ANALYSIS BY  DIVISION OF CHUGHTAI ART INTO SIX DECADES;
LAST PHASE SEVENTIES ALSO OF CHANGES AND INNOVATIONS.

By 1970 the artist M.A., Rahman Chughtai was going through various turmoils. The separation of East Pakistan was a personal blow to him, as he was the forerunner of the Ideology and  Culture of Pakistan. In 1965 held a Press Conference in Dacca about the inseparable nature of East and West Pakistan. Things were not normal at home. The marriage of his daughter Ms Mussarat Chughtai had created issues which he could not sustain emotionally in any way. LDA was not inclined to clear the site of his proposed museum for his art and his collection. And he was not keeping good health. The children and grandchildren of his brother Abdur Raheem Chughtai were not inclined to look at his views of the world. In fact two daughters of his brother held a bizarre religious ritual, praying tht if he cannot be physically well, then Allah should take him away. Allah forbid such malignancy! The greed for capturing his legacy never went away. Material greed short sighted the nobility of creative vision, for their philistine generation. Pangs of artist unheard. For a start, a sleeping problem had occurred. Awoke at night, sleepy by day. Then a terrible shake in his hands, which would not permit the finest line he was used to for drawing. Pills abounded. Enemies gloated for his end. The miracle was that he went on working, but changed his drawing and coloring to suit the needs of his physical health.

Our scholars are truly morons and never take the opportunity to study the life of an artist. The life of any artist is reflected in his output of creativity. All that they can do is compare printed images of his art in books like Murraqqa and come up with conclusions. The most wonderful adventure is a study of the last phase of his life and his works. They speak for themselves. To combat his trembling hand at times, he had to make his line in art thicker so that the tremor effect could be minimized. He had to dispense with many washes and come up with solutions of lesser washes with same effect, and it is remarkable that he succeeded so well. His compositions changed too. He never gave up, and when at times that feeling came up, I was here to thump him on his back and encourage him to fight the impossible emotions. Long after his death my mother continued telling me that I was always under the impression that he was in the next room and would come in anytime. He never did of course like that, but his morale rubbed on to me. When I feared most was the same thing, I also wanted my back thumped in reality as an ideal. But when he held my hand on 17th January, 1975, in the morning, he would not let go. A reminder that Dr Allama Iqbal held his hand in same way, at the turning point of death. I understood!

So start enhancing your observation skills. Stop idle rant and bark of unknown art works. Charade! Buy one book on Western Art and like a coffee table book, flaunt it in front of others, without even knowing a thing. The West turned our Storytelling and Dramatic writings into zero by their anti-climax of things. A life without heros and heroines, where the villain wins in the end. The media rants about Pakistanis who hate Pakistan, and their message is to undo our country. Confusion in right and wrong abounds. Our culture of songs and music turned into rattle of obscene sounds. And for Art sake, I had to take a test. The one I took once from the top of my roof. A mela was going on with thousands if not millions of participants. I took a work of “Amal e Chughtai” in printed form and threw it into the crowd from far above their standing. As it floated down, I saw a mother with  her kid watching it come down. The small kid ran to pick it up and offered it to the gaze of his mother. The mother, a total illiterate and uneducated perhaps a villager, held it in her hand, and folded it and put it in her blouse across her chest. Mere hand would not do, close to heart. No capacity to throw it but to treasure it back home. Put an original Picasso on the road, and a homeless addict would probably burn it for warmth in winter. That is what we call INHERENT CULTURE. It is better to learn to respect it. It overtakes us all the time with its instincts for beauty. It is not going back. It is not the future. It is timeless without time itself. Our future heritage! To engender other things is filth for us.

The last phase is a lesson of indomitable courage of an artist to leave a legacy for his nation. All positive in nature, not contrived to please outside ears and vision. Pakistan lives in its own culture, not mere paindoo doings, but the culture of the best cultural protagonists of the country. M.A. Rahman Chughtai is our lesson for all times.