Munir Hussain-The father-in-law I never knew
Rashid Ashraf
راشد اشرف
کراچی سے
The father-in-law I never knew
People mourn the passing away of their loved ones because of their association with them…so why then his death impact me the way it did. Because…I never knew him. Never ever met or spoke to him even once since I have been married to his son. For 23 years, one month and five days, when he passed away on July 29, 2013. I grieve because I will never know him now.
Breaking news, headline news, coverage on all news and sports channels, obituaries online and in print...I saw and read it all. Munir Hussain. The pioneer of Urdu cricket commentary, the journalist, the columnist, the author of several books, the president of Karachi Cricket Association, the publisher of Filmasia, and Akhbare Watan, the largest circulated cricket monthly; one of the most influential and well-known persons in Pakistan cricket. And most importantly, my husband’s father, and my two children’s grandfather. He was a relation so near and yet so so far away…beyond reach now… I grieve because I will never ever know him now.
I met him thrice. Before my marriage. So alive are the images of those meetings it vibrates like it all happened moments ago…
Was it as long ago as 1987? Munir Hussain wanted to meet me, freelance photographer Afzal Hussain (who is no more now), and who worked for both Akhbare Watan and TV Times, the magazine I was the founding editor of, came with a message. Why? I asked. He didn’t tell me, but insisted I meet him. I made excuses, but after several reminders, I eventually agreed.
I was escorted up the dark, narrow stairs of Munir Hussain’s Kachery Road office. I could see cricket journalist Qamar Ahmad and commentator Iftikhar Ahmad happily cramped up in that small room…apparently they were having a fun session before I walked in… I was a little uncertain…why was I here? Munir sahib got up and smiled, and met me as if he knew me from before… He wanted to revive Filmasia in English and turn it into a TV and film weekly, and was interested I edited it…I walked out of his office saying I will think about it, but never contacted him…
1988. Afzal saheb got me a copy of An Eye on Imran. Iqbal Munir, Munir saheb’s son, has sent this for you, he said. I was puzzled. I didn’t know him.
An Eye on Imran was an exclusive collection of Khan’s professional and personal shots. Captured by Iqbal Munir, who, I was to discover later, was considered to be one of the best in cricket photography.
1989. Munir sahib wanted to meet me. It was Afzal sahib once again. Iqbal Munir is planning a venture called Glamour, I was informed. This time I refused. I am happy with my job, I told him. A long chain of events, dozens of phone calls, and persuasion sessions later, Afzal sahib got a little upset, “Itnay maan say bula rahay hain, milnay may kiya harj hai…refuse kar dena offer…!”
A meeting was arranged at the newly setup Glamour premises…the famous Delhi Sweets lane. I lived close by, in PECHS. Little did I know that this meeting was to change my life forever…
The meeting was held in a huge empty hall of the bungalow…with only a three piece sofa set in a corner.
The eloquent conversationalist that he was Munir sahib narrated stories of his association with Dilip Kumar and his visit to Pakistan at Fatimid Foundation’s invitation, and other absorbing stories of people from various walks of life…and then came the offer…which I refused politely.
Why, he enquired? I stated my reservations…I am used to working and taking editorial decisions independently, I am not used to editorial interference, I love my current job, especially because I founded TV Times from scratch and seeing my magazine grow now gives me a lot of satisfaction … whatever I could think of as a polite way to say no. He listened patiently and then directed his son to address all my reservations. By the way, I had hardly noticed that the third sofa was occupied too…Iqbal Munir watched the proceedings quietly.
Meeting over, I went back home relieved it was all over. But no, Mr. Iqbal Munir took over…And it all started all over again---the same cycle, but this time round with a little more intensity and urgency. I was called for another meeting over home cooked lunch at the same premises. I refused point blank. Called Afzal sahib and blamed him…that I went once must surely have indicated I am interested…
“Kiya karain abb…achha itnay paisay mangho kay phir na bolaayn …!” he advised. I took it. They accepted. LBW-ed.
Now what?
At two previous jobs (Leader, an eveninger, and monthly Herald) I didn’t even know what my salary was till I got the pay cheque. Independent working in a safe clean environment and job satisfaction were my only priorities. But I raised the transport issue, job security issue …what if this magazine doesn’t take off, blah, blah…anything I could think of to rush out of there as quickly as I could …
“Iqbal, agar magazine na chala tau inko aik saal ki salary dyy jaegi…contract mein add kar dena!” Munir sahib directed his son. Bowled.
What else? enquired the father.
And…? enquired the son.
I felt…not myself at all. Hot, ashamed and cornered.
I joined Glamour: A magazine for contemporary men and women as its founding editor in July 1989. By the end of the year the magazine hit the stands, and all monthlies. It hit me too, personally…only a few issues later Iqbal Munir proposed. A scandal blew up in the print media, TV, advertising and related fields. I quit…Glamour.
Both our families stood stubborn. We were the most mismatched couple was the verdict of all. A quick turn of events; Glamour folded up after a few more forced issues; and we, Iqbal and I, got married in a small ceremony at my uncle’s place despite my family’s reservations and his family’s stern opposition…the rest, as they say, is history. Though many waited (and prayed) for a quick break-up, as we were up against monumental odds…without money, without jobs, and without our families’ support. Literally, on the streets. We started life only with the moral support of a few friends, a mattress, a frying pan, a few spoons, bread and eggs. Not joking.
Yes, we are very different from each other, as pundits predicted. Poles apart… in our views, taste, likes and dislikes…almost everything. But the beauty of our relationship is that we hold on to our own, and we hold on to each other. We had ups and dozens of downs, yet we survived, and so did our marriage. We fight like cats and dogs (especially over Iqbal’s fleet of 20 plus cats) but we are bonded.
The last time I saw Munir sahib was, by chance. At Iqbal Qasim’s daughter’s wedding reception at the Avari Towers swimming pool. In 2010. Dinner plate in hand, I opted for an empty table. Moments later I noticed I had company…a couched frail figure with a walking stick --- his back towards the table…God, was it him? A weak shadow of his robust built. I was shocked. How time plays with the human body.
The night before, July 28, Iqbal was with him watching cricket and talking about Akhbare Watan, which he had insisted and handed over to Iqbal about a year ago. He wanted Iqbal to revamp it as the magazine circulation was dwindling like his health. He could trust no one but his eldest son to hand over his lifetime’s treasure and hard work.
Iqbal came home at 3 am, after making sure he was asleep. He was very disturbed…and cried. At his ever energetic and dynamic father’s weak state. We talked about his condition till after Sehri, and thought of ways he could be made more comfortable. He said Abbo asked about Mohammad, our son, several times, and wanted to meet (with) him, and asked Iqbal to bring him “tomorrow.”
Mohammad rushed to the hospital the next morning but met not his “Abbo” (as they called him), but his “body.’’
I am told Munir sahib’s eyes swelled up whenever our daughter Fatima’s name came up. But that doesn’t lessen the pain. My children were deprived of a grandfather’s affection and guidance, and wisdom. My deprivation, and pain, was deep. It hurt. Always before. And more so now…
He lived in the same lane as us, just three houses away… and here I was, watching his passing away in ‘Breaking news’, and reports and bulletins on his namaze janaza, and burial on Geo, ARY and other TV channels; wondering at Almighty’s wisdom.
I am Samina Iqbal, and Iqbal Munir’s father, Munir Hussain, was my father-in-law. He was a good man, I am told. Deeply religious, despite his worldly commitments and fun-loving nature. His thoughts nag me…but all I can do is to pray for him and recite the Dua-e-Maghfirat after Fajr prayer every day.
Not here, but in the Hereafter inshaallah, surely I will meet him in the Garden --- beneath which rivers flow--- rivers of milk and honey. I will walk up to him and say: “Hello, Abbo…”
Zamin Jafari
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Rashid Ashraf
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M.A Shahab
Mohammad Aslam Shahab
Rashid Ashraf
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Mazhar Abbas
Rashid Ashraf
جناب والا
اگر آپ وہی مظہر عباس ہیں جو اصولوں پر سودا نہ کرنے والے کی شہرت کے حامل معروف صحافی ہیں تو بزم قلم سے آپ کی وابستگی ہم سب کے لیے خوش قمستی کی علامت ہے۔
اگر آپ وہ مظہر عباس نہیں ہیں تب بھی آپ کا یہ تبصرہ سر آنکھوں پر۔
راشد
M.A Shahab
وہ بہت پرانا دور تھا جب "اصولوں پر سودا نہ کرنے والے صحافی" واقعی میں ہوا کرتے تھے خاص طور پر ضمیر نیازی کے انتقال کے وقت تو یہ محسوس ہوا کہ جیسے پاکستان میں صحافت کا ضمیر ہی مر چکا ہے اور صحافت محض ایک دولت کمانے والا پیشہ بن گیا ہے - ہمارے پیارے وطن میں ویسے بھی خدمت خلق کا ہر شعبہ جیسے تعلیم ، صحت،، صحافت صف اول کے پیسہ کمانے والے شعبوں میں شامل ہو چکا ہے - جناب مظہر عبّاس سے معذرت کے ساتھ ذاتی طور پر ہمیں تو کوئی اصولوں پر سودا نہ کرنے والا صحافی پاکستان میں تو نظر نہیں آتا کیا آپ کسی ایسے صحافی کو ذاتی طور پر جانتے ہیں ؟؟؟؟؟؟؟
بڑی قربانیاں مانگے ہے چھوٹی سی یہ آزادی
قلم آزاد ہونے تک ہزاروں سر قلم ہونگے
ماضی میں تو حکومتوں کا با لواسطہ اور بلا واسطہ جبر ہوتا تھا جو صحافی کو سچ لکھنے سے روکتا تھا مگر بعد میں صحافی کے اپنے بکے ہوئے ضمیر
کے جبر میں ہوتا ہے اور ضمیر خواہشات کے جبر میں اور نتیجے میں سچ کہیں دفن ہوک خاک ہوجاتا ہے ......
آئیے ہم سب دعا کریں کہ وہ ہم میں کوئی جوہر ، حسرت یا ضمیر پیدا کردے ...آمین
محمد اسلم شہاب
Javaid Haider
Mazhar Abbas
Rashid Ashraf
بہت عرصے سے آپ کو ٹی وہ دیکھ اور سن رہا ہوں۔
آپ کے ترک شہر کراچی کا سبب اور دیگر کئی باتیں ۔ ۔ ۔ ۔ نجی ای میل میں دریافت کرنا چاہوں گا۔
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