In the cultural skies of Lahore, at the Alhamra Hall art complex on the mall road, a literary basant is in full swing. The colorful kites of literature, ideas, books and discourse are hovering in the spring air with no strings attached. People in droves are filing in and out of the halls of the complex, attending simultaneous sessions where the cutting edge lines of social, political and literary discourse are coming together, crisscrossing each other and vying for the higher skies.
Outside in the lawns, the mood is festive and people of all shades and sizes are milling about, gawking at each other, taking selfies with their favorite celebrities, stuffing themselves with food or just lazing around in the spring sun, looking intently at the festival schedules and discussing which session to go to next. The folk artists are singing and playing music to the crowds; a heer here, a musical rendition there.
The festival at dusk
Musharraf Ali Farooqui is standing in front of Hall 3 almost at the same spot where I met him last year. Like the last time, I ask for his visiting card and cell phone number and promise to meet him at some point. Hey, there is Tapu Javeri with cameras slung around his neck, hobnobbing with Shoba De and taking pictures. Did you see Aitezaz Ahsan over there having a word with Intizar Hussain? And is Lyse Douchet covering the event for BBC or is she on a discussion panel? The Peerzada clan is huddled close to the Peeru’s food stall and not leaving, while Faisal Rehman is flitting all over the place catering to his fans who in hundreds want their picture taken with him. Ladies and gentlemen, there is too much going on here, welcome to the 3rd edition of Lahore Literary Festival Festival.
Dark clouds come rolling in, shedding rain on the first day. “You have brought rain with you from Islamabad”, my friends tease me as we enter the premises of Alhamra from under multiple scanners and are frisked thoroughly by a surprisingly heavy contingent of police. The security is super tight as two days earlier a suicide bombing close to the Alhamra Complex has killed a few and injured many. Despite the rain and an ever present security threat there are a sizeable number of people inside the complex sheltering under food stall canopies sipping tea or forming lines to listen to their favorite speakers. Thousands of colorful balloons adorning the buildings of the Alhamra complex are fluttering in the breeze and rain. A friend of mine quips, “Have we come to a literary festival or some literary kid’s birthday party?”
When Shoba De and Aitaz Ahsan start recounting stories and anecdotes from Khushwant Singh's life, the one hour long session becomes a mélange of tears, wit and laughter
A look at the festival schedule is mindboggling as there are 5 different sessions taking place simultaneously in all 5 halls of the Alhamra Art Complex. The rain subsides as I split up from my friends and make way to Hall 1 where F.S Aijazuddin is moderating a panel consisting of Aitezaz Ahsan, Basharat Qadir, Rahul Singh and Shoba De. The topic of discussion is Politics and Pluralism of Khushwant Singh’s Punjab. The hall is jam packed, the moderator is witty and is asking all the right questions. Unlike his boisterous and spontaneous father, Rahul Singh is reading from a paper and droning on about Khushwant Singh’s colorful life. But when Shoba De and Aitaz Ahsan start recounting stories and anecdotes from Khushwant Singh’s life, the one hour long session becomes a mélange of tears, wit and laughter. The audiences are enthralled, Rahul Singh relaxes and Shoba De with her signature snazzy style relates one funny incident after another. For me this turns out to be the best session that I attend at the festival this year.
Shobha De mingles with the Lahori crowd
As I step outside into the crisp sunshine, peering at the festival schedule and wondering which session to attend next, I notice long snaking lines of people outside all five halls, waiting impatiently to get in. Surprisingly I can see hoards of teenagers and youngsters thronging around the halls, stairs and the lawns of the art complex. The sight is indeed heartening. Ziauddin Sardar during his lecture “The Stones of Mecca”, is heard saying, “I have attended hundreds of literary festivals all around the world but I have not seen as many young people and women as I have seen here at the Lahore Literary Festival”.
After a quick lunch at Peeru’s Café I walk around the festival, rubbing shoulders with artists, musicians, writers and celebrities. At a bookstall from where I buy a copy of my friend Bilal Minto’s latest book of Urdu short stories called “Model Town”, I run into an Indian couple. Aakar Patel and his lovely wife Tushita are from Banglore. Aakar writes a column for the Pakistani English newspaper Express Tribune and has recently written a book called “Why I Write”. The book is about Saadat Hassan Manto’s non fictional writings. Aakar has been invited to the festival to talk about his book. The couple surprisingly tells me that the Pakistani audiences at the different sessions that they have attended tend to ask more apt and intelligent questions in comparison to the audiences that they have come across at Indian literary festivals.
Over the course of three days, I attend many talks and sessions. Naseeruddin Shah’s book launch “Hero and Anti Hero” that is badly timed with Intizar Hussain’s session called “Urdu ki Maqbool Kahanian” draws huge crowds. Sarmad Khoosat and Mira Hashmi question Naseeruddin Shah about his life and his book but at the risk of being grilled by Sarmad Khoosat and perhaps many others, I must say that the session remains towards the drab side as both the moderators seem to be in unnecessary awe of the actor and don’t pose the right questions to make the interview more interesting.
At the end, I must also mention the awkward and shameful incident that takes place at the launch of the book “The Colonel Who Would Not Repent”. The book written by Salil Tripathi talks about the atrocities committed by the Pakistani Army in East Pakistan during the 1971 war. The session is being moderated by Taimur Rehman and participants in the panel include Salil Tripathi, Hina Jilani and Sadaf Saaz Siddiqui. During the talk when Sadaf is talking to a packed audience about the rapes of Bangladeshi women at the hands of the Pakistani Army, a gentleman gets up from his seat and starts yelling at her to stop telling these packs of lies. He is clearly livid and keeps shouting, “It is all rubbish”. As he is being escorted outside the hall, the audiences respond by subjecting him to heaps of shame by telling him to leave, calling him an intolerant bigot and other unmentionables.
Over the years, extremism, intolerance, xenophobia and confusion have no doubt disgustingly seeped into our social fabric and our society is gradually sliding into a dark abyss of ignorance and jahalat. However, the festival itself is enough evidence that there is still a steady stream of my countrymen and women willing to listen to and propagate the idea of a more inclusive, pluralistic Pakistan.
