Photo by Tahir Jamal, White Star
People have got their television dramas published. For example, you can [find dramas written by] Ashfaq Ahmed and Bano Qudsia [at bookstores]. I am not convinced that what is written for television should be published in a book format.
Rehman. How did you get out of the rut of writing television plays?
Baig. After writing Daldal, a television serial, I started writing Ghulam Bagh in the 1980s. I kept writing it for years. But I was also writing for television while I was writing this novel. Then there came a point when I decided to stop writing for television.
Rehman. So you gave up writing for television altogether and devoted yourself exclusively to writing novels.
Baig. No. Not entirely. There are some interesting incidents that happened along the way. In 1997, when Pakistan was celebrating its 50th year of independence, I was approached by PTV's Lahore station to write a drama serial for the celebrations. I went to the television station and asked why they thought I was a suitable writer for such a celebratory act. They said that they had initially approached Ahmed but he had recommended my name and had promised to guide me if I ran into any ideological quandary.
When I met him, he told me he would guide me to the right direction, if the need arose. I wrote a serial, titled Yeh Azaad Log. It was to be produced by Rashid Dar, a person who never altereda writer's script. But I was waiting for some sort of intervention from Ahmed. He just simply did not bother me. Even when I tried to contact him on the phone, he did not respond. I have a theory about this episode — that in his heart of hearts, Ahmed was a very emancipated and free person who had somehow taken up the garb of Sufism under some kind of compulsion. I do not knowwhat else to say about this interaction with him.
Rehman. What do you plan to do with your writing for television?
Baig. I plan to turn some of the television plays into novels and stage plays.
Rehman. Other than being a writer, you have been a teacher of philosophy for more than 35 years now. How did that come about?
Baig. After doing my BSc, I took an additional exam in philosophy and then did an MA in philosophy as an external/private candidate. Then I applied for a position as a lecturer of philosophy with the department of education. There was only one position available. Many candidates from the Punjab University and Government College, Lahore, who had formally studied philosophy, were competing for the post.
I had [entered the selection process] as a private candidate and did not have high hopes — but I got selected. The education department gave me the choice of three locations where I could be posted. I could go to Nara Kanjoor [in Attock district], Kallar Syedan [in Rawalpindi district] or Pind Dadan Khan [in Jhelum district]. I opted for Al-Beruni Government College, Pind Dadan Khan.
In those days, there was no motorway. You had to go [from Lahore] to Kharian and then travel left into the Salt Range, through a dusty plateau. The college was right next to Khewra Salt Mines. I did not find anyone willing to study philosophy in that college. In bureaucratic documents, I was a lecturer of philosophy at a degree college in Pind Dadan Khan but, in real life,
I did not have a subject or students [to teach]. I spent almost three years there, trying in vain to get a class of philosophy going. There was not much to do in the evenings. I explored the salt range and lived in the hostel attached to the college. Then I got myself transferred to Government College and I am still teaching there, even after my retirement. I taught creative writing at an eliteinstitution for a while, too.
Rehman. How was the experience of teaching creative writing?
Baig. My students, who belonged to a certain class, were highly motivated as far as grades and achievements were concerned — and, that too, in a very narrow sense. Of course, those students were selected because of their higher scholastic achievements and they could demonstrate this cognitive advantage in their academic performance. But when you teach creative writing, you expect students to be creative. I felt that element was rare even in otherwise high-achieving students.
Rehman. Do you think this, in a sense, is the fault of the present higher education system in the country?
Baig. The system that we have now has been imported from a civilisation where it has a long history of institutional evolution. Here, it has become a game of numbers. You need this many publications to become an associate professor and this many to get the rank of a professor. An unintended consequence of this insistence on research is that teaching is now looked at as a degraded activity, as if research were the only function of higher education. I think research should have evolved as a deep-rooted need for society and not as a forced participation in theglobal academic culture.
Rehman. Living a semi-retired life, do you think that there are things that you still want to do in the future?
Baig. There are many things to be done. I am thinking of writing stage plays now, which, I hope, will be performed . I am also working on more than one book at the same time. One is 350 pages long. I have 100 pages of another book done. I have also started writing a novel, which I had abandoned earlier.
Rehman. Should your readers expect to get your new works in a couple of years?
Baig I do not know if I can promise anything at this moment. Maybe I should concentrate on only one book and complete it first. But something should be published soon. I am juggling too many projects at this moment. I am in a very strange situation. There was a moment when I thought I could handle all of those projects.
Rehman. By virtue of being in the middle of so much fiction writing, do you think you spend more time in the fictional world of your own creation than in the everyday world around you?
Baig. Yes. When I finish a novel and leave its fictional world behind, there is a very strong emotional shock that I feel. Sometimes, I emotionally collapse after finishing a work of fiction. That is why I now live in two or three different fictional worlds at the same time. I cannot leave these worlds. But that [also] means I cannot fully inhabit one fictional world and complete its story with devotion. Let us see what happens to me as I travel between this [world] and the worlds of my imagination.
This was originally published in the Herald's December 2016 issue. To read more subscribe to the Herald in print.
The writer has a PhD in postcolonial theory from Australian National University and has been a postcolonial fellow at the Centre of Modern Oriental Studies, Berlin.