Thanks. What a tragedy & what a stupid act by ZBhutto …
There had been many times in Pakistan’s history when stupid decisions were taken by the government. Nationalization in Bhutto’s era was one of those decisions. 22 Families lost everything that they had worked for all their lives. BECO (Batala Engineering Company) is one such example.
Late Chaudhry Mohammad Latif was the founder and chairman of the Batala Engineering Company (BECO). After attending a meeting of leading Muslims in Batala, who wanted to establish Muslim industries in the face of Hindu dominance of retail, that he struck upon the idea of forming BECO.The company was established in 1932. , He sold its first 10 shares to a lime merchant for Rs 10. In the early years, he worked almost single-handedly to build up the company from its first workshop in two rooms and a veranda. Over the course of the next forty years, and in spite of losing much of his business…
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Lahore-Islamabad Motorway. We get off at the Kot Momin interchange and are on the usual bumpy country roads. The sun has set, the moon is up and there is a slight Basant nip in the air. Finally, we get on to the canal road for village Haveli Bahadar Khan. There is an eerie silence on the final few furlongs to the village. . Kinoo trees, actually big bushes, look like scary ghosts. The fields of tall bamboo trees are pitch dark. Village folks have already had their supper, gotten their cattle into the barns and have called it a day. Our loud car horns shrieks get the servants up, who open the gate. And we are finally into a Punjabi village as it was 56 years ago – or probably a few hundred years ago.
It all comes back to Nand, the Canadian economist, who was born in a small village Kusik, not too far from here, before the partition. He is very observant and curious always looking out for the small details that relate to his childhood. He recalls the old `loonkee’, a small wooden contraption with compartments to hold spices, which had a sliding cover on top. He notices the `phoonkee’, near the chuhlas, a small pipe-type contraption used to blow, to light fire. He sees the `Churkha’ (spinning wheel), the earthen pitchers, the low `Peeries’, a low chair without backside. Noticing the different heights of Peeries, he inquires whether it has something to do with the status of person who sits on them. I tell him that ordinary village folks sit on the floor since they can not sit at the level of the Chaudhrys. But the elderly or the sick are often permitted and asked to pull a Peerie. Nand inquires why the villagers do not touch feet of the Chaudhrys. I tell him that they bend down – but do not touch the feet of the Chaudhrys. At times, they do touch the kneecaps. Probably, it has something to do with religion with its concept of equality. In India, normal respect to elders is shown by touching the feet. Mostly, the lower caste Hindu had converted to Muslims. And while the equality syndrome seemed to have been a big attraction – the strong cultural forces of class-system still lingers on in the village. In the village, each profession is still treated like a caste and is socially looked down upon. I also have some misconceptions about the Hindus. I ask Nand if he eats meat. He replies `very much so’.
The village maulvi is also sitting on the floor. Nand asks him if he knew Persian or Arabic. He has some sense of Arabic but does not know Persian. The older generation, which knew Persian, has passed away. Even the old classical Punjabi is fading away. Unlike our mothers and illiterate Punjabi farmers, the younger generation does not use seasons’ sanskrit/hindi names poh, mah, badroo as known in Punjabi. Nand’s wife, Indu, however, still speaks the old Sargodha Punjabi as village folks speak. She exchanges her notes with my wife on the marriage customs and other village trivia. My wife overloads her with her own fables and stories of the family tree; and how her forefathers had migrated from Garh Ramba, in India, well before the partition. Indu wants Nand to drink `Adhrirka’ , the semi-churned curd with full butter, next morning. `Saag’ is already prepared for us. And we settle for a simple daal and saag dinner spiced up with village made `umb da achaar’, mango pickle.
I tell Nand that except for the salt, the village is self sufficient in every other aspect. It makes its own cloth, bedding, furniture and shoes. Has its own meat and dairy products. Nand is intrigued and surmises that the use of salt by Gandhi in his movement could be due to very this reason. Nand is quick to philosophize and his mind keeps carrying out political analysis. He says that if partition had not occurred, the Muslims would have had a critical mass to be always an unmanageable minority. And the united India would have been perpetually embroiled in Congress-Muslim League communal politics. It was better to have different countries but keep good terms.
We call Siddika Mochi (Siddique, the cobbler) to tell us about Kusik, Nand’s village. He is a Paharia, a mountain man, a title given to the locals who come from the hilly Potohar. Siddika knows about Kusik and gives us reasonably accurate instructions to reach there. He also talks about the Katas Raj, the centuries old Hindu temple located deep in the Potohar hill ranges. He tells us that `Katas Raj was Mecca and Medina of the Khatris’; and there used to be a big annual festival there before the partition. He tells us that Khatri’s used to be the Munshis of the Chaudhrys at the Haveli and their letters kept coming from India till very recently. On inquiry from Nand, he says that Muslims and Khatris drank from the same village well. One day, Siddika said, a few trucks came and they took the Khatris away. Nand is surprised that Siddaka is always addressing the Hindus as Khatri’s, a caste, and not as Hindus. Himself a Khatri, Nand says that Khatri was only a Cast. The only Hindu family living in Sargodha is at a nearby village called `Sahnis de Haveli’. Nand’s wife, Indu, coincidently, also belongs to the Sahni family.
So the next day, we again get on the motorway and climb the Potohar plateau, about 3300 feet above mean sea level. We get off the motorway at the scenic kalar kahar, which has water springs, peacocks and the inevitable local saint. The peacocks are still living in Kalar Kahar forest because there is a curse by the local saint on any one who harms them. We head towards Choa Saidan Shah. Katas Raj is a big imposing structure and is visible from miles. The multi-storied temple has a lake at its base. Al Beruni had studied Sanskrit at the university here for two years. He gives a description of the place in his book Kitab-ul-Hind. A plaque put by some Jhelum Deputy Commissioner gives an idea of the history of the place. According to the story, when Shivajee dies, Parvati cried and cried. He tears filled the small lake at the base of the multistoried temple. Nand does not agree with the story. He says that Shivjee can not die. And the origin of the temple lay in the legendary conflict between the Kurus and the Pandus. Indu says that her mother used to visit the annual Hindu festival here before partition. The building is not maintained well by the Pakistan Government and about 300 Yatris from India are visiting the place the next day for first time since the partition. We notice a lot of local bureaucracy moving around, getting the place cleaned and doing some choona-pani.
Next we set course for the Nand’s birthplace, the Kusik village. As we cross Choa Saidon shah, the mountain roads keep getting smaller and the turns keep getting tighter. Nand says that Kusik is on a hilltop and should be visible from miles. He had left it when he was only one year old. Sure enough, as we make the final mountain turn, there is Kusik on the hilltop, visible from miles. The locals talk of it as `Devi ka Mandar’ or `Kusik fort’. A 50-60-house village is located next to the temple. The temple is well fortified with an outer wall with see-through holes for defense on its three sides. On its back, there is a steep fall of the cliff. It is a unique quiet solitary place in that wilderness of the hills. I jokingly tell Nand that he is lucky to have migrated to be now living in Ottawa rather than in these boondocks. The climb to the top is very steep and only a jeep could go up. The locals tell us that during the pre-partition days, Kusik hosted the biggest market of the area. Gujar Khan and Choa Saidan shah were then only small insignificant villages. The locals’ shepherds tell us that the Khatris living in the Kusik were rich and controlled the entire business of the area. Nand’s father was in the British Army and the old village folk know of Nand’s family but the original houses are no more there.
But it is much easier to find Indu’s birthplace in Sargodha. The Kutchery bazaar in Sargodha could not have changed much in the last 56 years. We are in search of Sita Ram Haveli in Block 5 where Indu was born. The rickshaw driver tells us that first turn left in the Kutchery Bazaar will take us to Block 5. We are soon there and searching for the Haveli. The famous Sargodha Sahnis also had a house near Indus’s house as she tells us. The Sahni’s house has a big gate but it is locked. We peep through a window and ask them to open the gate. A boy inside tells us to approach from the other side. Nand whispers in my ears asking `do all the Hindus living here keep their gates closed’. I laugh. I tell him that the Sahnis, being the only Himdu family in the area, enjoy somewhat of a celebrity status in the area. We push the gate open but there is no one there except an old lady, who is a little senile.
We return back to the street and begin asking for the Sita Ram Haveli or the house of Kohli wakil (lawyer), Indu’s father, of the pre-partition days. Suddenly, a man comes running and says that he knows the Kohli Sahib and he is the third owner of his house. And the house behind us is that very house. Indu turns back, looks at the house and is speechless with tears rolling down her eyes. Kohli Sahib must have built the house with great love. It was intact to the last brick. Even the wooden doors and almirahs were in an immaculate condition. No changes had been made to the house. Even the electric fittings were the same. The man shows the house to us and invites us to a lunch. We politely decline. Indu immediately calls up her mother in Delhi and tells her that she is speaking from her house. There seems to be an overflow of emotions from both sides.
From Kusik, Nand’s family had moved to Lyalpur, (now Faisalabad) named after a British, whose great grandson, Mr. Lyal is now British High Commissioner to Pakistan.
The house is located next to the Agriculture college, now a university.
I was born in a house a few hundred feet from Nand’s house.
The Middle Kingdom Wallas
Just across the Himalayas, there lies one of the ancient civilizations. The Chinese like to call it the Middle Kingdom or the centre of the world. Like us, they also celebrate the birth of a son and a bride is expected to dress in red. The families are close and elders, dead or alive, are highly revered. They also have something known as `saving one’s face’ or `losing one’s face’ and are shy of opening up with strangers. Wife is considered a property of the in-laws and a master can be very harsh with his servants (and the concubines). Silk is high fashion. Like us, they also believe in superstition, myths, spirits, fortune telling and have a rich folklore. That is where our similarity with the Chinese ends.
To understand the rest, one has to begin with Mr. Confucius (500 BC). The strands of Confucianism run deep through the Chinese history, culture, society and consciousness. Confucianism is all about ethics and earthly matters having nothing to do with the Heavens. Its pillars are the everyday rituals, filial piety, humaneness, mutual respect, obligations and loyalty. Another local philosophy, Taoism, gets a bit closer to the mother nature. Its ying-yang philosophy (as indicated in the picture) is about the opposites in nature – day/night, male/female, white/black, husband/wife etc. The message is that both the opposites are equally important and a harmony is to be maintained between the two. Over this mixture of two philosophies, if we pour in a bit of Buddhism and sprinkle it with some Marxism/Maoism, we get what could be loosely described as the Chinese belief. The Confucianism can comfortably coexist with other faiths and about 10% Chinese belong to other faiths. Religious education is banned until the age 18.
Before we take up effect of Confucianism on the Middle Kingdom, a quick dip into its geography and history. It is fourth largest in size and is the most populace nation in the world (1.3 Billion). Mostly mountainous with high plateaus, its all rivers flow from the West and wash into the Pacific ocean. The South is hot while it gets freezing cold in the North close to Mongolia. It was the heartland of the yellow river from where this civilization began at least 3500 years ago. There were local war lords of the likes of the Shangs and Zhous until Ying Zheng of the Kin dynasty united China. Thereafter, the dynasties kept coming and falling. The Kingdom kept splitting up and uniting again and again. After the Kin dynasty, there were the Hans, Jins, Suis, Tangs, Songs, Yuans, Mings and Qings until the last little boy emperor left the forbidden city in 1912 and China became a republic. Out of the 56 ethnicities, 93% of the Chinese are of the Hans origin. They established Confucianism as the state practice. The Tangs brought prosperity. The Jins, Suis and Songs can be credited with uniting the China after its break ups. The Mongols, for whom the Great Wall was built (3 BC), came via the Gobi desert and Kublai Khan set up the Yuan dynasty. Similarly, the Manchus, who came from Manchuria, established the Qing dynasty (1644) and got assimilated into the Chinese melting pot. The peasants (Mings 1368) became Rulers and eunuchs like Zheng he (1405-1433), a Mongol Muslim, went on naval expeditions with 62 ships, 28000 men and Chinese commodities like silk. China remained the most advanced civilization between the 7th and 14th century and its decay began in 17th century.
By 18th century, familiar colonialist like the British, French and Portuguese were eyeing the Chinese riches. The Japanese and Americans were not too far behind either. But just as the Chinese have a periodic urge to unite, they also get a periodic urge to purge themselves of the foreign influence. They restricted the colonialists to the Eastern China only. And during the boxer’s revolution (1900 AD), both the Christian missionaries and the converted Chinese were massacred. It is anybody’s guess what a sizable Christian minority in the East could do to China. The Muslim
Uighers in the West are proving to be an headache. Anyway, both Chiang Kai-shek’s nationalists and Mao’s communists got together to get the Japanese out (1931-1944). By 1949, the Mao’s communists drove out Chiang-kai shek to Taiwan and there came the peoples republic of China.
It was Confucianism that kept China together making it the longest living civilization whereas its compatriots like the Romans simply vanished. There is a concept of immediate family and extended family. And all the rest non-Chinese are considered `others’. The `filial piety’ is stretched to the extent of `ancestor worship’. The Chinese diaspora display a stronger bond with homeland than others. The deep One China ethos has resulted in the continuity of the civilization. Hong Kong re-enters as “one country, two systems’’ and Taiwan is only a `renegade province’.
Another of Confucianism’s pillar, `Loyalty’, is also seen in the context of a Ruler-Subject relationship. The Ruler is deemed to always have a `mandate from heavens’, a concept readily accepted by all rulers. It is believed that when a Ruler becomes unpopular, he loses the mandate until a stronger Ruler replaces him. In the absence of any Devine or Dogma, the `mandate from heavens’ comes as a handy filler. There is another corroborative theory that says that the Chinese society is inherently instable and, thus, very dynamic and creative. But it requires an `external Force’ to prevent it from going into a chaos and let it play to its full potential. With an undisputed Ruler at the top and a basic family unit at the bottom, the void in the centre is filled by an efficient `civil service’ and the Chinese were conducting civil service examinations centuries before the others picked up on this practice. The `civil society’ was always kept week because a strong civil society diluted the power of the Ruler.
Confucianism’s another pillar, `humanness’, makes the Chinese what they are – humble, modest and polite. You may like to count out the expatriates like the New Yorkers and Singaporeans. The Chinese do not like to insult, embarrass or shame others. They bow from the shoulders unlike the Japanese who do it from waist. A Chinese nod does not mean an `agreement’. It only means that he is understanding you. There handshake is with interlocking fingers and waving up and down. The Chinese diplomacy is without any abruptness, theatrics or dramatics. They convey the intent through subtle shades and innuendoes like the Mao’s `great leap forward’.
The `great leap forward’ was about rapid industrialization (iron industry) which backfired and caused a famine (20 million died). The decadent West and the Russian revisionists were conveniently blamed and Mao thrust China into the cultural revolution – to purge itself of bourgeoisie. Mao glorified poverty – `poor the better’. Luckily, Deng came along who said `It does not matter what colour cat is, so long it catches mice’ and began opening up the economy. With that, China also began the policy of `peaceful rise of China’ which meant playing down the differences with other states and not messing up with America which it considers not to be a declining power yet. Its disputes with its 14 neighbors never make a headline. If the `peaceful rise of China’ has been a success story, so has been its ethnic cuisine available all across the world.
To a curious eye, the neighborhood Chinese restaurant has a lot to tell. The red ambiance conveys happiness and gold colour is considered imperial. The paper shades and lanterns that you notice is an ancient Chinese art. Paper was invented in China (1 AD) and later the printing technology. Silk is a Chinese invention that was kept secret for some centuries. The figurines on the walls may include dragons, bamboos, pandas, jade – all very Chinese in essence. To me, the Chinese songs and music (mostly string instruments) always sounds soft, little high pitched, sad and romantic. The aroma of soy sauce and Chinese salt wafts in the restaurant. The food has the inevitable rice and noodles with an emphasis on vegetarian. The Cantonese style is carbohydrate based and the Sichuan style of cooking is spicy and meaty. The art is in fine cutting and preparation, little oil and ginger and garlic. The Chinese like to drink warm water and soup is served last. Chop sticks are used since placing a knife on food table is considered barbaric. Tea also means the dim sim tidbits. The top delicacy is old eggs, 100 years old. Luckily, delicacies like the snakes, dogs, rats, silkworms and beetles are confined to only die-hard locations. And the reptiles scamper into their holes because of the Eastern men’s obsession with aphrodisiac. Feel free to belch, slurp or talk while eating but it is rude to pour your own drink. Similarly, pointing fingers and whistling is rude. The Chinese language is a monosyllabic language – meaning each word describes one idea or object with no inflections like run, running, ran. But a change in the tone (rising or falling) can completely change the meaning. Only the Chinese write with brush and, that too, from top to bottom. The cashier may have an ABACUS, another Chinese original. They also created acupuncture, gun powder and cross bow.
Confucianism may not have created a Divine but the Chinese folklore does have gods, ghosts and spirits. A saying goes – `A god in need is god indeed’. An older person gets a ceremonial burial; and a child is buried in silence. In fact, birthdays are celebrated after 60 years. There are also superstitions like the crow cawing in the morning indicates coming of gifts. It is a taboo to marry with same family names. Being pregnant is auspicious and a pointed belly means a boy. Widowhood is considered noble.
I visited China a few times in the 70s and witnessed the cultural revolution where the entire China was draped in grayish bush-shirts, trousers and Mao’s caps with Red Book. The guests were treated to the red flag waving musical operas by the peasants and workers. I could never imagine that after 30 years, China would be hosting the world beauty contest of women who have undergone plastic surgery. China has become the second biggest economy with a purchasing Power Parity (PPP – $ 6.449 trillion), second to only the United States, with a GDP growth of 9%. But with a per capita of US $ 1000 and 10% of population below the poverty line, it is still a poor country. The process of political liberalization has not yet begun. 63 million strong Chinese communist party rules with a tiny opposition like the Falun Gong (spiritual movement) and a few pro-democracy parties kept under a tight lease. A party political officer is posted in each army unit and he reports directly to the party. Periodically, the national people’s congress meets and selects the new Ruler. The power transfer seems to be remarkably peaceful. Press is under control and no foreign media is allowed to operate freely.
In a nutshell, the Middle Kingdom is unique in three aspects to the other ancient civilizations. It did not produce any God. It has been the longest continuous civilization. And it has yet to have the bitter-sweet taste of democracy.
I wish it well when it has to cross the last bridge ……
CIA Country Fact Book (China)
http://www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook/geos/ch.html
Provinces : 23 provinces. (China considers Taiwan its 23rd province)
Autonomous regions: 5 (Guangxi, Nei Mongol, Ningxia, Xinjiang, Xizang (Tibet)
CDP purchasing power parity – $6.449 trillion (2004 est.)
GDP per capita purchasing power parity – $5,000 (2004 est.)
Investment (gross fixed) 43.4% of GDP (2004 est.)
Inflation 1.2% (2004 est.)
Budget Revenues: $265.8 billion
Expenditure: $300.2 billions
Industrial growth: 30.4% (2004 est.)
Oil production: 3.3 million bbl/day (2004 est.)
Oil consumption: 4.57 million bbl/day (2001 est.)
Gas production: 30.3 billion cu m (2001 est.)
Gas consumption 27.4 billion cu m (2001 est.)
Foreign exchange reserves: $412.7 billion (2004 est.)
Foreign debt: $197.8 billion (2004 est.)
Military expenditure $60 billion (2003 est.)
Military expenditure percentage of GDP 3.5-5.0%
Vacationing in the American Midwest —
being edited…..
Despite all its legendary values, Champs Elysee of Paris turns out to be just another brick-lined road surrounded by old buildings; if you can not speak French. In fact, for a lazy vacation, entire Europe is a bit too stiff and unfamiliar. The Far East gets on your nerves soon enough with of its loud colours and shrieking languages. Even the swaying palm trees and sea waves of Bahamas and Bali’s become a monotonous bore after a while. For a friendly economical get-away destination, few places the can match the timeless beauty and the easy charm of the American Midwest. Midwestern states like Indiana, Ohio and Kentucky have an old fashioned and a cozy environment unique to them. Their lush green undulating country side has the right blend of both an agricultural and an industrial society. It is an artist’s mosaic filled with forests, lakes, farms and big cities like Chicago, Indianapolis, Detroit, and Cleveland. Then there are smaller cities like South Bend and Ft. Wayne. Finally, there are those heavenly small towns like Angola, Goshen and Nappenee that no one has ever heard of ; but are right out of the story books of the American folklore. They have a dreamy everlasting allure that is hard to resist and difficult to forget.
But first, a quick dip into the Woody Allen’s explosive world of Manhattan, my first stopover. After landing, the first feeling is of a relief of getting free of that invisible cloak of `religiosity, political-correctness and hypocrisy’’ that we refuse to let go within our own country. Soon after, the body begins to feel the strong energy waves that the city radiates. It takes a little while before you even get used to the open easiness in body behavior and dress. Automatically, your pace of walk becomes faster to keep in steps with others. Then Manhattan takes you deeper on a ride into the realm of the unknown. Many beliefs and pre-conceived notions of the conditioned-mind begin to collapse one by one. An inevitable realization dawns that entire mankind, after all, is just comprised of fallible humans beings interacting with each other either on a biological basis or on economic terms. The peep into city’s inner culture further blurs the vision and erodes that thin line between the conscious and the subconscious mind. On live TV, Howard Stern, the media Satan incarnate, eulogizes a woman’s butt and proposes sex. In that hyper pace of living, sex and seduction are just fleeting unemotional moments; only fulfilling the social, biological and physical needs. Jerry Springer’s talk show goes to the extent of showing competing lovers throwing chairs at each other and having boxing bouts. Meanwhile, the sophisticated world of Time Square’s theatres rolls on side by side with flash dancers, seedy Single’s bars, stretched Limos and horse-buggies.
But the signals are mixed. Neat structures like the Rockefeller plaza, skyscrapers of the big publishing houses and the Wall Street make the Queens and Bronx look like a junkyard. On roads, there is horn honking, cutting of traffic lights and rubbish littered in open. But law and order has improved because booming American economy has sucked out the jobless from streets. Meanwhile, you are never far away from coffee or burger of some kind. Coke also contains caffeine, just in case. Ears get tuned to different languages and you bump into skin shade of every colour. The Deli culture sells food per pound and fast multiplying steaming kiosks of poor immigrants, with aromas of Sheesh Kabaabs, pull long queues. And with China pumping in 70% of the low end products, inflation is low and a Dollar takes you very a far. One dollar to fetch a burger, another dollar to wash it down and a third for a bus ride back home. But sadly, the New Yorkers have no time for politeness, thanks largely to the Italian, Sicilian and mixed blood of many races. Are you really rude or from New York? the saying goes.
It is time now to move on to the green pastures of the Midwest where you meet the politest people on earth. Syracuse is one such small town in North West Indiana. Debraw, our waitress at the “The Frog’’ chats us up and explains what `Karaoke’’ means – when volunteers are allowed to sing on stage. When we try to pay for our drinks, she smiles and says “It’s on me’’. These are those one-main-road type towns with the typical American skyline of Gas station, McDonalds, Taco bell, Wall Mart, Col. Sander’s Kentucky and so on. Every one drives as if they were on a driving test. The country roads are surrounded by scattered farm houses, grain silos, cows grazing and auto plants. A sprinkling of the Amish people with their horse-drawn carriages, and covered heads, provide an interesting relief. It is the summer time, when skies are clear, new leaves sprout, temperature hovers around 15 C and people fall in love. Summer time also means good times, holidays, pleasant memories, outdoor BBQs and cold `Coors’ beers. And as if that was not enough, it is also the season when women shed off their superfluous clothing to add further radiance to the environment. Summer time in the West carries the same nostalgia that the winters carry in the East. People are simple, traditional and innocent much like the days of our great grand parents. You begin to hear words like `Honey, Sugar, Sweetie’’. Even local songs, unlike the meaningless noise of MTV, convey feelings and have a poetic touch. “When you meet her, tell her that I miss her….’’. “When we met in a moonlit night…’’. The beauty of the American Midwest is also in its grand emptiness – little traffic on roads, single story scattered houses and certainly no avalanche of people bumping and stepping over each other’s toes.
And when you find life getting a bit too quiet, just tune into one of those 100 TV channels that no one has time to watch. The greatest world event on tube is `Monica Lewinsky’; someone with whom the President did not take the relationship to its logical conclusion because of `legal implications’’. Meanwhile, the episode seems to have added a few useful words like “blow job’’ to the vocabulary of our sedate uninitiated oriental women. But we were too busy enjoying the luxuries that the local took for granted. Luxuries like bump free roads, no power break downs, telephones working, no killing, no corruption and plenty of water. Every day was some kind of day – mother’s day, father’s day, valentine day – good marketing ploys to suck the extra cash out of pockets. Who can resist marketing pressures like – “Buy one, get one free’’. “45 day free trial, no questions asked’’. But still the people seem to live their entire lives in denim shorts, T-shirts and joggers. Some times a bit too casual requiring stores to put a notice `shoe & shirt required’. The same easiness makes you notice more and more obese people. But unlike our fat men and women, they are active, walk fast, drive and do all kinds of work. It was during this time that two little kids called India and Pakistan had a cracker firing competition back in the Subcontinent. The immediate fall out of this mutually coordinated atomic orgasms was that my cab driver instantly corrected his “Packistaan’’ to “Pakistan’’.
Finally, the graduation ceremony of my son, Zafar, goes smoothly at the over hundred years old private Tri-State university, strong in Mech. Eng. Majors and founded by the three big car giants of Detroit. A few weeks before the graduation, he is already picked up by an automotive multi-national. Such is the tightly knit relationship between the universities and industry. The ceremony has the usual mix of functions, fanfare, protocols, tuxedos, scholar hats, emotions, nostalgia, parents, old students and laughers. All speeches revolve around education, humanity and the search for knowledge. There were no echoes of religion or patriotism, the two over-beaten themes that we love to beat the moment a mike is handed over to us. One professor, author of an Encyclopedia, had just three simple moving advisees for the graduating students – “always go an extra mile in your task, do not compromise with your conscious when you confront the real outside world and enjoy yourself’’. My other son faisal, who had accompanied us, and had gone through the rough and tumble of our aimless Pakistani education system, clearly realized as to what all he had missed by studying locally. Half the fun was getting the Visa for him to visit the graduation. He had only one minute to convince the Visa consular about his strong social and economic bonds with his motherland. Visa counselors, trained in the fine art of interrogation, rarely make a wrong assessment. No sane settled Pakistani would like to undergo the ignominy, hardships and frustrations of an illegal immigrant.
With all those goodies of the America Midwest, by the third week, I began to miss my servant. Carrying out the black garbage bag gave me creeps; and I had never realized how tedious could be the routine of carrying shopping from car boot into the home. No one would ever pick up a fallen spoon for the next century if you did not. And as one slumped into the sofa after a hard day’s routine, you thought of Pakistan where someone would automatically bring you a cup of tea. And, God forbid, if you fall sick in the US, doctors could wipe off your life’s saving in one clean sweep. Worst of all, there are no idle people to get into an idle gossip in the evenings. So while I would love to enjoy the pleasures of the American Midwest for a month a year, I would rather spend the rest of time back home among flies, mosquitoes, dust, power failures, uncles, aunts, nephews, family feuds and hypocrisy; not necessarily in that order. The God has ordained that I must suffer that way……
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Flashbacks from Sargodha
It was a summer afternoon of 1959 and the sky was clear blue when I first landed on the soil of Sargodha. My father dropped both of us, me & sikandar, my other twin, in front of `Attacker House’. I remember we wore maroon corduroy shorts. Our parents bought everything in two. He was thin. I was fat. And once Mr. Catchpole remarked, in his inimitable humour, that an average of we both would be a normal person.
It was a new strange world and we did not speak the local language – English. The first impression of the school was of its grandeur and an aura of authority. The place was so quiet that one could listen to the silence and everything was as neat as a hospital. That eerie silence was only occasionally broken by the constant `Hook Hook’ of the nearby flour machine. The hedges were trimmed, the lawns were mowed and there was not a soul in sight. The trees looked very tall, the roads looked very straight, the playing fields seemed to endlessly stretch and the buildings looked imposing. We were now in the safe custody of Mr. Fasihuddin, our House Master of `Attacker’.
And so from an easy irregular home life, it was a transformation to a tightly controlled life style. Suddenly, one had to cope up with all kinds of time tables, schedules, dress codes and behaviour patterns. A few new activities, such as the morning PT, evening games, Prep and marching down for all meals, had entered our daily lives. There were also some ego-lifting compensations such as the issue of new uniforms and a college blazers with a badge. Our PT master, Sergeant Hussain, was talkative and with a good collection of dirty jokes. Some of his jokes, like the one `with legs on the shoulders’, we understood twenty years later. Gymnastics was the baby of Sabre’s Sher Mohd and his crowning moment was the dive through the firing ring on the Founders’ Day. On the Founders’ Day, Mehboob Alam of the Tempest was the last to march past in front of dais and as he did his `Eyes Right’, one could notice his lips moving counting five.
The House was a home, so to speak, and a place to wind down. Our local mafia bosses were the Prefects and the Head boys. They got additional perks such as an exemption from marching or, once a while, skipping the tie. As for us, we were controlled like the lab mice by the shrill sounds of the house bell. The bell got us out of bed. The bell put us back into the bed. The bell ended the commotion in the dormitories when it rang for Preps. And during Preps, opening the book was mandatory; and some cheated the system by stashing a comic inside the book.
The House Mutka (pitcher) went with the seasons – hot water in summers and cold water in winters. That wiped out all our false pretences, got us down to earth and smoothened out our rough edges, if we had any. With the result that now I can eat a cold chappati or a frozen porridge without any hesitation. In fact, I have developed a taste for these and get amused when I observe others going into tantrums over such petty issues. My cook likes me for it and my wife is happy about it.
Back to the theme of water temperature – the water taps also maintained a consistent temperature – too hot in summers and too cold in winters. So in the winters, it was a full-fledged project to get a shower by cutting through the logistical maze of the house heating apparatus and your turn for the bucket. That also reminds me the Master Jee, our hair stylist on the cycle with a tool box at the back. He ran his operation on an assembly line concept. The victim took position on the chair, scissors moved, some hair cut, others hair pulled out and it was all over before you knew.
The House had its cozy corner too – the Ante room. I wonder why it was called Ante room. It was a quite a friendly room. The needle shivered over the records with Saigal coming out of `His Masters Voice’ bhoompu. Those old songs are still called old songs. Maybe they now fall in the class of very old songs. Radio Ceylon was the epitome of our entertainment with its Binaca Geet Mala and the Farmaishi Program. Mohd Rafi was on the tops and so was Lata. I wonder where Radio Ceylon has vanished now or perhaps we have not listened to the radio since a half century. In those days, there were no distractions like the TV or the computer. Music, games and story books were all that we had until Tahseen introduced the first tape recorder to us. It was the latest break through in technology.
It was also not a fashion then to install exhaust fans in the toilets and so the toilets smelled just like the toilets. And our entire domestic chores revolved between one cupboard near the bed to another cupboard near the community showers. The WCs were of `Indian Style’ (not Pakistani style!). It was the elasticity of youth that got us in that acrobatic position. Now, most of us humpty-dumpty, would tumble off doing this most innocent ritual of the day. Humpty-dumpty also reminds me of Mr. Magoo, another cartoon character of those days.
The days were long and hard. And bed was a welcome escape from the harsh realities. But the those layers of blankets were heavy and tightly snuggled below the mattress. We had to almost penetrate ourselves into the bed like shoving a ball pen in a smaller cover. And by the time our feet reached the other end, the morning bell rang ruthlessly pulling us out of bed. It was always a race to catch up on sleep. The tough part was yet to follow – the Morning PT in winters. Cold pierced through the bones as we ran and jumped while half a sleep.
The hot-cold theme persists. Hot breakfast in summers and cold breakfast in winters. No. 1 and the waiters wielded a great authority. They gave you the egg of their choice. I cried on my first breakfast and thought of home when a half-fried egg was plonked in front of me and I was helpless. I am an established omelets man. Now after 40 years, much worldly wise, I think I could have easily resolved this life-death issue with a little persuasion by the `green Quid-e-Azam’. Not all was bad. There were goodies too like the pulao and kabaab manu on a Saturday night and the halwa-puri on Sunday mornings. Then our metabolic rates were high, we churned and burnt food at phenomenal rates and there always remained a lingering sensation of hunger. We absolutely had no idea of what salt, sugar or oils do to the body. For us, all meats, sweets and oils were good. And all Palaks, Kudoos and Phindis were bad.
The royal aspects of this prisoner’s life were that we never had to polish shoes, press our clothes or make the bed. I picked up these habits for life.
The school was a truly classless society with an equal opportunity for all. We never ever thought on lines of race, religion, region, belief, background, ethnicity.
I think the best part was the studies. Mr. Catchpole’s class got us going with the commas and full-stops and a familiarity with Ali Baba and Esop. He took English Language period of the whole school in Room No. 10 and checked our work books to the last detail. Try getting an extra comma from us now! Much had to also do with the user-friendly and practical approach of the Senior Cambridge. Doing the first year with the Pakistani syllabus was a rude shock. Everything kept passing over the head. There was no logic or link with the real life. Luckily, Air Force came and pulled me out of this tight spot. The midnight shrieks of the F-104 and the thundering `pitch out’ of the F-86 formation were good motivations. Add to that the descending of the `old boys’ cadets from Academy during the Founders’ Day in their glittering uniforms and their `officer style’. But now, after many decades and with gray hair, I think I would have liked and enjoyed the creative learning experience of a good university. But the parents in those days were always in a hurry and they had only heard of – Doctor, Engineer and military professions.
The excitement of flying was a passing romance and at the end what you got in terms of knowledge were the memories of a few manuals and a few check lists. But the school had done the damage. It put us into a reading and a learning mode for all times regardless of the environment. I remembers Mr. Hussain’s 20 guess questions. His guess was rarely out because he had made the paper himself. Mr. Hafeez’s physics, especially the sound calculations, were simply too delicate for me to grasp. But I got a good handle on Mr. Jabbar’s chemistry formulas though his salt analysis required too much imagination. Mr. Catchpole exuded an aura of his own which moved along the route that he moved setting everything in order as he moved. Despite his naughty smile and a sense of humour, he ran a tight ship. His message was simple but very effective – `Do anything but do not get caught’.
He was an icon and came to the British India to teach Urdu to the British soldiers; and then stayed on till his last breadth. After being a Principal of Dera Doon and Hasan Abdaal, he took over Sargodha. His personal life simple had minimum details. He came to the morning PT on a motor cycle and smoked pipe. He rode on cycle to the education block. In the evenings, he smoked cigar. In winters, I always saw him in a gray trouser, a blue blazer, a light blue shirt and a dark blue tie with polka dots. In the summers, I can only visualize him in a gray-green trouser and cream-cloured bush-shirt.
I once had a close shave with him. We were discussing him in the education block veranda and I called him `Tadpole’. I did not know that he was crossing just behind me. Everyone froze but he smiled and went on. The other close shave at the school was of a more physical nature. The roof fan in carpentry class fell down and missed me by inches. Since then I am a fanphobic and can not sleep in peace directly under the fan.
Those were also the days when we grew by an inch a month and the body chemistry was changing rapidly. Our voices changed and hair began to grow at odd places. Unfamiliar powerful forces, of which we knew little about, were building up inside us much faster than our ability to handle them. The rapidly multiplying hormones showed up as pimples on the faces. We could not fathom them and only got confused. Then somebody spread the knowledge about the birds and the bees. That was literally a shocking discovery but seemed to exude some kind of pleasures to it. I remember some faded poor quality black-and-white pictures going around showing the human consummation of love. Those tiny pictures which could hardly be deciphered made us hit the roof with excitement Those pent up energies also came out in different behaviour patterns. The hormones worked out their effect in the form of strong friendships, intense infatuations, fixations and jealousies. Gradually, we grew out of that phase and got a greater hold of ourselves. Obviously, the times have now changed requiring much more convincing and persuasion.
The school was a total patriarchal society. And we had no idea how to handle the female species. Certainly, we were curious and interested but fumbled in confusion, hesitation and fear knowing little how to interact with them. They looked alien, different, unpredictable and perhaps even dangerous. We had yet not synthesized the various inputs we were getting on issues such as the gender, sex, morality, culture, society and religion. So it was rather late in the day that we learnt and experienced things that non-hostel boys go through in their normal growth cycle. Our wives were only too glad to get goofy, innocent, malleable and simpleton husbands like us.
Back to the hormones, the evening games provided the best outlet to those unchanneled furies. In the games, two teams were made – the `shirts’ and the `Skins’. The team that removed its shirt was called the `Skins’. I was fat and hated to be a `Skin’. My excess flesh shivered embarrassingly as I bounced on basketball court. Let me get this inner-phobia out of my system after forty years. After the games, our little pleasures included a cup of tea in the canteen. That was easily the worst tea in the world. But for the connoisseur of the tea, there was an outlet just outside the school gate near the place we hired cycles. They made a thick concoction milk, sugar and tea. And you could top that off by sampling a few home-made biscuits trapped in tall bottles. The stolen oranges from the nearby farm, much like the stolen kisses, provided the same chill and thrill. But the biggest offence, almost at the level of bank robbery, was the French Leave to the town to see a movie. That adventure was not for the faint-hearted like me. Only the reckless and brave took up that challenge. The secret route ran behind Mr. Messey’s home. Surely, we all remember Mr. Messey of the hospital, another big source of dirty jokes. He was short, stocky and very hairy; and a joke went around that he had to shave his entire face except the eyes.
As for the city, there was not much. The contrast was too stark. While the F-104s `pitched-out’ overhead, the city below still lived 100 years back. Since then, it has not changed either except that it is more dusty, more dirty and more congested. It is same cycles, tongas, bullock carts and the qulfi wallas. The Pehelwan’s descendents still sell `Dehi’ and `lussee’. The `Ketchery Bazaar’s’ root beer is still going strong. And the simple village folks still carry on doing their shopping of ropes, plough, seeds; and the steel trunks, jewelry and the Joras for `jahez’.
Back to the school. The hospital was an island of quiet and isolation. In fact, the entire area of Aero Modeling club, Gliding Club, Cricket No. 1 and hospital were the haunts of the philosophers, thinkers and romanticists. The closest I came to a felony was when on a dark night, I had the courage to take a late evening stroll to the hospital with a lighted cigarette hidden behind a towel. As we walked, Mr. Zafar Alam crossed us. And as he was crossing, my cigarette fell down giving out sparks as huge as the New Year’s eve. Obviously, I was totally shaken since my entire future was on line. Mr. Zafar Alam completely ignored it. Mr. Zafar Alam still looks exactly the same as he looked 100 years back.
My biggest faux paus in school was in one of the variety programs in Attacker House. It was a small skit and a satire on the Urdue films. I was the hero and Farooqi was the heroine. It was suppose to be a moonlit night and we were to exchange the standard romantic phrases of Urdu films. As the curtain went up, our dialogues began. Soon after, my robe fell down on the floor and I was there on the stage in a state that I was born. The whole audience roared with laughter and the curtain was quickly dropped down. Under-wear is another invention that had not been introduced to the mankind till then.
Our other little happiness’s were those lotteries for the CSD items where we thought that we had conned the best value for a minimum price for a tooth paste. And queuing up to get those 3 Rupees of `pocket money’ from the House Master on Saturday afternoons. Wearing the coverall for Gliding was another ego booster. And after we got the gliding wings, we began considering ourselves accomplished pilots. But nothing can match the joys of the lazy Saturday afternoon with games excused, marching excused, an exotic dinner of pulao & Kabaab; and all these luxuries followed by a movie; and, finally, the lights out excused. Some movies of those days still haunt me. Movies like the Tender in the Night, The Magnificent seven, Bridges on the River Kwai, Cat on a hot tin Roof, Roman Holiday, For whom the Bell tolls, Les Miserables etc. Our heroes were Gregory Peck, Rock Hudson, Robert Taylor, Burt Lancaster, Yul Bryner. Our sweat hearts were Gina Lolobridgida, Sophia Loren, Grace Kelly, Ava Gardener, Audie Hepburn. Our sweet hearts are now Aunties and fall into the category of getting the life-time achievement awards. The Urdue films were then as bad as they are now. We also had our fair share of Elvis fans fully equipped with guitars, style and clothing.
More than the movies, there were those happy occasions like the picnics at Kalar Kahar. The open truck which looked vary big in those days, Kalar Kahar rest house made during the British Raj, the adjoining lake and boating, the lush foliage through which ran the water channels and the dancing of the Peacocks. Some other collective occasions were the House going out for a Sunday matinee, the Founder’s Day hoopla, games Championships and their victory celebrations, eating of Paya’s at Mr. Naseer’s house under the garb of mathematics practice, the bon fires at the end of a term, the pillow fights and it goes on.
But the most I miss now is the part of our Bengali friends. They were the biggest contributor to our social activities. They had a certain delicate and a sensitive touch to them that we lack. They spoke of Rabindarnath Tagore, of music, art and drama; and of places far away with names like Chittagong, Dacca and Khulna where it rained incessantly, the environment was lush, there were coconut trees and occasional tidal storms. Warsi’s unflappable 100-meters dash and Amir’s boxing. We lived in fear of him.
So what are the remains of the day. What I got from the school was not a degree of Senior Cambridge. Or my ability to play some hockey or Basket Ball. Or even my ability to understand and speak in English. I think what I got from the school were some intangible, immeasurable, unquantifiable and unidentifiable traits, habits and value systems. Some are good. Some are bad. As I said, I can eat cold food. If it comes, I can take a cold shower. But shower I must. I can co-exist with the rich and poor alike; and financial status is meaningless to me. Also the physical possessions do not get me crazy. The Model of the car, the size of house and so on. I have no gender issue and I am not a prisoner of any ideology. I also have no fear of the `Jhonses’ – what others will say. I can forgive my servants and let my wife boss over me. I am the same on the inside as on the outside. My boss gets the same of me as my subordinates. Persons, personalities, individuals fall below the principles, issues, ideas, systems and thoughts. Sargodha also gave me the strength and courage of tolerance. I can live in peace among all cultures, beliefs, races, ethnicities and ideologies and am certainly not holed up in some medieval cage. I like the variety and differences in people and yet have a pride in my South Asian identity. I can feel for a human being and suffer his suffering. Simplicity, fairness, justice, honesty and truth have a place in my scheme of things.
The bad habits that I picked up from School are that I still hate to polish my shoes, press my clothes and make up my bed.
I clearly remember the first day when I entered the School. I can not recollect the day I left the school. I do not think that I ever left the school …….
nazarhayatkhan@yahoo.com
(This is a 40 years old story …a journey to China in early 70s)
Across the Karakorams
After the 65 War, free supply of military hardware from US to Pakistan stopped. China offered to provide the military hardware free or at almost no cost. It was decided to accept the offer and meet the deficiency with more update equipment from France. Early in the 70s, we went to China to ferry the Chinese Mig 19 or F-6 fighters. It was the China of history books with Chairman Mao’s cultural revolution in full swing. Every Chinese wore a gray Mao suit and carried Mao’s Red Book. Beyond the Karakoram Ranges, at less than two hours flight, there existed a completely different world, the ancient civilization that called itself of the Middle Kingdom or the centre of the world.
As our C-130 transport touched down at Hotan (called Hotian) airfield in Xinjiang province of Eastern China and aircraft doors opened, ice cold wind below in. There had been a recent snowfall and everything was covered with a sheet of snow. The temperature was many degrees below zero. Our Chinese hosts moved forward to receive us. It was amusing to see their cars engines were covered with quilts as a protection from cold. Mr. Nu (pronounced as Yu), our would be guide, moved forward, smiled and said, “Now the friends will sit in the cars and come to the guest house.” From now on, we were to be always addressed as ‘friends’. Friends will have dinner at 9 PM. Friends will do this and friends will do that. Dutifully, the friends sat in the cars.
The caravan moved through the winding countryside road with little traffic. Mainly an agricultural area, the traffic was light and comprised carts pulled by donkeys or horses; and small three-wheeler tractors pulling trolleys, the cycles and old men carrying sacks on their backs. Everyone stopped to gaze at us in amazement. The children giggled in amusement as we drove by. China lived in a grand isolation. Little did we realize that this China would completely transform itself in the next 50 years – economically, socially and culturally.
This Eastern region of China was inhabited by the Turkic origin Muslims commonly known as Uighurs. Some of us, who had been to exchange posting to Turkey, could converse with them in Turkish. But Chinese preferred no direct contact between us and the locals. They kept us busy with their own schedules, dinners and stage dramas. The stage dramas mostly depicted the struggle of peasants against landlords. Workers with red flags moved back and forth in unison singing patriotic songs. There was a communist party representative in every Government department and commune. In the evenings, Chinese sat together and criticized their own mistakes of the day. The West (particularly the Americans) were called the Imperialists and the Russians were called the Revisionists because they had deviated from principles of Communism. The Party and the State provided them with all their needs. For now, they had to contend with just a rice bowl and soup. Later Deng Xiaoping was to come to introduce private ownership that was to catapult China into an unprecedented prosperity. Deng’s theory was that `it did matter whether it was a black or a white cat as long as it catches mice’.
Regardless of what China was about to go through, our hosts went out of their way to look after us. They put us up in the State `Guest House’ and we were served 12-course meals. Initial courses were of pure Chinese origin and and our favourites like the Tikkas & Kababs came at the end. A local drink,“Mot Aai’’, was so hard that it had to be kept in an earthenware because it reacted with normal glass. Chinese Tea was a perpetual companion on our side tables. The usual bottoms up “Cheers’’ was replaced with the Chinese “Kombay’’.
The Mig 19 or F-6 (NATO code name Farmer) was an unusual aircraft when compared to its Western counterparts. It had big dials and switches. The speed was in kilometers and not in nautical miles that we were used to. Similarly, the altimeter was in meters instead of feet; and this disturbed our general mental perception of height. The brakes worked on pneumatics (air) pressure and not on the usual hydraulics and were applied through a hand handle. To indicate a specific Emergency with Radio failure, one could fire Flares of different colours from aircraft. Its guns fired big 30MM rounds. The aircraft had a throat mike instead of the usual mouth mike.
We were scheduled to fly an air test and then return. But bad weather held us up. We actually did not mind this spell of bad weather at all. Friends would go when the weather became all right, Mr. Nu told us. Mr. Nu was an experienced pilot but with typical Chinese humility, he always said, “I am here to learn from friends.” To change from the monotony of Chinese food daily with no rice for so many days, I volunteered to cook “Pulao’’ in the kitchen. The Chief cook assisted me in doing so. After it had been cooked, I asked him whether they had any such dish in China. “Yes’’, he replied and then added “It is called Pulao’’. So our very own Pulao came from this part of the world. Subsequently, Pulao became a regular feature in our menu.
As the bad weather spell lingered, our Chinese hosts became more open and relaxed. Now we could manage to peep into their inner thoughts when left alone with someone. Our interpreter spoke ‘Slees’ Urdu. When he spoke, it sounded as if he was reading a textbook. We found out that the ultimate dream of an average Chinese was to purchase a cycle, a transistor and a watch. To us, every Chinese looked the same. They told us that all Pakistanis also looked alike and they could not differentiate between us.
Finally, the bad weather lifted or became good enough to go. We proceeded to the airfield. The weather was hazy and the sky was overcast with white clouds. The ground was covered with snow. Our formation’s call-sign was ‘Pakistan Charlies’ and our Formation comprised Dar, Shahid, Imtiaz and myself. We started up, taxied out and lined up on the runway. Like a new car, aircraft not only smelled new but also gave the feel of new with crisp controls. The engines accelerated smoothly with a clear sound. Everything worked according to the book.
We took off one by one, joined up in battle formation and headed for Pakistan. Soon after take off, we entered clouds. Carrying out the ‘Snake Departure’, in which two aircraft, in close formation, are followed behind by the other two, doing the same moves like the wriggling of a snake. We finally broke through the clouds at 35,000 feet. As we came out of the clouds on top, there was a bright sunshine with blue sky. We were flying over an unending layer of white clouds with ground fully obscured. No ground features were visible for navigation nor were any ground navigational aids available in this area of no man’s land. There was jus a wilderness where three great hill ranges converged towards Karakoram; Hindu Kush and Pamirs from the West and Himalayas from the East. The only way to navigate was to maintain the correct heading; and correlate our ground position with known peaks that protruded out of clouds. Facilities like the GPS had not been invented then. And neither did Chinese Fighters have luxuries like Inertial Navigation Systems.
Four of us were serenely gliding over the Karakorams and there was a deafening silence. As is customary with military aircraft, we were practicing radio silence. For a fighter aircraft to fly level for anything more than 5 minutes is unusual; and a flight like this could either be a luxury or absolute boredom, depending on one’s frame of mind. All four of us were flying quietly and perhaps deeply immersed in our thoughts. The world seemed far away and far below. I was leisurely maintaining my battle formation position, looking around and admiring nature. Everything seemed to fit just right in its place. There was a pin drop silence barring the constant drone of the engines and an eerie stillness in air. Being alone in aircraft, over this no-man’s land, only added to the loneliness.
And then it happened. As I looked inside the cockpit, I got a rude shock. My fuel gauge was reading only 1800 liters. There had been a sudden fuel leak. China was left far behind and my destination in Pakistan was still far away. I was in the middle of nowhere hanging at 35000 feet, above clouds, over Karakorams with fuel draining out. If I was to eject from the aircraft, I was destined to spend the rest of my life over the Karakoram peaks, not a very cheerful prospect with only a jacket. What could be done. I checked inside; all my switches were normal. It was certainly an unusual occurrence. I could not go back; I had to press on forward. The fuel gauge was still continuing to drop. I worked out my future course of action. The best course was to maintain altitude, for as long as possible, because the jet engines consume less fuel at high altitudes. And then, if I managed to reach near an airfield, I would carry out a maximum rate descent with throttles idle. However, this could only be possible if the rate of fuel leak reduced; and I got some tail wind. There were some Ifs and Buts.
I looked at Dar’s aircraft. He was our formation leader; and seemed to be enjoying the ride. There was not much that he could do; or anyone else for that matter. With an almost sadistic pleasure, child in me naughtily suggested that why not spoil his day as well. I called out, “Charlie leader. Charlie four has only 1800 liters on the gauge. I have a fuel leak.” There was a long pause. Then Dar called out, “What did you say. 1800 liters.” I said, “Affirmative.” Again there was a long pause. Finally, Dar came up, sounding worried, and said, “Charlie Four. Keep the throttles steady. Keep monitoring fuel. You will land first and make a straight in approach.” I said, “Roger.”
That was that. But I could sense that now the formation was fully awake; and an air of tension floated in the air. I kept monitoring the fuel gauge and, as the luck would have it, the rate of leak reduced. The radar soon picked us up and guided us towards the nearest airfield. The weather was fine and that meant that I could make a visual straight approach towards the airfield. As I spotted the airfield, my fuel gauge indicated only 600 liters and I was still 20 miles away. I had to land the first time. There was no margin for any error. We all went into ‘Train formation’; and the others positioned themselves behind me 1000 feet in line astern. I called ‘Finals’, lowered my wheels; and landed. I had only 200 liters of fuel on the gauge when the aircraft touched down.
I heaved a big sigh of relief; and then suddenly, all the confidence returned.
I switched off and explained the problem to the ground engineers. When we headed back towards our homes, there was a brief discussion on subject and then all was forgotten. A close miss in a pilot’s life gets only that much of time …….. It was just another day.
( Mig-19 Fighters have now been retired from Air Force. Some were gifted to Bangladesh )
The Beginnings
The Indus Valley Civilization, 3000 BC to 1800 BC, vanished mysteriously leaving behind ruins of well organized cities but no written Scripture. We will skip the debate whether it happened due to the Aryans from the North or whether the Aryans ever existed at all.. Important aspect is that another Vedic civilization rose from those ruins that spread across the river Indus (Sindhu); and also across the seasonal river Ghaggar (Himachal Pradesh) as it flowed through Punjab to Rajasthan entering Pakistan as Hakra river before dissipating into the Thar desert. These rivers are also known as Vadic Sarwati rivers.
The Vadic Civilization had the world’s first recorded scripture called the Vedas. The Vedas came through Rishis (sages) who heard voices (Shruti – revelation) from universe or were written through the cultural tradition (Smriti). Vedas explained a human being’s relation with nature and included knowledge of logic, astrology and astronomy.
The four Vedas (Rigveda, Yajurveda, Samaveda and Atharvaveda) contained four sections each. Samhitas contained mantras and hymns. Brahanas contained the ritualistic teachings. Aranyakas contained meditation and the famous Upanishads contained the summeries of mystic and philosohical thought. The Vedas provided a philosophical and a spiritual way of life with a vast array of beliefs, practices, customs and rituals.
The Core Philosophy
The Vedas provided a philosophy called Santana Dharma or just Dharma – the Eternal Way or Perennial Philosophy. Dharma is the process for aligning one’s body, mind and soul with the nature in search of the Ultimate Truth or Reality to find salvation in life.
The Santana Dharma also emphasized that there were many ways of reaching the ultimate truth or the reality in these words of Rig Veda:
Sanskrit: Ekam Sat Vipraaha Bahudaa Vadanti
English: “Truth is One, though the Sages know it as Many.”
— The Rig Veda (Book I, Hymn CLXIV, Verse 46)
Sanatana Dharma, in due course, gave birth to three other Dharmic faiths namely Buddhism, Jainism and Sikhism that were more definitive and with more specificities.
Aum became the standard sign of Dharma and swastika (the noble symbol) from the early Vedic culture. Swastika was used by the Nazis to potray the white superior Aryan race.
Unlike the Abrahamic religions (Judaism, Christianity, Islam), which had a single founder and a single book with well defined code of life, Sanatans Dhara did not have these attrinutes.. Even the followers of the Dharma had no religious identity. All people living across the Sindhu (Indus) river were called Hindus – an ethnic/geographical identity. After four thousand years, the term Hinduism was coined during the British Raj. The term Hidutva is even less than 100 years old. To differentiate Dharma from other contemporary religions, I feel Brahmanism would have been a more accute description as we shall see in the next paragraph.
The Brahman (not Brahmin)
The Brahman (or Ishvara), the ultimate truth or reality, is One that the human beings seek for salvation. The Brahman is indescribable in any metaphysical terms. And it may appear in the shape of three main deities such as the Brahma (the creative spirit) or as Vishnu (which keeps order in the universe) or as Shiva (which causes the destruction of one cycle of universe leaving it to be re-created again)
Therefore, Sanatana Dharma can neither be classified as polytheistic or monotheistic. The different gods and avatars that are worshipped by followers of the Dharma are taken as different forms of the same One Truth, the Brahman.
There are a number of Deities, avatars and mother goddesses. The Vedic Dieties include Indra, Surya, Agni, Vayu, Varuna, Yama, Kubera, Soma, Mitra, Kama, Gayatri, Aditi, Ushas and Sarasvati. Avatars of Vishnu include Matsya (the Fish), Kurma (the Tortoise), Varaha (the Boar), Narasimha (Half Lion, Half Man), Vamana (The Brahmin Dwarf), Parashurama (The Warrior), Rama (The King and Pinnacle of Dharma), Krishna (Purnavatar or the Full, Plenary, Ultimate Avatar), Buddha (The Enlightened One) more commonly known by Hindus as Buddhadev (Lord/God Buddha), Kalki (The Final Avatar as Man on White Horse). Relatives are Ganesha, Parvati, Karttikeya, Sita and Hanuman. Mother goddesses are Shakti, Devi, Kali, Durga, Lakshmi and Amman
The followers of the Dharma are free to choose their own Deity for worship or not chose any Deity or not worship at all.
The Scriptures
Vedas are considered the primary holy scriptures by the followers of Dharma. Smitri text which has an author includes the Puranas which deal with the lives of the gods and celestial beings. Other important historical text like Rāmāyana evolved between 300 bc and ad 200 and Mahābhārata evolved between 400 bc to about ad 400.
The Rāmāyana describes the life of Prince Rāma, an incarnation of Vishnu. The Mahābhārata, an epic story of 100,000 verses, is attributed to a sage named Vyāsa and considered to be the longest poem in the world. It traces the descendants of two sets of cousins, the Kauravas and the Pāndavas, whose disputes eventually lead to the Mahābhārata war. One part of the Mahābhārata, the Bhagavad-Gītā, describes the techniques and paths by which an individual can attain realization of the Ultimate Reality with Krishna as the guide.
Different Schools of Vedic Thought
There are different schools of Vedic thought like Nyaya, Vaishesika, Samkya, Mimamsa, Yoga, Vedanta, Bhakti and Tantric. Space does not permit discussion of all. Nyaya school of thought believes that knowledge is required to get a release from suffering and there are four sources of knowledge such as perception, inference, comparison and testimony. Samkya school regards the universe as consisting of two eternal realities: purusha (soul) and prakrti (matter or nature) and process of equilibrium between the two. Mimamsa believes that vedic revelation must be proved by reasoning and not accepted blindly as dogma. Yoga deals with meditation. Vedanta (meaning end of the Vedas) provides interpretation of Vedas. Bhakti (Devotional) movement rejuvenated the Dharma through expression of faith through puja using the aid of a murti (statue) in conjunction with the singing or chanting of meditational prayer in the form of mantras. Or devotional songs called bhajans , kirtan (praise) and arti (fire ritual). Bhakti resulted in creation of a mass devotional material in the form of literature, music and art. The Tantric school rejected the caste system.
The four goals of life
The four goals of life (purushartha) are kama, artha, dharma and moksha. The human beings seeks kama (pleasure, physical or emotional) and artha (power, fame and wealth), but soon, with maturity, they control their desires in the pragmatic framework of dharma or harmony in all. The final eternal goal of happiness is achieved through liberation (moksha) of soul from this earthly cycle of life and death.(samsara-reincarnation).
The four stages of life
The four stages of life begin with first quarter of life called brahmacharya (literally “grazing in Brahma”) spent in celibate, sober and pure contemplation of life’s secrets. Next stage Grihastya is the married stage that satisfies kama and artha within a married life and professional career. The third stage Vanaprastha is a gradual detachment from the material world by getting involved in contemplation of the truth and making holy pilgrimages. Finally, in Sanyasa, there is a disillusionment with material life, worldly thoughts and desires; and person spends the rest of his life in spiritual contemplation.
The Rituals & Culture
The Hindu rituals are yajña, (a sacrificial fire); pūjā (devotional offerings, usually flowers); and dhyāna (meditation). Yajñas are performed on major occasions such as marriages. Pūjā may be performed publicly or privately. Public pūjā, is usually performed in a temple with a statue of a deity and offering flowers, incense and food. Chanting and devotional singing follow with waving of a small, camphor-burning lamp that illuminates the image of the deity (arati). And the offering of food is shared by the worshipers. Darshan is going and meeting a holy person and Satsang is learning from his/her company.
There is a ritual of shaving the head of a newly born. A wedding has many ceremonies including the joining of the bride and groom with a knot after which they walk around a sacred fire seven times. There is a cremation (burning of the dead body) of the dead and ashes are collected and deposited usually by the side of or in a river. Some rituals are performed to obtain a specific reward according to instructions in the Vedas. Such rewards include securing a suitable life partner, conceiving a child or attaining wealth as well as warding off bad spirits.
The Earth is considered as sacred and there are pilgrimages to Badrinath to the north, Puri to the east, Rameshvaram to the south and Dwarka to the west. Certain parts of India are held in special veneration like the holy: Ayodhyā (the birthplace of Rāma); Mathurā (where Krishna grew up); Haridwār (where the Ganges River widens onto a plain); Kāsī (sacred to Shiva); Kāñcī; Avanti or Ujjain (site of the temple of Mahākāla); and Puri (associated with the later life of Krishna). A number of festivals take place like the one to commemorate the great Sanskrit epic Ramayana (Way of Rama). The timing of these festivals is related to the movements of the Sun and the Moon.
Dassera marks the victory of Prince Rāma and the festival of Holi celebrates the arrival of spring in February or March. The people spray each other with colored powders and colored water. A family festival, Raksābandhana, occurs in July or August and renews the bonds of affection between brothers and sisters. Sisters tie lucky threads around the wrists of brothers and are rewarded with gifts. On religious occasions, the chanting the om is considered holy.
Ahimsa or non-violence is another concept that came from Upanishads. Though vegetarianism is not a dogma, it is recommended as a sattwic (purifying) lifestyle. Those who do eat meat predominantly abstain from beef some even going so far as to avoid leather products. The Vedic people relied so heavily on the cow for dairy products, tilling of fields and fuel for fertiliser that its status as a ‘caretaker’ of humanity grew to an almost maternal figure and an honored place in Hindu society.
The Political Hinduism
Political Hinduism is a phenomenon only a few decades old in a history of 4000 years and is confined to only India. This could be termed as yet another fall out of the two-nation theory.
The Courts should normally avoid the temptation of defining faiths leaving it to the believer and the Divine. In 1966, Supreme Court of India defined Hindu faith as follows:
(a) Acceptance of the Vedas with reverence as the highest authority in religious and philosophic matters and acceptance with reverence of Vedas by Hindu thinkers and philosophers as the sole foundation of Hindu philosophy.
(b) Spirit of tolerance and willingness to understand and appreciate the opponent’s point of view based on the realization that truth is many-sided.
(c) Acceptance of great world rhythm — vast periods of creation, maintenance and dissolution follow each other in endless succession — by all six systems of Hindu philosophy.
(d) Acceptance by all systems of Hindu philosophy of the belief in rebirth and pre-existence.
(e) Recognition of the fact that the means or ways to salvation are many.
(f) Realization of the truth that numbers of Gods to be worshiped may be large, yet there are Hindus who do not believe in the worshiping of idols.
(g) Unlike other religions, or religious creeds, Hindu religion’s not being tied down to any definite set of philosophic concepts, as such.
The Court seemed to have over-defined the Dharma making it exclusionary in some respects. It may have been sufficient to simply state the core philosophy of Sanatana Dharma. Making accepance of the Vedic Scripture as a pre-condition, it transformed the universality of Dharma into a religious ideology contrary to the very spirit of Dharma itself. Consequently, the term `Hindutva’ (meaning `Hinduness’), coined less than 100 years ago, gets a faith-based connotation. So while one may agree with the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) demand for a Uniform Civil Code in India, Hindutva as a political philosophy by RSS or Bhartitya Janata Party (BJP) may be a disruptive philosophy just as any other faith-based political ideology.
Hinduism is the third largest religion with approximately 1.05 billion followers worldwide. Significant Hindu minorities exist in Bangladesh (11 million), Myanmar (7.1 million), Sri Lanka (2.5 million), the United States (1.7 million) Pakistan (1.3 million), South Africa (1.2 million), the United Kingdom (1.2 million), Malaysia (1.1 million) and Canada (0.7 million)
Evolution of Islam in South Asia
Islam evolved in South Asia rooted well in its local history and culture just as different versions of Islam evolved in Indonesia, Malaysia, Turkey, Egypt and different Arab countries. The Sufi school of thought, which had a similar philosophy as the Santana Dharma, was widely popular. South Asian Islam also evolved a culture of paying homage to the saints, going to their Darbars and seeking the fulfillment of their wishes much like the Dharmic Dieties. This included the customs of laying flowers, burning candles and incense, chanting religious Qawalis and dancing in a trance. And reading of holy scripture on food and then distributing it. Other forms of religio-cultural creations were the naats, mercia, classical music and classical dancing. Then there are other customs like reciting holy verses in the ear of a newly born and shaving his head, chanting of drood on holy occasions, tying the imam zamin on wrist and so on ………,
