It was October 26, 2013 when I got in touch with him after a long, long time. It was my birthday and coming in contact with Musadiq Sanwal after a while felt wonderful. It was also pleasing news for me that he had become the editor of Dawn.com. He had seen my writings on a Punjabi blogging platform. He inquired, and it seemed as if reluctantly, as to how I felt about writing in Urdu. We were friends from the days when Punjabi meant the world to us. He had come to know through my blog, Punjab Punch, that I was also writing in English and Urdu along with Punjabi. It was only then that I became acquainted with the people at Dawn.com. I had not known then that he was in a hurry to do a lot of things before he… departed.

Musadiq Sanwal, Muhiuddin, Pervaiz, Imtiaz Baloch, Mahrukh, Waseem, Huma Sadar, Nadeem, Rukhsana and Adnan Qadir were all mystics of the famous Punjabi theatre group Punjab Lok Rahassya, and their master was Lakht Pasha alias Pashi. There was a time when all of them were really inspired by their master. They were from all around Punjab — from Multan, Dera Ghazi Khan, Lyallpur (Faisalabad), Lahore. Some were students of engineering universities and others of the National College of Arts. It was the 1980s; Zia’s days to be specific, when all of us had been woken up.

Us friends used to run the Punjab Lok Lahar, while Sanwal et al would lead the Punjab Lok Rahassya. Punjab, Punjabi and progressive mindedness were traits we all shared. It was probably the early 90s when we decided to celebrate a Bhagat Singh Day, to commemorate the famous Indian revolutionary of the independence movement. Renowned Punjabi author Afzal Ahsan Randhawa was to preside the ceremony, while Kashif Bukhari was the announcer. The event was being held at the Shezan Hotel, which was located on Mall Road, in the Dayal Singh Mansion. A couple of years ago the hotel was set ablaze, but back in our days it was the centre of political activities.

Musadiq started the ceremonies with the verse of the ninth Sikh Guru, Taigh Bahadur. The magic that his voice created has still not lost its charm. He always spoke in a mild tone of voice, but that day, perhaps it was the sincerity with which he paid homage to Bhagat Singh, he sung Taigh Bahadu’s verse in the highest notes, creating an echo so impressive that even Aalam Lohar would have been left bewildered if he could hear it. Music was in his veins, even when he walked his careful walk, it made his company feel musical. When I heard the news of his demise today, his voice felt closer and deeper in solitude.

I remember when I met Musadiq again when Adnan Qadir (currently living in Britain, a fellow at the London School of Economics) was posted as a District Management Group officer. I was delivering some books on behalf of my small publishing house, Gotam Publishers, in Karachi. I had travelled via Hyderabad and Sukkur to Karachi. I think Musadiq used to live in the same apartment building as Adnan. The encounter did not have a single moment in it that reminded us that we were meeting after a long time; someone had rightly said that qalandari is beyond time and space. He had crossed many a river. It was his submissiveness that enabled him to swim through all sorts of troubling waters. He would never mention that he was unwell. Is not every qalandar born with the quality of turning plights into opportunities? Although, Adnan kept me informed that our dear friend was ailing. I would receive regular news of him, but a meeting somehow became difficult.

It was probably in the November that went by that Musadiq was talking about a manuscript. He kept inquiring about getting it published, but he was never able to send it across. Feica, Dawn’s cartoonist, is from his city Multan. I hope he can dig that manuscript up somehow.

Musadiq is not among us today. The news is he has departed. However, his intellect and the work that he has left behind will always be a beacon as bright as the guiding star. And as Baba Bullay Shah says:

Bulleh Shah, I cannot die / Some other is lowered into the grave.