Asif Farrukhi: Larger Than Life (1959–2020)

The news of 9/11, the assassination of Benazir Bhutto, the landing of the first person on the moon: these are moments in history when you can remember with alarming clarity what you were doing when you first heard about it. The impact of it stays with you forever. Losing Dr Asif Aslam Farrukhi was one such moment. On 1 June, when a friend texted the news of his passing, I found it hard to believe that such a lively person could cease to exist so suddenly. It felt as if an engaging narrative had been rudely interrupted, resulting in an abrupt and unexpected ending. His death felt startling, disturbing, and invasive, and for a moment, I felt as if the entire world had become still. Then I found myself reaching for his writings, his interviews: anything that would solidify his image in my mind, which was blurring as troubled messages from mutual colleagues and friends poured in. One thing that we were all feeling was a sense of disbelief that someone so full of life as he was, could pass away so soon, and so suddenly. There was a sense of betrayal, a sense of loss, and most of all a sense of abandonment. Asif Sahib (hereafter Sb), as he was popularly known, was our anchor. None of us knew how to move forward without his guidance, his encouragement, his enthusiasm.

My immediate impulse was to look at a book he had given me as I was leaving Karachi for NYU Abu Dhabi in May 2019. Dropped Threads: What We Aren’t Told (2001), edited by Carol Shields and Marjorie Anderson, was, as Asif Sb put it, “an anthology about women by women, but certainly not just for women”. Asif Sb had given it to me with the hope that it would inspire me, not only as a writer but also a teacher and editor, for at the time I had just put together a student anthology of creative writing and was keen to do more under his mentorship. There were so many projects we hoped to do together, a creative writing workshop for Pakistani women in underdeveloped areas being one of them. The hope was to produce a similar anthology about women’s experiences. Now, without his vision, I wondered if any of these projects would ever see the light of day, for none of us could imagine being as dedicated, energetic, and as selfless with our time and energy as he was. And although Asif Sb will live on forever through his writing, both creative and critical, the fact that he is not present amongst us physically when there is so much more work he was planning to do seems one of the great tragedies of 2020, a year of unprecedented loss.

“Asif Sb” is how Asif Aslam Farrukhi was popularly addressed at Habib University, Karachi, where we worked together from 2016 to 2019. He was the Head of the Arzu Center for Literature and Regional Languages, a Professor of Practice, and also served as the Acting Dean of the Arts, Humanities, and Social Sciences in 2016. Throughout his time there everyone, from the university’s President and the faculty to the students and domestic staff, referred to him as Asif Sb. This honorific signals a kind of reverence that is at once formal and authoritative yet personal and endearing. The word “Sb”, which is to sahib what ma’am is to madam, summed him up perfectly, since Asif Sb was at once intimidating and animated. He was serious-minded but never took himself seriously, he was humorous with an acidic wit but never cruel or unkind. His knowledge and authority on diverse subjects was wide-ranging. He was just as well informed about science and medicine as he was on art and literature, a quality that was impressive and daunting yet captivating and comforting. A medical doctor by profession, he chose literature as his calling in later life, leaving behind a successful career at UNICEF to pursue his literary passions.

He belonged to a prominent literary family. Tracing his lineage on his father’s side from Awadh and on his mother’s side from Delhi, both centres for Urdu adab (literature) and culture, Asif Sb was born in 1959 in Karachi. Literature was in his blood, as he was fond of saying, for his father was the renowned writer and researcher Aslam Farrukhi (1923–2016), and he was also related on his mother’s side to renowned Urdu writers like “Deputy” Nazir Ahmad (Dehlvi) (1831–1912) and Shahid Ahmad Dehlvi (1906–1966). Asif Sb went to Karachi’s prestigious St Patrick’s School and took his BSc at D. J. Science College, after which he went on to medical school at Dow Medical College, Karachi, and then completed a master’s in public health at Harvard University. He worked at UNICEF for many years before leaving behind a successful career in healthcare to pursue his ardent interest in reading, writing, and teaching literature full-time. He was one of the founding members of Habib University, Karachi, where he started the Arzu Center. This soon became a literary hub of sorts in a culture-starved city, thanks to his relentless efforts and enthusiasm to promote the arts.

The Karachi Literature Festival was another pathbreaking initiative of Asif Sb, alongside Ameena Saiyid, which was inaugurated in 2010. Passionate about reviving arts and culture in the country, he worked tirelessly to organize it every spring. And even when, in 2018, he had to part ways with the co-organizers (Oxford University Press) he did so with grace — although there was litigation involved, which added to the stress he was already under. Ever gentle, ever humble, and always on the lookout for any silver lining, he went on to initiate the Adab Festival in 2019 which celebrated local and global authors in much the same vein, although in a more intimate manner with greater audience engagement. Perhaps it was his zeal for bringing people together and promoting the written word that meant one always associated literature festivals with him.

Indeed, I first met him in 2014 at the Islamabad Literature Festival — another of his many initiatives to promote the arts in Pakistan. Like the Karachi Literature Festival, the Islamabad Literary Festival, and later Hyderabad and Gwadar and many other such regional festivals were due to his indomitable work championing cultural activities in Pakistan. A great believer in young talent, Asif Sb gave me a platform to showcase my work at a time when I was only a few short stories old. I was a writer who had yet to publish a collection. I still remember how he spoke to me the same way he would to a seasoned author. Not one to differentiate people according to their standing in the literary world, he treated both new and old authors, fringe and mainstream, literary and genre, in the same manner and with equal respect. One of the first things he asked me was about my influences. A great champion of the afsana or short story, he wanted to inculcate love for the rich Urdu tradition of short fiction in the younger generation, and accordingly introduced me to many contemporary and classic Urdu writers whose work went on to influence my writing style and my scholarly research.

Asif Sb’s passion for the Urdu language was infectious. And this at a time when postcoloniality and globalization had stripped so many of us of the riches of our mother tongue. Determined to reintroduce us to the treasures of Urdu adab, Asif Sb organized many interesting talks and mushairas (poetry recitals) at Habib University under the banner of his Arzu Center. Thanks to his ceaseless promotion of the Urdu language, he ignited an inextinguishable flame of appreciation for adab amongst the youth. It is to his credit that the university introduced a core course in Urdu literature that was unlike any other. An introduction to the Persianate influences of prose and poetry in Urdu — including the works of Ghalib and Mir — the course was taught in such an accessible manner that students were aptly drawn to it like moths to a flame. No student who attended these classes could tear themselves away from them, such was the appeal of Asif Sb’s pedagogy.

Asif Sb’s teaching philosophy was as unique as his personality. The classroom was never an arena of power for him and he detested the hierarchy of master and pupil as was traditional in the postcolonial South Asian classroom. Instead, this was a place of mutual learning, a safe space where students could express themselves as well as questioning their teachers. Many a time he would come out of class and say, “Today I learned this”, instead of, “Today I taught that”. Perhaps it was this generosity of spirit and his humble approach to knowledge that made him one of the most popular teachers at the university. Students who had struggled through Urdu in high school suddenly learned to appreciate its beauty and history on attending his lectures and seminars. He not only created the core course, entitled Jahan-e-Urdu (World of Urdu), which introduced students to the beauty of the language and tradition of Urdu prose and poetry, but also created electives on contemporary Urdu literature. In these courses he introduced students not only to the classics but also to trends in contemporary Urdu literature. One such course was the ever popular Puppu Yaar Tang Na Kar. Named after a popular Urdu phrase that, depending on the tone and context, could mean, “Friend, don’t bother me”, or simply “Bugger off”, as seen in street art or the backs of trucks and rickshaws, the course traced the evolution of modern Urdu language through blogs, columns, and social media among other contemporary modes of communication. And why not, for Asif Sb would argue that any language that does not grow and evolve is dead. As such, he incorporated blogs, social media memes, Whatsapp forwards, drama serials, and all kinds of interventions into the course, tracing through interactive discussions with his class how Urdu as a language had transformed. This realization was often far more impactful for students than any lecture on colonialism.

Despite teaching a full course load and shouldering heavy administrative duties, Asif Sb somehow always found the time to write. A prolific translator and author, the body of work he leaves behind is as impressive as that of any literature laureate. Awarded the President’s Pride of Performance Award in 1995 and the Medal of Excellence (Tamgha-e-Imtiaz) in 2006, he wrote more than 60 books, including six collections of short stories, two volumes of literary criticism, and numerous translations. He also gave other promising authors a platform under the auspices of his independent publishing imprint Scheherazade, and edited a prestigious literary journal, Dunyazad, for almost two decades before it ceased publication last year. Although his work has not yet been catalogued properly, some of his most popular books that I was able to trace through his friends and admirers include his long essays, critical works, conversations, and interviews (conducted by him). Perhaps the most notable are Harf-e-Man-o-Tu (roughly translated as Words Between Us, 2015) and Aatish Fishan Par Khile Gulab (Roses Blooming Over a Volcano, 1982), Cheezen Aur Log (Things and People, 1991), Cheezon Ki Kahanian (Stories of Things, 1993), and Mere Din Guzar Rahe Hain (My Days are Passing, 2009) published by his own imprint. One of his most well-known works remains his biography of the famous Urdu novelist Intizar Hussain titled Chiragh-i-Shab-i-Afsana (2016).

Besides his contribution to Urdu literature, Asif Sb also wrote for the English press regularly. Perhaps one of his most popular literary contributions was the regular literary column he contributed to Pakistan’s leading English daily, Dawn. His last column now seems ominously preemptive, as it was a contemplation on death. Published on 10 May (Farrukhi, 2020) under the headline “A Time for Death”, Asif Sb mused on mortality and recalled with anguish the tragic deaths of Indian actors Irrfan Khan and Rishi Kapoor, the Irish poet Eavan Boland, and the young Danish Palestinian poet Yahya Hassan. One cannot help but wonder if this was a premonition on the fragility of life, for he wrote: “News of death, especially if unrelated to the dreaded coronavirus, seems all the more dismal. Where newspaper accounts are lean on details, I follow up with a Google search. All deaths diminish and deprive me one way or the other” (2020: n.p.).

This last and column and his final YouTube vlog (a forum he began using creatively during the lockdown to keep literary spirits up), both seem like a forewarning in retrospect. In his measured and tactful way, Asif Sb had vlogged about the refusal of the Pakistani authorities to create proper awareness about the dangers of the pandemic. Talking about the denial in his clear-cut Urdu accent and gentle voice, he said to the camera in a sardonic but humorous tone, Mujhe kuch nahin hua. Main bilkul theekh hoon (There is nothing wrong with me, I am perfectly all right).

Those words of reassurance, uttered as he was fighting many battles on the health front as well as in his professional and personal life, are reminiscent of his stoically courageous personality. Resilient, determined, irrepressibly positive and ever humorous, these words, “There is nothing wrong with me” will stay will me forever. They are a reminder of his fighting spirit and refusal to give up; his resilience, which will inspire us all to carry on in his absence.

I know that there are many other things that will remind me of him. These things will make me pause and reflect on the purpose of life — of a life well lived. They include everyday things like lifting my glasses up to read a text message instead of taking them off, a habit I picked up from Asif Sb who preferred to lift his glasses up and down rather than switch to bifocals or waste time taking them off. Getting excited over a book and calling up friends about it as if I had won a lottery is another habit that I inherited from him and one which will continue to remind me of him. Taking pleasure in my Urdu heritage, exploring passionately the language in its original texts rather than in translation is another gift I received from him. Feeling inspired by my students and taking the time to tell them that that their stories matter is yet another value Asif Sb passed on to us.

In the various stages of my life that I have known Asif Sb, he has in some way or the other contributed to my growth as a writer, an academic, and a person. As a colleague he was an encouraging mentor, and as a friend he was simply present by my side, always. A faithful guide, a warm mentor, a voracious reader, a prolific writer, and a dedicated teacher, there wasn’t a text he could not discuss or a topic he could not debate. Yet he never made others feel any less knowledgeable in his company. It was this rare gift, the warmth he carried within him, that made people feel so comfortable around him.

A true embodiment of a liberal education, a selfless patron of the arts in a society where reading for pleasure is discouraged and regional literature and languages often ignored in favour of the colonial language of power, Asif Sb was the kind of person who only comes along once in a lifetime. He made a difference not only in the lives of people he was close to but in the revival of regional literature and culture in Pakistan. His passion for the arts, his zest for life, his energy to work till the 25th hour, his versatility, were unlike those of anyone I had ever known. As I write this, I wonder if I will ever come across a person like him. The answer seems unlikely. With Asif Sb’s death, the world has lost a unique gift.

Yet, at the same time, I am reminded of a verse by the renowned Urdu poet Ahmed Nadeem Qasmi:

Kaun Kahta hai maut aai to mar jaunga

Main to Darya huun samundar mein utar jaunga

(Who says that death will finish me,

I am a river whose destiny is to merge into the sea)

Like the river that flows into the sea, the impact of Asif Sb’s work and his literary legacy will be felt for decades to come. Through his courses in Urdu and regional literature, his initiations of literature festivals, his publishing, and of course his writings and translations, he has left a mark in our world that can’t be ignored or erased. He lit a fire inside us that can never be extinguished for it is the flame of curiosity and the glow of creativity.