It was an unusual morning; Baba
(my father) was getting ready in a hurry and asking Ammi (my mother) to wrap up
some additional suits for his journey. She looked sad, terrified and kept wiping
tears from her eyes. Father looked pale too, and with a fake smile, said
goodbye to us and boarded a Tonga (horse carriage) for the bus stop where he
would catch a bus for Sukkur. He was to appear in a court of law for the final
hearing where verdict was to be issued regarding his alleged embezzlement with
government funds. While leaving he said if I fail to turn up by evening, it would
mean the decision went against me and I am sent to jail.
Much to our delight and
expectations, father returned home late evening; garlanded and running a huge grin
under his sprawling mustache. This time he was vindicated, as against the previous
occasion, when he had spent a few months in Nara Jail, Sukkur. It was in 1966. By
then I was six years old kid. For the next ten years my father’s job remained
on the anvil due to not an impeccable record. Eventually, he was forcibly
retired. At that tender age I had in mind the only thing; father’s work was not
good enough.
During the same period, we,
the kids of our street, began offering prayers in the nearby mosque. It was
more a fun than fulfilling the religious obligation because we were yet to
learn offering Salaah, the Prayers, correctly. It was hardly second or third
day at the mosque when my slippers were stolen and I returned home crying hapless
and helplessly. This incidence kept me away from the mosques for many years. Nevertheless,
I kept offering Friday prayers where our (kids) sole intention was to push each
other in the Salaah assembly and utter “Ameen” as loud as we could during a
joint dua. Respectable from every angle, Imam of the mosque looked to me a
person more dependent on rich neighbors than our Creator.
I also started listening to
music at a very early age. Both Pakistani and Indian songs airing on radio was
a great enjoyment for me. And with songs, I developed a habit of liking movies;
the habit that was going to last forever. The action movies were my favorite,
and those film heroes depicted as dacoits were role models for me. I used to
make a wish in the childhood that some dacoit-gang may kidnap me and train me so
that I become a dacoit, go on a killing spree of all cruel landlords, usurpers,
industrialists, and those who looted & exploited poor. The captured
fortunes would then be distributed among poor people.
In mid 1970s we bought a new
tractor on bank installments. On a very next day my elder brother still in
teens took it on main road driving recklessly and hit a horse-driven cart
(Tonga). Our driver took the responsibility and pretended before the police that
he had hit the Tonga accidently. While the driver was in police custody father
took me along with him to the police station to get the driver freed. I still
remember the police behavior with my father. They were rude, scolding, abusive,
insulting and shameful. It was too difficult to withstand such a treatment. After
begging, paying bribe and compensation, the driver was finally released. That
incident was just more than enough for me to stay away from opting police as a career.
My father always wanted me
to choose an engineering career, civil engineering in fact, to become either
irrigation engineer or roads engineer so that I could (mis)use power, authority
and illicit means to become instantly rich. I did become a civil engineer, got
a job in a public organization but failed to fulfill my father’s dream. I
proved a failure in the world’s eyes because I was a coward; listened to my
conscience and ended up working in offices for desk-job assignments which are
commonly known as “khudday-line positions” i.e. non-earning positions. Though
still resisting, sometimes I feel weak enough and get tempted to follow the
same course everyone is following; earning through dishonest means and enjoy
comfortable life.
In last 30 years, I have worked
with scores of good, bad and ugly officers. Among bad and ugly they can be
termed as weird, greedy and obnoxious. At the same time I had an opportunity of
working with an expert who was and remains my role model in terms of technical
knowledge, competence, efficiency and above all, honesty. Late Mr. Nisar Ali
Akhtar, a retired Vice President/Engineer from NESPAK was an advisor on a
project where I used to work with him for almost 5 years during early 2000
years. He was a gem of a person, with a
treasure of technical knowledge and experience. An arrogant and snob for many
but he was a kind hearted, knowledge sharing, helping colleague and a source of
guidance for me. His company is responsible in making me stronger and tough
against transgression. May Allah (SWT) have mercy on him and have him his
eternal abode in Jannah. A’meen. He appears in my prayers regularly.
After completing MBA in the
middle age I got the opportunity to teach part time at University level. It was
real fun and satisfying. Just wonder if I could have made it to a better
teacher had I chosen this career! But then teaching was neither considered as an
ideal profession for engineers nor did it earn a handsome living in early 1980s.
Finally, I must reiterate
that a role model for a Muslim can only be Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and his
companions, for any action, at each step and in every walk of life. Let’s pray
for revival of our character and purity of our thoughts to be able to follow
their footsteps.
