Chapter 1

Chapter 1

MY FAMILY BACK GROUND-ANCESTRAL QASBAH

Socio-political upheavals, cultural background and economic circumstances have as much impact on the psychological make up of a person as genealogy. We are all, in different ways, a synthesis of the impact of history on our individual and specific circumstances and cumulative result of biological evolution.
I was born in December 1937 and brought up in the tumultuous times of WWII and the upheaval attendant upon the final phases of the struggle for Indian independence and partition of India. Families of both my parents had lived in a Qasbah, (an Indian term denoting a size somewhere between a village and a town), called Dewa-Sharif. Dewa is believed to be named after Dewka Rani, a princess of antiquity. Sharif is an adjective (It is difficult to translate, it denotes piety/gentility etc) attached to the name of a place where a notable saint had been born/lived /preached etc. The most known of such places in India is Ajmer Sharif where Khwaja Moinuddin Chisti RA lived. He was reputedly sent to India to spread the true word by his mentor in Baghdad, Syed Abdul Qadir Jilani RA .The latter is regarded as Piran-Pir- and Saint of Saints.
Our local saint Haji Waris Ali Shah, most of whose adherents have adopted the surname Warsi after his first name, was a Sufi who in true traditions of the school of thought, preached love, tolerance and non- discrimination in religion, cast, creed or sect. He had as many Hindu followers as he had Muslims ones. He never married, did not pray regularly and when asked to explain non-observance, reportedly told the questioners that he “went” to Mecca to pray. He made eight annual pilgrimages to Mecca on foot and once detoured to England, where he is reported to have been received by Queen Victoria. She was duly impressed and thanked him for taking such good care of the souls of her subjects She also offered him estates. He declined the gift and told her that he had no use for any worldly goods. Allah provides for all his needs. He is still venerated by the older generation of my extended family and equally so by other families of devotees all over the subcontinent Traditions are, naturally followed more in my native region and in the neighboring districts in the United Provinces (UP) of India than they are in Pakistan. But his devotees in Karachi and elsewhere in Pakistan hold the annual “Urs” ceremony, a celebration of his life and times. The younger generation are not so attached to the traditions and the annual festivities attract fewer persons every.
I recall an incident in 1954. My Nana, Syed Bunyad H Warsi and I were walking away from the old campus of Karachi university, (which I have described in detail later), when Nana chanced upon a sign “Warsi Medico”. He immediately started moving into the premises exclaiming that he must meet his brother in “Tareeqat” , a fellow devotee. I tried to stop him. He did not know the Doctor from Adam, and the latter would most likely cold-shoulder him He won’t listen to me, and barged into the office. The Doctor was busy examining a patient and looked askance at us. I expected a brush off. But my Nana was undaunted. He told the Doctor that he was a Warsi too, in fact the grand son of Maroof Shah, a leading acolyte of the saint. The Doctor literally jumped out of his chair, kissed my Nana’s hands and offered us tea and biscuits. I was very tired and have never enjoyed a cup so much.
Dewa has two Melas -festivals/fairs- every year. They have, over the years, taken on the character of gala events in which religious rites take a back seat till the very last day to cultural events- recitation of poetry devotional and secular, a peculiarly rural re-enactment of Maha Bharat and the legend of Alha/udhal, a folk poetical rendering of an ancient Indian battle, the most acclaimed Mushairas, (recitation of new works of poetry), where one had the pleasure and edification of listening to such great masters as Josh Malihabadi and Jigar Muradabadi among many lesser lights. The less well-known poets were also published authors. It will take a pen much more accomplished than mine to do justice to the atmosphere. People went into virtual trance especially towards early morning hours. Sports and athletic contests, in which national teams participate, are held as well. I still distinctly recall the legendary Moti, Captain of the Indian field hockey Olympic squad carrying the ball through the ranks of the opposition with an un matched grace and ease as though a snake was slithering around the under brush.
There was, of course, a stupendous street market in which one could buy practically any thing made in India, and most of imports too, including all kinds of arts and craft, machinery, jewellery, cosmetics, dresses, and books etc. For miles around the village the area was transformed into a veritable tent mega-polis; about a million people attend the festivals. Restaurants, catering to all kinds of tastes representing all regions, abounded.
You could also find itinerant preachers admonishing listeners, though they usually did not attract many in the audience. Devotees of all faiths visited the shrine every day of the festival bringing flower garlands and more materials offerings too. Some prayed directly to the saint, this was an adaptation of Hindu mores. Others begged the Pir to intercede with God and or the Prophet of Islam for them. The latter mode of appeal is also unorthodox and is deemed heretical by the Wahabi sect of Islam. But in those days fundamentalist obscurantism had not taken root in Muslim, Hindu or for that matter in the Christian mind either. We, in fact, despised fanatics. My Nana used to say that he would rather break bread with a non-Muslim than with a Wahabi!
Conspicuous in their dress and mode of speech were tempters and temptresses inviting you to more earthly pleasures. Young and old, boys and girls met un-chaperoned, many a rendezvous and trysts were arranged and many a romance made and broken. One had to see it to believe it. I am told that the syncretic character of the Mela has been maintained. I am glad that it remains an Island of sanity in the ocean of irrationality which religious intolerance at the national level surely is.
On the last day devotional frenzy would gradually build up and reach new heights. People would flock to the shrine in ever-greater numbers, forsaking for the day the commercial interests and other pleasures. They would pray in style, language and mode of their own particular creed. In immediate juxtaposition one could hear incantations of Ram, Bhagwan, Allah, Muhammad and Ali . Some would offer the Namaz, the five times a day Muslim prayers. Free food and scented sweet drinks would be distributed. Stronger drinks would be on offer but more surreptitiously. As the day receded, and the shadows lengthened there would be a temporary respite. Qawwali, the particular devotional recitation of the Sufi school would start about nine PM.
The more important of the festivals is in mid October and nights can be chilly. People would be well wrapped up, as most of the devotees would find room only under the open skies. It is difficult to accurately describe Qawwali. Roughly the lead singer would recite one verse, repeat it several times in ever-louder tones with accompaniment of hand clapping by his entourage who would occasionally be joined by the crowd. At an imperceptible signal the disciples of the lead singer would drop of, the lead singer would take up another refrain and so it would go till all the chosen lines of the poem have been gone through. Farsi poems would be frequently interspersed with the Urdu ones. Several groups of Qawwals (reciters) would take turns. The climax would be a ceremony called the “Qul’. About 4.30 am, well before sunrise a procession of devotees with earthen ware pots full of drinks and food would enter the arena and make its sinuous way to the dais seating the Qawwals. The tempo of Qawwali would suddenly increase, all the groups of Qawwals joining in to high-pitched frenzy. Many in the audience would go into ecstatic trance, some would even swoon. Women and children would watch the proceedings from behind a “Chilman” a bamboo strip latticework. (I am told that young swains would fake a swooning to impress their ladyloves. It was often a successful ruse too).
In later years when we were in Quetta, Pakistan, and my Nana was very frail, severely short of breath and had to be helped in walking. He would lie in a bed most of the time, and had difficulty sitting up for meals and prayers. We went to a Qul, a miniscule affair compared to the one in Dewa. But during the procession ceremony Nana was so exited, he got up and stood unaided for the duration; about twenty minutes. At the end he slid to the floor exhausted, had to be carried home and could not get out of bed for days.
Besides the distinction of producing such an illustrious son, Dewa boasted of about a dozen Mahals. The term usually means a palace, but many a feudal arrogated their mansions to the status. Most of the “Mahals’ in our village were in a sad state of disrepair, some actually not much more than ruins. I am told the owners having earned the disfavor of the British had lost income and could not afford the expenses of maintenance. My ancestral dwelling was called “Naya Mahal” the new palace. Though styled new, it was derelict as I remember it, with a broken gate, gaping holes in boundary walls, an open verandah and a room on the roof. It occupied a very large area though, and had its own water well inside the compound. There was a mud hut outside the walls where the mistress of one of my Dada’s cousins lived. Naya Mahal has since been demolished and a caravanserai built at the site to accommodate the visitors to the shrine. Once some children teased me that my home was called “new’, we were arriveste, noveo riche. I nearly cried at the insult and ran to my mother who told me that our family still had money to build a new place while those of my detractors had been rendered penniless. I dashed back and told them so. I can still visualize the look of absolute consternation on their faces. If they knew any better they could have hurled the charge of collaboration with the colonists on my ancestors. My great grand father’s father had practiced law in courts presided over by British judges. But they were not sophisticated enough. Nor was I.
The tradition was that the Moghals had bestowed large land holdings in the area upon émigré scholars from Arabia and Iran and they had all settled in and around Dewa .A neighboring village is named Jahangirabad after the Emperor Jahangir who visited the place on his way east and bestowed the estate and the title of Raja on one of his retainers. Another village nearby was called Kursi, whose denizens were supposed to be rather dim. Folklore has it that they once entertained Aurangzeb and his army and forgot to put salt in the dishes. Belatedly discovering the omission, when the army was already half a day’s march away, they rushed after it on horseback with sacks of salt! The railway station was eight miles away in the city called Barabanki, which was the district headquarters as well. It was an hour’s uncomfortable Ekka ride. We had only one Ekka in Dewa. It made only one round trip to Barabanki on weekdays. If you missed it you had to wait till tomorrow unless you persuaded him with a special fare. I was surprised that my mother called him “Mamoon” till I learned that he was actually a distant relation on my father’s side and we were entitled to a favored treatment. He had lost all his inheritance but instead of living on charity he did an honest day’s work. Most of the gentlefolk called him an eccentric but dare not do so on his face. Lucknow was only twenty-eight miles away, but was a long distance in those days. It took about an hour by a slow train. People did not travel unless they had to for weddings and other family affairs. Gentlefolk stayed with friends and family. Hotels were regarded as a sign of dissipation. There were few any way, and mostly in the nature of caravanserai. Communications were yet undeveloped. Telephone service was rare, telegrams were usually meant to announce tragic news, and letters took a long time to get to the destination. It was quite acceptable to arrive at a relative’s or friends home unannounced and be received hospitably. Times very different and much less complicated.
During our annual visits to Dewa we stayed in Nana’s home. It had been built in late nineteenth century by Nana’s father, and mercifully was not called a Mahal. It was a large house partitioned by a dividing wall into two portions. The front portion had a huge gate, a Deorhi (is an entrance area separated from the main house by a door. Less intimate guests were lodged there), with two large rooms on its two sides. After that you passed through a large square yard, went through another smaller gate into the larger rectangular family portion which had a set of rooms on the near side. A longish open verandah attached to the rooms covered one side of the rectangle. Between the two sides was water well. (We all took turns in drawing water, and being city dwellers enjoyed it too. The resident took it for what it was, a strenuous chore). The third side was the most elaborate, with double verandahs, and an underground cellar. The fourth side had an open mud/straw/bamboo roofed verandah type of thing. For a reason I have not been able to fathom, my Nana’s mother, his two sisters, one widowed and the other separated, lived under the straw/mud roof. It opened onto an unfinished set of rooms, which were believed to be the habitat of our resident Jinn , named Kalu (When in any kind of difficulty we used to beseech him to help us. Once we could not get an Ekka to transport us to catch a train. I was distraught that I would miss school. I went to the unfinished quarters to beg the Ginn to do something. Soon and surely enough the Ekka Walah knocked at the door.
Nana’s younger brother, Syed Sardar H Kirmani (he had kept his ancestral surname Kirmani while Nana had adapted Warsi in honor of his Pir-saint) with his wife and seven offspring lived in the open verandah. The youngest brother, his wife and three kids occupied the double verandah. We bunked in the double verandah. Both the younger brothers had precarious finances. Neither was trained for any kind of work. Income from lands was scanty. After independence Zamindari was abolished. I do not know how they managed. But neither seemed to feel any thing amiss.
Dewa had a population of about eight thousand. It boasted a middle school to eight grade, and a dispensary, sort of outpatient clinic, with a dispenser- a hybrid of a nurse and pharmacy assistant- and a license holder, as distinct from a degree holder physician. Most of the population was mid level landowners with a few larger landowners called Taluqedars thrown in. There were some Hindu landowners at some distance, but Dewa Hindus were mostly working peasants or minor shopkeepers. We had the usual rural shopping street and farm market days.
Most of the Muslims supported the Muslim League, though the well-known Qidwai family who had large estates not too far from Dewa in two villages called “Rasouli and Masouli” was firm congress votaries. The family was distinguished in their educational attainments and political stature. They have to date produced a leading congress leader Rafi Ahmad who was member of Pundit Nehru’s first cabinet, several other provincial and central cabinet ministers, Governors of Indian provinces, vice-chancellors of universities, scientists and distinguished administrators. A few of the clan migrated to Pakistan and distinguished themselves there too. (One is a general and serves as head of strategic reserve under Musharraf)
The area was dotted with smaller villages around it. Another “saint” village “Bansa Shareef” was about ten miles away. It was widely believed that the Mazar was inhabited by “churails” mythical half woman half /she-devil creatures. Actually the less affluent families used to abandon their “insane” females at the shrine. At the time women were much more repressed than they are now. All kinds of frustrations, not getting married, not being able to marry a man of their choice, unhappiness in marriage and eclampsia related to pregnancy were very common. I remember one woman climbing a tall tree with astonishing monkey like agility when she sighted us and screaming obscenities at us from the treetop. I was terribly frightened. At the commotion a shrine caretaker came out of his dwelling. The pathetic woman subsided abruptly. I believe the caretakers used to beat the women mercilessly, besides misusing them in other ways. Another neighboring town with its own Railway station was Fatehpur, not to be confused with Fatehpur Sikri near Agra- at one time the seat of Moghal emperors- was about ten miles away. Once we missed the connection to Barabanki and took the train to Fatehpur arriving there early in the morning. We made our way to the house of one of my grandmothers (fathers side) nephews. That side of the extended family was known for their short temper, impolite manners and lack of common hospitality, so we were rather in a hurry to leave. We could not find any Ekkas or Tongas so made the trek in a camel carriage! It took several hours, but the coach was much more commodious and I slept through the journey.
There was a big forest about midway between Barabanki and Dewa. It was infested with robbers and not safe to pass through after dark. My mother, an unusual woman by any measure, refused to be daunted. She was confidant robbers would not molest us once they learned that we were from such and such house. Our robbers, she used to add would be respectful of women folk any way. Fortunately for us we always took care to travel during daytime and never had to test my mothers theories.
The environs of Barabanki and Lucknow merit special mention. Lucknow was the seat of the Nawabs of Oudh, who ruled under the Moghals. Oudh comprised several districts, and was merged with the surrounding districts by the British into the United Provinces (UP). Lucknow became the seat of the provincial government. The Nawabs functioned as viceroys, under close supervision, till they became semi-independent when the Moghal rule lost its vigor. The later Nawabs had developed indolence, self-indulgence and sloth into an art form. They spent all their days and nights eating and drinking, with dance music and women. The large harems bred intrigue and other moral perversions rather reminiscent of the later period of Rome. The affluent among the populace adopted the ways of the rulers. The poor, as is the usual case, suffered. The name of last Nawab Wajid Ali Shah became synonymous with luxury, dissolution and dissipation. Administration, such as it was, was in the hands of the ever loyal Hindu business and warrior class. Even the latter were not much of warriors in the waning days of the Nawabs. It is reported that when the British forces were approaching the outskirts of Lucknow, two notable citizens with responsibility for defense of the town were playing chess. They were warned several times of the imminent assault but would not relinquish the game! The scene is well depicted in A Bollywood movie “Shatranj Ke Khilari”, the Chess players. The state fell into the British hands like a ripe apple. The decay and demoralization played a large role in the uneven and uncertain resistance to the British in 1857).
Culture appears to run parallel to moral and political decay in all societies. Music, poetry, dance, etiquette, ostentatious mode of dress, male and female, games like falconry, pigeon fancying, cock fighting, sedentary sports, musical evening, Mushaira and other such pursuits were the norm of the period. All out door sports, hunting, and horse riding were shunned. Kite flying was the extent the common folk went to by way of rigorous past time. The ruling class did not even do that. People were very polite and cultured. They would insist on giving precedence to their friends. An anecdote of a later period but indicative of the past has it that people of Lucknow would insist that other person to board till the train left with out either. People attended concerts in houses of pleasure every evening and fritter away their inheritance at the alter of goddesses of beauty. Another Bollywood movie, my very favorite “Umrao Jan” with the delectable Rekha shows the times very well.
But they produced sublime poetry and literature.
There was a great deal of inbreeding among the few score or so “Ashraf” gentlefolk families. (Ashraf in local usage meant Syeds-descendents pf the prophet’s favorite daughter and Imam Ali, his cousin and fourth Caliph), in the region, which included villages in Barabanki, Lucknow and other districts in close vicinity. The example of my extended family should suffice. My Nani and my Dada were brother and sister. My mother was married to her first cousin. Her older brother was married to her husband’s sister. My younger Phupho was married to her first cousin and my older Chacha to his first cousin. My younger Chacha got married to one of the relations of his mother, though not to a first cousin. Most of my own cousins have married their first cousins. I was the first in several generations to marry outside the clan. We were terrible snobs too. Before me my Nana’s younger sister married into a rich Qidwai feudal family, but was supposed to have married beneath her rank!! One of my father’s cousins also married outside the clan. Her father was very poor, so she had to accept the indignity. If they could not find a match in immediate vicinity of Dewa, net would be cast to Qasbahs and villages further a field. Mohona, Fatehpur and Lucknow were given reluctant consideration. Even a distance of fifty miles was supposed to be an impediment.
The gentle folk were mostly of Sunni persuasion, but had amiable relations with Shias. They did not generally intermarry, though freely socialized with each other. Hindus and Muslims had adopted each other’s customs and traditions .
Farsi had been the court language in the times of the Moghals. Urdu, the word is of Turkish origin and literally means Lashkar-troops, developed as a common medium of communication to enable soldiers from different regions and speaking different languages to talk to each other. It is, therefore, a purely Indian language, and not a” Muslim “ language by any stretch of imagination. From its very birth, Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs have produced immortal literature in the language. Not just the secular odes to love, beauty and their beloved, but some of the best devotional poetry eulogizing the Prophet of Islam has been written by non-Muslims. As mentioned elsewhere, the first British arrivals and their progeny through native spouses made considerable contribution to the language. Fascist Hindu detractors of the language, for their own chauvinistic reasons, have branded it Muslim. Some misguided and ill-informed Muslims have enthusiastically agreed with the detractors for reasons, not very rational, I must add, of pride in their cultural heritage . They have done a great disservice to the language. It has largely become extinct as an every day facility in UP, its birthplace, which nurtured it for scores of years.
. Sufis had mesmerized the populace and their teachings naturally had basis in Islam colored deep with mysticism. Many later Nawabs of Oudh had adopted Shia creed. Ashura on the 10th of Moharram, the day the prophet of Islam’s grandson Imam Husain and his family were ambushed by the army of Yazid of cursed memory, a descendent of one of the relentless foes of the Prophet, who had accepted Islam as a tactical move, was commemorated by Hindus and Muslims alike. In Dewa, as in many other places, a Hindu feudal traditionally led the procession from sunrise to sunset When I saw him he was a venerable old man who never left his house through the year except to lead the procession on the 10th of Moharram. (
Society was very feudal, landlord consorted with landlord and peasant with peasant. Religion did not come into the equation. Hindus followed their religion. Muslims theirs, but had developed a common ground in matters devotional under the aegis of Sufis. I never came across or heard of a dispute on grounds of religion in the society I spent my early years in. Muslim children and youth actually enjoyed the colorful Hindu festivals more than they did their own rather drab ones. The free atmosphere of Holi and Deewali lent a helping hand to numerous amours. Like all forbidden fruit, Muslim and Hindu boys and girls thought that the others were more desirable. All the color in certain Muslim festivals, which are, now condemned by the lunatic fringe as heretical, is borrowed from Hindu practice. At the time the zealots hid in the proverbial closet. Shab-eBarat, a celebration of the Prophet’s birthday during which Muslims used to strip clean their homes and light numerous oil lamps could easily be taken for the Hindu Holi when the latter washed their homes and emblazoned the whole town. Hindu youth enjoyed Muslim festivals as their own. Hindus took care not ring temple bells at the time of Muslim prayers. Drums would be muffled when passing a mosque. “Ashraf” Muslims did not eat beef, except for making Kebabs .
In post-independence India when cow slaughter came under more stringent regulation, the wild cow hitherto called “Neel Gai” blue cow, was renamed “neel Ghora” blue horse! At a much later date I heard a rather amusing and revealing story. The father of a Doctor of Pakistani origin was visiting the latter in the USA. The Doctor’s wife cooked a beefsteak for her father-in-law, who was her father’s brother as well. Beefsteak being the most expensive and prized meat in the USA (and Europe as well), the poor girl was trying to be expansive in entertaining her husband’s father. The old man, on learning that he was being served beef exploded. Was he a peasant, a serf, a low life that he should be made to eat beef and in his own son’s home? It took sworn and solemn assurances from the son and a Muslim neighbor that beef steak was indeed the best and the most highly regarded meat in the country, to pacify the old gentleman. In his heart he remained convinced that his daughter-in-law meant to slight him.
My ancestors are believed to have migrated to Kerman (a Province in Iran adjoining Iranian Baluchistan.) from the environs of Mecca/Madina soon after the massacre of Kerbela. Iran was at the time Sunni country. They lived there for several centuries engaging in academic and religious pursuits. Most Iranians under the influence of a Shia dynasty adopted the creed of the rulers, but there was no overt discrimination or victimization of Sunnis. Iranian Baluchis continue to follow the Sunni creed to this day. India had been taken over by the Moghals who, in spite of their war like origins, were lavish and generous in patronizing Muslim scholars from Iran and mid-east. They naturally favored Farsi speakers. By that time my ancestors had adopted Farsi as their first language though Arabic scholarship persisted to my Nana’s time. Having heard of the patronage on offer they migrated to Delhi during the reign of Shah Jehan, known more for having built Taj Mahal, than for conquests or high statecraft. The Mahal is actually a tomb for his beloved wife, where both are interned side by side My ancestors, an academic Moulvi (academic/religious scholar) Abdus Salaam and his nephew Mufti (academic/religious jurist) Mahmood, presented themselves to the court and having established their scholastic credentials, were granted lands near Dewa. Moulvi Salaam married off his daughter to his nephew. We are the progeny of the pair. It is not known if any other females accompanied them. Family folklore has it that we took pains to keep our lineage pure. Moulvi Salam of revered memory is buried in a village called Lalapur, about two miles from Dewa. We used to visit the grave when we lived in India. The grave is still there, well looked after by our relatives who did not abandon our ancestral village.
We claim to be Syeds (in a sense we are the worlds first feminists, claiming descendence from the prophet through his daughter. Jews do the same but their reasons are different-related rather to making sure of legitimacy.). But not too much ought to be made of the claim, though I would not dare make the statement in front of my Nana. It was an article of faith for him. In fact he had a shijra (genealogical chart), which traced our descendence to the Prophet through his own Nana Maroof Shah mentioned earlier too. In fact no lineage in the world is pure. They must have married local women as our features betray. Detractors ridiculed the claim. They asserted that it was related to the level of prosperity .
The years following arrival of any ancestors in India till about 1830 AD, the year my paternal great great grandfather Abdul Ali was born, are not well recorded. (His father Farhat Ali would have been born in the first decade of the nineteenth century. Tradition avers that they supervised their land, indulged in academic pursuits and kept out of trouble. They were only marginally affected during the unsuccessful 1857 war of Independence. Stories were told of marauding British soldiers passing through and every one sought shelter in barns and cellars. One young lady climbed up a tree and stayed up there for several days! Lucknow witnessed bestial carnage during and after the first war of independence. Dewa was evidently on the transit route from Delhi-Lucknow to further east, as evident from the village named after the Emperor or Jehangir and the anecdotal story of denizens of Kursi entertaining the Emperor Aurangzeb. The numerous ruins of “Mahals” would also lend credence to the devastation visiting our Qasbah.
My forefathers appear to have recovered fairly well from whatever losses they sustained. Abdul Ali Mian (all the higher ranks of gentlefolk were called Mian if male, and Bibi if female) was a very successful attorney and had accumulated considerable wealth. He built Naya Mahal. We came to be called Naya Mahli- denizens of Naya Mahal. His son, Mansur Ali (my great grand father) was an academic of great renown. He wrote several books. I recall my Nana telling me that we had one or two of his works. We had to leave them behind during our clandestine flight to Pakistan. Though not formally trained in law, his sharp wit was acclaimed, and he was in great demand as an expert witness in courts especially in inheritance claims. He would have made a fortune in twentieth century NY .He had hedonistic traits. According to the then fairly prevailing practice he had a mistress or two. I believe progeny from that alliance survived him, though the legitimate line shunned them. Recently one of the descendents of his younger brother Zahoor Mian told me that once Mansur Mian was visiting his niece when a letter from his mistress arrived. The niece, too embarrassed to give the letter to her uncle, tore it up. The venerable gentleman was very annoyed when on his return home the mistress asked him why had he not responded to the missive. Well cushioned financially, he never worked for a living and managed to squander the fortune accumulated by his father, leaving his siblings and children in genteel poverty. His brother Zahoor Ali was twelve years younger and sister Maseehan Bibi was younger still.
My Dada, Hafiz Ali was the oldest of his children .He had to shoulder the responsibility of the family after Mansur Mian passed on. He had a younger brother who never worked in his life and a younger sister who was my Nani. Dada had to take a minor revenue department job at a very young age .He died young, leaving my father, the eldest son in charge of the family, in his turn. My father was in tenth grade at the time, had to quit school and take a job. He was the most hardworking, perseverant and honest person I have come across in my life. He put two brothers through college, supported, besides his own family, a widowed mother, a sister separated from her husband and her son. But consistency was not in his character and he was not shrewd either. He worked at several jobs, engaged in several businesses, got Bachelors and law degree through correspondence courses, but never met more than modest success. Something would inevitably happen when he would be on the verge of a big break. He opened a secretarial training school in Quetta. It worked very well for a few years, and then, as luck would have it, the government decided to start a free institute in the neighborhood. He started a construction business, but won’t offer bribes, so lost a lot of money. In the sixties he opened a poultry farm. The chicken contracted some sickness and died en masse. In pre-independence days he obtained Homeopathic Physicians degree again through a correspondence course. My mother did not believe in the system of medicine, and during the worst scarcities of WWII used to put the sweet Homeopathic pills in her tea!!
My Dadi came from the family I have alluded to earlier. They were rather brash and rather short on civility and etiquette. They spoke loudly, and were intolerant of the views held by others. I believe they were the early proto type of the intolerant Wahabi sect. We had little to do with them, after my younger Phupho’s marriage with her first cousin who was my Dadi’s nephew, broke down after the birth of their first and only child. I vaguely recall the man. He was visiting my Nana’s home. A snake was sighted in the pantry. Every one master and servant alike, kept away from the room. Not he. He went in boldly, put his foot on the animals tail protruding out of a hole, pulled it out and killed it. I marveled at his courage, but over heard my mother attributing it to his rough upbringing! Gentlefolk were indeed effete.
Zahoor Ali Mian was one of the first graduates from Dewa. He was the tutor to the Raja Imtiaz Rasool, ruler of Jehangirabad state near Dewa and was thus more commonly called Master Zahoor. His first wife died rather early leaving behind one son and two daughters. The son, Sharfuddin Ahmad (Urfiat-pet name- Shaida Mian) had a son and a daughter. Shaida Mian’s son Zahir U.Warsi earned a PhD in applied Mathematics with expertise in aerodynamics and was a tenured professor, and on retirement Professor Emeritus of Aerospace Engineering at the Mississippi State university in the USA. Shaida Mian’s two sisters married two brothers. One was widowed early and had two sons. The other sister was childless. The latter and her husband looked after her and the children very well indeed. One of the two sons Zainuddin qualified the Indian Police service examination and retired after attaining the rank of the top man in the intelligence bureau, a tribute to the even handed treatment of Hindu and Muslim alike in Nehru days. The other son Zameerudddin served in a bank.
Zahoor Mian married again, this time out side the clan. “Caste” prejudice was very strong at the time and his new wife was not quite accepted by extended family for quite some time. Zahoor Main died, leaving this lady with five sons and four daughters. The lady was sharp as a needle, intelligent and ambitious. Her husband had left her financially fairly well off. She took her brood away from the ancestral village to the city of Allahabad where she put all her sons through school and college and took care to marry her children in her husband’s clan. This branch of the family migrated to Pakistan. Three of them did quite well, the eldest Sharif Warsi obtained two PhD’s in Chemistry, one from the UK and the other from Germany and was the Director of Pakistan Council of Industrial and scientific Research in Karachi. Most of the next generation have migrated to Canada and the USA and are busy making their lives.
My mother’s family was a collateral branch of the original émigrés; they actually call my father’s side collateral. They still use Kermani as Surname. (My father’s family gave it up as it had become too common). They were mid-level landowners and did not appear to have produced any intellectuals or great wealth. My mother’s grandfather was a man of some means. My Nana was the eldest son. He went to school though he had less reason to seek English education than his brothers did, who vaingloriously claimed that they had more than enough to live on. My Nana bucking the family trend got educated and finished one year of Law school .It was then a two years course after high school (Jinnah went to London after high School and was admitted to Law school directly). I don’t know why he chose to tread an unchartered path. I wish I had asked him. But he had to quit Law school as he got married early and had to look after a growing family. He got a job in the law department of the Court of wards in a mid sized town called Gonda in eastern UP. Nana was a very intelligent man. He had mastery over English Grammar, a highly regarded accomplishment at the time. He could also draft massive documents with unbelievable ease. And to top it all, he was a keen mathematician too. He rose to a fairly senior position in his profession, and would have risen higher, if his wife had let him accept transfer to another town. In those days, movement of hearth and home was dreaded. He was fairly prosperous, had built a large house and entertained lavishly. He had two sons and two daughters; one of the latter was my mother, his absolute favorite. I was the next favorite. My Mammoos were both in the teaching profession. The younger one, whom I was very close to, had a tragic life. The elder one married to my older Phupho, and is survived by two daughters, the younger one a successful gynecologist. The progeny of his never do well brothers migrated to Pakistan in the same “caravan” as we did. I believe they would have stayed put if my Nana had not held their hands. Their progeny did not do too badly in the new country. Pakistan did give a leg up to refugees in early days.
My father held several minor and temporary jobs in the judiciary system. With the advent of WWII a lot of jobs had opened up. He obtained a civilian job in the army and was transferred from place to place. At some point in this period our family was hit by an upheaval that endogamous families are prone to and known for. My older Chacha got divorced. I believe he wanted to marry my Khala. My mother was all for it. Her own sister in the same house would empower her immensely. My older Mamoon married to my Dadi’s daughter- I know it will sound terribly complicated to the in initiated- also promoted the alliance. My Dadi was vehemently opposed to the match. She felt, with some justification that she was barely able to deal with my mother and if her sister also joined the family, she would be reduced to a cipher in her own son’s home. She might as well take “Ban Baas” the Hindu practice of leaving for the jungle when at the end of life or if circumstances overwhelmed one. She could, however, not afford to offend her son-in-law. Putting sons-in-law on the pedestal is also borrowed from Hindu culture. In olden days Hindus would not even enter the boundaries of the village their daughters were married into. ). I am not quite clear as to what happened next, and I lost the last opportunity of elucidation when my mother passed away. The other elders in the family are not in the class of forthrightness that my mother was in. But my mother with my younger sister and me decided to return to her father’s house. My older Phupho also forsook her husband for her brother’s (my fathers) house. Halfhearted negotiations continued. The crux came when my Dadi was able to coerce my Chacha into marrying another cousin Then partition intervened. My father with his mother, sisters and his youngest brother, the last unwillingly, left for Pakistan by a special railway train reserved for military personnel... My older Chacha with his new wife left for Pakistan through another route.
We had a comfortable life in the material sense. My Nana was well off and highly respected. We had several servants, among them a cook, his assistant and another person for grocery shopping. I recall a woman Chameli, I think she was a Hindu, the name certainly was, who was slightly demented and arrived one day asking for food and stayed on. I think she was a widow and had been thrown out of her home by her deceased husbands family. She kept her head shaved. She cherished me and tried in her mis guided affection to feed me all kinds of “ Prasad”-temple offering of food and sweets, she obtained during her visits for puja-worship. She brought them wrapped in rather unclean leaves. I was later to be afflicted by some deficiency disease, but my mother blamed the condition on the sweets Chameli brought for me and put a stop to that. Chameli cried piteously. My mother relented to the extent of allowing me to have a little bit after it was recooked. Another stray, a boy named Chand took shelter with us. I think his people had been killed in communal riots. He had a defective eye and was mercilessly teased by boys in the neighborhood. They called him Kana, one eyed, till my Nana put a stop to that. He came to Pakistan with us, but disappeared one day during our stay in Quetta. My mother was actually quite kind to him and made halfhearted attempts to teach him. She often said that if we had the money she would have sent him to school too
I was the only male child in the house. My khala, of cherished memory, she died young, doted on me and tried her utmost to spoil me. My mother who had inherited intelligence from her father and a strong will and sharp wit from some other ancestor, dominated her fathers home and rescued me from certain delinquency. I, of course, did not appreciate it at the time. I rather hated her at times for the discipline she imposed on me. Once my Khala, who was a highly emotional person was prevented by my mother from lavishing some kindness on me. Terribly upset, she declared that she would have a snake bite her, and in pursuit of the objective went to the unbuilt wooded part of the compound, which had thick undergrowth. I was frantic but could not defy my mother; neither for that matter could her own mother. I managed to send the cook and his assistant to the area with sticks to save my darling aunt. Fortunately it was not too long till my Nana arrived from work and coaxed Khala from the woods. After the dust had settled I told my mother that she did not love her sister, as she did not stop her from going to the wooded area. I would never do that to my sister. My mother smiled. She knew that I would send the servants to protect my Khala. If she felt her sister would be at risk, she would have kept her from going to the area. But my mother could not keep an eye on me all the time. My Nana would be angry with me only if he felt that some activity I indulged in could hurt me. I once climbed a tree. That was an absolute no for me. My Nana happened to come back home early. Sighting him from atop the tree arriving in his Tonga, I jumped off from about eight feet and dashed into the house. My Nana was so relieved that I was not got grievously hurt that instead of reprimanding me he bought me a gift. My mother too was all over me. But Inspire of all the care lavished on me I missed my father terribly. I even tried to adopt my Khala’s husband in loco parentis.
My grandfather and my mother’s younger brother, in college at the time, tutored me in English and Math at home. At the beginning of the next term, I was then taken to a new parochial school and was admitted into the fourth grade. The school was a product of nascent Muslim nationalism. Strapped for cash, lacking in experienced or qualified teachers, housed in a ramshackle building, it had a rather poor standard. I was there for a few months and have only a vague impression of my time in the place. At the beginning of the following term my grandfather took me to the most prestigious school in town. They demurred; I had not a clue of any subjects besides English and Mathematics. The principal of the school, soon afterwards, ruefully discovered that a generous grant from a princely state, which my grandfather controlled, had been inexplicably held up. Wise in feudal ways he was able to divine the reason for the hold up. It was a small town .It is quite possible some one in the know advised him. The upshot was that one evening shortly afterwards, he came to our house, expressed regrets that his assistants had not had the good sense to admit a bright child like me and invited my Nana to bring me to the school the next day.
I was out my depth in more than one way. I had no knowledge of History, Geography or drawing. I have mentioned this elsewhere too that I could not draw a straight line to save my life. I had no idea of organizing my time during the tests. I did not even know that one had to attempt all the questions in the examination paper. In one examination I attempted only one third of the questions, as one third of the total marks would give you passing grade!! One teacher had marked my paper poor. I was incensed. How dare he call me poor? I was from an affluent house. It was with great difficulty that one of my classmates convinced me that the teacher meant the quality of my work rather than the financial status of my household. On another occasion my teacher had asked me to stand on my chair. He thought I was talking to another student. This was excessive punishment for a minor infraction. The teacher had mistaken me for the actual miscreant. He would not listen to my protestations. As luck would have it, the inspector of schools walked into the class. The teacher frantically signaled me to resume my seat. I would not. The Inspector asked me why was I standing on the chair. I blurted out that the truth. He glared at the teacher and told me to sit down. I learnt later that the teacher had a dressing down for what was an unusual and impermissible punishment.