred up. A man suffers an attack of epilepsy whenever he sees the statue of Venus. Now no writer has a cure for this. Isn’t it possible to read this narrative as a narrative? What you see here is also a picture of life, it is at once exposed and camouflaged. What is so wrong with eroticism, why are you so scared of eroticism in literature? And don’t you see that the writer himself is trembling fearfully and is terrified of the world’s obscenity? All he’s doing is converting events that are taking place in the world into words.
Contemporary literature is a history of our times. Years from now, when it ceases to be contemporary literature, it will continue to provide information about the political, cultural and economic conditions of this period. These stories and poems will be transformed to become the pages of history.
If contemporary literature is filthy then one can assume that the modern era too is filthy because literature is a representation of its times. Where lies the artist’s fault?
History and literature always go hand in hand and will continue thus. Culture too can never be separated from literature and, as for politics, despite the forced separation of politics and literature induced by political pressures, something of its real colour will eventually seep through.
Before the new literature came along romance and humour were the order of the day. Patras (Bokari), Azim Baig (Chughtai), Rashid Ahmed, Shaukat Thanvi, Imtiaz Ali Taj, Farhatullah Baig – all wrote more or less the same way. Read these writers carefully. Persecution by the wife, the good humour of friends, domestic quarrels – each writer wrote about the same thing repeatedly, although it’s true that they did have their individual narrative voices.
And what are the new writers writing about? Predicaments related to human sexuality, the antagonism between the rich and the poor, the struggle against life and all its harshness! So why complain that the new writers are writing about the same things? What a ridiculous defect this is. I say, during a malaria epidemic everyone is given quinine. When people are in pain or are suffering they express their anguish in the same way, they groan and lament. It’s not a musical performance in which every note has to be in place.
Traditional literature was a picture of life, and contemporary literature is a picture of life as well.
It’s true that when traditional literature was produced the world was not such a filthy place. But now if we open our eyes all we see is filth, hunger, theft, fraud and deception. What can the new writers do? How is it possible for them to cover their eyes and write Gul Bakowli and Masnawi Gulzar-e-Naseem? How can they continue to write Fasaana-e-Azad (all these are classical narratives) and produce comic tales? Most new writers are dispossessed and overly sensitive, their hearts and minds work overtime and the slightest injury exasperates them. Their horrifying dreams, accompanied by even more horrifying interpretations, questions that ask if the image of our world is good or bad – these are issues that will be determined by future generations. It will be up to them to either discard all this or clasp it to their bosoms. You and I, we cannot be fair in our judgement. Any decision you make is futile because it will be lacking in effectiveness.
Whatever else contemporary literature might be, it is without doubt the cry of young people, a cry that is like the hissing of a wounded snake; it cannot be suppressed, your objections and taunts cannot force it to cower fearfully.
The young writer will scream, if he is hurt he will groan. This sexual hunger, which enlightened individuals find offensive, will continue to be seen in stories. If it is a hunger then why should it not be accompanied by protests? Is the sexual hunger that one sees in humans not related at all to economic and cultural factors? Do you not see the insidious touch of politics in it? You must have read about supply and demand in economics. Apply this theory to our present-day lives. There’s a demand for sex and supply too, but there is no market. In other words, there are men and there are women, and there are sexual urges, but it is shameful to mention all three in the same breath.
The people of Hindustan are poor, and when you are poor marriage is a problem, having a good time is a sin; in other words if you are poor you are not permitted to live.
Why? Our young men and women, despite education and fine physical attributes, are deprived of the excitement of living. Knowledge has become a dilemma for us because if we didn’t read we wouldn’t know how people in the rest of the world have opportunities for entertainment and are absorbed in their own selves. But we do read and now we know, and we see that while in other parts of the world it isn’t sinful to enjoy life, young men here are destined to have nothing.
Here, everything is a failing, everything is filthy and obscene and immoral. A thousand sources of enjoyment there, here it is forbidden to even dream of enjoying life. If these difficulties were to exist for us here then at least the ability to feel should have been blunted. If only the blackies had been mounds of clay which neither saw nor heard anything nor screamed when in pain. Kicked by the world they would have descended straight towards annihilation.
But the new son of the new world is stubborn, bad tempered and intractable. He doesn’t like the old order, he’s restless for a new one. But right now, frustrated and angered by his own lack of direction, he is chewing on bits of his own flesh, he is carving up his own body and soul and scattering them about, and tomorrow he will demolish this order and create another. But before he does, who knows how many people he will have to crush first, how many in turn will grind him into the dirt. Whatever is left then will rise to execute the new order.
What will this order be? No one knows yet. On reading the new literature one can surmise that there will be no pain, hunger or poverty in this new order. No starvation, whether sexual or spiritual, no dishonesty. There will be no centres for prostitution. The only thing that one will see will be a dwelling for humankind inhabited only by humankind.
Women won’t have to crouch in putrid drains like starving bitches, a curse from hell.
Men will be distanced from bestiality. Those who are born as human beings according to the laws of nature will remain human beings, they will not be slaughtered merely to satisfy society’s appetites. Marriage will not only be for those with means, rather every healthy individual will have the right to experience a complete life. The new literature wishes to raise a storm and secure the right to exist for all. Life, along with all its related accessories that till now have been the legacy of the ancestors, will be every individual’s birthright.
Sorrows abound in the new world and contemporary literature is the cry of protest emanating from the fatigued and worn-out body of every young person who has a soul and is tormented by these sorrows. It won’t do to taunt. Old women have died delivering taunts, old men have departed from this world with censure and lahol (a prayer for atonement) on their lips. But the young are caught in a struggle to exist, they are not ready to be annihilated. They’re not cowards and they are not ashamed of being called “shameless”. While discussing literature it is not necessary to refer to it as being specific to men or women. How can it be that women will approve of a system that men don’t like? If a man can scream a woman should be allowed to cry out as well.
An elderly gentleman equates contemporary literature with erotic texts.
That’s all right. But it seems that in our country people read books providing information on sexual topics for titillation only. Texts related to matters dealing with sexuality were written specifically to clarify certain medical principles, but people began reading them as if they were part of literature and, having done so, now wish to derive the same stimulation from the novel and afsaana written by contemporary writers. And when they get a taste of quinine instead of the spicy masala they had anticipated they heap abuse upon the poor writer.
Finally, a word to new writers. Don’t pay any heed to the ridiculous sarcasm you see all around you. Was there ever a time when such objections were not made? Is there anyone who has never expressed such objections? Except for Dadi Amma’s coddled sons, what young person has ever received acclamation from elders? The older generation has always hated the young and will always hate them. The truth is that what you write is not for the elders and if they chastise you, just lower your head in deference and smile.
Excerpted with permission from My Friend, My Enemy: Essays, Reminiscences, Portraits, Ismat Chughtai, translated from the Urdu by Tahira Naqvi, Women Unlimited.
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It is said that when a camel is angered it can crush the enemy’s skull. Dear God! Well, let us examine the weapons that are used to startle and frighten the camel:
“Contemporary literature is mere obscenity.”
“Contemporary literature is nothing more than an offering of questions associated with sexual matters.”
“Contemporary literature is disintegrating.”
My god, what is obscenity? I had an aunt who was always pestering young girls with injunctions on how to keep their dupattas properly draped over their bosoms. The moment the dupatta slipped slightly from the shoulder Khala would see red. We couldn’t understand why she was so envious of this particular part of the body. Then we discovered that she burned with resentment when she saw the bodies of young girls because she herself was a shrivelled up little pod. Poor Khala! Who knows how many aunts and grandmothers there are who, after they have lost their youth, become the rivals of young women.
The phenomenon is similar to what contemporary literature has suffered at the hands of traditional literature; it is melting in the heat emanating from the former’s youth.
I don’t understand why people get so perturbed when they see eroticism in literature.
It’s true that boys and girls in Europe are raised in such a way that sexual issues are not all that important to them. When they read about sex they are not in the least bit disturbed, whereas in a similar situation here, a cobra begins to hiss immediately. Here’s what I say: is it necessary to keep this sacred cobra alive so that it can suck the blood of our future generations? Why not crush its skull as soon as possible and put an end to the matter? And why is it that the new writers who are seeking out these cobras in order to pulverize them are being seen as enemies of morality and of the whole world?
But it is also a false premise that contemporary literature is nothing but eroticism. The saying that fits here is, “The spirit and the angel are on”. In reading contemporary literature some individuals focus only on those portions that are erotic and leave deep impressions on their hearts and minds. Not only that, they read the erotic segments over and over again. Thus they miss what is of real value. Just think, those who read and enjoy eroticism are let off the hook while the writer is deemed to be the culprit.
It’s not necessary to concentrate on every kind of filth imaginable or to roam naked in the streets for no reason at all, but what is so shameful about exposing a particular part of the body in order to soak up the sunlight?
If removing the bandage helps the wound to dry and heal then that is not obscenity, that’s just treatment. And the elderly individuals who are piqued by this are in need of sympathy. It is true that eroticism is painful, and who knows that people see in the mirror of erotic literature that makes them gnash their teeth and run towards the mirror with a rock held aloft in their hands. But think for a minute – is this the mirror’s fault?
Perhaps when people encounter eroticism in stories and afsaanas their latent emotions are stirred up. A man suffers an attack of epilepsy whenever he sees the statue of Venus. Now no writer has a cure for this. Isn’t it possible to read this narrative as a narrative? What you see here is also a picture of life, it is at once exposed and camouflaged. What is so wrong with eroticism, why are you so scared of eroticism in literature? And don’t you see that the writer himself is trembling fearfully and is terrified of the world’s obscenity? All he’s doing is converting events that are taking place in the world into words.
Contemporary literature is a history of our times. Years from now, when it ceases to be contemporary literature, it will continue to provide information about the political, cultural and economic conditions of this period. These stories and poems will be transformed to become the pages of history.
If contemporary literature is filthy then one can assume that the modern era too is filthy because literature is a representation of its times. Where lies the artist’s fault?
History and literature always go hand in hand and will continue thus. Culture too can never be separated from literature and, as for politics, despite the forced separation of politics and literature induced by political pressures, something of its real colour will eventually seep through.
Before the new literature came along romance and humour were the order of the day. Patras (Bokari), Azim Baig (Chughtai), Rashid Ahmed, Shaukat Thanvi, Imtiaz Ali Taj, Farhatullah Baig – all wrote more or less the same way. Read these writers carefully. Persecution by the wife, the good humour of friends, domestic quarrels – each writer wrote about the same thing repeatedly, although it’s true that they did have their individual narrative voices.
And what are the new writers writing about? Predicaments related to human sexuality, the antagonism between the rich and the poor, the struggle against life and all its harshness! So why complain that the new writers are writing about the same things? What a ridiculous defect this is. I say, during a malaria epidemic everyone is given quinine. When people are in pain or are suffering they express their anguish in the same way, they groan and lament. It’s not a musical performance in which every note has to be in place.
Traditional literature was a picture of life, and contemporary literature is a picture of life as well.
It’s true that when traditional literature was produced the world was not such a filthy place. But now if we open our eyes all we see is filth, hunger, theft, fraud and deception. What can the new writers do? How is it possible for them to cover their eyes and write Gul Bakowli and Masnawi Gulzar-e-Naseem? How can they continue to write Fasaana-e-Azad (all these are classical narratives) and produce comic tales? Most new writers are dispossessed and overly sensitive, their hearts and minds work overtime and the slightest injury exasperates them. Their horrifying dreams, accompanied by even more horrifying interpretations, questions that ask if the image of our world is good or bad – these are issues that will be determined by future generations. It will be up to them to either discard all this or clasp it to their bosoms. You and I, we cannot be fair in our judgement. Any decision you make is futile because it will be lacking in effectiveness.
Whatever else contemporary literature might be, it is without doubt the cry of young people, a cry that is like the hissing of a wounded snake; it cannot be suppressed, your objections and taunts cannot force it to cower fearfully.
The young writer will scream, if he is hurt he will groan. This sexual hunger, which enlightened individuals find offensive, will continue to be seen in stories. If it is a hunger then why should it not be accompanied by protests? Is the sexual hunger that one sees in humans not related at all to economic and cultural factors? Do you not see the insidious touch of politics in it? You must have read about supply and demand in economics. Apply this theory to our present-day lives. There’s a demand for sex and supply too, but there is no market. In other words, there are men and there are women, and there are sexual urges, but it is shameful to mention all three in the same breath.
The people of Hindustan are poor, and when you are poor marriage is a problem, having a good time is a sin; in other words if you are poor you are not permitted to live.
Why? Our young men and women, despite education and fine physical attributes, are deprived of the excitement of living. Knowledge has become a dilemma for us because if we didn’t read we wouldn’t know how people in the rest of the world have opportunities for entertainment and are absorbed in their own selves. But we do read and now we know, and we see that while in other parts of the world it isn’t sinful to enjoy life, young men here are destined to have nothing.
Here, everything is a failing, everything is filthy and obscene and immoral. A thousand sources of enjoyment there, here it is forbidden to even dream of enjoying life. If these difficulties were to exist for us here then at least the ability to feel should have been blunted. If only the blackies had been mounds of clay which neither saw nor heard anything nor screamed when in pain. Kicked by the world they would have descended straight towards annihilation.
But the new son of the new world is stubborn, bad tempered and intractable. He doesn’t like the old order, he’s restless for a new one. But right now, frustrated and angered by his own lack of direction, he is chewing on bits of his own flesh, he is carving up his own body and soul and scattering them about, and tomorrow he will demolish this order and create another. But before he does, who knows how many people he will have to crush first, how many in turn will grind him into the dirt. Whatever is left then will rise to execute the new order.
What will this order be? No one knows yet. On reading the new literature one can surmise that there will be no pain, hunger or poverty in this new order. No starvation, whether sexual or spiritual, no dishonesty. There will be no centres for prostitution. The only thing that one will see will be a dwelling for humankind inhabited only by humankind.
Women won’t have to crouch in putrid drains like starving bitches, a curse from hell.
Men will be distanced from bestiality. Those who are born as human beings according to the laws of nature will remain human beings, they will not be slaughtered merely to satisfy society’s appetites. Marriage will not only be for those with means, rather every healthy individual will have the right to experience a complete life. The new literature wishes to raise a storm and secure the right to exist for all. Life, along with all its related accessories that till now have been the legacy of the ancestors, will be every individual’s birthright.
Sorrows abound in the new world and contemporary literature is the cry of protest emanating from the fatigued and worn-out body of every young person who has a soul and is tormented by these sorrows. It won’t do to taunt. Old women have died delivering taunts, old men have departed from this world with censure and lahol (a prayer for atonement) on their lips. But the young are caught in a struggle to exist, they are not ready to be annihilated. They’re not cowards and they are not ashamed of being called “shameless”. While discussing literature it is not necessary to refer to it as being specific to men or women. How can it be that women will approve of a system that men don’t like? If a man can scream a woman should be allowed to cry out as well.
An elderly gentleman equates contemporary literature with erotic texts.
That’s all right. But it seems that in our country people read books providing information on sexual topics for titillation only. Texts related to matters dealing with sexuality were written specifically to clarify certain medical principles, but people began reading them as if they were part of literature and, having done so, now wish to derive the same stimulation from the novel and afsaana written by contemporary writers. And when they get a taste of quinine instead of the spicy masala they had anticipated they heap abuse upon the poor writer.
Finally, a word to new writers. Don’t pay any heed to the ridiculous sarcasm you see all around you. Was there ever a time when such objections were not made? Is there anyone who has never expressed such objections? Except for Dadi Amma’s coddled sons, what young person has ever received acclamation from elders? The older generation has always hated the young and will always hate them. The truth is that what you write is not for the elders and if they chastise you, just lower your head in deference and smile.
Excerpted with permission from My Friend, My Enemy: Essays, Reminiscences, Portraits, Ismat Chughtai, translated from the Urdu by Tahira Naqvi, Women Unlimited.
