Some of the most memorable stories from this collection are Khol Do, Ram Khilavan, License, and For Freedom. In retrospect, Manto's narratives centering the Partition seem to resonate with me the most; from the grotesque violence and nature of men in and outside war, to the once interwoven nature of our subcontinent's religions, languages, ideologies, and cultures now torn apart. Many times, following stories no longer than a few pages, I put the book away, inarticulate and pertrubed by the ease with which he narrates the twisted nature of grief and tragedy.
There is nothing particularly distinctive about Manto. He presents hismelf as just that. Frustratingly so, his recollections are provisional, lacking the self-righteousness that I tend to look for. I think morality gives us substance and I sensed that he lacks this by nature. This is evident in his description of women, which I can say are unfortunately Murakami-esque.
What I can appreciate is this; there is no point at which, ironically even within a literal partition, where you feel a difference between the varying forms of humanity Manto presents to you, whether of himself or of his characters. There is fascinating interchangeability within the lives of some of the most divided people today, through their shared experiences, politics, identities, instincts, and romances, which are at times almost pervertedly described. In this perversion that I was quite averse to, there was an irreplacable honesty that I can now reluctantly appreciate.
Some of my favorite quotes;
"I feel that she was like a beguiling compound of Muslim prayer and Hindu ritual." (p.124)
"It's a thin membrane; our own politics, our false existence, in which we not only deceive others, but ourselves as well." (p.144)
"You might say it's a matter of choice, of will. But I say that it's from this will itself, from this strange thing man posesses, that they become unmoored." (p.144)
"One in a thousand might kill his appeties, but if every man was to kill his appetitre, one has to ask: where is this massacre getting us? (p.145)
And a scene, p.135-136,
"There was a maulvi on stage as well. He read the Koranic verses that are usually read on these occasions. [...] A Hindu girlfriend of Nigar's, smiling shyly, gave Ghulam Ali a little box and said something to him. Ghulam Ali opened the little box and marked Nigar's forehead with a streak of sindoor. Jallianwala Bagh once again thundered with applause."