Asrar Ahmed (Ibn-e-Safi) born 26 July 1928, Allahabad; died 26 July 1980, Karachi
A poet, scientist and filmmaker in India remembers childhood summers in Allahabad – birthplace of the wildly popular detective novelist Asrar Ahmed, known as Ibn-e-Safi, and analyses what he terms the ‘Ibn-e-Safi phenomenon’
By Gauhar Raza / Sapan News
My parents were voracious readers, so it was natural for us siblings to develop a desire to step into the world of books early on. We grew up on the Aligarh Muslim University campus and spent summer vacations in Allahabad (now Prayagraj) with our maternal and paternal aunts – Khala and Phuphi who lived just a staircase and a door apart from each other.
Their houses were large, with plenty of room and open space, and the freedom to have a wonderful time. Little did we know that these were not just vacations, our elders were educating us far beyond the four walls of a school.
And that is how we were introduced to the detective novelist Ibn-e-Safi whose stories appeared in a tantalising series called Jasoosi Dunya (The Spy World) and achieved unprecedented popularity. What I witnessed in Aligarh on publication days was not unique. Long queues formed outside bookstalls in cities from Karachi to Lahore, from Delhi, Lucknow and Allahabad, to Meerut, Agra, Kanpur, and beyond – testimony to the geographical spread of what I call the “Ibn-e-Safi phenomenon.”
The publications were independent books. It did not matter which one you read first. Most appeared after a month, but between some, the gap was longer
Allahabad summers
Our maternal uncle, Khaloo Abba, Nawab Mahmood Agha, had a large circle of friends; writers, poets, politicians, teachers, businessmen, and even judges. They would gather to chat in the evenings, some regularly and others occasionally, in the open courtyard, in the mardana part of the house reserved for men. They discussed every topic under the sun till late into the evening. We children were expected to arrange the chairs for them in a circle, keep their huqqas (water pipes) warm, and continuously serve tea and water.
As we learned to read Urdu, I realised that books fell into two categories: For children and for adults. Copies of publications lying around included titles that we children were not encouraged to read, Jasoosi Dunya, and Rumani Dunya (The Romantic World). The office of the publisher for both, Nikhat Publications, was barely a hundred paces away. One summer in Allahabad, I asked my mother what these books were about.
“Why don’t you read one?” she responded. “Read Jasoosi Dunya, not the romantic ones.”
I didn’t know the difference, but it felt like I had received a graduation certificate. I was now a member of the book club my older siblings and cousins belonged to. I must have been in class six or seven. As a slow reader, it took me two days to finish one volume, but I found it difficult to stop once I started.
Soon, Ibn-e-Safi’s novels introduced me to the fascinating characters of Imran, Sir Rahman, Zafrul Mulk, Safdar, Julia, Tanvir, and Suleman. I loved Imran, the central character, but the others also left a deep imprint.
Sir Rahman was Imran’s father, the Director General of the Central Intelligence Bureau. His boss. Zafrul Mulk was another intriguing character, he could disguise himself as Imran and mimic his voice and walk and act like him so convincingly that even Imran’s own team members could not tell the difference. I also loved Suleman, the caretaker and cook who somehow never cooked a proper meal for Imran!
The Faridi and Hameed series I found later were just as addictive, but they never evoked the same enthusiasm in me. Eventually, I read all Ibn-e-Safi’s detective novels, many of them more than once.
The excitement of visiting Allahabad during vacations was augmented by the fact that Nikhat Publications stored copies of Jasoosi Dunya and Rumani Dunya in a room in Khala’s house. Abbas Husaini, the publisher and owner of Nikhat Publications, and Syed Mujawir Husain Rizvi, the writer of the Rumani Dunya series, were neighbours and regular visitors to the evening discussions. Their children were friends with my brothers and cousins.
The dark, spacious room where the books were stored was always locked, but pushing in the heavy, old-style two-part door created just enough space along the chain to peep inside. We younger kids made a game of seeing who could use a bamboo stick to fish out a book we hadn’t read. This stealth operation would be carried out after lunch, when the elders retreated for their afternoon nap. Whenever our “theft” was discovered, a half-hearted scolding followed, and we were instructed to return the book after reading it, which we always did. After all, it is practically a universal law that “stealing a book is not theft.”
Coming back to Jasoosi Dunya, both in school and later at university, I found many friends and even a few teachers who were hooked on it.
One friend in Aligarh had an unmatched love for the series. Whenever a new one arrived, he would head straight to Anwar Book Depot, ask for two or three books including the new Jasoosi Dunya, and stand there for two hours or so until he finished reading it from cover to cover. He couldn’t afford to buy the books, so he developed a rapid reading habit purely for this purpose! Eventually, Anwar Sahab, the shopkeeper, stopped giving Jasoosi Dunya to him.
Personally, I owe my fluency in reading Urdu to Ibn-e-Safi, and I am certain this holds true for most Urdu readers of my generation. My mother understood how vital this was when she allowed me to read Jasoosi Dunya, it was the first major step in developing a lifelong reading habit. Ibn-e-Safi’s ability to seamlessly blend international espionage, science fiction tropes (like mind-control rays and advanced chemistry), and deep-rooted Eastern values gave his work a universal appeal that transcended borders.
A quiet revolution
Even a cursory look at literary history tells us that in the mid-20th century, the Southasian literary landscape was dominated by sweeping romances, historical epics, and heavy socio-political realism. Even popular writers considered it undignified to write detective novels.
Yet, beneath the surface of this traditional literary world, a quiet revolution was brewing in the realm of popular fiction. The pioneer of this revolution was the extremely creative and prolific Asrar Ahmad. Although he adopted more than one pen name while writing poetry and articles, he ultimately became Ibn-e-Safi to his readers. During my Allahabad days, I heard from many people that he would dictate an entire novel in one sitting. The book was sent for publication without editing or revision. I never believed it.
He did not merely write detective fiction; he single-handedly built the genre for Urdu readers, transforming it into a cultural phenomenon that remains unmatched. Long before Indian cinema mastered the technique, his characters, first Sing Hi and later Imran, had already learned to duck approaching bullets.
Despite his immense popularity, his books were never accorded the status of “high literature” during his lifetime.
His popularity was unprecedented.
Once, an interviewer asked him where he thought his books should be placed, in a bookshelf holding philosophical memoirs literary histories political-religious ideological critiques like Abul Kalam’s Ghubar-e-Khatir, Muhammad Husain Azad’s Ab-e-Hayat, and Maulana Maududi’s Khilafat-o-Mulukiyat.
Avoiding the literary comparison, he placed his books high on the popularity scale, responding: “My books are not kept on shelves; readers keep them under their pillows,” recounted by his son Ahmad Safi.
Ibn-e-Safi acknowledged that the publishing of Urdu detective novels began with translations from other languages, mainly English, with the pioneering detective fiction writer Munshi Tirath Ram Firozpuri (1885–1954) topping the list of translators. However, these translations were literal, and did not gain much popularity; the language was crude, and readers could not grasp what the author wanted to convey.
There is no dearth of books and articles about Ibn-e-Safi’s life and literary legacy. Born on 26 November 1928, in the United Provinces of British India, he became a teacher and poet by training. His entry into detective fiction was fuelled by a unique challenge. Legend has it that during a literary debate, a colleague remarked that popular Urdu literature was solely sustained by cheap, vulgar romances. Ibn-e-Safi disagreed, counter-arguing that readers only turned to such material because thrilling, clean, and intellectually stimulating alternatives did not exist.
To prove his point, he began writing under the pseudonym Ibn-e-Safi (meaning Son of Safi). His literary empire rested primarily on two monumental, long-running series that spanned over 240 novels in total.
He was by no means the first author to write detective novels in the region. By the turn of the last century, several such novels had already appeared in Bangla and Urdu. Historians tell us that Riyanath Mukhopadhyay was the first writer to serialise crime and detective stories in an Indian language (1890). Panchkori Dey was probably the first to write full-length original detective novels in Bangla (1900). In Urdu, Zafar Omar wrote Neeli Chhatri (The Blue Umbrella) in 1917, which is widely considered the first original detective novel in the language.
However, Ibn-e-Safi was the first to serialise detective novels in Urdu, and once he started, there was no stopping him. Over 28 years, he wrote roughly nine books per year. It would be fascinating to calculate how many words he wrote per day on average. I am certain he had little time to mull over, refine, or finalise the plot of a book before starting to write; the two processes of thinking and writing must have occurred synchronously.
Universal appeal
The first Jasoosi Dunya book was launched in 1952, introducing the iconic duo of Colonel Faridi and Captain Hamid. As I remember, Faridi had a rather dry personality, the quintessential aristocrat-detective: Highly educated, deeply philosophical, stoic, and wealthy, with a mysterious personal life (and a penchant for keeping pet lions). Hamid, his trusted companion, provided the perfect foil, spirited, impulsive, and deeply human.
Together, they navigated complex criminal webs that blended urban crime with global espionage. Though Faridi was portrayed as the hero, the novels often revolved around Hamid. His simplicity and his conversations with Qasim, reminiscent of Obelix in the Asterix series (launched later, in 1959), kept readers glued.
In 1955, Ibn-e-Safi created Ali Imran, arguably the most beloved character in Urdu fiction. Some critics believe that he merged the two characters, Faridi and Hamid, to create Imran. I disagree with this simplistic view. Imran is a very complex character who reflects Ibn-e-Safi’s extraordinary creativity and ingenuity.
On the surface, Imran is an eccentric, goofy, and seemingly buffoonish young man holding a doctorate in criminology, constantly ridiculed by his family and peers. However, this persona is a brilliant facade. In reality, Imran is “X-2”, the secretive, razor-sharp chief of the Secret Service. The contrast between his hilarious, witty dialogue and his lethal, tactical genius made the Imran Series an instant, roaring success. A comparative study of the two series would require an entire book, so I will leave that here.
While often categorised as “pulp” or popular fiction, Ibn-e-Safi’s work transcended the typical boundaries of the genre in several profound ways. His prose was immaculate. He wrote with a conversational tone with highly sophisticated vocabulary, making his novels a gateway for younger generations to fall in love with the Urdu language. He was a devout Muslim, a believer not favourably predisposed toward ‘progressive’ writers, yet he weaponised literature for social reform.
Ibn-e-Safi maintained a strict personal rule: his stories never relied on vulgarity, graphic sexual tones, or cheap gore. He wanted his books to be read aloud in family living rooms. His villains were rarely caricatured bad guys; they were products of societal failure, greed, and psychological trauma. Through humour and satire, he frequently mocked the hypocrisy of the elite, the corruption of bureaucracy, and the decay of post-colonial morality.
Ibn-e-Safi passed away on 26 July 1980, but his universe never died. Decades later, his books continue to be reprinted, digitised, and translated into English and other languages. He achieved what few writers ever do: he created an escape world so vivid, witty, and intellectually vibrant that generations of readers continue to seek refuge in it.
He remains the undisputed King of Urdu Noir, a man who proved that suspense did not need to be crude to be captivating, and that popular fiction could hold a mirror to the soul of a society, which any piece of literature is expected to do.
While detective novels rely on elements of surprise and suspense, the finest literary classics also possess these qualities. Like many others, I consider Ibn-e-Safi’s writings to be an integral part of Urdu literature. Maybe I’m biased, but I have never been ashamed of my biases. Only an undiscerning reader could be unbiased.
Gauhar Raza is a New Delhi-based scientist, author, poet, and documentary filmmaker who, since the 1980s, has been a prominent figure in the National Science Movement and has conducted extensive large-scale surveys in India and internationally. He was the founding editor of the Journal of Scientific Temper and has served as Chief Scientist at the Council of Scientific and Industrial Research, India. His best-selling book ‘From Myths to Science’ (Penguin Random House India) has been translated into various Indian languages and will be released in the US on 1 September 2026.
This is a Sapan News syndicated feature available for republication with due credit https://www.sapannews.com.
Note on Southasia as one word: We use ‘Southasia’ as one word, “seeking to restore some of the historical unity of our common living space, without wishing any violence on the existing nation states” – Himal Southasian
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