Memories and conversations with Asma

Alot will be written about Asma Jahangir, that thin little figure with an iron will. Every word will stand up to make Pakistan proud of its finest daughter.

In this piece let me dwell on Asma the human being with a heart and a soul like few possessed. My first glimpse of her was with my dear late class-fellow, Azhar Ali Malik, her first cousin, to meet his dear uncle Malik Ghulam Jilani who he idolised. We were in St Anthony High School and his cousins were in the Convent of Jesus and Mary. We cycled over to their house and in the front lawn sat his much revered uncle. He stood up on seeing us and greeted Azhar lovingly. After all Azhar’s father had passed away and so he played his role with amazing affection. Malik Sahib asked me: “What does your father do?” I told him that he was the editor of the C&MG. He chuckled and said: “Ah Ajji, taray yaar ve saisi nay”.

Nearby sat little Asma and her sister Hina. They silently observed the political giants of their days discuss issues threadbare. So with time we got to know the family reasonably well.

On every occasion that we met she would take on the judiciary and the military. She knew that the real cause of this malfunction was that at the base there was, as she used to say “almost tribal, feudal disregard for the rights of the pillar of a family, and that was the female from whom life sprung”. She was to prove to be their greatest supporter. With her amazing sister, whom I regard as an equally important arm in her arsenal, they set up their legal firm AGHS, which stood for Asma, Gulrukh, Hina and Sheila. They were ably supported by the late Nigar Ahmed of the Aurat Foundation.

I once walked into her office with a woman who needed legal assistance. She heard the lady out and gave her detailed instructions. As we left she called me back. “The lady is crazy, be careful”. Much later I was to discover just how right she was in her assessment. When as a journalist, then also working for the BBC, I was once beaten unconscious in the MRD days, she rushed to my house and said: “Now all the top officials will come and promise investigations. Remember, they are all frauds and do not mean a word they say”. Her assessment was, as usual, spot on.

Over the years as being an honest journalist became impossible, she used to ring up out of the blue and say the same thing: “Hello handsome, being honest needs guts and money, but I am so happy you have resisted”. Along the way I decided to try my hand at business. When she heard of it she was fuming mad. “You are not made for it … you just wait and see”. Her assessment was spot on again.

As life went on and I moved to Cambridge University to continue my research into ancient Punjab and the history of Lahore. Just four months ago, as an academic committee of Cambridge was considering to invite a distinguished person for the annual lecture, they had a list of five names. On it was ‘Asma Jahangir’. “How about inviting Asma?” I suggested. The director of South Asian Studies said: “Oh, she is too big a name. She will never come”. I smiled and took out my mobile telephone. Her number has always been there. One ring and on the other said came the response: “Hello handsome, so you have run away from the action”. I laughed and told her of the invitation. Pat came the response: “For you, anything”. The university bosses were impressed.

She came along with her daughter. When we met she said: “First things first, I need a tie and cuff links of Clare College for my husband”. We walked over to a shop and got them. The lecture went exceptionally well. At a farewell dinner she insisted on sitting opposite me. “We need to chat”, she said.

I said to her: “First tell me why have you become a Nawaz supporter”? Her eyes lit up and our conversation became more meaningful.

“First thing is that I am a lawyer, so we never take sides, we only represent” she said. “Oh Asma, do not give me that legal nicety”.

“Ok, you beast”, she started, “I’vve sufficient evidence that all this is inspired by you know who. Let me make it clear the guy is corrupt. They are all scoundrels. But the means that are being applied smells of complicity of the two evil arms of power”.

She was silent.

“Asma, for such an assertion you need proof. Plus the democratic process does not seem in threat” was my retort. “You just wait, very soon every elected person will be purchased. The process has started and is going to damage democracy beyond measure”.

By this time I knew that the fire in Asma’s stomach had been set alight.

As others at the table were also listening to our fiery debate, we quietened down a bit. Then, I asked: “Where will all the money come from to buy so many scoundrels”? She smiled. “I will not be surprised if it comes from official channels, via fake contracts for fake projects with the money trail being carefully covered”. At this point, I said: “Asma, do you think the judiciary will accept it?”.

“My dear Majid, the judiciary is part of the establishment. Nawaz’s fault if that he is very corrupt, but then has dared the establishment. In my books he is stupid … and stupid people need good legal assistance”.

After dinner she left with the promise to continue the debate. “The next time we meet, you remind me of what I told you”. When on Sunday I heard about her passing away, I will confess there was a tear. Memories of her father, of the late ICI chairman Azhar Ali Malik, of our fiery debates, of all that she did and achieved and the last supper we had. On Monday I got a call from Sir Nicholas Barrington, a former British High Commissioner to Pakistan. He said: “Majid, Pakistan’s bravest person has died. Her spirit will always be missed”. I could not have put it better.