KARACHI: It is difficult to ascertain that how many people attended Amjad Sabri’s funeral on Thursday afternoon, but, for sure, the last rites of the late qawwal put those who were in charge of the burial service in a bit of a quandary.

The namaz-i-janazah was to be held at Furqania Masjid after Zuhr prayers in Liaquatabat No 10, near the house where the singer and his illustrious father, Ghulam Farid Sabri, and uncle Maqbool Sabri also lived. To reach the mosque, one had to turn left from the main Liaquatabad road to the street where a known furniture market is located. Pretty soon, it became evident that a large number of people were going to pay their respects to Amjad. Around 12pm, when the lane was inundated with pedestrians, motorcycles and cars, it was decided that the namaz-i-janazah would be held on the main road (some called it Ibn-i-Sina Road) that connects Liaquatabad to Nazimabad. It was a wise decision. People (men and women alike) kept coming and coming, and when they got to know that the namaz would be held on the main road, they turned right, swarming the narrow alleyways that the locality is known for.

The late artist’s coffin was kept in a Chhipa ambulance. A huge crowd, not to mention the ever-prying eyes of TV cameras, gathered around the ambulance as it moved from the street to the thoroughfare. In normal circumstances (with no hindrance to the movement, that is) it would have taken the vehicle three to five minutes to cover the distance, but it took friends and family members of the artist almost half an hour to place the coffin where it was supposed to be placed for the namaz.

It was a tough day for the organisers. They kept addressing the public through the good quality PA system requesting them to discipline themselves. Not to be. The buzz was deafening. There came a stage when one of the speakers had to scream into the microphone that if they (attendees) loved Amjad Sabri, they should make queues and get ready for the funeral prayers. This proved futile to a great degree, because people were just trickling into the arena, of sorts, trying to get as close to the ambulance as possible.

There were those, as well, who only wanted to see the final journey of the noted qawwal. Instead of being on the main road to offer the namaz, they perched themselves on the pedestrian bridge to have a look at the goings-on. Some, since it was unusually hot and the clouds which had been hovering over the Karachi skyline for the past few days had suddenly disappeared, stood under the shadowy trees planted on and near the kerbs flanking the road, taking pictures and recording footage of the whole activity with their smartphones. By 1.15pm, thousands (including politicians and members of the artist community) had congregated on the spot. In fact, the arrival of, mostly, young men from the Liaquatbad No 10 side of the underpass did not stop even after the namaz was over.

The namaz was offered with the solemnity that was needed for the occasion. After the prayers were offered, the crowd began to dissipate, though a big number of them went with the procession to the Paposhnagar graveyard, where Amjad Sabri was laid to rest.

Talking to Dawn, Ayaz, a shopkeeper and neighbour of the popular qawwal, said: “I live two streets away from his home. He was such a nice person. Always met us with a smile. I don’t know who did this.”

A young man, Imran, said: “They want Karachi to remain in strife. They do not want us to live in peace. It’s the agenda of the maulvis and those who call the shots. Amjad was such a good guy. A few weeks back, I was taking out petrol from my motorcycle to give it to a friend. Amjad saw me and jokingly said: ‘Are you stealing petrol?’ I’m distressed by his death.”

It was just not those who lived in the Liquatabad vicinity that came to the funeral. Amjad’s admirers from other parts of the city also were there. Zain, a young banker, had come from Gulshan-i-Iqbal. He said: “I was a fan of Amjad. I came here to pay my respects to him.”

And respect, because of his art, is what Amjad always commanded… with affection.

Published in Dawn, June 24th, 2016