LAHORE: Veteran journalist Zafar Iqbal Mirza, or ZIM as he was affectionately called, was fondly remembered at a reference held at the South Asian Free Media Association (SAFMA) here on Friday.

The event was aptly called “Last Man In” -- a title he chose for a book of his columns he used to write under the pseudonym Lahori. The book title reflects his passion for cricket which, among other things, finds a mention in it. The columns on Lahore, the city he was born and bred in, and its institutions, depiction of seasons, pen portraits and one-liners show his craftsmanship as an English language writer.

Members of his family and friends were among the participants.

Moderator Imtiaz Alam spoke about ZIM being his mentor in life.

“He was excellent in editing and had great command over the English language,” he said. “While editing he always made sure that the tone of the column or news story remained unchanged.”

After Zulfikar Ali Bhutto was hanged by military dictator Ziaul Haq, he said, ZIM quit The Pakistan Times and joined weekly Viewpoint. Later, he joined Dawn besides being an integral part of journalist Husain Naqi’s Punjab Punch.

Mr Masoodullah Khan’s speech remembered ZIM well, albeit in a way that often had the audience in stitches. Mr Khan had shared a working space with ZIM in Dawn and Punjab Punch. He said ZIM was so devoted to journalism that he treated it like an “unfaithful lover”.

“There are those who would get beaten up or jailed for the journalism they do, but eventually return to it out of passion and habit. ZIM was one of those,” he said. “But once he quit it, he remained far away from it – until he passed away.”

Mr Khan described ZIM as not only a sharp editor but also a man with lots of wit and humour.

“Once police came looking for Husain Naqi and asked him which one he was,” he reminisced. “Without even flinching ZIM pointed out Mr Naqi and told police to grab him. When I told him this was not a very nice thing to do, ZIM instantly remarked in his typical Punjabi wit, “maujaan hi maujaan, chhutiyan hi chhutiyan hongi ab.” (Now that he’s gone on vacation – he’s going to be enjoying himself).

“He was so astute that he was well aware of the restrictions placed on him, especially while he was at The Pakistan Times,” continued Mr Khan. “But once he was out of there and joined Punjab Punch, he somewhat broke shackles. He showed his class as a writer and editor in Punjab Punch.”

As it is, the editorial policy of Punjab Punch meant that there was no need to be extra careful with the content. This gave ZIM more of a push when being open as a journalist. He said everything in his own peculiar and bold style.

Mr Khan recalled how they both thought of dramatic headlines together, and how committed he (ZIM) was to not only his work but to people too.

“One thing struck everyone about how much of a music lover he was, in fact he loved listening to the radio,” said Mr Khan. “He used to put his entire family on duty to keep updating him on the score of a match if he was busy. And he often sang songs he liked loud and clear. One of those was an old Indian song about polishing boots for a lover – I wonder what meaning it held for him,” he added as the audience burst into laughter.

Mr Khan deplored it was sad how no one from the government came forward to express grief at his death. This is despite how well he knew present PM Imran Khan.

Senior journalist Mr Ziauddin Ahmed sent his message saying ZIM would be well remembered and that he was an all-in-one package.

Khawar Mumtaz also spoke about her time spent with ZIM in Viewpoint, saying he always had a twinkle in his eye. “Initially, I did not understand who this disheveled, unkempt person was,” she laughed. “In fact, I remember how Auntie Alys (Faiz) used to get annoyed at him.”

Salima Hashmi added that her mother would probably be irked mostly at his appearance: she wanted him neat and shaved when coming to office but he refused to do so. “But as a journalist, my mother was a great admirer of his work, so we can say there was a love-hate relationship!”

His colleague and friend Husain Naqi said that in order to understand ZIM, it’s important to understand Lahore. “In those days Lahore was a strange and crazy city with strange and crazy people,” he said. “There were all kinds of weird people here.”

He said he met ZIM, a well-dressed and handsome man, for the first time in the Pak Tea House. He described ZIM as an earthy and affable person who made friends with all kinds of people. “He once gave five rupees (quite an amount at that time) to a beggar, and when asked why, he told us his logic: the man had come from another province and so would need more! He had made friends with rickshaw drivers and they would often have tea on his expense.”

For some reason ZIM loved Model Town area and he introduced Husain Naqi to the place as well. “He also helped me out financially when I wanted to rent a house there, but never let it be known that he did.”

Under martial law, as always, times were tough. “I myself faced so many raids that today I don’t even have one page of Punjab Punch,” said Mr Naqi. “But despite martial law his work never suffered and with some very subtle and sharp wordplay, he would get away by saying the boldest things.”

Human rights activist and former Pakistan Times editor Mr I.A. Rehman said young ZIM replaced Mian Nizamuddin who was a pioneer of the reference section. “For the start I knew he was different,” said Mr Rehman. “He started writing with the pen name “Twelfth Man.” “He was a genuine person and immensely disliked bogus people,” said Mr Rehman.

Dr Akmal Hussain also spoke appreciating ZIM’s resistance to the status quo and dictatorship through a fine selection of words.

“Now with a clampdown on freedom of expression, what ZIM did must be remembered.”

It was because of him many journalists and columnists grew their readership. They wrote their stories and it was ZIM who was their ‘backstage man’.

Earlier, journalist Farah Zia read out an obituary of ZIM that was published in a newspaper.

Published in Dawn, December 7th, 2019