A Prince

NOVEMBER 1997 - With Ajmal Hussain, Aju to all of us who were constantly drawn to him, there was no telling what he would do next, but of all the crazy and inspired things he did in his life, surely the most unexpected was that morning in a small village tucked away in the paddy fields that surround Gujranwala, when he chose to die quietly. Of all the things that he had planned, dying was not on the agenda. But he died, that cool and pleasant October morning leaving us to mourn him. Each year when fall comes, I think of him and each year I realise I miss him even more. Each year I think of how richer this existence might have been, had he been here to share it and give it his unique touch of irreverence and his understated, delightful sense of humour.

I was not his mainstream friend, although we were very close. At least I think I was not his closest friend because he had so many who could claim that position. There was no sense of competition because he was generous to a fault with all of us, and because with his inner loneliness, particularly after the marriage ground to a halt, he surrounded himself with company, savouring each one, spending his time, that was always in short supply, with as many as he could. And it was not difficult because people thronged to his side like filings to a magnet. His house, as indeed his office, was constantly buzzing with people. Every one was made to feel special and for everyone Aju had a special thing to say, a joke to crack or an observation that was drawn from his intimate knowledge of the person. Thus it was not strange that we all thought we were special for him. I don’t think he had one single best friend. I think he had many, many best friends.

There are so many Ajmal stories that I can think of. His serious suggestion to a very orthodox relative who had returned from the Kingdom, to consider stoning the devil using laser technology rather than stones, had us in stitches, the relative in distress and Ajmal in an advanced stage of amusement. But while it is impossible to select which of the stories deserve mentioning, at least four can be shared.

On a bitterly cold night, close to dawn, on a lonely stretch in deadly Harlem, armed with his beloved Hassleblad and Nikon cameras, Aju proceeded to circle around a mean and menacing looking coloured man in a leather jacket who stood immobile, warming his hands on a roadside fire-drum and looking for a ‘kill.’ “Partner,” Aju said later. “The fire was dancing on his face and it was a great picture, so I went about my job, taking light readings, making my compositions and clicking away.” The man suddenly growled pointing at the expensive looking Hassleblad. “Hey man,” he said. “I want that.” Totally unfazed, Aju pulled back his sleeve, shot a glance at his watch and said, “Well you’ll just have to wait. Stores don’t open till 10.” The flabbergasted man looked on, stunned, as Ajmal finished his shoot, shook hands cordially and wandered off into the night ! While in Paris and shopping for a suit that he badly needed, he finally saw one in a window, the first reasonably priced one he’d seen. He pointed it out excitedly to the girl. When she gave him the bill, he read it and was astonished at the huge price tag. “Miss,” he said. “The price was 500 francs.” She smiled. “That was the price of the belt sir.”

When an American friend who had never stepped out of New York arrived in Lahore, and saw a turkey at a farm, she couldn’t believe it was what it was. I narrated this to Ajmal, who thought it was perfectly understandable. “Partner,” he said. “The only turkeys Lois has seen came with roast potatoes.” It was again Lois who heard a noisy crowd at a party call out, ‘Aju, Aju, Aju” the moment he walked in. “How rude,” she said to him. “Just because you are a Jew shouldn’t be held against you.” Ajmal simply smiled sweetly and patted her head. And he was the one who, fed up with all the recorded messages he had to contend with every time he called anyone in America, asked the girl who answered the phone, “First tell me if you are a human being or a machine.” The girl cracked up. “A human being ,” she said. “You are the first one I have spoken to in days,” Aju said and they were instant friends.

He was a consummate businessman and the fledgling company he started literally in his drawing room has continued to grow and prosper, but none of that would have happened had his unique personality not fashioned the company’s ethos in its early and formative days. He worked like a maniac and he treated people with love, understanding and above all, compassion. A great devotee of music, even the playing of a record was a loving ritual, he was a man drawn to the arts, the good things in life and I suppose, above everything else, to people. When he died, he broke many hearts. I often think what he would have made of the times through which we now live. I know that he would have loved the new technology and taken to it like a duck to water, and surely he would have summed up every nonsensical situation we face today, with gems of sarcasm, wit and spontaneous humour. He was a prince who went away too soon.