News item:
To save Pakistan’s children from the curse of fireworks, an organization was formed recently. The Anjuman Insidaad-e-Patakha jaat (Organization for the prevention of setting off fireworks). Its president will sit in the head office at Baroodkhana. It is hoped that branch offices will soon open in Russia, America and England.
Second news item:
This year twice as many children died from firecracker burns as last year. Pakistan’s parents are anguished by this and have asked the government that it should legislate the maximum number of children who may be burnt to death in a given year.
The government in response has constituted a new ministry. The man running it will be called Minister Crackers. It is reported that two senior refugees from Indian Punjab are squabbling over the job.
A conversation:
A father: It isn’t right to set off crackers.
Boy: Why not?
Father: It’s a waste of money.
Boy: We set off so many explosions in war. Isn’t that a waste of money?
Second conversation:
A boy: I’m not going to set off crackers.
Father: Why not?
Boy: I’m very responsible.
Father: What’s that?! Let’s go see a doctor. I’m sure there’s something wrong with you.
A lesson:
Don’t ever eat radish (mooli) in the winter. And on the night of Shab-e-Barat, don’t set off crackers.
Another lesson:
Eat radish only in the summer and other than on the night of Shab-e-Barat, set off crackers every day.
An investigation:
Experts on religious purity after much investigation have concluded that it is natural for humans to set off fireworks in celebration. Twenty thousand years ago, in the time of Prophet Az, a human head was used as a firecracker. But later, slowly, as people came to realize that each cracker burst meant one less human being, they invented other crackers.
Another investigation:
Experts on religious purity have concluded that humans invented firecrackers to scare away demons.
But when humans themselves began to turn demonic, the firecrackers were turned into bullets and bombs.
A request:
A boy: I don’t want these crackers.
Father: Why not?
Boy: They make a frightening sound. Bring me one that’s quiet.
Another request:
A boy: Dad, what’s an atom bomb?
Father: The world’s largest firecracker.
Boy: Get me one, then. I’m going to set it off on
Shab-e-Barat.
A problem:
A man takes his infant son to a faqir.
He says: ‘Master, I stay near Shah Alami. God knows what’s happened to my son. It seems like he’s a shadow of heaven. On hearing a cracker’s noise, he goes into fits.’
Another problem:
A man takes his infant son to a faqir.
He says: ‘Master, I’m a refugee from Amritsar. Give me a charm for this boy of mine. Whenever he gets a chance, he gathers things and sets fire to them.’
A phuljarhi (sparkler):
A boy: In Anarkali (Lahore’s red light area), a girl was passing through. Seeing her, a man said to his friend: ‘What a firecracker!’ (Kya patakha hai!)
Second boy: ‘Did it go off?’
First boy: ‘Yes, she took off her sandal and, patakh se, smashed it on his head.’
Second phuljarhi:
A boy: ‘Why are we stopped from setting off crackers?’
Second boy: ‘These people are orthodox types. No use saying anything to them.’
First boy: ‘What idiots! On the radio, in the newspapers, in speeches, they spew this nonsense. “Children should be kept away from the curse of firecrackers.” And yet the cracker shops are full. Instead, why don’t they just stop making crackers?’
Second boy: ‘Ssssshhh. Hope nobody’s heard that.’
— (Originally published as Patakhay)
Why I Can’t Stand Bollywood
This piece was written by Manto as a comic feature. Its quality resides not in why he doesn’t watch movies — in fact the reason is banal — but in his writing. He has a Wodehousian sense of humour, playful and inclusive. I’m not sure who he wrote this sketch for, but it is likely to have been for a magazine (because it’s fairly long) for which he might have been paid per word. This explains its trajectory as you will find out.
I have long desired that someone should ask me why is it that I don’t watch films.
My family sometimes enquires: ‘Why don’t you eat bhindi?’
Friends frequently demand to know: ‘Why don’t you wear trousers?’
At home, and also away, people are curious enough to ask: ‘Why don’t you get your hair cut?’
Unfortunately however, as I said, I have long been waiting to be asked this question: ‘Why don’t you watch films?’
But nobody asks. Despite the fact that those who know me are also aware that I was once crazy about the movies. I often watched three in a day, and the ones I loved I watched over and over again.
From Amritsar, I’d go to Lahore — even Jalandhar — to watch. I remember that for one movie, starring a favourite heroine of mine, I had to go as far as Delhi.
So what happened that I should have given up watching them entirely?
I finally have the opportunity, this essay, to relieve myself of this burden. Else I have long suffered the invitations of my friends to see a movie with them, without their asking why, when I turned them down saying: ‘I don’t watch films.’
I wanted them to ask why, but they never did. Some of them would just shut the car’s door they had opened in invitation and move on.
Others smiled and instead of asking ‘Why not?’ would say, ‘You’re a strange man.’
Still others, behaving like Banias, would say: ‘Excellent! It saved me money.’
There was a time when from Eddie Polo to John Gilbert and from Mary Pickford to Gloria Swanson, I knew all the names, every address and even each one’s age. In fact I still remember how tall Gish was, and his sister, Dorothy Gish.
But today if someone were to bring up Paul Robinson, I think of Robinson Crusoe. If Ginger Rogers were praised, my thoughts would turn to Bombay’s Rogers Company and its delicious Ginger soda.
When my friends discuss Shanta Hublikar and Shanta Mazumdar, I shout out: ‘Shanti… shanti….’ Angel-faced Nasim Banu, gorgeous Veena, sensational Ragini. These women and their bodies no longer interest me.
You perhaps think I’ve given up on the world and its delights. That I am ready to smear ash on my forehead and head for a mountain top as a saint. But no! I live in the same world of sensory delights as you. At least for now, in any case (who can say what tomorrow will bring?)
I eat and, yes, I drink. I read good stories and praise the writing. I am moved by couplets of poetry. And yet, sirs, I don’t watch films.
At one point, the pride of my walls were photographs of actors and actresses. I was so besotted that I lovingly made the frames that held these photographs with my own hands.
In my mind I had a chamber I entered every evening. Here I would worship the stars I so loved. What has now happened that I should have locked it up? Could it be that I have become a Mahmud Ghazni-like fundamentalist?
No, sir.
Some people don’t watch films because they can’t see well. Others don’t see the films they buy tickets for because they fall asleep the instant the lights go down. Still others because they are embarrassed (or traumatized) by scenes of lovemaking. And of course there are a few among us who think this whole business of movies is the devil’s work and keep their distance.