Syeda Bilgrami Imam
Remember, Anvar
Syeda Bilgrami Imam is a writer and activist based in New Delhi, India. She was a member of the National Commission for Minorities (NCM), India, and has authored a book titled The Untold Charminar, which describes the culture of Hyderabad.
I feel very sure about one thing. That Anvar had realised very early in his life what he would do with the rest of it. I do hope he has quietly stashed away his early scrapbooks, studded with all outbursts - whether limericks, prize-winning essays, pranks-as-poems, whatever. Because eking out a smile, if not a guffaw from his reader did seem his very consistent ambition - and one which he realised more than regularly. At a pinch Anvar Alikhan could even be persuaded to perform.
I remember well that for the Hyderabad launch of my book for Penguin 'The Untold Charminar', I had requested Anvar to recite a fun Hyderabadi 'chutkula' a tid-bit of a poem - in the typical Hyderabad Deccan lehja or manner of speaking. All about a man pleading with his very wilful wife, to please not to do a few key things: 'Nayyin bole tho sunte nayyin'. It wreaked of the city. Anvar certainly displayed the showman he could well be, for all to see.
And today, when one bemoans how English lacks writers of humour besides perhaps Bryson and Fry, Anvar could raise his hand in protest. A lot of his writing qualifies, you will notice. Even when talking of the irony of Dilip Kumar refusing David Lean the role of Selim in Lawrence of Arabia, Anvar cannot resist a half chuckle: "Just imagine the reception Dilip Kumar would have got, locking his dark, oriental eyes with Peter O'Toole's arctic blue eyes through the film's nearly four hour of epic running time' says the article Anvar titles 'Dilip of Arabia' for The Times of India. All perhaps so that he and Dilip Kumar could smile over it now where they are, perhaps even letting David Lean and Alec Guiness join in.
The email kept us in prolific exchange when both our work schedules became more merciful. Even in the early days, our correspondence he would not allow to go as a one-off. There would often be the mention of a particular phrase, guessing at exactly why I chose that one. He was so honed in on writing. And it was a bond that remained special between us.
The fact of both Anvar and I being in advertising we managed rather deftly, I thought. If and when working in the same agency we would not be in the same city or branch. A necessary, if typical, propriety. We were family after all.
What I do, do vividly remember now, is our last and unconscionably long evening at his sister Hasmina's home in Mumbai, it was masterminded by her over a coinciding of my trip from Delhi with Anvar's from Hyderabad.
Our catch-ups, our memories wove and meshed from the very first sip. Anu was in his element. He even caused an otherwise reticent host, his brother-in-law, Asad, to hold forth and recount without let...one egging the other on. The raconteur in Anvar was on an elated high that evening. His fork would remain in his hand, balancing the morsel, not allowing him to miss even the least quirky detail. Only finally would he succumb to his soft, shaking laughter, never midway. In fact, only after seeing us practically roll off our seats. It was the last time I met him.
I am glad that meeting of five hours or more, over our favourite Hyderabadi delicacies, did occur. All four of us deserved it. And Indrani did not miss it either. His recounting of it all to her must have been an equal treat. That was Anvar's forte.
