This is an answer to a letter! –


This is a reply to a letter written by a certain Naseem Sahib of Balimaran Delhi. In his letter, Mr. Naseem has criticized me a lot, abused me a lot, such abuses which made me very angry and besides, he has called me a thief, the brother of Garha Kat.

If only the abuses were enough, I would have tolerated it, but they have also written that if I ever fall into their hands, they will crush my bones and ribs.

Naseem Sahib has used very heavy words in his letter. Some of the weighty words that Ibadat Barelvi Sahib uses in his critical essays. From his weighty words I get the impression that he is a wrestler type of man. I don’t want such a man to harbor any ill will towards me, so I am writing this letter to clarify my position.

Before reading my letter, see the background of Naseem Sahib’s displeasure.

A few months ago, Mirza Abdul Wadud’s first collection of humorous essays “Gathalyon Ke Daam” was published. Mirza brought his book to me so that I could comment on it. That comment was published in Delhi’s magazine “Ghamard”, Naseem Sahib wrote it. After reading the review, he concluded that “Gathliyan Ke Daam” was a valuable addition to comic literature, so he bought the book for twenty rupees and when he read the book, he realized that he had been duped.

He says that after reading the book, he felt as if someone had cut his pocket, which contained twenty rupees. And since they bought this book based on my comment, they think I am related to this pickpocket.

Sir Naseem! Reading your letter has convinced me that you probably have the distinction of reading a book. There is no way to read the comment. I never wrote that this book is a valuable addition to comic literature. I know I didn’t even write that Mirza Abdul Wadud’s book is absolutely nonsense. But if I had written like this, Mirza would have been as thirsty for my blood as you are today, and Masha Allah, his health is no less than yours.

Let me teach you how to read a comment. I wrote that “Mirza Abdul Wadud has made his place in the ranks of comedians in a very short period of time.”

You understand, I am saying that when Mirza entered the field of comedy, the comedians who were already there left their seats and requested him that these chairs are actually worthy of you. Stay tuned. Naseem, I did not mean this at all. I tried to say in the language of commentary that Mirza has made his place in the ranks of comedians just as a new passenger makes his place in an overcrowded third-class compartment of a train, i.e. behind closed doors. First, they threw the bed and the box from the window, then they jumped down the same way, the bed fell on someone’s head, the box injured someone else. A couple of passengers were crushed under their load. When such an uproar came, the people moved around on their own and thus Mirza made his place.

I wrote that “Mirza has just set foot in this desert, he is too old for tourism in this desert.”

I am saying that you understand that flowers have grown in this desert as soon as they stepped on it. When they continue to step in this desert throughout their life, this desert will become Nishat Bagh. Sir, I did not mean this, I was giving advice to Mirza Sahib with great love that why are you jumping into this desert now that it is too old for tourism. Be patient for twenty-five more years, when there will be no one to read Urdu, then you will eagerly embark on the tourism of this plain so that no one can object to your indiscretion.

I wrote that “Mirza’s writing style is RACY.”

You understand that their expression has the same fluidity as a racehorse. That is, the desire to reach the destination quickly with a beautiful reward. No sir! I didn’t mean that at all. By RACY I meant horse racing, but not the race of horses that run on the Maha Lakshmi Maidan in Bombay, but the horses that go ahead of the tongs and pass people on foot and on bicycles on the streets. They go trampling, and if they fly, they fly so that not even the whip of a coachman can shake them from their place.

I wrote that “All the sentences of the book are a reflection of the author’s hard work.”

You see what I mean is that the writer has worked on every single sentence like a smart boy preparing for his exam so that he can come first in the class. No sir! I didn’t mean that at all. My allusion was to the labor that a washerman does in trying to get the mail out of a dirty sack. In other words, even after hitting the stone with such force, the shell bursts, but the mail does not come out.

I wrote, “I am sure this book will be well received.”

You thought that this book would sell like Mathura’s Pede or Nagpur’s Sangtra or Bombay’s Bhil Puri. Sir Naseem! I didn’t mean that at all. First of all, you should understand very well that no Urdu book is taken from hand to hand in these senses. It is always handed out. That is, you publish the book yourself and then you distribute it hand to hand to other writers. He also gives something like this hand and takes that hand. That is, they should also present their books to you in the same way.

As for Mirza’s book “Gathliyan Ke Daam”, I didn’t even mean it!

When I wrote that this book would be taken from hand to hand, I meant that the book would be taken straight from the publisher by junkies, from there it would reach the hands of the confectioner and then on to the customers. I’m surprised you don’t understand so much. Well, after spending twenty rupees, you will understand.

You have written that I have quoted some phrases from Mirza’s articles in the comments which are very good and meaningful. They trick you into thinking that the whole book might be good.

How many such phrases did I copy? A total of four. And I know how much effort I had to find them in the book. I was looking through the book for almost the whole night, then somewhere I came across these phrases. Well, let me make a request that two or four sentences in a two-page book come out well. Brother, even a clock that has been stopped for many years can tell the correct time twice a day.

You complain that I wrote in my comment that “I would strongly recommend all Urdu scholars to read this book.”

Yes I have definitely written but you should have seen what is the recommender’s own status. I am giving letters of recommendation to hundreds of people a day, sometimes to the Minister of Broadcasting, sometimes to the Minister of Education, sometimes to the mayor of the city to make him the director of the radio station. Make him the principal of a college, install a water tap in this neighborhood. But till date no one has allowed people with my letter of recommendation to enter near the government office. No one drank water from the tap installed on my recommendation. I don’t understand why you accepted my recommendation.

Quickly ending the comment, I wrote, “I don’t want to stand between the author and the reader.”

Sir Naseem! You can take this to mean that the book is so engaging that you want the reader to start reading it as soon as possible and enjoy it. No, sir, I didn’t mean that at all. I knew that any reader who read this book would want to put their hands on the author’s neck, so I wanted to get out of the way as soon as possible.

Now the only thing left is why the comments are written in such a way that a simple reader like you cannot understand their meaning. In this regard, it is submitted that this is the rule of commenting and I did not make this rule. Let me add one more thing that when Mirza Sahib brought his book to me for comment, he also brought a box of ice. The snow was of great quality. Maybe its scent interfered with my opinion of the book. You must know that with a good dowry, an ordinary girl becomes a good bride and the mother-in-law, apart from the mother-in-law, also looks good. If I have made any mistake in commenting, it is only because of Barfi.

Hope now you understand how comment is read. Believe me, this deal is not expensive at twenty rupees. However, if you feel that you have been wronged, then the servant is asking for forgiveness.

Your best wishes

(This is famous Indian comedian Dilip Singh’s famous epilogue, which has been specially praised by many famous writers and writers. Dilip Singh died in 1994. He titled his epilogue “Apology”. was)



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