Saadat Hasan Manto (Urdu: سعادت حسن منٹو, Hindi: सआदत हसन मंटो), the most widely read and the most controversial short-story writer in Urdu, was born on 11 May 1912 at Sambrala in Punjab's Ludhiana District. In a writing career spanning over two decades he produced twenty-two collections of short stories, one novel, five collections of radio plays, three collections of essays, two collections of reminiscences and many scripts for films. He was tried for obscenity half a dozen times, thrice before and thrice after independence. Not always was he acquitted. Some of Manto's greatest work was produced in the last seven years of his life, a time of great financial and emotional hardship for him. He died a few months short of his forty-third birthday, in January 1955, in Lahore.
This was my first Manto and what I realised was, Manto will just bring you to the situation, he will not judge for you or formulate your opinion. He will just bring you to it, that's all. The stories were intense!
To discover Manto is to discover time. His stories are alive with it. Even though written almost a century ago, they sing through years. The love, affection, grief, pain, separation and so many myriad emotions reflected in them speak through and between the lines.
Sa’adat Hasan Manto is the most widely read and controversial essayist, satirist, playwright and short story writer in the Urdu language. He published twenty-two collections of short stories. He is best known for his stories about the partition of India, which he opposed vehemently.
Manto was tried six times for alleged obscenity in his writings; thrice before 1947 in British India, and thrice after independence in 1947 in Pakistan, but was never convicted.
In this collection, some of his most iconic short stories have been presented, including ‘Khol Do’, ‘Shah Dule Ka Chooha’, ‘Bu’, ‘Dus Rupaye’, ‘Thanda Gosht’ and ‘Naya Qanoon’. Suicide was one of my most favourite. A father whose entire life is toppled in a matter of minutes.
Now, a note on translation. It's the beauty as well as curse of a translation that it must remain invisible. Like a sturdy set of bones, it much prop up the story on its feet, without being visible. And the translation here does just that. The biggest compliment you can give to a translator is about their invisibility: 'The book didn't read like a translation at all.' So this crossing of the words, from one language to another, was fluid and organic. Kudos to all the translators for doing the great work.