In times of turbulence, it is important to put peoples’ aspirations to the fore: Salima Hashmi

Building on the framework of the poem, Subh-e-Azaadi, the exhibition reinterprets the moment of Partition nearly seven decades later. Inspired by the poet, the artists probe the past and the present simultaneously to circumvent history as it is told and try to reimagine and fashion it anew. The poem may be a memorial to another time, but it continues to insist on a critical look at why ‘the dark weight of night is [has] not lifted yet’, and how the gossamer-like promise of a journey of shared futures, which commenced a long time ago, was denied culmination. I felt it was the right time for the exhibition. When there is difficulty, in times of turbulence, it is important to put peoples’ aspirations to the fore.

Many artists showing in the exhibition, including Faiza Butt and Bani Abidi, are your students. Years ago, you chose to teach art rather than pursue your own career. How do you look back at that decision?
Teaching has been very important to me. In Pakistan, we have been lucky that there have been one or two really good institutions, with excellent professional artists as teachers, which is very rare. That is the reason why the art scene in Pakistan is so dynamic. It was a conscious choice to put my art on the back burner and I think now I’m being rewarded many times over. Look at how Pakistani art is booming. There is no patronage, artists don’t have their eyes on the market, they are working because they need to work. Their work is diverse, it’s not something entirely predictable.

Do you see your different roles — of an artist, educator, curator, writer and peace activist — overlapping?
Different aspects come to the fore at different times. I started writing because I felt writers had failed to document the history of art in Pakistan. What was being written in the newspapers was very superficial. It was important to bring it all together, so that what was being done wasn’t lost. That was the impetus; writing grew out of a need rather than inclination. Rohtas Gallery, which I established with architect Naeem Pasha in 1981, also had a purpose. It was an extension of my teaching and its role was very consciously designed as educational and non-commercial. We wanted to show cutting-edge, experimental art that was not being shown otherwise. We decided we would never show landscapes or calligraphy and things like that. The inaugural show was reviewed and the next day, papers carried a review, pointing out two works that could be anti-army. I was at the gallery immediately, changing the works to put up landscapes; when officials came and asked, I told them, ‘Never believe anything written in the papers.’ Over the years, Rohtas has gained the reputation of showing works not acceptable in other government venues.

How was it to grow up as Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s daughter? As a child, were you aware of the influence he had?
We did not grow up thinking we had this great man in the house. He was very modest, humble. I remember accompanying him, as a child, to an event being held in his honour in Sialkot. The speakers were all praise for him and he sat there smiling, glancing at me from time to time. On our way back, I asked him, ‘Who were they talking about?’ ‘Not me!’ he replied. We weren’t made to feel different, but the environment was definitely politically-charged. I was eight years old when he was imprisoned. I remember visiting him in jail. As a child, that was difficult to cope with, but my mother always told us he was not a criminal.

The world knows Faiz through his poems. How would you describe him as a father? I believe you are more like him, and your sister Moneeza is more like your mother.
I am quiet like him, but I’m also like my mother. She was a tigress and I believed that she was born to protect all of us. As a family, we had our share of fun. One day, I decided to play a prank on my father on April Fool’s day. I wore my grandmother’s burqa and disguised myself as an old woman and sat in the living room. My mother sent him to me, saying that there is a woman who insists on seeing you. I started relating a tale of misery and asked him for help. He patiently listened to my sob story and returned with a cheque book and asked, ‘What amount should I write?’ I pulled away my veil and started laughing. He said, ‘Gadhi’ (laughs).

Was art also an outlet for you?
In some ways, it was. I started painting when I was six or seven. My mother used to give me colours. I went very quiet when my father was in jail, art became a means of talking to myself.

You were under house arrest in 2007, when General Pervez Musharraf declared a state of emergency.
Yes, there were 51 of us. First, they put us together in a thana. We had some livewire singers amidst us, so we started singing old Bollywood numbers, songs of Lata Mangeshkar, Asha Bhosle, Mohammed Rafi. Then, they decided to put us under house arrest. The group was divided into two or three, and kept at different houses. I cannot say it was a traumatic experience.

There are frequent incidents of visas being rejected on both sides of the border. How important is cultural exchange? You also vehemently opposed nuclear tests in both countries…
It is not possible for either of the countries to develop unless they come to terms with the fact that they are Siamese twins. It still disturbs me that two poverty-stricken nations took the nuclear path as a deterrent. Look at the region armed in such a manner, the last thing we need is insecurity for our future generations.

I feel artists, musicians, writers — people from the cultural field — should have a special passport to travel across whenever they want. When IK Gujral was the Indian foreign minister (he was a close associate of my father), I even wrote to him saying free visa access should be a part of his government’s agenda. I think it is important to sign a protocol that will facilitate easy movement of art between the two countries.

Are you also working on a biography of Faiz?
My nephew (Ali Madeeh Hashmi) has worked on his biography. I’m working on a memoir, but haven’t decided what to put in it.