Of Bilal Market blast, hidden hands and ailing writer

By Afzal Hussain Bokhari

Emerging out of the flood of colours and fragrance, the beautiful and lively butterflies hover above the blossoms of bougainvillea, chrysanthemum and bottlebrush. Red roses and jasmine climbers fill the lawns and parks with sweet smell. Chasing the evasive butterflies, innocent toddlers fall over one another. The unmistakable touch of spring in the air intoxicates the beholders.

Peshawar is probably the country’s only town where the suicide bombers and the butterflies tend to coexist. The gun powder and fragrance of red roses have learnt to live side by side. This was borne out on Sunday when a bomb explosion targeted a CD shop in Hayatabad’s highly fortified Bilal Market.

The explosion initially injured five persons four of whom were rushed to Hayatabad Medical Complex while the remaining one was moved to Khyber Teaching Hospital. The condition of the wounded persons was stated to be satisfactory and all of them were out of danger. The dealers of CDs told media persons that they had been receiving threats to wind up their business or switch over to some more pious and morally correct enterprise.

The Bilal Market victims were in many ways like the system of the country i.e. badly bruised but still functioning and out of danger. Senior lawyer Qazi Mohammad Anwar has been travelling to Raiwind and Quetta convincing some quarters that the power of appointing judges could not be assigned to parliament which had its Jamshaid Dastis and Nazeer Jats. Question-answer session between Justice Khalil Ramday and the MPA from Vihari was a perfect script for a light comedy show.

However, Qazi Anwar (advocate) was on a ‘nobler’ mission, even if some political circles viewed his efforts with raised eyebrows. PML-N chief Mian Nawaz Sharif’s news conference was widely termed as a U-turn by analysts. Television anchors and talk show participants such as Federal Minister Nabeel Gabol noticed the body language of the third-time aspirant to being the country’s prime minister. Referring to Mian Sahib’s ever-changing political stance and his astonishing somersaults, Gabol asked: “If tomorrow the PML-N chief says that Raiwind, not Islamabad, is the capital city, shall we accede to his demand?”

On the one hand, Mian Sahib said that his hurriedly-called press conference was meant to remind the government that it should consult the Supreme Court more often especially on the appointment of new judges. On the other hand, he said that the news conference was aimed at expressing his reservations about renaming the NWFP.

Even the pro-PML-N media persons like Arif Nizami said that Mian Sahib’s press conference was clearly ill-timed and he did not want to give credit to PPP or President Asif Ali Zardari for abrogating the 17th Amendment. Senior analyst Najam Sethi folded his hands in humble request to Mian Sahib not to be so unreasonable and unpredictable to ruin the whole system.

Literary and educational circles in City have expressed concern at the deteriorating health conditions of senior Urdu poet Muzaffar Warsi. The update on his health in a Lahore-based newspaper by Amjad Behzad Hashmi the other day left a lump in the throat of Warsi-lovers. The update said that apart from heart problem, diabetes and Parkinson’s disease, the poet suffered from dementia (memory loss) and experienced serious speech difficulties.

Born in Mohalla Serai Bailam of Meerut in India, Warsi made it a point to sing out his poetry in mushaira sessions with a recognisably trademark melodious voice that drew inspiration from a senior poet Saqib Zeervi.

The poet’s jobless son Haseeb Warsi says that the only source of income is his father’s meagre pension that arrives from the State Bank of Pakistan (SBP). In a state of total helplessness, the poet is almost on his death-bed at his 297/83, College Road residence in Lahore’s Jauhar Town. His wife complains that nobody bothers to make even a phone call leave alone the idea of paying a visit to her house to inquire after the health of the ailing poet.

After Hashmi’s report appeared in the newspaper, a private television channel also aired on Sunday morning a video showing Warsi settling into a wheelchair by holding on to a staple-shaped iron device fitted specially on to a wall. Minor grandchildren stood by the wheelchair singing to him the naat item ‘Ya Rehmatullil Alameen’.

In late 1960s and early 1970s, when he enjoyed good health, Warsi was one of Lahore’s most well-dressed poets. With his hunter’s gun slung across the shoulder, he was often seen on Saturday afternoons, on the western platforms of Lahore railway station from where travellers boarded trains for Faisalabad and Sargodha.

Warsi’s recognition as a refined poet at the national level is no doubt undisputed but highbrow writers in the Punjab metropolis tended to brush him aside as one who could try his hand only at naat-writing but had little or no potential for producing sophisticated ghazal poetry. This hostile attitude by some of his contemporary writers naturally brought in its wake feelings of frustration, discontentment and illness. Men like Amjad Tufail (editor Nuqoosh) commented on Warsi’s health by saying that woman athletes like Nasim Hameed should be awarded generously but writers such as Warsi should not be ignored.       

His admirers know that ‘Barf ki naa’o’, ‘Gaye dino ka suragh lay kar’ and others of his poetic collections contained ghazal items. They are also aware of the fact that his collections of ‘Hamd-o-Naat’ included Bab-i-Haram, Noor-i-Azal, Dil se Dar-i-Nabi tak, Kaaba-i-Ishq, Sahib-ut-Taj, Ummi Laqabi and other books. In the days of General Ziaul Haq, he was given the Pride of Performance award for naat writing.

His ‘Hamd’ item ‘Ey Khuda, ey Khuda’ was taken by singer Adnan Sami in film Sargam. To some readers it may seem slightly odd but apart from Hamd-o-Naat, Warsi also wrote songs for 32 films. These included ‘Main chup rahoon gi’ and ‘Barood ka tohfa’.

One feels tempted to wind up this piece with famous lines from Warsi’s love poetry: “Misal-i-rait hoon main sa’aton ki muthi main; wo jab tak aye ga, sara bikhar chukka hoon ga!” (Time holds me like sand in its hand; by the time the loved one shows up, the wind will have scattered me all over the place!).