The namaz began promptly, starting nearly 10 minutes ahead of schedule. It was brief and straightforward. From the well-worn, familiar roundabout of Zaman Park to the final prayer at the Mian Mir cemetery on Monday afternoon, the entire service took less than an hour. This was typical Khaled—always to the point, even in death.
Khaled valued people and their time, and he valued words too much to waste even a single syllable. After his sudden passing on Sunday, tributes began pouring in from across society, from people whose inner lives he shifted through encouragement, instruction, and example. Here are some of them:
Exeunt Khaled
The vastness of Khaled’s send-off on Monday was fitting for a man who affected so many lives. But he would have hated it. If Khaled had had his way, he would have been utterly anonymous, left alone to his meditations, conversing with philosophers Greek and gone.
I worked with Khaled for 11 of the 16 years I have been in journalism, and closely for the past seven. Khaled did not command a room with loud, empty words. But when he spoke, in that sotto and cultured cadence, you could not help being transfixed. Every word carried years of knowledge and experience, and I felt smarter by osmosis alone. “A journalist’s survival is in his byline,” he used to say, highlighting the fact that authority as a writer comes with public accountability of one’s work, and that aspect must be accepted by a good journalist. This awareness, grounded in other influences, also rendered Khaled’s writings as superego to Pakistan’s untamed id.
There was a playful side to him, too. In April 2013, he and I spent time at CNN headquarters in Atlanta as observers from Newsweek Pakistan. When we sat down for coffee with Christiane Amanpour, Khaled, who loved words and their origins, dwelled on the roots of her Persian surname. “It means someone who is a beautiful person,” he said. Technically, it is more interpretable as ‘descendant of peace.’ In his own way, he was expressing gratitude for the warmth she accorded us.
Khaled filed his last piece on Friday, and had planned two editorials for the next working day. But on Sunday he took to hospital, and his heart gave out. I will miss his Socratic guidance, the warm and familiar sight of him in the unfussy athleisure wear he preferred no matter the occasion, and his anecdotes—personal and professional—about Pakistan’s political and social theater of the absurd. The stage already feels so much emptier without him.
By Jahanzeb Aslam, Managing Editor, The Standard
Icon
Khaled had been a mentor and friend since the inaugural LLF in 2013. He was an unassuming yet formidable presence on stage, whether as panelist or moderator. With his soft but authoritative voice, Khaled spoke or compered at every edition of the festival in Lahore. He was equally compelling on stage at the 2019 LLF in New York held at the Asia Society. Khaled’s brilliance lay in his ability to draw out the best in people, making his sessions rewarding and revelatory both for those in the audience and those on stage. His panels with Romila Thapar, A. G. Noorani, Vali Nasr, Syed Babar Ali stand out. We would also tap his fathomless wells of knowledge during the planning stages of each festival. Khaled would share mesmerizing insights on Lahore and its literary icons—never quite realizing, in his characteristic humility, that he was one of them.
By Razi Ahmed, founder and CEO, Lahore Literary Festival
Deft Deflator
He headlined his Newsweek Pakistan obituary of Indian literary figure and his friend Khushwant Singh, “Deflator of the Orthodox,” in the April 5, 2014 issue. Khaled’s piece was full of little-known, affectionate nuggets about the nonagenarian. But it was not a misty-eyed reminiscence—that was not Khaled’s style. He wrote stridently, speaking truth to power. He was perhaps the last of his generation to do so. (Print journalists are now seen and heard far more than they are read.)
Khaled remained a constant, magnetic presence throughout my 30-year career in journalism. He drew me into conversations on politics, history, and books that enriched me beyond measure. Always warm and engaging, he never faltered in answering my inquiries. At LLF, one could sense the audience leaning in to catch his words, spoken with a soft cadence yet with uncompromising honesty.
His was a fabulously sophisticated intellect—the sort that belonged to another era—and which he nurtured with devotion. To me, his singular triumph was staying untouched by shortsighted gains and perfecting his craft. His writings will endure as the touchstone of a first-rate journalist.
By Nelofar Bakhtyar, Arts and Culture Editor, The Standard
Mr. Unconventional
Most people rely on props to augment their personality, resorting to embellishments like dressing to impress. Khaled needed none. He filled the room with the quiet power of his words and a demeanor that was soft yet steely in its humane convictions.
On the first day of his elite Foreign Service training, he turned up in khaddar shalwar-kameez. He was reprimanded for his clothing choice and replied he had no sums to invest in Western wardrobe. Asked to use his attire allowance, Khaled turned up unhesitatingly in second-hand drawstring pants that were too large and a visibly worn-out jacket. He had spent his entire allowance on books! His supervisor relented and permitted him sartorial exception.
Khaled was exceptional, discarding convention for a life rooted in purity of thought and purposeful simplicity. How he dressed was the last thing anyone noticed. What struck everyone was his engrossing thoughtfulness.
He was erudite but not arrogant. He had strong opinions but was never intolerant. His taste in music was as varied as the books he read and spanned from Western classical to ragas, ghazals, and movie songs. His palate, however, was another story.
I always fought with him when I cooked delicacies. Instead of savoring the flavors, he would pile one dish on top of the other, mixing everything up to consume.
My efforts to get him to eat healthy bore no fruit. Once when he was visiting my husband and me, I decided to put him on a diet. After one month of no weight movement, I investigated only to discover that he had been raiding the fridge to make sandwiches smothered in ketchup and mustard when I was not around. My sons were his co-conspirators, easily bribed with candy.
The quirks in his everyday life stood in stark contrast to his intellectual rigor and boundless flexibility as a dyed-in-the-wool liberal who read voraciously.
Khaled was content to be himself and never craved recognition or material gain. Reticent in manner but bold in expression, he was an often-misunderstood genius. He was considered too rational, noncombative, unbiased, and conciliatory to fix a box.
Few matched the quality of his scholarship, and even fewer his healing touch in relationships. He believed in Taoist philosophy where ethics vary, but emphasize virtues of effortless action, naturalness, simplicity—and the three treasures: compassion, frugality, and humility. Khaled epitomized them all.
By Aisha Khan, privileged friend
The Last Word
Cricket and Zaman Park have long been synonymous. Four Oxbridge Blues, and three of them captains of the national team, is evidence enough.
I had known Khaled since the early 1950s, when we both called Zaman Park home. We were drawn together by the willow we had to season by lapping it with linseed oil and striking the ball repeatedly against a wall in his house. Thus seasoned, the bat would be good for the long drive—a metaphor, perhaps, for Khaled’s own carefully prepared and impactful life.
Khaled was senior to me at Government College. He was a quiet and patient listener, sitting silently during heated arguments among friends, speaking only when persuaded to opine. And his was literally the last word on the subject in dispute. Being a voracious reader, he had more knowledge than all of us, so we all deferred to his verdict.
His brilliance extended far beyond cricket or casual camaraderie. Khaled was too much of an intellectual, too philosophically inclined, to pursue a career as a sportsman. I found him always intense in his quests and deep in his thoughts.
There was little he had not read of Urdu, English, or Russian literature. From Chaucer to Tolstoy to Qurratulain Hyder—you name it, and he could recite chapter and verse. Khaled was a powerhouse of knowledge—sedate, humble, and tolerant of both ignorance and stupidity. He was the silent scholar, embodying the grace of a Rolls Royce: immense power, yet no sound.
Zaman Park of Lahore will now also forever be associated with Khaled—one of Pakistan’s most self-effacing yet widely respected journalists.
By Aitzaz Ahsan, lawyer and politician
Proofreader of People
Khaled was not a man of many words. We used to sit together in this big hall at The Friday Times office after it moved above Vanguard Books on Mall Road. He would be sitting in a corner, typing his deep thoughts on a PC—back when ‘computer monitors’ only displayed green text on a black background. I was fresh out of school from Grinnell College. I was not ‘serious, serious’ conversationally and often giggled.
And then one day—I remember this endearingly—Khaled addressed all of us in the newsroom. He could have been fed up with the loud, distracting banter around him. “You know, Rina has the potential to become a really serious, top-notch journalist if only she would first take herself seriously.”
Those words stayed with me. I went on to make documentaries and write books on the environment, an area of interest I dove into at TFT. Today, I’m serving as Chairperson of the Islamabad Wildlife Management Board and could not be happier. When I look at the trajectory of my career, and on those quiet, kind words of Khaled’s, I am so glad I listened.
By Rina Saeed Khan, environment advocate
The Gentleman
While at the Civil Service Academy together, I failed to recognize Khaled’s brilliance. It was only when we became roommates at Moscow State University that we got to know each other.
We were there after being selected for Pakistan’s first foreign-language course abroad. Amb. Jamsheed Marker and his wife, Diana, took us under their wings—with the ambassador ensuring Khaled would get his weekly share of his favorite things, while I had no hesitation in surrendering my own to him.
I welcomed every opportunity to seek Khaled’s help, especially in understanding intricacies of Russian’s notoriously complex grammar. His softness, caring, and kind ear made him popular with many international students at university.
After excelling in Moscow, Khaled was posted to Prague after only two years. He loathed the rigid formalities of the diplomatic profession, and his unpleasant experiences in what was then Czechoslovakia led him to quit the foreign service—to the great gain of both journalism and scholarship.
The memory of Khaled’s warmth and gentlemanliness will continue to comfort all of us who cherished him deeply.
By Tariq Fatemi, former ambassador
Shine of Stardom
Unlike most others, I was not taught by him. Instead, I saw the shine of potential stardom when I taught Khaled as a student of international law at the Civil Services Academy, Lahore, when he was in training as a young foreign service officer over 50 years ago. He stayed in touch when in Moscow [at university] and sent me books on international law by Soviet scholars. I wrote for many of the newspapers and weeklies that he guided editorially. Our friendship endured all these years, and now, as I say farewell to him, I shall continue to celebrate Khaled’s remarkable legacy: one of intellect and scholarship, adaptability and humility, empathy and warmth.
By Dr. Parvez Hassan, lawyer and environmentalist
Editor’s Note: This living tribute has been updated, mostly recently, on Dec. 24. We will continue to solicit and evaluate pithy, personal stories about Khaled from those who knew and admired him, and for whom he held the same affection.