More of a private person than actually shy, she can be self-effacing. However, poet Zehra Nigah’s dexterous avoidance in keeping out of the limelight is laced with humour. Instead of an interview, I am treated to her ever delightful conversation. She talks about her encounter with a gentleman some time back in a park where she goes for her regular walk. He followed her and kept looking as if he was trying to place her. Finally he mustered up enough courage and went up to ask her, “Are you by any chance Anwer Maqsood’s sister?” She smiled and replied in the affirmative. But the person became persistent. “Then you must be Zubaida Tariq’s sister too?” he asked.

Zehra, who is the affectionate Apa to all her juniors, tells me that she smiled and accepted this too, as Zubaida Tariq who offers cooking tips and endless totkas to tele-audiences is her younger sister. “But then you are not Fatima Surraya Bajiya, you must be her sister,” the gentleman fired his next question. “No, I am not Bajiya, she is my elder sister,” she owns up to her eldest sister the well-known TV playwright and social worker with a million causes. “Wasn’t there another sister, the one who used to write poetry? My grandfather was very fond of her verses,” he continued. “Un ka intiqal ho chukka hai,” she told him with a straight face.

The man became genuinely perplexed. “Akhbar main to nahi aya,” he says with the appropriate sadness in his voice. “People must have forgotten. She was not so famous,” she said and resumed her leisurely walk.

“There is a lot of affection among the siblings as our parents did not leave behind property and wealth,” she states with a twinkle in her eyes. But that way Zehra can empathise with Mark Twain that “the news of my death is greatly exaggerated”. The poet is alive and well, but even more than that, she is writing some of her most pithy poems these days, poems which she could not have written in her earlier days and would have surprised the admirers of those days. She has taken more than a step beyond as she has developed and matured with the passing years and it would be no exaggeration to say that she is one of the best poets writing today. To me, she is a living classic.

I pay silent homage to her as the first star appears in the evening sky. I think of Keats and the bright, steadfast star in his last sonnet. This star in the evening sky is a recurring symbol in Zehra Nigah’s poetry too; her first collection of poems was called Shaam Ka Pehla Tara.

One of her poignant poems is called ‘Samjhotay Ki Chadar’. Another remarkable poem is ‘Jungle Ka Dastoor’ which is quoted by many people who do not know that she wrote this poem several years ago. She has published three collections of her poetry, the last one being Firaq. Her collected poems were published from Lahore last year. But the story of poetry continues.

In her earlier phase, when she was regarded as a celebrity in the mushaira circuit, she was renowned for her ghazals.

In recent years, however, it is her nazm which has broken new ground. She has perfected a new trend of commenting on social issues while retaining her distinct poetic style. Some new poems are in the offing, she tells me when I go to visit her. “I am working on them, polishing and revising bit by bit,” she explains, comparing her creative process with the craftsmanship of a carpenter chiselling and giving finishing touches to what was originally a piece of wood.

It is a rare treat to hear Zehra recite her poetry. She recites beautifully and with a great sense of lyricism which abounds in her poetry. Many people recall the tarranum with which she would recite but audiences of today can get a sense of what they have missed from a few recordings which are available, such as the soulful rendering of two of Nasir Kazmi’s ghazals.

A CD of her recitation is scheduled to be released in Delhi soon. She has a great flair for the classics and keeps going through the works of the usatza, the great masters, especially Mir with his voluminous kulliyat. “It is like going through it with a sieve in one hand,” she says and is delighted each time she comes across a gem-like verse and reads it out to her friends. She has made a small collection of such selected verses.

Classical poetry is one of her favourite subjects and she thoroughly enjoys talking about it. On any subject other than herself, she is a fascinating conversationalist. Peppered with poetry and anecdotes of the many mushairas she has attended, I can listen to her conversations for hours and in fact, time seems to stand still when Zehra is talking. She is cultured and witty in a way which seems to be unique to her.

We continue our conversation in her sitting room under the shadow of a large Sadequain painting inspired by Faiz and the poet can be seen smiling in a photograph. Paintings are another passion as one notices the wall adorned by many paintings, most particularly a group by the celebrated M.F. Hussain who was a personal friend and not only designed a book cover but painted her portrait as well.

Next to the group photo with Faiz, there is a black and white photograph of a young girl with downcast eyes. “This is my photo when I participated in that legendary mushaira in Lahore,” she says with a smile. This was when she read her kalam and became an instant hit with the audience who just wanted to hear nobody else but her, not even Jigar Muradabadi. Zehra had entered the mushaira stage and the rest, as they say, is history.

“That was a tough period for my family as we had financial issues after the migration,” she says and goes on to explain that she became interested in poetry when she was encouraged by her elders to memorise and recite the poems of Iqbal.

She recalls the family home in PIB Colony, Karachi where a number of distinguished writers and poets lived in the neighbourhood. After her marriage, she moved to Abu Dhabi and then London, where she played host to the poets Faiz and Faraz among others. She acknowledges that her husband encouraged her to read the classics and learn the craft, but for many years, she preferred to remain a housewife and raise her two sons.

As she sits back in her home, she reflects on a life of contentment and fulfilment. She is also recording her memories as prose vignettes so that her children will know of the life she lived with all its trials and tribulations and the struggles she had to go through, but she has no plans as yet to publish these writings. One hopes she will change her mind.