Wit

A ‘Loose Talk’ Show by Two Giants

Coverage
Peace!
O shit, man!

[Source – Pixabay]

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Note that the show is a satire – satire is the humorous ridiculing of the social evils, the vices that we tend to hide and hide behind waiting for a solution; satires are crucial for they are reminders reminding us not to repeat, replicate, reiterate, duplicate the mistakes, blunders, rebukes, devils we commit, cause, utter and create foolishly, out-of-weakness and when terribly burdened; satires don’t pass judgements rather they accept the folly, the situation at hand, they acknowledge the ruin, the disgrace, always aiming for a better, united, cooperative, humble, sensible world.

Note that the show is a comedy as well – naturally, because comedy is satire’s aura.

Note that the show is a Pakistani show – pro-this or anti-that, the show stays true to its genre, its keen sword like wit cuts through the superficial, holding its ground against the dogmatic prevalence of all types, of this and that society; slowly, very gently, very patiently it knocks down every King’s crown, so that the oligarchy bends.

Note that the show is not against anyone – it hails the present time, present lives, societies as we are all trying to play well. Yet, it promotes old values like brotherhood, kindness, truthfulness and love for one’s land. It also acknowledges its limitedness, slantly, but mostly straightforwardly.

Last, please note that the show is created and written by Anwar Maqsood, starring late Moin Akhtar (as the guest) and himself (as the host) – together they leave the viewer in a dilemma whether to bow before the absolutely astounding acting, the phenomenal script or their jugalbandi (the duo’s entwined performance).


For now, watch Loose Talk’s nine engaging episodes out of the total three hundred –

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Interviewing a Pakistani senior citizen on 14th August, Independence Day special –

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होस्ट: जब आपने पाकिस्तान के सर ज़मीन पे कदम रखा तो आपको कैसा लगा?

गेस्ट: कदम नहीं रखा, नहीं नहीं ना , हमने माथा रखा था ।

होस्ट: सुबान अल्लाह ! आपने एक नयी सर ज़मीन को सजदा किया।

गेस्ट: कह चुके।

होस्ट: जी।

गेस्ट: बीच में से बात मत उचक लिया करो, सजदा नहीं किया, वागाह बॉर्डर पर किसी ने हमे धक्का दिया था, यह कह कर के ‘जल्दी चल बे’, बस उसमे जो गिरे निचे, तो सर जा कर धाड़ से पाकिस्तान की सर ज़मीन पर लगा और हमारा सर फट गया और पहली दफा जब हम दाखिल हुए पाकिस्तान तो फटे हुए सर के साथ दाखिल हुए। 

होस्ट: इस मुल्क के लिए हज़ारों लोगों ने कुर्बानियां दी है, आपने अपना सर फोड़ा।

गेस्ट: हैं?

होस्ट: आपने अपना माथा फोड़ा। 

गेस्ट: जी।

होस्ट: तो कैसा लगा दाखिल हो कर, कदम रख के?

गेस्ट: दाखिल हो के हमे पता चला की ओह हो हो हो हो, बटुआ तो हम अपना दिल्ली भूल आए हैं। 

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Translation

Host: How did you feel when you first stepped foot on this land, when you entered Pakistan?

Guest: I didn’t step my foot on this land, no no no, my head touched it first.

Host: How beautiful! You bowed before this new land – Pakistan.

Guest: Are you done?

Host: Yes.

Guest: Let me finish the sentence first, I didn’t bow, at Wagah Border someone pushed and said, “oye move quickly”, and so I fell on the floor and my head hit this land. So, I entered Pakistan with an injured forehead.

Host: Thousands of people sacrificed their lives for this nation, you too got injured.

Guest: Yes!

Host: How did it feel then, when you first entered the promised land?

Guest: As soon as I entered I realised that oh-ho-ho-ho-ho, I forgot my wallet in Delhi.


Interviewing a teacher –

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होस्ट: पौने 9 बजे आपके यहाँ डाकू आए और गए कितने बजे ?

गेस्ट: सुबह 4 बजे।

होस्ट: इतनी देर क्या करते रहे?

गेस्ट: असल में एक डाकू जो था उसने मेज़ पर से दीवान-ए-ग़ालिब उठा ली और उसे देख के मुझे कहने लगे – तुमने दूसरों पर अपनी काबिलियत का रॉब झाड़ने के लिए इतने मुश्किल शायर की किताब राखी हुई है घर पे ? या ग़ालिब की शायरी तुम्हारी समझ में आ गयी है? हमारी बेग़म ने फॉरेन कहा, नहीं ऐसी बात नहीं है इन्होने ग़ालिब को बहुत पढ़ा है और ग़ालिब पे किताब भी लिखी है। फिर उस डाकू ने किताब खोली और पढ़ने लगा –

“कुछ खरीदा नहीं है अब की साल, कुछ बनाया नहीं है अब की बार, रात को आग और दिन को धूप, भाड़ में जाए ऐसे लेल-ओ-नहार, आपका बाँदा और फिरूं नंगा, आपका नौकर और खाऊं उधार…”

यह कह कर उसने किताब वहां रखी वापस और कहने लगे – जब ग़ालिब इतनी मुश्किल में थे , तो वह हमारी तरह क्यों नहीं हो गए, हमारे भी हालात यही हैं।

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Translation –

Host: The dacoits came around 8:45 pm and when did they leave?

Guest: At 4 in the morning.

Host: What did they do for so long?

Guest: So, one dacoit picked Diwan-e-Ghalib from the table and said to me, “You own such a great poet’s book just to show off? Or are you trying to tell me you understand Ghalib’s poetry?” Quickly my wife said, “He has indeed studied Ghalib very deeply and have even written a book on Ghalib.” Then the dacoit opened the book and read –

“Bought nothing this year, built nothing this time, fire at night and the sun in the day time, to hell with such nights and days, your creature still I roam naked, your servant yet I beg for food…”

He kept the book back on the table and said, “if Ghalib was facing such difficulties, why didn’t he become like us, our condition is the same…”


Interviewing a would-be politician –

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होस्ट: अगर आपकी पार्टी ने इलेक्शन में हिस्सा लिया तो मोहतरम, आपका इंतक़ाबि निशान क्या होगा?

गेस्ट: हमारा इंतक़ाबि निशान वही होगा जो मैंने आपको वक्फे में दिया था – ठुड्डा। कमीशन इलेक्शन से हमने रिक्वेस्ट की है, अगर उन्होंने दे दिया तो ठीक, नहीं दिया तो कोई गल नहीं।

होस्ट: सर कमीशन इलेक्शन नहीं, इलेक्शन कमीशन।

गेस्ट: ओये एक ही गल है। कमीशन इलेक्शन से पहले लगाओ या बादमे, कोई फरक नहीं पेंदा।

होस्ट: सर इसकी… ठुड्डे की तस्वीर कैसे दिखाएंगे आप?

गेस्ट: ओये ये जाहिलो वाली गल किती तूने, ठुड्डे की तस्वीर नहीं होती है, ठुड्डा लिखा जाता है, “अवाम का वोट, हमारा ठुड्डा”, एह लिखा जाएगा।

होस्ट: सर इस स्लोगन से तो अवाम डर जायेंगे सर।

गेस्ट: ओ, पिछले साठ सालों से अवाम डर के ही तो वोट देते हैं। 

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Translation

Host: If your party stands in the election, sir, what will be your party’s symbol?

Guest: Our party’s symbol will be the same, that I gave you during the break – a kick. We have requested commission election for the same, if they agree with us, good, if they don’t, well, it doesn’t matter.

Host: Sir it is not commission election, it is election commission.

Guest: O, it is one and the same thing. Commission if added before election or after, doesn’t make much difference.

Host: Sir, how will you show this symbol – the image?

Guest: Oye, you’re talking like an illiterate, it won’t be shown, we will simply write it down, “Public’s vote, our kick”, this is what will be written.

Host: Sir, using this slogan may scare the public sir.

Guest: O, for the past sixty years, that is what they have done, the public vote out of fear.


Interviewing a harmonium player, the only English-subtitled epsiode.

Interviewing a senior citizen from India –

Interviewing a Bangladeshi cricketer –

Interviewing a cricket fan –

Interviewing a mother on Mother’s Day –

Interviewing George Bush’s security officer –

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Salute to both great artists, salute!

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Fetching Water from a Haiku-Well

This light and bright book, ‘Japan Haiku by Marti’, is a library to me that has a collection of thoughts, wise words of a wise heart.

Haiku, a form of Japanese poetry that is dated back to the 17th century, is a fruit that a poet bears in her mind. It tastes subtly sweet and brazenly true. (Truth tastes different to all people, what does truth taste like to you?)

Carrying oceans and mountains and all the seasons within, it takes me on a journey every time I visit it.

Shying away from nothing, neither life nor death, haikus sing about nature and dance in the present. They capture it fully, through the lives of those who craft it, the haikus capture the moment fully.

No less than an explorer or a monk who practices meditation, the haiku poets in ancient Japan travelled to witness the peaceful, dramatic, kind, unforgiving nature. They did not hurry and that is why could understand it all.

Fetching cold water from a deep quiet well, with wit and brevity, the haikus quench our thirsts in this manner.

I finished reading this delightful book (part of my Auroville collection) sometime back, but I knew the journey has not ended yet.

Earlier I had taken a haiku turn to meet Matsuo Basho, the master haiku poet, and today I found a hidden haiku trail that took me to visit Rabindranath Tagore, the Bengali polymath.

“They reveal the control over the human emotions. However, they are never short on aesthetic sensibility. Their sense of aesthetics is marked by deep appreciation yet there is a mastery over expression.”In Letters from Japan, published later as Japan Jatri, Tagore recorded his views on haikus and his experiences of visiting Japan.

Interested in reading Japanese literature, knowing their culture and art history, Tagore in 1915 wrote to Kimura Nikki, who had studied Bengali under him at Calcutta University, “I want to know Japan in the outward manifestation of its modern life and in the spirit of its traditional past. I also want to follow up on the traces of ancient India in your civilization and have some idea of your literature if possible.”

Knockings at My Heart is a collection of short poems by Tagore (discovered only recently and published in 2016) that highlights the impact of haikus on him.

Excerpts –

Let my life accept the risk of its

Sails and not merely the security

Of its anchor.

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The pomegranate bud hidden behind her veil

Will burst into passionate flower

When I am away.

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The mist tries

To capture the morning

In a foolish persistence.

The simplistic approach, depth of thought and brisk climactic acuity make this poetry form of the past very much of the present as well as of the future, for the passionate are always searching.

And so my journey continues.

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Glowing like a firefly.
Image from Pixabay.

Fireflies, an epigrammatic poem by Rabindranath Tagore, is a perfect complement to this post.

My fancies are fireflies, —

Specks of living light

twinkling in the dark.

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he voice of wayside pansies,

that do not attract the careless glance,

murmurs in these desultory lines.

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In the drowsy dark caves of the mind

dreams build their nest with fragments

dropped from day’s caravan.

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Spring scatters the petals of flowers

that are not for the fruits of the future,

but for the moment’s whim.

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Joy freed from the bond of earth’s slumber

rushes into numberless leaves,

and dances in the air for a day.

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Read the full poem here.


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