Birthday symbolizes day 1 of one's life on the mother planet Earth: however, you really don't know what happened when you were born. You are normally told by others, usually your mother, about the events leading to or occurring at the time of your birth.
My mother told me I was born early morning, before dawn, on a chilly night of the usual harsh winter in my hometown or home village. It was Tuesday, she recalled. She did not remember the date. As I later found out, it was probably the 26 Oct 1943, though my primary school record showed it to be 4th Oct 1945. I was born in my ancestoral hometown of Makhad Sharif in district Attock in Punjab. Punjab was then a province of undivided India and is now the largest province of Pakistan.
Makhad Sharif is a historical village built on a hill-top on the banks of river Indus, the largest river in Pakistan. It is also part of the grand Indus Valley civilization. The village has old houses built with rock-stones in the nineteenth century or earlier. The surroundings are fascinating with hills, river, lakes, trees and greengrass. The age-old hobby or sport was 'kabaddi' (wrestling) among the locals. The rich had their businesses out of Makhad Sharif in other towns and cities. Others lived on agriculture, shopkeeping and being household servants. There were no electricity, no gas, no tap water, no telephone, no buses and no flush toilets till 1980's.
According to my mother, I was pinkish-white skinned, weighed heavier than normal, and bore handsome features. I was the sixth son, the eighth child and the last one of my parents, who were married when both aged 14. Early-age marriages were the norms of the day at that time in our society and so were the parents-arranged marriages. Both of my parents belonged to two of the most respected, richest and influential families of Makhad Sharif. Two of my five older brothers and the two older sisters died in their childhood due to illnesses for which adequate medical aid was not available at that time. So, there were only three sons left in the family at the time of my birth.
As my mother stated, I have had several bouts of pneumonia during the first six months of my earthly life while living in my hometown which was known for chilly nights in harsh winter. Alhamdolillah! (Praise to God), I survived all of them, inspite of inadequate medical aid on hand, till the family moved to Karachi. However, it transpired in 1960 that I was afflicted with unresolved pneumonia in my lungs.
The disclosure came by chance when my maternal uncle, whom my mother was visiting along with me in Karachi, took me to an E.N.T. specialist for a check up as he often found me coughing. Subsequent X-ray and pathological tests revealed the unresolved pneumonia. On return to Lahore, I was taken to a physician who treated me for a couple of months and I recovered without much of a hassle.
Karachi was then the only seaport of what is now Pakistan. Today, Karachi is the largest seaport and metropolitan city of Pakistan having an estimated population of 12 million plus; most of the people having migrated from India and other parts of what is now Pakistan and settled here for the sake of jobs, business and industry.
My parents migrated from Delhi (now in India) to Karachi (now in Pakistan) in 1945 and rented a beautiful huge house with a water fountain in the centre of it in the then most posh locality of Jamshed Road in Karachi. However, the stay was short as the movement for the independence of Pakistan entered the final phase and forced the family to shift back to Makhad Sharif owing to communal riots and killings in the city.
Karachi was then the only seaport of what is now Pakistan. Today, Karachi is the largest seaport and metropolitan city of Pakistan having an estimated population of 12 million plus; most of the people having migrated from India and other parts of what is now Pakistan and settled here for the sake of jobs, business and industry.
My parents migrated from Delhi (now in India) to Karachi (now in Pakistan) in 1945 and rented a beautiful huge house with a water fountain in the centre of it in the then most posh locality of Jamshed Road in Karachi. However, the stay was short as the movement for the independence of Pakistan entered the final phase and forced the family to shift back to Makhad Sharif owing to communal riots and killings in the city.
The family came back to Karachi in 1947, just a few months before the sovereign state of Pakistan was born on the 14th of August 1947 through partitioning of India into Muslim majority provinces forming Pakistan and the Hindu majority provinces forming India except Jammu & Kashmir valley which, though a Muslim majority area, acceded to India by virtue of a decree by the Sikh ruler ignoring the will of his majority Muslim subjects. The contentious issue of Kashmir between India and Pakistan originated from the same accession and led to wars between the two countries in 1948, 1965 and 1971.
Our rented house on Jamshed Road had already been taken over by immigrants from India when we returned to Karachi. So, we had no choice but to rent an apartment on the top floor of a building on Marriot Road. The building had four or five storeys and 72 stairs. We used to climb up and down those stairs several times in a day without feeling tired.
Our rented house on Jamshed Road had already been taken over by immigrants from India when we returned to Karachi. So, we had no choice but to rent an apartment on the top floor of a building on Marriot Road. The building had four or five storeys and 72 stairs. We used to climb up and down those stairs several times in a day without feeling tired.
Karachi was a small seaport city at that time with an estimated population of around 300,000 souls and a few buses and cars on road. Being on the top floor of a tall building, we were blessed with fresh air day and night. We did not use fans; airconditioners did not exist. Life was very simple, painless, peaceful and lively. No social-class conflicts, no rich and poor dilemma, no jealousies and no pomp and show. Everybody lived a simple, meaninful and happy life.
My parents, my eldest brother with his wife and children, two other brothers, my self and servants, all lived together in the apartment of four to five rooms. My father started setting up his business afresh. He had a very successful business in Delhi, now in India, exporting lambskins to Britain for making fur coats for ladies. He had all the luxuries of life including first-rate dogs for hunting who were provided with silk bedding and pure milk and ghee (vegetable oil). Our family was the first in our community from Makhad Sharif to own a big American/British car, radio and to live in style.
Migrating from Delhi to Karachi did not prove to be a good omen for my father's business. He had to take a start all over again. Business and industry were yet to develop in the newly established state of Pakistan. My father was quite an entrepreneur but the economic, social and living styles of the people were not yet ripe to consume the products that he could import and market at that time. He introduced Swiss watches and clocks, porcelain crockery, chandeliers, and many other products from Europe but could not find enough buyers. He was also offered dealership of General Motors.
My mother and one of my brothers were afflicted with asthma and their condition deteriorated with every passing day, probably because of the sea winds. So, the family shifted to Malir, a small village at a distance of approximately 20/25kms from Karachi. It was a village mostly occupied by Balochi speaking people. There were only mud houses without electricity, gas, tap water, and other amenities of life. There were no schools and no public transport. My father, brothers and myself used to walk from our house to the railway station to board the train to Karachi every morning and go back every evening the same way. We still occupied the apartment in Karachi which had now become the office of my father.
I was admitted to class II at Sheradon High School, skipping KG and class 1. It happened somewhere in 1952-53. Before I could complete class II, my parents shifted to Quetta in Balochistan, stayed there for a few months and then moved to a small village called Jhatpat near Jacobabad in Sindh and took me along. My father planned to start a new business there relating to forestry after his unsuccessful attempt to get into business in Quetta. This small village had no school. We stayed there till 1954.
Back in Karachi,I was admitted to City Girls Secondary School in class III. It was a co-ed school upto class V. I shined in class III by topping in every exam. I stayed at this school from 6 July 54 to 30 Apr 1955, according to the school report card that I still hold with me.
After having passed class III by securing the highest position in my class, I was moved to Lahore alongwith my mother and an elder brother in 1955. My brother was transferred by his employers from Karachi to Lahore and my mother accompanied him. I was admitted to Rangmahal Mission High School in class VI in 1956, jumping from class III, to make up for the lost years. There began the nightmare of a 13-year old boy who had topped in his previous school. I just could not grasp the maths of VI class. Every time I failed and I failed often, my maths teacher Mr. Alam charged me to his baton. I could never pass maths so long as he was there. I am sure he did not know my predicament that I had jumped from class III to VI.
In the year 1957, my parents and I moved to Rawalpindi. This time again, my father had to go there to look for a business opportunity. I was admitted to Islamia High School in class VII. There I turned out to be a super star topping in every subject including maths. I am sure it was because of the encouragement and support that I received from my maths teacher Mr. Nawab. When I left school to go back to Lahore with my parents after a year, my class teacher-cum-maths teacher Mr. Nawab and the entire class saw me off at the railway station and also garlanded me to the utter astonishment of the onlookers at the Rawalpindi railway station.
My parents, my eldest brother with his wife and children, two other brothers, my self and servants, all lived together in the apartment of four to five rooms. My father started setting up his business afresh. He had a very successful business in Delhi, now in India, exporting lambskins to Britain for making fur coats for ladies. He had all the luxuries of life including first-rate dogs for hunting who were provided with silk bedding and pure milk and ghee (vegetable oil). Our family was the first in our community from Makhad Sharif to own a big American/British car, radio and to live in style.
Migrating from Delhi to Karachi did not prove to be a good omen for my father's business. He had to take a start all over again. Business and industry were yet to develop in the newly established state of Pakistan. My father was quite an entrepreneur but the economic, social and living styles of the people were not yet ripe to consume the products that he could import and market at that time. He introduced Swiss watches and clocks, porcelain crockery, chandeliers, and many other products from Europe but could not find enough buyers. He was also offered dealership of General Motors.
My mother and one of my brothers were afflicted with asthma and their condition deteriorated with every passing day, probably because of the sea winds. So, the family shifted to Malir, a small village at a distance of approximately 20/25kms from Karachi. It was a village mostly occupied by Balochi speaking people. There were only mud houses without electricity, gas, tap water, and other amenities of life. There were no schools and no public transport. My father, brothers and myself used to walk from our house to the railway station to board the train to Karachi every morning and go back every evening the same way. We still occupied the apartment in Karachi which had now become the office of my father.
I was admitted to class II at Sheradon High School, skipping KG and class 1. It happened somewhere in 1952-53. Before I could complete class II, my parents shifted to Quetta in Balochistan, stayed there for a few months and then moved to a small village called Jhatpat near Jacobabad in Sindh and took me along. My father planned to start a new business there relating to forestry after his unsuccessful attempt to get into business in Quetta. This small village had no school. We stayed there till 1954.
Back in Karachi,I was admitted to City Girls Secondary School in class III. It was a co-ed school upto class V. I shined in class III by topping in every exam. I stayed at this school from 6 July 54 to 30 Apr 1955, according to the school report card that I still hold with me.
After having passed class III by securing the highest position in my class, I was moved to Lahore alongwith my mother and an elder brother in 1955. My brother was transferred by his employers from Karachi to Lahore and my mother accompanied him. I was admitted to Rangmahal Mission High School in class VI in 1956, jumping from class III, to make up for the lost years. There began the nightmare of a 13-year old boy who had topped in his previous school. I just could not grasp the maths of VI class. Every time I failed and I failed often, my maths teacher Mr. Alam charged me to his baton. I could never pass maths so long as he was there. I am sure he did not know my predicament that I had jumped from class III to VI.
In the year 1957, my parents and I moved to Rawalpindi. This time again, my father had to go there to look for a business opportunity. I was admitted to Islamia High School in class VII. There I turned out to be a super star topping in every subject including maths. I am sure it was because of the encouragement and support that I received from my maths teacher Mr. Nawab. When I left school to go back to Lahore with my parents after a year, my class teacher-cum-maths teacher Mr. Nawab and the entire class saw me off at the railway station and also garlanded me to the utter astonishment of the onlookers at the Rawalpindi railway station.
Around the same time, I was struck by acute acne pimples spread on both cheeks of my face. I used to have terrible itching and medicated soap and ointments did not appear to work. Ultimately, a doctor prescribed an ointment which did wonders and the pimples subsided after almost a year of painful itching and ultimately vanished but not without leaving mild scars on my cheeks.
Back in Lahore and the same school in 1958, I progressed well in all subjects except maths. This time it was a different teacher Mr. Azhar but somehow I failed and got punished after every class test. I just could not understand maths and algebra. There was nobody to help me out of my predicament, neither the teacher nor anybody at home.
I started penfriendship, stamp collecting and playing cricket in and around 1958. I cultivated penfriendship in several English speaking countries and exchanged stamps with many fellow stamp collectors in Europe and America. These two hobbies fascinated me and I devoted a good deal of my time to writing letters and collecting stamps at the cost of my studies.
Inspite of my diversion to hobbies, I was lucky to pass all subjects except maths in the final examination of class X but the failure in maths dropped down my overall grade and landed me in third division. I was happier than sad to have at least passed the final exam to get into a college. I remember going to the shrine of the saint Hazrat Osman Ali Hajveri (popularly known as Data Ganj Baksh) in Lahore and praying for just passing the final exam. I am still spiritually linked with the great giant and visit his tomb off and on while in Lahore.
The years from 1943-1961 were quite tumultuous for me, shifting from one abode to the other and from one school to the other. Being the youngest in the family, my parents chose to take me along wherever they went without probably realizing the consequences of a broken academic path of their son. My father could read, write and speak English without having gone through regular or formal schooling. My mother had no schooling at all but she learned to read our native language Urdu through private tutoring at home after her marriage. Both of them did their best to provide the best available education to their sons, older than me, when my parents were settled at one place. So, the worth of good education was obvious to them.
My inconsistent schooling and, that too, in Urdu-medium institutions created two problems for me. First, I could not come to terms with maths and algebra. Second, I could not read, write and speak English with the right accent, fluency and understanding. These two handicaps, at times very frustrating, lived with me for many years to come, especially when two of my three older brothers could speak good English with fluency as they had received education at a first-rate English-medium school under the Cambridge system.
Back in Lahore and the same school in 1958, I progressed well in all subjects except maths. This time it was a different teacher Mr. Azhar but somehow I failed and got punished after every class test. I just could not understand maths and algebra. There was nobody to help me out of my predicament, neither the teacher nor anybody at home.
I started penfriendship, stamp collecting and playing cricket in and around 1958. I cultivated penfriendship in several English speaking countries and exchanged stamps with many fellow stamp collectors in Europe and America. These two hobbies fascinated me and I devoted a good deal of my time to writing letters and collecting stamps at the cost of my studies.
Inspite of my diversion to hobbies, I was lucky to pass all subjects except maths in the final examination of class X but the failure in maths dropped down my overall grade and landed me in third division. I was happier than sad to have at least passed the final exam to get into a college. I remember going to the shrine of the saint Hazrat Osman Ali Hajveri (popularly known as Data Ganj Baksh) in Lahore and praying for just passing the final exam. I am still spiritually linked with the great giant and visit his tomb off and on while in Lahore.
The years from 1943-1961 were quite tumultuous for me, shifting from one abode to the other and from one school to the other. Being the youngest in the family, my parents chose to take me along wherever they went without probably realizing the consequences of a broken academic path of their son. My father could read, write and speak English without having gone through regular or formal schooling. My mother had no schooling at all but she learned to read our native language Urdu through private tutoring at home after her marriage. Both of them did their best to provide the best available education to their sons, older than me, when my parents were settled at one place. So, the worth of good education was obvious to them.
My inconsistent schooling and, that too, in Urdu-medium institutions created two problems for me. First, I could not come to terms with maths and algebra. Second, I could not read, write and speak English with the right accent, fluency and understanding. These two handicaps, at times very frustrating, lived with me for many years to come, especially when two of my three older brothers could speak good English with fluency as they had received education at a first-rate English-medium school under the Cambridge system.
Around 1960-61, I was diagnosed with T.B. in my lungs, by sheer luck. It happened because of unresolved pneumonia in childhood. Since it was in earlier stages, a short treatment from a chest diseases specialist in Lahore cured it for ever.
I think I was born to be romantic. My first 'romance' took place with my lady Maths teacher in Class III, twice of my age. I started writing lyrics on a slip and placing it in the homework note book. She would check the notebook and remove the lyrics slip without uttering a word to me.
My second 'romance' occured with a girl classmate in Class III. She was also my neighbour in Karachi.I never said a word to her about liking or loving her; nor did she. It was only on my side, not hers.
My third 'romance' happened with a girl of my age in Multan. We were related and frequently saw each other on our visits to each other's house. But we never said a word about liking or loving each other. Luckily, it was a mild fire on both ends. Her mother once suggested I should marry her daughter. But that wasn't possible as I was just 15 and had to go a long way to complete my education and earn a living.
I had always been a very 'shareef'' romantic person and never indulged in indecency of any sort or kind. I think these were just romantic skirmishes, nothing else. Besides, there has always been a strong binding within me that I should indulge in a love affair ONLY with the girl whom I could marry. I could never find such a girl till 1976 when I was married to the girl whom I never saw. It was an arranged marriage but there was a conviction with me that ALLAH will certainly give me the kind of spouse that I always wanted. And exactly that happened.
Next episode from 1961-1967: Life on Campus on http://livethylife2.blogspot.com. Read on...
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