Much has been written about Zafar Iqbal Mirza, better known as ZIM, the proverbial last man who recently returned to the pavilion after a memorable journalistic knock. His family, friends and a legion of admirers have reminisced about various facets of his life, especially his command over the English language and passion for cricket – both of which are believed to be inextricably linked in the subcontinent – and his association with Lahore, a beloved city.
No amount of cliches and superlatives can do adequate justice to ZIM’s contribution to journalism. He was much more than what can be described in words. Suffice it to say that as an editor, he used his pen with surgical precision and a great deal of responsibility. If brevity is the soul of wit, ZIM was truly an exponent of the art.
One believes the most fitting tribute anyone can pay to him and recognise his stature as a writer is by remembering his own words.
About his book, he writes: “The title Last Man In is of my choice because I honestly think that I am one of the few English language columnists remaining in the country. I belong to a vanishing tribe and I think I will leave no successor except the website and your computer.”
When any young journalist would ask why he continued to use pen instead of switching to a convenient mode such as keyboard, he would say: “My brain is in my fingers.”
Besides working in The Pakistan Times, Punjab Punch and Dawn, he had a brief stint in the weekly Viewpoint about which he wrote: “The magazine was born in poverty and died in greater poverty. I have never worked harder on any job, which has gone so unrecognized and unrewarded. My association with Mr Mazhar Ali Khan (editor of Viewpoint) was, however, professionally much valuable than can be measured in terms of money. He turned the job into vocation for me.”
He quoted Mazhar Ali Khan as having remarked, “Honesty is not the best policy unless you want virtue to be its own reward.”
True to his style, ZIM once said: “Pakistan is a unique country. It has a top floor (NA, Senate, provincial assemblies), but it has no ground floor – local government. It is, so to say, a castle in the air.”
In one of his columns Going Witless, Winterless, he recalled: “My log fires were the envy of my friends and they would flock to my place and we would get the fire going and the flames would bring great good cheer and our evenings would last well past midnight till such time as we ran out of our logs and coal and our bon mots. Every evening would be an occasion.”
An occasion it was to be with him and learn the finer points of the language. The power of expression bestowed upon him and the ability to stand tall in difficult times reminds one of a value-system that one associates with many first-generation Pakistanis.
In that sense, he truly belonged to a vanishing tribe that puts a premium on gentlemanly conduct in every sphere of life. A match-winning innings indeed!
Published in Dawn, December 8th, 2019
