Farewell my friend!

19th July 2008 is one of the saddest days I've known in my 23 years. I lost a friend. It is one of those curve balls life throws at you. The ones you can't possibly do anything about. The ones that bowl you out, and you pick up and move on, hoping to bat another innings another day.

At 26 years of age, Immad Muzaffar (ganges) passed away in his sleep due to a cardiac arrest. This goes out to you my friend, though I know you will never read this.

The first clear memory of you that I have is of our first semester in GIKI in 2002; in the auditorium during the declamation contest. You came, asked if you could sit next to me, and introduced yourself. You are one of the few people I made friends with in the beginning of the four years that changed everyone completely, and you're one of the fewer still that I can still call friends even now. You will be remembered by most for your single 'mera number', for your red electric guitar and all night guitaring sessions, for your love of lennon and dylan and hendrix and morrison. For your incredible rendering of 'waiting for godot' for the GIKI stage and your love of english literature. For 'Aqualung', 'badge', 'shararti' and various other irc/msn nicks. And for your incredible sense of humour.

I will remember you for your love of Urdu poetry. For your quoting of Ghalib on irc at 4am. For your pestering to download and listen to Dylan's 'My Ramona'. For your very interesting interpretations for every random letter/symbol I would keep typing over the chat just to see what you would come up with next. And your well placed and well done ascii arts. For your setting fire to a random poster on the cafe wall and for your harebrained schemes of throwing food over the Girls' Hostel gate after 2am cuz I had missed dinner. For your suggestions at 3am on Saturday mornings of me coming down to Lahore from Karachi for the weekend so we could hang out and I could get a break from my gloom and doom, and then your cheek for asking the next day "Hey weren't you coming?" For your confidence, and your always kind words. And your reassurance and encouragement whenever I was down, which was often. For your good humoured enumerations of my successes that made you proud of me, to cheer me up and assure me that I wasn't completely useless afterall. I will remember you for all these and a million things more that I haven't put down here.

Also for your wish for wife and kids, basically family. For your commitment to a job you didn't really like and your persistent search for a better one. For your queasiness over GRE prep and your hopes for getting the fulbright. For your pride and joy in Ghalib Blues, for sharing it with me, and your approval of the review that I wrote for it here in April. For Zzing which you claimed was in you and wasn't dependent on stuff like you being here in Pakistan or in the US for studies.

I will also remember wanting to talk to you on wednesday the 16th of July to ask what was up with you since we hadn't talked in nearly a month. And forgetting to follow it through thinking I would do it later or maybe over the weekend. And regretting it dearly now.

It would be simple to dedicate some beatles song to you. Maybe Golden Slumbers. Or something by Dylan. But I would dedicate something that very much echoes my mood right now. Given your insight into Urdu poetry, I'm sure you would have appreciated and understood it. So here goes:

hamesha der kar deta hun main
zaruri bat kahni ho
koi wada nibhana ho
use awaz deni ho
use wapas bulana ho
hamesha der kar deta hun main

madad karni ho uski
yar ki dharas bandhana ho
bahut derina raston par
kisi se milne jana ho
hamesha der kar deta hun main

badalte mausamon ki sair main
dil ko lagana ho
kisi ko yad rakhna ho
kisi ko bhul jana ho
hamesha der kar deta hun main

kisi ko maut se pahle
kisi gam se bachna ho
haqiqat aur thi kuch
us ko ja k ye batana ho
hamesha der kar deta hun main

-- Munir Niazi

To losely translate in English for those who can't catch it in Urdu:

I always make it too late
to say something important
to fulfil a promise
to call him/her*
to ask him/her* to come back
I always make it too late

To help him/her*
To encourage a friend
To walk on the old pathways
To go meet someone
I always make it too late

To get the heart caught up in ...
... the changing of the seasons
To remember someone
To forget someone
I always make it too late

To save someone from sorrow ...
... before death
To go to him/her* to ...
... tell him/her* the reality
I always make it too late

Rest in Peace Immad Muzaffar (May 13, 1982 - July 19, 2008)



*Those familiar with urdu poetry will understand the ambiguous pronoun that is preferred for second person and is essentially genderless. I have used both masculine/feminine to capture the essence as closely as possible

P.S.: I have uploaded Immad's 'Mera Number' here for those who might want to relive it: