Daily Times

THE WAY IT WAS: Frolicking fifties — II

Syed Abid Ali

After the shooting was complete and the crew left Pakistan, some enterprising staff members of the Faletti’s hotel put on sale the four pillows Ava Gardner used during her stay. One of these was bought clandestinely by friend Talaat Ali Khan.

In the Punjab Public Relations Department one would come across all kinds of ‘characters’ — eccentric, egotistic, idiosyncratic, self-important as well as bohemian, affectionate, happy-go-lucky, self-effacing and genuinely lovable. Perhaps the quaintest of them all was the night Chowkidar, Baba Balanda, who lived on the premises and was ageless like Dorian Gray.

They had forgotten to take down his date of birth at the time of employment and he remained panjah-bawinja (fifty or fifty-two) for as many years. The Baba was a rustic who refused to mend his ways and tone down his idiom and language despite his colleagues’ continuous efforts. The Deputy Director, Malik Iftikhar Ali, was working in his office late one evening when the Baba passed through the corridor. He asked the Malik’s peon in his booming voice “Malik ajay baitha vay (is the Malik still working).” Peeved, Malik Sahib called him in to his office to tell him off. The incorrigible Baba simply said “Meinoon ki pata si toon baitha vayn (how would I know you are still working)” and walked out unruffled.

When I joined the department as officer on special duty, my office hours began at four in the afternoon and ended at midnight. Every now and then I would slip away for an hour or so for an evening stroll or a meal with friends. On one such occasion, Mr Sarfraz, the DPR, rang up and the phone was answered by Baba Balanda who bluntly asked in his typical Punjabi “Kaun ain toon (who are you)?” When the voice at the other end said “Sarfraz”, he again asked “Oh Kaun aay (who is it)?” “DPR”, shouted the voice.

“Oh ki aay (what do you want)?” asked Baba. Exasperated Mr Sarfraz told him that it was the ‘barra sahib’. The Baba immediately greeted him with a booming ‘salaam’. When Sarfraz asked for me, the dialogue proceeded somewhat along these lines: “He has gone out”.

“When will he be back”?

“O badshah admi aay, avay avay, nah avay nah avay (he is a prince unto himself, and may or may not return).”

“Ask him to call me whenever he gets back.” When I returned the call, Mr Sarfraz narrated the whole story to me, suggesting jocularly that the Baba should be advised to refrain from describing me as badshah admi in future!

Once a visiting journalist’s bicycle was stolen from our office. He insisted on calling the police. The SHO came post-haste with his staff. The first man he questioned in the usual rough and tough manner was the night chowkidar. Baba Balanda pleaded total ignorance and when the officer became abusive, he simply told the thanedar that if he (thanedar) had failed to get a drop of milk from his mother’s breast, it was no use sucking at the father’s thumb (The Punjabi idiom he used was much more graphic but unprintable). Further questioning was abandoned and the Baba was only reprimanded for his crude language.

The only tele-printer in the directorate was installed in the room of Malik Yusaf, the resident officer. With great difficulty and much effort, Malik Sahib had trained Baba to ring up the APP office whenever the machine ran out of paper. Safdar Qureshi who was then the APP Manager told me later the ‘message’ that the Baba passed on. Whoever picked up the phone was told “Publak Rralashan, kagat muk gaya vay, Malik Yusaf dee machine vich (Public Relations, the paper has finished in Malik Yusaf’s machine).” Baba would hang up without further ado.

But the Baba is not the only one I remember. Among our colleagues, Karim Khan, who hailed from a remote part of Dera Ghazi Khan was quite innocent but competent in his work, although rather slow on the uptake. One morning the telephone rang in the Information Officer’s room and the Private Secretary to the Information Minister asked for Karim Khan. While he was speaking to the Minister, Jamil Shah impishly started pinching his cheeks. Angrily pushing away Jamil’s hand, Karim Khan said, “Lay off, you bum”.

“Eh, what did you say?” shouted the Minister. “Sorry sir, I was not talking to you but to another bum”. The phone was banged in his ear.

A rather groovy character, Ahmed Hassan, had a special way of greeting his colleagues and friends. He would unexpectedly and suddenly poke his index finger in the lower part of the other chap’s tummy and say ‘Assalam Alaikum’. Once he afflicted this greeting on Khalilur Rahman, affectionately called ‘posti’ due to his relaxed and lethargic manner. Rahman retorted in his sing-song voice, “Ahmed Hasan, apni behuda harkaton say baz a jao”. “Mission accomplished”, declared a grinning and satisfied Ahmed Hasan.

This reminds me of another incident which happened much later. Ayub Khan’s Chief spin-doctor, Altaf Gauhar, had established a network of Bureaus of National Reconstruction throughout the country. The Lahore Bureau was headed by N H Hashmi with Khalilur Rehman as his deputy. On one occasion Khalil requested for the office van to go to a newspaper office. “Khalil, you know we have only one official car”, said Mr Hashmi. “I also need only one,” retorted Khalil.

Another eccentric and somewhat self-important character was Mian Abdul Ghafur, Deputy Director (Technical). He was an uproariously hearty person who addressed all his colleagues as ‘Johnny’. Once, while sitting in his room, Hafizur Rahman fiddled with some papers lying on the table. Hurriedly, Abdul Ghafur snatched them away saying “Johnny, these are Cypress”. Surprised, Hafiz asked what that meant. “Top Secret, Johnny, highly confidential, not meant for every one’s eyes”. It turned out to be a routine ‘cipher’ message!

On one occasion, Hafiz sent in a requisition for an official vehicle without filling in the space headed ‘reason’. The form was promptly sent back as incomplete. Hafiz wrote ‘illegitimate’ in the space and returned it; it was promptly signed and the request approved. At another meeting with the Information Secretary, Mian Ghafur Sahib attempted to explain a certain rule which was under discussion. “You see this rule has two clause. While one claw is clear, the other claw is totally ambiguous”. There was stunned silence all around and Mian sahib came back a satisfied man with his ‘two claws’ intact!

My college friend, Majid Dar who was then studying medicine at KEMC, was a regular visitor to our office and sometimes joined our late evening parties. One morning, he brought along a tall, broad and hefty character who was introduced as his old friend Bali from Kenya. It turned out that Bali had been retained by the production unit of Bhowani Junction. Darr said that Bali needed someone familiar with the local scene, and in particular the media, to help him out and asked if I was willing.

Ava-Gardner

I jumped at the offer. Bali turned out to be a good friend. He was not only heavy in his build and a heavy drinker but also used ‘heavy heavy’ as his takya kalam. For instance he would say to me: Abid Shah, why don’t you come with me, heavy heavy, for meeting some friends from the crew this evening, heavy heavy.”
I spent some memorable times with Bali during his stay in Lahore. On many occasions I slept the night in his suite. He would get up around eleven in the morning and immediately ask for an ‘eye opener’ while he never hit bed late at night without a rather strong ‘night cap’. He introduced me to some members of the film crew, the friendliest of whom was Stewart Granger, the hero of Bhowani Junction. He smilingly gave his autograph to
everyone who asked.

But the heavenly experience was Ava Gardner, at close quarters; I even spoke to her once in a while! Incidentally, my graph went sky-high in the opinion of my would-be fiancée and later wife, when I took her and her college friends to watch the film’s shooting at the Lahore railway station. They ogled at the fabled Ava Gardner and the debonair Stewart Granger to their heart’s content.

After the shooting was complete and the crew left Pakistan, some enterprising staff members of the Faletti’s hotel put on sale the four pillows Ava Gardner used during her stay. One of these was bought clandestinely by friend Talaat Ali Khan who paid for it the ‘heavy, heavy’ sum of Rs five thousand. I believe he still uses the very same pillow though his wife does not know the real story behind it.

The first part of this series was printed on Sunday August 31, 2003. Syed Abid Ali is former Director General Public Relations, Punjab and Secretary General, PNCA