Saal e Nau

Ae saal e nau

Khush amdeed

Tujh se hain waabasta

Gaye baras ki tarah

Kuchh waldain ke khwab

Rizq me barkat

Baiton ka achha rozgar

Baityon ke naik rishte

Apna chhota sa ghar

Kaaba ka tawaaf

Hijr aswad ko bosa, aur

Aaqa (pbuh) ke dar pe haazri.

Bus!

Is baar bhi agar

Ye tamanayain, ye aarzooain

Khwab hi rahe

Tujh se waabasta rakhaain ge

Yehi tawaquaat phir

Agle baras!

More the Meds, Merrier the Men!

Anyone still out there who’s not on regular medicines? If the answer is in affirmative, you deserve a 21 Cannons salute. Considering that our age-group is still in mid 50s, it looks highly unlikely and with a faint chance that you are not taking regular medicines. We all are and must be one way or other put on some meds by doctors for diabetics, high cholesterol, high blood pressure, arthritic, gastrointestinal disorders, asthma, and least but not the least, thyroid etc.

In 1996 I took my wife to Executive Clinic, Agha Khan Hospital, Karachi for a random health checkup. For the sake of fun I also registered myself for the checkup too though I considered myself in great health and fit as fiddle. The test results were shocking; I was running high cholesterol level. Doctor advised me to reduce and control the cholesterol with physical activities; brisk walk, games, exercises and swimming etc. He also advised me to cut on red meat and egg yolks. Much to my embarrassment my wife’s results were within normal range. The very next day evening I was jogging on the footpath of the main road of our residential colony. And most importantly my eating habits went through transformation, forever.

When I turned 45 the text before me started dancing blurredly. I couldn’t read vividly, and use computer to write unless the font size increased to 16 plus. The result! I turned bespectacled for the rest of my life. In the meanwhile, around the same period and still under 50, I fainted twice, briefly though, on different occasions. It was diagnosed that fainting was owing to my lower body sugar level. Around 53 I started feeling migraine frequently. The painkillers gave relief but it remained recurring. Finally, I was given the news that I was carrying persistently high blood pressure. More detailed examination and tests, and doctors put me on regular medicines for blood pressure and cholesterol. The doctor has told me that these meds will be life long, if I want to live long. And recently, I started feeling pain in my left knee while offering Namaz (Salah). Arthritis is knocking perhaps.

In addition, irregular intake of medicines keeps growing with the age too. Throat infections, gastrointestinal disorders, thyroid, stomach ulcers, flu & fever, etc., invade us with more frequency as our body weakens. We have gone long beyond the prevention stage and struggling in remedial stage now. Hence, medicines on our side bed table are adding up to soothe us.

Ageing process never stops. This is what I want to emphasize here, no matter how physically you feel fit.  The medicines keep growing with the passing years. Body goes through changes without notice, and sometimes with visible signs. Mental and physical harmony gets disturbed and miscommunication takes place between them. For example you may consider physically fit to jog for one kilometer but you give up after 300 meters panting heavily. You may think you can run across the road while fast approaching vehicles are visible in your direction but …… don’t ever try this. It could be extremely fatal.

While we live mentally active and smart all the life our physique begins giving up slowly. The synchronization of both can be achieved to some extent with "Dua and Dawa" (Prayers including meditation and Meds). I feel it sometimes depressing over this changing phenomenon but the reality is; our time is coming up. We have already lived much of our lives. The rest of our life demands regular intake of meds to survive with some degree of “managing things ourselves” rather than “remaining dependant on our young family members, nurses or to the worst; old homes”.

So, the message is: Never feel agitated to add up meds with each passing year. Be happy and live lively till the last.

 

Part VI - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Part VI

I attended Government Pilot Secondary School from class 6^th to 10^th during 1970-75. It was a real fun time at secondary education level. Good teachers (often punished us on incomplete homework), neat & clean, wide airy rooms, learning, chatting, gossiping and playing went all along. During winters, most of the classes would run in open, under the warm sun, in the parks and gardens in front of the school building.

Break time or recess was anxiously awaited when all pupils would rush to the side gate of the school where they could buy ample eatables like Chholay, Dahi-Bhallay, RahaaN (boiled beans), toffees, Layee (a sweetener with a shape of flat sheet about half an inch thick), peanuts, etc. within 5 or 10 paisa coins. I used to get 10 paisa pocket money which later increased to 50 paisa by the time I completed secondary schooling. When the school time was over, we would all run to the railway line (built on high embankment crossing between Jinnah Bagh and Civil Hospital) to watch a train with steam engine chugging on the track from Sukkur. It was not mere watching and enjoying the train, we used to put coins on the track to see them overrun and get inflated under heavy and huge train wheels. 

It was (it is) a grand and beautiful school building with a large playground. Regular sports (athletics) activities, cricket and hockey tournaments kept our afternoons very busy. Besides, regular Scouting Camps held almost twice a year when students-cum-scouts turned from all over the country to Larkana. Being a very shy boy I never participated in any of such activities but loved to see my elder brother Munir in almost every such event.

We, I and Munir, used to commute school on a Sohrab bicycle that our father had bought us. We would go together in the morning but would often return separately; one of us would take the bicycle back home. Once we both forgot to take back the bicycle to home thinking that other would ride it. In the afternoon when we needed it for buying some grocery, we found it missing. We ran to our school for it and found it parked alone in the Lot.

My two classmates who were cousins to each other; Kareem Jamali and Aijaz Jamali commuted daily on their respective bicycles from Jamali Goth, about 3 miles away, on eastern part of city outskirts on Aaqil Road. This area is brimming with Guava and Date orchards. Guava of Larkana is famous all over the country for its sweet taste and flavor. It ripens in cold winter season. As the temperature drops, guava gets sweeter and tastier. Aijaz was my best friend and therefore, we used to visit his orchards on weekends plucking guavas from trees and enjoy eating them. Usually he would guide us which one to pluck as we could hardly recognize and differentiate a ripe and sweet guava from the rest. He would also lead us to the lone guava tree in his orchard that bore seedless guavas. That was the sweetest and tastiest breed.

As we, brothers, moved into class 6 and 7 respectively, our father arranged a tutor named Mr. Narayin Das who would come at our residence in the afternoon/evening for teaching us English and Mathematics predominantly but Science as well. Mr. Das was an excellent teacher but very fearsome too. He spoke hoarsely and his hand was quite heavy. When he would slap us across the face it left his finger marks on our cheeks. Besides, the room echoed with the slap sound. On one such occasion our Mom could not resist, dashed into the room and complained to the teacher as to why he was hitting her children so hard. The teacher felt embarrassed and tried to justify that her kids were being inattentive and obstinate. From next year onwards Mr. Das taught us at some other place near Surhiyo Padhar where he could slap us across our faces at his liberty.  

It’s worthwhile to recall that during our schooling time the favourite hobbies a good student could have were; collecting postage stamps, having pen-friendships, recipient of international magazines and relevant printed material (free of cost) and be a member of some children’s social organizations. I poked my nose everywhere but nothing doing. Wrote many letters to all embassies in Islamabad for sending me some literature about their respective countries, only China and Saudi Arabia responded but that too only for a couple of times. Tried to get into pen-friendships but remained successful only once, that too from an aged person hailing from Mastung, Balochistan who used to write in very difficult Urdu. Our Classmate Mukhtiar Shaikh (Works in Customs, Karachi, I reckon) was a genius one in getting involved in all of the above activities with enviable degree of success. With the help of Mukhtiar I remained, for a short while, member of a children committee running under a Sindhi Children Magazine called “Gulan Jehra Barira” meaning “Flowers-like children”. Such committees existed in almost all cities and towns of Sindh. 

In mid 70s while preparing for our board examinations i.e. class 9^th and 10^th I along with three classmates namely Najeeb Bhutto, Owais Laghari (now lives in US/Canada) and Khushal Das (migrated to India) would visit Circuit House Park, Locomotive Shed Park or Gyan (Zulfiqar) Bagh in the wee hours of the each day for study. Our preferred place was however, Circuit House Park. Loco Shed Park was usually crowded with boys hailing from Darri Muhalla (most of them belonging to Shaikh and Hindu communities) while Gyan Bagh was not ideally located (near a graveyard). We all were average students and mostly relied on cramming books and notes, though my friends considered me as better among us at studies. We would hardly study for half an hour sitting away from each other in the different corners of the Park, and then resort to playing, exercising/stretching, doing athletics; long jumps, and high jumps over bicycle or going to the nearby Rice Canal to enjoy bathing in its shallow water at one of its banks.

We also happened to be in the same cricket team called Shaheen Cricket Club Rialy Bagh where Najeeb used to live. Our team consisted of Najeeb’s 5 other elder and younger brothers named: Ashfaq, Riaz, Rizwan, Irfan, etc. Owais was a good all-rounder, Najeeb, a good batsman while I (considered myself better at bowling and fielding) and Khushal (we called him Dhukkai, a fluke hitter) were just there to fill in the gap and to make a team of 11 players. Continued ……

Part V - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Part V

I studied class 5^th in P.V. School near Kennedy Market. This market was a modern and beautiful commercial building named after slain US President John Kennedy. Some of my classmates I remember in Class V were: Aijaz Jamali (not sure he was there!), Farooq Gaad (Died in 2010), Sikandar (gave up further education due to poverty and became a Tonga driver), a girl named Zaib-un-Nisa, etc.

With simple life and abundance of time (remember that no one owned Refrigerator, TV, Telephone, etc.) we would spend much of our time playing various games, like; Gilli-Danda (Deeti Dakar, in Sindhi), Pithoo, Wanjh-a-Wati (In Urdu they used to call it; Palay Palay) and Kho-Kho. It was a girlish game that we, boys and girls, used to play together. Later after growing up, we started playing it separately. My young sisters would play Ball-Pikklay. It was like tossing a Ping Pong ball in the air and catching it before landing while picking seashells (coffee beans shaped called Kaudi) cleanly from the floor. The best place to play Gulli-Danda and Pithoo was a wide but deserted street along Girls Primary School near Post office. Other advantage of playing there was that it had a small open drain on only one side of the street i.e. we would not have to retrieve the Gulli and Pithoo ball from filthy drain frequently. Few other games were Rope skipping, and Hop-scotching; marking lines and squares on the floor with a piece of coal or chalk, throwing an object in the last pattern/square and retrieving it while hop-scotching without touching the lines.

Our youngest of siblings Noor was born in 1970. His birth was awaited since long because parents wanted to have 3rd son before they stopped further production. He was named as Noor about 5 years ago. In between my two sisters Nasim and Yasmeen were born. Until Noor I was adored more than anyone else among all siblings. Nevertheless, the whole family was delighted on arrival of Noor. As he started growing up, our house got flooded with toys, not costlier though. When he turned 3-4 years old, father bought him a toy-car with paddles that he instantaneously learned to drive. Father, Munir or me; one of us would always run behind him in the streets as he drove his toy-car almost every day. In the late evenings one of us would also take him to the railway station as he enjoyed watching moving and stationary trains. At times we would make him sit in the passenger car of the train as it stood briefly on the station.

Our grains, onions and some other traditional vegetables for home consumption usually came from the ancestral village where we had some land holdings. Sacks of wheat and rice remained stored in our house. Mother would wash some wheat to cleanse it from dirt and other impurities almost every month. We would help him wash it and then keep it for drying upstairs on Charpai in the sun. Once dried completely she would give either of Munir or me in a canister contained about 10 kg of wheat to get it grind into flour from the Chakki (Grinding machine) located at some distance from the home. We would put it on our shoulder on both ways. Regarding grocery, I would usually be assigned to buy vegetables while father or Munir would buy Mutton, chicken and fish.

Our evenings both in summer and winter were also of routine chores, and predictable in the sense that everyone at home knew what their duties were; during hot summer when the day would begin cooling down we would go to upstairs, line up the Charpai (beds) and lay the bedspreads so that by the time we returned for sleeping the beds get cool down. Father would bring mangoes while returning from the work or anyone of us would buy in the afternoon and these would be immersed into a bucket full of water. Once Mom would prepare rice in the supper we would take the mangoes out of bucket and eat them with rice. Sometimes Pakoray would replace mangoes. Every one of us, siblings, would get four Pakoray to consume with a plate of plain rice. Sometimes we would play tricks; conceal a Pakora in rice and pretend to Mom that we got one less than our share or would hide it for the purpose of revealing it later and enjoying when all had already eaten up their share. My mother would prepare “the finest parathas of the world” that we took in our breakfast before leaving for school.

Around 1972-73, father bought a used motorbike because he was getting it difficult and tiring to paddle bicycle on long hauls. It was a yellow colored 110 CC Honda (or 100 CC Yamaha!) fully loaded (with extra garnishing, lights and a radio transistor installed). Father started learning and driving it simultaneously. A few days later after buying the bike he came home with his hands, arms and knees badly bruised, with some bleeding marks. After getting First Aid he told us with a pale smile about what went wrong with him: While I was driving the bike in the city center an acquaintance waved at me and said hello. I replied back with a smile and waving hands. Here I fall tumbling down on the road injuring myself.  We loved it and laughed back at him. Continued ……

Part IV - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Part IV

In early 1970s, there were three cinema houses namely Royal, Empire and Nigar (Al-Manzar was the forth cinema that started operating in 1974). Royal cinema used to show Urdu family films portraying love stories, social and non-violent subjects. These films featured famous actors like Mohammad Ali, Waheed Murad, Nadeem, and Shahid, etc. And the renowned actresses were Shabnam, Babra Sharif, Deeba, Zeba and Shamim Ara, etc. The Empire Cinema was designated for showing big budget & box office hit movies, including English films during morning (at 11 am) show on Sundays. Whereas Nigar Cinema was exclusively showing hit, full of violence Punjabi films featuring famous actors namely Akmal, Asad Bukhari, Sudheer, Ilyas Kashmiri, Iqbal Hassan, Mazhar Khan, Yousuf Khan, etc. The famous actresses were: Firdaus, Naghma, Asiya, Aliya etc. The legend Punjabi hero Sultan Rahi came to instantaneous fame after the release of “Basheera” perhaps in 1972. Being a movie-worm, especially action films, I used to hover around Empire and Nigar cinemas and stayed away from Royal cinema which showed romantic movies.

Watching movies was our craze even at that tender age. New releases always came to Larkana cinemas about one to two weeks later than Lahore, Karachi and other big cities. This was unacceptable to us. Once I along with Munir traveled to Sukkur on railcar train with the sole purpose to watching some new hits. After reaching Sukkur in the afternoon and securing a room in the hotel on Ghanta Ghar we immediately went to enjoying two consecutive shows in two different cinema houses. Next day we returned home feeling jubilant that we had seen those movies that were still to be released in Larkana.

Our mother was also fond of films. She would spend whole day in house chores but would love to visit a cinema at least in a week for the last show starting at 9 pm till 12 midnight. Usually I or Munir accompany her. Father avoided going late to cinema and preferred sleeping earlier. Sometimes she would go alone too. We would just help her get a Tonga on hire.

I and Munir had established criteria for a best movie; it must contain at least six fighting sequences. Less than six fights, the film would be termed as skunk. If the movie had plenty of fights especially with swords, it got our highest ranking. Watching a film poster in the street or newspaper that would depict a fighting scene we both would get excited and utter a simultaneous sound: Dhainnnnn. It’s an expression equating a similar background music of any fighting sequence.

My classmate and best friend Aijaz Jamali and I would often go and watch matinee shows preferably Hollywood action movies at 3.30 pm in Al-Manzar Cinema, especially during hot summers because of long days. Watching matinee show suited Jamali to reach his village before sunset. But before we headed on for a movie, sharing his bicycle to cinema, we would make detour to drop a utensil at a buffalo barn from where I used to buy fresh milk for our family every afternoon. While on way back from cinema I would collect/buy 2 liter fresh milk and take it to my home.  

It was also a golden but short-lived period for Sindhi film industry as many local language films were released and enjoyed by masses. Some of the successful Sindhi films were Chandoki, Shahru Feroze, Sorath, etc. but Sindhi film industry based in Karachi could not survive and compete with the big and powerful Urdu and Punjabi film industry of Lahore, hence, it slowly vanished from the scene.

Larkana had a big, beautiful and clean Civil Hospital serving middleclass, poor and the needy. Later, upon opening of Chandka Medical College the Civil Hospital was attached to it and went through much extensions and renovation. But till that time, the city had also some famous private practitioner doctors who used to do thronging business (or serving the people!). Some notables were: Dr. Allah Bukhsh (in our street), Dr. Haque, Dr. Tufail Siddiqui and Dr. Roshan Shaikh. Our favorite family doctor was Tufail Siddiqui. He could be called anytime at home to attend the patient in case of any medical emergency. The doctor would merely charge a few Rupees for his visit.

As mentioned above, Dr. Allah Bukhsh ran a GP (General Practitioner) clinic adjacent to our house. He was a recognized MBBS doctor. After mid 70s two more doctors also opened their clinics opposite our house. They were Dr. Fateh Muhammad, a quack (he was compounder with Dr. Haque. When Dr. Haque left Larkana after ethnic violence between indigenous Sindhis and Urdu speaking immigrants from India), and a Homeopathic doctor (forgot his name). My father had nicknamed all of three: Allah Bukhsh as “Saah Peevna” (Blood sucker), Fateh M as “Hun Khun” (Take the prescribed medicine, breathe your last) and Homeopathic as “Choorh Ghut” (Strangulator). Continued .....

Part III - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Part III

Being a younger sibling I was completely copy-cat of Munir, my elder brother. While he was brimming with confidence I was a very shy and lacked confidence, on the contrary. Whatever venture he would attempt I copied and tried the same, with less passion and skill though. From swimming to watching movies, from exercising /jogging and body building to playing cricket, and from acquiring reading habits of Sindhi literature to Urdu stories, digests and novels I poked my nose into everything and everywhere. Since Sindhi literature was not my cup of tea, therefore I spent little time on it whereas I tried my level best for the rest of the stuff. Nevertheless, I excelled in kite flying where Munir was a mere novice one. We both had read almost entire lot of books at Sultan’s Library numbering in nearly 500. Sultan didn’t charge us the book reading rent after some time, and in return we both managed to run his library in our spare time.

In our spare time (we had all the time in the world) we used to sit on the hardware shop located at the mouth of our street. The shop was selling paints, glass, nails, screws, nuts and bolts etc. The owner had full trusted in us and he would often leave his shop in the sweltering hot afternoons to dozing at his home while we ran the shop as salesmen. Interestingly, the top of the line Robbialac (Berger, now) Paint Container weighing 1 gallon (or nearly 5 kg) was priced at 49 Rupees while SPD Paint (the 2^nd best category) Container was available at 25 Rupees.

It was a time everyone used to be called by their nicknames or distorted and broken names, like I was called in the street as Ijjoo (distortion of Aijaz), my elder brother as Munnu (Munir). Other such names in our street were; Manda (a boy who limped named Aslam), Gullri (Rehmat Gull), Gheeta (Zaheer), Wadero (Aslam), Rachhoo (Waqas!), Mukhra (Mukhtiar), Golai (Rehmatullah), Deno (Salahuddin), Lubbi (another Salahuddin), Balloo (Iqbal), Kuro Kuro (Aslam Kathiawari), Jugnu (Karamullah), Diesel (Shabbir), Jhirki (Munir), Punhoo (Muhammad Hassan), two sets of brothers called: Waddo (big; Atta-ur-Rahman and Hafeez) and Nandho (small; Ebad-ur-Rahman and Kalimullah) and so on. Mukhra’s elder brothers were Goldsmiths. They were wealthier and Mukhra had a habit of lifting/slipping some coins from his shop without his elders’ permission. With this ‘lifted’ coins we would enjoy hanging out eating and watching cinema etc.

During this time we used to wear shirts that had pockets underneath the collars too; on either side. We would hide coins in the collar pockets because they were safe from pick pocketing. Some boys would also put currency notes in them. In case of more coins we would push those into the narrow closed funnel like round space for shalwar (pajamas) belt (Azaar-bund) fastened around the waist.

All street boys would usually roam the city in nights particularly in the month of Ramadhan either aimlessly or playing a game. One particular game was “Rung Rung” (color color). After doing Taraveeh we would often begin playing this game. It was like making two groups consisting 4-5 boys each and one group would ask the other to find for them purple (or any other) color and then bring it to them. After that the first group would search for purple color i.e. any piece of pencil, paper, piece of cloth, thread having purple color. Once they get hold of it they would begin a massive hunt in the dark alleys and closed city bazaars for the other group members. On capturing them they would show the purple color to them. The game ends. Now the other group will declare its color. Normally, this went on till Sahar (fasting) time when we retired to our respective homes.

During one such occasion when we two brothers returned home we found our father in waiting and in absolute furious mood over our wasting the whole night instead of studying our books. He tied our hands and feet with Azaar-bunds and left us crying with pain on the floor till our mother came to our rescue.

Punhoo, my friend, just lived across the street. His father Nabi Bakhsh ran a shop selling coal and firewood that was attached to rear side of our house. Punhoo was a special kid of our street because he used to attend one of two English medium schools in the city while rest of us, went to Sindhi/Urdu schools till class five. Punhoo and I had a couple of things in common; we used to watch action English films (without understanding dialogues) and then narrated stories to each other based on our visual comprehension. Punhoo had a quality of narrating in a dramatic way as if he was watching the movie at that moment. Besides, almost every sweltering afternoon in sizzling summer, he would walk to a bus / taxi stand, trap a foreigner tourist and bring them at his house for gossip over a cup of tea. I would usually join them and then we would begin a chat with the European and Caucasian tourists in broken (Tooti Phooti) English. We would resort to asking text book questions: What is your name? What is your country?  What is your father? Do you like our culture, food, and people? Did you like Mohen Jo Daro? Did you like Pakistan? When did you come here? When will you return to your country? Can you give us some gifts? Our vocabulary would not last long, therefore, much of the time the tourists would talk.

 

Once, Punhoo went to Jodhpur, India for a couple of months to meeting his relatives. On return, I grabbed his arm, forced him to sit on the doorstep of our house and asked him to narrate all film stories of about 60 Indian movies that he had watched in Jodhpur, starting from the fighting movies. While sitting with him listening to loud action packed narration, my young sisters also enjoyed listening to Punhoo from inside of the house. This story-telling went on for many days. Continued…..

Part II - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Part-II

As we moved in Larkana my elder brother was registered in 6^th grade that was first year of his English schooling and I went to a Sindhi medium School for 5^th grade called P.V. School near Kennedy Market. Our father had bought a house in the heart of city at 17000 Rupees in a wide street called Merodero Muhalla off Bundar Road (formerly known as Seoo or Seu Bazaar). It was an old house with a grand hall in the center measuring an area of about 25 X 40 ft with its ceiling more than 25 ft high from the floor. The surrounding four rooms were having roof with a height almost half of the central room. There were 3 wooden beams supporting the roof in the short direction and one long steel beam (girder) placed perpendicular supporting the wooden beams. All these beams rested on thick brick cum earthen walls measuring over two feet in thickness.

One of the wooden beams bore the name of the owner of the house inscribed on it which read in Sindhi and English as: Lal Chand Naval-Rai, Advocate, 1896. While going to bed in the same hall with eyes on the inscription I would always wonder whether Mr. Lal Chand’s heirs ever come to know about this house. Unfortunately this grandeur house was demolished by the new owner once the house became a thorn in the eyes of some of our family members as they wanted to get their respective share of money once it was sold out. It did happen in early 2000s.

Our house bearing number B-770 was flanked by two large Neem Trees. On right side it was adjacent to a clinic of notable city doctor called Dr. Allah Bakhsh Shaikh while on left and far side it was adjacent to a shop selling firewood and coal. The next building to firewood shop was a covered small Masjid (mosque) on corner of the street. Firewood shop is also non-existent now but the mosque is still there. On left side our street was connected at the backend to famous Khataan (Pickles) Bazaar and Siddiqui Bazaars (two almost parallel narrow and small bazaars) converging to famous narrow and long Shahi Bazaar in the middle of it. On right side, a narrow street leads into famous ladies Bazaar called Resham Gali.

When we moved in our house in 1969, a faqeer (beggar) had his den at our entrance door, under the Neem Tree. He was blind, could speak only Pashtu, and would sit and sleep there. People passing in the street would throw coins at him, and he would survive on food served to him by local residents. My father tried to dislocate or relocate him but the beggar resisted fiercely, thus, father had to give up. The beggar lived there in the street for many more years before dying naturally.

Two communities predominantly used to live in our street; Sindhi Shaikhs (Hindus who stayed back and converted to Islam during partition of India vis-à-vis creation of Pakistan) and Urdu speaking (migrated from India) called Muhajirs. I had a little exposure to Urdu language during my early schooling i.e. class 3 and 4, listening to Urdu/Hindi (rather Indian) songs on a large radio (of the size of old box TV type) placed at a fixed point at the central location of the house and connected with an antenna to receive signals at the roof, reading film advertisements and animated cartoon pictorial “Tarzan” serial in Urdu “Jang” newspaper that was delivered at our door step daily in Ratodero town too. But speaking Urdu was an altogether quite a learning process. I started picking Urdu slowly by interacting with street children while playing marbles, watching movies, kite flying, and roaming in city streets aimlessly.

Once I went to buy some Pakoray and Kachori (spicy snacks made from Gram flour and deep fried in mustard oil) from an Urdu speaking Bihari (migrated from Bihar, India) at a Bundar road kiosk near Tonga Stand. I waited long with frustration as the salesman preferred over me the elder customers. I got disappointed and grumpily shouted at him in Urdu; Bhai! Hum Ko Bhi Tu Dega Hae Na! Everyone standing at the kiosk including my elder brother (who spoke Urdu fluently by then) burst into laughter.

Just at the junction of our street with Seu Bazaar (Bundar Road) there were three shops on left side; a shop selling paints, window glass and hardware, a closed shop used as store, and a shop selling and repairing goods for Tongas (Horse-driven passenger carts). On right side, a public hand pump was installed for drinking water. A small kiosk facing the main road and was build on an encroached public space whose back wall served as a kind of privacy for the poor labor who took baths at this hand pump. This area used to serve as daily wages labor market every morning for construction of building works.

The kiosk was owned by a handicapped (lost his legs under a running train) man named Sultan who mainly worked as a book-binder where school children would get their books and copies bind with hard cover so that they could last for a year. Sultan used to tell us that he was the runaway child until accidently he fell under a running train and lost his legs; one from the knee, other at the ankle. Besides, this kiosk also served as a library renting small sized story books and spying novels popularly known as Imran Series (by Ibne Safi). All were in Urdu language. This kiosk-cum-library was a point of major temptation to me and my elder brother.  Continued….

Life Cycle in 100 Words

Time ticks in

Life gets underway.

New born baby and all smiles around

Cute toddler and the darling of elders

Elementary learning in Mom’s lap

Time ticks on.

                    

Schooling and adolescence

Etiquettes and ethics

Thrills and adventures

Time ticks on.

Dreams and desires

Gags and giggles

Friends and brawls

Time ticks on.

Sweethearts and heartthrobs

Unrequited love and compromises

Sorrows and solaces

Time ticks on.

Career and comforts

Marital knot and raising family

Job stability and advancements

Time ticks on.

Retirement and solitude

Ageing and ailments

Memories and medicines

Transience and eternity

Time ticked away

Life begins a new cycle.

Part I - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Part-I

My ancestral village, birthplace too, is located almost exactly between Larkana and Ratodero; former is a larger town (city, some may call it now), a district headquarters then but now a divisional headquarters, and the latter a Tehsil (one of many units of a district on administrative grounds; also called ‘Taluka’ in Sindhi) town. It is mere 2 miles from Garhi Khuda Bakhsh Bhutto, a renowned village and eternal resting place of unfortunate Bhutto family.

My father, perhaps the only one in the entire village who was educated to a respectable level, decided to move his family from the village to Ratodero for two reasons; he was serving as a clerk in an office there, and the future of his children. Hence, we shifted to Ratodero in early 1963. I came to senses in this town though I very faintly remember migration on a bullock-cart (now, this could be a mere visualization after listening to this tale many a times from my elder brother). My father got me registered in a Primary Sindhi School in 1965 and I went on to complete my fourth grade here before moving to Larkana in 1969.

While still in Ratodero we never missed an opportunity to visit Larkana, situated only 18 miles away and connected with paved/metallic road. It was a city bustling with a number of bazaars that remained opened even after sunset, three cinema houses, a large bus stand and most importantly, a Railway Station. Our father would often hire a Willys Jeep ( its’ engine would not run with key ignition but with a handle inserted and rotated swiftly from its’ front engine side) in the afternoons and take whole family to visit Larkana to watch a Pakistani Urdu film and return back to home at midnight. That was good olden peaceful era when you knew nothing about kidnappers or terrorists. Nevertheless, father would still carry a licensed revolver with him for safety from wild boars, jackals and dacoits. I remember, once while driving back to Ratodero in middle of the night, father sitting on front seat along with driver suddenly shot at some object with his revolver. It was a wild boar, he said. We, however, didn’t stop and continued our journey.

Let me share my first ever adventure of traveling to Larkana with a classmate named Sheroo. After coming back from school I dropped the bag at home and without informing my Mom, we departed by bus for Larkana only to buy a booklet of newly released Urdu film whose songs we loved to listen to and enjoyed a lot at the tender age of less than 10 years. It took us about an hour to reach there. I was carrying about 75 Paisa (12 Aanay i.e. 3/4 of a Rupee) in my pocket. Sheroo was richer by 50 Paisa. The Bus Conductors were generous on both ways and didn’t ask for the fare from us, the two cute boys. We strolled in the bazaars, enjoyed eating some sweets and bought the soft-covered booklet of Urdu film ‘Darshan’ in 25 Paisa which entailed a summary of film story and full lyrics of all songs. We returned home a bit later after sunset, only to learn that massive hunt was going on by our respective families in the town. Little scolding and a big hug from teary Mom was a happy ending of this adventure. (Continued)

Habits

Habits make or break a person; you are either darling of everyone or a terrible person.

Have you ever thought of the fact that when we discuss “Habits” we always mean to pinpoint the negative traits of people only? Why we are always judgmental on dark side of people, and quick in making comments too? Can you remember a gossip when it started on passing positive observations and ended up in praising the people discussed about?

Generally and holistically speaking there are two kinds of habits; those that we acquire (intentionally or otherwise) with the passage of time from our upbringing, our company of friends and relatives, circumstances, and those that we inherit or draw naturally. Some of the habits falling in each category are given as under:

Acquired Habits

·         They are twitter worms.

·         She’s texting crazy gal.

·         He’s a chain smoker.

·         He’s a drug addict.

·         She talks incessantly.

·         My wife is extravagance.

·         Bosses are assertive.

·         Our maid wastes too much water.

·         Office driver is nuts; drives very rough.

·         He’s a bad mouth; speaks disrespectfully.

·         They eat a lot.

Natural Habits (Traits)

·         She’s temperamental, egoist.

·         He snores.

·         He sports a harsh look on his face.

·         She’s shy.

·         She’s beautiful but speaks hoarsely.

·         This kid is too stubborn.

·         That toddler baby cries all the time.

·         I’m not a courteous fellow.

·         He’s a soft spoken and smiling person.

·         That guy looks ugly.

·         Hey, you bald!

·         She’s rude and arrogant. 

Acquired habits consist of both good and bad ones. It’s always important and preferable that one is able to delineate the bad ones and do efforts to get rid of them before letting people target you and be critical of them which would eventually place you in an awkward and embarrassing situation. It’s imperative to stoke your good habits in order to enhance your character and personality.

One can’t do anything about the traits that come naturally. Some with strong nerves and commitment may get rid of some undesirable habits but it’s never easy. For instance, I sport a kind of weird and callous look on my face most of the time that I get negative remarks about them. I want to shun away it but in spite of trying (not hard) it’s not easy to put a smile on my face, unnecessarily. I rue it, nevertheless.

We come across many a people at campus, work place, neighborhood, shopping malls, and even in family /relatives and friends that we become judgmental of them instantly. We don’t like their personality (height, complexion, hairstyle, clothing, stern look, accent, eye contact, etc.). But it often proves us wrong about them once we get into conversation with them or spend some time with them. I know everyone must be having some gem of friends who possess ordinary looks and traits but since they are friends, all of their weak personality spots go in hiding and they never poke your mind.

Sometimes a person communicating in a normal tone may be taken as an impolite and inconsiderate for their haughty stance to the receiver but that’s way they are. Once you get into camaraderie with them you will soon discover that their hearts and souls are made of diamonds and pearls.

The natural personality flaws are very delicate things. They are not habits. People own them very seriously. You just can’t ask a girl /woman that she is arrogant, fat, with big nose, and that she speaks in masculine tone. Similarly, never ask a man that he is short, bald, and untidy or stutters while speaking. These things are always hurting. You will lose friends if continued making such comments and remained judgmental.

We must strive to steer habits, especially the undesirable ones. Habits controlling and dictating us will bring disastrous results. Stay caring, soft spoken, humble and empathetic. Also, be noncritical and non-judgmental to win lasting friends.

Being a Camera, Selfie Camera!

I don’t have to introduce myself because almost all of you possess me, cherish me, love me and hate me too. Hate in the sense that every time you take 20 Selfies while changing your position and mine too in each shot, you retain just one picture deleting all others, and then cursing me for being imperfect most of the time. How rude!

If I were a Punjabi I would respond like:

Dasso! Apni Shakal vekh Ke Gall Kar! (Hey! Mind your looks before assess others)

And in Sindhi I would utter a proverb:

Kaday Munh Mariam Jo, Kaday Allah Yaar! (Two people one gracious and other ugly cannot be compared)

Camera is an optical instrument for recording images which may be stored locally, transmitted to another location, or both. The images may be individual still photographs or sequences of images constituting videos or movies. From early 4^th century BC till 19^th century AD scientist remained berserk in inventing, shaping and refining an instrument that would capture memory through pictures.

Like human beings I also come in various shapes and sizes; from large and cumbersome to tiny and minuscule and from adorable to ordinary and ugly. But I feel far superior to human beings when it comes to racism and slur allegations because my signature color is black. Long back in 1960s and 1970s I was considered one of the most precious belongings one could have and usually those who owned me beamed with pride. By then I was still scarcely possessed by affluent people but was admired by all across the board; everyone would like to hold me in their hands, stroke me with their fingers, peep through the viewfinder and click the shutter button in spite of knowing that I was nonfunctional without film reel and won’t take pictures. That was the glorious era though in black and white mode and even not sleek and smart but, nevertheless, I was in great demand.

George Eastman pioneered manufacturing of modern day camera. His camera, which he called the “Kodak” was first offered for sale in 1888. It was a very simple box camera with a fixed-focus lens and single shutter speed, which along with its relatively low price appealed to the average consumer. By the end of the 19th century Eastman had expanded his lineup to several models including both box and folding cameras. Films also made possible capture of motion (cinematography) establishing the movie industry by end of 19th century.

I cannot forget those funny times when on picnics, family gatherings, mehndi /marriage or other functions people would prepare themselves long for the pictures to be taken (black & white) and would wait with excitement and impatience for results. Much to their heartbreaking disappointment the film reel sent for processing and development would reveal that due to some light or other problems pictures weren’t exposed. You just can’t imagine (if you are young) how much pain they would go through and the subsequent backlash I had to receive from those disgruntled people. Those were the times when I was used sparingly and on special events only. I could hardly take a few hundred pictures in any typical year unlike now; 100s pictures a day.

The first digital camera, which provided only 0.01 megapixels to capture images, was developed by Kodak engineer Steven Sasson in 1975. The images were then read from the cassette and viewed on a TV monitor. Later, cassette tapes were replaced by flash memory. Gradually in the 2000s and 2010s, digital cameras became dominant across consumer, television and movies.

With the state of the art modern digital cameras and in the presence of expansive lenses I feel more confident to give you a image you love the most; with little photoshop you can hide all of your weak facial spots and bring the strong ones in forefront.

It is sheer love when a professional photographer handles me with great care and affection, takes closed range and sharp images of nature, landscapes, animals, crawling insects, beautiful birds, flowers, dew on roses, rain drops on leaves, and most of all babies, toddlers and children. Similarly it makes me feel proud when you picture beautiful women and young girls. God has made them to be admired, loved, cared and revered.

My age as an “independent digital camera” remained short. The treacherous creature called human being took no time in fitting me into a cell phone. Hence, making it possible for almost everyone on the globe to use me, have fun with me, abuse me and even fetch me to the lowest level of ethics and morality.

A Selfie is a self-portrait casual photograph, typically taken with a camera phone held in the hand or supported by a selfie stick. Selfies are often shared on social networking sites such as Facebook, Instagram and Twitter. Most selfies are taken with a camera held at arm's length or pointed at a mirror, rather than by using a self-timer.

This decade i.e. starting from 2011 to 2020 can fairly be called as “Selfie Era”. With the advent of camera phone and discovery of selfie-shots, I hardly have rest or peaceful moments. Emanating from showbiz celebrities, selfies are getting more popular in all walks of life be it sports, politics, education, workplaces or homes. Whether it is office, dining hall, kitchen, living room, swimming pool, bathroom, writing desk or a dressing table I remain active in making clicks incessantly. Did I tell you that ever since I’ve been made an integral part of cell phone what I hate the most is mirror? It’s the mirror that initiates an urge in the cell phone user, usually a girl, to engage me for taking pictures of her various postures including daring and bold shots often touching to seductive thresholds. Let me share a secret with you but never reveal it to anyone; I also turn on.

According to a study performed by Nicola Bruno and Marco Bertamini, selfies by non-professional photographers show a slight bias for showing the left cheek of the selfie-taker. This is similar to what has been observed for portraits by professional painters from many different historical periods and styles indicating that the left cheek bias may be rooted in asymmetries of brain lateralization that are well documented within cognitive neuroscience.

And what I despise the most is when you use me against my will; picture gory images of crime, blood, violence, murder, destruction, arson, bomb blasts and other manmade as well as natural disasters. Equally is scornful when I’m put to take derogatory, abusive and contemptuous porn pictures and videos.

I had never imagined that this perfidious entity called human would use me into lavatories too. Gosh! I mean what’s fun in taking snaps of your crooked facial expressions and oozing eye balls while you press your intestines, squeeze and squat your lower body to discharge …….!

Courtesy for the paragraphs in Italics: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camera and https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Selfie .