Remembering

Professor Wadud Manzar

By Afzal Hussain Bokhari

After a live talk in Radio Pakistan, we walked from the quiet studios to the noisy parking lot near the main gate. Relishing the last puff of his cigarette, he threw away the fag end and climbing into his over-used car he asked me persuasively to continue the dialogue over a cup of tea in his favourite restaurant on a busy Saddar Road in the Cantonment area. Stretching over quite a few hours, the conversation ranged from Urdu literature to the overall cultural scene in the City. Munching on spicy ‘shami kebobs’, as he chain smoked and sipped the visibly strong tea, I marveled at the ease with which he switched over from one to the other topic without compromising on the correctness of his opinion.

Professor Wadud Manzar, who died of cardiac arrest on Monday morning at the age of 74, was a credible name in drama and film acting.

He was a familiar figure in the social, cultural and educational circles of the Khyber-Pakhtunkhwa metropolis. Men from all shades of life attended the funeral at his Hadi Lane, Afzalabad residence near the VIP Guest House on Abdarra Road. The mourners praised the late artist’s life-long contribution to fine arts.

His artistic career started in 1960. While serving as a teacher of Urdu language and literature in the early part of his service at City’s Government College near Shahi Bagh, he groomed a large number of students, who later went into radio, television and films or worked for stage and theatre. Towards the end of his employment in education, he rose to become the principal of Government College, Darra Adamkhel.

His circle of friends in the mid-1960s included Mohammad Qavi Khan, Mohsin Ehsan, Tahir Soofi and Iqbal Wadud, who later went into business and set up a chain of departmental stores in City.

Born into the home of a respectable Hindko-speaking gentleman in Dhakki Munawar Shah, Ander Shehr, Manzar and other members of his family were highly sociable.

His sister Rasheeda Begum taught in the Shahabuddin School for Girls and was the proud mother of award-winning television actor Najeebullah Anjum. Manzar got married into a family living in Gulbahar. His wife Farhat Yousuf retained her pre-marriage surname even as she worked as librarian in the Frontier College for Women. 

Over a long and brilliant career, Manzar acted in several Urdu, Hindko and Pushto plays.

These included Peshawar TV centre’s early serials “Aik tha gaon”, “Saudagar” and “Tatiyan Chhawan” (Hindko for hot shades). His last Urdu serial was titled as “Chingariyan”.

He was last seen on mini screen in a special August 14, 2011 Hindko play called “Deeway di lo” (light emitted by a home-made lamp). As if not content with his contribution to television, he also tried his hand at Urdu and Pushto films.

These included “Mera naam hai mohabbat”, “Bemisaal”, “Neelaam” and “Deedan”. Moreover, he was head of the executive committee of the recently constituted “Artists’ Equity”.

As college teacher, Manzar educated nearly three generations of boys in and around Peshawar. Some of his prominent students included Jehanzeb Sohail, Ejaz Niazi, Mushtaq Shabab, Aziz Ejaz, Naji Khan and late Farhatullah Qureshi. Well-dressed and soft-spoken, Manzar consciously or unconsciously got inspiration from, and even imitated, a fellow Peshawari artist Yousuf Khan, who switched over to Bombay, now Mumbai, and rose to become the topmost actor under the film name of Dilip Kumar.

Most of the time, he walked and talked like Dilip and not without success. At times, the influence of Dilip was so predominant in his performance that it almost prevented the original artist in Manzar from asserting itself.

Some years back during the recording of his special August 14 play “Jo yoon hota to kia hota”, this scribe had a unique chance to observe Manzar as a performer.

My play was based on the real-life episode of a dedicated university teacher who was thrown out of job through intrigue and the machinations of shallow colleagues.

The manner in which Manzar read the script through and focused on his role showed his professionalism.

Producer Zia-ur-Rahman knew the number of three-piece suits that Manzar had in his wardrobe along with colours and tailoring subtleties.

He briefed the actor on which colour suited which scene. Zia-ur-Rahman and Manzar showed the best in them and viewers appreciated the end result.

Apart from being suitably educated, when an artist has good looks, there is no dearth of admirers around him. In spite of being an essentially loving, caring and a good-humoured artist, Manzar tried as far as possible to play safe with his admirers.

Except for a brief Faraz-like romantic escapade with a known female radio artist, blown out of proportions by opponents and the sensation-mongering paparazzi, the late actor had by and large a scandal-free career. Juniors and seniors in the field equally respected the actor for his talent.

With the disappearance from the scene of an artist of Wadud Manzar’s stature and caliber, one honestly feels that nature has dealt a heavy blow to the world of performing arts, already on decline in our part of the globe.

Peshawar will probably be far more dull and insipid without Manzar in it. Friends and acquaintances will most likely miss the sharp wit, sophisticated mannerism and eloquence that was so typically associated with Manzar.

For this scribe, the distance between the studios of Radio Pakistan and the main gate has suddenly become unimaginably long and tedious.

Thoughtful conversation with him over a cup of tea has unfortunately faded into history. Television cameras of drama producers will continue to miss the lively performance given so spontaneously and effortlessly by the seasoned actor.

New boys and girls who pass the audition will certainly feel difficulty in finding someone who had a perfect and smart delivery of dialogue. One may be excused for sentimentalism but to all appearances, poet Nasir Kazimi was absolutely correct when he composed the inimitable lines reproduced below:

“Rach bas gaya hai zehn main Nasir kisi ka roop; Ab kia karain gay koi shah kar dekh kar!”