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Dear Rafi,
When I was writing you my last letter, a wave of sadness came all over
me. When I explored that sadness I realized that I was missing Saeed
Anjum and Zahir Anwar. I think my friendship with you is developing the
same fragrance that I have experienced in those wonderful relationships
in the past. Saeed Anjum and I had dreamt of many creative projects
together but those dreams never came true as he left this world
prematurely and we had creative miscarriages. His death was a great loss
for his friends, family and the world of literature and film making.
Saeed Anjum was a wonderful short story writer as well as a great
conversationalist. He was quite passionate in his dialogues. I remember
some of his spontaneous remarks. Once he was talking to a macho
Pakistani Muslim husband and father, when he said, “ If you wish your
son to become a prince, you have to treat his mother like a queen. If
you treat her like a slave, her son will never be a prince.” One other
time he said to an arrogant media person, “ There are people who create
culture in the form of art and music and literature and there are people
who promote culture through newspapers, radio and television. Tragedy
starts when the people who promote culture start believing they are
creating culture because of their popularity.” I was always impressed by
Saeed Anjum’s insights in life and human relationships that he shared in
his stories as well his informal dialogues.
The second friend that I miss is Zahir Anwar. We feel so connected with
each other, that in spite of our geographical distance, we call each
other our alter-egos. I wish he lived in Toronto rather than Calcutta so
that I could visit him the way I visit Rafiq Sultan and Zahra Naqvi.
Zahir Anwar is a great writer, actor and director. His plays are not
only artistically but also commercially successful. I hope one day, you,
I, Zahir Anwar and other friends could get together in Darvesh’s Hut.
When Zahir visited Canada I introduced him to my friends in Toronto.
When he was leaving I asked him to visit Saeed Anjum. Unfortunately soon
after they met in a conference in London, Saeed Anjum passed away. I
have many letters from Zahir Anwar in English as well as in Urdu that
are literary masterpieces. One of these days I will request someone to
type them for me so that I can share with other friends.
Some of those letters were so passionate that one of my old sweethearts
used to feel jealous. I am glad Bette Davis is not a jealous person and
realizes, that Asian male friends can have a deep bond of friendship,
the type of friendship I am developing with you.
.
I think Darveshon ka Dera is an informal place to share those letters
with others. Zahir Anwar’s letters are as fascinating as Iqbal Nazar’s
that you read in the Urdu Section of Dera. I hope you enjoy them.
Pervaiz told me that more and more people are visiting Dera and enjoying
our creative gifts for them. I will just share one of Zahir’s letters to
share a few glimpses of his creativity and our affection for each other.
Affectionately,
Sohail
ZAHIR ANWAR’S
LETTER TO SOHAIL
[This letter was
written after Zahir’s visit to Toronto]
Dear Sohail,
Life normally betrays,
but if it does not do so with me, I will be back. It is not just written
words; it is a strong promise rising out of the dissatisfaction of my
environment and situation.
It is always an
overwhelming joy that you are well and that you keep constant contact,
even at times belatedly like me. There is no cause of celebration; there
is no reason for sadness too…blanks and gaps can be filled up…by our
mutual trust. I trust you, your words love, thoughts, afterthoughts and
your actions. Those moments spent with you are eternal and ethereal.
My wishes are for you
all. It creates a sense of link. I belong to them. I am getting older,
more fearful and less modern. Innovation, in itself does not carry the
seed of exceptions or intelligence. At times I feel a strong surge to
reach you defying all traditional captivities of the relationship that
makes one cry more than smile.
I have little desires.
In fact desires are like banyan trees. It keeps growing, even denying
time and space. But what will happen in the end? I will be a love
traveler to an unknown world. Why should there be any moaning or sadness
when you have seen so much and fulfilled so many desires: a tempestuous
life, pleasure of marital bliss, the solace of seeing the children grow
and seeing a part of the world, which was also meant for my own
observations. Desires have no end. I need small things like being
wonderstruck at the sight of leaves and flowers moving in the wind or
strolling a few yards in the peaceful place with you all. But Delhi is a
long way to go despite strong simple desires. Rest is ok. Time goes on,
age withers and if there is no attempt to create meaning or sense of
life, time will crush. Everyone has to contribute, through his own
action that life is worth-living.
I have written only a
few things last year. No project, no satisfaction! Only official works
badly done in half-hearted ways. My childhood friend Dr. Shabbir Alam, a
cancer patient of mild nature succumbed to death. Being involved in
mankind, I am shattered. But life goes on. Yes, life goes on…creating
voids and lessons! Now nature strikes with gruesome power-devastation,
destructions and deaths in Gujrat. It makes you think.
On personal front,
there is dissatisfaction too. The only silver lining is friendship…the
earth below mellows down when two genuine friends meet. I remember you
all…and send you my warm wishes! You populate my loneliness. And I thank
you.
Your four lines letter
was an inspiration. I am touched and would be more than happy if your
publisher [Bill Belfontaine, publisher of book From Islam to Secular
Humanism] can entertain those few words of mine [included in the back
cover of the book]. I always belong to you. Your uncle Arif Abdul
Mateen’s death made me sadder.
Yours,
Zahir Anwar
Feb 2nd, 2001
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