{"id":3348,"date":"2016-03-24T16:35:16","date_gmt":"2016-03-24T11:05:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/13.201.39.237\/?p=3348"},"modified":"2016-03-24T16:35:16","modified_gmt":"2016-03-24T11:05:16","slug":"manto-the-seer-who-knew-every-prostitute-and-pimp-in-town","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/13.207.105.184\/?p=3348","title":{"rendered":"Manto: The Seer Who Knew Every Prostitute and Pimp in Town"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

A<\/span><\/p><\/div>

couple of years ago, while walking alone in a bylane along <\/span>Chennai\u2019s<\/span><\/a> Tharamani junction I bumped into an alien world. A canal ran along my left and a cluster of educational institutes on the other side. The sun had set, and the roads, had started to look chequered with shadows spliced by the street lights. The evening felt calm, until a woman emerged from behind a pillar. Our eyes met, and she, without warning, bared her bosom at me. <\/span>\n\nInstinctively, I recoiled toward the divider and plunged to take the pavement on the other side. Unsettled, I walked the rest of the way without looking back. As with life, I\u2019d taken the middle-road, confusing provocation with violation, hamstrung by the way the world of my fantasies suddenly found itself pressed against reality. That night I watched <\/span>porn<\/span><\/a> for hours. The hypocrisy notwithstanding, I\u2019ve always tried to remember that vaguely unnerving moment through the woman\u2019s eyes, instead of the infringement it would normally be considered by everyone. <\/span>\n\nEveryone, except Saadat Hasan Manto.<\/span>\n\nManto was born in Samrala, <\/span>Punjab<\/span><\/a> in 1912. He read Russian and French authors, the likes of Fyodor Dostoevsky and Guy de Maupassant from a very early age, eventually translating most of them into Urdu. He graduated from Aligarh Muslim University, and his most productive period in terms of his short stories was spent working through the mid-40s in Mumbai\u2019s nascent film industry. Then came the event that not only changed his writing, but life as well \u2013 Partition. <\/span>\n\nManto\u2019s stories can be broadly divided into two sections: the ones about Mumbai, its film industry of which he was a successful part and his later acerbic, poisonous, sometimes batshit meditations on the delusional fallouts of the <\/span>Partition<\/span><\/a>. Most of his popular stories, like \u201cToba Tek Singh\u201d, were written after he moved to <\/span>Pakistan<\/span><\/a> in 1946, where he inevitably, slipped through the very cracks he had helped light through his words.<\/span>\n\nManto might have found implicit meaning in the Partition\u2019s madness, the prickly skin of its morbidly grafted skeleton. For me though, he came into his own when writing about the dingy alleys of Mumbai, where <\/span>prostitutes<\/span><\/a>, pimps, and decent men met, their dreams and desires in tow and humanity intact. Alleys that existed not just in Manto\u2019s <\/span>Bombay<\/span><\/a>, but in each city, often as the site most notorious, the kind of depravity men would indulge in but not admit, a space where they felt in control for as long as it remained anonymous to them. These are alleys that I still haven\u2019t been able to enter other than through Manto\u2019s stories. <\/span>\n\nHis short story \u201cGhaate ka Sauda\u201d, for example begins with the hauntingly sardonic lines, \u201c\u0926\u094b \u0926\u094b\u0938\u094d\u0924\u094b\u0902 \u0928\u0947 \u092e\u093f\u0932 \u0915\u0930 \u0926\u0938 \u092c\u0940\u0938 \u0932\u095c\u0915\u0940\u092f\u094b\u0902 \u092e\u0947\u0902 \u0938\u0947 \u090f\u0915 \u0932\u095c\u0915\u0940 \u091a\u0941\u0928\u0940 \u0914\u0930 \u092c\u092f\u093e\u0932\u093f\u0938 \u0930\u0941\u092a\u092f\u0947 \u0926\u0947 \u0915\u0930 \u0909\u0938\u0947 \u0959\u0930\u0940\u0926 \u0932\u093f\u092f\u093e.\u201d (Two friends chose a girl out of a lot of 20, and bought her for a price of \u20b942.) \u201cDus Rupay\u201d is the story of Srita, a teenage prostitute fascinated by cars, and the desire for some sort of ordinariness. It ends with Sarita returning a 10-rupee note, to a startled customer, having been allowed the simple, yet more valuable joy of riding his car. Even his macabre Partition parables like \u201cThanda Gosht\u201d and \u201cKhol Do\u201d, tied communal acrimony to the distinctly carnal nature of retribution (rape) that most evade by identifying it with lunacy alone. \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0<\/span>\n\nManto\u2019s world is not an exploited version of society, but only its crudest reflection. In his famous speech at <\/span>Bombay\u2019s<\/span><\/a> Jogeshwari College, he said, \u201cIf you find my stories unbearable, that is because we live in unbearable times.\u201d His view appears conflicting only because it is ignored, and remains unknown, a metaphor he illustrates in \u201cBe-khabri ka fayda\u201d where a couple of men take joy in the illiteracy of a child facing a gun, that only they know is empty \u2013 the sheer paranoia of it. <\/span>\n\nManto was given to such literalness that even in a <\/span>job<\/span><\/a> interview with All India Radio he pitched himself as the man who knew every prostitute and pimp in town. His years in <\/span>Lahore<\/span><\/a>, where he wrote the bulk of his stories inspired by Partition, were also his most painfully lived. Penury, alcoholism, and sickness underlined the everyday. Strangely, though, despite the evidence of his indulgences he remained a family man, eventually consumed by the inability to provide for that family; in a way, torn between two lives, one inescapable by design, the other by the want for virtuosity \u2013 each a bodily sin for the other.<\/span>\n\nYou cannot read Manto\u2019s stories as a therapeutic exorcism of the horrors of Partition, nor can you evade the thorny nudity of his emotions long enough to sexualise his <\/span>women<\/span><\/a>. There is a manic, unsparing stability in his characters that doesn\u2019t even give into grief \u2013 as steady a pair of hands as you can think of. In his world, amorality doesn\u2019t hide up the sleeve of a man, or behind the cleavage of a woman, but sits at the tip of the tongue waiting to parachute into the common. To know Manto and his stories therefore, is to know a world where humanity doesn\u2019t die in the custody of morality, but is allowed a slice of life, however vicious its layers.<\/span>\n\n

Manto\u2019s world is not an exploited version of society, but only its crudest reflection. In his famous speech at Bombay\u2019s Jogeshwari College, he said, \u201cIf you find my stories unbearable, that is because we live in unbearable times.\u201d<\/p><\/blockquote>\n\nThat said, to write like Manto, one probably would have to live his life. Stare at the sun long enough to not mistake its redness for mist, the untellable truths of life for mere exaggeration. For a society that wears its curtains even in public, a man like him is probably an alarmist. Naturally, a number of his stories faced charges of obscenity and criticism both, in British India and <\/span>Pakistan<\/span><\/a> and would still be considered offensive. <\/span>\n\nGiven, that even 65 years after his death, his legacy is more of an inquiry than a summation of felicitations, Manto is perhaps as immeasurable as he remains unsurpassed. I keep reading his stories again and again, so I can defreeze myself, live out of a body indistinct from the air it breathes, and the dirt its each draught accumulates. So I can remember the pair of eyes I met on that quiet evening on a <\/span>Chennai<\/span><\/a> road as of a woman trying to get by in life, without the lash of my own judgment obscuring them further. So I can, like Manto, walk without having to take the middle road in life and regard the shadows of its bylanes without naively fearing what might emerge from it. \u00a0<\/span>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Manto\u2019s stories can broadly be divided into two sections: the ones about Partition, and the ones about Mumbai. The latter are the ones I admire the most, when he wrote about the dingy alleys of the city, where prostitutes, pimps, and decent men met, their dreams and desires in tow and humanity intact.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":137,"featured_media":3349,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[3452],"tags":[37,19,6468,6469,80,262,6470,6471,6472,3253,6473,6474,6475],"class_list":["post-3348","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-culture","tag-chennai","tag-india","tag-lahore","tag-manto","tag-mumbai","tag-pakistan","tag-partition","tag-pimps","tag-prostitutes","tag-sex-workers","tag-short-films","tag-underbelly","tag-underground"],"yoast_head":"\nManto: The Seer Who Knew Every Prostitute and Pimp in Town<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"Manto\u2019s stories can broadly be divided into two sections: the ones about Partition, and the ones about Mumbai. 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