Manto to uncle Sam

 

 

Saadat Hassan Manto is perhaps one of the most influential writers that the subcontinent ever produced. Following letter to Uncle Sam was an opportunity for Manto to comment on the strangeness of his new country (read Pakistan), as well as on the surreal aspects of American life as discerned from magazines and newspapers. In the letters, Manto talks about different aspects of American and Pakistani life. Don’t miss the sarcasm, after all; the letters are as irreverent in their treatment of “Uncle” as they are of life in Pakistan.

31 Laxmi Mansions, Hall Road, Lahore

Most respected Uncle,

It has been a while since I wrote to you but while there was no acknowledgment from you, some days earlier, a gentleman from your embassy whose name I do not recall right now, dropped in to see me in the company of a young local. We introduced ourselves in English. I was surprised that he spoke English, not American, a language that I have been unable to follow my entire life. We spoke for nearly three-quarters of an hour. He was pleased to meet me as every Americans pleased to meet a Pakistani or an Indian. I also gave him the impression that I was pleased to meet him, when the fact is that I do not derive any pleasure from meeting white Americans. Please do not take my blunt words to heart. During the last War, when I was living in Bombay, one day I found myself at Bombay Central, the train terminus. All one could see in the city those days were Americans. Nobody any longer gave a damn about poor Tommie. All the Anglo-Indian, Jewish and Parsi girls of Bombay who slept around by way of fashion were now to be seen walking hand in hand with the Americans. Uncle, believe me when one of your soldiers with a Jewish, Parsi or Anglo-Indian girl on his arm would walk past these Tommies, they would burn to a cinder with envy. I am digressing. I was talking about Bombay Central where I used to see many of your soldiers, mostly white, although one also ran into blacks. If truth be told, these black soldiers looked far tougher and in much better health than white ones. At Bombay Central, I saw a Negro soldier who was so muscular that at his very sight I shrank to half my size. I said to him in English, “I was passing this way when I stopped, so impressed was I by your personality.” “There are so many soldiers around, why did you pick me out?” he asked. It was a tricky question but I answered it quite effortlessly. “I am black, so are you. I love black people,” I told him. He flashed a big smile at me. His dark lips looked so attractive that I wanted to kiss them. End of story.

Uncle, your women are so beautiful. I once saw one of your movies called ‘Bathing Beauty’. “Where does uncle find such an assemblage of pretty legs?” I asked my friends later. I think there were about two hundred and fifty of them. Uncle, is this how women’s legs look like in your country? If so, then for God’s sake (that’s if you believe in God) block their exhibition in Pakistan at least. It is possible that women’s legs out here may be better than legs in your country but, uncle, no one flashes them around. Just think about it. The only legs we see are those of our wives: the rest of the legs we consider a forbidden sight. We are rather orthodox you see.

I hope you are happy with your five freedoms.

Your obedient nephew,
Saadat Hasan Manto