Death can certainly not be proud of taking away a gentle soul like Zubeida, my old friend. She lived with quiet dignity and self-effacing elegance. She spoke eloquently in her writings and rendered meritorious service to myriad social and cultural causes - Photo Dawn

 

Zubeida, My Friend!
Obituary of a Departed Friend

By Karamatullah K. Ghori
Toronto, Canada

Zubeida, my old friend is no more. She departed, on her last journey, to her eternal abode, last July 9.

“Dawn,” where she worked for well over three decades, broke the news of Zubeida Mustafa’s death on the following morning. The paper mourned the passing away of a veteran of English journalism in Pakistan.

Dawn’s association with Zubeida spanned three, almost four, decades. But my friendship with her went way back to the early 1960s.

It was in 1961 that I enrolled in the Department of International Relations (IR) of Karachi University in its new, sprawling, campus, miles away from the city limits of then, not-out-of-bounds, Karachi.

The University had moved into its new campus only a year earlier, in 1960. Zubeida, then Zubeida Hasan, had joined IR in that very year. She was a year senior to me and, more than that, a pioneer student at the new campus.

IR had the reputation of being KU’s Hollywood. It shared that laurel with the English Department and the reason for it was that both Departments had a surfeit of charming girls, outnumbering any other Department of KU.

But Zubeida was different. Her glamour shone more in intellect than charms; her erudition as a serious scholarly type was recognized by most of her classmates and contemporaries, including this pen-pusher.

However, our friendship struck roots when I joined the then sole think-tank of Pakistan, the Pakistan Institute of International Affairs (PIIA) after my master’s in IR, in 1963. Zubeida had preceded me there, along with Khalida Qureshi, a daughter of Mr Shoaib Qureshi—a veteran freedom fighter—and a granddaughter of the legendary Maulana Mohammad Ali Johar.

We three, Zubeida, Khalida and I were Research Officers, sheltering under the larger-than-life shadows of Khwaja Sarwar Hasan, who had the reputation of a pioneer of research in international relations, with special focus on UN and other international organizations.

K Sarwar Hasan, as he was better known by that name, had impeccable credentials, both of family and academics. He was a grandson of Maulana Altaf Hussain Hali and had earned his scholarly reputation from association with Cambridge University. His daughter, and my dear friend, Dr Masooma Hasan, is now eminently filling the chair of her father as Secretary of PIIA.

Sarwar Hasan, the mentor of us three, was a hard-task master who tolerated no nonsense, none at all. But he was a superb teacher and taught us the nitty-gritty of research and writing. “Pakistan Horizon,” with regular contributions of us three, and occasional contributions from eminent Pakistani and overseas scholars and researchers was published regularly, every quarter, under Sarwar Hasan’s meticulous editing skills.

But Khwaja Sahib, as we called him, out of sheer deference, was also known for his short temper and I became an unwitting victim of it at the end of 1964.

I proceeded to Paris, on a French Government scholarship, in October 1964, to pursue a doctoral program at the famous Sorbonne University but forfeited that scholarship because of differences with my mentor professor over my thesis plan.

My mistake was that I’d left for Paris without applying for study leave from PIIA. A further mistake was committed by a dear friend of mine who wrote an application, in my absence, to Khwaja Sahib, on my behalf feigning illness which had made me too “week” to report for work.

When I returned, after nearly three weeks, I was summoned by Khwaja Sahib to suffer his wrath. He said he’d detected the forgery of my friend because he, pretending me, had spelled "weak” as “week.” Khwaja Sahib said he could see through the forgery because he was certain of my writing skills and knew that I could never have spelled weak as week.

It was small comfort for me to be reminded of his faith in my skills because, at that very moment, he also fired me from my job.

However, his bark proved to be worse than his bite. He later used his connections to land me a job as Junior Lecturer at the IR Department of KU, my alma mater.

I lost touch with Zubeida when I joined the Pakistan Foreign Service, in 1966, and sometime later departed from Pakistan on overseas assignments. She, too, moved on from PIIA to another job and, from there, she landed in Dawn as an editorial assistant.

But I stayed tuned on Zubeida who, with the passage of times, became Zubeida Mustafa from Zubeida Hasan.

Another common link between us was that even as a career diplomat and ambassador I kept writing for Dawn, under a penname, Abu Saif. The real identity of Abu Saif was known only to three persons: Mr Ahmed Ali Khan, Dawn’s mellifluous editor; Zubeida, my friend; and Dawn’s Accountant who deposited my cheques into my bank account.

I remember years and decades later when I was in Karachi, in 2004, for the wedding of my son, I ran into Zubeida at Dawn’s offices. I’d gone there to invite her to the wedding. The first thing she said to me was, ‘What are you going to do with all that column money deposited over the years into your account?’ I said, ‘Zubeida, all that

The likes of Zubeida are rare in our still predominantly patriarchal social milieu. All those who knew her closely will miss her, a lot. But my loss will be greater than theirs because in her, I have lost a gracious and gifted friend of 65 long years money is going to be spent on my son’s wedding, and you will be partaking some of it.’ She laughed to her heart’s content.

Since settling down in Canada, following my retirement from Foreign Service, I used to visit Karachi, every year or two later, and never missed out dropping in at Dawn’s offices to meet with friends there. Zubeida, of course, always topped the friends’ list.

She was the one who, as editor of Dawn’s Books & Authors Section roped me into reviewing new books, on a regular basis.

As for herself, she’d long given up writing on political issues and focused, increasingly, on social matters. Education, and especially vernacular education, was a subject close to her heart. She wrote passionately in favor of imparting primary education in mother-tongue.

I recall at our last meeting—when I was last in Karachi in 2019, at the time of release of my memoirs, Rozegar-e-Safeer —at a lunch hosted by a common friend at Beach Luxury Hotel, Zubeida talked, much of the time, about the imperative need, and importance, of vernacular-based primary education.

In 2012, Zubeida Mustafa received a Lifetime Achievement Award from the International Women's Media Foundation, US,  for her reports on women's issues, politics, education, health, and culture. Above she is seen with Christiane Amanpour, Asmaa al-Ghoul, Zubeida Mustafa, Khadija Ismayilova, Cynthia McFadden, and Martha Raddatz - Flickr

Now that she is gone, I have been wondering if any other senior journalist would carry on her mission to where she intended to take it. I doubt if there would be another kindred soul like her, with a Messianic zeal, pursuing that dream.

It was that 17 th century English bard, John Donne, who had penned that famous sonnet, “death be not proud.” And that notoriously famous American author, John Gunther, who wrote several books under the title of “Inside Europe’, “Inside Africa” etc. etc. made ‘death be not proud’ immortal when he penned the obituary of his young son.

Death can certainly not be proud of taking away a gentle soul like Zubeida, my old friend. She lived with quiet dignity and self-effacing elegance. She spoke eloquently in her writings and rendered meritorious service to myriad social and cultural causes.

The likes of Zubeida are rare in our still predominantly patriarchal social milieu. All those who knew her closely will miss her, a lot. But my loss will be greater than theirs because in her, I have lost a gracious and gifted friend of 65 long years.

Death be not proud of taking away such a dear old friend as Zubeida! - K_K_ghori@hotmail.com

(The author is a former ambassador and career diplomat)