Part VIII - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

    

Discussing Larkana and not mentioning Mohen-Jo-Daro is simply out of question. Mohen-Jo-Daro (meaning Mound of Dead) is an archeological site near Larkana. Built around 2500 years BC it was one of the largest settlements of the ancient Indus Valley Civilization. The ruins of the city remained undocumented for around 3,700 years until R. D. Banerji, an officer of the Archaeological Survey of India, visited the site in 1919–20, identifying the Buddhist stupa (150–500 CE) known to be there and finding a flint scraper which convinced him of the site's antiquity. This led to large-scale excavations of Mohen-Jo-Daro led by Kashinath Narayan Dikshit in 1924–25, and John Marshall in 1925–26. In the 1930s, major excavations were conducted at the site under the leadership of Marshall, D. K. Dikshitar and Ernest Mackay. Further excavations were carried out in 1945 by Ahmad Hasan Dani and Mortimer Wheeler. The last major series of excavations were conducted in 1964 and 1965 by Dr. George F. Dales. After 1965 excavations were banned due to weathering damage to the exposed structures, and the only projects allowed at the site since have been salvage excavations, surface surveys, and conservation projects. (Reference:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mohenjo-daro). It was designated as UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1980. It is the only point of attraction in this area for International tourists. It used to get swarmed by the foreign tourists in 1970-80s but alas, neglect from responsible agencies and later, worsening security situation in the country deterred the international tourists from visiting these ruins. 

In 1969-70, Larkana had a Bus-Stand near and opposite to an old diesel-engine powerhouse (now abandoned and converted into WAPDA/SEPCO offices) in a narrow road leading to a large open area (across Jail too) where 15 to 20 buses could be parked. This area now stands converted into doctors’ private clinics. Similarly the old Railway Station (opposite to the new building) had entrance through Christian Colony and City Courts side. People going to the Railway Station had to cross steep railway level crossing (known as Ghinty Phaatak). Tonga (horse-driven cart) was the only mode of transport for locals. A large Tonga Stand, which could park more than 20 Tongas with a facility of small water tanks for feeding horses, was located on main Bundar Road exactly between our house and Pakistan Chowk (crossroads), a commercial hub. The name “Tonga Stand” perhaps is still in use for that commercial area dominated by electric-ware shops. Some florists, shoes sellers also sit in kiosks at the front.

I remember the ZA Bhutto era (1971-77) during which first Auto Rickshaw, a three-wheeled passenger cart landed in Larkana, probably from Sukkur. Much of the afternoon I along with many children kept running behind it. We could hardly realize at that tender age that influx of Rickshaws in Larkana was going to be a biggest environmental setback. Tongas went disappearing as efficient Rickshaws took over them within no time. Now Chingchi with deafening sound is replacing Rickshaws faster than the latter replaced Tonga.

Similarly, a Taxi Stand was located near Royal Cinema on Station Road where taxis (cars and jeeps) would be found parked along the outer edge of Kazi Petrol Pump. Only a handful of people like Waderas (agricultural landlords) and businessmen owned cars or jeeps, most of which were however used as private taxis. Moving from Royal Cinema towards Railway Station a Hindu Mandir (Temple) is located behind a small Petrol Pump, just before the roundabout. And, between the temple and Royal Cinema is located a famous shop selling quality sweets called Duleep Sweets. Coconut sweet is the specialty of this shop for decades now. A Sugarcane Juice Vender also used to do thriving business in summer in front of Royal Cinema. Just across Royal Cinema, on opposite side, Qayoom Kababi, a Bar-B-Q shop selling Mutton Tikka and Beef Seekh Kababs in the evening used to do flourishing business as well. Similarly, no one can forget Abbas Karhai-wala at the roundabout. All students, especially boarders of Chandka Medical College would love to enjoy mutton karhai over here. The Desi Chicken was considered a special and costly dish during 70s. It was sparingly used at homes for guests only. One could never hear or see Chicken Tikka or Chicken Seekh Kabab at BBQ shops. I remember our father preventing us from buying Desi Ghee (oil made from heating up butter) anymore because of its’ sudden mammoth price hike; new price stood at Rs. 20 per Ser (Kg). We switched over to Banaspati Ghee (made in factories) that was available at less than Rs. 10 per Ser. We hated smell of Banaspati ghee and could hardly swallow the food prepared in Banaspati Ghee. This kept on for some weeks before we were conditioned to it.

Two beautiful gradens were also maintained in the city known as Jinnah Bagh and Zulfiqar Bagh (popular as Giyan Bagh) respectively. Giyaan Bagh was particularly used as student’s den for studies; every morning and evening the students would flock the garden to find their peaceful corners and study for their respective forthcoming exams. Other study points were Loco-shed Park (Railway Station premises) and Circuit House Park. Jinnah Bagh was mostly visited by the revelers and lethargic people who would sit there all day long playing cards or enjoying siesta.

The life was simple in Larkana back in 1970s; few owned refrigerators, air-conditioners were non-existent or never heard of, at least in our neighborhood. During summer, everyone would buy a big chunk of ice almost twice a day as per their needs. Hand-pumped water was used for drinking purpose in every household. In the afternoon, people would swarm the bazaar to buy mangoes and put them into a bucket of cold water for an hour or two before consuming them with rice at supper time. Rice being staple food of the area was taken daily at night with either mangoes or Pakoray and Kachori (a kind of cutlets deep fried in mustered oil). I can’t forget the aroma and taste of Pakoray and Kachoris deep fried in mustered oil prepared by a Bihari/Bangali vendor near Tonga Stand. Continued....

The Four Sisters

My late father should have been lucky to have two back-to-back sons born from his young wife but his desire for more sons was insatiable. One fine day he issued a decree to my mother: We should make one more baby boy and then only we would be listening to the poor (Becharay) “Family Planning” people.

In the next nine years four baby girls are born to my parents. Salute to them generally and my father particularly because they clung on the hope and kept persevering for yet another son. Eventually father got his reward of third son (named Noor) beside my elder brother and me, after four adorable daughters. Hence, Noor and me (second from the top) are abridged with ten years gap and The Four Sisters.

It’s not an easy task to write and describe each and every one of my lovely and beautiful four sisters exclusively but I take the liberty to pen down whatever I can reminisce and observe about them; collectively, in pairs or individually. Generally speaking my four sisters split naturally into two vivid groups, a senior pair and a junior pair, right from the early age. The senior pair started going to school with an interval of one year, shared same bed, identical habits, similar clothes, dressing, toiletries, friends, music, movies, and yes, one of them nurtured a den of lice in her hair.

And so was the junior pair of sisters; of course, lice stay. Similarly, one of the elder group members took keen interest in doing household chores like cooking, washing, cleaning floors and helped our mother; the other one was just bent on pretending. The younger group also behaved likewise. One of the each pairs ate everything without hesitation that was cooked at home. One of the each pairs was just a staunch adversary of pulses (Daal) and used to create an unwarranted situation of hue & cry before succumbing to eating it.

There were also some dissimilarities between two pair of sisters; one had long straight hair, other carried short and curly cluster, senior group studied a little, juniors attended university, seniors got married early, juniors did after completing the graduation, seniors were married in an arranged mechanism, juniors were given the opportunity of their likings, seniors had a wealthy married outlook, juniors struggled all the way, still catching up.

One of my charming sisters is a replica of our late mother. Even when our mother was alive she could be seen behaving and acting mother-like with all of her siblings. Extremely tolerant, calm, unruffled and caring are some of her incomparable traits. She’s been an amazing cook and no matter how many guests surprise her with an unscheduled appearance, she prepares sumptuous food in a flash. Holding regular parties and large gatherings at her place is her forte and preparing biryani (chicken or mutton) is her signature cuisine.

You won’t believe but it’s true that from the very age of adolescence another sister of mine among the four sisters started fantasizing of marrying a rich person, into a wealthy family. She was hardly twenty when her dream came true. Ever since she’s been living a lovely life in an affluent society, Masha Allah. Interestingly, their regular and conventional 3-times a day food prepared at home always looks like party time.

Another one of the four sisters has been remarkable as mimicker or parody queen with her astounding power of observing others and then reproducing them with their exact style of speaking, expressing and behaving. Once she gets into her usual rhythm of parodying someone you wouldn’t be able to control your loud laughter, and often end up with cramps in your stomach. Her specialty is mimicking our village relatives, whether children or grownups, is outstanding though she’s good at mimicking at her brothers, in-laws and maids, etc., too. After every visit to our ancestral village she would return with a treasure of mimicry stuff and entertain whole family for months in every weekly gathering.

Yet another one among them is so sweet and hospitable to the core of her heart that you would doubt her genuineness and mistake her as she’s been pretending or faking up in the first place. She is a good listener to your problems, consoling and helping to all and sundry. Besides, she’s been extremely good at culinary skills.

Gossiping, like all ladies, is their favourite pastime. When it happens, rest assured, the big and loud cackling can be heard all across the premises. Everyone sits on the edge of their chairs and would often standup holding their bellies in order to control stomachache out of irrepressible laughing.

Dear Four Sisters, you may all live long in peace, perpetual health and prosperity with your respective families. Ameen.

Fading Memory

This blog is not aimed at discussing medical terms relating to memory loss like: Dementia or Alzheimer, its causes and the subsequent medical or spiritual treatment to recover or stall the loss to a certain level. I just want to share my experience as to how and when I got into observing that I have started losing my memory.

As I find through experience memory loss is a slow process that begins in the age of 40s under normal circumstances. It starts with some rare and random instances of forgetting people and things especially names of distant relative and friends, acquaintances, co-workers and neighbors. It is then followed by real memory loss when you begin forgetting important tasks repeatedly and frequently. You become forgetful and embarrassingly turn blank when asked about an update on an important assignment in the office. On some other instance you fail to recall the name of an office colleague during a meeting and end up scratching your head. We escape this awkwardness by uttering; sorry, I forgot or I beg your pardon, etc., nevertheless, such excuses stop working when frequency of such occurrences multiplies. On a personal or family note, things get worse when you forget it completely that you were supposed to buy certain items (Milk, Bread, eggs, and Dahi, etc.) on way back home from the workplace on the instructions of your spouse. This is a serious noncompliance. :)

Have you ever noticed that you often mix-up names of your children? For example you want to call your son “Ali” and shout for elder “Ahmed” instead. And during a discussion on any matter with your family members you often confuse X with Y and vice versa. Is it as a result of fading memory or something else?

When you begin finding yourself at the receiving end on some important issues that were forgotten altogether, it’s time one realized that process of memory loss has reached at an irreversible point, owing to ageing predominantly or some other medical reasons generally.

After having written the above paragraphs let me declare myself a “forgetful person” too. Nearing the retirement age, I find it hard to remember people, names and things when it matters a lot. Memory loss was subtle and slow in the first place; I started calling my children with their cousins’ names occasionally. My wife would smile at me suspiciously and act with solace and appreciation that since my nieces and nephews were very dear to me therefore I mixed up their names. I, in turn, would largely agree with her, sheepishly though. Nevertheless, it kept happening time and again, and as I grew older I began forgetting some common things; names of performing art celebrities, title of books and authors, movie titles, politicians, TV-anchors, office colleagues, and relatives, while being in the middle of gossip, discussions or during arguments.

Holding an important and senior position demands sharpness in memory because one keeps working on many vital tasks simultaneously. I tend to forget it sometimes altogether that I have to produce multiple outcomes instead of one result, and need a reminder for it. At times I baffle when my boss asks: Did you respond to the fax I sent you in the morning? Which fax? I ask bewilderingly, in spite of the fact that I had already responded on the same matter. And at times I also forget that the previous day I assigned some important task to one of my junior staff and seek his response on it today and unless my junior turns up himself he can get away with it till I remember some days later.

Now, you know that I tend to forget people and things, on and off, and therefore, you must be logical in judging me that my work performance and delivery or output should have declined considerably or even substantially, but let me reveal to you that it’s not like that. I still remember (forgetful person can remember, though) most of the things I need to remember. For example I never forget current tasks but do forget some concurrent ones. Similarly, I do not forget birth-dates of all family members and loved ones (Did you notice I wrote ‘birth-dates’, not ‘birthdays’). Never forget all those who have extended even a slightest favour, those who helped me in difficult times, those who cared for me, loved me, those who hated me, still revile me, and of course those who prayed for me.

In spite of the above, my fading memory never lets me forget that I’m a weak, sinful and mortal being and therefore, always seek forgiveness from the people I hurt, and from the Almighty Allah (swt) whose commandments I flout intentionally and inadvertently and perhaps would be doing till I breathe my last. 

Last Days of Life

The greatest mystery of life resides in its uncertainty; not knowing when we are going to die. If we knew, we would have also known about our last days and accordingly we could have mended / altered our life style in the remaining period of life. 

What would we be changing in our last days; good from bad, truth from lies, love from hate, care from ignoring, forgiveness from sins, and prayers from curses? Hopefully it is, because knowingly nobody would like to leave the world with a burden of life-long absurdities. 

Why the world cannot change, do good based on the unpredictability of life and why would good things begin happening around us once we came to know that our time is up? Why can’t people assume that they could also be lying frozen in caskets on their shoulders? Why do they think that their time is still not up like the one about to be buried?

The uncertainty of life holds great charm and excitement for the living people. A sudden death of some friend or acquaintance sends shock waves through our spine for a brief period. However, we immediately recover from this phase justifying ourselves that this death was an inevitable event for the deceased while ours is still not certain. 

As our breathing continues our thinking shifts to daily life problems, issues, commitments, responsibilities, intrigues, etc., hence, it is taken for granted that last days are still a distant possibility. 

And then there is a great distraction from “Last Days” in the disguise of “Average Life Expectancy”. The persistent improvements in the living conditions the average life expectancy goes on increasing and touches 70 years in our region or even beyond in case of developed western countries. People in my age group crossing into upper 50s always take a sigh of relief at this encouraging factor. Supposing that average life remains stagnant at 70, we still find ourselves comfortably placed, invigorated and pushing further our ambitions, new objectives and new targets. 

Ask young people if an aged person can have ambitions and they would smile meaningfully in return with the following comments; they should be seeking forgiveness of the Lord and making preparation for painless transition into hereafter. 

So, are we ready to accept that our last days have already begun? Logically, a normal and healthy person would never agree to it and would insist that they still have a long way to go. However, a person terminally ill and reeling for long would have no choice left with them but to give up and wait for painful departure, forever. 

The mysterious unknown finale of life makes it a chilling and challenging phenomenon. Those who believe in the accountability of their worldly deeds when encountering Lord, on rendezvous, in hereafter, would surely make persisting efforts throughout their life to become victors. Those who doubt it and argue that their journey started with the natural creation of the planet Earth and would end here eternally will probably keep enjoying every bit of life without fear of being resurrected and held answerable to how they lived. 

I am a fearful one and strong believer in the life hereafter. The “Last Days” has been haunting me for long now in spite of maintaining excellent health. But having said that I often slip from the righteous path like all other human beings who run an inherent weakness of getting magnetized to the circumstances, daily chores, and falling prey to the beauty of this world.  

The “Last Days of Life” would probably be never foreseeable!

Part VII - My Adolescence Memoirs - Larkana in 1970s

Larkana was a hub of sports activities in 1970s. Watching boys playing Cricket, Hockey and Football was my first experience in Larkana. I tried playing all games from school level onwards and fell in love for Cricket only. This love affair is life-long, though most of the time it is restricted to watching only. I was a mediocre in sports. Perhaps because of this reason I poked my nose in every sport sans successfully.

It would also be worth mentioning about the bustling sports activities in the city during 1970s. While Hockey and Cricket dominated among children and youth, other sports like Football, Badminton, and Table Tennis were also played and enjoyed vastly. School playgrounds would remain crowded during afternoons every day, and especially Sundays. But the main hub of sports activities was beautiful Larkana Stadium. Hockey used to be played at main ground while Cricket on a side park. Regular tournaments of Hockey and Cricket pulled huge crowds during afternoons. All Pakistan District Hockey Tournament on annual basis was a regular feature wherein teams from across the country would come to participate. Former great Hockey Players like Islahuddin, Samiullah, Akhtar Rasool, Manzoorul Hasan, etc played many a times in Larkana. Similarly I remember a Cricket tournament when test cricketers Intakhab Alam, Talat Ali and Umar Masood came to play here. Interestingly, Hockey was popular in Urdu speaking boys and Cricket in Sindhi speaking youth.

During early 70s, whether grownup college boys or school kids, all used to play cricket with the genuine hard ball that was available at a paltry cost of about 1 to 3 Rupees. Playing Cricket with a tennis ball was simply out of question and not in vogue like it is widely used today. However in late 70s when the Cricket ball became dearer and went beyond the affordable reach of a common player costing 10 Rupees each, boys switched over to playing with tennis ball wrapped with electrical insulation tape. We too switched over to playing Cricket with tapped tennis ball but not before I sustained a terrible injury.

While fielding at “Silly Mid-On” position (just 4-5 feet away from the batsman) during a cricket match, the batsman swept the hard cricket ball with full force. The ball landed on my upper lip ferociously. When came to senses I found myself holding my mouth while blood dripped through the fingers profusely. Later, it was learnt that my four upper front teeth were nearly hanging. I was rushed to a Dentist (on bicycle) who refused to treat me declaring that the patient`s serious injury demanded his immediate shifting to Hyderabad or Karachi. Instead, my friends took me to a “Quack Dentist” who provided me with first aid, tied my upper teeth with a horizontal curved metallic arching rod temporarily, and interestingly, grinded my lower front teeth so that they shouldn’t touch the extremely aching upper ones. Panic gripped my family when I reached home with swollen lips. The very next day my mother took me to Hyderabad and after going through a full week’s treatment with Dentist named Dr. Essa I was allowed to return home, with teeth remained tied with braces for the next six months. That was the last time I had played cricket with hard ball.

Beside playing Cricket, Hockey and Football my other pastime (Time waster) was bathing & swimming in “Aabro” and “Punj-Pullee (5-gated)”, the two small irrigation canals off-taking on right bank from main Rice Canal at the outskirts of the city. Interestingly, the city has sprawled so much in last 40 years that these canals (drains, in fact, with all sewage of Larkana flowing into them) run almost through middle of the city now.

During every hot and scorching summer the non-perennial Rice Canal and its two off-taking small irrigation channels on right bank were thronged and swarmed by people of all ages, especially on Fridays (being holiday), for taking long dips in the flowing turbid waters of these canals to cool down their body temperatures, have fun, and enjoy eating dates and mangoes that they would bring along with them. We also used to go for swimming in these canals almost every week. Once, on such a swimming trip to these canals, while jumping into “Aabro” at its Regulator, my brother Munir hit the edge of concrete pier separating two gates of the canal. What we saw was bloodied turbid water and a deep cut underneath his lower lip. Some two hours later we reached home, after Munir`s wound well stitched and bandaged at the Civil Hospital.

Mild winters and early springs were no less fun; it was time to enjoy kite flying and playing marbles in the street. Kite flying was also one of my passions besides swimming, watching action movies and reading story books/novels (in Urdu only). Unlike Lahore’s famous “Bo-Kata” term shouted at the time of Kite flying contests during “Basant” (early February) we simply yelled whenever won the contest while flying the kites on rooftops. Some big contests also used to hold sporadically either in the grand Municipal Stadium or on a large open space near city’s “Red-light Area”. Most of the contestants were always happened to be rich pimps coming from other big cities, even from Lahore too. They would carry fine and expensive kite flying strings and large but beautiful kites. Continued….

I Cried

I cried hard entering the world

Mom cried harder delivering me

Rest were elated

Celebrated my arrival

I cried when felt hungry, sleepy and wet

Mom fed me in her arms

Clung with her chest, recited prayers

And changed my diapers

I cried trying to sit, stand and walk

She screamed in euphoria on every instance

I cried when she left me alone in school

She was holding back her tears, waving her hand

Years went by; I grew into a man, she grew old

She cried when I yelled;

At her, my wife, and children

I cried in disgrace, in solitude

I cried profusely when Mom left forever

She looked serene in her last journey

I cried relentlessly on her eternal abode

I cry when I relive her

Time never stops, I’m growing old

Have become susceptible to crying

Someday my loved ones will cry;

For me, over me!

Reflections

The term “reflection” instantly takes me on a virtual flying carpet to my school days whenever I come across it. While studying Physics in Class-9 I learned two specific elementary science terms beside plenty of others; reflection and refraction. I vividly remember doing experiments on reflection and refraction in science laboratory with the help of a small mirror strip, some paper pins, a blank drawing paper, lead pencils, geometry box and the most indispensible tool; eraser.

Decades down the road we are moving to a stage where it requires reflecting upon every aspect of life; childhood and young age, grownup and ageing, parents and children, family and work, friends and foes, love and hate, home and house, accomplishments and failures, inspirations and enervations, rewards and punishments, bosses and co-workers, money and wealth, religion and sects, nationalism and ethnicity, patriotism and emigration, etc.

Recalling any of above facets, even randomly, would put you in deep ponder with varied moods, emotions and sentiments. For instance let’s go through our life long targeted goals versus achievements and failures. Forget about being grateful over “what I do have” and/or “don’t have”. You will notice that not everything you desired or longed for could be attained. And even if some goals were realized those were accomplished at such a belated stage where they lost their value in our minds, excitement in hearts and sparkle in eyes.

What about those dreams which still remain unfulfilled? These are real heartbreaking things; always making us feel remorseful, leave frustrated and stung. Nature plays its own tricks with everyone; be a poor or wealthy, healthy or deposed, intelligent or ignorant, handsome/beautiful or plain/ordinary, and so on. Nature always leaves one discontented on one account or other. Besides, it keeps us on a trail of unquenched and unending desires and wishes.

The material world keeps us on toes to earn bread and butter and to work hard to make both ends meet. This phenomenon lands us live away from our family, especially parents. The irony is that we often left with a choice to live either with parents or own family (spouse and children), and most of the time we prefer to live with the latter. Blessed are those a few who don’t have to choose either of them. Reflecting upon your choices and options at a later age when parents are no more alive sends shivers through the spine. Similarly some friendships that once considered staying unbroken and everlasting remain totally forgotten now. Reminiscing one or two such instances make us poignant too.

At this point in age when we have ample time to reflect upon the entire length of our life the most hurting thing that recurs in mind is that we wasted too much time on either doing nothing or doing things less important and insignificant ones. Alas! We could have had more meaningful and productive life; could have studied more, worked harder, devoted quality time for the family, took extra leisure to travel frequently within and/or abroad, helped more people, made more good friends, hated less people, etc.

Lastly, while we have covered longer part of the road and “ultimate” destination is within our sight we would certainly like to reflect upon how it went through. Irrespective of our faith or religion every one of us would want their end with; more pluses and fewer minuses, ample kind acts than sins, much helping than creating hurdles, devoting and loving figure than a hating and troublemaker family member. Although we can never payback our parents’ love and care, however, we can extend the same to our children and grand children.