Ink remained embedded in his veins
Veteran journalist and Miss India Pageant organiser, Farook Khan, 75, died in a Durban hospital on Thursday, after being diagnosed with colon cancer, and related complications. He was buried at the Brown’s Avenue Cemetery in Sydenham, on Friday. Former colleague Brijlall Ramguthee shares some aspects of Khan’s colourful life… HE WAS larger than life. He had the gift of the gab and was a noted wordsmith, although he had the tendency to be over-descriptive at times.
He also boasted a wide range of contacts, locally, nationally and internationally. He was the go-to colleague, when you needed a second opinion.
I first met the ebullient Mr Khan at the offices of the Golden City Post, later Post Natal, at Goodhope Centre in Queen Street, Durban, in the early ’70s, I having joined this-then racy publication on April 1, 1969.
Farook had been redeployed from Johannesburg by our-then employer, Mr Jim Bailey, founder of the GCP group of newspapers, and Drum magazine.
It took this gentle giant just days to assimilate with the team under the editorship of Mr Bobby Harrypersadh, and we, Ranjith Kally, MS Roy, Deven Moodley (with whom Farook lodged initially in Carlisle Street) and freelancers Amos Ngoma and Bancroft Hlatshwayo, among others, soon gelled as a winning unit.
Farook was prolific when it came to churning out copy, many scoops among them, but it was his ability to pierce protocol that often left us baffled.
He was not only good at name-dropping to get his way but counted Winnie Madikizela-Mandela, Percy Sledge, and boxing champs Pierre Fourie and his idol, Muhammad Ali, aka Cassius Clay, as close friends.
He often found himself in Ali’s and Fourie’s corner, and when I once asked about his role, he said he was there as their spiritual guru.
Such were his persuasive powers that he once got former French rugby star Roger Bourgarel to dine with us at Mr Harrypersadh’s Clare Estate home, and on another occasion, Farook asked me to accompany him to the Royal Hotel, Durban, where, seemingly unannounced, he knocked on the door of West Indian cricketer, Sir Lawrence Rowe, here on a rebel tour in 1982-1983, for an interview, which a sheepish Rowe granted.
While Farook dabbled in other activities such as the Miss India pageant after retirement, the journo’s ink remained embedded in his veins as he authored books, while trying to be a regular at the gym, where I often met him, the last, sadly, over six months ago.
On a personal note, he and his late wife, Ayesha, were always willing hosts at their flat at 17 Yale Court, Randles Road, Sydenham.
It was also here that I freshened up before leaving for Kennedy Road, Clare Estate, one Friday in May 1970, to meet my prospective in-laws, chauffeured there by dear colleague Roy.
Needless to say both Ayesha and Farook peppered me with courting and marriage tips, and 49 years later, I remain as grateful as ever.
Go well, dear brother Farook.