QuratulAin Hyder...Ainee Apa : IV

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Pra shant Panjiar
Qurratulain Hyder (1927-2007)
APPRAISAL
Streams Of Flame
Aini Apa went from '40s college girl chic to an epic transaction with history ...
Sheela Reddy on Qurratulain Hyder
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The starry litworld may have seen and heard little of the feisty, flame-haired Qurratulain Hyder in recent years, but Aini Apa continued to play her role as the grande dame of Urdu literature with aplomb almost till the end, last Wednesday morning. Barely six months ago, she was at her passionate, erudite best, presiding over a Delhi conference on the Urdu novel. Her legion of admirers listened slack-jawed as the 81-year-old mother of modern Urdu literature launched into a marathon, asthmatic speech that lasted an incredible 90 minutes. Hovering behind her was her faithful maid—her only family besides a niece—carrying her one indispensable gadget: an inhaler.

Aini, or to her friends, simply Annie, was born with a literary spoon: her father, Sajjad Hyder, was a civil servant who wrote romantic fiction under the pen name, Yildirim (Thunderbolt). Her mother, too, dabbled in Urdu fiction. Her own first story, Bi-Chuhiya (Little Miss Mouse), was published in children's magazine Phool when she was eleven. But there was nothing mousy about the child named by her unconventional, aristocratic parents after an early 19th century Persian poet, Qurratulain Tahir, executed for his non-conformism. Thanks to her father's job, she grew up all over India, including Dehradun and Port Blair in the Andamans. By the time she reached Lucknow's famed Isabella Thoburn College, and later, Lucknow University, she was already something of a celebrity with her bobbed hair and chiffon saris, "the modern college girl" from a liberal Muslim family that other students gawked at from a distance.

Unsurprisingly, her early stories were about this clash between crumbling Lucknowi tehzeeb and anglicised modernity. She introduced the "modern college girl factor into Urdu fiction", as she once put it self-deprecatingly, earning for herself the memorable nickname of "Pom Pom Darling". Then, at 21, everything changed. Her family moved to Pakistan, and she with them. The experience was unsettling, but she produced three novels in succession—Mere Bhi Sanam Khane (1949), Safina-e-Gham-e-Dil (1952) and Aag Ka Dariya (1959)—which established her literary career.

In terms of historical canvas (4th century BC to post-Independence Indo-Pak), craft (a single character traversing the entire span of history), sheer range (covering everything from tradition, culture, history, religion to modern politics), Aag ka Dariya—or River of Fire—was a phenomenal book in any language. In Urdu, it had the added power of being the first substantial novel in a language that had so far focused mostly on poetry. At 33, Qurratulain found herself crowned the sovereign of Urdu literature.

Fame had its drawbacks: "Aag Ka Dariya raised important questions about Partition and rejected the two-nation theory," explains Urdu writer and professor Anwar Alam. "It was this more than anything else that made it impossible for her to continue in Pakistan." Qurratulain escaped first to London, where she worked as Pakistani press attache, and then as a "sari-reporter" on Fleet Street and BBC.

Fame also played cupid—for a bit. K.A. Abbas, journalist, author, film producer, began to correspond with the London-based novelist. Love happened, and a tryst. But it was a disaster. Abbas, the story goes, turned up in a bright blue suit. Qurratulain, always particular about appearances, took an instant dislike to the suit, and the man. "I can't marry a man who doesn't know how to dress," was her now legendary response. But if Abbas failed, India still beckoned her, and in 1961, she returned home, not to Karachi, but to Bombay.

For the next 15 years, Qurratulain was at her peak: with a day job, first as editor of Imprint and later assistant editor in The Illustrated Weekly, and evenings of mushairas with Sardar Ali Jafri and Kaifi Azmi—and, of course, writing.Despite the full social calendar, Qurratulain still managed to produce a formidable body of work while still in Bombay. Patjhar Ki Awaz (The Voice of Autumn) came out in 1965, and won the Sahitya Akademi Award two years later. Chai ke Bagh, one of four novellas including Dilruba, Sita Haran, Agle Janam Mohe Bitiya Na Kijo, exploring gender injustice, came out in the same year. More novels, novellas, a three-volume autobiography, several collections of short stories followed in the years after she moved to Delhi (in all, 12 novels/novellas, nine collections, half a dozen translations, four books of reportage). And more awards—the Jnanpith, Padma Shri, Padma Bhushan. Not a bad innings for any novelist of worth, and yet, for Aini's many admirers, her life's work was done with Aag Ka Dariya. All the rest was icing on the cake.
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