The lead dancer and choreographer was the intrepid Pakistani, Sheema Kermani, and she managed to leave us, at least those who were from India, extremely astonished and delighted. Not only because we did not expect a dance performance right at the beginning of the literature festival but also because she did the unexpected — in fact, something that even literary festivals in India would not dare to risk: she started with a hymn in Hindi.
As the strains of the Mahatma Gandhi favourite "Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram, Sabko Sanmati De Bhagwan" rang out, many of us felt tears spring to our eyes. Sheema and her troupe followed that up with the extremely well known Tagore poem, "Where the Mind is Without Fear". The combination of both of these was a potent mix, and the message went clearly across that the festival was a secular space where no matter what gods you worshipped, the common goal was creativity and freedom of expression.
Perhaps (though the organisers might not have directly meant it to be so) there was also a subtle message for those Indian authors who had dropped out of the KLF at the last minute, quoting various reasons such as 'visa problems', 'security risks' and even 'ill health'. The fact that the inaugural performance itself had strong Indian influences - from the music, poems to the nature of the dance itself — made one think of how robust and inclusive the KLF organisers have turned out to be, especially given the strained environment between the two countries.
And that inclusive sentiment was echoed by the people around us in the audience. The professor of history sitting next to me, in fact, spoke about her family's Indian origin with deep nostalgia and others also wished for the normalising of relations. And indeed, when one is in Karachi, a city which has gained notoriety due to unrelenting terrorist attacks, one feels a deep sense of sympathy for the Pakistanis. My own feeling while attending the festival and also going around the city has been of sorrow that the people here are forced to live under siege. And yet, it has brought out the best among them. We experienced no hostility but only warmth and hospitality that is genuine and heartfelt.
The festival itself (barring the non-shows by big-ticket celebrities such as Gulzar, Shobha De and Ila Arun) has been well organised and attended-with crowds of over 5,000 expected daily.
All events are at the very quaint Beach Luxury Hotel, where we are also staying. This was set up in 1948 by the patriarch of the well known Parsi family of Karachi, the Avaris. Even now the young Dinshaw Avari takes personal care to oversee everything, including hosting a glittering dinner on the first day of the festival along with his wife at their lovely home next door to the hotel. Apart from the extremely pleasant company, the eclectic food, ranging from kebabs to sushi, was superb.
The hotel is perched on the waterfront with a fabulous view of mangroves and seagulls floating on the rippling sea water. The main city is about 10 minutes away in a cab. But we have been escorted everywhere when we step out of this peaceful haven, warned about sudden lawlessness and the gangs which operate with impunity. Thus far, though, our stay has been incident free. Apart from the rain at the festival inauguration, there have been no disruptions, and writers from over 20 countries are attending.
The other wonderful part has been to meet and listen to legendary figures such as Intizar Husain and Kishwar Naheed. Husain, during his keynote address, gave an interesting parable of how story telling can survive at the time of deep crisis. He quoted from Alif Laila, in which the skilful storyteller averts the day of reckoning by keeping the predatory king enthralled with her narrative. She is allowed to live because if she is beheaded the king will never find out 'what happens next'. It was a marvellous allegory for those who often dismiss the case for literature and the role it can play in very adverse circumstances! Husain also took the view that the sub-continental writers owe a debt not just to the western stream of literature but also to Arabic tales and to the 'katha kahanis' from Hindustan. There have been many such references at the KLF to our shared, common heritage.
My own session on Sunday continues the discussion on being a Punjabi and a writer, which began at the Jaipur Literature Festival. Ameena Saiyid, the charming and very efficient MD at Oxford University Press, Pakistan, thought it would be interesting to conduct the discourse here as well, with Pakistani Punjabi authors. And so, much to my delight I will discuss my Punjabiyat with the wonderfully talented writers Mohammed Hanif, Nadeem Aslam and Sarwat Mohiuddin.
The agenda at KLF is packed as we are spoilt for choice, running between sessions on politics, cinema and literature, engaging with some of the best minds from Pakistan and all over the world. And apart from music and dance we are also being treated to poetry readings and mushairas.
Those who feel that Pakistan is falling apart should take a cue from events like the KLF, remembering that ideas and thoughts can survive and even thrive under duress. There is definitely a longing for peace and security and for more dialogue and interaction. One can only hope that those who try to drive a wedge between India and Pakistan would pick up a book instead of a gun.
