Memoirs

 Part I- My Childhood: 

Let me recall the fantasies of life when I was a child. Dwelling in the  serene village of Kot, nestled in the District of Charsadda in the Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa Province of Pakistan.

It looks like a fairy tale when you come out of your home and you see nothing but lush green sugarcane crops in front of your main gate which extend to infinity as you walk through.  Such scenery,  printed in my memory and I recall them when I close my eyes before sleeping in the night.

 My early education journey began in this village, where I attended school from kindergarten through the fifth grade.

As the youngest sibling, I was cherished and loved dearly by everyone in my family. Our village, Kot, was predominantly agricultural. The fields around us were vibrant with sugar cane, wheat, and various vegetables. Almost every household had cattle, which were integral to our livelihood, providing us with bread and butter.

I began talking at a tender age and my chatter surpassed that of most children. My father affectionately dubbed me "the talking machine." 

I vividly recall the look of pain etched on my father's face when I, with my tiny hands, tightly grasped his beard, insisting on some demand he couldn't immediately fulfill. 

Despite his earnest efforts, he couldn't free himself, yet through tear-filled eyes, he tried to laugh, unwilling to scold me and bearing the discomfort in silence. Eventually, I released his beard when reassured that my father would honor his promise no matter the cost.

The winters in District Charsadda were particularly harsh, especially during December, January, and February. Despite the cold, my memories of those early years are warm and filled with the simplicity and beauty of village life.

Our schoolyard had a tree where the bell, used to announce breaks and the end of periods, hung. We listened carefully for the bell, eager not to waste a second when it was time to leave for home.

As soon as the bell rang, we would run fast to our homes for lunch during the break. 

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Our village primary school has now been upgraded to secondary school.  It has now double story building,  boundary wall and main gate.

This photo was taken on cell phone camera when I visited my village in September 2019.

Our Cow 

In those wonderful days of yore, our village situated amidst lush green fields, not less than a heaven on the earth where agricultural life prevailed. Almost all villagers reared animals such as cattle, goats, and sheep that provided sustenance and companionship in equal measure. Each household, by necessity and tradition, maintained a love for their livestock.

The fields, a patchwork quilt of varying elevations, were irrigated by the lifeblood of a watercourse, a diligent offshoot from the main canal. This marvel of rural engineering ensured that each plot, regardless of its height or depth, received its due share, sustaining the crops that fed the village.

Among these pastoral scenes, our family too had the age-old practice of animal husbandry but not for any commercial purpose. We reared a cow, a sturdy creature whose presence was both a source of pride and utility. 

Village afternoons found us leading our bovine companion to the fields for grazing. On one such afternoon, fortune—or perhaps misfortune—saw fit to impart a lesson I have since then carried with me.

As I walked ahead of our cow, absorbed in the simplicity of the moment, an unexpected turn of events transpired. With a sudden, unprovoked movement, I found the cow's horn in my shirt, lifting and unceremoniously depositing me on the side of the walk through. By the grace of Almighty I was miraculously safe but scared a lot. From that day forth, a seed of caution took root within me, blossoming into a profound respect of such capricious nature of animals.

To my esteemed readers, I impart this wisdom hard-earned, to please refrain from positioning yourselves directly in the path of these unpredictable creatures. Despite the fact that their service is invaluable, their moods are mercurial, capable of inflicting harm without a moment's notice.

Part-II - Shifting to Peshawar.

In 1979, my father decided to move our family to Peshawar for better educational opportunities. We settled near the Peshawar cantonment, and I was enrolled in a government school located on the main Sunehry Road in the cantonment area. The term "Sunehry" is an Urdu word meaning "golden," named after the historical Sunehry Masjid, which is situated on the main road.

We often visited Sunehry Masjid for prayers, particularly on Fridays, to listen to the Juma sermon. I attended Government High School No. 1 Peshawar Cantt, which was one of the top-ranking schools at the time.

I have fond memories of our School Principal, Mr. Husanain Naqvi, who taught us mathematics in the 9th and 10th grades. Under his guidance, most of my classmates achieved A+ grades in their final examinations and were admitted to prestigious colleges. Many of them have gone on to become doctors, engineers, and professors, contributing significantly to the nation.

View of Sunehry Masjid

Part III- Higher Secondary School

I got admission in Federal Government Degree College commonly known as FG College in 1986. It is situated in the heart of Peshawar cantonment. It was famous for its reputation in those days. This institution was part of the Higher Secondary School (HSC) system, and I chose to pursue pre-engineering ( called Non-Medical in those wonderful days), with Mathematics, Physics, and Chemistry as my major subjects.

The Cinema.

Among my classmates, particularly within my peer group, it was a common practice to visit a nearby cinema. They learnt this important lesson from seniors like Mr. Imtiaz. This wonderful guy had more than three attempts to increase his marks in mathematics to get admission in engineering college but was not successful.

 My classmates would often tell me they were attending a class on the other side of the road, a statement that puzzled me a lot. One day, my close friend, Mr. Irfan, informed me that I was also joining them for this so-called lecture. I thought that it would be a routine class and I would learn some new stuff.  Hence gave them my consent to go.

However, my curiosity turned to embarrassment when I found myself inside the cinema gallery, facing a giant screen. I told my friends that I had no intention of watching such futile entertainment, but they insisted me to stay, practically forcing me to sit quietly. Helpless, I complied and followed  their instruction to watch the movie. Uncomfortable with the scenes of girls (they called them heroine) dancing on loud music, I spent most of the time staring at the ceiling or the walls of cinema. This was an attempt to avoid focus on huge screen as I came in the cinema for the first time.

After the movie ended, I realized that it was already 2:00 PM, and I was very late returning home. Frustrated, I quarreled with my friend for causing such a delay. That day remains etched in my memory as a significant, albeit uncomfortable, experience.

Our Chemistry Teacher.

In our college the chemistry subject was taught by the unforgettable Mr. Israr. He was youngest faculty member and science student's favorite  His classes were a unique blend of rigorous scientific elaborations and hearty laughter. Students would enjoy his sense of humor that was not just a teaching tool but a way to build a bond with his students, making the daunting chemistry something we all looked forward to. 

One day in our chemistry class, Mr. Israr was explaining how to produce hydrogen sulfide in laboratory. He elaborated the detailed chemical equations and the exact amounts of chemicals required to generate the gas. While he was writing on the blackboard, a student suddenly interrupted with a question: Sir, "How does this gas smell like?"

Our Teacher turned around abruptly, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, and quipped, 

"It smells like your fart." 

The whole class erupted into a roar of laughter and the serious atmosphere instantly lightened by his humor. Moments like these made Mr. Israr's classes unforgettable, blending education with a touch of comedy.

The  College Prank

On the first day of college, our seniors were poised and ready, eager to prank the newcomers. As I stepped through the main gate, the scene unfolded before me: 

A line of fresh-faced students, like myself, stood nervously by the side of the walk through, while our seniors, brimming with mischief, positioned themselves opposite to us, prepared to launch their pranks marathon. Many of the newcomers knew each other, either from the same school or from being residents of our then small district. That is why the new comers were standing shoulder to shoulder for their common cause viz How to avoid this prank and humiliation?

Every time a new arrival would step in through the main gate, the seniors would erupt in unison, "A new rooster, get him!" The startled freshman would sprint to our camp, seeking refuge from the onslaught.

Amidst this chaotic initiation, Mr. Sultan, one of the new comers, the Rooster, boldly shouted at the seniors to back off, declaring, "No mother has begotten a Son who could prank with me." His defiance caught the seniors' attention, and they momentarily paused their antics, intrigued by his audacity.

I was both surprised and encouraged by Sultan's Challenge to Seniors, daring to hope that perhaps we wouldn't fall victim to the seniors' pranks after all. Sultan was a stout guy and looked like John Cina in front of Seniors.

However, prior to this bold proclamation, many newcomers had already found a different form of protection. Seniors from the students federation of a political party approached us at the main gate, promising safety from pranks if we agreed to support their cause by filling out a form. 

Desperate for seeking refuge and knowing my own mussels, I was the first to sign up, securing my escape from the seniors' fooling.

Meanwhile the college administrators and faculty arrived to escort us to the classrooms for orientation. The roosters were now very happy while walking behind the faculty and with the protocol of the college administration.

I remained obliged to that political party, through out my college days and attended their sessions / meetings which I did not like.

Interesting stuff is coming........