He lived alone, in a home that had a sophisticated mix of global decor. Beautiful art samples made by him adorned the walls. The bookshelves consisted of familiar but ancient artifacts. There was some music playing in the background, so softly that it seemed to fall on our ears like soft breeze.
After dinner, and some hesitation, he told me that we shared birthdays. I was surprised at how Musadiq had found out about my date of birth, and discovered this connection between us. But that was how Musadiq Sanwal was. He was like a bird that spread happiness amongst human beings. Once, while standing in a second-hand bookshop, he said something humorous, and I put my hand on his shoulder and replied, “Sanwal, you’re like a goblet of red wine in the midst of a large crowd.” He blushed. Musadiq Sanwal was not one of those people who announced themselves upon arrival instead, the essence of his personality gradually opened up to us.
When he painted, his strokes would fill up the canvas with happiness. On the stage, his performances would be a catharsis of human suffering. Over the harmonium, his fingers would flutter like butterflies. His voice was soothing and melodious to the ear. Sanwal came from the land of Baba Farid, and discovered Shah Hussain in the streets of Lahore. The sorrows of the Ravi and the Indus were instantly recognisable in his verses. I do not know whether he had taken lessons in dance or not, but I had always wondered how his gait resembled that of a dancer.
Musadiq Sanwal adopted the classical tradition in journalism, in which social responsibility is considered more important than personal fame. He was not interested in the breaking news. He was Musadiq, and he wanted verification. Unsurprisingly, he went on to become a part of the BBC and Dawn.
Both organisations are renowned for their high standards of ethics in journalism. Musadiq designed the BBC Urdu service website, and it went on to be recognised as one of the most successful initial examples of Urdu online journalism. By the time I began writing for BBC Urdu, Musadiq Sanwal had become somewhat dissatisfied with the organisation. Actually, some of his new associates were devoted to more than just the professional ladder. Musadiq believed that journalism was not just a means to an income, but that it possessed an intellectual direction. He did not possess the arrogance of average-level journalists, but in fact was confident about his talent and abilities. He then took up the responsibility of establishing Dawn.com, and completely changed the website. For Urdu Dawn.com, he brought in talented writers, thus transforming the website into a portal of alternate opinion. It was here that another aspect of his professional personality was brought to the fore: He was a good teacher. Musadiq wanted to establish a high standard of editorial supervision, one that would maintain trust in the authenticity of news.
There were so many dimensions to Musadiq Sanwal, but in truth he was a dreamer. In the resistance to Ziaul Haq, an entire generation gained political awareness. Such as two of NCA’s highly enlightened artists, Sabir Nazar and Musadiq Sanwal, who have given so much to Pakistan. The generation of the 80s, however, has not performed as well. Some of us mortgaged our dreams, while the rest sold theirs. Musadiq Sanwal did neither; he continued to nurture his dream. The profession of dreams does not come cheap. Many are lost en route. This meditation enabled a Sufi to be born within Musadiq Sanwal. Pursuing the love for his dream created a distinct depth within him. He was a true Kabir Panthi. He sang the verses of Guruji Teg Bahadur with the same attention, with which he sang the words of Sachal Sarmast.
I wonder at the sheer depth of his search for beauty, due to which he could not be at rest in neither the East nor the West. From the peaks of the Alps to the valleys of the Himachal, Sufi kalam and Western music, knowledge requires its price. Is it then a surprise that the high-pitched singer was betrayed by his chest.
Musadiq Sanwal sang Guruji Teg Bahadur’s kalam with all of his heart. The lyrics were “Baanhein jinhan diyan pakriye, mat choriye”.
But Musadiq, you let go of your friends’ hands and that too, in a way that none of us can ask of you, “Sanwal, mor mahanraan”.