Ismat Chughtai

Author and historian Urvashi Butalia details the life and words of a feminist powerhouse.

- Urvashi Butalia

MANY years ago, I went, with some trepidation, to meet Ismat Chughtai. I was then a fledgling publisher, with not even one published book to my credit. Instead, I carried with me a dream – of a feminist publishing house – which had a name (Kali for Women), but no substance. Ismat Apa, as she was known to all and sundry, was in Delhi to meet with some relatives from across the border in Pakistan, and they had helped set up a meeting with her.

What kind of person would we find at the other end? Chughtai was one of the greats of Indian literature; what would she make of a young and new publisher approaching her like this? At the time, very little of her work – indeed only one story so far as I know – had been published in English. But, in the Urdu world, she was much loved and much published. Discussions with people about what kind of person she was and whether she would be at all open to a small publisher approaching her yielded nothing.

All doubt disappeared, though, the moment she entered the room where we waited to meet her. In walked a woman with a mass of silver grey hair that seemed to have a life of its own in the way it curled every which way, but what struck me immediately was the twinkle in her eye and the kindness on her face. That meeting led to a long association with Ismat Apa, and, in the years to come, we, as feminist publishers, brought out a fair amount of her work in English translation.

SPRUNG FROM A LIBERAL FAMILY