I first met Irfan Husain in the early 1970s when he was courting my eldest sister, Ferida Sher, his first wife and mother to his only child Shakir. We lived on our farm and it was in the summer during the wheat harvest that this well spoken man turned up at the farm. Whether he was being polite or serious he offered to help in the harvest and my brother, Moody, and I planned to have the city boy carry the 50 kg bags of wheat up onto the loading ramp. We both wanted to put Irfan to the test and next day were surprised to see Irfan turn up at 6 AM knowing his offer was perhaps sincere to build a relationship with us.
Irfan ended up driving the harvester and in the hot summer sun of Lahore he fared well putting in six hours of bone jarring driving. He offered with the wheat bags but we told him we had it under control. In short Irfan seemed good enough for the first test. A few weeks later he walked upon us axing away at guava trees as we pruned the guava orchid, Irfan being Irfan offered to help and after an hour of hacking with an axe my brother and I realised our sister would not be impressed with blisters on her bridegroom’s hands. Both Moody and I concluded Irfan was a cool guy, he did not talk down to us on account of his education and intelligence and certainly deserved a warm welcome.
A few months later we had an amazing wedding in the farm, we spent weeks cutting trees and stacking them in a large field near the house and after the formalities of the wedding we lit a bon fire that actually was still smouldering a few days later. At some point of the night Irfan walked up to us brothers and thanked us saying that it was a “lovely gesture of the bonfire that made it all special”.
Later as I finished my Masters in Islamabad Irfan and my sister were in the same city and I got to see more of Irfan and we often talked of politics and books. I was then writing for Viewpoint and Irfan always had some good advice and perspective that I appreciated. Sometimes he would simply ask if I had read a particular book or article usually we would have a discussion that followed.
Irfan was a gentle soul and while not overtly emotional he was in a quiet way sensitive about all that happened around him. Later when my sister and Irfan divorced there was no drama and both seemed to focus on their son Shakir and giving him the best of both parents. The fact that Shakir turned out to be a fine man is a testimony to the care and concern of both parents not to burden their son with the weight a divorce. Irfan remained Irfan Bhai within our household and till his final days my elder sister (not the one who was married to Irfan) would give me twice a day updates on Irfan Bhai.
When Shakir worked with me in Abu Dhabi, Irfan visited me and it was lovely seeing him. My only regret remains that it was at a time I was experimenting with micro wave cooking and the meal I prepared was perhaps the worst ever with the meat as hard as leather. Irfan politely chewed his way, painfully, through the evening putting aside my apologies. I promised myself that when Irfan came around next I would prepare him a perfect meal, needless to say that evenings meal remains the last I ever used a micro wave for.
Sadly we never got to meet again but barring a call some years back I got regular news on Irfan from his son and my sisters. I also was an avid reader of his columns in Dawn and enjoyed his perspective on things. While I may not have agreed with his views all the time I admired his conviction and courage to express them. Irfan was always true to his beliefs which was a welcome quality in a country like Pakistan were journalists with conviction bore the brunt of governments not very tolerant of men who wielded a pen.
Rest in Peace Irfan, you had a good innings and enriched the lives of many, you will always be remembered fondly and when we meet on the other side I will cook you the meal I planned, sans the micro wave.
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