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….