In Lahore’s world of journalism there were few who did not know Rauf Sheikh, and this was especially true if you happened to have ever worked in the daily ‘The News’ of Lahore. This almost larger-than-life character passed away last Saturday leaving his colleagues stunned.
But then I write these lines as his elder brother, and a wee dose of sentiment I hope the reader will allow, for he came from a very special background of writers, historians and journalists, all belonging to Kucha Chabakswaran in the old walled city of Lahore, a place dear to our lives.
Now that he has gone it is in the fitness of things that the mystery that was his life be understood. It is only fair to balance out a piece about a person who was a modern Kim of sorts, a savvy person who could mesh in absolutely any society, a sportsman who played football once for Pakistan, a journalist who had the ability to bring out a newspaper almost alone, as he did once to his colleagues annoyance, a non-nonsense news desk person who could quickly gauge the
ability of a journalist. He was also an avid ‘shikari’, a crazy food lover and also an excellent cook.
He was this and much much more, and most importantly he knew how to spin a story, especially if he was in trouble or wanted his way.
He was son of the well-known journalist Hamid Sheikh, former Editor of ‘The Civil & Military Gazette’ and ‘The Pakistan Times’ and of an English mother known popularly in Lahore as Aunty Pip. Our father had worked for the BBC in World War Two and had married there. My father’s mother was Syeda Begum, the granddaughter of Maulvi Noor Ahmad Chishti, writer of ‘Tehqiqat-e-Chishti’. So in a way Rauf was a sixth generation Lahore journalist, if story-teller is not a better description. He lived in and for Lahore till the end.
My father died in 1971 when he was barely nine-years old. This death hit my mother most, for an English lady without roots in Lahore saw all his friends, and even relatives, disappear. Her eight children gathered around to protect her and so it was that the children of a ‘memsahib’ started to live off their wits. All the boys were street-smart. The one thing she did insist on was that we all go to school. Education was the priority. But then Rauf and his next elder brother seemed to have taken their ‘fatherless’ upbringing to their advantage, only to be, occasionally, walloped by the elders. After every episode he would declare defiantly: “It is better to be a dog than a younger brother”. But then to his immense credit he would an hour later go around apologizing.
The biggest headache for all of us was his kite-flying and pigeon collection passion. He once ran after a kite on a city fifth storey single brick wall at great speed to catch a kite. When he returned with his prize, my mother thrashed him. I am sure he never understood what wrong he had done.
At the table he was always dissecting what was wrong with the food. Our old family cook often was getting lessons on how to make kebabs or other dishes. To keep Sadiq the cook in good humour, I suspect he occasionally supplied him with his favourite smoking opiate. At school he did occasionally play the truant, but then when he scored full marks in mathematics, he proudly declared himself a genius. He never mentioned the other scores, though in all fairness in English he did exceptionally well. I once told him that knowledge is “the logical transfer of information”. He declared he was good at English and Mathematics and started to strut about proudly, only to break out in laughter.
But then Rauf, or Kaka as we called him, would experiment with anything that was bizarre in old Lahore. He would moving about with fakirs trying to understand their tricks, chatting up eunuchs, cooking with the chefs of Lahore’s barbers, making kites, and you name it he had done it, and mind you he had done it very well.
He once even cat-walked as a handsome model and brought home the clothes collection. Within this strange world he remained an avid reader of
newspapers, and always remained aware of what was on in politics. He was friendly with Jamaat-e-Islami activists, progressive Leftists, liberals and every known shade of political operator.
He knew how to milk them for their sympathy and had them convinced that he was the man to know. Of recent I learnt that he was experimenting with the occult, and when I scolded him up for this he said: “Majid Bhai, if a trickster can placate a suspicious person, what is the harm.
They are all frauds from top to bottom”. So no matter what he did he was acutely aware of the real world. It was this quality that stood him in good stead as he managed for a good 21 years the news desk of ‘The News’. He had worked in other papers where he had done well, and this was why he ended up being the co-ordinating Editor of the newspaper. He could work like a horse for almost 24 hours without a break and knew the ins and outs of newspapers. It was, after all, territory he and his family was familiar with for six generations.
In his personal life he did not fare well, and that certainly added to his stressful life, for journalism in itself has its stresses.
He became a chain smoker and consumed the finest foods with regularity. For his colleagues he would once a week bring to the office some of his creations. With growing diabetes which he ignored with a rare bravado, and added to his smoking his lungs just did not respond when the end came. The youngest of eight and first to leave his family, it was a sad end of a life spent defying the odds and living off his wits. For his brothers and sisters he will remain ‘Kaka’ the unpredictable, for he could do just about anything. In the end he could not cheat death.
—MAJID SHEIKH (The writer is a Research Associate at Wolfson College of Cambridge University and a professor of South Asian Studies)
