EVERY single factor that made KLF a success over the years was there on the opening day of the literary event’s seventh edition: the hustle and bustle, the haloed writers, the overawed book lovers and the balmy sea breeze. But there was something amiss. Someone’s absence was palpable. Someone hadn’t come yet. Was he supposed to come?
The festival was about to begin, and yet a hint of sadness was in the air. As soon as Ameena Saiyid in her welcome speech mentioned the very name, Intizar Husain, it dawned on everyone, certainly on those who had become accustomed to seeing him there, that Intizar sahib was no more. No more would he be part of KLF, or any other festival for that matter. Wait a second. His stories, those fantastic tales in which tradition speaks to contemporariness in a fine, fine frenzy, will be here. Always. So he hasn’t gone anywhere.
For the past six years, especially for the last three years ever since the festival venue shifted to the Beach Luxury Hotel, Husain was one of those few invitees who would arrive very early to attend a session, even when he was not supposed to take part in it. If he was alone and the event hadn’t started, he would walk past the garden and sit at the creek-side restaurant, avidly watching the birds fly over the skyline or settling in the trees around the hotel. If he was with his friends (read: admirers), he would respond to every debate-worthy, not debatable, point raised by them.
In the sessions where he would be on the panel of speakers, Husain gave undivided attention to each speaker. He would hold his walking stick tight in his right hand and turn his head towards the person speaking into the microphone, looking at him or her like a child looks at a magician desperately trying to pull a rabbit out of a top hat, for as long it didn’t tire him. Once he was done listening to all of them (invariably he would be the last one to express his views on a given subject) he would impart an entirely different, sometimes unique, angle to the subject, taking a subtle jibe at his fellow panellists. It was not easy to outshine him, almost impossible in fact.
Those of us who have spent time with Husain at KLF would vouch for the fact that he had taken a shine to the birds that flew around the hotel. Some say they had even seen him feed the birds. Perhaps he knew that unlike his characters in the novel Aage Samandar Hai (The Sea Lies Ahead) nothing lay ahead for the birds. The flight of the birds was limitless, just like the span and reach of his stories. And his stories will always be part of the Karachi Literature Festival, of every festival that celebrates books and life.
