The annual Lahore Literary Festival is much more than an event celebrating ‘literature’ as the term is usually understood. Lively discussions ranging from Islam and science in medieval Cordoba to jazz in 20th-century Karachi could be heard at this year’s LLF, the third such event held at the Alhamra Arts Center from February 20-22. Most of the people I queried about their experience at the LLF responded positively, though they were referring to more than just the scheduled events. For walking around the Alhamra complex, one could come across impromptu live music, poetry recitations, and even some people giving away their old books. The overall atmosphere was congenial and good-natured, and there are many who regard this gathering as the most significant intellectual and cultural event of the year. But those who gush over the LLF should keep in mind the necessarily limited scope of discourses and books on offer – it would be an error to imagine that the conversations at this (or indeed any) event are groundbreaking or represent the full range of possible discussion.
Those who gush over the LLF should keep in mind the necessarily limited scope of discourses and books on offer
On the other hand, there are those who merely dismiss the LLF, eternally dissatisfied with the Festival no matter how inclusive its organisers strive to be. These naysayers yawn at the same old faces and ideas, proclaiming that there is nothing new to be learned at this event. I wonder how many of them know the story of Maryam Jameelah: the Jewish-American woman who converted to Islam, moved to Lahore at the encouragement of Syed Abul Ala Maududi, and became the burka-wearing second wife of a member of the Jamaat-i Islami? Those who attended the book launch of Deborah Baker’s biography of Jameelah would have been introduced to a fascinating but little-known character who spent many years writing books and pamphlets as an improbable champion of conservative Islam.
Thus, given the diversity of events, it is likely that most people were exposed to facts and ideas that they were previously unaware of. One young woman I encountered, who had never heard of Joe Sacco and knew virtually nothing about the Palestinian question, exited from a session featuring the famed comic journalist intent on reading his work and alleviating her ignorance. No doubt countless other people had instilled in them a similar desire to read and learn, including the dozens of young school volunteers whose untiring optimism helped make the LLF experience a welcoming and efficient one.
Hall 1, the biggest hall at the Alhamra Art Centre was filled to capacity for most sessions
I wonder how many of them know the story of Maryam Jameelah
Of course, a glance at the event program is insufficient to determine how the Festival will unfold, for a great deal of tangential and unrehearsed discussion occurs both on the stage and off of it. And even if we accept the argument that the Festival features little productive debate because the panellists tend to be either ideologically similar or intellectually mediocre, what cannot be denied is that outside the halls visitors debate and discuss with wide-ranging zest, sometimes with people whom they have never met before. And is that not something that even the detractors of the LLF would agree is desirable: people thinking about and questioning who and what they have just heard?
This is not to say that the Festival could not be improved, or that legitimate questions cannot be raised as to its purpose and effects. That the LLF has too much of a self-serving and self-congratulatory air is a reasonable position to take- provided that one avoid hypocrisy and similarly demand that conferences of religious zealots include atheists in their congregations.
Young fans take a selfie with Mohsin Hamid
One also hears the opinion that the attendees of this festival are, like the panellists, all cut from the same cloth i.e. well-educated, wealthy, English-speaking ‘elites’ (a nebulous word always tossed around without clarification, usually by cynics who can themselves be classified as such). One police officer with whom I was discussing Maryam Jameelah mused on the irony of a Western woman moving to Pakistan to wear a burka, while so many Pakistani women were strutting around Alhamra donning Western fashions. I smiled, and would have asked him what he got up to during his three-month sojourn in Greece, but was pulled away before I could get around to conducting a full interrogation.
An amusing incident illustrates the folly of inaccurate prejudices and false dichotomies: two ‘desi’ professors at an event about Punjabi literature were puzzling about the seemingly incongruous presence in the queue of a number of stylish young ladies dressed in fashionable Western clothing. Turning to the women, the professors jokingly asked if they knew what they were there for. Had they ever spoken Punjabi, except perhaps to communicate with their servants? Didn’t they know that Punjabi was a language of the poor? The two looked at each other and then disdainfully at the professor. One of them said to the other in fluent Punjabi, as if to sooth any potentially ruffled feathers
“Chad pagal hai.” (Let him be. He is mad)
Kabir Babar is an antiquarian and bibliophile who discusses books at www.facebook.com/KabirBabarSPQR
Kantawala will return next week with his regular column
