Suman K Sharma
Those were the foggy days of the winter, 1973. Hafiz, my friend,and I walked the deserted streets of Jammu, wrapped up in the cosy warmth of companionship. He was a man of extraordinary charm. With his thick black hair, a luxuriant beard and exquisite symmetry of features, he could have sat for the celebrated painter Raja Ravi Varma for the portrait of a youthful rishi. Never in a hurry, he walked with the grace of an artist, which indeed he was. His melodious voice had a soothing quality about it. I asked him often enough to sing. He, without making any fuss, would render one or the other of Mohammed Rafi song to near perfection. It was as if the song were waiting to be sung by him. Later, Hafiz and another friend of ours, Chaman Panthi, honed their musical skills under the tutelage of an accomplished musician, Bakshi Shiv Kumar Sharma of Mohalla Ustad.
Love of music was not the only quality that drew me to Hafiz. It was the wayhe generously gavehis time and attention to others. He was there when I needed him. Time and place did not seem to matter to him. I also felt free to walk down to his home any time of day or night. And he was a patient listener. One could bare one’s soul to him without the least worry. He was discreet in what he said, not given to telling tales.
I met Hafiz at a literary gathering of the Cultural Club of MAM College, Jammu. He read out a rollicking piece of his in Urdu – Cycle ki Savari. The audience chuckled, laughed, guffawed. Hafiz,poker-faced, went on reading unconcerned, which added to the mirth. I sought him out at the end of the session. He told me that ‘Hafiz’ was his pen-name. His real name was Rana Harish Chander. A year junior to me in the college, he studied Urdu with a passion. The couple of years that we were together in MAMC were eventful. Late Shiv Dutt, also a collegemate of ours, came up with the idea of forming our own cultural organisation. It was named Yuvak Kala Sangam (YKS) – a platform for the young of all ages to satisfy their creative urges. We met regularly at my home in Bakshinagar, organised literary competitions, went to the nearby villages on awareness campaigns and conducted shows to promote Dogra culture. YKS proved a roaring success. Hafiz – to me Rana Harish Chander forever remained ‘Hafiz’ – with his multi-talented personality,gave his best to the organisation to make it what it came to be.
I shifted in 1974 to Delhi for a living. Hafiz, Shiv Dutt, Chaman Panthi and many other of my friends were men of a stronger conviction. They decided to try their luck in Jammu itself. YKS was good at teaching them how to showcase their talents and assume responsibility. But that was about all. It did not bring them dough. They had earned their PG degrees and were soon to get married. Now their families had to be provided for. Chaman, the future music director and an acclaimed writer, joined his father’s automobile workshop. Shiv Dutt, the would-be film producer, started off with a small-time business.
Hafiz set up a school with the help of his wife and younger sister. But most ofhis pupils came from poor families. To expect their parents to pay even a nominal fee was out of question. The running of the school was becoming increasingly difficult. Hafiz had to run his family as well. He was in a quandary. I recall a line of his poem that he wrote during the period: Aksar socha karta hun men, mera mustaqbil kya hoga – Often do I contemplate/What will be my fate.
Then a chance came to him in 1990. He was offered the job of a ‘casual’ news-reader at Doordarshan, Srinagar. It suited his talents and temperament. His adorable presence on the small screen and perfect diction won the praise of one and all. In no time he had become a popular figure. But that did nothing to make his life easier. I paid him a visit in 1995 and was appalled at the miserable conditions in which he lived at the Tourist Centre, Srinagar.
It was a messy living. He was separated from his family. There was real and present danger to his life. (In February, 1990, Lassa Kaul, the station director of Doordarshan, Srinagar, had been shot dead by terrorists). Even so, Hafiz diligently performed his duties,year after year. But at the end of the road a disappointment awaited him. When a ‘regular’ vacancy occurred at the station, the post went to someone else. Though hurt, he did not let bitterness mar his day.
Hafiz came back to Jammu and worked with a private channel to bide his time. His two children were growing up and he found it a good opportunity to spend quality time with them. Then a former colleague of his told him of an opening for him in Hyderabad. Movie MughalRamoji Rao’s ETV was looking for someone who had fluency in Urdu language and the right kind of talaffuz – pronunciation – to go with it. Hafiz grabbed the opportunity and was in Hyderabad till a few years back.
He had his own style of functioning – unhurried and geared to achieve perfection. His mastery of Urdu language and command over Hindi, English, Dogri,Kashmiri and Punjabi,coupled with his vast experience before and behind the camera,enabled him to come out with creditable scripts for the electronic media. Of late, he had started, under the auspices of the 24×7 Jammu News, commenting on political issues. The short (barely of 3- or 4-minutes’ duration), tastefully done videos on the YouTube are masterly in their content and treatment.
Hafiz took pride in what he did. But he was never vain. Courteous and soft-spoken to a fault, he could be acerbic as well. His acute sense of right and wrong made him tell you to your face where you had faulted in word or action. For all his outgoing behaviour, he remained a very private person. He would readily lend a sympathetic ear to anyone’s tale of woe, while keeping his own troubles strictly to himself. ‘Laugh and the world laughs with you; weep and you weep alone!’ That was his mantra of life.
On 4 September, Hafiz sent me a ‘forward’ on WhatsApp. Translated from Hindi, it said: A man’s nature is the greatest asset earned by him. He might go far, far away; yet, he continues to live in one’s memory because of his good nature.
That was my friend’s last ‘forward’ to me. He passed away on 11 September after a brief illness.
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