Spring Blaze

Literature is an art form, writing it a passion. It keeps a writer wandering till his senses stop him to do so. Writing literature needs an artistic and intellectual capability with a higher mental caliber not owned by ordinary writers. It endures through life, survives time and spatial boundaries making its creator a legend and his writings classic masterpieces for all times and generations to come. The ideas and language of such writers remain fresh and provide a highbrow thrill for readers by stimulating the upper side of their wisdom and intellect, for them reading and liking it seems an inborn addiction.

In that small room located on the first floor of the house were two bookshelves forbidden to reach; touched and sorted out only by our parents. The shelves carried fiction, novels and film magazines that we were thought to be young and immature to indulge in. Highly obsessed with our grades in examination our parents would not allow any disturbances in our regular studies. Those days even reading novels was a prohibited act that would invite trouble and punitive action. Surprisingly, sometimes after reading good fiction our parents would discuss its contents in muted tunes without being conscious about the twinge of curiosity they would create in us. The topic for discussion on that evening was a famous novel, Baharon Main Sholay written by Dr. Hamidi Kashmiri. The name of the novel itself carried magnetism, enough motivation for me to lift the book off the shelf, hide it like a sacred treasure and wait for lights to go off. There was an array of fiction writers at that point of time like Gulshan Nanda, Dutt Bharti, and Adil Rashid. It was our secret mission to read novels under the thick cotton duvets using torchlights. Written in Kashmir culture backdrop,  Hamidi’s novel carried grip and interest, with a fine and fabulous storyline it looked more authentic and less fabricated, it had shades of true romance with a phenomenal real- world actuality. I finished the novel in one go without caring for my feeble grades in history and the test that commenced the next morning.

   

That is how I was introduced to writings of the legendary writer of the subcontinent. I started reading Hamidi Kashmiri very early in life; I would feel proud to read him in Biswen Sudi, the literary magazine of our times. “When we are attached to a writer, it is not just because he ushered us into a world that continues to haunt us, but because he has in some measures made us who we are. These authors read when you’re young and reasonably hopeful, will inspire you to write books as well.” Dr. Hamidi Kashmiri wrote,’ Baharon Main Sholay’ in 1956 followed by three more novels and short stories and then switched to his favorite fields of poetry and criticism. Hamidi introduced a new wave in criticism- writing, with a distinct style, he emerged as a unique critic with fresh and novel concepts. A man from English literature, his vast and deep scholarly adventures made it possible for him to dive deep in philosophical and romantic depths and highs of famous poets like Iqbal, Ghalib, Faiz and, Nasir. Formalizing his style of writing Hamidi looks a far ahead of an ideal on the galaxy of writers from Kashmir. He wrote fifty books, comfortably and silently and made a niche as a highly renowned writer in Urdu literature. Credit must be given to his soulmate, Begum Maryum Hamidi for her unconditional support and dedication in providing a congenial atmosphere at home for the writer to excel; in a way both remained aloof from the fuss and flurry by shifting their residence from Jawahar Nagar to more calm and serene surroundings in Shalimar; they had created a little world of their own where their selected friends could breathe and exhale poetry and literature. 

  My real association with the amazing family started when I joined the prestigious M. A Road, College as a staff member. As a student of the same college, Prof. Maryam Hamidi had taught me Urdu literature and had taught me well so as to develop in me a flavor for reading and writing. With the course of events, we became good friends. Friendship has a unique age-defying character and it is fun to have both older and younger friends in a circle of friends to increase the friend pool. I would feel comfortable in the company of my older friends; it expanded and supported my mental wellbeing, taught me to be less afraid of other people’s biased opinions, broadened my perspective and proved that “matching age was not a predictor of friendship and closeness.” 

 I remember meeting Hamidi Sahab in their Jawahar Nagar home with a few of my short stories and half- baked TV scripts, he was generous enough, false or otherwise told me that I was on my way to be a writer.  Hamidi Kashmiri carried a charisma, a delightful personality that one would enjoy being with. Books would fascinate him in a different way; he would laugh and smile, like a child, especially in the company of good books. Once when he saw me holding Allama Iqbal’s, ‘The Reconstruction of Religious Thought in Islam’, he appreciated the book and the author and told me that to be a good writer, you need to be a good reader, and he would keep on gifting me books, advising me always to pay more attention to my writing capability addressing my carelessness in an authoritarian way as a big brother.

We had developed a family friendship with Hamidis that got disturbed by our staying away from home very often. I remember their visit to our home in Riyadh. They would occasionally visit their daughter working as a doctor there. For quite some time Hamidi Sahab was not feeling very well and had some health issues, he asked me to cook a simple meal for him as advised by his doctors; he did not enjoy the food much. The disease had taken its toll and gradually he was losing the battle. Ultimately the death made a great writer give in. Prof. Hamidi Kashmiri died a few weeks back in his Shalimar residence. In his death, Kashmir in general and Urdu literature, in particular, has lost an asset that is hard to recover.

m.nighathafizullah@hotmail.com

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