Khak main kiya sooratain...!’

Islamabad : “Uncle! Uncle! Uncle Mubarak! Please calm down. Sit down. Please sit down,” Fahmida Riaz was shouting (if one can say those softly uttered commands were shouts at all!).

And everybody burst in incontrollable laughter because Fahmida Riaz was at least 10 years senior to the scribe! And a couple of ghazals, which followed from her, brought the serenity back in the room!

And then we heard that Fehmida Riaz is dead. Another ‘illustrious’ brick has fallen from the crumbling wall of literature, art and culture in the country.

In fact, we can hardly call it a ‘wall’. How many literati of prominence we are left with from the old school? I believe they could be counted, if not on the finger tips, at least on the tendons of our fingers. On the other hand, how many men and women of literature we are grooming? Well, this indeed is a wrong assertion! These people are born with such talent and cannot be guided, taught or groomed.

Every time we suffer such a loss, it hurts very deeply. And it becomes particularly more painful when one has spent some very good times with the dear departed.

One can’t help but recall those beautiful moments when we were together, listened to her poetry, cracked jokes and shared bursts of laughter which rippled around in the room. Be that at Kishwar Nahid’s place or at Capt (r) Wasif, the Pakistan People’s Party (PPP) spokesperson’s residence! It was on one of those occasions at Capt (r) Wasif’s place that the debate involving ethnicity somewhat heated up and the voices grew louder. And as the scribe was the one on his feet, trying to make the others around in the room pay attention, Fahmida Riaz shouted those historic commands! But we had most of interactions with Fahmida Riaz at Kishwar Nahid’s residence, which over the last couple of decades, since her retirement from the Pakistan National Council of the Arts (PNCA), has become the hub of literary gatherings of the ‘Old Club’!

Whenever Fahmida Riaz was in town, the select group would gather at Kishwar’s place where the discussion would stay focused on literature, especially poetry! And we would always receive an elongated ‘Oooooooh!’ a warm sisterly hug and a peck on the cheek or forehead the moment she will see us in the ‘crowd’ (if the gathering at Kishwar Aapi’s place could ever be called a crowed!) The smile will never leave her face, even if she is frowning. Her disagreements to anything were politer then her agreements and the memories of bad times that befall her long time ago, if mentioned, would only make her glow!

Many of us would not like to believe but the reality is that now she is no more! It was so difficult to scribble down about all those meetings and moments that we have shared and spent together as it hurts bad. But it was an obligation one must fulfil!