Sarfraz Manzoor

I arrived yesterday afternoon into Karachi for the first literature festival which is taking place at the Carlton Hotel- some miles from the centre of the city. The festival has been organised jointly by the OUP and the British Council, who invited me to attend and speak at a number of sessions. The first of these took place this afternoon, rather frustratingly at the same time as Mohammed Hanif who, naturally, drew a large and appreciative crowd. I was fully expecting precisely no one to attend mine but in the event there was a healthy turn-out. It was strange reading my book to a room of people who seemed to really enjoy it but were unable to buy it as it is not currently stocked in Karachi and, so I was told, Amazon do not deliver here. The broad theme of my session was about humour in writing and the uses and benefits of having a lightness of touch in one's writing. I read a few reasonably witty passages and everyone seemed reasonably happy.

It is a strange thing being amongst the attendees at the festival, a palpable sense that this is life inside a privileged and untypical bubble. It is not a terrible bubble to be in but it is a bubble nonetheless. The fact that the hotel is on the outskirts of the city means that I do not feel very much as if I am in the throbbing heart of the city. It feels more like a compound.

I have met some rather interesting people here already- journalists and columnists and authors who all cheerfully demolish many of the stereotypes that one may of this country. For that reason alone it has been an interesting and worthwhile trip and this is my first full day.

The comment that will remain with me from today was said to me by a woman after my session. I had been speaking about that Bruce line where he said 'it is easy to let the best of yourself slip away.' I've written about this before, how this line acts like a North Star to me in making sure I try to make the right decisions. It helped me keep the faith that journalism was worth pursuing, it helped me not settle for anything less than real and true and deep love. After the event a woman asked me whether I was writing another book and I gave her my usual reasons, which are true, that I am so busy trying to juggle the balls of journalism and radio and television and keep the money coming in that I don't have time to devote to a new book, even though I am fizzing with ideas and would dearly wish to start on a new book. She told me that I must write another book. I smiled and said I want to but its just a matter of finding the time and making it a priority. She looked at me and said 'remember what you said on that stage just now: it is easy to let the best of yourself slip away.'