Shahid Nadeem, a legendary playwright, director, journalist, human rights activist and above all, a charismatic person who, apart from being the creator of more than 60 original stage plays, and a few dozen popular TV plays, is a subject of many research theses and books on theatre, written by globally renowned authors and critics. He has won various international and national arts and culture awards, including President of Pakistan’s Pride of Performance award, PTV Silver Jubilee award, Nigar, Musawwar and Bolan awards, Masood Khaddarposh award, Gursharan Singh award and Otto Renee Award for theatre commitment. The most vibrantly twinkling stars amongst the galaxy of his acclaimed and popular plays are Bulha, Dara, Kala Meda Bhes, Bala King, Manto, Burqavaganza, Itt, Teesri Dastak, Anhi Mai da Sufna, Lo Phir Basant Aee and Dukh Darya.
Born in Sopore, Kashmir, his family migrated to Pakistan after Partition and settled in Lahore. He received his primary education from the Muslim Model High School and graduated from the famous Government College Lahore. He obtained his MSc in Applied Psychology from the Punjab University in 1970. He has been associated with Pakistan Television as a producer, General Manager, Director Programs and Deputy Managing Director. He also worked as communication officer and campaign coordinator for human rights organization Amnesty International in London and Hong Kong. He is currently Executive Director of Pakistan’s leading theater group, Ajoka.
MAK: Let us begin with your childhood phase and early life. How was Shahid Nadeem as a child, son, brother, friend?
SN: I became a refugee at the age of one, when my father, a pro-Pakistan doctor in Kashmir valley, had to migrate to Pakistan. My early memories are of Batapur Colony in the outskirts of Lahore, where my father was the Medical Officer, of learning Quran, taking part in races in school, of a quite funny servant, playing “guli-danda” and of saying goodbye to childhood friends and sweethearts. I still carry a scar because of the guli hitting my left eye. We were three brother (no sisters) and I remember playing cricket in the park outside our house (where one of the tape-ball players Tauqeer Zia later became PCB Chair). Then my father got a job in Oman and we moved to live close to our maternal uncles in Misri Shah. That was my first interaction with inner city Lahore which had an impact on several of my stage and TV plays including Bala King and Janjaalpura. I was not a “most obedient child” but then my parents were not too strict or conservative. There was however a dramatic conflict when me and my elder brother got involved with the Tableeghi Jamaat. The first thing we were asked to do was shave our heads and keep our heads bowed when talking to our parents. We met the Tableeghis on a ship while returning from a visit to Oman. When my mother came back a few months later, she was horrified to see us in our kurtas and short pajamas, with our eyes down. “I loved combing their beautiful hair and now they haven shaven heads” she said with tearful eyes. I untangled myself by the time I finished high school.
MAK: How and when did you step into the realm of creating literary and aesthetic treasures?
SN: I think I started with writing diaries of my adventurous trips to Oman. We would travel by train to Karachi, then by ship to Muscat, followed by a launch to the towns of Soor or Sohar, where my father was posted. I must be 14 or 15 when I started writing stories and added Nadeem to my name (my given name was SN Mahmood). My stay at the Govt College was very conducive to my interest in writing as well as activism. I became Secretary of the College Literary Society and editor of the College Gazette and Hostel magazine “Patras”. I got elected to the students’ union and was quite successful as a debater. However, my first story was published in the university magazine. I had become a students’ leader as well as a budding writer in the late 1960s when the students’ movement against General Ayub Khan was building up. So I was writing and agitating at the same time. My first play “Marya Hoya Kutta” was based on a story I wrote inspired by an incident while traveling to the new campus in the university bus. The “pressing reason” was that the University had been invited to participate in a theatre festival in the fabled Kinnaird’s College. My friend and director Sheharyar Rashed said “If you want to see Kinnaird’s from inside, you have to write a play.” The play was a big hit. Among the audience was a young girl, Madeeha, who loved the play and many years later, married the playwright!
MAK: “Ajoka Theatre” has won you national and international acclaim and inspired you to write so many original plays. But, on the other hand, you have been labelled as a leftist, challenging established values and ideology. How do you value and consider this institution’s role in your life and the life of late Madeeha Gauhar?
SN: In the early 1970s, I, along with a group of young cultural activists, decided to set up a theatre group. Young lawyer Aitzaz Ahsan was asked to draw a constitution and I was assigned the task of finding a name for the group. I came up with the name “Ajoka”, which is a rarely used Punjabi word meaning contemporary. Major changes were taking place in the country and we could not properly launch the group. However, the name was mentioned in the press. Over ten years later, when Madeeha decided to set up a theatre group, she chose the name Ajoka. You can say I conceived Ajoka and Madeeha delivered it. In 1986, when after being sacked from PTV and spending one year in General Zia’s prison, I was living in London as a political exile, I met Madeeha, who had come for her Maters in Theatre. My Kinnaird’s play was the first connection. She asked why I did not write more plays. I told her a playwright needs his plays to be performed. “Now we have Ajoka. You write and we will stage”, she said. And that was the start of a partnership which continued till her last day. Together, we put Pakistan on the world theatre map, we proved that socially meaningful plays can be entertaining as well. We raised issues which were taboo, without causing unnecessary offence or provocation. It was rewarding and enriching for both of us.
MAK: When did you realise that you were a born literary figure with very touching and sensitive approach and aptitude?
SN: I started off as a radical activist, wanting to change the world with fiery speeches and protests. But I soon realized that societal change starts with changing from within and I am better at writing than at stone-throwing. Literary organization Halqa-i-Arbab-i-Zauq was a great platform for me to submit my stories for criticism. Eminent writers would attend the sessions and later sit in Pak Tea House where newcomers like me gained insight and encouragement there.
MAK: When did your first book/script come to the shelf? What made you famous and when?
SN: My stories were published in magazines during my student days and plays were performed on and off but the first book of my plays was “Khasman Khanian” (The Husband Eaters”), a collection of five feminist plays in Punjabi. Interestingly, soon after a Gurmukhi version of the book was published in the Indian Punjab and theatre groups there started performing those plays. Seven collection of my plays and one big volume of 15 plays have so far been published in the Indian Punjab. Performances of my plays in India run in thousands. They are also included in university syllabi. The international acclaim can be attributed to the publication of Oxford University Press “Selected Plays by SN Nadeem”, followed by “Dara”, my play on Prince Dara Shikoh, which was produced by the National Theatre London and received rave reviews. In Pakistan “Bulha” has been most popular and influential.
MAK: What was the reaction of your parents when they noticed a writer, instead of an engineer, a doctor or a scientist, inside you?
SN: I come from a doctors’ family. My father, grandfather, uncles, brother, cousins, were all doctors. I was expected to follow the path and even got admission into a medical college. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I was on my own in Lahoe at that crucial time. My parents were in Oman. Quietly, I joined BA Literature and Psychology instead of the Medical College. But my parents felt relieved: becoming a card-carrying revolutionary or full-time Tableeghi would have been a worse choice.
MAK: Are you contented and happy with your life or wish to be born again to fulfil your pending ambitions or finalise your incomplete tasks?
SN: I am happy and satisfied. Life has not been a bed of roses. I have been rusticated, imprisoned, sacked, exiled… but I have lived on my own terms, did not compromise on my commitment. I wish the process of social justice and change was more pervasive and rapid but I can not change the course of history. It may not have been the highway but it has been my way.
MAK: The contemporary world is of machines, robots, smart phones and information technology. Will the lust for literature and book reading survive in this backdrop?
SN: The world is changing, becoming more technological and materialistic. Robot machines and robotic humans are taking over. Book reading is going out of vogue but the the need for literature and art will always remain. Performing arts like theatre are still thriving. But may be, we will have to adjust and adapt, we can explore social media, digital tools, so that we can stay in touch with the younger generations and extend our outreach.
MAK: The most unforgettable incident of your life?
SN: My life has been full of “incidents”. One experience I can not forget was during my imprisonment in the Mianwali Jail. Out of curiosity, I managed to sneak into the “Phansi Ihata” (Death Row). There I met two friends who had been condemned to death for murder and were to be hanged the next day. “Did you do it?” I asked knowing that they had no reason to lie at this last stage when even the President had rejected their clemency appeal. They nodded their head in the negative. “Do you know who did it?” I asked. “Yes, my brother”. One of them said. “Why didn’t you tell that to the police or the judge?” He looked at me with astonishment. “How could I betray my brother?” It was inconceivable for him to let his brother take his place and save his own life. But why was his friend going to the gallows? I looked at the other prisoner. “I could not be disloyal to my friend and reveal that his brother was the killer”, he said with pale contentment of a man half dead. Next morning, they were both hanged.
MAK: Thanks a lot. In the end I request you to give some advice to the new generations of our country.
SN: Don’t give up. Dream big, aim for the world but be content with even the most modest change you have been able to bring in the world.
Muttahir Ahmed Khan is a freelance contributor, author, educationist and sociopolitical analyst. All information and facts provided are the sole responsibility of the writer.