DASTAANGOI the lost art of story-telling

An initiative by Khan and Hasan

It was a busy day. After seeing patients back to back for four hours, listening to their miseries, processing all the inflow of information in my mind, jotting down formulations and deciding with the most appropriate medication, along with the suitable branch of psychotherapy for each case was all tiring.

I had closed my patients charts and moved my chair towards the computer table. I started screening my daily emails. For four to five minutes I was just deleting, scanning, replying and managing my email box, when in a side bar I had another tab open for news; I started ogling the weekend activities in a town (of violence and mayhem). Glancing over the news, one particular feature caught my eye and I clicked on the story to extract more details.

The art of story-telling in Karachi DASTAANGOI, the lost trend of our grand-parents

FAWAD KHAN, NAZR-UL-HASAN AND SYED MEESAM NAQVIIt was like a fresh breeze.

When I was a kid, we used to get a kids magazine at home featuring magical narrations and stories. I used to read about story telling phenomena and it fascinated me. Now, here I am going to visualize this activity with my naked eyes OMG! (Sounds like observing microorganisms under a microscope). - -The hall was jampacked and it was hard to find a place to sit. I managed it anyhow. Silence was requested and it was followed by a short introduction of two narrators.

Here came a prolonged hail across the hall and appearances of two young men were made. I was astonished; I had a pre-formed image of a middle aged guy (rather an elderly figure!). Well, culturally we tend to associate youth with inexperience, naivety and even amateurishness rather than novelty, creativity and sign of revolt or break of traditional components.

So did I.

I sat back and started anticipating this event as the series of errors and trial session. Stage was set and participants held positions.

These two guys were smiling and were standing with their arms folded over their chests. (I was not able to help myself from constantly reading their body languages, gazes, stances and moves one of my favorites subject to read)

One of them was a tall man, wheat-complexioned, with bright eyes and he was maintaining an intense gaze over an audience. Another one was about an average height and built, type 5 complexioned, having French-beard and was appearing shy.

They sat on a divan and held a mic in front of them. Tall one has started it.

It was thick, loud, confident tone, with complete emphasis on articulation, fluency and deliberation of rthym.

I was stunned for a moment.

I asked from the fellow person: he is sorry forgot his name?

Fawad khan, he replied.

I have never seen anyone speaking rekhta (urdu) with such a justified tone and accent.

Another one (named Hasan) picked up the end of a story strand from where Khan had left.

Initially he was repeatedly giving powerful gestures in between, when Khan was throwing a situational jest. It was mesmerizing, to see his body jitters aligned with the recitation.

Hasan had inched up the story part in a physically distinct gesture along with an ostentatiously thrilling tone. Theaudience was seizedwith an uncontrollable fit oflaughter. Many were recording through their phones and few were overwhelmed like me.

The narrators voyage was marked by humor, personality description, magical adventures and an erudite explanation of behaviors in past, when lives were filled with an essence of harmony, coherence and kindness. Reflections over daily life skirmishes, life patterns, interactions and common men conducts were deliberated with fine tunes of embellished word composition. It was admixed with action, mood and was well synchronized with gesticulatory presentation.

It was a two-hour session. Hours swept away like moments. We were leaving hall with the hissing voices and in mirth. Some were trying to approach Khan and Hasan for the feedback and autograph. Some were requesting for another show.

Today, I was really moved by the remarkable recital of these two young men, who really filled our evenings with ecstasy.

I approached them, thanked them and they politely received my compliments. This time their hands were folded behind, revealing a gesture of composure.

On my way back to home, I was thinking that amid anarchy and incoherence which is filling us with more and more confusion, misunderstanding and fear. Events like these help us in defining our literary origins, which of course define basics of our language. Language is a most prominent means of communication, understanding and above all necessary component of a nation for self-identification.

Although, we have lost the trend of seeking happiness through learning, literature, research and exploration, in a city of id (Freudians concept of primitive self which is characterized by sex, hunger and aggression) we can hardly see any entertainment than dining out and watching movies.

In mid of scarcity and poor literacy threshold, Khan and Hasan have done wonders. They have attracted people, cultivated an idea of joy through different and lost tradition of language and prose.

Karachiites are really thankful to you for this great stance!PAGE 1