07:11 Ayyub MAlik (Architect and Planner)

On the evening of Monday 27th November 2007, Ayyub Malik passed away. Ayyub was a senior architect, in the last few years he had become a very important, colleague, collaborator, confident and mentor. He trained as an architect in London in a time where one really had to want to be an architect, later, in addition he trained as a planner, saying that it was a realisation that actually city "planners created cities...not architects", he was ahead of his time. He wrote, edited a magazine on cities, painted, created ceramics, and most of all grasped life with both hands. A friend, and a passionate man, with an elegant and sharp intellectual wit, he critiqued with as much vigour as he praised. A gentleman always, and a charm that created friends all over the world.

I was introduced to Ayyub by Arif Mehmood, a friend and fellow architect, who refused to describe Ayyub, and insisted that we meet in Drummond Street for a supper. We got on instantly! He was straight into a discussion, no warm up, straight into a big topic, refreshing, and a clear presumption that big ideas can be conveyed, although much more pleasurable time must be allocated for exploration, we instantly became friends, and as a friend he treated me robustly and honestly, as only a true friend can!

Amongst being a senior contributor to projects Ayyub had worked with Owais Hasin, Arif Mehmood and myself on proposals for the foundations of the future inclusion of Pakistan at the Venice Architecture Biennale, where he guided a conceptual and structural framework, his rigour and insight brought a depth and understanding beyond architecture.

He created significant buildings in London, including one which was opened by the Queen herself!

Ayyub Malik studied architecture and planning in London where he worked since 1961 on a variety of building types and projects. He also studied in Lahore at the National College of Arts. He worked with Shepheard Epstein and Hunter on the new University of Lancaster Colleges, Halls of Residence and Art and Music Centre (1965-69) and on the Master Plan for the University of Accra in Ghana.

From 1969 he worked with Chapman Taylor, an international firm of Architects and Planners as an Associate 1972, Senior Associate 1979, Associate Partner 1985 . A number of his projects have been published and have received Awards.

He was founding co-editor of the quarterly Global Built Environmental Review - GBER - a refereed internet E-Journal published since 2001 - www.edgehill.ac.uk/gber .
He created ceramics, painting and sculpture.

In addition to his architectural and planning work, he participated in a number of international conference, seminars and workshops and gave a number of visiting lectures.

On Friday November 31st he was laid to rest in his beloved Oxford, friends and family attended from all over the world.

Sorely missed.

Azhar

Ayyub Malik: Farewell to a Friend!
Professor Iftikhar H. Malik, FRHisS, Bath-Oxford

(“In the company of friends, death is a feast”. Attributed to Zahir-ud-Din Babur, the Founder of Mughal Empire in India)

It was during the early 1990s when amidst a horrid ethnic cleansing in Bosnia and the rising tide of Islamophobia, I attended an interfaith meeting in a Central London hotel where Haris Silajzic, the Bosnian historian-politician, was the main speaker. During the discussion, a debonair man stood up to raise some thematic issues, though I may not remember his exact formulation but he sounded more like a persuasive dissenter speaking with a natural fluency and confidence. Subsequently, triggered by curiosity, I encountered him over a cup of tea assuming that this Pharaonic figure might have some solution to the Ummah’s problems as both his balding head and scholarly glasses gave him a donnish look though his attire was certainly not of the tweedy crowd. To my surprise, Ayyub was not an Egyptian but a fellow Pakistani though born before Partition, and not a don either. He was an architect who dabbled in arts often contributing reviews for some journals besides flagging his scepticism of the so-called received wisdom and consensus on matters Islamic. His scepticism bordered between disillusionment and the usual expatriate dilemma of being lost on no-man’s land. That wet evening initiated a friendship of enduring nature which increased by each passing season until Ayyub began to spend his Eid and Christmas holidays with us in Oxford and was heralded with the title of “the favourite uncle” by the younger Malik clan.

Ayyub was a keen public figure who cherished socialisation and, within a short span of time, would uncannily ease himself on the centre stage without overburdening or threatening anyone around. His charming manners, interspersed with jokes and witty compliments, were often followed by a serious critique of politics and what he called “a long-time lack of creativity” among the Muslims. Comfortably anglicised and a loyal Londoner, deep down in his heart, Ayyub valued the steadiness of his Muslim friends. He knew that despite our collective rot and miseries we still had some good left in us though he desired a quick recovery from a collective quagmire. Initially, his criticism appeared one-sided, but given a few more sessions especially of personal kind, one could happily discern a warm, traditional and kindly Ayyub beyond a firm exterior. Here was a man born in a village in south-western Punjab in 1935; brought up in a traditional family as the eldest son under the watchful eyes of a disciplinarian father of strong opinions, whose motto was success through education. One would not fail to see his late father’s personality reflected in his physique and life style. Committed to utmost order and tidiness in life, Ayyub, unlike the Senior Malik, disliked walking as well as cycling though he relished tennis until his joints refused to persist. Longer coffee sessions, painting, sculpture and then the ceramics took over while rest of the leisure time began to be devoted to bridge sessions.

Ayyub enjoyed his work with Chapman-Taylor where for decades he designed numerous buildings including some for the royal family and relished his work and interaction with the colleagues. He never talked much about his personal life, illness and North London Polytechnic (now Metropolitan University), though often reminisced about the National College of Arts in Lahore where he had spent fruitful years after leaving his native town and before moving on to Karachi. Ayyub’s own career superseded the search for a life partner though he enjoyed female company but such steady relationships never matured into a marital bond. Once asked by Farooq—our son—for his not getting married, the eternal bachelor laughed it off with a quip: “All the lovely women are already married to my friends and none is left for me!” As an energetic and engaging coversationalist, Ayyub was always the hub of a party and felt no hesitation in socialising with people of various ethnic or age groups. Women adored and responded to his naughty nuances whereas men just listened attentively to his animated views on everything on earth varying from plants to politics.

Ayyub’s bachelor lifestyles and fastidiousness about preserving his own privacy and orderliness might have been a bit intimidating for his friends especially when he had redesigned his apartment to create an unhindered space for himself by removing corridors, doors or some walls. His residence, always full of books and lately suffused with his ceramics, afforded a convenient view of the Thames and Kew Gardens though Heathrow-bound planes were a constant company until the midnight curfew, when the River took over. The younger people would find the rows of planes enticing and the older visitors would soon forget the noise amidst an energised discussion on politics, music, travels, arts and religion. Ayyub might occasionally appear competitive to men but for women and younger people, he was a joyous, attentive and ever-supportive companion. With the latter groups he would steer clear of dwelling on dreary subjects and instead would focus on fashions, travels, painters and exhibitions. Here, Ayyub-- the art critic--would be at his best and while sitting cross-legged and holding his cup of tea, the lone architect would come around as an immensely affectionate elder.

Our daughter, Sidra, would receive special cards with encouraging messages, short quotes and information about the exhibits in London which she welcomed with a pronounced sense of pride and special attention that the favourite uncle bestowed upon her. In the same vein, her friends and cousins received special messages and gifts on their birthdays. It is no wonder that at his funeral in Oxford, many of these younger people had taken a day off to wish him their heartfelt farewell, while Sidra and Madiha composed wrote moving poetry celebrating his generosity and affection. Despite being a familyless man, Ayyub’s family was the wider world as he transcended ethnic and religious boundaries but concurrently, his immediate family was an ever-increasing tribe of friends and younger people.

Ayyub never disclosed his illness to his friends and fought the encroaching cancer with an indomitable will. Proximity with him over the closing weeks of his life afforded a glimpse of an unlimited determination to live and fight off the disease though gradually one became aware of an accentuating decline. One desired for his complete recovery yet the reality was pointing to the contrary and we all wished for a peaceful and non-tortuous end. He was certainly saved from a prolonged agony and on 26 November 2007 passed away peacefully while asleep. Ayyub’s final journey to the Central Mosque in Oxford was followed by a funeral prayers attended by hundreds of worshippers and friends of various persuasions. The other leg of the journey led to the Botley Cemetery as a long row of friends with tearful eyes bade him a final good-bye. They had congregated from all over as was the enormity of emails and phone messages offering condolences for a noble soul, untiring human being and an accomplished architect. Our final send-off for Ayyub at Wolfson College allowed us to share the memories of a departed friend, a warm hearted colleague and a fellow citizen who confidently traversed across diverse cultures and communities without any inhibitions or preconceived notions. Ayyub is gone but the memories of this Pharaonic figure and an affectionate mentor for countless younger people will stay.

It is on a sad occasion like this that one is spontaneously reminded of a verse by Sheikh Saadi, the famous thirteenth century Persian intellectual from Sheraz, who noted in his own inimitable style: “You may not remember your birth when everybody around was happy except for yourself since you were crying. Lead such a noble life that while taking you on your final journey, all are tearful yet you depart as a happy soul”.

(Professor Iftikhar H. Malik, FRHisS, Bath-Oxford)