Last year in February, Lahore’s first Literary Festival began with rain and ended on a sunny spring day. So did this year’s. Last year’s festival had an air of freshness about it, and so too did the festival this past weekend. However, several changes were noticed by repeat audience members, though not all the modifications were positively received. There was no keynote speaker this year despite some big names among the attendees, the patio in front of Alhamra’s hall one featured a less interactive space, and where last year’s event had well-planned panels this year’s felt too haphazardly arranged. It was, though, a fitting place to come and put your finger on Lahore’s cultural pulse.

Big ticket draws included the usual suspects: Mohammed Hanif, Kamila Shamsie, Mohsin Hamid. Of these, Shamsie was the only one launching a new novel, A God in Every Stone. The international author who drew most of the audience attention was Vikram Seth. It would have been interesting to hear him speak from the same honoured post of keynote speaker as Tariq Ali did last year. However, that position could easily have been taken by Shahzia Sikander or Shobhaa De, both well-known artists of their own genre. Amit Chaudhuri was also on some panels, as were up and coming artists of the verbal and visual media. Mobeen Ansari and Rashid Rana made appearances, and showcased their work through slides.

Among the more literary events, there were quite a few book launches. Shamsie was insightful and brilliant as expected. K. Anis Ahmed, the Bangladeshi publisher and debut author of The World in My Hands, was the new kid on the block, and besides his own launch he played a pivotal and intellectually potent role on many other panels. There was also the rather comic phenomenon of Saba Naqvi and Shahan Mufti launching each other’s books with mutual interviews. While the festival had many new books to cater to, it was still a shame to see that all the Karachi-centered debut novels were sidelined from any individual attention, especially since Omar Shahid Hamid’s The Prisoner and Bilal Tanweer’s The Scatter Here is Too Great have got smashing early reviews, and Saba Imtiaz’s journalism novel seems promising. Fortunately, there was at least a panel for these up-and-coming authors to speak about the ‘Delirium in Karachi.’

There was no rain on the second day, Saturday, though it remained quite cool. The multitudes arrived early to soak up the festivities. Diversity served them well. The Shobhaa De panel in the morning; Vikram Seth and his multi-verse of talents on display near mid-day; Jugnu Mohsin’s genius mimicry of famous men and women; Mira Nair; Rajeev Sethi; Ahmed Rashid, Vali Nasr, and Zia Mohyeddin — choices galore. And to finish off the day’s saturated schedule, a live performance by the Sachal Orchestra. For those who had not heard their music before, the group’s renditions of ‘Stand by Me’ and ‘Saanu Nehr Wale Pul’ were electrifying, a fresh and invigorating use of sitar and flute. For those lucky enough to have heard Sachal Orchestra’s work before, this was not their best performance. They have performed better, more melodiously, elsewhere.

Sunday was expected to be the hangover day. And so it was. Celebrations the previous night or exertions accounted for missing panellists and moderators in the morning. Most talks were rescued while a few floundered over missing links. It was easily brushed aside and forgiven by the thinner, quieter Sunday crowd.

A more egregious flaw in the scheduling of panels was the simultaneous occurrence of big-name events throughout the three days. Hanif’s talk, ‘Love in the Time of Mangoes,’ overlapped Shamsie’s book launch. Zia Mohyeddin read out Mushtaq Yusafi’s works in one hall at the same time that Vikram Seth was speaking in the adjacent one. What a sinful thing to do to lovers of literature — where was one to go and not feel as though something crucial was being missed? How to measure the opportunity cost of missing Zia Mohyeddin?A sacrifice had to be made, and enough people chose any given session for nearly all halls to be at least a quarter full, even early on Sunday morning. For the more in-demand sessions, it was hard to get a seat, or even to gain entry.

The weakest part, the biggest flaw, the most outrageous insult during the festival was the behaviour of the volunteers. With militant attitudes, they refused entry into, or exit from, any given panel to members of the public. What kind of festival is it that locks its audience in or out? The argument the ushers gave was that movement during panels is “insulting to the authors.” And what about choice? What about sampling and moving on? Several complaints were heard about this, and members of the public fumed at the insolence they suffered, especially at being locked into panels that did not live up to expectation. The Lahore Literary Festival is an event free for all members of the public, so why does it not allow freedom of movement within itself? The onus is on the organisers to provide quiet means of exit and entry. And they must provide better-mannered volunteers to cater to the audience.

However, that criticism is one of very few genuine complaints against the organisation and execution of the festival. There were plenty of positives to take away from this first sequel: it was the perfect place to be during the light drizzle on Friday, and it was the best place for book and art lovers to socialise and enjoy the sun on Sunday. Outdoor seating on diwaans was especially welcome. The art installation by a newly formed consortium of artists, Stet, was stellar for the most part, especially the perspective-building video installation that focused on the drama of Saturn’s rings of moondust.

Above all, the meet-and-greet aspect of the event cannot be overlooked. Lahore’s students of the arts came in droves. The event was critiqued by the elite for being too elitist, but was attended by a cross section of society. Food stalls from last year made an appearance, though the wall of writing that allowed the public to express itself freely was not repeated this year.

If the two festivals were to be linked, they would show a nearly flat line in terms of progress. Last year’s festival may have been the better one, for it featured more big names and less pessimism among the public at the state of the nation. And though an unyielding and high level of quality has been established by the organisers, they must make sure to look up, and try to keep doing better.

The writer teaches rhetoric at LUMS