July 24, 2005

JOURNALISM offers an outlet to the most variegated forms of expression, reflecting diverse world views and personal idiosyncrasies. Regular columnists acquire reputations as opinion makers or gadflies or analysts to be taken seriously. Once they have accumulated a mass of words through the passage of time, it seems a logical move to select some of their more memorable outpourings to publish in book form.

Fresh from the printers is Last Man In, its cover portrait of much-celebrated columnist Zafar Iqbal Mirza, otherwise ZIM, otherwise “Lahori”, shows a somewhat unkempt smoker with a Central Asian slant of eye and eyebrow. For the last 20 years through his weekly column in Dawn he has commented, bemoaned, applauded, brought to notice, lampooned, and generally mirrored the state of the world, specially the city of Lahore. Many admire “Lahori” without knowing his identity.

In his author’s note to this collection of some 88 pieces of writing ZIM, after paying tributes to his mentors during his 42 years in journalism, insists that he was pressured by a publisher friend to agree to such an anthology, otherwise in his own view “the stuff I wrote was transient in nature and was eminently unworthy of being preserved for posterity”.

This happens to be my opinion as well, journalism by definition being for the day.

Again ZIM states, “Anything that takes your fancy in the pages that follow is absolutely mine and anything you don’t like is due entirely to Aamer Riaz (the publisher friend), his computer and Kashif Bokhari (another friend).” After such a disclaimer ZIM shields himself from all responsibility, any grievance one may have must be addressed to his publisher. However, he takes credit for the title — he believes he is the last of a vanishing tribe of English language columnists, the website and computer, he thinks, will reign after him. Last Man In also has connotations of playing bravely till the end.

Two introductory interviews point to the unorthodox personality of this prolific columnist. An interview by Jugnu Mohsin published in The Friday Times in 1991 traces his Turkish ancestry and transition to a third generation resident of Lahore. Gravitating to newspaper work he went through the journalistic mill before settling into his writing life. On his bohemian ways she says, “He doesn’t give a damn what he wears or eats or how he looks. . . His walrus moustache is tinged with the yellow of nicotine. . .”

In The Frontier Post (1993), Farah Zia narrates something of his personal views and family life. He supports evolution rather than revolution, she says. “He has lived all his life for his mother who became a widow at a very young age.”

After these glimpses of the persona one can come to the menu offered, so to speak. A book can present a well thought out sit-down meal, without too many courses, beginning with appetizers, having a substantial main course and ending in dessert. Or it can be a buffet with a range of tempting items, some more to one’s taste than others. One is allowed to wander and select, to savour some dishes more than others. A book like Last Man In by its very nature is a buffet. ZIM need not have hesitated in agreeing to Aamer Riaz’s request as there is an honourable precedent of eminent journalists compiling the best and more durable of their articles into a readable volume. The hazard is of ideas sounding dated, although even these could be enjoyed for style and content, a sharing of thoughts with an interested later generation.

ZIM’s contemporaries who missed out the first time can relish memories of the Lahore of yesteryears. Grouped by subject matter the volume of 316 pages has seven sections beginning with 12 articles on Lahore and Lahoris. This is followed by 12 more columns on personalities. Part three on politics and politicians has the largest selection with 30 columns. ZIM obviously has the utmost contempt for the game and the species that play it. “Wanted a ban on the public display of politicians”, “Presto, presto, here’s a manifesto”, “An ordinance to abolish happiness” are sheer, inspired wit. He writes in straightforward English with a wry, whimsical message. There is a healthy indignation at the insolence of office, and grief over the breakdown of integrity and institutions.

Some of the articles in all the sections are short history lessons, indicative of the author’s range of understanding and willingness to undertake research. From the section on Sindh are two pieces on Karachi. “From Kurrachee 1844 to Karachi 1995” relates to the perennial problem of the city’s water supply and carries a surprise ending. “Who has cast this evil spell on Karachi?” (December 1994) laments the rising crime and lawlessness in that city. Says “Lahori”, “And if Karachi does go under, can Pakistan survive?”

As a fellow Lahori I greatly appreciated the opening essay, “The Chelsea of Lahore”. It is an amalgamation of several articles which paraphrases the publication “Lahore Ka Chelsea” by the late Hakim Ahmad Shuja, a notable resident of old Lahore. The article presents in abbreviated form the background and accomplishments of distinguished men of letters, doctors, intellectuals and philanthropists who lived in the environs of Bhati Gate in the old city, who have forever enriched the cultural life of this city and are a part of its social history.

For obvious reasons those with a “Lahori” connection will respond more immediately to these columns, the sense of place and recognition of people evokes a sympathetic chord. Yet there are enough columns that are not Lahore specific which the Pakistani reader will readily relate to. To know what value they have for the non-Pakistani, one would need to ask several cognoscenti who do not live within our borders. The price outside Pakistan at $15 is double the Pakistan rupee price of Rs480. The non-Punjabi/Urdu knowing reader will be lost with the phrases and titles rendered in the Roman script, but happily these are not too many.

ZIM’s formidable knowledge of cricket shines through in the section dealing with sports. “Cheating at cricket” is a hard hitting, trenchant account of how many of the world’s greats have been dishonest and un-sportsman like. The article is also a rebuttal of critics who blame Pakistani players for such faults.

“Well Mr Heffer,” writes ZIM in 1992, “cheating at cricket and cards and at other things was born long before Pakistan”. ZIM has a nostalgia for cricket as the gentleman’s game before it became an arena for big money.

Making a representative selection of under a hundred articles from many hundreds leaves much scope for personal preferences, in this case the publisher’s. I would have replaced the columns that borrow verbatim from the diaries and letters of others with original writings of the author being showcased. Admittedly there are only a few such examples, but why have them at all? ZIM stands exonerated and it is the publisher that one questions.

While the book is easy on the eye, having good paper and print quality, the proofreading leaves much to be desired. In one kind of typographical error you can tell what it should be, in others the reader is puzzled at first and has to deduce the meaning. Luckily there are not many of the latter, but, alas, plenty of the former. Must Sindh become “Singh” and “sitting” become “fitting”.

“Lahori” deserved better. When he has enough new columns for a second volume, I will be happy to proofread it for him and make sure the “i”s are dotted and the “t”s crossed.