Sometimes a person lives life as if it is going to last forever. Especially in youth, death seems like a distant reality. We certainly know that everyone has to leave one day; it is a part of a Muslim's faith, yet the heart is still not ready to accept it. A person can never even imagine that their parents, their loved ones, and those with whom they have forged bonds of the heart will one day suddenly disappear from the landscape of life.
I never thought that my parents could be separated from me. Even when they were at the final stages of illness, when the eyes of siblings around me were welling up with tears, there was still a stubbornness in my heart that no, they cannot leave. Perhaps love creates such a denial within a person that refuses to bow its head before reality for a long time.
In life, I haven't had deep emotional attachments with too many people. Blood relations are naturally a part of a person's existence, but there are also some people who become intertwined with the bonds of the soul. They adopt you; they become involved in your sorrows and joys in such a way that with time they start feeling like a part of the family. Munir Niazi Sahib, Azhar Javed Sahib, and Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib were exactly such people to me.
Today, Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib is no longer in this world.
Even as I write this sentence, my heart is not ready to accept it. It feels as if the phone will ring right now, there will be mention of some event, talk of some gathering, or he will say in his distinct, affectionate manner: "Since you have invited me, I will definitely come."
My relationship with him was not merely formal or literary; it involved sincerity, affection, and profound respect. He always honored my words. There was a strange sense of belonging in his gatherings. There was hardly any event I mentioned that he didn't attend. I would merely bring it up, and he would arrive. He possessed an etiquette of maintaining relationships that is rarely seen in people today.
He made me the Media Coordinator of his forum. He always honored me in his grand seminars, conferences, and events. I still remember the day when Noor-ul-Huda Shah came from Karachi. Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib wanted to interview her for the Urdu Digest. He sat me next to him and said that I would also ask questions alongside him. I hesitatingly said, "Where is the great Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib, and where am I?" but as always, with affection and love, he gave me a place equal to his own. Then we conducted that interview together, which was later published.
In reality, Urdu Digest was not just a magazine; it was a part of our generation's memories. In my childhood, my older siblings used to read Urdu Digest with great enthusiasm every month. This magazine used to come to our house regularly. Its articles, its fragrance, its pages—everything brings back the memory of an entire era. And it is simply impossible for the name of Urdu Digest to come up and not remember Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib. He was not just its editor; he was its identity, its very soul.
He used to tell stories of his childhood, mention his school days, and narrate the events of the Partition of India and the Fall of Dhaka in such a way that the listener would feel as if they were present in those very times. His literary taste was highly refined. He also composed poetry in his early years. Though he recited very rarely, whenever he did, the entire gathering would fall silent in awe.
I conducted countless interviews with him, spent numerous sittings in his company, and gathered countless memories. His love for his son, Kamran, was a sight to behold, and he loved Kamran's children dearly. There was a uniquely beautiful bond between the grandfather and his grandchildren. When his wife passed away, he became deeply sorrowful. She was his second life partner, a long companionship, and a person feels loneliness much more intensely at that stage of life.
He had been ill for quite some time. The physical weakness that comes with age was present in him too, but his liveliness remained intact. Going to gatherings, meeting people, laughing, and talking—all this was an integral part of his personality. But for some time now, his health had been deteriorating significantly, and then today the news arrived for which we are perhaps never truly ready.
Some people do not belong only to their families; they belong to the entire society. Their departure is not just the loss of one family; it is the end of an era. Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib was among such people. His presence embodied a culture, an intellect, and an affectionate attitude. People like him are becoming rare, and when they depart, it is not just one person who leaves; an entire era goes with them.
May Allah Almighty elevate the ranks of Altaf Hasan Qureshi Sahib, grant him forgiveness, and bestow beautiful patience upon his family. Ameen.