Sometimes you meet a hero and it is disappointing. I had met mine, and he wasn’t. Just to spend time with him was a privilege. He was so poised, so magnetic, always with a book in his hand, addressing you in that calm, bass voice and Oxford accent. To my bowling he gave his complete attention. When he was at home, in Zaman Park near the other Niazis, he was always seeking me out. I was his project.
