Untitled: Fiction Cum Autobiography or Autobiography Cum Fiction

By Capt. Emran Faridi

This is an autobiography turned into fiction, as the theme of the story is not interesting enough to entrance the audiences awareness and not interesting to become a big-budget motion depiction. It does not attract all the social lessons of all the races and nations and does not convey a message of slaughter to be lived by, success to be dishonored, and achievements to get pleasure from.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Aug 10, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546254928

Capt. Emran Faridi

Author had been a spoiled brat in the childhood, an educated achiever in adolescence, a gainful serviceman in adulthood, and a useful productive person with scientific publications, editorship of institution of higher education journals, critical columnist of newspapers in his prime time and a living content retiree with several books published to his credit. The people are masqueraded as fictitious, locations are invented, true events were conjured, places are tainted, characters are made up, twists and turns of the book are magnified, emotional charges are exagerated and timings are misrepresented. He does not want to be intensified by his family, friends, colleagues and acquaintances. Any resemblance to any subject, object or situation is coincidental and does not bear any observance to the truth.

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Preamble

Q/Q: If you love me follow me and I will follow you [2:56-AS]

P/P: Strength of a man is not in winning over others rather in controlling himself.

Q/Q: Misery is always followed by relief.

P/P: When a blessing finds, Believer is grateful and his gratitude is a source of goodness for him. And when a difficulty befalls him, he is patient and his patience is a source of goodness for him. (Sahih’ Muslim)

1948

There were concerns, suspicions, embarrassments, and remembrances of memories within memories. Of late some sickening fears also cropped up and were not setting me free, to which I am not referring now in any professional perspective. It must be several decades before this year that my undivided country India, came under direct rule of British crown after having failed in its attempt of mutiny. And some decades thereafter, India’s national congress was founded, as a forum to emerge nationalistic feelings and a quarter century thereafter the greatest nationalist’s figurehead launched anti-British civil disobedience campaign.

I don’t know whether this is a moment to cherish or mourn that a year ago India was liberated from British rule and became independent and free from several years of controlled rule, under the dogmatic British principle of divide and rule policy. This had sowed the seed of hatred among people of different faiths leading to pathetic communal riots spread over the united country, leading to the partition that formed two nations based on different faiths. One became India and the second became Pakistan.

In the beginning of the mid-19th century, the national congress party of India launched Quit Country Moment by Mahatma Gandhi. That was the end of British rule with the subsequent partition of the sub-continent based on the difference in faith, a strategy of the British. This was followed by the death of hundreds of thousands of innocents due to the widespread communal riots and bloodshed, and since then continued a sort of cold war within these countries over a disputed territory of the north by name Kashmir, which remained with the divided India, in spite of having a majority people of a different faith.

The man-made calamity was awful. The partition leading to separation of families and loved-ones was unhappily sad but real. Curiously and unclearly the National Army led by a revolutionary freedom fighter, Bose was banned and simultaneously Albania was liberated to become independent nation and state of Israel also got recognized. While in America, states were getting organized under the banner of a federal government. Korea was divided into North and South.

Some stubborn producer made a film in the native dialogue titled ‘stubborn’ probably depicting a forecasted nature of my mind. The greatest leader of his times, after experiencing ‘Apartheid’ regime of South Africa and having witnessed racial discrimination of worst kind, who deservedly was named ‘Mahatma’ for the country India, was assassinated by a Hindu extremist in the north. I was born in south, in a state of its own under the monarchial reign of ‘Asafia Dynasty’, ruled by the richest king of his time, Nizam, the VII.

I was made to believe that people were happy, prosperous and in peace. The difference in faith, which dictated the partition of the country, was blooming with pride in Hyderabad. The ministers and high-ranking executives were of a different faith from the state of governance. The State, Hyderabad Deccan having been built on a plateau had the best climatic conditions.

In the peak of summers on a day or two, it used to be followed by drizzles or showers of rain for cooling down, consequently giving the city enough number of tanks and lakes. Roads were wide and clean with imported cars and chariots rowed by horses moving with grace and dignity. They were enough gardens, parks, and greenery around with elegant old-fashioned houses and widespread lawns adding beauty to the city.

History narrated to me that I was born with a silver spoon in my mouth, with every privilege available at that time showered on me, with a huge mansion containing a fleet of servants, portico large enough to accommodate the fleet of cars, surrounded by gardens, with a multitude of flowering plants of all creeds, blossoming everywhere, ‘Sentry Guards’ on attention at the huge caste Iron Gate was a luxury, all of which of course could not have been memorized by a new born and could not have been cherished as an infant.

A year after, when the king of our state given the option to get partitioned took a strange decision thinking great of himself and his treasures. The greatest minority-faith leader B.Y. Jung was killed in a ploy, half expecting the inevitable change without repenting for his wrong decision, the king of Hyderabad state invited the chieftain of this MIM party, a wise man of a good heritage, a thinker, a scholar and a great orator joined for lunch, who was later rumored to be poisoned and achieved martyrdom. During the chaotic confusion of sequence of events all of which unfavorable to the interests of the minority, we could do nothing except to mourn for this colossal loss. There were differences between me and Mahatma Gandhi.

He was wise and I was a fool, he was mighty and I was feeble, he was strong and I was weak, he believed in non-violence policy and I believed in the ‘eye-for-eye and a tooth-for-tooth’ policy, guided by my faith. It couldn’t be a greater tragedy. As he was a great leader and I was a survivor, but both of us did not believe in dual nation concept and both of us would agree on equal civil rights.

Class distinctions have their own diversity and usefulness in a harmonious society, economic progress and peaceful living, a necessity. It goes well with the doctrine of prosperity in diversity. Uprising is justified for defense and ‘survival of the fittest’ not exactly only a law of jungle, but in its own form, prevents reoccurrence of unwanted anti-social behavior mandatory for communal peace.

I was trying to prime my attention and concentration to telltale signs in the world’s responses and also in my family’s reactions, fondness implied, was not pleasant at all. But it turned out all very alarming, rather false alarming to me as I was left with many unanswered questions as new unanswerable questions were budding up, which if I would have expressed would have plunged this writing into an exercise which would never surface.

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The cultivated, absorbing forces started getting submerged in confusion as my wishes, whims, and fancies were distinctly unpublicized conveniences. I did not have any checks and balance in my methods, which was dangerous because it may overlook acknowledgement of liabilities. Just around the middle of 20th century, at which time Urdu- Persian theatre was at its peak, Arabic music with its typical preludes and interludes was amalgamated in Indian music which happened to be the golden era of Indian Cinema.

The first talky movie was made by name ‘Alam Ara’, consisting of 50 songs and around that time ‘Ghazals’, a specialty of Urdu poetry was also introduced into Indian Cinema with eloquent words having their own grace, elegance, royalty and glamour. Yet another actress who was the highest paid star by name Suraiya, much celebrated for her beauty and talent and yet another lady singer who recorded her only song which blossomed to its maximum popularity was Rajkumari who suddenly vanished in thin air.

Among the other celebrated singers, Shamshad became cherished for her sharp notes and Lata for her soft notes. Majruh was the Indian lyricist who had half a century of success in his career in film industry. Another song about brides leaving their homes for their marriages became the iconic film song which is sung in all marriages till date. On the other hand, I was stretching my conclusion beyond limits and under tension, it usually exposes more than what is intended to reveal. The anticipated confrontation did not take place and I was not sure whether among other things, I was telling lies, too easily and too successfully placed.

1949

When the relationship was becoming old enough to mature, we were made to witness the specter of betrayal, even in absence of pressure to prove anything. Nothing was noticeable in evidence until your wishes were explored but by then the proclamations got nailed into our coffins and then what was left behind was a cold war getting accelerated with time. China proclaimed People’s Republic under ‘Mao Tso Tung’, Indonesia gained independence, West Germany was declared a republic too and ‘North Atlantic Treaty Organization’ NATO was finalized.

The heroic deeds of my father other than marrying twice, were in plenty during his service before the ‘police action’ and he was rewarded by gold medals for some, for which my mothers used to get the regular monthly pension even if meager, for the rest of their lives. One of them, which my mothers used to narrate with pride, was an incident of mutiny in the local district jail by the prisoners when they undertook an organized break open of the jail and my father was called in the middle of the night to face a task which even the regiment of police feared to handle.

He managed somehow, to keep them all within doors, all by himself, all alone. Such was the melodrama of bravery that government officials used to show back then. But the ‘Razakar’ movement’ of the local party had it all thereafter and ‘police action’ was to imminently change the whole picture of the state and dynasty.

The life of Indian Cinema with its twists and turns went through many faces but saliently Arzu Lucknowi, the greatest poet of his time wrote lyrics for the biggest blockbuster movie of the century called ‘Moghal-E-Azam’, still considered to be an incomparable and exemplified film-making project. Another exalted esteemed lady, author A. Chuqtai wrote the script of another successful film by name ‘Arzu’.

My Home Country’s population was the second largest in the world, if my atlas photographic memory could have been perfect. The weather was cool and in contrast the reception was cold. More than that I couldn’t feel secure and safe. The coolness of weather and the coldness of the reception, hatefully existed for me but I was not reminded of the recent contrasts I was subjected to.

Everybody was jubilant except me. My mothers were exchanging hands in the sense that I was being handed from one to the other, like metal bowls of concrete passed through hands among laborers for roof laying of a semi constructed building. My life appeared no different. I was myself semi constructed at that point of time and wished a complete, concrete roof of protection over me to stay on for the rest of my life.

I could not register the grim features having changed or not in so much or in so little a time. Myself, a child rather an infant, had not been able to recollect so many faces of distorted affection and showered fake kisses in my life, from grief ridden people around me. But I was only beginning my life. The journey was similar to noise pollution but not happier. I was not loving it and I felt unsafe among them.

The effortless comfort one can derive from the trust of relationships must have been lacking. The city must have become different, the streets must have become different, the shops must have become different, even the by-passers must have become different for my mothers. I wandered through the tortuous ways and wondered why so much had become so different. Actually, I was to become very different.

Not long ago I came from nowhere as a frail boy or kid or new born and my mothers were to remain women of confidence, women of power, women of experience. I was not drifting in my thoughts as we reached nowhere. There was no Home-sweet-Home. I seemed to have imagined a banner, you are going to be a winner, must have been made by some artistic mind intending to welcome me, must have been displayed by some heroic figure to show that there is protection of God over me and the idea must have been given by some idealistic philosopher that survival is important than to become a victim of circumstances.

How bad to be back among people unknown to you. Close enough to know and not know their mindsets, know their feelings and not know their indifference. Suddenly I felt hungry, no sooner the fragrance of my mother’s milk emanated from the embodied surroundings, but people were unwilling to embrace me or the scene around me and I had to live with my hunger for some more time, not long before my hunger died and I could not enjoy mother’s nutrient milk almost dried in herself along with everything.

We must not have sat together and exchanged vows, told stories, or recollected any thoughts for my well-being or the would-be calamitous life to follow me for the rest of my destined span of life, past events had not cracked jokes. All was not fun or pleasure to be seen from a different perspective. Others narrated stories of ups and downs and blamed one or two or many factors to justify their grievances and I was supposed to consider myself relatively better posted, off-course unlucky to have been abused by nature.

1950

American post-war occupation of Japan also ended and curiously, in U.K Queen Elizabeth II took the throne in her youth. Color T.V was introduced for the first time in the world. Marlin Brando became an established star in Hollywood and Dilip Kumar the tragedy king of Bollywood, after doing tragic films in succession got depressed himself, was carried to England for psychiatric treatment subjected to psychotherapy and was asked to refrain from acting in movies with tragic themes. It was a tragic beginning of a tragic era for me too, to survive among adversaries of life. To my good luck and due to my intra-Psychic coping resources, I did not undergo depression.

Elders later briefed me that I was playing hide and seek game by running around in the day, slept tried to awaken with inability to use my limbs next day. It took some time for everybody to realize my jelly legs and it took some time before I was diagnosed to have been inflicted with Polio Myelitis.

It took time to get a Neurologist’s confirmation of the diagnosis and it took some time for me to be carried to the city hospital for treatment, which was not completely known to the medical faculty. These two years of delayed discovery of the Salk and Sabin vaccine made available for use had already had its toll. Recovery from this illness proved to be long, tedious, hard, difficult and challenging.

It was a warm summer afternoon. Sun filtered through the trees and formed glossy patches of bright yellow light in the front yard of the big mansion like house gifted by the government to high ranking police officials. It must have been our house, as my father had been the superintendent of police, due promotion as the next deputy Inspector General of police before he died an accidental death.

I had only a vague memory of my father. It is not expected of a two or three-year-old to remember vividly the events which took place several decades ago. Psychological defensive mechanisms as such interfere with the recollections, with the interference theory of forgetfulness, more so if they had been unpleasant.

My past must have been the same, as I could remember nothing out of it. Especially if one does not have a father figure to role model and continuity of stresses big or small leading to a syndrome of general adaptation, which I was subjected to. I was not expected to remember my past. I also could not remember my father.

I still wonder whether I remembered that day so well or somebody described it with so much of attention to detail that I thought I remembered it with all the impediments of retention. Anyway, I could recall it is as our house, quite a few people were there, gathered in the big open space. But they were quiet, serious and very grim. Most of them must have been mere acquaintances as they were not talking to each other.

Noises came from the inside of my house. Sighs and sobs of crying of the womenfolk, including my mother, who became the youngest widow of the family. She was a young lady with two children respectively. She was very fair, pretty and elegant, as depicted in those olden day photographs. As a young wife of a police officer, she commanded great respect in the circle of acquaintances and lived a life of luxury and comfort, participating in all the club activities like cycling, horse riding, hunting, and fishing.

I was being carried in the arms of an orderly may be and while crossing the front yard I saw the body of my father wrapped in a white cloth lying on a Divan. Still, very still. There were garlands of jasmine surrounding his face. He looked very much dead. He was dead. He had met with an accident while returning from the club. In the twilight of the late evening, my father in the back seat fell in the well, his head hit the rear glass panel of the vehicle and passed away forever. I was told it could have been sabotage but we were not sure of the consequences. A team of police divers took the vehicle out along with the dead body of my father. All others were safely saved.

I knew he died at a young age. Forties, is still a young age to have died after a life of power, position and authority. In the era of dynasties, a position of a superintendent of police used to be like kingship in its own right. Narrations of all the stories of those times which I heard from my mother denoted richness and privileges which were bestowed on us. But how long did I enjoy those privileges? Two to three years is not enough, can never be enough, when it comes to a downfall from normalcy we faced thereafter.

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Those were painful memories. They cannot be memories a child of that age can remember. They should not be registered in any memory. I must have been told time and again by elders, that added up and got converted into registered life events which I am recollecting as memories. I wished they should have been erased from my mind. I wandered.

Why the interference theory of forgetfulness had not worked here. I recoiled with feelings hurting my conscious about how my mothers enjoyed the life of memories although not being Queens of any Victorian era. How affluent they were. How much of power and position they were blessed with. What a glorious lifestyle they lived before my father’s accidental demise.

How they enjoyed horse riding, boating, partying and playing cards at the clubs with a fleet of servants taking care of needs, attempting to please them as much as they can. After my father’s demise how, they suffered the dip in ab-normalcy, three helpless ladies including my grandmother taking care of bare minimum needs of three orphan children, my adopted cousin inclusive, not being able to share and care for their own needs. What an irony of facts, three helpless widows and three helpless orphans, all trying to live together.

I was told I used to hide behind the doors to eat a stolen biscuit. What an irony of the past and what an irony of future that we came out adjusting, accommodating and manipulating the adversaries to come up in our lives except for my orphan cousin brother who was adopted and would be still recollecting his past glories and his gloomy future.

1951

Searching sense only revealed either abnormal interpretation of facts or it was a clear betrayal of memories which either way was not acceptable to me. I did not forget that life does not give enough time to settle things down, or to let me absorb the obvious and not to cry for the hidden atrocities. I wonder why people prefer to avoid expressing sadness.

Sadness exists from the existence of the Universe and may continue existing until the doom’s day whether confessed or not. It’s a normal reaction to life events and crying aloud or in silence is a form of draining the pent-up gloom to get peace unlike selfishness, greed and self-gratification which antagonizes peace of mind.

The first general elections of the Independent country of my origin took place and the first parliamentary cabinet of the new formed nation sat in session, in the end my country became republic, a true liberation for a democracy worth testing and trying, after having been a part of allied forces under British rule in World War II.

While major benefits were being rewarded to the World as comforts, privileges, conveniences to all, my benefits were withdrawn from me. The irony of the fact emerged with its contents shaping out to be a book after 50 years rounding off into a fiction. Memories were subdued and vivid recollections which were difficult to recall.

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History denoted facts about freedom fighters of the cadre of Mahatma Gandhi, like M. A. Jinnah, M. Shoukat Ali, M. Mohammed Ali, M. Azaad, J.L.Nehru and others who took united India as a secular land and wanted to remain with united India except for M. A. Jinnah, L. A. Khan and others who believed in two nation ideology created by the greatest poet of his time Allama Iqbal, who initially had nationalistic thinking which later got converted into religious thinking and he preached, the concept of two nation ideology which could have been peacefully implemented.

Polio Vaccine though was definitely delayed as far as I was concerned, as I was already inflicted by the virus and while it gave privileges to children of the World my privileges were lost in my distorted faith. Jinnah was a ‘Think Tank’ himself and had foreseen possible partiality and probable communal happenings and preferred geographical separation based on states, a partition dependent on the majority. Among the freedom fighters, Jinnah along with Gandhi and few other secular minds wanted peaceful resolutions and demarcations for an eternal peace of the two separate countries of India and Pakistan.

There were two states with Muslim majority like Hyderabad and Kashmir which were given the option to join any as per their own wish. Naturally, Kashmir being ruled by a Hindu Maharaja opted to remain with India and the then king Nizam VII called Osman Ali Khan opted out of any merger and wanted to remain independent to rule under the ‘Asafia dynasty’ flag.

This independence lasted for very short time. Nizam state was invaded and all defense measures failed miserably including the Razakar Movement led by Qasim Razvi. He was a fool hardy leader of the local party, forecasting the calamities that would emerge after emotional orations with slogans to resist oppressions and provoked youngsters to fight on streets and to resist the invading army of armored tanks and faced brutal deaths.

The ‘Operation Polo’ or police action as it was later labeled, was led by General J.N. Choudhary an old-time friend of my father thereby leading to an inaccurate, unreasonable, insensible and illogical partition of faiths which could not have taken place without bloodshed. Hundreds and thousands of people died, it also separated regions which led to formation of East and West Pakistan, liberated and annexed Kashmir, but Muslim faith population in spite of being in majority and centrally placed remained with India.

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The sequence of events also led M. Shoukat Ali and M. Mohammed Ali to form another party with Muslim segregation under the name of ‘Muslim League’, while M. Azad and other liberals joined ‘Indian National Congress’.

While another freedom fighter and founder of Aligarh Muslim University named Sir. Syed had been lodging introspection since long to uplift Muslim Community to get well versed with English Language which was the language of British, ruling United India. The formation and organization of states in India were based on linguistic inheritance and our huge central state got divided with peripheral districts getting annexed to other surrounding states.

I was not aware of the fact that the accomplishments demand some risks and life had to be shared with boldness of collective actions and not by individual initiatives. Since we were panicked by the mere fact of failure, others were also not acting with reasoning or determination, especially in moments of crisis and thereby not facing the limitations of their commitments. Evaluations always depend upon the available data and except few bouts of uncanny doubts, nothing was conclusive, rather nothing except some misunderstandings and mild confusion, but we remained reasonable even during those adverse conditions.

In spite of the fact that I suffered from post-polio paralysis of left lower limb, interestingly I never felt handicapped by the same. I still used to try to run and fall. I used to play all the games I could afford to play. It is only when I started growing up that I noticed it was proving a shortcoming. But you get to adjust with realities and destined fates with passage of time.

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1952

The first draft of constitution of India was charted out. The greatest philosopher of his time ‘Bernard Shaw’ died and unfortunately my father died too. My father was a decorated candidate, qualified for civil services of the state (HCS) duly conferred as a promising entrant to country’s Police services (IPS) rewarded for his heroic deeds, and he was short listed for promotion as Deputy Inspector General of Police.

But all this was to no avail because, the government orders were yet to be served and I was orphaned. The news details of his upcoming promotion, his friends had thrown a party and he was sitting on the back of the government police jeep to go to the club, when two of his acquaintances asked the driver to step down, one of them took driving seat, the other sat beside him as the Jeep vehicle had no doors, it took to wheels, raced, and crashed the boundary of local water mill and they immediately jumped out of the vehicle, but my father went into the deep trough and he died instantly. It was definitely sabotage. It was a tragedy upon which a family could mourn for half a century to follow.

North and South Korea declared war against each other and America got involved in that distantly placed war from seven seas apart. First remote control for televisions was invented, first credit card in US was launched by swiping into the first machine manufactured, all being God gifted benefits for all people in the world and I was discredited and I was de-benefitted by the privileges, rights of a child de-merited, a pathetic event worth recording, a historical crisis worth filming.

I must have been born with a different destiny, for initial years only, which got re-written again differently, because the fleet of servants we had and the luxuries which they enjoyed I was told were not known to us anymore, not provided to us anymore. My father imported an ‘Old’s Mobile’ car, which when brought to our wrought iron gates was surrounded by onlookers from the district. My mother was a member of an elite club, whose membership may take away some one’s life time savings.

We had a pair of dogs, Dobermans and one-man servant singly deputed to take good care of them. Our social class was such that the collector, magistrate or a minister were a regular scene in our living room, with whom my father met, in a formal attire always. The excursions on hunting were the manly games other than chess and rummy, which the male companions of our house used to indulge in. I had been trained by society from an early age and under extraordinary circumstances to know things better than others can think about, but the unexpected always lead to breakdown, which we had witnessed then.

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It had been a hell of a leap backwards, seen only in surprised individuals, as there are always two sides of any difficulty, one real and the other a mere cover. The difference was the cover became a real nightmare and a long one and very real for us. The real has to be distinctly memorized and written for the benefit of all. My paternal uncle, the younger brother to my father from the same mother who was reared and brought up under his supervision was migrating to Pakistan.

My mothers will be deprived of LIC compensations going forward, that could tantamount to a big loss since he admitted that he had not been paying the premiums at all, money for premiums which my father used to give him, he spent it all. He departed with absolute indifference towards his commitments and liabilities for the two widows and the two orphans.

The other relatives from my maternal side, as such selfishly motivated had not bothered with any considerations about our unit. Two of them knowing the system and beating it, made fake documents to claim properties by perjury and attempted felony of acquiring false assets in Pakistan later to boast high of themselves expressing grandiosity as though they have inherited empires just because they have ‘heads over their shoulders’. In reality their acts were selfish motivations of vested interests.

My mothers golden days were over. Good days had gone. Vanished in a flicker of moment, those prestigious times of living in mansions gifted by the government to authorities furnished with ornately carved furniture, postal beds, pie-crust tables, Bombay chests, toned Persian carpets, all of the generational history was gone.

My mothers used to summon maids and servants from the fleet by ringing the bell, the servants patiently waiting in attendance outside bedroom doors until summoned by second bell ring. Those bells ringing in my ear were like warm protective memories which supposedly I was to continue getting privileged from.

Some things come in life and are gone before the recognition sets in mind. My mothers were like young princesses of a royal hierarchy. Our maids and servants also enjoyed those luxuries while serving my mothers, few of them projecting dramatic romances developing gradually between singles, later to get decorated with marriages in their faith. All these reminding me of some familiar names which were spelled aloud for attention.

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My mothers never had any emotion or feeling that something wrong may happen to them. Those impressions seriously confused them, making them adjust within themselves while relatives near and far, close and distant were leaving. I was told about the delicacies made in our kitchen for any number of guests expected or unexpected, invited or uninvited.

My mothers only needed to ask affably when the food is being served, orders already given. My mothers were young themselves and could be considered youngsters for quite a while to come. No more within their reach. There were too many questions unanswered for them, too many dropping of packages they must have been conceived before.

My mothers always use to tell us that, It was always better late than never and better still never late, particularly when the rest of the group manages to show up on time. All those left behind memories of crowds of inquisitive onlookers. The sentries at the iron gates, theatrical shows, the orchestrated musical concerts, the comedians, monologues on the stages, the empirical dinners, special reservations in Cinema halls was an untold story of the past.

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Now they have to live with clutter of memories left, leftovers only, no assets, no bank balance, no security bonds, no LIC pay offs, no nothing. It is not my father’s fault who was a man of words and used to believe in given words. His younger brother, instead spent on his lavish self-gratifying needs of high class restaurants, first class movie tickets, first class theatres but third class call girls.

One of them ultimately landing up at our house as his second wife having legal registration or not, no one enquired. As such my grandfather had four wives’ two from his faith and two converted to his faith. All bearing children accept the youngest. All those unbigoted children were liabilities on my father and he attended to this jumble with care and concern, provided them all with livelihoods, ransacking over our privileges which ultimately and untimely got lifted by the tragic death of my father. Later, my mothers showed me my father’s belongings in a trunk containing copies of official documents, half used pads, ink pens, blotters, rusty scissors, paper clips and some coins.

It was also a test of affectations of relatives who flew away as though cage birds were liberated to pursue their distorted prospects which they were not even sure of and in the invasive hope of exchange of documents would grant properties in Pakistan, these narrow-minded people felt flamboyant of becoming rich in their new formed land, only time alone would highlight the efforts.

1953

According to the saying wishing well makes it so, I also started counting on it and the odds were against me and I was drifting