A beginner's guide to surviving Karachi Literature Festival

Express Tribune

11-02-2025

As a first-time attendee at the Karachi Literature Festival (KLF) 2025, I braced myself for a day of intellectual stimulation, cultural immersion, and perhaps a few unexpected adventures.
Little did I know that Sunday would offer all that and more, wrapped in the vibrant chaos that only Karachi can provide.
The day began with an ambitious plan: attend the 11:00 a.m. session on "Media and Youth Mental Health: Role of Organisational Leadership" in Jasmine Hall.
However, my morning enthusiasm was quickly dampened by the realisation that finding a decent cup of chai amidst a sea of literati is akin to locating a metaphor in a physics textbook.
After a labyrinthine search through bustling bookstalls and animated discussions, I finally secured my caffeine fix, only to discover that the session had concluded.
Lesson learned: at KLF, the early bird catches the panel discussion.
Determined to make up for lost time, I headed to the Main Garden for the 12:00 p.m. talk, "Creating Resilience through Climate Change Education," featuring the esteemed Sherry Rehman.
The discussion was as enlightening as it was urgent, underscoring the pivotal role of education in combating climate challenges.
Feeling inspired, I decided to split my attention between two simultaneous sessions: "A Journey of Friendship and Political Activism" with Sherry Rehman and Victoria Schofield in Jasmine Hall, and the "Book Discussion: Three Tales from Gulistan-i-Saadi" in the same venue shortly after.
In my naivety, I believed I could flit between sessions like a literary butterfly.
Reality, however, had other plans.
Navigating through throngs of bibliophiles, I arrived at the first session just as it was wrapping up and the second was commencing. Settling into a seat, I was soon engrossed in the rich narratives and scholarly discourse, momentarily forgetting my earlier misadventures.
Between sessions, I found myself wandering toward what I thought was a space for young professionals—the Youth Pavilion.
Expecting a vibrant discussion on literature, activism, or contemporary issues, I stepped inside only to find myself surrounded by excitable children, crayons in hand, deeply engrossed in storytelling and interactive workshops.
It took me a moment to realise my mistake, but by then, a particularly enthusiastic volunteer had already invited me to participate. Politely excusing myself, I made a hasty retreat, my pride slightly bruised but my amusement fully intact.
In an effort to reclaim my dignity, I ventured into the Art Gallery, a hidden gem tucked away from the main festival chaos.
The gallery was a sanctuary of visual storytelling, showcasing works by emerging and established artists, each canvas speaking volumes about Karachi's cultural and socio-political landscape.
Abstract interpretations of cityscapes, evocative portraits, and intricate calligraphy lined the walls, offering a refreshing contrast to the festival's literary focus. I lingered longer than expected, captivated by the seamless intersection of art and literature.
As evening descended, the festival's energy crescendoed.
The 6:00 p.m. slot presented a smorgasbord of options: "Emergence of Urdu Rap in Pakistan" in Jasmine Hall, a poetry session titled "شاعری کے رنگ جوانوں کے سنگ" in Aquarius Hall, and "From Chapters to Change: Literature and Environmental Justice" in Room 007.
Torn between my burgeoning interest in Urdu rap and a lifelong love for poetry, I opted for the former, curious to see how contemporary music genres are shaping Pakistan's literary landscape.
The session was a revelation, highlighting the fusion of traditional poetic forms with modern rhythms—a testament to the evolving narrative of Pakistani art.
As the clock edged toward 7:15 p.m., the festival grounds buzzed with anticipation for the Closing Ceremony in the Main Garden.
Keynote speeches by educationist Arfa Sayeda Zehra and journalist Mishal Husain promised profound insights into the cultural and educational paradigms of our time, followed by a soul-stirring Qawwali performance by Ustad Farid Ayaz and Ustad Abu Muhammad.
Unfortunately, reality intervened—I glanced at the time, realising that staying any longer would mean a long, uncertain commute home.
With a heavy heart and a lingering sense of FOMO, I made the reluctant decision to leave just as the final session was about to begin.
As I walked away, the distant echoes of harmoniums and applause followed me, a reminder that sometimes, even the best-laid festival plans demand a bittersweet farewell.
As I left the festival grounds, my tote bag heavier and my notepad fuller, I couldn't help but chuckle at the day's misadventures.
From missing sessions in search of coffee to mistakenly joining a children's workshop and unexpectedly losing myself in an art gallery, my first KLF experience was an unforgettable tapestry of knowledge, culture, and community.
Note to future self: arrive early, plan wisely, and always—always—carry a thermos of coffee.
Until next year, KLF. This rookie will be back, wiser and ready for more literary escapades.