Baig’s last exit
A meeting with a truly evolved human being, someone who radiated intellect and was amazingly content from within
By Wajahat Malik
I heard the news of Obaidullah Baig’s walkabout to the other side when I was sitting in Gilgit, marvelling at the dark inky clouds floating through an otherwise blinking starry night. I looked at the shadows of the rugged mountains all around and imagined his spirit soaring above the great Karakorams, riding the clouds of romance, travel, intellect and mindful freedom. He had made his last exit.
Being a Hindko speaker from the town of Mansehra, my Urdu is always punctuated with mispronounced words that I speak with a slight Hindko accent. About a couple of years ago when I was in Karachi, I told my friend Maheen Zia that I wanted to meet ‘Abaidullah’ Baig. At first she corrected my pronunciation, teaching me the right way of pronouncing ‘Obaidullah’ with a big O and then very kindly arranged a meeting for me. I was overjoyed. Finally, I was going to meet the writer, the historian, the scholar, the TV personality, and for me most importantly, the first travel documentary filmmaker in Pakistan.
Growing up in the eighties, I only knew Obaidullah Baig from his famous television quiz show “Kasoti” where he sat with his signature glasses and a cultured mind, solving puzzles for a delighted audience. He radiated intellect and wisdom and even at that young age I knew he was a voracious reader for he seemed to know about everything. I was in total awe of him and wanted to read a lot of books myself so I could be like him, cerebrally brilliant. He became a role model, someone I could relate to.
Later on when I started presenting a travel show on Pakistan television and started making my own travel films, I learnt about Obaidullah Baig’s travel documentary series called “Sailani kee Diary” (diary of a traveller) that he used to produce for Pakistan television back in the seventies. He was the pioneer of travel filmmaking in Pakistan and this revelation made me ecstatic. I was following in the footsteps of my role model of yesteryear. He suddenly became more important for me. I wanted to meet the man. But he lived in Karachi, far away from Islamabad and I don’t think I was really that hot on his trail either. So it took me a few years to finally meet him in person.
It was to be our first and the last meeting.
On the way to his house, a friend of Maheen who was accompanying us kept telling me about Obaidullah’s physical strength despite his old age. “He is in his mid-seventies but is built like a solid rock.” He kept saying, “You will know what I mean when you will meet him, but you know, a few months ago he has had a heart attack and he is recuperating from that. I hope he is good.”Somewhere in Clifton, we turned onto a leafy boulevard and parked. It was an old white house emanating an aesthetically sound architectural character.
We were led through an open courtyard into a sitting room. The décor of the room was simple yet tasteful and of course there were books on the shelf. He entered the room clad in a shalwar kameez, sporting a big smile, his eyes gleaming from behind those familiarly big square glasses. Despite his ailment, he looked fresh and robust, bursting with youthful energy.
When we had settled down, he straightaway asked me about my travel and film plans. I was pleasantly surprised to know he had been following my travel shows on television and wanted to know more about my projects. And then we kicked up a talking storm. I asked him and he talked about his early life in Moradabad, India, before partition, his Turkic ancestry, his time in Pakistan television and radio, his travel films and environment related documentaries that he shot on 16 mm cameras while travelling all over Pakistan, his scholarly pursuits, his love for books and history, his two historical novels and finally about a travel series that he had recently produced for Pakistan Television.
He became more animated and relaxed as the evening progressed. I told him I wanted to see his old work that was gathering dust in PTV archives and he became very excited and reassured me he will help me get my hands on that old film stock.As we talked more my admiration for this brilliant man grew manifold and I thought to myself, now here is a truly evolved human being, someone who is amazingly content from within and surely at peace with the world outside.
During this time, we were plied with a lavish high tea and also had a brief chat with his wife Salma Baig who was also a well-known television show host for PTV. She was charming as ever and sat with us on and off throughout the evening.
For many years, I had harboured this desire of jointly producing and co-hosting a travel show with Obaidullah Baig and now at this most opportune moment as he sat right next to me in person, I felt jitters on proposing such a venture to him. And towards the end of the evening, when I finally put forth the proposal, he was simply delighted at the prospect of doing a travel series with me. Even though we made plans of meeting up again, exchanged emails and phone numbers and I promised to email him the brief of the proposed show, somehow I had this feeling I was never going to see him again.
Obaidullah Baig then rose from his chair, went inside the house and came back into the room holding a copy of his novel, “Aur Insan Zinda Hai”. “I have signed it for you.” He smiled as he handed me the book and I thanked him profusely.
He came outside in the courtyard to see us off and as I embraced Obaidullah Baig for the first and last time, I realised I was saying goodbye to one of the last few giants standing tall among many little men.
Zygotepoet@hotmail.com
A meeting with a truly evolved human being, someone who radiated intellect and was amazingly content from within
By Wajahat Malik
I heard the news of Obaidullah Baig’s walkabout to the other side when I was sitting in Gilgit, marvelling at the dark inky clouds floating through an otherwise blinking starry night. I looked at the shadows of the rugged mountains all around and imagined his spirit soaring above the great Karakorams, riding the clouds of romance, travel, intellect and mindful freedom. He had made his last exit.
Being a Hindko speaker from the town of Mansehra, my Urdu is always punctuated with mispronounced words that I speak with a slight Hindko accent. About a couple of years ago when I was in Karachi, I told my friend Maheen Zia that I wanted to meet ‘Abaidullah’ Baig. At first she corrected my pronunciation, teaching me the right way of pronouncing ‘Obaidullah’ with a big O and then very kindly arranged a meeting for me. I was overjoyed. Finally, I was going to meet the writer, the historian, the scholar, the TV personality, and for me most importantly, the first travel documentary filmmaker in Pakistan.
Growing up in the eighties, I only knew Obaidullah Baig from his famous television quiz show “Kasoti” where he sat with his signature glasses and a cultured mind, solving puzzles for a delighted audience. He radiated intellect and wisdom and even at that young age I knew he was a voracious reader for he seemed to know about everything. I was in total awe of him and wanted to read a lot of books myself so I could be like him, cerebrally brilliant. He became a role model, someone I could relate to.
Later on when I started presenting a travel show on Pakistan television and started making my own travel films, I learnt about Obaidullah Baig’s travel documentary series called “Sailani kee Diary” (diary of a traveller) that he used to produce for Pakistan television back in the seventies. He was the pioneer of travel filmmaking in Pakistan and this revelation made me ecstatic. I was following in the footsteps of my role model of yesteryear. He suddenly became more important for me. I wanted to meet the man. But he lived in Karachi, far away from Islamabad and I don’t think I was really that hot on his trail either. So it took me a few years to finally meet him in person.
It was to be our first and the last meeting.
On the way to his house, a friend of Maheen who was accompanying us kept telling me about Obaidullah’s physical strength despite his old age. “He is in his mid-seventies but is built like a solid rock.” He kept saying, “You will know what I mean when you will meet him, but you know, a few months ago he has had a heart attack and he is recuperating from that. I hope he is good.”Somewhere in Clifton, we turned onto a leafy boulevard and parked. It was an old white house emanating an aesthetically sound architectural character.
We were led through an open courtyard into a sitting room. The décor of the room was simple yet tasteful and of course there were books on the shelf. He entered the room clad in a shalwar kameez, sporting a big smile, his eyes gleaming from behind those familiarly big square glasses. Despite his ailment, he looked fresh and robust, bursting with youthful energy.
When we had settled down, he straightaway asked me about my travel and film plans. I was pleasantly surprised to know he had been following my travel shows on television and wanted to know more about my projects. And then we kicked up a talking storm. I asked him and he talked about his early life in Moradabad, India, before partition, his Turkic ancestry, his time in Pakistan television and radio, his travel films and environment related documentaries that he shot on 16 mm cameras while travelling all over Pakistan, his scholarly pursuits, his love for books and history, his two historical novels and finally about a travel series that he had recently produced for Pakistan Television.
He became more animated and relaxed as the evening progressed. I told him I wanted to see his old work that was gathering dust in PTV archives and he became very excited and reassured me he will help me get my hands on that old film stock.As we talked more my admiration for this brilliant man grew manifold and I thought to myself, now here is a truly evolved human being, someone who is amazingly content from within and surely at peace with the world outside.
During this time, we were plied with a lavish high tea and also had a brief chat with his wife Salma Baig who was also a well-known television show host for PTV. She was charming as ever and sat with us on and off throughout the evening.
For many years, I had harboured this desire of jointly producing and co-hosting a travel show with Obaidullah Baig and now at this most opportune moment as he sat right next to me in person, I felt jitters on proposing such a venture to him. And towards the end of the evening, when I finally put forth the proposal, he was simply delighted at the prospect of doing a travel series with me. Even though we made plans of meeting up again, exchanged emails and phone numbers and I promised to email him the brief of the proposed show, somehow I had this feeling I was never going to see him again.
Obaidullah Baig then rose from his chair, went inside the house and came back into the room holding a copy of his novel, “Aur Insan Zinda Hai”. “I have signed it for you.” He smiled as he handed me the book and I thanked him profusely.
He came outside in the courtyard to see us off and as I embraced Obaidullah Baig for the first and last time, I realised I was saying goodbye to one of the last few giants standing tall among many little men.
Zygotepoet@hotmail.com
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