Nandita Das interview: I was sure of Manto’s relevance in today’s times

Though I discovered Manto’s short stories in college, I came to his essays and other forms much later, in 2012, when lots was written about him and his essays got published in translation due his centenary celebrations. That is when I really started conceptualising the idea of a film about his life. And the more I read and researched, the more sure I was of the relevance of Manto in our times. I don’t think I ‘chose’ to make the film, I felt compelled to tell the story.

Some of the most precious nuggets I gleaned came from my interactions with his three daughters and his sister in law, Zakia Jalal, who is the only one alive who could recount her memories with Manto vividly. The person Manto was at home, and in particular, with the women in this life was interesting and uncommon for his time – he made pickle, ironed saris, fed his children and read to his wife and sister. He was a feminist man, both in his life and his work, though he himself would reject such a label as he would all labels! Contrary to how maverick men are seen and forgiven through the ages, he was a family man. He says, “You can call me obscene,  revolutionary, maverick, a clown, but I am also a husband and a father.”

As it meant digging into the vast collection of writings that he left behind and understanding and finding ways to recreate the 1940’s authentically, I read Manto quite extensively and also read about Manto quite extensively. But given how prolific he was – he wrote short stories, essays, radio plays, sketches – and how much has been written about him, it was not possible to be fully exhaustive.

Manto wrote exclusively in Urdu and I grew up with was Hindustani – an amalgamation of Hindi and Urdu, which most people in Delhi speak. So, for the first couple of drafts of the script I had Mir Ali Hussain (a script consultant), who would read to me the writings that were neither translated nor available in Devanagri. I also sought help on the Urdu dialogues from many other people both in Mumbai and Lahore. The whole process of researching and writing was time consuming and hectic but that’s what formed the backbone of the film.

Manto was almost synonymous to progressive literature in his time, though he had a tenuous relationship with the Progressive Writer’s Association. The way in which he chronicled Partition was unique, as his lens was always intimate and personal. He was unsparing of people of all religions and refused to take sides on the basis of nationality or religion. Even when he went to Pakistan, then a newly born country, he did not toe the line of optimism that many writers did and thought he ought to as well. He felt alienated not just by the establishment but also the progressives. Whatever way one chooses to label Manto, one cannot argue that he lived his life on his own terms, with no care for social dogmas.

May of his contemporaries, other progressive writers – like those in Bombay, Ismat Chughtai Rajinder Singh Bedi, Krishan Chander, and later in Lahore, Faiz Ahmed Faiz and Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi –were all commenting on their times and were close friends of Manto. The reason why his writing remains unique is that it is raw, unfiltered and without even literary frills. Even his biggest critics couldn’t help admire him.

Pakistan didn’t embrace Manto till as recently as 2012 when they conferred the highest civilian award, Nishaan-e-Imtiaz, on him at his centenary celebration. While in India, Manto was read more openly, the fact that there are many who don’t even know of Manto is a bit ironic. Though now there are two films on Manto and in fact a few more on his stories. When I began, he was not such a flavor of the season. But the more the merrier, as there are enough stories about him and those written by him that lend themselves to cinematic expression.

Despite having so many languages in the country, the educated class – for whom English is the medium of instruction – has largely read Manto in English, just as I have. Most of the earlier translations really don’t do justice to his works though that was the only way many of us were introduced to him. I am delighted that now there are many other translations not just of his short stories but also of his essays and non-fiction works.

Actually, I did go to Lahore a few times during my research and was hoping to shoot there as well, though sadly that was not be. During my trips, I not only met the family but also looked for locations. It is a pity that I could not shoot there and that we had to find a Lahore in India; but glad that we actually did manage it. In fact,when I sent photos of the locations in Gujarat to a friend in Lahore, they mistook them for places in Lahore!

While Manto was idealistic he was not, in fact, utopian. He would have spoken the truth in all times,irrespective of the era and the medium that he would adopt. For him, there was no difference between the values in his life and the ones he wanted to share through his writings. In some ways, we have regressed. I am not sure if I would be able to do a Fire or Firaaq today. Maybe that’s why, subconsciously, I thought of taking refuge in history. By speaking about Manto, I have found an opportunity to respond to what’s happening today.

People like Manto help to push the boundaries. They become the social conscience of the society, showing us the mirror to even our ugly side. But precisely for this reason, they are also needed to make the society more mature and sensitive to others. Manto would have had many things to say about today and probably would have been behind bars by now!

Manto would hate such binary questions! He believed that the best of us have shadows and the worst of us can be redeemed.

I connected deeply with Manto’s fearlessness and acute concern for the human condition. No part of human existence remained untouched or taboo for him, no matter how controversial, no matter the consequences. The only identity that mattered to him was that of being a human. Manto’s faith in the redemptive power of the written word,through the hardest times, resonates with my own passion to tell stories. In some mystical way, I feel I am part of that hopeful legacy! Through him, I feel I am able to kindle my own conviction for a more liberal and compassionate world.

For me, I would like to invoke the Mantoiyat that I believe exists inside all of us. It is a term I coined to describe the ‘Manto-ness’ of a person. It signifies the desire to be courageous and free-spirited; to be apologetically truthful and honest with oneself and everyone else too. It is the rebelliousness against society’s perpetual attempt to confine our thoughts, reflections, voices and expressions. Imagine if for once we all spoke our minds? If we all embraced the courage of our conviction, were resilient in the face of resistance,and bold enough to accepting ourselves fully, warts and all? I hope watching Manto will inspire the audience to invoke their own Mantoiyat.

I always had Nawaz in mind while writing Manto. Firaaq, my directorial debut was Nawaz’s first significant role in a feature film. They say if you get the casting right, 70% of your job is done, and with Nawaz, that’s exactly what happened. He looks and feels the part. He has an incredible range as an actor, but intrinsically Manto lies somewhere in his eyes – it was an obvious choice for me. I brought in my research and script and Nawaz brought with him his life experiences and his talent. Together, I think we managed to bring many subtleties and nuances to the character of Manto. Nawaz has many traits that are similar to Manto – a deep sensitivity and intensity, vulnerability, and a dry sense of humour. These innate qualities in Nawaz helped him transition into Manto on screen quite effortlessly. I feel that our actor-director relationship struck a perfect chord.