

In a blog entry I wrote early last year on the Harvard evolutionary psychologist Steven Pinker and his essay "The Moral Instinct", I expressed my great admiration for a whole generation of world class scientists who have ably taken on the task of speaking not just to their peers but also the wider audience of curious non-specialists. We increasingly live in an age where serious study of the social sciences and even the humanities have to account for the findings of cutting edge neuroscience, cognitive biology, cosmology and other scientific disciplines if they are to be taken seriously.
After 19 years, Justice David Souter has decided to leave the bench at age 69. Linda Greenhouse in today's Sunday Times, has an admiring portrait of the somewhat eccentric, reclusive and scholarly New Hampshire jurist who even as he was ill at ease in the public aspects of his office was intellectually very well equipped to be an associate justice.This pattern gave rise to a widespread view of Justice Souter as a misfit or a loner, not quite in touch with modern life. But to focus on his eccentricities — his daily lunch of yogurt and an apple, core and all; the absence of a computer in his personal office — is to miss the essence of a man who in fact is perfectly suited to his job, just not to its trappings. His polite but persistent questioning of lawyers who appear before the court displays his meticulous preparation and his mastery of the case at hand and the cases relevant to it. Far from being out of touch with the modern world, he has simply refused to surrender to it control over aspects of his own life that give him deep contentment: hiking, sailing, time with old friends, reading history.
April is National Poetry Month and the New York Review of Books has been posting a poem every day this month to celebrate the, I suspect, not widely recognized occasion. Even though I can only read them in translation, I have always had a particular affinity for twentieth century Eastern European writers and poets (Brodsky, Milosz, Szymborska, Kundera and of course Kafka). They seem to capture the twentieth century zeitgeist in deeply intimate ways, perhaps because so many of the century's defining struggles and human tragedies played out on their soils.
Iqbal Bano, one of the great exponents of semi-classical ghazal singing in the sub-continent, passed away in Lahore at the age of 74. I have recounted a reverie precipitated by her beautiful rendition of Faiz's ghazal "Yeh mausam-e-gul" in a previous post.
Few musical voices are more emblematic of the rise of Pakistan's civil society in the last couple of years than the group that goes by the name "Laal". The day after the restoration of the Chief Justice on March 16th, 2009 they headlined a concert on Geo Television Network celebrating this hopeful moment in Pakistan's history. I love the spirit and music of these young men who, unlike many in their elite ranks, are embracing the struggle for a just society. Here is a relatively old interview with them.
Even as I follow the twists and turns of the political and security situation in Pakistan with grave concern, observe the myopia of the country's governing leadership and witness its hapless citizens experience the steady erosion of state institutions, I have chosen not to write much about it on this blog. Instead I have stayed engaged in that ever evolving discussion on a separate online political forum so as not to inundate this blog with minutiae of Pakistani politics.

Photos: 1) Urooj Mumtaz lifted up in celebration 2) Naila Nazir, Qanita Jalil & Urooj Mumtaz; 3) Nain Abdi playing a square cut 4) Qanita Jalil running in to bowl 5) Sana Mir playing an off drive (Courtesy Cricinfo)
In the wake of Khalid Hasan's death, the great Pakistani songstress Noor Jehan (Wikipedia) has been much on my mind. Khalid Hasan was a great admirer of the late Madam and wrote a much quoted tribute essay on Noor Jehan. Perhaps more importantly he translated Saadat Hasan Manto's great portrait of Noor Jehan's early years as a rising diva in pre-partition Bombay under the title "Nur Jehan: One in a Million" (unfortunately this link is to a scan of the essay and hard to read but the essay is included in the collection "Stars from Another Sky"). "Stars from Another Sky" includes other translations of Manto's brilliant Urdu sketches published in "Ganjay Farishtay" and "Loudspeaker" on film industry icons like Ashok Kumar, Nargis, Naseem Bano (Dilip Kumar's wife, Saira Bano's mother) and Shyam.
I have been listening to many of Noor Jehan's great songs from the 1950's. Listening to this music when she was at the pinnacle of her singing powers is a magical experience but one thing stands out. She was at her greatest when teamed up with that other giant of Pakistani film music: the virtuosic scholar composer Khawaja Khurshid Anwar. After he moved to Lahore in 1955, his music in films like Mirza SahibaaN" (1955), "Intezaar" (1956), Zehr-e-Ishq (1958), "Koel" (1959) and as late as 1970 in "Heer Ranjha" provided the perfect platform to showcase Noor Jehan's vocal talent. Khawaja Khurshid Anwar needs a separate blog post all his own but one of my treasured possessions is the recordings he arranged in Pakistan under the title "GharanoN ki Gayaki" to help capture and preserve the various styles of classical singing of several of the "Hindustani" schools of gayaki.
Khalid Hasan, a giant of Pakistani journalism, died on February 6th in Northern Virginia of prostate cancer at the age of 74. In him, Pakistan and the sub-continent have lost a remarkable journalist, a talented translator, an acute cultural critic and an inside chronicler of people and events on the Pakistani cultural scene, particularly of the times before the barrenness of the Zia years set in.Khalid Hasan Sahib,
I have been a fan of your journalistic writing for years. Although, on many occasions I have meant to reach out and express my gratitude for your writings on Pakistani (& sub-continental) culture, somehow I never got around to actually doing it. An important part of your contribution is your choice of writing in the English language. In doing so, you are helping preserve the memory of precious bits of our culture, both for the Pakistani diaspora and the young Pakistani elite, which even if it cares about our heritage, no longer considers knowledge of literary Urdu an important component of its identity.
There are so many forgotten corners of our cultural history that you have illuminated, its hard to know where to start. Your writings on Government College, Lahore and the many illustrious people associated with it have always brought back wonderful memories and revealed wonderful tidbits about those luminaries. My father, Khawaja Muhammad Zakariya studied there, taught Urdu there for a year in 1962 before spending the rest of his career at Punjab University, so I grew up hearing stories about legends like Patras, Dr. Nazeer, Taseer, Sufi Tabassum and countless others. I also particularly enjoy your writings on Lahore and your profiles of distinguised people (statesmen, writers, musicians, poets, film and radio-wallahs). I have been delighted that you have been translating much of A. Hameed's personal recollections of Lahore as they capture so many little details of a Lahore that no longer exists (even if some details of A. Hameed's accounts have been disputed by others, but then again that is the nature of memory) .
Cultural history, memoir and biographical essay remain much neglected areas in our country and you are helping capture so much of what is being lost. At least in Urdu there are many more volumes but one wishes more of those were translated as well. Manto's biographic sketches are, of course, pure genius. Ashiq Hussain Batalvi ("Chand yadeiN chand taasurat"), Daud Rahbar ("Paraganda tab'aa log", "Nuskha hai wafa", "Chand bateiN sureeli see"), Intizar Hussain ("CharaghoN ka dhuaN", "Dilli tha jis ka naam"), Lutfullah Khan ("Sur ki talash", Hijraton ke silisile") and Manzoor Ilahi's "Silsila-e-roz-o-shab" have given me great pleasure over the last few years. Perhaps other talented and prolific people like you will take the cudgels one day and bring these works to an English-speaking audience.
I apologize for this impolitely long communication. What finally prompted this e-mail was an essay I just read by Pran Neville on Master Madan. It took me back to your illuminating article on Master Madan published in Dawn in 2001 (from which his seems to be derived) and your account of the discovery of his lost recordings by M. Rafiq. I had heard the two Saghir Nizami ghazals growing up as my father played those recordings for us but I am fortunate enough to have listened to the other six recordings on the internet as well. Pran Neville's essay prompted me to write a brief entry on my blog which I thought you might find mildly interesting(http://writtenencounters.blogspot.com/)
Please carry on your wonderful work. There aren't too many people left who can shine such a bright light on the hidden corners of our rich and beautiful cultural heritage.
Kind Regards,
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My dear Fawad Zakariya Sahib,
I am overwhelmed by your letter (which is what emails can be but seldom are). I really had no idea I have done all that you credit me with. I take it you are able to access The Friday Times for which I write the "memorabilia" pieces every week. I should add that I have translated almost all of Manto's Ganjay Frishtay which was first published by Penguin in New Delhi as Stars from Another Sky. Those translations were later included in the omnibus volume A Wet Afternoon, published by Alhamra in Islamabad. You will be pleased to know that I have translated a lot more of Manto (including his only stage play, the little-read 'Iss Manjhdaar Mein' and many stories I had left out, plus some of his sketches) which is now under publication by Penguin in New Delhi. I hope the book is in print by the next Spring.
By the way, I studied at Murray College and though I joined Government College for a few months for MA (English) but (is that heresy?), I preferred to return to Sialkot where we still had wonderful British teachers like Prof A. W. Mowat. That being so, I cannot (and have not) called myself a Ravian. Prof. Zakariya Sahib of course I know of but as far as I can recall I have never met him. Our son lives close to ___ and next time I am in that part of the world, perhaps we can meet.
All the best and thank you for your most heart-warming message.
Khalid Hasan