A Memorable Encounter with Pakistani CineStar Veena Malik — New Delhi, October 2012
Memoir by Prof. S. S. Dogra
Some journalistic assignments end when the story is filed. A few, however, continue to live in the journalist’s memory long after the headlines have faded.
My encounter with Pakistani film star Veena Malik in October 2012 was one such moment. What began as a routine press conference in New Delhi unexpectedly turned into a memorable story of poetry, friendship, cultural understanding and human connection.
I had been invited by Abhishek Dubey, PRO from Mumbai, to attend a press conference with Veena Malik at the Park Plaza Hotel, New Delhi. The venue was filled with more than 50 media professionals, an anchor and members of the music-launch team. As a journalist, I was there to do what journalists traditionally do—ask questions, listen carefully and report the story.
I was given an opportunity to interview Veena. The interaction initially followed the familiar rhythm of a celebrity press conference—questions, answers and the occasional lighter moment. But towards the end, I decided to add a personal literary touch.
I recited a few lines of my own Shayari:
“You are the arrow that pierced my heart,
You are the portrait of my deepest desire.
Who could possibly not fall for you?
You are Heer, descended from heaven.”
What happened next surprised everyone, including me.
Perhaps the words touched something within her. Veena immediately invited me onto the stage. For a journalist accustomed to remaining on the other side of the microphone, the moment was both unexpected and delightful. My media colleagues, the anchor and members of the music team watched the spontaneous interaction with equal amusement and warmth.
Soon afterwards, Veena changed her outfit in keeping with the theme of the music launch. What had started as a formal media assignment had already acquired an unusual personal warmth.
But the real story was yet to unfold.
When Journalism Became Friendship
Over time, our professional acquaintance developed into a warm friendship. One particularly memorable occasion was Veena’s invitation to Hazrat Nizamuddin Auliya Dargah on Saturday July 27th 2013.
in New Delhi.
I carried with me a copy of Dwarka Parichay, in which the news of her music launch had been published, and presented it to her. We also had the privilege of sharing a special feast with the chief priest of the shrine.
That experience remains etched in my memory—not because of celebrity or publicity, but because of its simplicity and humanity. At a sacred place where people from different backgrounds come seeking peace, an Indian journalist and a Pakistani artist shared an experience that transcended professional identities.
It reminded me that sometimes the most meaningful stories are not the ones we write for newspapers. They are the ones we quietly carry within ourselves.
Borders Belong to Countries, Not to Hearts
India and Pakistan have a complicated history. Their relationship has passed through moments of friendship, tension, conflict and hope. Yet, beyond governments and geopolitics, there remains another India and another Pakistan—the India and Pakistan of ordinary people, artists, writers, journalists and families who understand that human emotions cannot be confined by political boundaries.
My association with Veena Malik became, for me, a small but meaningful example of this human possibility.
Art does not ask for a passport. Poetry does not need a visa. Music does not recognise a border. And friendship, when genuine, does not require political permission.
I have always believed:
“Countries may be different, but feelings are never divided;
Borders may divide the land, but they cannot divide hearts.”
That belief became more meaningful through this encounter.
The Magic of Journalism
Over more than three decades in journalism, I have had the opportunity to meet personalities from different walks of life. Some encounters remain professional; others become memories. A rare few become lessons.
My meeting with Veena taught me that journalism is not merely about collecting information or asking questions. It is also about human interaction.
A question can open a conversation.
A poem can touch a heart.
A smile can dissolve distance.
And an unexpected moment can create a bridge between two people—and sometimes, symbolically, between two countries.
That is perhaps the most beautiful dimension of journalism.
The presence of my dear friend and founder of Dwarka Parichay, Sanjay Mishra Ji, made the occasion even more special. Sanjay Ji was a firsthand witness to the entire episode—from the press interaction to the spontaneous moments that followed. His presence added another warm chapter to a memory already filled with journalism, poetry, friendship and humanity.
Years later, the encounter has also found a place in my literary journey. My interview with Veena Malik remains available through Dwarka Parichay, and the episode was subsequently included in my fourth English book, Rendezvous (In and Off the Fields).
Thus, what began as a press conference in October 2012 has travelled far beyond that evening. It has survived as a journalistic memory, a literary reflection and, above all, a reminder that human relationships can sometimes emerge from the most unexpected moments.
Looking back, I realise that not every assignment is meant merely to produce a story for publication.
Some assignments produce memories.
Some encounters produce friendships.
And some moments quietly teach us that humanity is always greater than the boundaries we create.
As I reflect on that evening today, these lines of mine come to mind:
“The words were few, but their impact ran deep;
We came together for a meeting, and left with memories to keep.”
And perhaps the heart knows what the mind cannot always explain:
“The heart speaks what only the heart can know,
Neither you know, nor I truly know.
These are the blessings bestowed by the Almighty,
Only God knows—neither you nor I can know.”
Twelve years have passed since that October evening. Yet the memory remains fresh.
Because sometimes, a journalist goes looking for a story—and unexpectedly becomes part of one.
And sometimes, a Shayari does more than rhyme.
It builds a bridge.
