SHAKILA RAFIQ…A SOURCE OF INSPIRATION

By: Khalid Sohail

Dear Ladies and Gentlemen,

Today all of us have gathered here to celebrate. Celebrate a writer, a woman and a mother of 12 children, four children of her body and eight children of her mind. Recently she gave birth to her eighth child, a collection of short stories titled way soortaiN elahi.

Let me make a confession here. I am not easily impressed by people and writers. But Shakila Rafiq has not only impressed me, she has  also inspired me and I am confident she has been a source of inspiration for many other men and women, writers and artists, by her creativity and commitment, dedication and determination. While many other writers of her generation have stopped writing and have reached a creative menopause, she is still alive and producing and creating and that is a valid reason for all of us to celebrate.

       The first time I met Shakila Rafiq was in 1980s when she read her story in a writers’ meeting in Toronto. All I remember now is that it was a sad story as it was about death. After the meeting she gave me a copy of her collection of stories titled kuch dair pehlay neend say . When I read those stories I became sad and melancholic as many of those stories were focusing on death. After reading that collection I wondered why Shakila Rafiq was preoccupied with death. At that time I knew Shakila only as a writer, neither as a woman nor as a mother.

       I remember writing a letter to thank her for her gift of creativity and we had an exchange of letters. Those days I used to be hesitant to write to Eastern women as I knew that a friendship between an Eastern man and woman was suspect in the traditional Eastern culture. I became more cautious when I found out that she was single as she was a widow. She complained to her daughter, Naheed once that I did not respond to her letter.

       But after she moved to Toronto and I met her a few times I was impressed by her honesty and sincerity and it did not take us too long to become close friends. While living in Toronto I met her children Naheed, Aamir and Asim and she met my sweetheart, Bette Davis, who also became her great admirer. And one day I had a long interview with her. That interview opened new doors of understanding. That interview reflected her greatness and steadfastness.  That interview solved the mystery of her preoccupation with death as a writer. Her husband’s death was a major crisis in her life as she was only 28 and had four small children. Her family broke down but she turned her breakdown into a breakthrough and built a new life for herself and her four children. For a single mother in Pakistan to support her four children by her writings was not less than a miracle.

Shakila started writing stories for popular magazines and digests to pay the bills and buy bread and butter for her family. She became a working woman as a writer. After her interview I changed my attitude about popular literature. Rather than judging on literary grounds I realized that in poor countries people have to sell their pen and creativity to feed their children. But Shakila was very talented, so she went back to school and did her Masters in Urdu literature and started writing serious stories for literary magazines. She wanted to be a well respected writer and not just a popular writer. Let me share a special segment of her interview to share a few glimpses of her struggles.

       When I asked her how old she was when her husband died she said, “I was twenty-eight. After my husband's death both sides of the family offered financial support, but I turned it down. I did not want my children to be financially dependent on family's support. I was afraid it would affect them emotionally. In the beginning it was hard to get a job because my education was limited. I had only passed my matriculation. Meanwhile, I received an offer from Pakeeza magazine. Since they were willing to pay, I accepted their offer to contribute my short stories. After that I accepted all the writing offers of magazines that were willing to pay.

Those days the issue of survival was so important that I did not think of making a name in literary circles. I was lucky to write for popular magazines. Those magazines had a formula like Harlequin romances and it was not difficult to write many stories in the same style. Later on, many literary critics acknowledged that even those stories had a literary quality. Those days I was known as a successful writer of popular magazines. They needed me and I needed them. We complemented each other.”

When I inquired about her education she shared, “Alongside writing stories, I also started studying for my exam. And when my older daughter took her grade twelve examination, I took that exam too. After passing my intermediate exam, I started studying for my Bachelor's exam and after passing that I appeared in for my Master's exam. I was pleased to get masters in Urdu literature.”

While Shakila was struggling with her husband’s death she was also facing a family dilemma with her sick mother. She shared her emotional pain in these words, “Talking about those times is making me upset as I am remembering all the sad things. It was very painful because nobody had told my mother about Rafiq's death. It was kept a secret.

She was sick and the whole family thought that the shock would kill her. She was told that Rafiq had gone to Saudi Arabia to earn a living. Since we were financially struggling at that time, she believed it.

Every evening I used to feed my old mother with my own hands. One evening while I was finishing my story for Pakeeza - that day was the deadline for it - my mother requested me to feed her. I asked her to wait for a few minutes so that I could finish the last dialogue of the story. Those days she had become irritable and used to lose her cool easily. In anger she said, "I would like to be fed right away. I cannot wait." And then she lost control, "What are you doing here? You should go to Saudi Arabia and live with your husband. I am afraid he has married another woman. That is why he does not come to visit. Neither does he send you any new clothes and jewellery. Even on Eid you were wearing white clothes and had no jewellery on. That is not right."

I lost control and started weeping bitterly. I had controlled my tears for two long years. I could not control them any longer. My brother heard my cries and came running downstairs. He hugged me and when he heard what mother had said, he told my mother that Rafiq had passed away two years ago.

For a while my mother became speechless, then we embraced and both cried.”

       When I expressed my curiosity about her struggles as a single mother in Pakistan, she volunteered, “ With two sons and two daughters, it was pretty difficult. At the same time, not only was I young but my daughters became teenagers too. You, being a psychiatrist, can imagine what kind of psychological and social problems a young widow faces in Pakistan. Men do not respect single women especially when they become widows. I had to be very discrete and protect myself.”

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Shakila Rafiq has been a source of inspiration for her children, grandchildren, friends and readers. Her stories are a candle of of hope that bring light in the darkest alleys of life.