http://scroll.in/article/801204/nandita-das-on-why-manto-was-the-greatest-flagbearer-of-freedom-of-expression

BOOK EXCERPT
Nandita Das on why Manto was the greatest flagbearer of freedom of expression
The activist and actor reminds us of Saadat Hasan Manto’s powerful
legacy at the start of a new year.
Nandita Das  · Today · 08:45 am

Saadat Hasan Manto (1912–1955) is celebrated as one of the greatest
modern-day short story writers of South Asia, and as the most
controversial and provocative one. Manto had no regard for authority
nor did he respect imposed rules. Known for his irreverence and
satire, he had an irrepressible desire to poke a finger in the eye of
the orthodoxy.

He set himself apart from other writers with his relentless
observations of the wretchedness of life around him, and through his
candour about sex and sexuality. Since he set out to be a thorn for
the establishment and the conservatives – and was good at being one –
it was hardly surprising that he often suffered the consequences.

*Not only did he lose friends and patrons, he was also tried for
obscenity by the state on six different occasions. Yet, he remained
defiant. “If you find my stories unbearable it’s because we live in
unbearable times,” he said.*

A Kashmiri by birth, Manto was raised in Amritsar in a relatively
impoverished household. His mother and his sister were both strong
influences in his life, and were fond of telling stories, perhaps
nurturing the future writer within him. A truant and nonconformist
from an early age, Manto performed poorly in school, but received his
education on the streets from varied characters, including
photographers, writers, drug addicts, and revolutionaries.

Under the mentorship of Bari Alig his restless spirit found solace in
literature and writing. He sought to escape his hometown and after
some wandering, landed in Bombay to take up a job as the editor of a
film weekly.

Manto’s days in Bombay turned out to be very productive, both in terms
of his life experiences and his writing career. Bombay of the 1930s
and 40s was the centre of India’s cultural avant-garde, and Manto was
one of its most prominent figures. A large part of his years in the
city were spent as a screenwriter for Hindi cinema. He knew the Bombay
film industry intimately and wrote about it with an insider’s eye.

Many of the prominent film-makers and actors of the time appeared as
characters in his writings, and provided fodder for his sharp pen. His
essays on famous film stars ruffled many feathers, but despite
alienating much of the industry in which he worked, he also succeeded
in it.

While he chronicled the glitz and glamour of the city, Manto continued
to be fascinated by its underbelly, and wrote about it with
unprecedented bluntness. His protagonists came from the lanes he
walked, and the slums he inhabited. They spoke the language of the
street. The women in his stories were complex and richly developed.
They were neither cardboard cut-outs seen in popular culture, nor were
they mere foils for moral sermonising.

*He revelled in writing about the starkness of lives, but he neither
judged nor pitied his characters.*

He simply wrote with unadorned honesty about the world he shared with
them. “I am no sensationalist,” he said. “Why would I want to undress
a society that is already naked? Yes, it is true I make no attempt to
cover it but that’s not my job… my job is to write with a white chalk,
so that I can draw attention to the darkness of the board.”

After Partition, Manto moved to Lahore, driven perhaps by an inability
to come to terms with the violence of the time. His years in Lahore
were difficult, and he struggled to earn a living, but he wrote some
of his finest stories in this period including masterpieces such as
Thanda Gosht, Khol Do, and Toba Tek Singh. He also wrote evocative
sketches of the Partition, compiled as Siyaah Haashiye and his
satirical political commentary, Letters to Uncle Sam.

Manto died tragically at the young age of 42, leaving behind a large
oeuvre of stories, essays, plays, film scripts and memoirs. It was
very Mantoesque to compose his own epitaph: “Here lies Saadat Hasan
Manto and with him are buried all the secrets of the art of story
writing. Under mounds of earth, he is still wondering which of the two
was a greater storyteller: god or he.” While this epitaph was not
used, Manto, the storyteller, lives on.

Excerpted with permission from the Prologue to The Armchair
Revolutionary and Other Sketches, Saadat Hasan Manto, Translated by
Khalid Hasan, Edited by Ali Mir and Saadia Toor, Leftword Books.

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