Let me confess I did not know what this was until I saw this picture. Do you know what it is? What is it used for? Where it comes from? Do tell us more about this is you do know? Or, make a guess?

For as long as I can remember, I have heard passionate arguments about whether the four provinces of Pakistan should be divided into multiple smaller provinces. The discussion has, once again, gained momentum. This time the focus is the Punjab and converting Southern Punjab into a separate province (a ‘Saraiki sooba‘).

The political optics of the situation remain in flux. The PML(N) has reacted to the current discussion with suspicion seeing this as a ploy by PPP to break the PML’s hold over the Punjab. The PPP has reacted, for the moment, with both President Zardari and Prime Minister Gillani saying that no such move is on the cards. That may well be so, and may well be subject to change, but my question for our readers today is whether — irrespective of political motives — creating a new province in Southern Punjab is a good idea or not? And what this may mean, if anything, for other provinces?

First, let me put my own cards on the table. The first time I wrote about this subject was back in the 1980s - in an op-ed in The Muslim I argued for a total of 6 to 8 provinces (each of the current four provinces being redrawn along lines consistent with historic, linguistic and cultural affinities). My most radical idea, then, was to reconsider the provinces not just along the lines of existing provinces but across existing lines (to use language as an example, Hindko, Sindhi, Seraiki, and Pushto speakers all straddle across current provincial lines). My motivation then, and now, stemmed from demographic concerns of concentration of populations, resources and, therefore, power in one province and the attendant feelings of peripheralization felt by other provinces. Importantly, this can - and has - led to a politics of fragmentation and distrust where it becomes too easy to evoke distrust and disdain through legitimate as well as exaggerated fears. There is also the concern about fewer provinces strengthening a provincial group identity at the expense of a national identity as well as of more local identities. Importantly, in the case of the Saraiki belt, the local identity sentiment for a separate province is the strongest reason to support such an initiative.

After writing that piece I remember having protracted conversations on this with the late Dr. Mahbub-ul-Haq who had been arguing for a much more elaborate scheme that woud end with there being 16-25 different provinces. Over the years I have become more and more sympathetic to his developmental argument: that creating smaller provinces will also de-centralize power and localize opportunities - each provincial capital requires a provincial capital infrastructure and create local employment and opportunities and therefore development opportunities get spread around the country rather than being centralized in a few locations.

I tend, therefore, to lean towards this idea. However, practical realities have tended to mute my enthusiasm somewhat. But, only somewhat. I realize, of course, the fracturous politics that will be unleashed in the process of redrawing provincial lines, even though my hope has been that the coalitional politics that will emerge for having more units will be, in fact, less fracturous than our current provincial frictions. There is also the practical matter that while in most of the country the affinities have long historical and cultural roots the  demographics in urban Sindh are ‘modern’ and constructed through the traumas of sudden migration patterns. Not surprisingly, the resultant identity politics also tends to be more traumatic.

So, my own leanings on this are clear and I would certainly support a Seraiki province, even if a more elaborate redrawing of provincial units across the country were not possible at this time. Three reasons would make me support such a move: (a) it is a deep demand of the area itself and (b) it begins to balance out provincial distributions and (c) amongst the various cases for provincial redrawings this is clearly the strongest case for the clear cultural and historic affinities and this could serve as an important first step.

I have been in this debate long enough to know that there can, and will, be many arguments against mine. So, lets please hear them. Is there a logic to redrawing provincial units? If so, why? If not, why not? I suspect it will not be so, but I hope people will focus especially on the longer-term national logic of such a move rather than whatever short-term political gains or losses this might mean to particular political operatives.

What is the most appropriate word for ‘GanDeri’ in English?

I have puzzled over this for long and asked a number of friends. In fact, this is a re-post of the question I had posed at this blog 3 years ago. The best I got was ’sugarcane cut-piece’; where ‘cut-piece’ is itself a peculiar Pakistani-ism, if not Pinglish.

Do you have a better suggestion?

Mushtaq Ahmed Yousufi, one of the most celebrated humorists of the Urdu language, said in an interview early in his literary career that he had decided to quit writing humour. Reason? He thought it was useless to write humour if one could not write it the way Shafeeq-ur-Rahman did. (Though, luckily enough, Yousufi Sahib later decided that he could write humour the way he himself did.)

Such was the influence of Shafeeq-ur-Rahman, a humorist who ruled the world of Urdu humour for about 60 years, and is still doing so.

Shafeeq-ur-Rahman began writing and established himself in the pre-independence era like his contemporaries, such as Ibrahim Jalees, K.L. Kapoor, Krishan Chandr, Shaukat Thanvi and Rasheed Ahmed Siddiqi.

His first book ‘Kirnen’ (1942) was a collection of quasi-romantic and quasi-humorous short stories. His early stories did not show any signs of a great humorist. But in his second book, ‘Shagoofe’ (1943), romanticism gave way to humour and it was his later books, ‘Lehren’ (1944) and ‘Parwaz’ (1945), which established him as a pure humorist. ‘Himaqaten’ (1947) and ‘Mazeed Himaqaten’ (1948) earned him more accolades but the flow of his books shrank to a trickle of articles and then for almost 25 years he wrote nothing.

Zameer Jafri, in one of his columns titled ‘Kuchh na likhne ki silver jubilee’, ‘commemorated’ in his peculiar style Shafeeq’s literary hibernation.

Some believe that for writers it is a must to keep on writing or run the risk of being forgotten and that the adage ‘publish or perish’ is not true of publishers alone, but of writers as well. (In my personal opinion, most of the writers of our times ‘publish and perish’.)

Strangely enough, despite having not written for such a long time, Shafeeq-ur-Rahman did not fade out and new editions of his books were published every few years. The copies of his books that I preserve like a treasure were published mostly in the early 1970s.

So, what are the factors that have kept him very much ‘in’ for such a long time? First, his humour has such a vigour and freshness that it has not wilted even today. Some of his essays in his early books are timeless. His wit and repartee put him way ahead of some of his contemporaries who, for example Shaukat Thanvi, depended more on playfulness or situational comedy.

Azeem Baig Chughtai (though hardly his contemporary, as he died in 1941), like Shaukat Thanvi, relished pranks and his humour consists largely of cheery boisterousness.

Though Shafeeq Sahib’s humour is not shy of practical jokes, he uses it sparingly and his playfulness stops just in time to save the humour from becoming tragedy, which sometimes is the case with Chughtai. Secondly, Shafeeq is the master of parody.

Hardly any humorist in Urdu can match his satire and bubbling wit when it comes to parodies. His five parodies — ‘Qissa-i-chahaar dervesh’, ‘Qissa-i-Hatim Tai bai tasweer’, ‘Qissa Professor Ali Baba ka’, ‘Tuzk-i-Nadri urf Siyahat nama-i-Hind’ and ‘Safar nama Jahazbad Sindhi ka’ — are fine satires on our history and culture.

For instance, in his ‘Tuzk-i-Nadri’, probably the most successful of all parodies in Urdu, he not only mocks the kings and their ‘tuzks’ (memoirs), but our political system is also his target when he writes (in the words of Nadir Shah) that:

‘In those days Delhi was in the grip of election fever. Ulloo Shanaas submitted that I had become so popular in Delhi that I could win election from any constituency, no matter on whose ticket I contest it…Out of my seven opponents, two withdrew when they were presented with large amounts of cash, the third was coerced into withdrawal, the fourth had to be made an ambassador to a country, two turned out to be a bit too obstinate and one of them had to be beaten black and blue and the other died in mysterious circumstances. When polling began, the entire population of the city was invited for a feast and presented with money and valuables. And if there happened to be any impudent voter who did not admit to my popularity, he was made to accept it with the help of a stick.’ (Mazeed himaqaten, p37).

Another factor that contributed a lot to Shafeeq Sahib’s public acclaim was his popularity among the adolescent. The main character in most of his humorous short stories is a young and witty college boy who is fond of cricket and movies.

Also, Shafeeq often portrays infatuations. This gives the youth a vicarious feeling. And his characters appear kind of flirtatious, too. His most famous character, Rufi alias Shaitaan, once quips:

‘Sonny! Don’t be sulky if you miss a bus or a girl, another one will be just round the corner.’ (Himaqaten, p121).

Then he often philosophises about joys and sorrows, sweeping the young readers with the bouts of optimism and pessimism, giving semi-philosophical, semi-romantic explanations to the queries that haunt the youth.

In addition, his many essays are nothing but a collection of jokes and the essay itself is only the thread that binds them together. His characters, novel and funny, such as Rufi or Shaitaan, Maqsood Ghora, Hukoomat Aapa and Buddy, make reading joyful.

All this put together is enough to hook young readers. I don’t know exactly which way the wind is blowing these days, but in my late teens and early twenties, I had read each and every book by Shafeeq-ur-Rahman many times over.

Shafeeq-ur-Rahman was born on Nov 9, 1920, in a small town near Rohtak. He was educated at Bahawalpur, as described by Muhammad Khalid Akhter, Shafeeq’s classmate at Sadiq Dean High School and a humorist in his own right.

Shafeeq-ur-Rahman did his MBBS in 1942 from Lahore’s King Edward Medical College. Having joined the Indian Medical Service as a lieutenant, Shafeeq-ur-Rahman was posted, according to Khalid Akhter, at different war fronts during the Second World War.

He then joined Edinburgh University and London University to further his education. It certainly broadened his perspective. But both Shafeeq-ur-Rahman and Khalid Akhter were already immersed in English literature and it had definitely influenced their writings.

On Shafeeq’s style one can trace the influence of western humorists such as Stephen Leacock and Mark Twain, but he is among those writers of Urdu who are well-grounded in their own literature and culture and have a peculiar style of their own.

After independence, Shafeeq-ur-Rahman held high positions in the Pakistan Army and Navy and in December 1980 was made chairman of the Pakistan Academy of Letters, a post he held till December 1986. His other books include ‘Madd-o-jazar’ (1946), ‘Pachhtawe’ (1948), ‘Dajla’ (1980) and ‘Dareeche’ (1989).

The irreplaceable and inimitable Shafeeq-ur-Rahman died in Rawalpindi on March 19, 2000.

Note: This article also appeared in the Daily Dawn of Tuesday, 24 Mar, 2009. Posted here with author’s permission.

Chronology of Shafiq-ur-Rehman’s Books:

1. kirnen, 1942
2. shagoofay, 1943
3. lehren, 1944
4. parwaaz, 1945
5. madd-o-jazar, 1946
6. hamaqaten, 1947
7. mazeed hamaqaten, 1948
8. pachtaawe, 1948
9. dajla, 1980
10. dareeche, 1989
11. insaani tamasha

ATP’s Other Post on Shafiq-ur-Rehman: billi - an excerpt from lehreN.

These are two amazing pictures.

Both were taken today (June 30, 2009) but they tell two very different stories. Each story is equally true and each story is equally important. The stories are about the little girls in the pictures. But they are also stories about each one of us.

The first is a picture of hope. It depicts a child clinging to her mother and a bus window while on a bus that is returning to Buner, in district Mardan, as some IDPs start returning to their homes.

The second is a picture of displacement. The picture of another child - only a little older than the first one - at a UNHCR camp (Yar Hussain) in Swabi who is pushing a canister of water for her displaced family.

Our prayers are with both these little girls. May we all see more pictures like the first and less like the second. But it is more than just the return of IDPs to their homes that we must strive for. Not until the future of every child in Pakistan has been made safe and peaceful and secure can the future of any of us be safe and peaceful and secure.