عبید الرحمان صاحب – چند یادیں

ہر گھر میں روز مرہ کے کچھ معمولات ہوتے ہیں، ان میں سے کوئ ایک بھی ٹوٹ جاۓ تو ایک عجیب خلا یا  خاموشی پھیل جاتی ہے۔ ہمارے گھر کا بھی آج کل یہی حال ہے۔ روزانہ صبح فرحانہ فون ملاتی اور پوچھتی، “کیسے ہیں؟” آگے سے جواب ملتا، “جیسا اس عمر میں ہونا چاہیے”۔ شکایت کرتے کہ چاۓ نہیں پینے دیتے۔ بیماری کی وجہ سے آخری عمر میں پابندی تھی، پھر بھی پیتے تھے۔ ایک دن انکے صاحبزادے فواد نے چاۓ پیتے دیکھ کر کہا، “ آپ پھر چاۓ پی رہے ہیں۔” آگے سے جواب ملا “اس کے لیئے تو زندہ ہیں

. فرحانہ پوچھتی فرج سے مٹھائی کھائی تھی، جز بجز ہو کر کہتے، ارے تھوڑی سی کھائی تھی۔ جب فرحانہ سے بدلہ لینا مقصود ہوتا تو کہتے ارے ہمارا بیٹا کہاں ہے۔ فرحانہ سکون سے کہہ دیتی آواز نہیں آ رہی۔ یہ خوبصورت نوک جھونک جو تقریباً بیس برس سے جاری تھی کی جگہ ایک سناٹے نے لے لی ہے۔

یہ ذکر ہے جناب عبید الرحمان ایڈووکیٹ کا جو آٹھ دسمبر ؀۲۰۲۱ کو اس دار فانی کو چھوڑ گئے۔ اللہ ان کے درجات بلند کرے۔

ہندو دھرم میں آواگون کا فلسفہ ہے کہ آدمی بار بار پیدا ہوتا ہے۔ میرے نزدیک اس کی ایک اور تشریح ہے۔ زندگی میں ہمارا واسطہ کئی لوگوں سے ہوتا ہے۔ ہم جیسا سلوک ان سے کرتے ہیں، ہمارے وجود کا ایک حصہ ان کی زندگی میں اتر آتا ہے اور انکے رویے میں ہمیشہ زندہ رہتا ہے۔ میں عبید صاحب کے کئی دوستوں، جان پہچان اور خاندان والوں سے ملا ہوں۔ میں نے آجتک انکے بارے میں کوئی منفی بات نہیں سنی۔

وہ جس کو بھی چھوتے اپنے شخصیت کا ایک مثبت پہلو اس کے اندر اتار دیتے۔ چاہے وہ انکا حس مزاح ہو، پروفیشنلزم ہو، دوستی ہو یا دوسروں کی مدد کرنے کا جذبہ۔ سب ہی سلسلہ عبیدیہ کے اسیر ہیں، اس کی شیرینی میں تر بتر۔

میرے اس مضمون میں ان چھوٹی چھوٹی باتوں کا ذکر صرف انکی یاد تازہ کرنا نہیں بلکہ زندگی گزارنے کا انکا وہ بھر پور طریقہ بیان کرنا بھی ہے جسے ہم بھول  چکے ہیں۔

ہم آجکل زندگی کی اس بے ہنگم دوڑ میں اپنی چھوٹی چھوٹی خوشیوں کو بھول چکے ہیں اور یہ نہیں سمجھتے کہ ہم کیا کھو رہے ہیں۔ ایک دفعہ کسی بات پر عبید صاحب نے کہا، “ زندگی کو خانوں میں تقسیم کریں اور ہر چیز کو اپنے خانے میں رکھیں۔ جیسے پڑھائی کے وقت پڑھائی۔ شادی، کام، ریٹائرمنٹ اپنے صحیح وقت میں ہو جائیں  ورنہ ہر چیز دوسرے خانے جا کر دوسرے کام کی جگہ لے جاۓ گی اور وقت کم پڑ جاتا ہے۔” یہی وجہ ہے کہ ما شااللہ انکی پوری زندگی ایک بھرپور زندگی کہلانے کے لائق ہے۔

میں ایک مضمون لکھ رہا تھا۔ ان سے راۓ چاہی۔ مضمون سنا اور ایک جگہ پر اٹک گئے۔ یہاں میں نے ذکر کیا تھا ان صاحب کی زندگی کے چند ناگوار لمحوں کا۔ کہنے لگے جو بات ناگوار ہے اس کو سنانے کا فائدہ۔ میں نے کہا یہ تو انکی خود نوشت کا حصہ ہے۔ کہنے لگے وہ انہوں نے لکھا ہے یہ آپ لکھ رہے ہیں۔ اس مقام کو ایسے تبدیل کیا کہ ناگواری کا سارا تاثر جاتا رہا۔ مضمون کو چار چاند لگ گئے اور مجھے لکھنے کو ایک سبق مل گیا

عبید صاحب کی ایک خاص خوبی یہ بھی تھی کہ کسی بھی تلخ لمحے میں بھی انہوں نے اپنے اندر کے کھلندڑے لڑکے کو مرنے نہیں دیا۔ برے سے برے حالات میں انکی آنکھوں کی چمک، چہرے کی مسکراہٹ اور زبان کی پھلجڑی تکلیف کی شدت کو ماند کر دیتی۔ میں انکے گھر میں بیٹھا تھا اور وہ ڈینٹسٹ کے پاس جا رہےتھے۔ انکی پوتی مائرہ آئ اور کہنے لگی “دادا ڈینٹسٹ بہت اسکیری

 ہوتا ہے”۔ یہ کہہ کر اس نے ایک قہقہہ لگایا۔ مجھے آواگون کے فلسفے پر اور یقین آگیا۔ انکے خاندان کے ہر فرد اور ہر بچے کے لہجے، سلوک، ادب وآداب اور آنکھوں کی چمک میں عبیدالرحمان ہمیشہ زندہ رہیں گے۔ ان کے ہر شاگرد اور دوست کے دل میں گوشہ عببیدالرحمان ہمیشہ جگمگاتا رہے گا۔

ان کی آخری کتاب “سنگ میل”کی تدوین کے دوران جب ان کو پتہ چلا کہ انکے صاحبزارے عباد الرحمان اور فرحانہ ان پر مضمون لکھ رہے ہیں تو مجھ سے کہنے لگے “ذرا دیکھ لینا مجھے فرشتہ نہ بنا دیں، میں انسان ہوں اور وہی رہنا  چاہتا ہوں۔

فرحانہ بتاتی ہے کہ کورٹ سے نکلتے اور سخت گرمی اور صبح کی بھاگ دوڑ کے باوجود کہتے آج قدسیہ بیگم نے کھانا نہیں دیا چلیے آفس جاتے ہوۓ کھا لیتے ہیں۔ فرحانہ اور وہ ریسٹورنٹ سے کھا لینے کے بعد جب دفتر پہنچتے تو آفس بواۓ انکے بیگ اور کتابیں نکالنے کے لئے ڈگی کھولتا تو کھانے کا ڈبہ موجود ہوتا۔ سب پوجھتے یہ کھانا تو تھا۔ بڑے مزے سے کہتے “واقعی”، مسکراتے اور آفس میں کام پر لگ جاتے۔سخت محنت کے ساتھ زندہ دل رہنے کی یہ ایک اچھی مثال ہے۔ ورنہ لوگ یا زندہ دل رہتے ہیں یا محنتی

عبید صاحب کی تحریروں میں انکے بچپن، ان کی وکالت اور ان کی سیاسی جدوجہد کا حال تو ملے گا لیکن ان کا روز مرہ زندگی گزارنے کا طریقہ جو ہم نے قریب سے دیکھا ہے وہ ان تمام خصوصیات سے خوبصورت ہے۔ ہم ان کے مزاج کا اگر ۴۰ یا ۵۰ فیصد بھی اپنا لیں تو ہم کامیاب ہیں

وہ انتہائی نفیس، خوش مزاج، خوش لباس اور مجلسی شخصیت کے حامل تھے انکے بے شمار دوست تھے اور دوستوں کے بیچ میں انتہائی شگفتہ نوک جھونک ہوتی۔ اپنے قریبی لوگوں کا بے پناہ خیال رکھتے۔ فرحانہ بتاتی ہے رمضان کے دن تھے ۔ دل کے

 مریض ہونے کی وجہ سے روزہ نہیں رکھا تھا۔ ساری کھانے پینے کی دوکانیں بند تھیں اور آفس بواۓ اس دن نہیں آیا۔ فرحانہ نے چپ چاپ اٹھ کر چاۓ بنا دی کہ دوائ کھا لیں

۔ حیران ہوۓ اپنے آگے چاۓ دیکھ کر ، پوچھا کیوں بنائی۔ فرحانہ بولی، کیا ہم آپ کی طبیعت جانتے نہیں۔ چپ چاپ پی لیں اور دوا کھا لیں بہت خوش ہوۓ جیب سے سو روپے نکال کر دئیے کہ ہماری بیٹی نے پہلی مرتبہ کچھ بنایا ہے پھر دوائی کھا کر سو گۓ۔ تھوڑی دیر میں اٹھ کر فرحانہ کی میز پر آۓ اور بیٹھ کر کہنے لگے، “ ہم بہت خوش ہیں کہ آپ کو ہمارا خیال ہے لیکن بٹیا آپ آئندہ کبھی بھی آفس میں چاۓ نہیں بنائیں گی۔ اسکی دو وجوہات ہیں۔ ایک تو آپ آفیسر آف کورٹ ہیں کوئی یہ نہ سمجھے کہ لڑکی ہے تو یہ کام بھی آفس میں کر سکتی ہے۔ دوسرا یہ کہ آپ ہماری بیٹی ہیں آپ آفس میں کسی کو چاۓ نہیں پیش کریں گی”۔

یہ نہ صرف ایک روشن خیال بلکہ زمانہ کی نظر کو پہچاننے والی سوچ تھی کہ یہ نہ ہو کہ لڑکیاں جس بھی شعبے میں جائیں کام ان سے گھر والا ہی لیا جاۓ۔

عبید صاحب بہت ہی کھلی اور دور کی نظر رکھنے والی شخصیت کے مالک تھے۔ انہوں نے نہ صرف زندگی کو بھر پور طریقہ سے جیا بلکہ جینا سکھایا۔ یہی وجہ کہ ہم ان کی یاد میں مرثیہ نہیں قصیدہ لکھتے ہیں۔ اور یہی وجہ کہ آج بھی انکے شاگرد ( جو اب اپنی الگ پہچان رکھتے ہیں) سپریم کورٹ میں اپنے نام کے بجاۓ جونیئر آف عبید الرحمان کے نام سے پکارے جانے کو باعث فخر سمجھتے ہیں۔    

پیش لفظ

ہمارے محبی جناب عبید الرحمان صاحب کی کتاب “سنگ میل” کے لیئے لکھا گیا میرا پیش لفظ

Migration Pains – The Earlier Years

Where do I start with this? The time we landed at Pearson? Or the time when we decided to migrate? Let’s start with the former.

Why the hell did we leave our plum jobs, our families (which were as big as some tribes), and friends to take our young nuclear family to a country we knew nothing about, and which had weather we were not accustomed to? Those details will be revealed shortly.

So why did we choose Canada? Canada’s biggest advantage seems to be was that it was right next to the US and we have a lot of friends and family over there.  The only downside to Canada was the weather, which I was told, was so cold that one’s ears and nose will fall off. At that time, you try to apply for Canadian immigration via a country where the wait time is less. Wait time in Pakistan was 3-5 years. The usual advice was to apply in Sri Lanka. A friend applied and got his immigration in three months, so I applied three months after him. As luck would have it, we got stuck in the system queue and it took us three YEARS to finally get my immigration interview. Now let us fast forward this story to the part where I am sitting in front of the interviewer and she is asking me the question,

“Why do you want to migrate to Canada?”

I still remember my answer, “We were looking for a society where my kids can grow up living among people of different nations, religions and creed. I was looking for a society that respects humanity first and I understand Canada is such place that offers those values. I know that I would have to start afresh but it is worth the effort as it would also challenge us to get out of our comfort zone and find out what are we made of.” As soon as I shut up, she smiled and said, “Welcome to Canada.” I did not know that it was the start of my love story with the greatest country in the world.

We flew out of Pakistan on August 17^th, 2000. The flight to Canada was interesting. There was a young handsome chap sitting behind our seats. He started a conversation with our 4-year-old daughter who told her that he is a singer. Sahar asked her to sing Chaiyya Chaiyya to my 1.5-year-old son. He smiled and said he does not know how to sing that song, but he can sing his song called Kangna. Farhana was quite suspicious of him until I told her that he is the famous singer, Shahzad Roy. Shahzad was and is a gentleman. He requested us if he can take care of Sahar and babysit her for the whole 24-hour flight. He now runs an educational trust in Pakistan and still looks not a day older than he did then. He was going to the United States as part of a musical delegation. We promised that if we will meet next time, we will take care of his kids. That promise still needs to be fulfilled. God bless him and his family.

We are now standing at Pearson Airport. It took quite a while to go through the customs and immigration procedures. Shaharyar was now quite impatient and was crying. We got a sample of Canadian kindness at the customs department who told us to come to their office in a day or two (rather than standing in line) as the kids and us looked too tired. Our family friend, Ibad, arranged someone to take care of us. When we came out, the gentleman who came to pick us up was so worried that he went to the office to make a PA announcement for us (of course, we did not hear it). We are standing at the busy airport trying to find a person who we never met. Needless to say, we were scared. The instinct was to run back to that plane and never look back. However, after a few minutes we found him. Then it was time for our first culture shock: that we ourselves must pull our suitcases to the car and load and unload them. There is no servant to help us. Oh God what have we done?!

Our first place is a bedroom in an apartment in Etobicoke. The gentleman who came to pick us up also rented it out for us. The man who owned the room, Azim, welcomed us. His family was on a visit to Pakistan and he is renting the extra bedroom. Azim turns out to be a great guy. We still are friends with the family after so many years. He gave us the basic introduction to Toronto right from the maps we should use to travel and more.

I forgot to mention one thing. We sincerely believed that Canada is the land of winter that we would be in knee deep snow in mid-August. Although we did not prepare with heavy jackets, we were in thick shirts and jeans. Suffice to say, that the only thing we ended up being knee deep in, was our sweat. So, this young family with two kids and probably 3-4 months of living expenses, although quite scared, were roaring to start their new life in Canada.

The next day we went to open a bank account. We were refused as we did not have any Canadian ID. We told the bank clerk we had just landed yesterday, and it will take us time, but that we had our landing papers to prove our immigration status. Finally, a friend who worked in a bank helped us in opening a bank account in his bank branch. Now things have improved immensely but it was quite tough during those days.

Prior to immigration, I was the regional head of an Investment Bank in Pakistan. One of my responsibility was to run my bank’s stock market brokerage house. When I told my bank’s President, who himself was younger than me and a Harvard graduate that I am migrating, he looked at me and asked about my expectations. I said that I expect that as soon I would land, there will be queue of people outside the Airport ready to hire me. He looked at me as I have gone nuts. I winked at him and said that queue would be filled with only the gas station guys. He stood up, hugged me, and told me that if I am going with that mind frame, nobody can stop me from succeeding. Now I am in Canada and realised that there is a brick wall in front of me and I have only my hands to climb it.

We went to the Canada customs office as we were instructed upon landing.  Sherry was again not happy. He is asking me to sing a song. Knowing my singing capabilities, I was quite reluctant and was telling him to wait. The customs official asked me what Sherry is saying, I told him about his wish. He said that I will work with your wife and you can sing to him. Now just visualize this, a busy customs office and I am singing in my horrible, horrible voice to my infant son. Ali (the man who came to pick us up and our official chaperone) took Sahar and they both ran out of the office as they can’t bear the torture and probably needed to laugh their hearts out. We also got our learning driving license the same day.  

The first couple of weeks were chaotic, trying to understand the city, the job market and the housing market was a whole new animal altogether. We rented our first apartment in Port Credit, Mississauga. Due to some work in the apartment, it was not ready for another ten days. We knew that these were the last days before we get in the thick of things. So, we decided to visit Farhana’s extended family in New York. We made our first international trip as a family to Canada and within two weeks we are planning to visit US for the first time.

We took a greyhound bus to US. The US customs official was too baffled. “So, you just came to Canada two weeks back AND you want to visit the US?” he asked, to which I said yes. He then asked, “Have you ever been to the US?” to which I answered no. I think by that time he was too confused and decided to let us in. We were on our way to the Big Apple, spending 10 days mostly meeting family. I was studying religiously for my Canadian Securities course. We had a drive to see the city. We saw the twin towers. It was September 2000.

A relative in New York asked me “Now that you have seen NY, Karachi, and Toronto, if you have a choice, where do you want to live?” I told him I would choose Toronto. He was shocked “Why…it is a damn village?” That is exactly why. I have not seen such open spaces and such friendly people in my life. Karachi was over populous, New York scared me. In Toronto, while we are walking people stopped us on the street to talk to our kids. When they found out that we are new immigrants, they told us not to worry, everything will be okay. There are open spaces and parks everywhere. On our way back from New York when our bus was crossing Port Credit on the QEW, I had the strangest feeling that I have reached home. I still cannot understand why…why was I having this feeling after being in Canada for only two weeks. Perhaps it was my destiny trying to tell me it was all going to be okay….

We moved into our apartment right after our return from the US. Before our flight to Karachi, we shipped some stuff that arrived late. Our first night in our apartment was without anything. Our bed was a carpet rug while using a Jaan e namaz (prayer rugs) as pillows. What a start to a new life in a new country. We had to buy furniture and were told to go to Sears (remember them?) The problem with Sears was that the furniture would take away three quarters of our savings. On a trip to Downtown Toronto, I saw an ad in the paper about a complete set of house furniture for $700, so I jumped on it. We went to the Lancedown area. The owner was a Pakistani. He listened to our story and I think he sensed how desperate we are. He told me “I will take care of all what you need under one condition. I do not eat alone. Come have lunch with me.” Without hesitation I sat down with him. I still remember he brought aloo shorba (Potato curry) and it was delicious! He very kindly arranged for transportation of furniture to our apartment and we got a complete bedroom set, living room set and dining set for that paltry sum of money. He even gifted two lamps to us! The furniture was of great quality, using it for many years. Even today, we still have the last piece of that furniture, a loveseat, in our basement. It reminds us of the times we had. Another investment we made was buying a computer and printer/scanner from a local shop over there.

We also made our toughest choice. Farhana was a professional lawyer back home and was quite successful. We decided that if we must succeed as a family, she will have to stay home. Friends thought we are crazy, in a Western society both spouses must work for a family to survive. We, the new desperate immigrants decided otherwise. To date, we think it was our best decision and I believe that she is the one who sacrificed the most for the success of our family. My kids succeed in every phase of life due to her. Although when we go back home, I receive a lot of bashings from her old colleagues who are High and Supreme court judges about destroying her career…as they think she had the potential of being a judge. So while our decision was mutual, the bashing was all mine.

Port Credit village is a beautiful place. The property is extremely expensive. There is an island of high-rise rental apartments when immigrants like us start their journey. The best part was it being right next to the train station, so going to downtown Toronto in horrible weather was not a problem. Lake Ontario was a five-minute walk and so was other amenities like schools, the grocery store, the library, and parks. We sent some pics back home and everybody thought that either we are vacationing or living in a very posh area. Frankly, we were lucky to have hit the jackpot as far as living in a great community was concerned.

Back in Pakistan when Sahar was four years old and was in pre-school, she had the habit writing backwards like writing a ‘P’ as a ‘9’. She was in one of the best private schools of Karachi which cost a small fortune. The teacher had a special meeting with us to let us know that due to this habit, we should get her to see a child psychiatrist. On her last day, I gave them a note thanking them and letting them know that writing backwards cannot stop anyone reaching the stars. They could not read it, so I let them put it in front of a mirror. You see, I can write, and even sign my name, backwards. So, when we told the teacher at Riverside Public School sheepishly about her habit. She looked at us like we are crazy, “That’s what kids do”, was her reply. Right away we knew we landed at the right place.

We used to live in a huge joint family house in Karachi. We were surrounded not just by immediate family but uncles, aunts, and an army of cousins. Both the kids were quite confused about why they only had us for entertainment….day in and day out. After a couple of days when I was picking her up from school, the same teacher came out laughing and said “You know what your daughter told me? That she has five mothers and four fathers.” I looked at her and told her that Sahar did not tell her the whole story. When she asked what us the full picture was, I told her that Farhana and I were not included in that inventory. While that amused us, it put the poor teacher into more confusion.

After getting settled in, the job hunt started. We only had a limited amount of money with us and the idea was to start any job to stop the bleeding in our savings. The goal was to find a job where I can work in the afternoons so I could spend the morning studying and finding a better one. I did two small jobs at different call centers, but I was persistent with my job hunt and finally got my first job as a temp at the RSP call center at a local bank. It was October and I had been in Canada for two months.

There was a week of training for the RSP center. On the third day the manager was trying to explain a concept, but it was going over everyone’s head. I knew what she was talking about through my studying for the CSC, so I asked if I could explain it. She gave me the go ahead and I stood up and explained the whole thing. Lydia, the manager, came to me and whispered in my ear “You don’t deserve this job.” My heart sank, why did I overstep by standing up and showing off. It was her next sentence that was gold “You deserve a better one.” Although I had just started working at the call center, Lydia (God bless her and her family) got me interviewed at the bank’s discount brokerage house. It was huge during those days; this was during the height of the dot com bubble. There used to be a seven hour wait at the call center. I was interviewed by Jeanne Chanmugam (May God rest her soul in eternal peace) and another Manager. At that time, I had only passed CSC Part 1. I needed to pass the second part and CPH to secure this job. I asked them to give me three weeks, to which the other manager laughed and told me that it will take me three months. The very next week I send them the news that I passed both exams. On the following week I was hired for the full-time position.

We did not have a car but never felt the need of it. We were blessed with one of the best public transport systems in North America. I think I saw more of Toronto and Mississauga without a car than when I got one. I used to have the monthly pass of the GO train. So on weekends, I used to wake up at 5am, then study till 10 and the rest of the day belongs to the family where we usually used to go to Toronto. The pass allowed Farhana to ride for free on the weekends, and the kids were free due to their age. Back then, a day pass for the TTC was $8, so now we can go anywhere in Toronto and come back to our apartment at night. We treated public transit as a wonderful experience, even coming from having two bank-maintained chauffeur driven cars at our disposal back home.

I remember one day in November the call centre was extremely busy. All of the sudden, I saw outside snow flurries were coming down. This was a shock to the system to someone who is used to the hot sweltering days of Karachi. I remember I just put down my phone and walked to the window with, what was probably, an open mouth. My manager came running to me asking what happened. Without looking at her I said, “First Snow”. She smiled and just went back to her desk without saying anything. The first snowstorm was equally mesmerizing. However, when I look back, I laugh at how scared I was of it. It was nothing strong buy hey… it was my first one. One of my uncles called from back home and spoke with Farhana. He said that he heard it is quite snowy and -40C over there. Farhana replied that it is much better and between -15 and -20. He called my mother later and told her “Aapa, aap ki bahu ki dimaag chal giya hai” (Sister, you daughter in law’s has gone crazy). He could not believe that -15 was normal for us in four months.

I remember my first Ramadan in December. I had a very strange feeling that I never felt before, hunger. In Karachi, we would be thirsty due to the heat. The cold had the adverse effect making me hungry. Sehri (the morning breakfast that starts the fast) used to be around 6am. I would quickly eat and then do my Fajr prayer in the train. On the subject of prayers, I used to pray on my seat at work. A manager came to me one day and said what was I doing. I said I was praying. He said “Yeah, I know but why here?” Puzzled, I asked him where else should I pray? He went away and after half an hour there was a notice that during Ramadan the big conference room will be booked during the prayer times so the Muslims can say their prayers. Eid came around and I requested my manager Kathy Niciforos if I could come a bit later after the morning prayers. I was on hourly pay so I will complete my hours later, to which she agreed. When I reached the office on Eid, I emailed her about what days I should stay late. She came to my desk and said “It is Eid, your festival. Enjoy and do not worry about having to complete the hours. You will still get your full pay.” Everyday I was falling more and more in love with this great country and its general level of decency.

Perhaps God wanted to show us the full force of winter during that year. All records of snowfall were broken. Still the storms and sub-zero temperatures did not stop us from venturing outside. Sometimes we used to go to Square One (a shopping mall in Mississauga). Our favorite place was Walmart, as its prices were within our budget. Farhana used to shop around and I used to entertain the kids in the toy section. One thing I will always be grateful for is when it came time to leave the store, the kids would stand up without a fuss and never cried about buying the toys. Frankly, we could not afford the toys there, and their reaction was a huge relief.

The biggest winter adventure we had was to go to Winterfest at Mel Lastman square. Arthur and friends, our favorite cartoon characters, were coming in the open-air auditorium over there. It was -40C in those days. Sitting on the ice-cold steps was an experience. As soon as the show ended, we ran indoors and had hot chocolate. It was great fun.

Money, as usual, was very tight. Every Saturday we used to go the library in the morning and then proceed to the grocery store. The usual weekly bill was $40, and I remember that if it reached $45, we used to start looking at each other about what have bought extra. We used to shop at No Frill owned by a gentleman named Tim Murphy. When we learned he carried Halal meat and products, I enquired him why he did not advertise them? He said that these were slow moving products and asked if I had a solution to help. So, I made some signs in English and Arabic saying Halal and we put it on those shelves. Now, all these products started flying off the shelves. There was quite a few Muslims and Arabs in that area but were not aware of availability of such products in that store. Murphy was obviously delighted. If he saw us standing at the cash counter, he used to come and inspect our buggy. Then he used to take out some products and used to tell us to come the next day as it would be on sale. He even gave temporary jobs to some people we knew who were searching for jobs and needed a temporary gig to earn some money.

One fine day my eye went red and watery. New immigrants did not have health coverage for 90 days. I waited for a day or two, but it was getting worst. I have terrible eyes (-27) and anything that could go wrong with them…often did. Finally, it was a Sunday evening that we decided that enough was enough and we should go to the doctor. We walked to the nearest walk-in clinic. The doctor looked at my eyes and said it was nothing but probably some salt particle got into it. He gave me some eye drops. I still remember it cost a whopping $30 (equivalent to a week’s grocery bill). On our way back, I told Farhana that my eye feels much better and she thought I was going crazy. Miraculously, my eye did heal overnight and was back to normal without having a single drop of medicine. I suppose the money shock told the body to take care of itself.

Who knew that I was joining the brokerage house at the worst time possible? By February, the dot com bubble burst. I remember Nortel dropping like a hammer and all the white faces around me as that was their key stock to invest in. All the temp workforce hired in the RSP center were let go. If I were still there, I would have been jobless by now. I started taking extra duties at work by teaching CSC and the Derivative and Option courses to the staff over there on a pro bono basis. It was my way of thanking my managers for helping me through this tough time, which they were appreciative of. Needless to say, I pass the Derivatives and Options course and now was going after my Financial Planning course. I also got an offer to teach part time at York University and Humber College, but it was too far away so I had to pass on it.

By this time, we also knew that my sister is getting married to Farhana’s brother (talk about a complicated relationship!). The marriage was happening in the summer and obviously we HAD to attend. It was a big thing, and really stretched our finances to the limit.  Farhana and the kids went earlier. Sherry had a bad accident at the airport as he fell from the suitcase buggy and blood was really oozing out of his mouth. We rushed him to the nearest hospital. Fortunately, it was a minor cut in the mouth, and we came back to the airport. The flight was two hours late. Never had I been so happy for a flight delay since then.

By that time, the dot com bubble reached its peak. The “irrational exuberance” melted away. One fine day we were told that we have been moved from full time to part time. I did not communicate that news to the family or anyone back home. Why should I create anxiety at a happy moment? They encouraged us to take leave without pay. I took 4 weeks to go back and attend the wedding. I also got my driving license during that time. After the wedding, I told Farhana about the job situation. We never told either of our parents what we are facing over there. As expected, she was very worried. I told her that till date God has done good for us so why worry? Everybody back home was quite shocked to see us. We both lost a lot of weight. I had to explain it to my parents that we do have enough to eat, but it was all the walking and pushing our grocery-filled cart to our apartment in the snow that was doing wonders for our general health.

Upon returning, I was told that if I apply to another position at the bank, my managers will support me. By that time, I had also passed the FP course. I saw on our internal website that there is a Senior Financial Advisor position available to cover a maternity leave. I applied and was interviewed by Philip Li, who is a gem of a guy and still my good friend. He was quite happy and hired me right away. I never knew that it was the biggest turning point of my career. I not only took my first step towards a career that took me places but started friendships that lasted even today.

Yvonne Chan was the financial advisor who had gone on maternity leave. One of the brightest and the most hardworking individuals that I have met in my life. We instantly became friends and that morphed into a family friendship even today. We both learned a lot from each other. Perhaps I learned more. I still remember that she was teaching me retirement planning and decided to try it on me. “When do you want to retire?” she asked. “Do I have to?” was my reply. “…Yes yes everybody retires here.” I then asked what the normal age was for retirement, to which she responded was 65. I told her “Ok you don’t have to do retirement planning on me. Pakistani men usually expire before that age.” Unsurprisingly, she threw me out of the room.

I had to undergo two weeks of rigorous FA training staying at the bank’s training center in King City north of Toronto. It was during that training 9/11 happened. I still remember the fear we felt. However, that was the time I truly understood the Canadian mentality. Instead of showing any hostility, they showed a genuine interest in understanding why it happened and what is my point of view. I really developed my deep respect of Canada and Canadian values during those days.

Yvonne went on leave and I was looking after her portfolio. She had a lot of gay clients. Frankly, I did not have any stigma against them but was very curious. I found them to be intelligent, artistic, and amazing human beings. Our review meeting used to focus on money for only quarter of the time booked. They would ask very insightful question to understand what I am doing and appreciate the advice. For the rest of the meeting, we would talk about history, art, and literature. The diversity I was able to experience, and contribute to, in this country is what still makes it stand out in the world today.

Toronto, and the GTA as a whole, was full of surprises. I even met old college friends, who I lost touch with for decades, in shopping malls. One of my colleagues took me to lunch at a Chinese restaurant in 2002 called Chung Moi. My colleague was a regular over there. As soon as I saw the halal sign over there, I had a sigh of relief. The owner came and started talking to my colleague and he introduced me to the owner. I looked at her for some time and asked the Chinese lady in Urdu “Aapka Shanghai restaurant tha Tariq Road per?” (You used to own the Shanghai restaurant on Tariq Road). She almost jumped. I again asked her in Urdu “You are Sonia Wu’s cousin?” Sonia was my class fellow. After that, she forgot who my colleague was and her and I started to chat in Urdu. My colleague was not too happy that his VIP status was stolen.

Sahar and I went to see our first movie, Harry Potter. She was over the moon. The little princess sat with a bag of popcorn and drink. “This is the life I like!” was her comment. Sherry was too young so Farhana had to stay back.

By that time, I passed about 8 courses and had two designations. I think I was so scared that I just focused on studies. I love watching TV and movies but in the first couple of years I hardly watched any.  My area VP called as he wanted to know what advice I have for my fellow FAs. The process for completing these courses was around 6-8 years, but I completed them in 1.5 years. Now I was an MBA from one of the best institutes in Pakistan and was an investment banker, so I knew a lot of stuff and it helps. I just told the VP to tell the advisor to start taking the GO train. It was the couple of hours of study that I did while commuting that really helped, in conjunction with the free hours on the weekend.

I had a great time covering Yvonne’s book, but all good things must come to an end. Yvonne was coming back, and I was looking for another job. I landed another job in Toronto Central. The previous portfolio was a combination of different nationalities and people from different backgrounds. However, the new portfolio here was full of either Italians or from the Jewish community. A Pakistani uncle advised me not to take it as they might not accept me. As usual, I refused to heed to his advice and it counted as one of my good decisions. The Jewish community, at first was a bit confused about having a Mohammad as their financial advisor, but in a couple of months when they realize that I meant business, they showered me with their love and of course with their business. I specially remember Mr. and Mrs. Cherry who were survivors of the Nazi concentration camp. All the pain they had suffered from filled them with love. Mrs. Cherry made special hands like things for my kids called “Hugs” which we still have today.

Our first sofa with Mrs Cherry hugs

Italians on the other hand, proved to be the South Asians of Europe. They not just looked like us in features and complexion, but we also share the same values. They are very hardworking and family oriented. They right away made me a part of their extended family. At harvest time, my room was filled with tomatoes, home grown vegetables and home-made pasta. At Christmas one time, my room had two dozen bottles of wine brought to me by my clients. One of my colleagues came to ask when I am taking it home. I said never as I do not drink and wifey would kill me. He asked whether he and others can take it. I said sure and within 5 minutes my room was squeaky clean. After that, I think they made an arrangement that when they saw a client bringing in a bottle, as soon as he or she leaves, they would come and take it off my hands. The friendship I created with some client during those days still continue today.

The SARS pandemic also happened during that time (funny to think we would be going through another pandemic in the near future). I used to take the train, subway, and the bus to reach my branch. Once I was eating and I coughed. When I looked up the whole train was looking at me.

It was a good year, and I made my first good bonus. On my way back, I stopped at the toy store. Sahar had asked me for a book, and I got the Toy Story characters for Sherry. Sherry was a huge fan of them, but he was so sick with a cold at the time, he did not know how to react.

I decided to join another bank in Oakville as it was much nearer to our house. This was before we decided to also buy our first home in Oakville. But that is a story for another day.

One question I am often asked is, how could a young family, without facing any hardship, living in a closely bonded family and enjoying a great job, leave it all and start their lives from scratch in a never seen society and country and why didn’t we run back. I think I did provide the answer to the first part of this question to my immigration interviewer. As far as the second part is concerned, it was the hunger to succeed and to prove a point to oneself that you can succeed outside your area of comfort. We found strength in our small family and succeeded by finding happiness in small things. We still think that if we were able to go back in time, we would still opt to be Canadians again in a heartbeat.

The wonderful world of Diaries

Diaries were all the rage when I was growing up. I remember those days when there was a mad rush to collect as many diaries as one can, mainly to be used as favors. I have seen people boasting that they have collected over 30 diaries. Besides giving them to your kids for making notes at school, I never understood what was the use/hype of collecting them, unless they have something special.

I still have a few of the selected ones in my collection. They are unique and that’s why I have brought them to Canada. They remind me of my father who helped me in collecting. I got most of them during his tenor at UBL. Here is a brief description of them:

United Bank Ltd (UBL) 1972

This is the oldest one I have in my collection, given to me by my Nana (grandfather) The classic thing about this one is that there are two Pakistan postcards after every page. So this diary not only serves as a notepad but also a album filled with photographs of different parts of Pakistan, depicting famous places, beautiful sceneries and amazing architecture. The selection is amazing.

UBL 1982

It took me ten years to collect another memorable one. UBL issued it under the heading “Pictorial Illustration of Muslim Renaissance – Birth of Pakistan.” It started with quotes from Sir Syed Ahmed Khan and Quaid-e-Azam along with a depiction of a Mughal Court and then takes us right to the creation of Pakistan. There are various pictures after every few pages, with masterful illustrations done in black and white and colour by Aftab Zafar and Fauzia Paracha.

UBL 1983

UBL did another masterpiece under the heading “The Glory of Islam from Nile to Kashger – Muslim geniuses”. The research and Narration were done by Pervaiz Hashmi of Elite Publishers and the paintings and drawings were done by Mirza Manzoor Ahmed and Baqir Abidi. It starts from Jabir Bin Hayyan, the father of Chemistry and Algebra and ends with Sir Ziauddin Ahmed. I fail to understand why the name of Dr. Abdul Salam or Dr. Salimuzzaman Siddiqui were not mentioned.

UBL 1984

This time the topic was The Great Muslim Heroes. The illustration duties returned back to Aftab Zafar and Fauzia Paracha for illustrations and they did a fabulous job. It starts from the battle of Badr and ended with Nishan-e-Haider recipients.

Habib Bank Ltd (HBL) 1984

This is not as unique as the UBL ones; however, it has its own qualities. Every page has quotations from the Quran. At the end, there are descriptions of different countries. However, it is not mentioned how and why those countries were selected. Another interesting aspect was that not only there was a list of senior executives of the bank, but their home addresses and home phone numbers was also provided. They were saner times. Now you cannot even think about it.

Pakistan State Oil (PSO) 1985

They followed a similar pattern as of above. Every page has a Quranic quotation,. In the beginning and towards the end, there are picture of Mosques including the Holy Kaaba, Masjid e Nabwi, Jerusalem and old mosques of Pakistan.

UBL 1985

They were on a roll. This time they selected “The Muslim Architecture”. The diary took us around the globe with picture and old paintings and illustrations of Muslim Architecture. It starts with the Dome of Rock and Ummayad mosque in Damascus and ends with the Shahjahani mosque in Thatta.

HBL 1985

They came out with the decent one this time. Its heading was “Cultural Heritage of the Islamic World”. It started with Calligraphy and then goes into diverse topics of coins, manuscripts, miniature paintings and architecture.

HBL 1987

They hired the old hands of Aftab Zafar and Fauzia Paracha again under the heading “The journey of Islam through centuries”. It start with Muslim conquests and ends with the creation of Pakistan. It seems that less budget was allocated as illustration were not as many. It feels like they hurried through the centuries.

Muslim Commercial Bank (MCB) 1988

This is the last Pakistani one I have. Interestingly they followed the pattern of the UBL diary of 1972. Every page has a Quranic quotation and two postcard depicting different picture of Pakistan were there after quite a few pages. However it seems like they hurried through the job. They used stock pictures for the postcards and there was no ingenuity in design.

Japan 1987

This is a beautiful one. It came in its own case. After every few pages there are amazing pictures about life and colors of that era.

Sometimes when you open old books, you get treasures. I got them too. One was a poem written by someone in 1985. The other was a Mughal miniature painting. If my memory serves me right, there was a calendar with a lot of these paintings. Unfortunately I only have one left in my collection. Then there was a first day cover given to me by my father. Lastly there were two Rs5 eidee given to me by my grandfather.

I know this is a limited collection. There can be other ones who are much more comprehensive than mine. But I thought I should present this to give an idea about life in the past.

Meray Nana, Abdul Salam Namonay Walay

It was a bright day in Delhi in the early 1930’s. A Local businessman of the Delhi Punjabi Sudagran community, Haji Abdul Sattar Fazal-e-llahi, was dropping his son, Abdul Salam off at Delhi Railway station to return to classes at Doon School. Traversing themselves through the busy station, the two managed to find Abdul Salam an empty seat. In his seating area, two gentlemen were seated having a discussion. Sattar sahib requested if the two to look after his son till he reaches his destination. The younger of the two men smiled and replied “Aap fikr na karein, hum eska hameesha khayal rakhen gay.” This was not only the most defining moment in Abdul Salam’s life but is also the moment which intertwined the destinies of the Salam family and the Siddiqui Clan.

The friend took him to meet him at his house for a tea time chat. Upon arrival, the gentlemen (known as Iqbal Siddiqui) looked to Abdul Salam and smiled “Salam, hum nay kaha tha na kay hum tumhara khayal rakhein gay.” Abdul Salam’s life was changed forever. Needless to say that the two gentleman Abdul Salam met at the Dehli Railway station was Iqbal Siddiqui and his mentor Mian Sahib Qibla.

My Nanay Abba (Abdul Salam) was only able to complete his sixth grade at Doon School as his father needed help with his business. Being the eldest child, he had to sacrifice his studies to help his father to keep the business afloat. However, he was able to use what he learned to help others later in life. Such was the quality of his education that Nanay Abba taught my father Persian and English to prepare for his BA exams. Nanay Abba didn’t come from an ordinary family. His grandfather, Fazal-e-Ilahi, was orphaned at a very young age. Prior to that, Fazal was homeschooled by his mother (particularly in religious education). At the tender age of eight, a Christian priest took him under his wings. Fazal was able to get a proper education and was taught about Christianity.

In later years, Fazal learnt how to play the sitar and became such an expert that his ustaad asked him to play in from of the masters of that era. This was his first and last performance in front of an audience. As per him “when I look to the audience and those who understand the music, they were not of the ‘type’ that I want to be associated with.” He set up his business empire which was later taken over and expanded on by his sons.

It is here just after partition that he received a huge success in his business. Being a highly respected businessman, every foreign firm wanting to do business in Pakistan would send him samples of their product to win him over so he would represent their business to prospective clients. Thus, he garnered the title “Namonay Walay”. At a young age, I found a magazine from the 50s in his office which contained an ad offering everything from a needle to an elephant.

His room and his office

I have written sparingly about Nanay Abba in my essays on Dr. Salimuz Zaman Siddiqui and Lutfullah Khan. In his biography, “Hijraton kay silsalay”, Khan sahib mentioned different people he came across in Karachi belonging to different communities. When talking of the Muslim side, he only mentioned Bhai Salam. He had a whole showcase filled with various gifts given to him by Nanay Abba. He also mentioned in his travelogue how he helped him in his travel through Europe.

Nanay Abba did travel extensively in Europe meeting his business contacts in various countries. He was the perhaps the only Dilliwala and Pakistani beside Hakim Said (who was incidentally a good friend of his) whose dressings was Kurta Pajama and Shairwani in Pakistan and abroad. He was never embarrassed about his traditional dress. I still remember him reading all the mail and then drafting the replies. His English communication skills were impeccable.

They developed a sort of mentor-apprentice relationship (akin to Obi-Wan Kenobi and Luke Skywalker). Years later when I met Lutfullah Khan, he still lamented the loss of his dear friend. As per him, my Nanay Abba had a bit of an extremist gene, in that he would only focus on one thing and nothing else.

As their bond grew, Nanay abba took upon himself to drop Daday Abba to office and pick him up and drop him back in the evening. He had garnered an interest in understanding religion and was totally mesmerized by his Mian. Both their families became very close as a result of their friendship. My Nani told me that one day she was sitting with my Dadi’s and a Mamoo was having a fight with a Chacha. She tried to stand up to scold them but Amman Aapa stopped her by saying “Saeeda they will be friends in a minute, don’t waste your energy” and it did happen. With the introduction of televisions in the 1960’s, Nanay Abba bought two black and white Phillips TV’s for his Mian and himself.

Frictions started to rise in Nanay Abba’s family. They were staunchly Ahl-e-Hadees and couldn’t believe that their son was having a pir, have taweezs and attending Mehfil Milad. His father died before my birth but I still remember visiting his mother, Sughra Jaan (Amaa Jaan as she was known to the whole family, she was the descendants of Elahi Buksh, the prime minister of Bahadur Shah Zafar) and a heated argument arose between him and her. For us, she was all kindness and love. May Allah rest all these souls in eternal peace.

Daday abba was sort of an anomaly too. He was from Deoband and was from the family of Maulana Qasim Nanutvi who started the Deoband School. He went the other way too.

Sadly, it was a tragedy that brought the family closer together. My eldest mamu Shamim died in a bus accident at the age of 18. Till their last breath, Nanay abba and Nani Amman could not forget him. They had five other sons and two daughters but Shamim was special. Daday abba asked my father, Qamar Abdal, to live in the Salam family as son, hoping to fill the void left in the Salam household. I believe this occurred for a couple of years and then my Taya and father married my khala and mom. My father still lived in the house as my Nana refused to part with him, only after his death that we moved to a new apartment. In some later years, the roles were reversed and my mamoo was sent to live with my chacha who was not well and history loves repeating itself, within 12-13 years after the first set of marriages, my two phuppos married my mamoos. One of the highlights of the wedding was that the dulhas strolled casually to their susral in the afternoon to see all the shamianas were ready for the barat arrival in the evening.

I still fondly remember Nanay Abba taking me to the Ferozsons showroom on M A Jinnah Road. It was the biggest and baddest candy shop for me. My other greatest helper was my aboo, who knew all the book sellers on Tariq Road and Nursery and I used to get books from both sources. I was living the best of both book worlds at that time. Nanay Abba had very fine tastes in everything. If I am getting a cycle, it had to be the best. Even all the toys he gave me were top of the line in those days. We would read Jang together in the morning. When we used to go to his office, I was treated with Balai wali chai and a thick biscuit. In the afternoon, it was usually Biryani or Chicken Qorma from the Park hotel. After completing matric, Aboo decided that if I want to pursue business, I should work part time at the office. I also experienced the same shock as the earlier Chota Seth when I was asked to clean the office and godowns downstairs. To be fair, it did happen to the mamus too when they joined.

We would watch movies together. I remember one Eid night PTV was showing a James Bond movie (which was heavily censored). Although my Aboo did not allow me to see it, Nanay Abba had no such qualms. I think at one time he used to buy 14 digests and we used to read all of them together.

One of the most remarkable things I have witnessed my Nanay Abba act on was helping so many people without hurting their ego. I know so many people who had their fortunes made with his help. He helped storewallas, young medical students and businessmen who used to come to him for drafting letters to do business abroad. He had two munh boli sisters Phuppi Mairaj who was a teacher and Phuppi Buggay ki maa. He treated them as real sisters and helped them in many ways.

Within the household, we always had outside and inside help. Usually they came at a tender age, work inside the house with the womenfolk. When they grow up, they move outside the house and start working at the office. One such was Bahadur Ali. He came as a child in our household and retired at a good age. We respected him like an elder. Not just him, but every servant was respected. We are not allowed to treat them badly in any way, otherwise they would complain and Nanay abba, Nani amman or even my parents would take care of it. Another old one was Rahima Amman. She was a Makrani (decedents of African slaves), She helped nani amman with the kids. She used to come to our house at an old age and was respected and treated as a mother by all my mamus. Kachan masi used to come till the very end. Her speciality was very fine grinded coconut or khopra. Khala Mairaj used to come to stitch cloth. There was another guy Sabir who was among the first to go to Dubai and came back. Most of our later servants are from his family or village. If someone gets too out of control, he was called and he used to take care of them in his own way or replace them with someone else. How many names are coming to my mind, Mir Afzal, Nawaz and Taj Mohammad. An interesting character was Mazhar. He was always in a hurry. During lunch or dinner, if we are taking too much time, he used to sometime snatch the plate in front of us. Even today, in Canada, if my kids or wife do the same, the usual words that comes out of my mouth is Yaar kiyon Mazhar ban rahe ho. Now when the kids are grown up, if one is hurrying up, the other would say, Yaar Mazhar ban rahe ho…God bless him wherever he is.

We always dealt with people who are working with our family for a lifetime or for generations. In our office was Nawaz sahib, who was steno and was the unofficial office manager. He taught me typing which helps me everyday. He started as a young lad and worked with us till his last breath. Mohammad Din Qasai whose family are our butchers since 1965 and are still our guys during Baqar Eid. I mentioned Sagheer in my article about Nihari. He was our Nihari wala and caterer for generations. Siraj dhobi and his family worked for us for decades. Such was the respect given that these people refused to part ways with our family.

We always had animals in our house. The concept was that if some misfortune was suppose to strike, the pet animals supposedly took it on themselves. So we had chicken, parrots, dogs and goats. One legendry goat was Aman, who was born during the 71 war and thus named Aman (Peace). He turned out to be a huge animal. When he was sacrificed the next Baqar Eid, I cried my eyes out. He weighed about 80 pounds and the butchers were quite impressed.

Nani Amman was a sweetheart. She was the one to run to when everything failed. I can never think of a single instance when she called me just Ayaz, it was always Ayaz Mian. The elders, may Allah rest their souls in eternal peace, taught us how to respect everyone. She was our doll. Personality wise she was the exact opposite to Nanay abba. A simple, introvert woman whose whole life is her family. She belonged to the Allawala family who owned the famous Tibet snow and Tibet centre. She was very proud of it. Once the Surf lady came to our house to give free samples. She had nothing to do with it, “hum Tibet walay hein, hum yeh istemal nahin karengay”, was her firm reply to that poor sales lady. Every month we used to two boxes of their products for our family use. Against Nanay abba, who temper wise was a fire cracker, although she was very silent and sweet but she knew how to hold her ground. When she was having her last breaths, mamoo Abdul Malik was reciting Surah Yaseen on her side. He didn’t stop at a place where he was supposed to take a breather. Hoooonn came the sound from her, even in that condition to remind him to read correctly

I was born in a house near Nursery market. Near there was Khayyam cinema, in which my Aboo and Ammi used to go watch movies. One the occasions that they would take me, I would enjoy my favourite ayyashi, a hotdog and Benz at the cinema. From there, we moved to a house behind Ferozabad Thana near Tariq Road. I remember there was a big mango and sharifa tree at that house, in which my Ammi and I would enjoy ripe mangoes and have our own little party during lunchtime. The biggest adventure for me was to go to the Riaz masjid market to the Chaman library and get books from there. The per day rent was ten paisas. Nanay Abba used to go to the Nursery market every morning to buy fresh meat and vegetables, afterwards heading to the office. Ammi and Nani Amman would have food ready for the tiffin waala, who would always arrive on time to send fresh food was sent to the office everyday. I used to be quite fascinated by how they used to make koftas. The way they used to mix spices with meat and chillies. When the time was right and both ladies were not around, I took some dirt from a nearby claypot and add my special spice to the koftas. Those same koftas were  sent to the office. When we sat down at lunch time and started eating them, my Nani was shocked. I simply told her I made them better. God bless her soul she laughed and called Nanay abba to arrange food from outside and not to eat the dirt koftas.

Naturally, As Nanay Abba diverted his attention from his business, it started to suffer. He had also started experiencing health issues at this point in his life. He had this nasty kidney stone and the pain was so excruciating, he would be out for two to three days. Dadday Abba moved to Block 6 in PECHS and Nanay Abba also bought a plot over there and construction was started. However, the money came by selling their existing house and the new owner was pressurizing him to vacate. We moved to a rented portion near Ghausia masjid near Nursery. As luck would have it, many years later my daughter, Sahar, got her admission at Head Start nursery in the same house. We were forced to move to 93H before it was completed. When we moved, there was no plaster on the walls or even doors for that matter (privacy measures were not yet set in place). Sometimes the kids from the neighborhood used to come to sneak around, curious about why these crazies are living in such a dilapidated house. The house was completed while we were living in it. Throughout these changes and challenges, my Nanay Abba and I were inseparable. His other happiness arose from being so close to his Mian. His kidney was operated, and a large pointed kidney stone was taken out. The surgery really took a toll on him. The good thing was that the Mamus have taken over the business and the financial situation was improving, allowing him to take a semi-retirement.

Nanay Abba’s religious thinking was very straight forward. He narrated this story to me. In his youth he was attending a sermon, the Maulvi (an earlier version of Maulana TJ) was saying in Jannat when you will see a Hourie, you will start with the feet. He said that the feet are so beautiful, you will be amazed for 200 years. Then you will go to the ankles which are another 300 and the legs will probably 500. Before he goes up to the private parts, Nanay Abba yelled, “So you are trying to say that Allah will show himself to the believers, but we will be busy with Hourie”. For some reason, the Maulana changed the topic of discussion.

In another instance, during a certain phase of my age, I was quite impressed with Ahmed Deedat’s debates with Christian missionaries. I showed one of these to Nanay Abba, who was very serious and silent during the whole debate. When I prompted him for his opinion, he said “Beta, these debates will never invite anybody towards the religion. If the purpose were to win an argument, maybe he won. But if the idea was to invite people towards the faith, these debates will never achieve it. They will infuriate the others but will never soften their hearts towards Islam.”

Gardening was another one of his passions. All our houses always had a variety of croton plants. We always had a Maali and he made sure to rotate the flowers as per the season. The vast lawn of 93H was always maintained. This is the place where now the extension stands. The back of the lawn was earmarked for vegetables. Nanay abba had a big lemon tree that he brought from the Tariq roadhouse. It did not bear fruit for the first few years. I still remember when we both were standing in front of the tree and he told our Maali chacha that if by next year there is no fruit, he will cut it off. The ultimatum worked and from next year we had the biggest and the juiciest lemons coming out of the tree. Alas when the extension was built, the tree and all other vegetations were removed.

I still remember on chand raat, my mamoo’s susral came to meet us. Amidst the conversation, Nanay Abba suddenly stopped talking and started looking down. His face went red and remained silent. After a while we realized something was wrong, we tried speaking to him, but he did not move. Doctors were called and it was discovered that he had a stroke. He managed to recover from it to a great extent, but it effected his movement. The doctors told him to relax and not to worry about things to control his blood pressure. It was suggested that he should watch movies. It was the start of a fun pastime.  I used to go the video store and brought English and Indian movies. Nani Amman used to hate most of them as it they were very be hiya. However, I had to be more careful in my selection as Nanay Abba became very emotional, at times crying during emotional scenes. The new entertainment sensation of the household was wrestling. The whole house became big fans including him. He used to hate the heels “Maar saalay ko” was his usual slogan. Another fan was Mamoo Shuaib, he used to buy wrestling magazines from wherever he can find them. It was the age of innocence. We never realized that it was fake.

Nani Amman was diagnosed with Leukemia in the late 80s. This diagnoses along with Nanay Abbas illness and family feuds took a toll on the entire family. She passed in 1992 and Nana Abbay cried like a child. The real knockout came when Daday Abba passed on soon after, a sign that the story is now over. I bought a dish antenna during those days and put the receiver in his room. I was so happy to see him enjoying it. I remember he was watching a soap and Mamoo Shuaib was sitting with him. He became so shy he came out of the room. Nanay Abba just laughed. I was engaged and my wife came to see him. He was beyond joy and the advice he gave her was “Yeh Phakkar bohut hai.”

He passed in 1993 in Ramzan. Last year (2019), Ammi followed him during Ramazan too. Whenever I faced hardships in life, whenever life was bleak, he came in my dreams. I was a kid again and we were shopping for books at Ferozesons together. In the morning, life became beautiful again.

(Special thanks to Mamoo Ahsan and Mamoo Sulaiman Salam for some of the pictures and info)

Dr. Ruth Pfau

     This is Sahar’s speech for her religion culmination exam

 

           Good Afternoon ladies and gentlemen. Today we are here to learn about the candidates for the Pontifical Society for the Propagation of the Faith Award. Today I would like to introduce you to someone who I feel is exactly the type of person who deserves this honour. She is known as “the angel of Karachi”, “mother of persons affected by leprosy”, and even as “Pakistan’s Mother Teresa”. This heroic person is someone who has never sought out the spotlight for herself but spends every waking hour defending those who are ignored and forgotten. Ladies and gentlemen I would like to introduce you to Dr. Ruth Pfau.

                Dr. Pfau was never a stranger to struggles and atrocity. She was born in Leipzig, Germany   on September 9^th, 1929. Being a German during World War 2 gave her a front row seat to the horrors committed by the Nazi’s. The genocide and massacre she witnessed inspired her to become a doctor in the hopes of helping others. After the end of the War she made the dangerous trek from communist East Germany to Democratic West Germany in order to pursue a medical education. During her time in medical school she became exposed to the various groups within Christianity. She was inspired by, the words of St. Thomas Aquinas and John of Damascus; Dr. Pfau decided to convert to Catholicism. She believed that the Pope was required in order to find theological truth and as an authority figure in the Church. Her devotion to God was so strong and unshakable that she eventually became a nun and joined the Daughters of the Heart of Mary order.

                Dr. Pfau’s skills as a doctor made her an asset to the Order’s various charity missions. In 1960 she was given an assignment to help with the healthcare of the poor in Bombay, India.  However, due to visa problems she was stopped over in Pakistan in the urban city of Karachi. It was there that her life changed forever. While in Karachi, Dr. Pfau and her companion nun visited a leper beggar colony in the less desirable part of the city. It was an experience that she will never forget. She later recalls the event in The Express Tribune, “I felt saddened when I saw people living in caves, crawling like animals. They had compromised with their faith but it was not their fate, they deserved a much better and happier life.” Seeing the slum-like conditions of the colony, Dr. Pfau realized that God had stopped her over in Karachi  for a reason and that her real missions was to help those unfortunate and vulnerable souls whose eyes she had looked into only to find God looking back at her.

                Dr. Pfau has now spent over half a century in Pakistan. She has trained many doctors and volunteers in leprosy care and has even helped create the Mary Adelaide Leprosy Centre which works all over the country to provide care for leprosy patients. Now, although the story of how she became a nun and help the lepers in Pakistan was not as exciting as the typical call stories of the prophets it was all Dr. Pfau needed to realize her mission in life. Although, God did not speak directly to her the way he had to Abraham and Moses, Dr. Pfau still knew that God was calling to her through the suffering she had witnessed throughout her life and in the beggar colony. She might not have had a direct conversation with God, but she also never had that moment of doubt that the other prophets did. She never hesitated to help the lepers after she met them. She mentions this in an article in loonwatch.com, “Well if it doesn’t hit you the first time, I don’t think it will ever hit you.”

                Dr. Pfau is someone who always knows what she needs to do. In Karachi, she witnessed an injustice she knew, in her conscience, was wrong, she found a solution to it and then worked hard to make her idea a reality. She was never someone who was dishonest; every penny raised for the leprosy fund has been used for the purpose it was donated for. Despite the heavy corruption in Pakistan, Dr Pfau has never used a dishonest means to get money for her cause and has always acted for those whose cries go unheard of within the traffic and rush of Karachi.

                One other quality of Dr. Pfau’s is something that further reinforces the fact that she deserves this award.  Dr. Pfau has never let her hard work keep her away from her faith. Every morning she wakes and prays at St. Patrick’s Cathedral in Karachi. She does not make a big show of her praying but does it quietly and in private where it is just her and God. She always treats her fellow human beings with dignity and respect regardless of their situation in life. She is someone who mourns for others when they are in need.  She feels the pain of people when they are treated like second-class citizens because of their leprosy. Dr. Pfau is also someone who is poor in spirit. She is always donating her time and effort to help those in need at the leprosy colony. She also does not use her fame to increase her own standard of living but to help those who really need it. For example, when she had an interview with a prominent Pakistani new channel Geo, she spent the bulk of the time promoting care for leprosy instead of talking about herself. Every time she receives an award, she always mentions her patients first. She uses her spotlight to increase the attention on the leprosy patients so that they can also have a voice. She is someone who treats her patients with gentleness and compassion and works hard to support the lives of others by offering medical care, food and funds. Dr. Pfau has always promoted the life of her patients and refuses to allow them to suffer. She does not crave material possessions, for she knows that God is the greatest treasure. Dr. Pfau does not always travel the easier path; in fact, she usually chooses the road less travelled because she knows that while it is not easy being Catholic, in the end it will pay off. For example, she knew beforehand that the life of a nun meant certain sacrifices and hardships but she knew that the light at the end of the tunnel was God and to reach that light she was going to have to crawl through the narrow tunnel. She did not use her medical training to live the comfortable life most doctors do. Instead she used it to help enhance the lives of those that had next to nothing.

                Not only is Dr. Pfau an admirable Catholic but she is also an exemplary human being. She knew that God had placed inside of her a natural inclination to do good and a skill in medicine so that she could heal people. She used this skill to help the lepers, and later, the flood victims in northern Pakistan because she knew that this was her teleology. She used fortitude and prudence to help out an entire community. She also thinks every person is unique and deserves respect because they are created in God’s image and that just because you are a leper or a poor farmer does not mean that you are below everyone.  

                Although Dr. Pfau was never someone who went out and actively sought out the spotlight her courageous work could not go unaccredited. She has been given various awards throughout her life to commend her for her excellent work. A few awards she won are-Order of the Cross in 1968 from Germany, and honorary Doctor of Science degree in 2004 from Aga Khan University (Pakistan’s leading medical school), and the prestigious “Nishan-i-quaid-i-Azam Award” presented to her by the president of Pakistan in 2011.

                Through her hard work, Dr. Pfau made Pakistan, a nation considered sub-standard when compared to other great nations in Asia, the first country in the continent to have leprosy controlled. She is someone who has always stayed faithful to God and her devotion to Catholicism is something to be admired.  She is a light of hope in a dark world for many and I personally consider her a living legend. I hope that you all now also see her as the person who should receive this honour and as someone everyone should aspire to be like. Thank you for your attention.

 

Nihari…Passions and Traditions

It was a very captivating scene. My friend Andrew, a born Britisher who as a kid moved to Canada, eating Nihari with full zeal and devotion…..and this was his first time. I never thought that anybody from this part of the world can not only taste Nihari but also enjoy it. This dish whose story goes back about 200 years has now conquered the world rising from the city of Dilli. (the name old Dilli walla use for Dehli)

My mind went back to its origins. Ashraf Saboohi, in his very interesting book Dilli ki chand ajeeb hastiyan wrote:

I have heard from our elders that when Saadat Khan cleaned the Shah Jehani Nehar (Canal) and it started flowing again in the middle of Dehli, Alvi Khan Hakeen wore the funeral dress and entered the Court. When king Mohammad Shah asked the reason he said, I am crying over the lost health of the city. Disease will now become rampant. When asked about the cure, he advised increasing the use of Red Chillies and Khataai (I do not know its English translation). In order to reduce the effects of these heavy duty spices, it was recommended to add pure ghee.”

So the king ordered the cook to design a dish as per the Hakeem’s specifications. It is actually a type of Qorma where only beef shank meet is used. Fried onions, hot ghee, lemon, slices of garlic and coriander leaves are used as dressing and it is served with hot naan bread. Bone marrow and goat brain are added delicacy. (I have seen people adding makhan ka baghar (fried butter) also). After the dish it was customary to eat Gajar ka halwa (Carrot pudding) to reduce the effects of spices. At Burns road in Karachi, all the good halwa and rabri shops were next to Nihari shops. I don’t know whether they now exist or not. After reading the above paras, you would have guessed correctly that coronary disease was not discovered or was not given much thought during those days.

The Nihari wala that has been mentioned by every Dilliwala was Ganja Nihari wala who took the preparation of this dish to an art. During those times, Nihari was more of a winter dish. It was not available throughout the year as it is now. It used to be eaten early in the morning. It was especially liked by the poor as this food is enough for them till dinner. It was cheap during those days and skipping lunch would save money for them. Rest of the year, these Nihari walas used to sell other dishes but not Nihari.

The making of Nihari was an art. As per Ujjra Dayar By Shahid Ahmed Dehlvi (grandson of Deputy Nazir Ahmed:

Usually a hole was dug near the shop where the pot was put into with a window below to put the coal in. After putting all the spices and meat, it used to be cooked for the whole night. The tradition was to eat Nihari at the shop. There is only one daig or pot. So whoever comes early, rich or poor will get the order. Once it is finished, you have to wait till the next day.

This reminds me of my childhood. Our Nihari wala was Sagheer from Dehli Muslim hotel (not the Kalia) at Burns Road. Sagheer and our family go a long way. His grandfather used to be our family bawarchi (cook for special occasions) and served my great great grandfather. We were totally prohibited from buying Nihari from any other place. Nihari was only ordered in winter and also only for breakfast. Usually on a Wednesday, Sagheer was called and was told that we will be having Nihari for the weekend. On Saturday evening, my uncles would leave our pateelas (pots) at his shop. Sunday morning, one of them usually wakes up quite early to make the trip to the shop. We try to wake up too to join him. There Sagheer would use to fill our order himself rather than the servant as taking out the Nihari was regarded as an art. He knows who in our family like adla and who wanted reshay wali boti. Nalis and bhejas was wrapped separately along with the Naans. On our return home, the big dastar khawan (eating mat) was spread in our big room. Special newly polished copper plates (Qalai wali rakabi) were used to eat Nihari. My grandmother and mother would have already made the baghar (hot oil) that used to be put on the Nihari. It used to be warmed again. Our old servant Bahadur Ali used to warm the naans on our angheeti (coal fired stove). We used to sweat during those early winter mornings due to the warmth and spices of that Nihari. There was no lunch and a very light dinner (usually Kichri) was served in the evening.

Now when I look back all those characters are gone. Sagheer died quite early and his hotel is gone. I think he had a kidney transplant operation in India and became quite famous as he was one of the earlier Pakistanis who had this kind of a procedure over there. His interview was even published in Akhbar-e-Jahan, if my memory serves me right. We started buying Nihari from Waheed hotel and also tried from Malik’s. They were good but not like Sagheer. We used to laugh at Sabris. We used to call it the spice less or sick man’s Nihari. Then came the big revolution where Nihari Inns were opened at every corner and it became a dish of all seasons. I remember when we first looked at Nihari at a wedding reception, we were quite shocked. That was the age of innocence.

So Nihari has moved from the Bhatyaras of Dilli to the Sabri hotel at Chicago. It has lost a bit of spice in the transformation but it has still regained the numero uno position (at least in my heart) of the dishes from our part of the world. It still dazzles the palate, and sometimes the digestive systems, from people of all color and nations.

LUTFULLAH KHAN AND HIS ALAM-E-JUNOON

Behind the Dubai palace in Karachi, near the seashore, there lives a merry old man. He holds a treasure which is unparallel in this world. A treasure which is most likely to be destroyede……… The reason being, most of us still questions the validity of the argument that it is indeed a treasure.

In his house under specially built cabinets are rows and rows of audio tapes. When played they tell you the history of Indo Pakistan music, literature and poetry. You can find Ustad Bundo Khan playing his Sarangi, Pathanay Khan singing his tunes, Chotay and Baray Bokhari reciting their essays in the earlier days of Radio Pakistan, Maulana Thanvi and Rasheed Turrabi reciting Quran or giving sermons or Faiz Ahmed recording his entire Nushka Hai Wafa in a span of 20 years in his studio. All this is not disorderly, you will find neatly bound 42 volumes of just his music catalogue showing which tapes contains which masterpiece, from which counter number to what counter number, sung or played by whom, what raag and what instruments. If this is not enough at the ripe old age of 93, this man, alone is trying to convert this universe of sound to digital media from tape. Did I forget to mention, he is an avid collector, traveller, photographer and author. His biography “Hijraton Kay Silsalay” won the Prime Minister award in 1998 right before the Prime Minister was send packing. The name of this mad man is Lutfullah Khan. But before delving deeper into his collection let’s dig deeper into who he is.

Born on November 25, 1916 in Madras, his father was in South Indian Railway. His childhood was spent on transfer from one city to another. Although he tried his hands at different hobbies, however music, writing and art were things that became part of his soul. He describes his interest as more of a “junoon” as far as music is concerned. To have a better understanding of this “junoon” and his mastery of music itself, his book “Sur Ki Talaash” is a must read. He had extra-ordinary fascination for music and singing from his childhood. He participated as an amateur singer at the Madras Boys and Girls Exhibition in the year 1931 and received the merit award for Hindustani Music. He signed an agreement in 1933 for classical singing with the Indian State Broadcasting Service, later re-named as All India Radio. He performed publicly at the age of 19, during a radio concert in 1935. Known as Madras Radio Artist, he sang Ghazals at a function of Muslim Students Association of St. Xaviers College in January 1939 and rendered classical singing at Bombay in December the same year. During quarter century of daily practice (1963-1988), he practiced singing with Maulana Abdul Shakoor (nephew of Ustad Abdul Karim Khan) and explored the intricacies of only one raag, the Darbari. His “junoon” of collection also started from those days. His collection of stamps, coins and film pamphlets of his teen years can still be seen in the neatly organized show cases in his house. His museum gallery displays rare photographs, photography equipment, International and Pakistani coins, and a set of 12 inch 78 rpm discs of Late “Barey Ghulam Ali Khan Sahib”, sound recording equipment and accessories, drawing instrument and stationary items used in documenting the collections and personal items of nostalgic importance as well as a wonderful matchbox collection. But the pick of this array is an album containing posters of old Hindi and American movies, some of them dating back to twenties. All are arranged in properly illuminated showcases and display boards. Electronic devices installed include “Revox” tape recorders. Such a broad based collection requires periodic maintenance for which he has established in a separate room a small workshop with inventory of spares and tools.

His archive contains a large number of rare books on a variety of subjects, including religion. In his personal files, papers are arranged in chronological order in a healthy state. Indexing has been done in simple manner to facilitate easy location of the desired document.

In 1938, he moved to Bombay. He was employed in the government’s rationings department. One of the responsibilities was to transport various stuff to different cities of India. He had the good chance to see almost all of India (except for Calcutta and Kashmir which he still regrets).
He landed in Karachi on October 17, 1947. This trip was more of an exploratory nature. But who has escaped the magic of this medusa? However the start of his love affair is unique. He mentions that he was stung by the beauty and cleanliness of this city. However he was stunned to look at Karachi’s double roties (sandwich bread). They were fresh and pure white. Unlike the stale yellow rationed breads of Bombay. “To yeh madrasi naujawan, Karachi ki double rotiyon ko dil day bheta”. He telegrammed his family to move over here and this love affair is still strong after 62 years. If you want to know more about Karachi and its inhabitants of yesteryears, his biography is an eye opener. He mentions a host of Sindhi Hindus and Christian which helped him establish himself and how they were all Karachities first and foremost, a thing which sounds like a Cinderella story today. He mentioned only one Muslim to compare with this group. That gentleman was Abdul Salam, my nana (maternal grandfather) and that is how I came to know Lutfullah Sahib so intimately.
Photography was his passion for a long time. In Bombay the famous actor De Billemoria was his friend. He had a chance to borrowing his 16mm Kodak movie camera and made movies of different occasions. However his real passion blossomed in Karachi. His friend bought the Thackersons photography shop. He lent his Roliflex camera to him to take picture. He took picture of the old buildings and the new offices and homes that are taking shape to absorb the new country and its administration. He made an album about Business on footpath which consists of all the things that are done on Karachi’s footpaths, right from small businesses to snake charmers, palmists, lizard show (saanday ka teel), ear cleaner etc. There was another album called business on wheels which shows fruit, vegetable, cloth, shoe etc vendors of Karachi on four wheel carts. He created his own dark room at his home and used to do his own developing and processing. In 1951, he bought a Swiss made Boulex Pylord 16mm camera and started making documentaries. One of the most memorable one was a cricket match between the Prime minister, his cabinet and the parliament members at the Karachi Gymkhana. One side was lead by Mohammad Ali Bogra and the other by the famous Maulvi Tameez Uddin Khan. The minster Mr. Chittophadia was bowling in his dhoti and Maulvi sahib was batting in his sheerwani. The organizer was Ahmed E.H. Jaafer. He bought several cameras and took thousands of pictures during his travels throughout the globe. The cameras and pictures album forms a part of this treasure.
Then started the story of his real “junoon”. He started his own advertising agency. One of his clients imported an audio recording machine in 1951. The objective was to see whether there is any demand of such product over here. Lutfullhah Khan Sahib bought the machine and 22 tapes for Rs1, 146 and 10 annas (needless to say, the machine and the receipt forms a part of his collection). He first started by doing audio recordings of his family members especially his mother. Those days, tapes were made of a sort of paper and were not so durable. But how much family talk can you record. He had a small mountain of 22 tapes. Once day just for experiment he recorded a Shahnai program from Radio Pakistan. The result was excellent. Next was a mushaira from All India Radio and then the speech of Liaquat Ali Khan where he said his famous sentence “Sheikh Abdullah, Kashimir tumharay baap ki jaagir nahin hain.”
I am not going into details about the recorders, microphone and the tapes that he mentioned he used in his quest. He is a master of what to use at what occasion. But the actual accomplishments is not recording this huge collection encompassing music, drama, poetry, prose, fine arts, religion and education but the minutely detailed catalogues he created to find a tape on any subject. As mentioned before the catalogue and the tape hold all details. Let’s take the example of the music section. It is divided into 7 sub sections:

 The first section is instrumental music. It contains items on almost all music instruments of the sub continent by masters of that era. Some of the examples are in Surood, Hafiz Ali Khan and Ali Akbar Khan, in Sitar Inayat Khan, Vilayat Khan, Ravi Shankar and Ustaad Sharif Khan poonch walay. In Shehnai Bismillah Khan, in flute Panna Lah Ghosh, in table Ahmed Jaan, Allah Rakkha etc, in Sarangi Bundo Khan. He includes about 46 items of Bundo khan in his collection. He tells an interesting story about Ustaad Umrao Bundo khan, the son of Ustaad Bundu khan. At 10:30 pm in 1978, somebody rang the bell. When he opened the door, it was Umrao Bundu with his Shahnai. “Lutfullah sahib, I want to play Peelu for you today.” That 14 minute 12 second rendition of Peelu was one of the best he had in that section.
 The second section consists of Classical singers such as Fayaz Hussain Khan, Moizuddin Khan, Chand Khan Zakir brothers and so many more.
 Semi classical music occupies the third section. This is more of Thumri, Pahari, Dadra, Kaafi, Bhajan etc. Fourth consis of Ghazals (including 318 of Mehdi Hasan) including Begum Akhtar, Sehgal, Shamshad, Rauf Dakkani, Mukhtar Begum, Mushtri Bai etc.
 Fifth is songs,
 Sixth is Folk Music
 Finally his seventh sub-section is Qawwali.
As mentioned above this is catalogued in 42 volumes and this is a smaller section as compared to the Literature section.
The Urdu literature section is divided into poetry and prose. Poetry contains the work of 800 poets. Faiz and Akhtar ul Imaan recorded their entire work for his library. Some of the other names are Jagan Nath Azaad, Sufi Ghulam Mustafa Tabassum, Parveen Shakir, Josh, Jigar, Khatir Ghaznavi Ali Sardar Jaafri, Kaifi Aazmi, Faraz and ect. Prose contains such items as Aal Ahmed Suroor, Ibrahim Jalees, Bokhari, Taaj, Hayat ullah Ansari, Rajinder Singh Bedi, Joginder Paal, Chiragh Hasan Hasrat, Anwar Sadid, Khadija Mastoor, Rashid Ahmed Siddiqui, Dr. Zakir Hussain and hundreds more. The scholars and speeches sections include names like A.K. Barohi, Sir Zafar Ullah Khan, Rashidi brothers, Dr. Saleemuzaman Siddiqui, Karrah Hussain, Bahadur Yaar Jang, Abdul Hameed Bhashani, Bhutto, Rajindir Parshad, Suharwardy, Ghandhi and Jinnah. Similarly the religion section includes Thanvi, Syed Mohammad Razi, Zaheen Shah Taji, Mufti Mohammad Shafi etc One of the smaller but a unique section is interviews of artists like Jimmy Engineer, Iqbal Jeoffrey, Iqbal Mehdi, Bashir Mirza, Sadequin, Shakir Mirza etc.
The story of this journey is extremely interesting. His book, “Tamashaye Ahal-e-Zauq” provides profiles some of the personalities above and efforts that were put to record them. Especially the struggle to record Faiz Sahib in a span of 20 years is worth a read.
Now let’s venture into the darker part of our story. I mentioned at the start that this treasure will soon be no more. There is a reason behind it. Tapes have a life of their own. They can only be saved if they are converted to digital media. Khan Sahib is doing this job himself but you can very well imagine what to expect from a 93 year old. He has been approached by some organizations but he flatly refused. The reason; they want to have the treasure for free. He has been offered an outstanding price of this collection from India but he refused too as he want to keep this collection in Pakistan. His argument is that if nobody in Pakistan thinks that my lifetime work which is in part a unique history of Indo-Pakistan on sound is worth nothing and it would not benefit me and my family in anyway than this should be destroyed. The whole effort of recording and organizing this collection is my “junoon”. Letting it rot is another dimension of my “junoon”. He worked tirelessly for this collection and if this mighty nation of 170 million who spent billions on things from arms to tea and cars cannot spend a few millions for acquiring and safeguarding their own audio heritage than perhaps his logic is make sense.
So next time when you are in the Shanakht festival in Karachi and you see this old frail white haired young man showing the history of this great city, try to see as much as possible, perhaps next year they will be no more.

What is wrong with this picture?

This picture was posted on Daily Jang”s website on September 22, 2010. I was quite intrigued by it. This is a scene of a makeshift school in one of the relief camps of Sehwan. The scenario is quite commendable. Most of the kids (I think all of them) are girls. This is probably the first time they are sitting in a class room. So what does it say about us. We are using the mayhem of floods as an opportunity. We are educating the next generation, better still mostly girls. We are introducing them to education. They were not given this opportunity in their villages so we have used the makeshift arrangement of the relief camp to break the traditions…All good and sweet.

But something is not right. Look at their faces. They have no idea what is happening. They seem to belong to the most backward/poorest part of the society. The only language they know (I assume) is Sindhi. Now look at the blackboard. C for Cat and D for dog…Does this make sense?. Look at the perfect drawings at the blackboard.

So we have a picture of makeshift classroom of girls belonging to the poorest areas being taught English? When perhaps this is the first time they are being introduced to a classroom.

So what is this? A bold attempt to educate the future mothers or a Kodak picture perfect moment by the NGOs for the Western audience/donors. You decide.

ستاروں بھرا آسمان

میرے بچپن کا آسمان ستاروں سے کیسا بھرا ہوا ہوتا تھا۔ 

 یہ بات ایسے یاد آئ کہ کسی نے آسمان دیکھ کر کہا

 ” کتنے ستارے  نظر آ رہے ہیں”۔ میں نے نظر اٹھا کر

دیکھا تو آسمان ستاروں سےمزین تھا

 

چھتیس سال پہلے کی بات یاد آءی۔71 کی جنگ

 زوروں پہ تھی۔ شہر میں بلیک آؤٹ ہوا تھا۔ میں

 باہر چارپاءی پر اپنے نانا کے ساتھ لیٹا ہوا تھا۔

 آسمان ایسے لگ رہا تھا جیسے کسی الھژ دوشیزہ

 کی ستاروں بھری اوڑھنی۔ (خدا جانے یہ ادیبوں

 کی ٹھرک کب جاۓ گی۔ ہر استعارے میں دوشیزہ

 کود جاتی ہے)۔ وقت نےاتنے موٹے شیشوں کی

عینک لگا دی جسے اتار کر پتہ ہی نہیں چلتا کہ

 سامنے دوشیزہ ہے کہ انسپکٹر جعفر حسین۔

ہاں وہ تھا کراچی کا بلیک آؤٹ والا آسمان اور

 یہ ہے ٹورونٹو کی سفید جہنم والی سردی کا

 ٹھٹھرتا ہوا آسمان۔ مگر روشنیوں سے مرصع۔

 جب برف گرتی ہے تو باہر اتنی روشنی ہو جاتی

 ہے کہ بقول ہماری دادی رمضان کی راتوں میں نور

 برس رہا ہے۔

کیا کچھ نہ بدلہ ان سالوں میں، زمین چھوٹی، ماں باپ

 کو چھوڑا صرف ایک دیوانگی اور ایک خواب کہ

 چلو چل کہ دکھاتے ہیں کہ ہم کیا ہیں۔ اس دیوانگی

 نے کیا کچھ نہ دیا- مگر وہ آسمان- وہ جو کبھی ستاروں

 سےمزین تھے اور وہ  آسمان جو منوں مٹی اوڑھے سو

 رھے تھے – وہ چھوٹ گۓ۔

آج سوچتا ہوں کیسے کیسے آسمان کسطرح کھو جاتے

 ہیں۔یادآتا ہے کہ اسکول میںایک دوست ہوتا تھا راجہ

 ۔ نا م کا بھی اور دل کابھی ۔ کئ سال بعد پتہ چلا کہ وہ

 پنجابی تھا۔ یہ تقسیم بھع بہت بعد میں پتہ چلی (زندگی

 بھر ہم ایسے ہی گدھے رہے) خیر انکا خاندان اسکول کہ

 پاس گورنمنٹ کوارٹرز میں رہتا تھا۔اسکی والدہ کا

 انتقال ہو گیا۔ تدفین پر انکے والد نے اعلان کیاکہ وہ

 قادیانی ہیں۔ لہذا جو لوگ شرکت نہ کرنا چاہیں انکا

 شکریہ۔ محلے والے تسلیمات ایسے بجا لا ۓ کہ انکو

 محلے سے نکال دیا۔ہم سب کی شکل دیکھتے رہ گۓ۔

 ہاں “لا اکراہ فی الدین” کا مطلب سمجھ میں آ گیا۔ ‎سر

 اٹھا کر اوپر دیکھا تو نظر کمزور تھی اور تارے کچھ کم کم۔

وقت گزرتا گیا نۓ نۓ انکشافات ہوتے گۓ۔ ایک دن جمعہ

 کے خطبے میں مولوی صاحب نے بتایا کہ شیعہ کافر ہوتے

 ہیں۔ ہمارے صحابہ کو گالیاں دیتے ہیں۔ لہذا ہم نے دس

 محرم کا جلوس کا جواب دینے کے لیۓ (جو کہ ایک بدعت

 ہے) بارہ ربیع الاول کے جلوس کی بنیار ڈالی ہے۔

پھر 77 آیا اور ہم پر یہ “من حیث اللقوم” القا ہواکہ ہم دراصل

 مسلمان ہیں اور ہمیں چودہ سو سال سے اندھیرے میں رکھا

 گیا تھا۔  اس زمانے میں پانی نہ آنا اور بجلی کاجانا بھی یہود

 وہنود کی سازش ہوتی تھی۔ (کمبخت کیا قافیہ ملاتے تھے)۔

بیویاں پورا دوپٹہ اوڑھ کر اپنے میاں سے الگ پلنگ پہ سوتی

 تھیں۔ مزمل حسین صاحب محلے کے سوشل ورکر تھے۔

 سمجھاتے تھے کہ گلییوں کو صاف رکھنے کی ذمہ داری

 ہماری ہے۔ کتا بھی کہیں بیٹھتا ہے تو دم سے جگہ صاف کر

 کہ بیٹھتا ہے ہم تو اشرف المخلوقات ہیں۔ مگر ایک شدید

 شرعی نقص تھا ان میں جس نہ انکی تمام اچھائیوں پہ پردہ

 ڈال دیا تھا۔ وہ  شیعہ تھے محرم میں گھر پر مجلس کروایا کرتے تھے۔

 باقاعدہ نواسہءرسول کا ماتم ہوتا تھا۔ہمارے تایا کا ارشاد

 ہوا کہ سالہ رافضی بھنگی ہے۔

بینائ کمزور ہوتی گئ اور آسمان پہ تاریکی بڑھتی جا رہی

 تھی کہ یکایک چند بیحد بڑے انکشافات ہوۓ، جنہوں نے

 ماضی کے ان تمام کارناموں کو طاق پہ رکھ دیا۔ ایک تو یہ

 کہ افغانستان میں جہاد اکبر ہو رہا ہے اور مجاہدین نے

 صحابہ ء بدرواحد کی یاد تازہ کر دی ہے۔ دوسرے نے ہماری

آس پاس کی زندگی پہ زیادہ اثر ڈالا۔ ہمیں پتہ چلا کہ ہم مہاجر ہیں۔

 واۓ ناکامی کہ اہل زبان یہاں جاہل سندھیوں ڈگے پنجابیوں،

 قاتل پٹھانوں اور اجڈ بلوچیوں ( یا بقول شخصے عجمیوں)

 میں پھنس گۓ۔ہمارہ مقام تو ستاروں سے بھی بلند ہے۔

 (ان  ستاروں سے جنکی تعداد روز بروز کم ہوتی جا رہی

تھی) مگر صاحب پورے ملک میں سب سے پڑھے

 لکھے عالم و فاضل ہم ہیں، اسکے باوجود ہمیں ہمارا صحیح

 مقام نہیں ملا بس بھیا کا خطاب دے کر کونے میں

 بٹھا دیا ورنہ بقول داغ

اپنے محبوب کی خاطر منظور تھی ورنہ

قرآن   بھی   اترتا     بزبان    دہلی

چناچہ ہم نے ٹی وی  اور وی سی آر بیچا اور کلاشنکوف

 خرید لی اور دے مار ساڑھے چار کر دیا۔ مزاق برطرف

 ہم دوسروں کا ذکر کر رہے ہیں کہ اتنے موٹے شیشوں کی

 عینک کے ساتھ ہم غلیل بھی نہیں چلا سکتے تھے اور

 صرف چاقو دیکھ کر ہمارہ پاجامہ گیلا ہو جاتا ہے ۔

مگر ایک بڑی عجیب بات ہوئ۔ ہر بوری میں بند لاش

 پہ ایک ستارہ غائب ہو جاتا۔ کمبختوں کا آسیب انکی

 روشنی جیسے ڈھانک دیتا۔

 زیرجامہ کی طرح بدلتی جمہوری حکومتوں کے زمانے

میں ہم نے سوچا چلو میاں زمیں دیکھ فلک دیکھ کے

 مصداق یہاں سے نکل چلتے ہیں یہاں تو چودھویں

 کا چاند بھی پھیکا پڑ گیا ہے بلکہ رمضان شو؛ل اور

 ذی الحج کا پہلی کا چاند تو سرخ رنگ کا ہونے لگا ہے۔

 تذکرہ ء غوثیہ میں مذکور ہے کہ ایک پیر صاحب بمعہ

 مریدوں کے کہیں جا رہے تھے۔شام ہوئی تو پڑاؤ ڈالا۔

 ہر مرید کے ذمے خدمت کی۔ کسی کے ذمے پا نی، کسی

 کے ذمے آگ وغیرہ۔ جس مرید کے ذمے آگ کی تھی، وہ

 خالی واپس آ گیا۔ کہنے لگا میاں، اس بیاباں میں آدم نہ

 آدم زاد، آگ کہاں سے لاؤں۔ پیر صاحب ناراض ہو کر

 بولے، تمہیں اپنی طاقت کا انداذہ نہیں، میرے مرید ہو،

 زمین نہ سہی، جاؤ جہنم سے لے کر آؤ۔ مرید جہنم پہنچ

 گئے، دیکھا تو وہاں لق ودق میدان، بیچ میں ایک پتھر پہ

 ایک آدمی بیٹھا ہے۔ پوچھا تم کون، اس نے کہا، جھنم کا

 نگران۔ انہوں نے آگ مانگی تو وہ بولا میاں یہاں آگ

 کہاں۔ یہ حیران ہو کر بولے، جہنم میں آگ نہیں! وہ

بولا یہاں آگ نہیں ہوتی جو آتا ہے اپنی آگ ساتھ لے کر

 آتا ہے، چناچہ ہم نےاپنی آگ اور اپنا  تان توبڑا اٹھایا،

 جورو جاتا کو بغل میں دبایا اور ٹورونٹو میں اتر گۓ۔

 یہاں پہنچھ کر تو چکر سے آ گۓ۔ ہر شاخ پہ ایک نیا پرندہ۔

 ایک سو چھیانوے ملکوں کے لوگ اور خدا کا غضب

 اسقدر یہودوہنود کہ دیکھ دیکھ کر دماغ سن ہو جاۓ۔

 کمبخت آبکو اپنے حال میں ایسا پھنساتے ہیں توبہ۔

 اپنے ملک والے تو ذرا اتنظار کرتے ہیں، بندہ ذرا

سیٹل ہو جاۓ نوکری گھر اور گاڑی ذرا بہتر ہو جاۓ

 تو منہ لگائیں گے۔ مگر یہ لوگ تو پہلے دن سے ہی

 آپ  پر کام شروع کر دیتے ہیں۔ ہر بات پہ حوصلہ ہر

 وقت مدد کے لیۓ حاضر۔ شروع میں ہم جب پیغمبری

 وقت سے گزر رہے تھے اور ہمارے بھائی ہمیں بتا

 رہے تھے کہ یہ سب ہماری کھال کی وجہ سے ہے۔

 ایک ہندوستانی ہمارے پاس آۓ اور بولے کہ میاں شرو‏ع

 میں ہر  کوئی اس چکی سے گزرتا ہے۔ یہاں مواقع

 بیشمار، ہمت نہ ہارو لگے رہو۔ پھر ہنس کہ بولے کہ

 یار ہمارے تمہارے ملک میں اگر کوئی حبشی آجاۓ تو

 کیا سلوک کرو گے۔ بات کڑوی تھی جو اس بات کا ثبوت

 تھی کہ سچی تھی۔ ایک بات عجیب تھی کہ آسمان پہ

 ستارے کہیں زیادہ تھے۔

موسم بے تحاشہ سرد مگرجیسے ہی سردی چھٹی

 اسکی وجہہ سمجہ میں آ گئ۔ اگر یوسفی صاحب ہوتے

 تو کہتے “بقول مرزا خدا نے اس قوم پر سردی کی مار اس

 لیۓ ماری ہے کہ یہ قوم ذرا سی گرمی میں کپڑے اتار دیتی ہے”

ہم ایک دوست کے ہمراہ ڈرائیونگ لائسنس کے دفتر

 گۓ۔ باہر نکل کر وہ بولے دیکھیئے کیا انتظام تھا آپ

لائن میں لگتے گئے اور کام ہوتا چلا گیا، ہم بو لے میاں

 اگر یہ پاکستان ہوتا تو ہم باہر بن کباب والے کو پیسے دیتے

 اور پکا لائسنس لے کر گھر چلے جاتے۔ وہ اپنا مونہہ لے کر

 رہ گۓ۔

نوکری بھی ملی تو بنک میں۔ آنکھیں چوپٹ کھل گئیں۔

 کمبخت سود کو سود کہتے ہیں۔ ختنہ کر کہ مشرف بااسلام

 کر کہ مارک اپ نہیں کہتے۔ یہاں تک کہ گدھوں کو

 سود پہ سود لینا بھی نہیں آتا۔ اب آپ دیکھیے ہمارے یہاں

 مارک اپ کے ہونے سے کتنی بڑی معاشی تبدیلی آ گئی ہے۔

 دودھ کی نہریں ابل پڑیں۔ ہمارے اٹھارہ بیس فیصد سود کے

 مقابلے میں یہاں صرف چار پانچ فیصد۔ ہونہہ۔

ہنسی یوں آئی کہ جب صوبہ کیوبیک نے آزادی کی بات

 کی تو وہاں ریفرنڈم کروا دیا۔ یہ نہ کیا وہاں کی جامعہ میں

 ٹینک دوڑا دیتے، غداروں کے سروں کے مینار کھڑے کر

دیتے، انکی عورتوں کے ۔۔۔۔۔۔خیر جانے دیجئیے۔

اور تو اور کیوبیک والے بھی ایسے بزدل کہ ریفرنڈم ہار کہ

بیٹھ گۓ۔ نہ دھاندلی کے الزام نہ خودکش حملے۔ آزادی

 کہیں ایسے ملتی ہے ۔ کسی نے کیا خوب کہا ہے۔

جنوں سے اور عشق سے ملتی ہے آزادی

چند دن پہلے کی بات ہے۔ ہمارے گھر کے پاس ریلوے

 اسٹیشن پر وزیراعظم آۓ۔ ہمیں ٹی وی سے پتہ چلا۔

 ہم سکتے میں آگۓ۔ نہ کوئ ہوٹر والی گاڑی، نہ کوئ

بسوں کاجلوس، نہ ہوائ فائرنگ۔ اس سے زیادہ شان سے

 تو ہمارہ کونسلر آتا ہے۔

اپنے مذہب سے محبت کا سنیے۔ ہم اپنی کرسی پہ نماز پڑھ

رہے تھے باس آکر بولا یہاں کیوں پڑھ رہے ہو، ہم نے کہا کہ

 اے بندہ ء خدا اور کہاں پڑھیں۔ وہ گیا اور تھوڑی دیر میں

 نوٹس آ گیا کہ نماز کے اوقات میں بورڈ روم نماز کے لیۓ

 مختص ہو گا۔  کچھ دن پہلے کی بات ہے ہماری بچی

 پوچھنے لگی کہ مسلمان جمعہ کی نماز میں کیسے بم دھماکہ

 کر سکتے ہیں۔ اب ہم اسکو نماز جمعہ میں شہادت کے

 فضائل پر کیا درس دیتے۔ واقعی بچے یہاں بر مذہب سے

 بہت دور ہو جاتے ہیں۔

بات بینک سے شروع ھوئی اور کہاں پہونچ گئ۔ سود کھانے

 والوں کے ساتھ ایسا ہی ہوتا ہے۔ ہمیں برانچ بھی ملی تو خالص

 اہل یہود کے علاقے میں۔ باریش اور لمبے ہیٹ والے ہمیں دیکھ

 کر اور ہم انکو دیکھ کر چکرا گۓ۔ مگر ہم آستینیں چڑھا کر کام

میں جٹ گۓ اور جب انہوں نے دیکھا کہ بندہ کام کرنے والا ہے

تواتنا دھندا دیا کہ ہم کام سمیٹ سمیٹ کہ تھک گۓ۔ آّپ نے

 دیکھا کہ یہ لوگ پیسہ کمانے کے لیۓ کچھ بھی کر سکتے ہیں۔

 مگر ایک بات ہوئی۔ ستارے چھوڑیۓ آسمان پہ کہکشائیں

 جگمگانیں لگیں ہیں۔

کل امی کا فون آیا تھا کہنے لگیں کب تک اس ناپاک

 ملک میں رہو گے۔ میں سکتے میں آ گیا۔ آنکھوں

 کی لیزر سرجری کروا لی ہے۔ آسمان ستاروں بلکہ

کہکشائوں سے مزین و مرصع۔

 اب کیا واپس لوٹ جائوں؟