Ms Ajeet Cour is a phenomenon, more like a force of nature than a real person. Diminutive for a sardarni, she is a bundle of manic energy, which is directed with ruthless determination in the service of her hobby horses. At seventy she possesses more vigour and vim than a pair of healthy thirty-five year-olds.

Part of Ajeet-ji's energy has gone into writing, making her one of the most celebrated and productive Punjabi writers of her generation: nineteen books of fiction; a travelogue; an autobiography, "Khana Badosh", that won her the coveted Sahitya Akademi award (the Indian equivalent of our Bangla Academy award).

The writer in Ajeet-ji is complemented by the conspicuous persona of a cultural activist. In 1975 she became Founder-Chairperson of the Academy of Fine Arts and Literature; then, under the aegis of her academy she set up the Foundation of SAARC Writers and Literature, and became its president. A fairly regular event on the Foundation's calendar is the SAARC Writers' Conference, of which there have been eleven so far. It was quite by chance that I became an invitee to these remarkable jamborees.

When a SAARC Writers' delegation visited Dhaka early this year I was introduced as "a poet and professor" to Ajeet-ji and her aide-de-camp Dr Reena Marwah (besides being Programme Co-ordinator at the SAARC Writers' Secretariat Reena is a Reader in Economics at Delhi University). Soon after I got an invitation to the forthcoming 10th SAARC Writers' Conference in Lahore. A series of frantic phone call from Reena followed: could I co-ordinate the air passage of the Bangladesh delegation? Could I send her the flight details a.s.a.p.? Could I get any funds from local sources to buy my ticket? Could I get my fellow-delegates to email their conference papers without further delay? I began to suspect there was something quixotic about Ajeet-ji's operations. Coincidentally, the tension in the wake of the attack on the late Humayun Azad prompted me to cancel my trip.

A few months later I got another invitation--to the 11th SAARC Writers' Conference, scheduled for September in Delhi and Chandigarh. Later the venue was restricted to Delhi and the time changed to October. More frantic phone calls from Reena followed: they had wanted to invite the Vice Chancellor of Dhaka University but as he was out of the country could I get in touch with the Vice Chancellor of Jahangirnagar University, Professor So-and-so, and ask him if he would like to come? Since I didn't know Professor So-and-so I suggested she ask the leader of our delegation, Profesor Anisuzzaman, to act as go-between. It transpired that Professor So-and-so was no longer Vice Chancellor, so they decided to invite a writer instead: my good friend Syed Manzoorul Islam.

Then I was asked to send--and to ask my fellow-delegates to send--an updated biographical note and a synopsis of the conference paper (I had already emailed my complete paper). This was very urgent because the material would be published in a booklet. Also, could I get in touch with Actionaid, the local NGO, which had generously agreed to pay for five tickets, and fix our flight schedule? We had a fifth delegate, Syed Shamsul Huq, who, Reena informed me, would buy his own ticket. Then one of us, Tasmima Hossain, decided not to use the Actionaid ticket as she would be going to Delhi anyway in connection with some other do, and it was suggested that her ticket could be given to Syed Shamsul Huq instead. But since his name wasn't on the list sent to Actionaid they couldn't transfer the ticket unless requested by the conference organisers. In the end the transfer wasn't made, nor did Syed Shamsul Huq buy his own ticket.

Four of us, then, Profesor Anisuzzaman, Syed Manzoorul Islam, the novelist Selina Hossain and I, hopped on Biman to Kolkata, and took the Sahara flight to Delhi, where we were met by a man from a travel agent. His list included Syed Shamsul Huq's name and he didn't seem to believe that Huq wasn't coming. There was a note of suspicion in his voice: was he thinking that we were responsible for Huq's non-arrival? It was with marked reluctance that he finally escorted just the four of us to the parking lot and loaded our luggage on the rooftop rack. In ten minutes or so the bags were secured with twine and we were ready to start. But there was only one exit, where the parking toll had to be paid: quite a bottleneck. It took us forty-five minues to extricate ourselves; at least in that corner, we decided, India wasn't shining.

We had been given to understand that delegates would be put up in rooms at the conference venue, the India International Centre or I.I.C. We were taken to the YMCA instead and told to be ready for our pick-up by 9 am. But we didn't want to be rushed and asked to be picked up at 9:30. Then we delayed a little more since we were sure these things never started on time: the inaugural session was scheduled for 10 am. When we finally went in, led by Professor Anisuzzaman, resplendant in a flowing kurta, we found that it has started on time.

Ajeet-ji was in full flow, describing herself as a "mad dreamer" like Pablo Neruda, a comparison that The Hindu would characterize as unrealistic. On the dais sat V.P. Singh, the former Prime Minister; S. Jaipal Reddy, the Minister for Culture and Information and Broadcasting; the leaders of the delegations from the seven SAARC countries. Suddenly Ajeet-ji turned and asked the culture minister to shut up. Well, not in so many words, but with a schoolmarmish locution that was just as sharp and made the poor minister colour. When the Iron Lady of SAARC letters had finished the session was running out of time. "Five minutes!" she commanded one speaker. Then "Four minutes!" she commanded the next. And kept inserting her voluble comments between these truncated speeches.

The inaugural session set the tone of the whole conference: bureacratic or diplomatic turns of phrase, cliches, unrealistic sentiments abounded. One didn't have to be a writer to play a prominent role; the Sri Lankan delegation was led by an agricultural engineer, but then he was also a Vice Chancellor, and Ajeet-ji definitely has a soft spot for the species. Though time was in short supply, from time to time distinguished members of the audience (i.e. bureaucrats, diplomats, U.N. officials) were cajoled or commanded to go on stage and share their thoughts: they turned out to be just like the thoughts already shared by many. As for the stuff one would expect at a writers'conference, they were decidedly of secondary importance. Poets queued up to read one poem each; there was no time for short stories; and the 3000-word papers we wrote had to be summed up in eight-and-a-half minutes each.

And yet, so much more could be done for writers and literature. There should have been sessions where writers could talk shop, where writers could meet publishers and discuss possibilities of cross-border publication, or the prospects of translations between South Asian languages as well as from a South Asian language into English.

As for the conference brochure, it didn't carry the biographical notes we emailed urgently, nor the synopses of our papers. But it did spell out, in bold font and in a somewhat New Age idiom, the noble aims of the Academy of Fine Arts and Literature: "CULTURAL CONNECTIVITY IN THE SOUTH ASIAN REGION, FOR PEACE AND TRANQUILITY AND HARMONY IN THE AREA." Amen, is all one can say!

In keeping with these aims, the valedictory session adopted a resolution demanding relaxation of visa rules to make intra-SAARC travel easier for writers. Amen again!

Our peace and tranquility was threatened when we were checking out of the YMCA in the small hours in order to catch an early flight. The desk clerk looked at his register, shook his head and declared that we would have to pay the bill before we could leave. But we are guests of the Academy of Fine Arts and Literature, we riposted; they will pay our bill. There were no instructions to that effect. It was a stalemate. We produced Reena Marwah's cell phone number but the clerk had enough gallantry to desist from rousing a lady at that unearthly hour. And the superior he did phone had the good sense to order our release.

Kaiser Huq teaches English at Dhaka University.