Will Rogers, the well-known American humorist, actor, and columnist, once remarked that “I don’t make jokes; I just watch the government and report the facts.” Kamal Ahmed Rizvi, or Allan, as he was called in his enormously popular PTV series Alif Noon, wrote humour in all seriousness: he just watched society and reported the facts.

Alif Noon, perhaps the most popular of plays that Kamal Ahmed Rizvi ever wrote, was a satire that reflected society’s hypocrisy and selfishness through two characters: Alif, or Allan, a con artist who was skinny just like the Urdu letter alif and knew how to take advantage of weaknesses, a role played by himself; and Noon, or Nannha, a simpleton who was as roly-poly as the Urdu letter noon, played by Rafi Khawar. While Alif was painted as a shrewd man always out to dupe unsuspecting customers, Nannha, a naive fellow who believed in rectitude, almost always ruined his partner’s plans by telling the truth candidly. Though his plans usually failed and both ended up being manhandled in public, largely due to Nannha’s truthfulness, Allan accomplished what he actually planned to: make you laugh at his and his partner’s miseries and society’s double standards. The tragicomedy was a magic mirror that reflected some characters of our society without naming them.

Kamal Ahmed Rizvi’s book, Kamal ki Baatein, published posthumously in February 2016, is as revealing and entertaining as Alif Noon. It reflects society’s hypocrisy and selfishness in a manner just as true and candid, and is, at times, just as tragically hilarious.

Kamal Ahmed Rizvi’s posthumously published book makes the art, literature and theatre scene of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s come alive

Rizvi has ruthlessly pulled the public persona off many familiar faces and one wonders at the difference between their real character and the one perceived by the general public. One cannot doubt the truthfulness of his statements as he has described his own character and life events in the same unvarnished and straightforward manner, without mincing words and with no reservations. For instance, he lets us know that once, having picked a suit from a Karachi tailor without making any payment, he fled to Lahore, showing off the fine attire at a tea house and impressing writers and intellectuals. He confesses to having stolen a painting from Shakir Ali’s house. He admits to some of his jaunty eccentricities and foibles quite unreservedly. At times, the book reads like a series of confessions, but it does take a lot of courage to confess what Rizvi has.

Though subtitled Shakhsi Khakay (pen-sketches), the book every so often reads like memoirs or a chapter from Rizvi’s autobiography. Tellingly, the header on every page of the book says Yaadaashtain (memoirs). Several pieces included in the book can fall in either category but the book includes two pieces that are titled ‘Pak Tea House’ and ‘Alhamra’, and neither can be called shakhsi khaka (pen-sketch of a person) in any way. Some other pieces, too, read like a very palatable mixture of memoirs, pen-sketches and cultural history. This blending of genres may be intentional on the part of the author, but the publisher should have been more careful when deciding on the subtitle and header. It is not that the value or beauty of these pieces is debatable as they portray a number of personalities and describe the atmosphere well, peppered with witty and satirical remarks — but they are simply memoirs. Secondly, that the book was published posthumously is perhaps one of the reasons for a number of typos, too. The piece on Alhamra seems repetitive as many events described here have been narrated in other sketches.

The first pen-sketch included in the book, titled ‘Faiz Sahib’, tries to capture the personality of Faiz Ahmed Faiz. But it reads more like an account of the events surrounding Faiz Sahib than a pen-sketch. The same can be said about the sketches of Manto, Shaukat Hussain Rizvi and Sibte Hasan. But the sketch of Shakir Ali, the painter, is the most moving one. It depicts the subject’s personality in a captivating way and gives many glimpses into the life of this great Pakistani artist. Other pen-sketches that make an absorbing read are the ones of Ahmed Pervez and Anwar Jalal Shemza, the two artists, two ebullient but anguished souls.

It can be said that Rizvi has narrated a personal history against the backdrop of the Pakistani art, literature and theatre scene. The book makes Lahore and Karachi of the 1950s, ’60s and ’70s come alive with some casual references to politics and social norms. Rizvi writes in a simple language, making the prose a flowing one. But what is missing is the detail about the spiritual experience that Rizvi went through which changed his personality.

The inclusion of a translated article about Ivan Turgenev, the Russian writer, is quite out of place towards the end of the book, albeit it was penned by Rizvi and its usefulness and value cannot be denied. It somehow does not go with the tone and mood of the book. Similarly, the reproduction of columns written in memoriam on Rizvi’s death by Intizar Hussain, Munnu Bhai and Kishwar Naheed, placed at the end of the book, seems clumsy and has made them look redundant, especially when an intro, foreword, preface and an interview of Rizvi’s have been placed in the beginning, written — respectively — by Ishrat Jahan Rizvi (Kamal’s wife), Dr Muhammad Reza Kazmi, S.M. Shahid and Rashid Ashraf.

This is not to say that all these opinions, reviews, columns and impressions are not worth-reading. They collectively give some insight into Rizvi’s personality and carry some vital information about the book and the writer.

Rizvi had a deep love of and command over literature and theatre. Over a career spanning some five decades, he scripted, in addition to Alif Noon, a large number of unforgettable plays: Kis ki Bivi Kis ka Shauhar, Mr Shaitan, Hum Sub Chor Hain, to name but a few.

An actor, playwright, producer, director, broadcaster, translator and prose writer, Kamal Ahmed Rizvi was born on May 1, 1930, in Gaya, a town in Bihar, India. Having done his graduation from a college in Patna, Bihar, he migrated to Pakistan and after struggling in Karachi for a while to keep his head above water, he was made to go to Lahore by an undercover police officer, as narrated by Rizvi in the book under review, to save him from the company of “infidel communists” (translated verbatim) that he was making friends with.

In Lahore, he decided to write for and act on stage, although Faiz Ahmed Faiz tried to prevent him from doing that, for the fear of Rizvi’s “starving to death”, as theatre was almost non-existent in those days and it was difficult to see how someone could live merely on writing for theatre and acting on stage. Nevertheless, Faiz was very kind to him and offered help by allowing him to stage some plays at the Lahore Arts Council, where Faiz had assumed charge as “secretary”, as put by Rizvi. The political accusations levelled against Faiz were “laundered” and on the recommendation of Altaf Gauhar, Gen Ayub Khan appointed Faiz as Lahore Arts Council’s chairman. Rizvi is not very precise about dates and the reader can have only a vague idea about them, having mentioned Faiz as Lahore Arts Council’s “chairman” and “secretary”.

Though Faiz’s suffering from a heart attack and going abroad sent Rizvi reeling, he persisted, as he has described, and ultimately emerged as one of the most well-known and popular Urdu playwrights and actors of his times. Aside from plays, he has to his credit a large number of translations, some of which were fiction and others self-help or popular psychology books rendered from the English into Urdu.

Kamal Ahmed Rizvi died in Karachi on Dec 17, 2015. The double-entendre intended by the title Kamal ki Baatein is fully justified. True to its name, the book is as excellent as Kamal Ahmed Rizvi’s manner of speaking.

The reviewer is a former chief editor of the Urdu Dictionary Board and now teaches Urdu at University of Karachi.

Kamal Ki Baatein
(PEN-SKETCHES)
By Kamal Ahmed Rizvi
Atlantis Publications, Karachi
ISBN 978-9696011194
237pp.