"We have faced partition twice"
'Lorie' poster: on Sarhadi's office-living room wall
- Sagar Sarhadi
A vocalist from Lahore meets a lost Marxist from Baffa, Abbottabad, in the capitalist film industry of Bollywood
By Sehyr Mirza
It was the presence of a guest in his family's home in Baffa near Abbottabad that saved their lives, recalls the famous writer and director Sagar Sarhadi. Known for his screenplays in remarkable Indian films like Bazaar, Silsila, Kabhi Kabhi, Chandni, Noorie and Kaho Na Pyaar Hai, he is also author of the best-selling short story collection Jeev Janaawar and of the lauded Urdu plays Bhagat Singh ki Waapsi, Khyaal ki Dastak, Raj Darbar and Tanhai.
We are in his living room-cum-office in Andheri, Mumbai. He sits on a settee draped with a white sheet, sunlight streaming through the window behind him, occasionally lighting up the floor. Around him, armchairs are arranged in a conversational circle, a table in the middle bearing cups of green tea. Two theatre actors, Rajiv Joshi and Raj Desh, who have been working with Sagar for the last 13 years in his 'nukkar natak' (street theatre) productions are also present at the time of the interview. They testify warmly to his down-to-earth lifestyle and help to those who need it. Posters of his films adorn the right wall. On the left are huge bookshelves filled with books on psychology, philosophy, literature, film and Marxism.
Sarhadi was born in Baffa, a small village about 25 miles from Abbottabad. Recalling the trauma of Partition, he says a man named Hakim Khan in the area was known for looting and murdering Hindu families as they fled to India.
"One night an excise officer from Dera Ismail Khan was visiting us. Hakim Khan attacked our house but ran away when he saw the officer. Iss tarah hum log marte marte bachey (that's how we escaped death)," says Sarhadi.
His shaken family decided to leave for India, travelling via Muzaffarabad to Srinagar and on to Delhi. "We had no intention of leaving but were forced out of our motherland and came to India as refugees in 1947."
Having left behind home, belongings and property, his family was destitute. He joined D.A.V. School, New Delhi, in grade 9, later writing and directing one-act stage plays during college. They began to be regularly staged, earning him Rs 25 as royalty.
Young Gangasagar Talwar changed his name to Sagar Sarhadi - a reference to the Frontier Province (Sooba Sarhad) "that is my homeland" - and formed his own theatre group, The Curtain. He joined Indian People's Theatre Association (IPTA), working with greats like Chetan Anand, Balraj Sahni and A.K. Hangal. His screenplay writing career began with Basu Bhattacharya's film Anu Bhav, for which he was paid Rs. 3000. The film won a presidential award.
Initially, poverty prevented him from getting married. Now, he says, he doesn't see the point. "German psychologist Wilhem Reich says that no marital relationship really lasts more than four years. Maine socha ke jab shaadi chalti hi nahi to phir kyun karun mai? Filmein shaadi se ziada chal jaati hain." (When marriage doesn't last, why should I try it? Films last longer than marriage!)
Regarding his dialogues against marriage in Bazaar, he says that the film was triggered by a disturbing news report, "Parents marry off daughter to Arab for money".
"Hyderabad was a hunting ground for Arabs. It was common for ****** rich men from Middle Eastern countries to buy poor young brides. They would exploit these girls, and return their countries. I was disturbed at this oppression by the rich who had turned marriage into a dirty business and women into a commodity."
He discussed this with a friend, Rafia Sultana, who was working in one of his plays. She introduced Sarhadi to a woman who had been brought from Hyderabad and falsely promised marriage six years back. Rafia took Sarhadi to a marriage ceremony in Hyderabad where he witnessed "this savage bargain of young girls".
The next day, over drinks, he met a man who initially seemed quite humble but whose personality changed as he started drinking. "By the time he reached the fourth peg, he had almost turned into an animal. He was involved in this illegal sex trade."
Bharat Kapoor's character was inspired by that drunk, he explains. Supriya Pathak's character was the real life story of Rafia's friend, while the Smita Patel and Naseerudin Shah characters were fictitious.
Sadly, the practice of buying and selling brides continues in India. "One of my friends, Dinesh Tiwari, recently wrote an article in Sunday Express titled 'One Month's Wife'. Besides men from Gulf countries, men from Africa are now exploiting poor Muslim families in Hyderabad. They come on student visas, trap young girls into marriage, use them and return to their countries. At the time of Nikah (marriage), they make the girls sign a piece of paper later used as a Khulanama (annulment)."
He plans to make Bazaar II, based on "this cruel practice of prostitution in the name of Nikah".
Does he think a married woman is not allowed to fall in love as portrayed in his film Silsila? "Definitely she is!" he replies. "But Yash Chopra was a conventional director who doesn't take risks. He'd tell me: 'Apna Marxism gher chor kar aya karo' (Leave your Marxism at home). Had it been my decision, the film would have been different."
Contemporary Indian cinema makes him feel "very unhappy!"
"We started parallel cinema started in reaction to the mainstream commercial cinema. Satyajit Ray, Shyam Benegal, Mrinal Sen, Bimal Roy, Khwaja Ahmad Abbas, Govind Nihilani, and Basu Bhattacharya were some major figures. Their work was known for its serious content, realism and naturalism. We gained success and respect and our films were seen all over the world. Now Indian cinema has lost its integrity, the movies are so dependent on technology and fantasy that they have lost meaningfulness. They have long said goodbye to deep poetry, meaningful lyrics, soulful music and poignant dialogues."
Bollywood is now a "trap of cheap and violent dialogues, vulgar exposure of females in item songs, no story line, loud and deafening music."
There will never again be big names like Saadat Hasan Manto, Prem Chand, Krishan Chander, Rajinder Singh Bedi, Khawaja Abbas, and Ismat Chughtai, he adds. "I wanted to live a life like them. But we have faced Partition twice. First we were forced out of our motherland and now we have been pushed away from the film industry."
He attributes the decline to "stardom, capitalism, commercialisation and commoditisation... The films are star-centric, not story driven. These Khan brothers and actors like Akshay Kumar have nothing to do with art, poetry, language, literature and culture. All they are concerned about is money and fame. They do not know the taste of poverty. They are capitalists, and capitalism is the main reason behind the decline of the film industry. These people charge Rs 250 crores for a single film. Why would they care about homeless people who can't even earn Rs.25 a month?"
About India-Pakistan relations, he says it seems neither wants good relations. "Whenever a positive step is taken something happens to derail the peace process. In the present political system things are unlikely to improve. But there is no problem with the people. They want peace and good relations. People want the doors to open. They want to meet. I have good ties with Kishwar Naheed from Pakistan. She comes over to my place whenever she visits Mumbai."
Asked about the role of Progressive Writers Association (PWA), he says, "I am a Marxist and my Marxist philosophy says that if this world is not worth living then we must change it. The PWA played a positive role in the aftermath of Partition. Writers vividly portrayed the aftermath of religious intolerance in the wake of the traumatic partition, and played a major role in restoring humanism. Even in the midst of chaos and bloodshed they gave hope, highlighting human rationality over religious fanaticism. While people were washing bloodstains from their bodies, these writers whose hearts had been torn by the partition were in search of words to express their disillusionment. Pakistani writer Ahmed Saleem says, 'Bharat Mata (Mother India) has been cut into two parts; I am in the lap of one, longing to join the other. Let's unite the two separated body parts'
"I can feel the pain of millions who were forced out of their country and suffered the agonies of the Partition," he adds.
"Mai ab bhi Darya e Siran ke kinarey betha hun. Mujhe apna gaon yaad hai. Apna ghar yaad hai. Woh gali yaad hai. Apna madrassa yaad hai. Woh dukaan yaad hai. Mere baap ka hafeem bechna yaad hai. Unka paani mai sharab milana yaad hai" (I am still sitting at the banks of the River Siran. I remember everything - my home, the street, my school, the shops, my father selling opium, mixing alcohol with water).
"Khuda karey ke raste khul jayen. Khuda karey humey aqal ajayae aur mai marne se pehle aik baar apna gaon dekh sakun. Darya e Siran mein naha sakun. Mere liye woh Ganga hai!" (I pray that the road opens, that we get some sense and I see my village once before I die, that I can once more bathe in the Siran River. For me that is the holy Ganges).
The writer studies English Literature at Goldsmiths, University of London and is a
classically trained vocalist from Lahore
sehyrmirza@gmail.com
Wednesday, April 24, 2013
