Ruqaiya Hasan, daughter of Bedar Hasan and Kaneez Fizza, sister of Zawwar, Ali and Zakia, aunt to Samina, Waqar, Nadeem, Irfan, Asiya, Beena, Sehba, and Salman, devoted wife of Michael, and family to Michael’s children Andrew, Polly and Clare, loving mother of Neil and mother-in-law to Shaye, was not born on her birthday, July 3rd, 1931.
Her actual date of birth was sometime in 1932, but the precise details were lost through a combination of typhoid and fire.
Kaneez, Ruqaiya’s mother, decided on this earlier date so that Ruqaiya could be hurried into school a little early. As Ruqaiya showed so thoroughly, pre-schoolers are relentless in questioning the nature of the world unfolding around them. It gives you pause to think of a four-year-old Ruqaiya. Her mother can be forgiven for wanting to send Ruqaiya to school early.
Ruqaiya often told stories of her parents and early family life. Just a few weeks ago, when she was struggling with the stress of waiting for more tests and news of her prognosis, she relieved the pain by reminiscing about the fun of living this part of her life with her siblings.
Her eldest brother, Zawwar, sent over this story from their childhood:
Zawwar, Ali and Ruqaiya were having mangoes, each with his or her own share. Now, you have to realise that these were REAL mangoes, not the insipid and anaemic impostors you get in Australia. Zawwar and Ali finished theirs while Ruqaiya, always the one with self-control, was savouring her share slowly. Zawwar asked her to hand over some of her share but, for once, she refused something demanded by her older brother. Standing her ground, she kept the mangoes. Unfortunately, just then a monkey came down from a nearby tree into the courtyard where they were sitting, swiped her mangoes and ran away. In the decades that followed, Zawwar would often remind Ruqaiya of the perils of not giving him what he asked for...
In 1953, Ruqaiya completed a BA at the University of Allahabad, in English Literature, Education and History, for which she received a gold medal. In 1958, she received her MA in English Literature, from the University of the Punjab. Her interest and passion for literature has long roots. She recently told me about how instrumental her brother Zawwar was in developing her early interest in literature.
Following her BA, Ruqaiya lectured at the Training College for Teachers of the Deaf, in Lahore, and after completing the MA, she worked for a year as Lecturer in English Language and Literature, at Queen Mary College, also in Lahore.
In September 1960, Ruqaiya arrived in Edinburgh for a post-graduate diploma in Applied Linguistics. Here she met Michael. This diploma led to a PhD, completed in 1964, under the supervision of Professor Angus McIntosh. [Correction: Ruqaiya's PhD was supervised by Michael Halliday.]
Of her decision to focus her PhD on the study of literature she has written: “As an academic, this was the most important decision of my life ... No matter what aspect of language I was engaged in researching in the next fifty years of my life … the challenges raised by verbal art were never far from my mind”.
In a paper published nearly 50 years after her PhD, she wrote:
“It is by using language that the artist (writer) is able to explore some set of fundamental cultural elements that have become ... part of our consciousness/our mental habits, and these foreground for us the deepest concerns of humanity: how in the time that is ours for living, we humans act, react, relate to others, living for a brief moment without perhaps raising the tiniest of ripples in a timeless world, and how we must depart alone with or without pomp and glory, often leaving the world seemingly unimpressed … To explore these universal themes of human existence bracketed between being and not being, to articulate artistically the sense of such a vast universe of feeling, longing, action and emotion as a coherent metaphor, verbal art relies most on these two indispensable matrices as its sources of energy – the powerful semiotic system of language and the intricately woven fabric of the semiotically shaped culture” (Hasan, 2011).
By the time she submitted her PhD, Ruqaiya and Michael were living together, and they married in November 1967. They lived, loved and worked together for over 50 years. Their lives took them together to many parts of the world: Ruqaiya worked or was a visiting Professor on every continent. They settled in Sydney in the mid-70s, and Ruqaiya worked at Macquarie University from 1976 until her retirement as Emeritus Professor in 1994.
Retirement, she once reflected, finally gave her the space to think. Over her career, she addressed the big questions in linguistics: not content simply with the problem of how to reconcile linguistics and the study of literature, she took on the most controversial issue in linguistics, namely, the kind of linguistic variation that reflects and reproduces social class distinctions. She wrote, exquisitely, on ideology. She explored, relentlessly, the cultural heights and breadths to which language has taken its context-construing power.
She theorised theories, at the same time that she explored the minutiae of lexis, what she began in her latter years to call “micro-grammatics”. Was there ever such a linguist who could see, so clearly, both the forest and the trees?
She was, as one family member described her, “a thinker’s thinker”.
On May 14th, this year, Ruqaiya received the news that a persistent cough that had worn her down over some weeks was due to an advanced, terminal lung cancer. She took the news of her diagnosis calmly and with a sense of pragmatism.
To her much-loved nephew, Waqar, she wrote:
I am a little disappointed. Had hoped that I might kind of go quickly and neatly but it seems this is going to be rather a lingering story. Being optimistic also think that if it is fairly new then perhaps with all the new meds etc. some treatment might be possible. On the other hand remember I am 84 this year as shown on my official birth date. So no one can say this is untimely!
In the midst of this illness, which appeared out of nowhere and quickly gathered in strength, Ruqaiya remained very much herself.
On one visit, when she was suffering the symptoms of the cancer quite fiercely, she wanted to share her views on ‘the contradictions of capitalism’. On another visit, I sat with her as she contemplated the hospital menu for the following day. I said to her “They give you a lot of options”. And she said “yes, lots of options, but no choice”.
It was pretty funny to watch the many staff who cared for her talking to her, totally unaware of how quickly and fully she could see, behind their ordinary words, the complex history and culture which shaped their routine interactions.
Ruqaiya didn’t linger. She died one day short of six weeks after her diagnosis. She got her wish to go quickly and neatly, with Michael by her side, and with extended family having attended her constantly in the last weeks of her life. The comfort she got from having family of her mother tongue – Beena, Waqar, and finally, Zakia - around her in her last days was palpable. Today she was to fly, with Michael, to Europe, to visit family and friends, and to attend the 42nd International Systemic Functional Linguistics Congress, in Aachen, Germany, something they were both very much looking forward to.
Ruqaiya knew that many of our colleagues found her difficult. She once described to me her “personality defect” as she called it: it was an inability to do anything other than say what she really thought. Though she greatly valued the contributions of those who worked closely in her orbit, she was never satisfied. She was a constant critic of the work of her colleagues and her friends – of her husband, and, of course, of herself. She was not here to stroke your ego, and she had no time for dilettantes. Her inclination to be constantly critical came from knowing how complex the task was that she was engaged in. Her focus was always on understanding better how people use language for living.
This challenge genuinely humbled her. She used to say “I think that language is out there somewhere laughing at me”. By this she meant that while she struggled to understand the intricacies of language – what Whorf called “this golden something” – its full glory, she felt, remained elusive.
To the end, she worried that she had not been a good enough mother to Neil, despite all the evidence before her of this generous, open-minded and open-hearted man she had brought up with Michael. In the depths of her illness, Neil was making her laugh with that special brand of Neil humour that many of us here today know so well.
I'm sad she's gone, and can only guess at how often and how deeply I will miss her. But I'm so glad to think of her going when she was still full of life, and continuing her restless, full-frontal examination of language.
To those of us lucky enough to be engaged with her scholarship, she is not gone - she is as alive as ever.
Annabelle Lukin
Her actual date of birth was sometime in 1932, but the precise details were lost through a combination of typhoid and fire.
Kaneez, Ruqaiya’s mother, decided on this earlier date so that Ruqaiya could be hurried into school a little early. As Ruqaiya showed so thoroughly, pre-schoolers are relentless in questioning the nature of the world unfolding around them. It gives you pause to think of a four-year-old Ruqaiya. Her mother can be forgiven for wanting to send Ruqaiya to school early.
Ruqaiya often told stories of her parents and early family life. Just a few weeks ago, when she was struggling with the stress of waiting for more tests and news of her prognosis, she relieved the pain by reminiscing about the fun of living this part of her life with her siblings.
Her eldest brother, Zawwar, sent over this story from their childhood:
Zawwar, Ali and Ruqaiya were having mangoes, each with his or her own share. Now, you have to realise that these were REAL mangoes, not the insipid and anaemic impostors you get in Australia. Zawwar and Ali finished theirs while Ruqaiya, always the one with self-control, was savouring her share slowly. Zawwar asked her to hand over some of her share but, for once, she refused something demanded by her older brother. Standing her ground, she kept the mangoes. Unfortunately, just then a monkey came down from a nearby tree into the courtyard where they were sitting, swiped her mangoes and ran away. In the decades that followed, Zawwar would often remind Ruqaiya of the perils of not giving him what he asked for...
In 1953, Ruqaiya completed a BA at the University of Allahabad, in English Literature, Education and History, for which she received a gold medal. In 1958, she received her MA in English Literature, from the University of the Punjab. Her interest and passion for literature has long roots. She recently told me about how instrumental her brother Zawwar was in developing her early interest in literature.
Following her BA, Ruqaiya lectured at the Training College for Teachers of the Deaf, in Lahore, and after completing the MA, she worked for a year as Lecturer in English Language and Literature, at Queen Mary College, also in Lahore.
In September 1960, Ruqaiya arrived in Edinburgh for a post-graduate diploma in Applied Linguistics. Here she met Michael. This diploma led to a PhD, completed in 1964, under the supervision of Professor Angus McIntosh. [Correction: Ruqaiya's PhD was supervised by Michael Halliday.]
Of her decision to focus her PhD on the study of literature she has written: “As an academic, this was the most important decision of my life ... No matter what aspect of language I was engaged in researching in the next fifty years of my life … the challenges raised by verbal art were never far from my mind”.
In a paper published nearly 50 years after her PhD, she wrote:
“It is by using language that the artist (writer) is able to explore some set of fundamental cultural elements that have become ... part of our consciousness/our mental habits, and these foreground for us the deepest concerns of humanity: how in the time that is ours for living, we humans act, react, relate to others, living for a brief moment without perhaps raising the tiniest of ripples in a timeless world, and how we must depart alone with or without pomp and glory, often leaving the world seemingly unimpressed … To explore these universal themes of human existence bracketed between being and not being, to articulate artistically the sense of such a vast universe of feeling, longing, action and emotion as a coherent metaphor, verbal art relies most on these two indispensable matrices as its sources of energy – the powerful semiotic system of language and the intricately woven fabric of the semiotically shaped culture” (Hasan, 2011).
By the time she submitted her PhD, Ruqaiya and Michael were living together, and they married in November 1967. They lived, loved and worked together for over 50 years. Their lives took them together to many parts of the world: Ruqaiya worked or was a visiting Professor on every continent. They settled in Sydney in the mid-70s, and Ruqaiya worked at Macquarie University from 1976 until her retirement as Emeritus Professor in 1994.
Retirement, she once reflected, finally gave her the space to think. Over her career, she addressed the big questions in linguistics: not content simply with the problem of how to reconcile linguistics and the study of literature, she took on the most controversial issue in linguistics, namely, the kind of linguistic variation that reflects and reproduces social class distinctions. She wrote, exquisitely, on ideology. She explored, relentlessly, the cultural heights and breadths to which language has taken its context-construing power.
She theorised theories, at the same time that she explored the minutiae of lexis, what she began in her latter years to call “micro-grammatics”. Was there ever such a linguist who could see, so clearly, both the forest and the trees?
She was, as one family member described her, “a thinker’s thinker”.
On May 14th, this year, Ruqaiya received the news that a persistent cough that had worn her down over some weeks was due to an advanced, terminal lung cancer. She took the news of her diagnosis calmly and with a sense of pragmatism.
To her much-loved nephew, Waqar, she wrote:
I am a little disappointed. Had hoped that I might kind of go quickly and neatly but it seems this is going to be rather a lingering story. Being optimistic also think that if it is fairly new then perhaps with all the new meds etc. some treatment might be possible. On the other hand remember I am 84 this year as shown on my official birth date. So no one can say this is untimely!
In the midst of this illness, which appeared out of nowhere and quickly gathered in strength, Ruqaiya remained very much herself.
On one visit, when she was suffering the symptoms of the cancer quite fiercely, she wanted to share her views on ‘the contradictions of capitalism’. On another visit, I sat with her as she contemplated the hospital menu for the following day. I said to her “They give you a lot of options”. And she said “yes, lots of options, but no choice”.
It was pretty funny to watch the many staff who cared for her talking to her, totally unaware of how quickly and fully she could see, behind their ordinary words, the complex history and culture which shaped their routine interactions.
Ruqaiya didn’t linger. She died one day short of six weeks after her diagnosis. She got her wish to go quickly and neatly, with Michael by her side, and with extended family having attended her constantly in the last weeks of her life. The comfort she got from having family of her mother tongue – Beena, Waqar, and finally, Zakia - around her in her last days was palpable. Today she was to fly, with Michael, to Europe, to visit family and friends, and to attend the 42nd International Systemic Functional Linguistics Congress, in Aachen, Germany, something they were both very much looking forward to.
Ruqaiya knew that many of our colleagues found her difficult. She once described to me her “personality defect” as she called it: it was an inability to do anything other than say what she really thought. Though she greatly valued the contributions of those who worked closely in her orbit, she was never satisfied. She was a constant critic of the work of her colleagues and her friends – of her husband, and, of course, of herself. She was not here to stroke your ego, and she had no time for dilettantes. Her inclination to be constantly critical came from knowing how complex the task was that she was engaged in. Her focus was always on understanding better how people use language for living.
This challenge genuinely humbled her. She used to say “I think that language is out there somewhere laughing at me”. By this she meant that while she struggled to understand the intricacies of language – what Whorf called “this golden something” – its full glory, she felt, remained elusive.
To the end, she worried that she had not been a good enough mother to Neil, despite all the evidence before her of this generous, open-minded and open-hearted man she had brought up with Michael. In the depths of her illness, Neil was making her laugh with that special brand of Neil humour that many of us here today know so well.
I'm sad she's gone, and can only guess at how often and how deeply I will miss her. But I'm so glad to think of her going when she was still full of life, and continuing her restless, full-frontal examination of language.
To those of us lucky enough to be engaged with her scholarship, she is not gone - she is as alive as ever.
Annabelle Lukin