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Kamal Ahmed Rizvi
by
Ally Adnan
Photographs by Ammar Sharif
A towering figure in the world of television, theater and literature in Pakistan,
Kamal Ahmed Rizvi, the man behind some of television’s most successful series,
stopped writing and performing a number of years ago. Yet, he continues to be
one of the country’s most popular and well-known stars. His fantastic body of work
includes Mr. Shaitan, Adhi Baat, Sahib Bibi Ghulam, and the phenomenally
successful Alif Noon. In an exclusive interview for the Friday Times, the
octogenarian talks to Ally Adnan about his career in television, his relationship
with Nanna, his love for Pakistan, writing comedy, and the lost art of conversation.
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1. You were a regular at the informal get-togethers that used to take place
routinely, at Ali Imam’s Indus Art Gallery, in the seventies and eighties. The
gatherings were attended by luminaries from the world of art, culture,
music, cinema, television, literature and poetry. Faiz Ahmed Faiz, Habib Fida
Ali, Muhammad Fayyaz, Gulgee, Curt Hillfram, Wahab Jaffar, and Sadequain
were regular attendees. The focus of the meetings was on making good,
meaningful and intelligent conversation; little else was of interest to these
people. Such conversation appears to have disappeared from Pakistani
social gatherings. Conversation is no longer celebrated as a social art in the
country. Indeed, Pakistanis seem to be incapable of engaging in real
conversation today. Why has this happened?
This sad development has taken place because people who are capable of
making worthy conversation are no longer a part of our society. A lot of the
ones you mention are either very old, or ill, or both. A number of them have
passed away. Several have been marginalized socially and a few live in abject
poverty.
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The art of conversation is not easy to master. It requires sound education,
original ideas, independent thought, intellectual maturity, extensive
knowledge, acute observation, and a healthy mind. No one in Pakistan has,
or even values, these attributes today. Feigned awareness, shallow
knowledge, borrowed ideas, an irrational focus on money, power and
influence, and a fierce desire for tall social standing have replaced the
qualities that are required to talk well. Conversation is, but one, casualty of
the continual moral, cultural and intellectual decay of our country.
2. A career in television was not lucrative up until in recent years. The vast
majority of your work was done when payments from television were
meagre and not enough to support a decent living. You stopped working for
television at about the same time when money started rolling in. Why did
you do that?
I never worked in television to earn money. No one in the early days did.
Each one of us worked because we were fascinated by the medium and the
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tremendous opportunities of expression that it afforded. We were
passionate about working for television, and ours was no ordinary passion;
it was one that bordered on insanity.
Times were different. The nation was different. I was young and
enthusiastic. I was young and energetic, had a lot of time and a decent ability
to write. My passion to work for television was genuine. I wanted to exploit
the full potential of the medium. Money was not even on my mind. Now
that there is money in the field, the medium has attracted a lot of people
whose primary motivation is to gain fame and fortune through television.
The priorities of producers have changed. The interests of viewers have
changed. I am not able to work in the environment that we have today.
Making money should be an incidental, perhaps welcome, advantage of
working in television. It should not be the main goal.
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3. Did you continue to watch television after leaving the field?
Yes, occasionally. I still watch it every now and then.
4. Do you enjoy it?
No. Watching television today is a very frustrating experience for me.
5. What frustrates you about television today?
I get frustrated because a medium as powerful as television is being used
almost exclusively to deliver cheap entertainment and embarrassingly
biased news coverage. Television needs to be used for education,
instruction, imparting knowledge, and, of course, for entertainment. What
we have today is a sad, almost criminal, misuse of the medium of television.
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6. Your style of educating and conveying you message was very different than
that of, say, Ashfaq Ahmed and Bano Qudsia?
I am very different from writers like Ashfaq Ahmed and Bano Qudsia. I
respect the intelligence of viewers and trust them to pick up subtle and
understated messages. I believe in restraint and delicacy. I dislike
didacticism. I have no desire to preach and sermonize. I enjoy adding
substance to entertainment and completely integrating my message with
the stories that I tell. My strength is my ability to spike comedy with satire,
sarcasm, intelligent observation, and wit. Standing on a pulpit to deliver
lectures is not my cup of tea.
7. The words tanz (طنز, satire) and mazaah (مزاح, humour) almost always
appear together in Urdu language.
Yes, they do.
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A tinge of satire is needed to make humor effective. It stimulates one’s
intellect. It forces one to think. It makes humor meaningful. Humor without
satire, meaning and substance can make one laugh but accomplish nothing
else. Such humor is of no use. Comedy that does not make a statement, be
it political, social, cultural or religious, is frivolous and largely useless. It is
not for intelligent people.
8. You are one of the most celebrated writers of comedy in Pakistan.
Competent acting, writing or direction, what do you think makes comedy
work?
I believe that all three are needed for comedy to work.
9. Your comedy relied very heavily on the written word. The fiqra (فِقرہ,
sentence) appeared to be of paramount importance in you writings.
Not exactly. The ability to discreetly include a message in a well-written,
funny and concise sentence is of paramount importance.
10. You most famous work is Alif Noon. The comedy series had two main
characters – Allan played by you and Nanna played by Rafi Khawar. Allan
was devious and deceitful whereas Nanna was innocent and gullible. Why
did you chose to play the obnoxious character yourself and let Rafi Khawar
play the one that was likable?
Rafi Khawar and I were very different people. Our histrionic abilities were
different as well. He could not have played Allan and I would have failed as
Nanna. Correct casting was one of the reason for the series’ success.
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11. Nanna had a recurring line in the series: Allan, tum bauhat kameenay ho
(Allan, you are a wretched person, ہو کمینے بہت تُم الّن ). You played the
character so effortlessly that the character of Allan seemed to be an
extension of your own. Are you a wretched person in real life as well?
No, not at all. I am much worse.
12. You had a long association with Rafi Khawar. The two of you played the title
characters in each one of the four runs of Alif Noon. What kind of a personal
relationship did you have with each other?
The truth is that I am the one who made Nanna (Rafi Khawar). He had talent
and ability but was struggling to get recognition, when he approached me
and asked for work on television. I recognized his potential as an actor and
trained him. We had a very long, close and productive association.
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13. Were you friends?
No. Our interests, sensibilities and ideas were very different. We were close
but we were not friends.
14. Rafi Khawar had a tragic end. He killed himself after a disastrous love affair
with starlet Baazgha. Did you see his suicide coming before it took place?
Yes, I did. It was obvious that he was headed towards disaster. He had fallen
in love with a low-class prostitute who wanted to use him to promote her
career as a film actor and to get rich. She did not care for him one bit and
made his life a living hell.
15. Did you ever intervene and try to get Rafi Khawar out of the miserable
situation?
I intervened. I did all that I could. He use to discuss his troubles with me in
great detail. He knew that the woman was going to ruin him but was far too
smitten to walk away. His grief, helplessness and unhappiness was palpable.
It used to make me cringe. I spent countless hours trying to convince him to
end the relationship. I tried to tell him that the woman was a common
whore, the kind of which he could find in red light districts all over the world,
but my efforts were futile. There were times when he seemed to agree with
me but he never had the strength to end the affair. It is a truly hopeless
situation.
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16. Nanna (Rafi Khawar) had a very innocent public persona. Was he that
innocent in real life as well?
No. No one is as innocent real life as Nanna was on screen and in the eyes of
the public.
17. He liked to sing as well.
He wanted to sing but did not have any singing talent.
18. You migrated to Pakistan while in your teens. Did you ever regret the
decision?
No, not even once. I have had my ups and downs in my life in Pakistan but
there has never been a single moment in my life when I have wanted to call
another country home. I love Pakistan. I love it very dearly.
19. What is it that you love about Pakistan?
I love the people of Pakistan. They are loving, warm and caring. I have
received a great deal of love and respect from Pakistanis, perhaps more than
I deserve. The country has taken care of me. And it has given me a lot –
respect, recognition, awards, a decent livelihood, a chance to grow and
some wonderful friendships – that I am very thankful for.
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20. You had a brief tryst with communism as a young man. Why did you move
away from the ideology?
I did not give up communism. No one ever does. Communism is more a
philosophy than a movement or ideology. It does not require one to
subscribe to the ideas of everyone from Lenin to Marx and from Stalin to
Trotsky. As one learns more and grows, one adopts some and discards
others. It is not necessary to become an anarchist or a rebel to believe in
communism. One just employs doctrines that make sense to him and that
he believes in.
21. Why did you not teach writing, acting or direction to your son?
He did not have an interest in writing, acting or direction.
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22. Rafi Khawar, as you said, learned comedy from you. Did you have other
students?
Of course, I did. Everyone who works in the field of comedy in Pakistan is my
student. There are those who formally learnt comedy from me, and those
who did not; both follow my style.
Ally Adnan lives in Dallas and writes about culture, history and
the arts. He tweets @allyadnan and can be reached at