THE sessions with Zehra Nigah and Kishwar Naheed had as many similarities as they had differences. For one thing, they both went according to script and had everything one could expect of them, and yet they attracted people in large numbers — an indication that the two have been able to keep themselves relevant in their own different, sometimes divergent, ways. And that is no mean feat given that they have both lived their lives in the public eye for the past almost five decades.

The overall security situation featured prominently in both the sessions. Nigah talked of intolerance in social attitudes and located its origin in the lack of communication that is now the hallmark of even family life. “When we talk to each other at home and differ on this thing or that, we unconsciously learn to live with difference of opinions,” she said. “We also learn to articulate our differences and build the capacity to listen to what others are saying. Now people don’t talk much even when they happen to be at home because they are busy with laptops and mobile phones. Isolation and intolerance go together.”

Nigah recited her famous poems ‘Gul Badshah’, ‘Gul Zameen’ and ‘Jangal ka Qanoon’ which were well received as portrayals of a society that stands bereft of basic values and is in the grip of deep-rooted confusion. But it was Naheed who came up with something fresh in the wake of the Peshawar massacre and won the day hands down.

When she read out her poem, she left the audience spellbound. She herself choked and had to regain composure, but the silence — dead, pindrop silence — across the venue had as much to do with the scale of the tragedy as with Naheed’s capacity to capture it while focusing on the man-made nature of the catastrophe. The silence made one appreciate Naheed’s craft louder than any words ever could have.

Talking of her poetic journey, Naheed recalled the early influence of Noon Meem Rashid and Mukhtar Siddiqui and subsequently of Zehra Nigah. Having tracked her emotions from 17 to 70 years of age, Naheed shared an observation that went down well with the audience: “Male poets even at 70 years of age or beyond still can and do indulge in love poetry, but it is in the poetry of women that one gets to see the whole range of emotions across the various stages of life,” she said.

Asif Farrukhi, who has compiled a rather thin volume of Naheed’s poetry, readily agreed with the poetess, stressing that he had tried to capture all the milestones in the journey. Naheed seemed not quite satisfied with the selection, saying “a lot of notable stuff has been left out”. As if to make a point, she read out poems during the hour-log session that had failed to make the cut.

When Naheed is around, it is only inevitable that the discussion will have feminist tones. The various stages of a woman’s life — a middle-class woman, mind you — were discussed in the context of Naheed’s own experiences in graphic details; her childhood, early forays into the job market, marriage, marital disruption, motherhood — even experiences and observations related to her public transport commute. Answering a question in this regard, Naheed made the pertinent point that emotions at different stages dictate the interpretations of visuals. She used the metaphor of the moon to argue, and rightly so, that it has not only meant different things for different poets, but also different things to the same poet in different moments of his or her life.

Nigah was also asked about her view on feminist poetry. The genial soul that she is, Nigah initially tried to sidetrack the question, but then said in as many words that she didn’t believe in any sort of divide in literature. “Poetry is poetry regardless of whether it has been crafted by a man or a woman. I agree that gender-based victimisation is a reality, but the struggle against it is the struggle of humankind and not that of womankind,” she said in her characteristically soft tone and tenor.

To this extent, Naheed was found in agreement with Nigah. When asked during her session if she found the feminist tag limiting her output, she first spoke rather metaphorically of the “ocean of poetry that owes its existence to many a stream that lose their individual identities to let the ocean be,” but them came to straight to the point, saying the act of labelling is wrong.

While both the sessions were enjoyed by the audience, the major difference was the choice of moderators. Nigah was clearly the luckier of the two for it was a face-to-face with Masood Ashar, a man of refined taste and literary presence.

Naheed’s session was somewhat spoiled by the presence of moderators who were one too many. So offending was the behaviour — and, indeed, the choice of words — of one of them that it irritated the mild-mannered Intizar Husain who was sitting in the audience. He literally asked that moderator to consider the option of letting others speak. Many in the audience were actually grateful to the literary legend for doing what they themselves could not.

BOX: Wit and intellect in a conversation with Tarar

QUITE clearly, ‘A Traveller’s Tales’ was the one session that portrayed the ideal rapport between celebrities and their audience. In fact, it also put on display the ideal chemistry between celebrities, which is something that was missing in the majority of the Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) sessions.

Mustansar Hussain Tarar and Asghar Nadeem Syed pulled the discussion off with aplomb. And the credit must go to the latter for he kept his own stardom in check and acted like a gracious host not averse to letting the guest bask in the glory of the moment. To Tarar’s credit, he acknowledged this on stage in as many words.

The beneficiary was the audience which got to enjoy every moment of the dialogue between the two. It was laced with as much wit and humour as it was with intellect and literary finesse.

Talking about his latest travelogue, ‘Lahore Se Yarqand Tak’, Tarar spoke of the “tunnel vision that connects us to Muslims in distant lands, but doesn’t allow us to locate our religio-cultural roots next door in China.”

Religion is China’s raw nerve, but Tarar dealt with it well, both in the book and the discussion. Perhaps inspired by his skills, an audience member from Balochistan requested Tarar to consider visiting the province and writing a travelogue on his experience there because, as he said, “you may get away with a lot of things while we face threats every time we try to write the truth”. Tarar was polite but firm about his lack of interest in such a pursuit, citing his “advancing age” as the major reason.

When someone asked Tarar if, in his view, tourism had a role in promoting peace, Tarar rubbished the notion. “In the absence of peace, it just doesn’t make sense to even talk of tourism … In an environment where our cricket team has to play its ‘home’ series away from home, we can only fool ourselves into thinking that foreign tourists will come here to promote peace,” he said, adding for good measure that “tourists happen to be tourists, not pinheads”.

For Urdu lovers, it was the most enjoyable one hour of the entire KLF on counts more than one.