Requiem for a raconteur —Mahmud Sipra on Khalid Hasan

I remember having met KH in 1972 within days of his taking over as ‘press secretary’ to Zulfikar Ali Bhutto. It was a cold January night, it was late, and in those days the only place in Karachi that served anything worth eating at that ungodly hour was Café Suroor at the Intercontinental.
Samina, the mother of my two sons, was expecting our first child. She turned up her nose at the thought of having another bland burger that the swish crowd seemed to be enjoying, leaving me somewhat mystified as to how to indulge her. Enter Khalid Hasan, accompanied by Gulgee and his wife, looking to be seated in the packed restaurant. I offered to let them have our table as we were about to depart. I had met KH only once before, through his younger brother Masood Hasan, who is a friend of mine.

Naturally, KH asked why we were leaving. I must have muttered something about the food not being to the liking of the lady in waiting or something equally banal. To my surprise, he said: “I could not agree with her more, but I do happen to know exactly the place that will serve her some real food. C’mon, let us all go and enjoy Sabri’s Nihari on Burn’s Road. Chalo.”

The invitation to go slumming was enthusiastically echoed by the two ladies with a ‘chalo-chalo’ and we proceeded down the lobby towards the car park. By the time we reached our respective vehicles, KH had corralled at least six other couples to join the impromptu party. I suddenly realised how one warm, ebullient individual could light up a dark and dreary night by his mere presence.
Requiem for a raconteur —Mahmud Sipra on Khalid Hasan