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Timeless LahoreMahmood Awan Dawn, Aug 7, 2016
The central characters appear as misplaced figures, inorganically patched together to tell a wider story in an overcrowded writing space. This act of bringing characters into the story and taking them out with rapidity, as well as attempts to link all those unlinked tales abstractedly, creates the risk of taking readers away from the main plot. It prevents one from connecting with the characters on an emotional or personal level, eventually making readers alien to their emotions and even absence and presence of many of these characters and themes. Another aspect of literature that I missed dearly was the art of writing silence. Apart from sections in the chapter ‘Dada Ji di Diary’, I did not encounter any silence throughout my reading of the novel. There is too much talk, too many people and places speaking at the same time — too many voices, loaded with descriptive details. Bhisham Sahni, legendary Hindi novelist and playwright, while talking about Tamas, his epic novel on Partition, once explained his methodology as follows: “it is not essential that an incident be sketched out in exact detail for literature to be alive and believable. Instead, I’d say that sometimes an exact sketch of reality is not as powerful as one portrayed with the help of imagination ... You can keep on reading, collecting facts and figures — the more you base your work on facts, with the help of facts and figures, the weaker it would become. Similarly, if a writer picks a historical person or period for his narrative: the less facts and figures he collects, the more are the chances of his work being powerful and believable. Up to a point the real facts and figures would be helpful, but beyond that they would become obstacles to the unfettered evolution of the work, to the extent that the facts and figures would so take over the writer’s mind that his imagination would be blocked, it would be so tangled in the grip of facts and figures that it would cease to have any role in the unfettered evolution of the work.” This is exactly the case with Madho Lal Hussain: Lahore di Vel. In spite of the immense potential of its writer and the content, it fails to evolve beyond a certain point. Those who were able to create literary masterpieces out of their folklore, oral histories, native landscapes and socio-political events were the ones who trusted their imagination and craft. Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Páramo, Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude and The General in His Labyrinth are some examples. I feel that if Nain Sukh had decided to write this as a book of oral history, it may have saved him from the labour and pains of developing an artificial skeleton of a novel. He would have been much freer to write with ease, thus making the work more valuable and refreshing. He would have had the liberty to add many other Lahori tales, including the ones he had to edit to save the fictional composition in this case. Nevertheless, one has to conclude that for such a complicated and vast subject, this is Nain Sukh’s way of writing about a historic city and its people. Notwithstanding the aforementioned reservations of style, this book of prose is a must-read. It reaffirms that, alongside Zubair Ahmad, Nain Sukh is the best talent Punjabi fiction currently has to offer. Mahmood Awan is a Dublin-based Punjabi poet. He can be reached at mahmoodah@gmail.com. Madho Lal Hussain: Lahore di Vel
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