Introduction
Chillum Phod Baba a.k.a Smoke-pipe Exploding Baba was a psychic seer who lived in India between 1981 and 2004 before disappearing into concrete desert. He recorded his visions in a cryptic code on bathroom walls of his many abode. I have painstakingly endeavored here to decode and translate his surviving predictions.
Some say CP Baba was the greatest seer since Nostradamus. Some believe he was even greater than his European counterpart. Some say he was a highly evolved bicycle. Some doesn’t say anything...
I say intercourse it! Let Chillum Phod Baba be CP Baba. His work speaks for itself.
------------
1. “When the crow shits at high noon, and the brown corn will harvest, then shall the honking enforcer come and any which way he can swim the dead wagging pool.”
Translation: CP Baba is foretelling the population explosion in India and extinction of street dogs due to road kill.
2. “When Pisces jives through the ides of March, and uterus rises at the thirteenth zodiac sign, then will the concrete bitch scream through the hairy pajama wearers.”
Translation: CP Baba is predicting the fall of United States when they offend the gods by actually electing a woman President.
(Or)
He may be predicting the rape of the Statue of Liberty by King Kong.
3. “When the lion in gold rivals the sun and the three brothers turn from rock to Mujra(Indian exotic dance to entertain truck drivers and losers), then shall the screaming eagle lay an egg on her maiden flight and it shall fall on the head that has already been shit upon.”
Translation: CP Baba foresees that George W Bush will have his butts shaved by St. Ashraf and paraded through the wall street chained to Osama Bin Laden.
4. “When the moon is in the seventh sky and Jupiter aligns with Mars, then the bookworm of scriptures will have its intercourse with hookah smoking caterpillar”
Translation: CP Baba prophecies Junkies and dopers will have a long healthy life and science will confirm that codeine and cocaine are actually good for healthy happy living!!! Ya ya Hippi Hippi
5. “When the snake slides back into its hole and the river flows back to the spring, then shall woman show their back at bazaar and peace be back in hand.”
Translation: CP Baba is just having a bad night.
6. “When penises grow in potted plants and vaginas are available in disposable 6-packs, then shall people have sex by email and virus will born in brothels.”
Translation: CP Baba is trying to say that with the second coming of Christ, the message of the kingdom of heaven shall be: Why prey, when you can Pink Slip?
(OR)
CP Baba is predicting the revival of global market.
(OR)
CP Baba is just being sarcastic and saying bloody hell keep on dreaming...
7. “A man shall rise from the ruins of Olympus and run madly through the streets waving his penis at screaming woman.”
Translation: CP Baba foresees the inclusion of nude marathon in Olympics.
8. “When sun reaches its orgasm and earth sleeps naked, then man shall drink her urine clean with adultery.”
Translation: CP Baba foresees global warming and end of all natural resources.
9. “"Kada hram djevičanskih boginja orgija koje savitljivo drže hram bude opijen komarcima, tada će slatke pite biti rezane i služiti za pse ludila."
English translation: “When the temple of the virgin goddess of orgy who holds a limp stick is stung by drunken mosquito, then shall all cutie-pies be sliced and served to mad dogs without mustard.”
Translation: CP Baba predicts HIV+ would be named a new blood group
(OR)
CP Baba is trying to woo a Croatian witch
10. “When...”
Translation: Most probably CP Baba is having a bad hangover.
(OR)
CP Baba is caught scribbling in the loo....
(OR)
CP Baba’s Chalk got over
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Magician I never met...
Unlike most people I know, I don't believe in love at first sight... but I do believe in magic. The world being as mad as it is, somehow manages to make you run into people so unusually breathtakingly magical that when you see them, hear them or feel their virtual presence in your life even for few moments fragrance of their persona remains forever etched in your memory. Living in a world of countless and crossing paths with so many every single day, there are only but a few that truly bring life to the term “Beautiful stranger...”
I don't quite know how her voice sounds, neither do I have much idea about her likes, preferences, what makes her happy or what get those eyes red...But sometimes, in this mad world with a crazy life, one needs to imagine something perfect on a long, lonely day. And in my mind... that's what she'll always be - perfect.
.
I don't quite know how her voice sounds, neither do I have much idea about her likes, preferences, what makes her happy or what get those eyes red...But sometimes, in this mad world with a crazy life, one needs to imagine something perfect on a long, lonely day. And in my mind... that's what she'll always be - perfect.
.
Monday, October 20, 2008
GROOMing Dreams
Like all kids I also had aspirations of becoming someone when I grow up... but unlike others who wanted to be engineers, physicians, actors, pilots or as a friend of mine said sucking up to his boss that he dreamt of being a Oracle - Business Intelligence – Onsite - Business Analyst ever since he was a child; I never aspired for such superficial goals. Being mature beyond my age, I always dreamt of being a Groom...
During school days, when nobody thinks of their career in terms of amount of money or salary they are gonna to earn, I had done all my calculations. Based on the average height of my nuclear and extended family I had mentally calculated how tall I would grow and how big a garland made of ten rupee notes I can wear. Add to that the money filled envelopes I will get for 'salaami' I would be raking in hell lot of moolah while my classmates would be making pittance as doctors, engineers, analysts....etc. However, as I grew older and became more mature, I realized that with inflation as it was, this strategy might not work. I would have to wear a garland made at least of fifty rupee or hundred rupee notes...
But by the time I finished my school, three things changed. One- I became more mature. Two- Inflation increased. I calculated that at current rate, I had to do the Islam allowed four marriages with five-hundred rupee note garlands to maintain the lifestyle. Three- A bloody change that shattered my dream, rupee note garlands became out fashioned in our society... I was bloody devastated.
I might have gone into depression had I known what depression was. Because of naiveté, and not knowing what else to do, I picked the broken pieces of my dream. As sailors focus on distant objects when sailing to keep from feeling sea-sick, I decided to focus on a (superficial) career like everyone else, while turning the pieces into a flame and burying it deep inside my heart where reality can never extinguish it. Even dead bodies don't remain below the sea for long and here dream was broken... yet alive... time and again, the dream would break to the surface.
The current generation of young men has mapped objectives as milestones in their life such as complete higher education, find a job, make a career, earn some money and then get married. Being a non conformist since childhood I had no such road map. My top priority was to get married at the first opportunity whereas other objectives were secondary in no order or priority. Fate had been cruel during my childhood hindering and rebuking my dreams through rising inflation, changing fashions etc... now it had declared open war.
First year college crush... coming years multiple crushes... job crushes... neighborhood crush... flight/train/bus journey crush... monthly crush...daily crush... wannabe crush... I never looked at any girl for friendship or companionship... it was always an honest and pure intention of marriage. Needless to say my mature and sensible thoughts were not reciprocated in the same way by this crazy world. Rejections were plenty... battles were lost within hours.
The nearest I reached my goal was with this magical dame who found me outdated, not so fashionable and hard to adjust with my conservative leanings, beside she wanted space and creative freedom which she felt my lifestyle cant provide. Reasons a plenty for a absolute rejection its a different story that she got married in a joint family big enough to have their own zip code straight out of Suraj Barjatya’s movies....
Few days back I met this elderly person during my daily evening walk. After some small talk, he asked me “Are you married?” At first I was taken aback by this personal question coming from a stranger. I said “No”. He sighed, “I don’t get why this new generation delays getting married. I have a friend who married late. Its not that he didn’t want to get married, but belonging to traditional family where marriages are arranged, he was waiting for his mother and sisters to find him a suitable bride. His mother was old and sisters were married off so no one was there to do the bride hunting. The progress was very slow. To cut the long story short, when he finally got married, his bride was WAY PAST HER PRIME!” (With special emphasis on last four words). Since then I am missing my mother and sisters who were never born...and till the issue is resolved I am taking a different route for my walks....
.
During school days, when nobody thinks of their career in terms of amount of money or salary they are gonna to earn, I had done all my calculations. Based on the average height of my nuclear and extended family I had mentally calculated how tall I would grow and how big a garland made of ten rupee notes I can wear. Add to that the money filled envelopes I will get for 'salaami' I would be raking in hell lot of moolah while my classmates would be making pittance as doctors, engineers, analysts....etc. However, as I grew older and became more mature, I realized that with inflation as it was, this strategy might not work. I would have to wear a garland made at least of fifty rupee or hundred rupee notes...
But by the time I finished my school, three things changed. One- I became more mature. Two- Inflation increased. I calculated that at current rate, I had to do the Islam allowed four marriages with five-hundred rupee note garlands to maintain the lifestyle. Three- A bloody change that shattered my dream, rupee note garlands became out fashioned in our society... I was bloody devastated.
I might have gone into depression had I known what depression was. Because of naiveté, and not knowing what else to do, I picked the broken pieces of my dream. As sailors focus on distant objects when sailing to keep from feeling sea-sick, I decided to focus on a (superficial) career like everyone else, while turning the pieces into a flame and burying it deep inside my heart where reality can never extinguish it. Even dead bodies don't remain below the sea for long and here dream was broken... yet alive... time and again, the dream would break to the surface.
The current generation of young men has mapped objectives as milestones in their life such as complete higher education, find a job, make a career, earn some money and then get married. Being a non conformist since childhood I had no such road map. My top priority was to get married at the first opportunity whereas other objectives were secondary in no order or priority. Fate had been cruel during my childhood hindering and rebuking my dreams through rising inflation, changing fashions etc... now it had declared open war.
First year college crush... coming years multiple crushes... job crushes... neighborhood crush... flight/train/bus journey crush... monthly crush...daily crush... wannabe crush... I never looked at any girl for friendship or companionship... it was always an honest and pure intention of marriage. Needless to say my mature and sensible thoughts were not reciprocated in the same way by this crazy world. Rejections were plenty... battles were lost within hours.
The nearest I reached my goal was with this magical dame who found me outdated, not so fashionable and hard to adjust with my conservative leanings, beside she wanted space and creative freedom which she felt my lifestyle cant provide. Reasons a plenty for a absolute rejection its a different story that she got married in a joint family big enough to have their own zip code straight out of Suraj Barjatya’s movies....
Few days back I met this elderly person during my daily evening walk. After some small talk, he asked me “Are you married?” At first I was taken aback by this personal question coming from a stranger. I said “No”. He sighed, “I don’t get why this new generation delays getting married. I have a friend who married late. Its not that he didn’t want to get married, but belonging to traditional family where marriages are arranged, he was waiting for his mother and sisters to find him a suitable bride. His mother was old and sisters were married off so no one was there to do the bride hunting. The progress was very slow. To cut the long story short, when he finally got married, his bride was WAY PAST HER PRIME!” (With special emphasis on last four words). Since then I am missing my mother and sisters who were never born...and till the issue is resolved I am taking a different route for my walks....
.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Vegetarian is a nobody
My folks (family...relatives...community...countrymen...?) are often offended when I tell them I’m a vegetarian. It is an insult to their intelligence -they think so... (Actually I was a veggie for long time but a carnivore now... I guess I just love insulting once intelligence at times -I think so...).
Many times people do not really comprehend what it means when you tell them you do not eat meat, and respond with, “So have chicken, at least.” Eggs I can still understand but chicken??? My befuddled expression is met with eye-rolling, sneers and all sorts of judging. Some look down on you from their meat-eating position of superiority, while others resent you for being snobbish, elitist or just plain weird. Mr. Ashraf’s younger son doesn’t eat meat... what kind of Muslim he is?
Veggie is a high suspect, terrorist -like; even though most terrorist I know ask for beef kebabs first thing after completing their training (Bloody hell just kidding #$#%#$%! half the people I know cant kill a mosquito in one clap). Yet in our minds vegetarian = weak. The popular thinking is that meat gives us an edge over grass-eaters.
Carnivores are stronger and taller; even light-complexioned than herbivores. Isn’t that so? It has to be!!! The ultimate argument is of course that healthy children, growing bones and intelligent minds need loads of animal protein and animal fat.
There is no way you can pass the “Why are you vegetarian?” test. When God has declared it okay to eat certain animals, how dare you refuse goats feet, cows butt and buffaloes brain? All your spiel about animal rights, health consciousness, environment-friendly practices, greed versus need, cost-benefit analysis, simplicity, self-restraint, feelings of guilt, blood, anger and shame over economic disparities. All your arguments will meet with the ultimate roadblock: “How can you?? It tastes so good!”
I guess my folks never learnt to love their vegetables. Greens are usually seen to be a curse, a last-resort, an enemy. Khichri (rice and daal mixture) for example is only for when you have an upset stomach. Karelas are for the diabetic grandparents. Children are fed concoctions of peas, carrots and potatoes with methi leaves thrown in throughout winter because those are the only vegetables in season. Of course vegetables are not worth mom’s creative innovation in the kitchen.
The fact is if you are vegetarian, you are pretty much a social outcast. So you may as well throw away those wedding invitations, name giving ceremony...anniversaries and stop going to any dinner parties. You’re just going to be a source of annoyance to your hosts. Even staples like rice and bread are usually meat-nourished – Keemay Wala Naan and a dozen varieties of biryani and pulaos.
I am a carnivore now... guess I started eating flesh because I can’t stand those irritating bleats and moos love alone their shitting etiquettes... I hate animals which can be eaten and are still not cooked... this one goes for my friend who usually takes sabbatical leave for months together from eating meat..
Behold the mighty Englishman
He ruled the Indian small.
And cause he was a meat eater,
He was six cubit tall.
.
Many times people do not really comprehend what it means when you tell them you do not eat meat, and respond with, “So have chicken, at least.” Eggs I can still understand but chicken??? My befuddled expression is met with eye-rolling, sneers and all sorts of judging. Some look down on you from their meat-eating position of superiority, while others resent you for being snobbish, elitist or just plain weird. Mr. Ashraf’s younger son doesn’t eat meat... what kind of Muslim he is?
Veggie is a high suspect, terrorist -like; even though most terrorist I know ask for beef kebabs first thing after completing their training (Bloody hell just kidding #$#%#$%! half the people I know cant kill a mosquito in one clap). Yet in our minds vegetarian = weak. The popular thinking is that meat gives us an edge over grass-eaters.
Carnivores are stronger and taller; even light-complexioned than herbivores. Isn’t that so? It has to be!!! The ultimate argument is of course that healthy children, growing bones and intelligent minds need loads of animal protein and animal fat.
There is no way you can pass the “Why are you vegetarian?” test. When God has declared it okay to eat certain animals, how dare you refuse goats feet, cows butt and buffaloes brain? All your spiel about animal rights, health consciousness, environment-friendly practices, greed versus need, cost-benefit analysis, simplicity, self-restraint, feelings of guilt, blood, anger and shame over economic disparities. All your arguments will meet with the ultimate roadblock: “How can you?? It tastes so good!”
I guess my folks never learnt to love their vegetables. Greens are usually seen to be a curse, a last-resort, an enemy. Khichri (rice and daal mixture) for example is only for when you have an upset stomach. Karelas are for the diabetic grandparents. Children are fed concoctions of peas, carrots and potatoes with methi leaves thrown in throughout winter because those are the only vegetables in season. Of course vegetables are not worth mom’s creative innovation in the kitchen.
The fact is if you are vegetarian, you are pretty much a social outcast. So you may as well throw away those wedding invitations, name giving ceremony...anniversaries and stop going to any dinner parties. You’re just going to be a source of annoyance to your hosts. Even staples like rice and bread are usually meat-nourished – Keemay Wala Naan and a dozen varieties of biryani and pulaos.
I am a carnivore now... guess I started eating flesh because I can’t stand those irritating bleats and moos love alone their shitting etiquettes... I hate animals which can be eaten and are still not cooked... this one goes for my friend who usually takes sabbatical leave for months together from eating meat..
Behold the mighty Englishman
He ruled the Indian small.
And cause he was a meat eater,
He was six cubit tall.
.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Salaam... Do Botal Khoon chahiye
Salaam... Do Botal Khoon chahiye tha (Salaam...2 bottles of blood needed)... That was the first thing I heard 6 yrs back during one winter morning of my engineering hostel days.
Suhail Miyan was a tailor from Chowk – (market area near our hostel). Quiet often villagers were sent from the MGIMS medical college to our hostel asking us to donate blood. Blood is cheap in boys’ hostel especially in engineering hostel. Muslims usually came asking for a Muslim student thinking same religion might compel one to donate blood or get it arranged. Being the only Muslim student in my batch and entire hostel at that time they all ended up with me.
Suhail Miyan’s daughter in law was having pregnancy complication and 2 unit of blood was urgently required. “Bhaijaan Allah ke vaste madad kar dijye” – Brother help me in the name of God... now that’s something which is hard to refuse on a cold Sunday morning. I had to think... I needed one more guy whom I can pull from his cozy bed... make him dress quickly and rush to hospital to give a bottle of blood.
Half the guys sleep at wee hours of morning and won’t open their doors till its lunch time... most of them even if they do open it accidently would say they have doped or got drunk last night and if you know my hostel you will know most of them are actually not lying.
Dharmendar Kumar a.k.a Dharmu Da – I call him DD is my batch mate and branch mate. A simple down to earth honest guy from Patna Bihar... I love him as my brother... I guess because he acts like one and also because he was lot different in character and nature than the rest of the Bihari crowd of our hostel.
He is also a person who can be emotionally blackmailed...
I asked Suhail Miyan to put a lid on his Muslim Muslim bhai bhai rants and went to wake DD... Five minutes later we were walking towards MGIMS...
Questions which came in my mind while coming to the hospital were answered as soon as I reached there... there were around dozen of concerned faces waiting for us...around 8 men and rest females. Men came forward and introduced themselves with their respective names and relation with the woman who needed blood.
How serious it is? How many bottles are needed???
It’s very serious but doctor said only two bottles will do.
Why have you not given your blood? I asked looking at the husband and Suhail Miyan...
Varied answer came from all the guys present...
I am too weak...
I cant I have very less blood in my body...
I used to drink a lot...
I can do anything but I can’t give blood...
I will skip penning down the anger... the talk we had... I told them I am going back and warned Suhail Miyan from coming to our hostel again...
DD won’t budge
“DD you don’t understand he brought me here under the pretext of Muslim brotherhood”
“I didn’t come here for that”
“You came because I asked you... they are the girls relative they have not given why should we do that?”
Why should the girl die because her relatives don’t care enough? Why should the unborn child suffer?
“DD... I am going, my blood is not that cheap and definitely not for such people”
“Fine, I will give both the bottles then but I still say you’re making a mistake”
DD is a good person... a brother... but at times he is like a cactus plant in the ass... he can be stubborn and defy you in public...
We gave the two bottles needed... skipped the complimentary tea... ate the biscuits though and walked back before it was time for hostel to wake up.
DD is in Australia now... People call him Khhumaar there and we meet almost everyday online to talk about the latest pirated movies available on the web. The Girl gave birth to a baby boy with DD’s blood in him I am sure he will do good in life... but he got my blood as well... who knows...
Suhail Miyan was a tailor from Chowk – (market area near our hostel). Quiet often villagers were sent from the MGIMS medical college to our hostel asking us to donate blood. Blood is cheap in boys’ hostel especially in engineering hostel. Muslims usually came asking for a Muslim student thinking same religion might compel one to donate blood or get it arranged. Being the only Muslim student in my batch and entire hostel at that time they all ended up with me.
Suhail Miyan’s daughter in law was having pregnancy complication and 2 unit of blood was urgently required. “Bhaijaan Allah ke vaste madad kar dijye” – Brother help me in the name of God... now that’s something which is hard to refuse on a cold Sunday morning. I had to think... I needed one more guy whom I can pull from his cozy bed... make him dress quickly and rush to hospital to give a bottle of blood.
Half the guys sleep at wee hours of morning and won’t open their doors till its lunch time... most of them even if they do open it accidently would say they have doped or got drunk last night and if you know my hostel you will know most of them are actually not lying.
Dharmendar Kumar a.k.a Dharmu Da – I call him DD is my batch mate and branch mate. A simple down to earth honest guy from Patna Bihar... I love him as my brother... I guess because he acts like one and also because he was lot different in character and nature than the rest of the Bihari crowd of our hostel.
He is also a person who can be emotionally blackmailed...
I asked Suhail Miyan to put a lid on his Muslim Muslim bhai bhai rants and went to wake DD... Five minutes later we were walking towards MGIMS...
Questions which came in my mind while coming to the hospital were answered as soon as I reached there... there were around dozen of concerned faces waiting for us...around 8 men and rest females. Men came forward and introduced themselves with their respective names and relation with the woman who needed blood.
How serious it is? How many bottles are needed???
It’s very serious but doctor said only two bottles will do.
Why have you not given your blood? I asked looking at the husband and Suhail Miyan...
Varied answer came from all the guys present...
I am too weak...
I cant I have very less blood in my body...
I used to drink a lot...
I can do anything but I can’t give blood...
I will skip penning down the anger... the talk we had... I told them I am going back and warned Suhail Miyan from coming to our hostel again...
DD won’t budge
“DD you don’t understand he brought me here under the pretext of Muslim brotherhood”
“I didn’t come here for that”
“You came because I asked you... they are the girls relative they have not given why should we do that?”
Why should the girl die because her relatives don’t care enough? Why should the unborn child suffer?
“DD... I am going, my blood is not that cheap and definitely not for such people”
“Fine, I will give both the bottles then but I still say you’re making a mistake”
DD is a good person... a brother... but at times he is like a cactus plant in the ass... he can be stubborn and defy you in public...
We gave the two bottles needed... skipped the complimentary tea... ate the biscuits though and walked back before it was time for hostel to wake up.
DD is in Australia now... People call him Khhumaar there and we meet almost everyday online to talk about the latest pirated movies available on the web. The Girl gave birth to a baby boy with DD’s blood in him I am sure he will do good in life... but he got my blood as well... who knows...
Ibn - e - Insha: Take on his contribution to Urdu Literature
Sadd rang meri mauj hay, main tab’ey rawaa’n hoon
This verse Of Allama Iqbal always comes in my mind whenever the name of Ibn-e-Insha is mentioned. A poet, columnist, humorist, and travelogue writer loved for past five decades by Urdu language readers around the globe.
I still remember the first time I got introduced to Ibn Insha’s witty writings. Twelve or thirteen years back while going through my sister’s Urdu text book, I came across a passage taken from a strangely named book “Urdu Ki Aakhri Kitab”- (last book in Urdu Language). The name of book was catchy enough for me; I read the whole lesson and longed to read the book. From then on, there was no stopping to the admiration nurtured within me for this unique writer. Being a writer from Pakistan and all his books were published there and its hard to find a copy in India. He is a great influence in my attempts to present satire through simplicity. Few of his acclaimed works are Awara Gard ki Diary, Duniya Gol Hay, Ibn e Batuta kay Taa’qub May, Chaltay ho to Cheen ko Chaliyay and Nagri Nagri Phira Musafir.
He wrote for masses to make them understand to bestow them with a unique class.
Interestingly, I find his prose and poetry starkly opposite to each other. The poet of famous ghazals as “Insha Ji utho Abb kooch karo” and “Kal chaudhween ki raat thi, shab bhar raha charcha tera” kept the gloom and dark side of life in his poetry ... filled with unexpected turns of life, flavors of love added in: A roller-coaster ride of emotions. A poet of unique placement in Urdu Literature but when you open the prose, you will find yourself in an altogether different world. He touched common topics from our lives, left us to laugh for few minutes and ponder for hours.
In Nagri Nagri Phira Musafir, Ibn-e-Insha’s last of the books, his letter to the readers is also included. Khalid Hasan, one of his friends and renowned Urdu columnist, shares it like this: “The other day, we had barely had that tube they have stuck in our nostrils taken out, when in walked Faiz sahib who is in London. If there was to be some certainty that Faiz sahib will come to look you up, that is reason enough to undergo an operation … There is nothing to surgery these days. Even if you don’t need it, doctors perform it out of a sense of fun. There was this gentleman with a cough who went to pick up a linctus. The doctor operated his calf instead. And while it is true that the pain in his calf became a permanent feature thereafter, the cough disappeared completely … There is an array of buttons at the bottom of our bed about whose precise use we remain in the dark. Whenever we have attempted to push one of them, the result has invariably been contrary to what we intended. Often, by mistake when we press something, a machine comes to life. Result? The head gets lowered while our feet point skywards. This is a veritable devil’s workshop. In our hospitals at home, all they have is a simple winding mechanism. Even more surefire is the method whereby a couple of bricks are placed under the feet of the end that needs to be raised. In the event that no bricks are at hand, books can do nicely. Under one foot of the bed you have ‘Behishti Zaiwar’ and under the other ‘Alipur ka Aili’. Obviously books have their uses.”
It’s utter hard for anyone to do justice with his poetry and prose in one post. His humor with a unique flavor of satire, undoubtedly, moves your heart in a strange way. Richness of his thoughts and sheer simplicity to reflect them makes Insha what he was and what he became. Following is a snippet taken from one of his passage, I thank my senior and friend Daver Ali Bhai for sharing it with me.
This verse Of Allama Iqbal always comes in my mind whenever the name of Ibn-e-Insha is mentioned. A poet, columnist, humorist, and travelogue writer loved for past five decades by Urdu language readers around the globe.
I still remember the first time I got introduced to Ibn Insha’s witty writings. Twelve or thirteen years back while going through my sister’s Urdu text book, I came across a passage taken from a strangely named book “Urdu Ki Aakhri Kitab”- (last book in Urdu Language). The name of book was catchy enough for me; I read the whole lesson and longed to read the book. From then on, there was no stopping to the admiration nurtured within me for this unique writer. Being a writer from Pakistan and all his books were published there and its hard to find a copy in India. He is a great influence in my attempts to present satire through simplicity. Few of his acclaimed works are Awara Gard ki Diary, Duniya Gol Hay, Ibn e Batuta kay Taa’qub May, Chaltay ho to Cheen ko Chaliyay and Nagri Nagri Phira Musafir.
He wrote for masses to make them understand to bestow them with a unique class.
Interestingly, I find his prose and poetry starkly opposite to each other. The poet of famous ghazals as “Insha Ji utho Abb kooch karo” and “Kal chaudhween ki raat thi, shab bhar raha charcha tera” kept the gloom and dark side of life in his poetry ... filled with unexpected turns of life, flavors of love added in: A roller-coaster ride of emotions. A poet of unique placement in Urdu Literature but when you open the prose, you will find yourself in an altogether different world. He touched common topics from our lives, left us to laugh for few minutes and ponder for hours.
In Nagri Nagri Phira Musafir, Ibn-e-Insha’s last of the books, his letter to the readers is also included. Khalid Hasan, one of his friends and renowned Urdu columnist, shares it like this: “The other day, we had barely had that tube they have stuck in our nostrils taken out, when in walked Faiz sahib who is in London. If there was to be some certainty that Faiz sahib will come to look you up, that is reason enough to undergo an operation … There is nothing to surgery these days. Even if you don’t need it, doctors perform it out of a sense of fun. There was this gentleman with a cough who went to pick up a linctus. The doctor operated his calf instead. And while it is true that the pain in his calf became a permanent feature thereafter, the cough disappeared completely … There is an array of buttons at the bottom of our bed about whose precise use we remain in the dark. Whenever we have attempted to push one of them, the result has invariably been contrary to what we intended. Often, by mistake when we press something, a machine comes to life. Result? The head gets lowered while our feet point skywards. This is a veritable devil’s workshop. In our hospitals at home, all they have is a simple winding mechanism. Even more surefire is the method whereby a couple of bricks are placed under the feet of the end that needs to be raised. In the event that no bricks are at hand, books can do nicely. Under one foot of the bed you have ‘Behishti Zaiwar’ and under the other ‘Alipur ka Aili’. Obviously books have their uses.”
It’s utter hard for anyone to do justice with his poetry and prose in one post. His humor with a unique flavor of satire, undoubtedly, moves your heart in a strange way. Richness of his thoughts and sheer simplicity to reflect them makes Insha what he was and what he became. Following is a snippet taken from one of his passage, I thank my senior and friend Daver Ali Bhai for sharing it with me.
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