Sunday 11 November 2012

1972 - FROM KARACHI TO ISTANBUL (2)

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2nd November 1972 was the D day. We started off on that date. The life was never going to be the same anymore.


                                                KARACHI RAILWAY STATION

We boarded the Quetta bound train from Karachi city railway station. I was more than thrilled. The biggest adventure had started becoming reality. We were six persons. The whole family. My elder father was as usual the non-participant , displeased, somewhat annoyed  part of the group. My mother was more than usual busy in taking care of the children, and of everything else. My younger brother and sister were not too mature to understand properly as to what was going on. I was flying too high in excitement. I was too busy in  dreaming about Istanbul. My father perhaps had mobilised all his energies towards his ultimate goal. His ultimate goal was to reach Istanbul.

When i look back and try to understand my feelings of that time, i find out that i am still the same as i was on that particular day.

I am still aloof of my surroundings. I still have got my own dreams, which are too different from what other people feel and think. Whole my life i worked for my somewhat quer but thrilling goals. Still i am the same.
I am very different from others, like my father. We never ran after money, but thrill and adventure remained our goals . As i said earlier, my father was a different sort of person, i too.

I remember the friend of my father, SYED SHAFIQUE UDDIN, came to meet us , with his children, at the Kotri railway station. He had brought eatables.

We reached Quetta, the next day.  The brother of one of friends of my father, who used to work in Railways, received us at the Quetta Railway station. He arranged for our night stay in the nearby railway guest house. It was a beautiful small house. I liked that. I remember practising my hits on the wall. Yes i was carrying 4 hockey sticks and some hockey balls with me.



                                                        QUETTA RAILWAY STATION

We boarded the Zahedan bound train, the next morning. It was cold. I always liked travelling by train. Aloof of the problems that my parents were thinking about, i was enjoying the adventure fully. There were just a few, perhaps 6 bogies in the train. However the compartments were in quite bad shapes. It seemed that maintance of the compartments were not given due attention by the railways. However my father later on told us that it was not due to inefficiency of the railways, the smugglers used to hide banned substances in the openings of the walls, seats , roof and floors of the compartments.

Equipped as always, with the Railway Time table, my father was following the track. We were passing through small stations one by one.

Just before the Iranian border, the train was inching with very slow speed.  At that moment i witnessed something which i never saw another time in my life. The smugglers in the train were swiftly slipping down huge packets, bags and other things packed in blankets. People down the side of the train were quickly getting hold of these items. My father told me that they would be carrying these packets into Iran, on foot. That was how the banned goods used to smuggle into Iran. I was stunned.

It did not take much time that the train entered Iran. It was just getting dark, as the train stopped immediately after crossing fenced area of the border. There was pin drop silence in the compartment. Everybody was waiting in silence. Suddenly Iranian border guards and railway people appeared on the scene. First they asked all grown up males to get out of the compartment. They were lined up. Interestingly my father was the first in the line. My father repeatedly narrated this incident, whole his life. This is why i am mentioning it here.

According to my father, he was the first standing in the line, perhaps because no one else of the passengers was willing to head the line. Then two iranian officials came to him and said something in persian, which he could not understand at all.Then one of them gave a capsule to my father to swallow. My father was perhaps so much under pressure, that he dropped the capsule. The iranian officials at that time, were distributing the capsule to the other persons in the line. According to my father, none of the iranian officials were looking at him, so he took the capsule from the ground, but one of the iranian official noticed him, and shouted. They took my father out of the line. According to my father he became somewhat confused and afraid, about what was going to happen next. Luckily, they just gave him another capsule to swallow. He returned back to the compartment, like other passengers.

We were not allowed to get out of the compartment. The iranian officials were checking the passports of the passengers. One of them was checking and was reading aloud the contents of the passports, and the other one was writing all these in his register. I really enjoyed the way they were reading aloud. I could catch just a few words in persian, as i had studied persian also in the school. But the pronunciation of the iranians was too different, so it was almost impossible to understand what they were speaking.

They told us to bring out all our baggeages out of the compartments. We took them out, from where we were asked to carry them to an another goods compartment. All baggages were sealed in that compartment. We were told that these baggages would go directly to the custom department in Zahidan, from where we would like take them the other day.

The train continued its journey.

There was just four or five more persons in the compartment. The train was going to reach the Zahidan station late at night. So, with the consultation of fellow passengers my father decided to stay in the train at night at Zahidan, and then would go out to the city the next morning. I climbed up on the bench and slept. The train continued moving ahead towards Zahidan. Outside it was totally dark.

My mother jolted me all of a sudden. I opened my eyes, everyone was getting out of the train. The train had stopped. My father told me that the railway offiicials had not allowed us to stay in the train anymore. It was Zahedan railway station, and we were supposed to leave the train immediately.

With my mind still sleeping. I joined others to get out of the train. We went out of the railway station. There was a taxi there, which according to me was alraedy full. But there was no other taxi, so we had had to fit ourselves in that cab. We all were literally packed by the taxi driver in the cab, and it moved. I did not know where we were heading for.

The taxi stopped in front of a simple building. There was a small board hanging by side of the main door. It was PAKISTANI MUSAFIR KHANA (Guest /Rest house for Pakistanis). A person on that door was collecting the passports, and taking all of us in.

There was no building in the building. There were small rooms, with no furniture, except thick carpets. It was quite hot inside. We were given a candle to light the room. Although somewhat hungry, but we preferred to sleep. We were too tired.

For the first time in my life i had left the country, where i was born and grown up. It was a new experience in my life. A thrill that i do still feel inside me. It was the first step, after that MY LIFE WAS NOT GOING TO BE THE SAME ANYMORE . First step was taken,  the rest was to follow. For me a new chapter of my life had opened. Pakistan was left behind. Turkey was going to be the ultimately goal. A goal not to earn a better living, but just to be different from the rest.  Mentally, i had freed myself from being a Pakistani. I was going to live in Turkey, going to be a Turk. A direct result of a  very very different and unique mentality, which i shared with my father.

The next morning, after eating something that we could find in the shop nearby, we went to the custom house, by taxi. In fact we were not alone to go there. Most of the persons in the Pakistani guest house were going there, so it was not difficult for us.

At the custom house they opened all our bags and baggages, that we had put in a separate compartment of the train. We did not face any difficulty in getting our bags cleared off from the customs. We returned back to our guest house .

Now the next step was to decide. Where to go next. My father decided to go northward to Mashad by bus.

The next morning we all 6 persons, boarded a bus heading north for Mashad. It was too cold, particularly for us. We travelled the whole day and the whole night. An unforgetable event happened in the very early hours of the morning when the bus about to enter Mashad. We were all asleep. when we came to know that the bus was not moving ahead. Enquiry revealed that the traffic police had challaned the bus, and had imposed the fine. The bus driver had left the bus in protest, and the passengers were all stranded there. The driver returned back after sometime, but asked all the passengers to contribute money among ourselves to pay the fine. The passengers did not see any other way out but to contribute and pay the fine. Later on the bus entered the Mashad city. It was just dawn.

We found a cheap hotel, and settled in. It was terribly cold. The open water in the small fountain and pond in middle of the hotel, was all ice. My father decided not to stay anymore there. He went to the railway station and booked seats for Tehran. from where we were supposed to pick a train that would be going directly to Istanbul.
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We boarded the Tehran bound train in the evening, which was supposed to reach Tehran the next morning.
It was a nice train, with separate compartments. There were six luxury seats in every compartment, three on one side and the other three facing them. We put our bags and baggages under the seats and in between the seats. We managed to lie down, somewhat uncomfortably , by adjusting our baggages in between the facing seats. We spent the whole night lying down in that uncomfortable way. After all it was a part of adventure.
But we were shocked the next morning, when we came out of our compartment and looked into other ones. The seats were infact meant to be hooked down to make a bed. My father laughed and saddened thinking about how and why he could not understand that. But it was past, nothing could be done about that.

We reached Tehran at about 8 or may be 9 am. We came out of the train. My father went to the booking office, to book our seats for the Istanbul bound train. We did know before hand that it was once a week train. We were shocked when the booking officer at the Tehran Railway Station told us that the Istanbul bound train had just left Tehran a couple of minutes back.

There was no other way out for us, but to stay in Tehran for one week, to get the next train, next sunday.

We stayed in a cheap hotel in Tehran for a week. The weather was cold. However, we got sufficient time to see Tehran. I remember watching a film, THAT MAN FROM RIO, in Tehran.


Well, the next sunday morning, we boarded the train bound for Istanbul. It was going to be a more than three days long journey.
PRESENT DAY SOME PHOTOS TAHRAN ISTANBUL TRAIN

CONTINUED TO ..........1972 FROM KARACHI TO ISTANBUL (3)








Tuesday 6 November 2012

1972 - FROM KARACHI TO ISTANBUL (1)

The Indo-Pak war of 1971 was in full swing. The life had become too dull, due to night curfews and blackouts. India had hit the Karachi port, and the burning oil depos at the Kemari port were keeping the whole city lit throughout the night. Repeatedly i had witnessed the air chase between the indian and Pakistani airforce jets. Life was passing through a different phase.

I was 16 years old.

We used to live in our Nazimabad house. It was half built. Rather left unfinished. However , we lived in the same house from 1971 till 1985.

At that time there were no window glasses in our house, so my late father had tied up some wooden pieces with the idea of that it might serve as a barrier for the incoming stray bullet from some Indian jet (a remote possibility). But that was his thinking, just like so many other off the beat sort of ideas that he always came up with all through his life.

Well, one such evening, we were all sitting on one single bed, and the Indian and Pakistani jets were chasing each others on the sky. All of  a sudden, my father asked us a question. "What will happen if a stray bullet hits us here?", he asked. He himself replied that one or more of us would be killed. We were listening to him quietly, awaiting for the ultimate subject matter to come forth. He continued by explaining that the considered the world (earth) as a wonderful gift from Allah to the human beings. "So i think it is not proper that we spend our whole lives at one single city or country", the ultimate new idea was just taking the initial shape.

He explained that being a human being it is his right to go and live anywhere in the world. "Because the whole world is ours", he said. We listened to him quietly. ( I wonder if he had been impressed by the song IMAGINE of John Lennon?)

So, according to my father, we should not remain stuck to the place of our birth. We must go out and see the world, and settle down wherever we want to.

WOW, it was a wonderful idea, according to me. However, not for all others in the family. In fact nobody had taken it seriously. My mother in fact was too used to different way of thinking of my father. She had witnessed too many in her life. My elder brother, was always having an anti stand against my father's views. My younger brother and sister were too young, to understand anything. Bur for me, it was something very thrilling. My father was too serious, and i was too anxious.

My father did not waste time, to open the Atlas. We both started looking at the pages of the Atlas. In a short period of time, the pages of Atlas ended. We had finished strolling the world, on paper. What next?

Touring the whole world, sounds nice, but in reality it requires huge financial resources, which we never had. It also needed Visas and other formalities to be taken care of. Honestly my father too knew that he was not in a position to go head on with such problems. But he had made up his mind to think seriously on his theory.

Where to go? and How to go? That was the question. Finance was never a problem, because we never had sufficient funds. No money, in fact had made us NOT TO THINK about money. That was one good way out. (I told you my father was a different sort of person.......very different.....unique)

So he dropped thinking about solving the problem of finance.

In those days there were RCD (REGIONAL COOPERATION FOR DEVELOPMENT) , a treaty between Pakistan, Iran and Turkey. The treaty had allowed the citizens of these countries to visit each other's country without visa. That had given moral boost to my father. The initial problem of visa formalities thus stood solved a bit in that way.

My father had made up his mind to go. He had found out the way on the map. He was sure that he could go without any problem upto Turkey. After that? He never thought of.

Then , extending his mental jimnastic of this topic, he started out thinking about the next phase. WHERE TO SETTLE? That was the next step of this theory. It was not an important question to be answered.

Oh yes, let i mention here, that as i had mentioned earlier, it was I who was also interested in these plans, so frequently he used to discuss these with me. But not just me, all through his life, he always discussed everything aloud at home, so everyone used to know what he was thinking. One interested in his plans used to discuss, the non-interested ones used to ignore. However, everyone in the house did know what my father was working on.

According to his plan, once out of Pakistan, he was free to go through Iran and Turkey, without much trouble. The trouble viz, visa formalities etc etc would be faced once past turkey. But he had had to solve the question of getting settled at some place in the world, once out of Pakistan.

Oh, let i further clarify here, that my father never wanted to go alone, he wanted to go alongwith the whole family.....6 persons in total. So indeed it was not something so easy to be dealt with.

Well, where to settle ultimately? That was the next question.

As i have mentioned earlier, my father was never after money. So he had never thought of going and settling in wealthy countries like USA or UK or to the middle eastern countries, where the expats used to earn a lot. He was a very simple person, who never went out for big money. All through his life he led a very simple life. So his plan was never destined for neither a better living nor for big money.

Perhaps he was after some adventure. Some very big adventure. And i was all too eager to be part of this extremely thrilling adventure.

It took almost 6 months to work on preparations for this big big adventure.

As i have mentioned earlier the ultimate question to be answered was "WHERE TO SETTLE IN THE END". My father did have a couple of basic principles in his mind.
1. We must live with muslims (muslim country)
2. But not in middle eastern countries. (he was never interested in living in these countries)

Based on the above ultimately he came up with three alternate places
1. Turkey
2. Spain
3. Morroco

In fact his choice of these places were the direct result of his deep study of islamic history. His interest had also given me a chance to have a look in the islamic history.

However, he did not take much time in giving his final decision in favour of Turkey . The place in mind was Istanbul. His logic was that Istanbul is located at such a strategic point, from where one can go to any other place and return back too. I agreed with him.

It did not take much time that all our efforts were fixed on Istanbul and Turkey. My father brought some detailed maps of Istanbul from the Turkish Consulate. He also bought a small handy book which showed sentences of routine usage and their translation in Turkish and Persian.

One day he went to a painting exhibition, at Arts Council, Karachi, where he met a Turkish musician, whose name was ERDAL SOYULU (or may be SOYLU), who used to work in a night club in karachi. My father discused his plans with him, so he gave the address of his house in Istanbul, to my father.

Days passed swiftly, and my father continued aheading with his plans.

I was a student of B.Com Part 1 then, i shifted my attention to my studies.

My father was too busy in arranging for finances for this big adventure. He had started selling furniture of the house. He had (perhaps) taken loan from his Provident Fund also.

First our passports were got prepared.  As far as i can remember now, we were scheduled to leave Pakistan in August 1972. As a first step, my father sent some money to one of his friends (Dr. ANIS UR RUB) in Italy. Secondly, he found out that we were supposed to take visa from Iranian embassy. He applied for that.

The passed through the first shock before even starting the adventure physically. The Iranian embassy refused to give Visa to my father, since according to their belief a person with the same name had gone to Iran earlier too. In fact my father had never gone to Iran. But there was no way out for us. The Iranian embassy decided to send his passport for further enquiry , to Tehran. We had had to wait.

Now when i try to understand my personal feelings pf that time, i become too confused. During that period, i continued with my studies, even knowing that i might not be in a position to continue my studies. At the same time i was too eager to play my part in the adventure of leaving Pakistan with the family, with no guaranteed or foreplanned future in sight. I become too confused now, when i try to find out that how come under all these conditions , i ultimately appeared in the B.Com Part 1 examination and got First class Third position in the Karachi university)

While we were all waiting for the Iranian Visa, one day i fell while playing hockey, and broke my left arm.
The arm was plastered. It was the second shock.

One day my father came to know that the Iranian embassy wanted to have visa of the next country where we would be going after Iran. Turkey , our next country in the line , was not having visa restrictions for Pakistanis. But the Iranian embassy persisted to see the visa of a country beyond Turkey. So the only way out for us was to take visa for some other country also before applying for Iranian visa. Well, in the meantime the passport of my father was returned from Tehran, and was cleared of the earlier suspicions. There was some mistake in the record.

So my father took Italian visas.

The Iranian embassy gave us visas without any further problems.

By that time (if i remember correctly) september had arrived. My arm was still in plaster. My exams were not too far. I took the exams with my plastered arm. My exams ended in October 1972.

By that time everything of our house was sold. There were only two things that were left unsold. One was our old refrigerator and the other one was our half built home itself. In fact, i never ever discussed my father how did he finance all that adventure. Yet all that i saw was that everything of the house was sold out.


CONTINUED AT .... 1972 - FROM KARACHI TO ISTANBUL (2)


Wednesday 17 October 2012

JOURNALISM AND I


JOURNALISM AND I

My late father was in the field of Accounts and Finance, but beside attaining educational degrees in differing field, he had done his masters in journalism way back in late 1950s (or may be early 1960s). Although he remained in the same profession till he retired, yet journalism remained one of his most favourite fields, throughout his life. He continued attached to this field in form or the another.

My entry in the field of journalism started in the year (?) 1968 or 1969. I was in class 9th then. My father used to write a ten minutes script for Radio Pakistan. The title of the program used to be KHABRON PER TABSIRA (news comments). It used to broadcast every wednesday at (?) 11.30am, in the Students' program. Obviously the topics used to be of interest of the school going young generation.

One day my father gave me the handwritten script, and told me to rewrite it neatly. The words should be written clearly separate from each other with two lines gap between every line. I wrote that. That must be 6 or 8 pages. It was my first induction into the world of journalism.

Later on, he started telling me more about it. Over a passage of time, he taught me how to find the material from Encyclopedia , newspapers , magazines and other relevant sources. (Unfortunately, there was no google those days). My father was a collector of books and magazines, so i always found it interesting to note down the required information from various sources. Usually my father used to give me one day time to collect the information. So, after returning from his office the other day, he used to call me to sit with him, while writing the script.

The same practice continued for a couple of years, in which i was promoted by him. Later on he used to phone me from his office to give me the topics, and i used to write the script till his arrival the same evening. He used to change a few words or sentences here or there, and as always the final script was to be written by me in good handwriting.

During my summer vacation, my father used to take me along to his office (at Burns Road) on Wednesday, and i had been going to the Radio Pakistan at around 8.30am to hand over the script. That led me to meet me some producers of Radio Pakistan. I can recall meeting the producers Yawar Abbas, Sabi Ahmed, Tabish Dehlevi, etc.and among the radio artists, Safia Moeni, Talat Hussaim, S.M.Saleem, Zafar Ahmed (bhai jan), Munni begum etc etc. That gave me chance of roaming around in corridors of Radio Pakistan, and to peep inside so many studios. (Unfortunately, the present generation cannot understand the environment of those days, those were the days of mutual trust. There used to be one normal policeman on the main gate of Radio Pakistan, who never asked me anything. People entering and coming out of the building were usually all persons known to the policeman, and as a way of common understanding unrelated person was never thought of entering the building...........the culture of klashinkof and bombs were not even heard of till then)

During the daytime my father used to be an Accountant in KDA, but after the expiry of his office time, he used to enter the field of journalism. A couple of times a week her used to work at night, as part time Proof reader in APP (news agency) and at times in the Morning News newspaper on the I.I.Chundrigar Road. Quite a many a time, he took me to those offices. That was my first experience with the printing media. For the first time i witnessed how news have been written, edited, re-written, composed and printed. I was always too amused by the speed with which that work had been done, due to sharp timing schedule.
I really loved that. There for the first time, i met the famous AZIZ cartoonist of Morning News,  The years were 1965 - 1970.

But that was not all. My father used to be a very energetic person. Ofcourse he needed some money too. There was a new magazine in the market. It was SCREENWORLD. My father became its reporter. In those days he interviewed the leading figures of Pakistan cinema industry too. The office and Printing press of the magazine was at a walking distance (about 15 minuıtes) from our house. Usually on sundays my father used to take me along there, while finalising the articles of the magazine. The printing press too was there. It was SHAHZAD PRINTING PRESS. Usually my father spent an hour or two in the magazine office, but that used to be sufficient time for me to go through the printing press and see how the types had been handset (there were no computers those days), proofreading done and printed. The printing press was just installing the offset machines. But i could not see them. My father had left the magazine. I was still in my school, and my practical knowledge of the field of journalism was improving.

I was a journalist in the making. I was still a class Tenth student in Government School, Nazimabad.

I forgot to mention, that my father was also attached to an another monthly magazine (perhaps as Proof Reader/Editor). The name of the magazine was Pakistan Textile Journal. He never took me there.

It was my initial entry in the field of journalism, which had made me deeply interested in the field. Perhaps this was what my father too was interested in.

We used to get DAWN newspaper daily, but MORNING NEWS and later on THE SUN(mostly on Sundays) were also started showing face in our house. Rarely i found PAKISTAN TIMES and OBSERVOR (Dacca) in our house. He was subscribed to TIMES, NEWSWEEK , READING DIGEST and LIFE magazines. (That is where a big part of his salary used to go)However over a period of time, Times, Newsweek, Rading Digest and Life magazines bowed out of our house to pave way for NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC MAGAZINE.

But that was not all. Although he was not getting urdu newspapers, yet he was buying urdu magazines of high standards. Among these , i can remember LAIL O NAHAR, NAYA DAUR, TALEEM O TARBIYAT, ZEYB UN NISA , etc. He was never interested in reading fiction .

Interestingly urdu newspapers were never got. The idea behind not inducting urdu newspapers in the house were perhaps two fold. One, just because my father was more involved in english journalism, so he was more interested in english newspapers and magazines. Secondly, perhaps he wanted to improve our english. Particularly, i was very weak in english. So my father, instead of teaching me english, used to discuss news as published in the newspaper with me. He usually asked me to read some news (of my own choice and interest) and then to explain that to my father in urdu.

He had realised that i was very weak in english, so instead of teaching me english grammer, he taught me practical english. He used to let me read any news item, and then to re-write that with differing sentences. I always liked inventing a new Headline in place of the published one.

Perhaps it was due to such interesting way of learning english, i learnt the journalistic english, without learning the grammer.

The first phase of my journalistic adventures end here. The year was perhaps 1969.

When i look back to the chronology of my life, i found the period from 1969 to 1979, as almost non-adventurious period. Although during these years i had made my entry in the field of drumming, yet i remained away from journalism, painting etc. My connection with the music remained on some light note, yet i had formed a very amateur sort of musical group named THE GRADUATES, with my friends Iftikhar and Waqar. Pervaiz had joined us after 1979. However, during all this period of ten years, from 1969 to 1979, i concentrated most of my energies towards my studies.

I remember once my father had said, that i must have worked hard on my studies, and to leave my other interests aside, till i complete my studies. He had told me that i would have quite much time at my disposal , to take care of my other fields of interest, once i get through my educational phase. He was right. I did do exactly as he had told me. I remained away from painting, journalism, hockey,etc, till i passed my Chartered Accountancy in the year 1979. In the words of my father, the whole world was open in front of me after that. Yes, i found it just like that. I started off re-entering the fields of paintings, music, sports and of course journalism, all at the same time, from 1980 onwards.

Honestly speaking, i was never having sufficient time to concentrate and excel in my professional field. Yet as the saying goes, to survive one has to earn his living by working . I had had to work in the field of Audit and accounts. But in no way i was going to sacrifice my interests in other fields, just because i was a chartered accountant. Till now, i am sticking to my same philosophy. Whole my working life, i simply could not earn a lot as a chartered accountant, just because i never wanted to give all of my time just to my job. No and never. My profession remained just one of fields of my interest. I admit that i could not excell as a chartered accountant due to these, and equally could not excell as an artist or writer or long distance runner, since i had had to give my first attention to my job as a chartered accountant.

However, still i believe that i managed to do a lot in my life. The moral of all this is that MONEY IS NOT EVERYTHING IN LIFE. So i never ran after money, at the expense of my other fields of interest. I tried to divide my attention and time among all these fields.

Well, now coming back to the second phase of my journalistic life.
As i mentioned earlier, the period of 1969-1979 appear to be somewhat non-active period of my sports, painting and writing fields, yet it had never remained so totally. In fact, where most of my time was being spent on my studies, my activites in other fields remained in the background, just for the sake of keeping them along.

It was the year 1969. I was a student of class Tenth in the School. One day my father told me that one of his friends, wanted me to write his accounts. I was studying accounting in the school. I liked the idea. The next day my father took me to his friend. His friend was none else but Mr.SAFDAR BARLAS, the well known journalist. He was the Assistant Editor of DAWN newspaper. He was also the Honorary Secretary of the PAKISTAN UNITED NATIONS ASSOCIATION. I met him. I found myself in a totally different world. The Accounting work was not too much. Just to issue receipts for the membership fees received, and writing them in the books of the accounts. A few payments, and some miscellaneous works. That was all. In total, it was not more than a week work in a year.

However, i was too delighted to have a free entry in the office of DAWN newspaper. I started visiting there off and on, whether i had to meet Mr. Barlas or not. He used to come to his office at around 11 am. I had been going there, whenever i could, to read different newspapers and magazines. I had been observing the staff of the library to cut news and to paste them in huge registers, on topic basis. I did like that. Due to my personal style, however, i could never become friendly with anybody there, yet atleast the staff of the newspaper had been recognising me. I used all those periods to read newspapers and other journalistic materials. It was going to improve my english on one side, my knowledge about news coverage, news reporting, etc on the other. Although i never went there for than more than a week to the maximum, but for over ten years, it did contribute a lot in improving my journalistic vision.

My urge to write had awaken. But i had had to concentrate more on my studies. I was doing my B.Com ( I stood First Class Third in the Karachi University), and then i qualified as one of the youngest Chartered Accountants (in the year 1979). It was a decade of real hard labour for me.

During those days, once i remember telling my father my desire to write something, to be published in the newspaper. He asked me the topic on which i wanted to write. This was the toughest question. I never knew what did i want to write, i just wanted to write to publish. He suggested me to go and discuss this with Mr. Barlas.

The next day i went to the office of Mr. Safdar Barlas, and told him my desire to write to publish. He told me that since i was studying commerce, i should write something about economics or trade. I did not like his ides. I kept quite. In fact, all through my life, i never wrote about such topics. I simply did not, perhaps because i could not.

However, interestingly,  my first published write up in a newspaper was about Accoun ting. Hahahahahahaha.

It so happened, that one day my father showed me a letter written by Mr. Salim Essa Habib (I do still remember his name). The letter was published in the Letters to the Editors section of DAWN newspaper. He had discussed the idea of Inflation Accounting. It was rather a new idea in those days. (the year was 1976 then). I read the letter, and instantly decided to respond. I wrote a short letter, in which i had questioned some of his views, and gave my own suggestions about introduction of Inflation Accounting in Pakistan. I showed my letter to my father. I wanted him to correct that. But he did not. Perhaps he did not want to undermine my courage. He told me to go to Dawn and deliver it there. In fact my parents, never discouraged me while taking first or next steps. This is why i always say that what i am is due to my parents. They never discouraged me.  I still remember the first page of my 9th class (first) book of Accounting by Rup ram Gupta. He had honoured his book to his parents by writing.........TO MY PARENTS TO WHOM I OWE MY EVERYTHING.
Throughout my life i could never forget this sentence, and realize that i too my everything to my parents.

Well, to continue.
I delivered my letter to the office of the Dawn. I was never too hopeful, particularly i was never confident about the quality of my english, and also because of the fact that my letter was challenging the views of Mr. Salim Essa Habib, who was the vice president of the Karachi Stock Exchange. I was honestly no match to him.

I was more than excited to see my letter published in the newspaper, after perhaps two days. For me it was the opening of a totally new world. My father congratulated me. He was happy for obvious reason. I took the newspaper to my office. I was working at the audit of PIDC then, and showed the newspaper to my colleagues. It was a landmark for me.

Just two days after , i saw the letter of Mr. Salim Essa Habib , appearing in the same column in DAWN, where he had responded to my queries, and countered my views. It gave me an another chance to write an another letter on the same topic. This time i was confident of it being published. It published too. Hahahahahahahaha. I had entered the world of published journalism.

That was one stage that added a lot to my self confidence. I had realised how much correct my father was when he had not corrected my first letter. Although some corrections were done by the Dawn Editor, but that was normal . I would have never got the needed self confidence had my father corrected my first letter . He had let me write the letter of my own, and had let it go to the newspaper same. Thus the ultimate published piece of the letter made me assess my capability of a successful writer, capable of writing by myself on some topic. It was a wonderful achievement and  a turning point of my life. (Interestingly my life does not lack turning points, they are too many)

However, i could not do anymore in this field, for sometime, just because again i was never confident of selecting a topic that MUST be published. But in which newspaper or magazine. However, one more important breakthrough came a couple of years later. Again through my father.

One day he brought home a magazine. It was TEENAGER. He told me that the magazine had mentioned that it encourages voluntary writers. He told me to write something for that magazine. But again i was stuck at the same point. What to write and about what. The topic? It was the biggest hindrance.  I consulted my father. He gave me a wonderful idea. He asked me to send a letter to the editor of the magazine, and ask her about the topic and subject on which she might be interested to have me write something. Not much hopeful, yet i wrote a letter and posted.

I had had to go to my outstation audit assignment (perhaps Khairpur) . I stayed for over two weeks. On return my father told me that the editor of the newspaper had phoned, and expressed her desire to meet me. I felt honoured. However, i was always a shy sort of person, lacking the ability of marketing myself. However, i did go there.

It was a house in PECHSociety. I went there, and met the lady. She spoke to me, and encouraged me to write. I mentioned her the point where i had stuck. She tried to learn more about myself. When i told her that I play drums in an amateur band, she told me that i should build up a few simple questions about my group, and interview the members of the group. She promised that she would publish that interview.

In fact , that was the point due to which i had not been able to write. I wanted a guarantee that my article would not go to the dust bin. Because i was always afraid that i might not be able to bear the shock of being rejected. TEENAGERS gave me the guarantee that my write up would be published. I was too happy.

In a couple of days, i wrote a small interview about our musical group, and handed it over to the editor with our photos. Wow, my article and the photographs were published in the next issue of the magazine. Aha, that was it. I became too confident, and became more serious about writing articles.

However, i could not do much due to my studies. However, once i finished my CA, i jumped into the field of journalism, with great enthusiasm.

I wrote a couple of simple articles for Teenagers. There i got the chance of taking part in the formation of GALAXY OF YOUTH. An association for the young ones. It gave me an another chance to write the theme song of this association. I wrote it by myself, without consulting anybody. Interestingly , i had written it spontaneously in a matter of few minutes, during the meeting of the association, where the arrangement for the intitial introductory function of the society were being finalised. Interestingly, although our musical group was not upto the standard to play in that introductory function at the Alibhoy Auditorium , however i was lucky enough that my theme song was sung by Iftikhar, one of the members of our group, at the very start of the function. The song was sung by Iftikhar, as the curtains started rolling up. Iftikhar was standing in the middle of the stage, singing the song written by me. I was watching him singing, sitting somewhere in the hall. I congratulated myself for this great success. Interestingly, someone else in my place, would have been utilisied this achievement for coming in the limelight, but unfortunately i never knew the art of cashing my talent.

I can still remember the first two lines of that theme song

TODAY MY HEART IS FILLED WITH JOY
HERE IS GEE O WAAY G.O.Y.
THE GALAXY OF YOUTH

I remember this song writing led me to write an another song about THE BEATLES. I have forgotten almost all of the verses, except the initial line, which was just like this.........
GEORGE JOHN PAUL RINGO,
CHASE THEM WHERE THEY GO
HERE THEY COME AND THERE THEY GO
OH YES I KNOW THEM ALL
THEY R THE BEST
THE BEATLES
THE BEATLES

My friends and colleagues do remember my those days. I had been going to my audit assignments with a canvas brown bag. In that bag i used to carry my running short and track suite, my running shoes and my camera. I had been coming out of my official job at around 5 pm usually, from where i had been going to the YNCA ground, which was not too far from there, where i had been running . I had been using the same place to locate young sportsman and woman. I had been interviewing them there, and taking their photos. From there i had been visiting the Goethe Institute or Arts Council of Pakistan, or some other nearby places, to hunt for the young upcoming artists, etc to interview them and to take their photos. It had been my routine for around a decade.

While i was writing for TEENAGERS. i met Mr. Rashid Ahmed Durrani, who also lived in PECHS area. He was going to launch an another magazine for the young. He invited to write to his magazine. Like TEENAGERS, he too was taking me as a volunteer honorary writer. However, for me money was not the issue, i wanted to write . so i started writing for his magazine. It was very amateurely published. At times i wrote to fill the pages, on quite a many differing topics, in one single issue. That magazine gave me a chance to write on diversified topics.

In the meantime i started writing occassionally for the Youth Page of DAWN, MAG, READERS, and some other magazines. I had been hunting for people to be interviewed, and getting that published in some newspaper or magazine. Only DAWN  was making me a payment for published article. MAG started paying a small amount later on.

I remember my first article, published in DAWN, was the interview of a young energetic blind boy. He was a master in english. He was very active person, who was also involved in many social works. I remember putting SO WHAT IF I AM BLIND, as heading of that article.

In the meantime , i developed a liking for writing on sports. I started writing weekly on sports page of DAILY NEWS. I continued writing them for a period of almost 11 years (1980-1991). They used to pay me a meagre amount of 100 Rupees per article.
I remember writing a lot , and with great enthusiasm , during that period. I wanted to write daily, but it was difficult to find it published daily.

I continued writing about sports on weekly basis. But i was looking for the diversity. So i started writing a column of satirical humor in DAILY NEWS. It was also a weekly column. Its title was I AND WHY. It was basically made up of dialogues between two persons, whose names were I and WHY. They usually discussed social problems and cultural issues. I remember once i had put the heading WHY DO YOU SMOKE IN MY NOSE, for an article about smoking in buses.
After sometime i changed the pattern of this to a plain sort of satirical article.
I had been making sketches for the same article.
It was a short period when i had started making cartoons too. I never did that again.

I remember that way back in early 1980s i had suggested of introducing an additional umpire to monitor the close cases of stumping and LBW, by replaying them , and declare the ultimate decision from there. I do not know, if i am the first person to suggest this then. This process is now a compulsory practice in todays cricket.

There were so many differing topics , on which i wrote articles. I interviewd quite too many people from all walks of life.

During mid 1980s i came across through an another aspect of journalistic life. After i joined the studio of EQBAL MEHDI (artist) as an observor, he had asked me to help his maternal uncle Mr. ZAMMARRUD HUSSAIN, who was publishing THE VOICE OF PALMISTRY , monthly magazine. So i started visiting his office, a couple of times a week, in the evening. I used to do translation work, making sketches, proofreading, etc, etc. I had been through all the processes of writing and publishing a magazine. I learned a lot there. The journalist inside me, earned a lot of self recognition and respect. I was too happy.

I was a freelance journalist, who used to work free generally, just for the love of writing.

During 1990 i shifted my attention from writing for newspapers/magazines etc, towards writing books. I wrote and got published my first book THE CONQUEST OF CONSTANTINOPLE, in 1991. I not over learnt the technique of writing a book, but also learnt publication too. Interestingly, i sold just one copy of the book, perhaps also because of the fact that i was never interested in selling. I was more interested in achieving a landmark for myself. So once i got it published , i lost all my interest in that.

I published a very small booklet TURKISH FOR BEGINNERS, the same year. I had formed the Turkish friends Society, and was more involved in my never ending love for Turkey.

After i returned after a (failed) week long visit of Northern Cyprus, in 1989. I started working for an another book titled THE BACKGROUND OF VIOLENCE IN CYPRUS. I finished the book, before going again to Northern Cyprus in 1991. I ameneded some parts of it, after settling there. The then President of Northern Cyprus, Rauf Raif Denktas was kind enough to write its preface. However, due to financial restraints i could never get the book published. Honestly i had lost my whole interest in it.

My whole life went through a severe jolt, once i uprooted myself from Pakistan and settled in Northern Cyprus in 1991. Starting everything from a scratch (without a job and sufficient funds) was never so easy, particularly in a country where i was excessively over-educated.  I had had to fight for a living for myself and for my family. My activities in all other fields (music, painting, writing, sports, etc) had come to an abrupt standstill, and they remained so for quite a few next years.

It took me a couple of years to shed over the impressions of the initial jolts.  In 1995, i hit upon the idea of becoming a song writer. I started writing songs. I wrote over a dozen songs, and sent them to various internationally recognised music promoters. Interestingly i never got any reply from anywhere. I wrote some songs in Turkish too. But that was all.

The year was 1996 when once i wrote a book where someone had mentioned a long sentence of over a thousand words. It attracted me.

The next morning i started writing a long sentence. It took me a short time to set up the pattern. Once set, i kept on writing and writing, non-stop, and the words continued lengthening the sentence. I was too involved in writing the sentence, although i had been giving my foremost attention to my job. It took me a couple of days to cross the figure of 3000 words in the sentence. Although the sentence was not yet complete, however i decided not to prolong it any further.

I mentioned it to a friend of mine, who suggested to go to the newspaper office.  I went to KIBRIS newspaper the next morning. They found the issue worth publishing. They published my half page interview on the centre page, the next day. The daily HURRIYET newspaper too, published my interview the next day. Two local radio stations broadcasted my interviews. I was too happy. The writer inside me had awaken.

I did not take much time to write an another sentence, to break my own previous records. Once again i was in the newspapers.

But what next?

I decided to try my luck in turkish journalism. I started writing for a local newspaper in 1996. Again i was writing satire. Although my turkish was not upto the mark, yet they were publishing my column by correcting it. However, i stopped writing due to some ideological differences with the management of the newspaper.

Again, i remained untouched with the field for quite a long period, till the year 2010. I wrote an over 200 pages novel. Ofcourse i did not have the financial strength to publish it. So i decided to put it on line, in the form of a blog. It can be read at the undergiven link
THE TWO TULIPS

Since then i am writing in blogs, not too frequently. I plan to write an another novel about turkish history, but frankly speaking i am more involved in running/walking now a days.
The journalist inside me is still awake, and very young. I have have to write quite too many things. I will.






Monday 13 August 2012

AN ANOTHER LONG SENTENCE IN PROGRESS

SOMETIMES I FEEL HOW THIS WORLD COULD HAVE BEEN WITHOUT A PERSON WHO NEVER CONSIDER HIMSELF SOMETHING VERY EXTRAORDINARY , BUT INFACT HE IS, NOT JUST BECAUSE  HE HAS DONE THINGS THAT MAY BE CONSIDERED AS REMARKABLE AND AWESOME, BUT FAILED TO BE RECOGNISED DUE TO LACK OF ABILITY TO MARKET HIMSELF  IN SUCH A WAY THAT COULD HAVE BROUGHT HIM AT PAR WITH SO MANY OTHER PEOPLE WHO IN FACT ARE REALLY GENIUS AND OUTSTANDING AND AT THE SAME TIME GET THEMSELVES RECOGNISED WORLD OVER THROUGH SUCCESSFULLY MARKETING THEMSELVES THROUGH VARIOUS CHANNELS OF MARKETING, LEADING TO REMARKABLE RETURN OF NOT JUST A GOOD NAME FOR HIMSELF AND HIS FAMILY AND COUNTRY, BUT ALSO IN MONETARY TERMS A HUGE WEALTH WORTHY OF BEING LOOKED AT WITH JEALOUSY BY SO MANY OTHER WHO FAILED TO BE RECOGNISED JUST DUE TO LACK OF THEIR MARKETING CAPABILITY, AND THEY THINK THAT ALL REMARKABLE AND EXEMPLARY WORKS DONE BY THEM SO FAR WOULD GO UNNOTICED AND UNREWARDED, LEADING TO A PECULIAR FEELING OF PAIN AND FRUSTRATION, THAT IN FACT LEAD TO THE DANGEROUS POINT OF CURTAILING  THEIR EXTRAORDINARY BUT UNRECOGNISED TALENT, WHICH IF CONSTANTLY FAIL IN GETTING RECOGNITION WOULD GO DOWN TO GRAVE WITH THEMSELVES AND THEIR FAMILIES AND FRIENDS WOULD NEVER BE ABLE TO REALISE AND APPRECIATE IN TRUE SENSE THE GENIUS THAT THE WORLD WOULD LOSE, WITHOUT EVER CARING ABOUT THE BENEFITS THAT COULD HAVE BEEN DERIVED BY USING THEIR TALENT , NOT JUST AT A SMALL SCALE, BUT MAY BECOME A CORNER STONE FOR OTHER TALENTED PERSONS WHO MIGHT FIND THE WORK DONE AND ACHIEVEMENT MADE BY HIM, IN FURTHERING AND ACHIEVING MUCH MORE BETTER RESULTS FOR THE BETTERMENT AND DEVELOPMENT OF NOT JUST THAT PARTICULAR COUNTRY TO WHICH HE RELATES BUT MAY ALSO OPEN A TOTALLY NEW PHASE OF DEVELOPMENT OF THE HUMAN RACE, CONTRIBUTING VERY POSITIVELY TO THE VERY ESSENCE OF THE HUMAN SPECIES, WHICH IS NOTHING BUT UTILISING THE BRAIN GIFTED TO THEM BY THE NATURE, WHICH IN TURN DOES NOT EXPECT ANYTHING ELSE FROM THEM BUT TO LIVE IN PEACE..................

Sunday 6 May 2012

WHEN I WENT FOR HAJJ

I was never a too devoted practicing religious person. I am still not.

My parents went to Hajj in the year 1974, by sea. They travelled by the famous SAFEENA E HUJJAJ.

They used to tell us the  details of what they did and what had happened there. They had been narrating their personal observations to us frequently. Due to my father's involvement in the field of journalism, he was in the habit of observing everything from different angles. So he had been narrating such observations which we had never heard from any other Haji before.

One of those observations was that Hajj needs physical fitness. Thus in their opinion it was never a good option to leave Hajj to be done in the last part of our ages. One must perform Hajj during his young age, when physical fit. His observation was that a number of old Hajjis usually fail to perform all the parts of the Hajj, due to their weakness and sickness. The heat of Mecca also plays its part in effecting physical fitness of old and weak hajis.

After completing my chartered Accountancy, i had started working in the Rahim Jan &Co. Chartered Accountants. My parents suggested that it would be better if i go for Hajj at a younger age. I said OK to them. The year was perhaps 1984. I was 29 years old. I filled the Hajj Application form to go by air. I deposited the needed amount and waited for the announcement of my name in the names' draw.

My names was not among the list of probable Hajjis, when the names were announced. We decided not to draw back the amount deposited and to try our luck for next year.

It was 14th August 1984. I had gone to the house of my maternal grandmother in Nazimabad Number 1, Karachi. Suddenly my parents came there. (Keep it in mind in those there were no mobile phones, and there was no normal phone in the house of my grandmother) They told me that they had received a call from a friend of my father, who was working in the Hajj Department, that there were some vacant dock seats in the next voyage of the MV SAFEENA E ARAB. It was 14th August and the ship was due to sale at 5AM on 16th August. There was just one day left.

An adventure person i am, i instantly said Yes to my parents. We rushed home back. My father phoned back his friend in Hajj department, and told him that i would be going.

There was not much time left. It was 14th August, most of the shops were closed. We decided to go and meet some close relatives that evening.

At that time i was working on the audit of KESC. It was a special annual  audit that we used to do for the World Bank. The reports and information had been submitted to them on the prescribed form. I was the job incharge. Muhammad Zaki was the senior of the job. (He is now the Director Finance of Interflow group of companies in Karachi). I told him the situation, and told him how he would be finalising the report in my absence. I phoned my boss, Syed Hafizullah FCA, the partner of Rahim Jan & Co. Chartered Accountants, and told him that i would be going to Hajj the next morning. He was stunned, he asked me about the situation of the audit job, i told him that Muhammad Zaki was competent enough to finalise the report in my absence. There was no other option left for him but to accept my request. I left the office.

The remaining part of the day, me and my parents spent to buy the necessary clothes, the ahrams, a thin portable plastic folding foam to be used as emergency bed, a cup, two steel plates, two spoons, and some other necessary things etc etc. All these were put in a canvas bag that i could carry on my back or in hand. That was all that i was going to have with me.  We went to the Haji camp and got the necessary papers filled there. Not to forget, that we took a book about how to perform hajj, from the Haji camp. By night i was all ready , both physically and mentally, for the unforgettable adventure,due to start the next morning.

I must mention that due to shortage of time my passport and needed visa from the Saudi Arabian embassy could not be have. No MUALLEM was made responsible to lead me during Hajj.

The next morning we reached the port at about 5Am. There was a huge crowd there. The ship was going to carry 1200 passengers. I was one DIFFERENT passenger among them...........without any passport.

I boarded the ship. I had never travelled in a ship before. But i did have an idea about how the travel was going to be, because my parents had told me a lot. It was going to be 9 days and 9 nights in the ship. I  felt myself alone, as i waved goodbye to my parents and the younger brother and sister, from the ship and the ship sailed. Most of the passengers were  on the sides of the ship waiving hands to their  relatives. We all kept on looking back to the wharf, as we moved ahead, leaving everybody on the shore. It was a very sentimental sort of moment. Some tugs helped the ship to move away from the wharf. The speed boats of KPT accompanied the shift till the end of the wharf.

Most of the passengers had returned back inside the ship. I was still standing there on the other side of the ship, just looking at the one single pilot boat at full speed by the side of the ship. The pilot boat had had to accompany the ship to a few more kilometres. I liked the scene as if the vesell was racing with the red coloured pilot boat. Then the most important moment  arrived. I saw somebody (must be the captain of the boat) coming out , he stood alert there on the deck of the boat , facing the ship. He saluted  our ship, and the pilot boat took a U turn, while our ship galloped ahead, giving a loud whistle of depart. I lost the sight of the boat a couple of minutes later. I did not see it anymore. All of a sudden my heart sank. I had felt myself lonely. Perhaps i had considered that pilot boat as my last connection with Karachi. The last connection with land. For 9 more days and nights, i was not going to see the land anymore. Just blue sky and blue sea. I had felt my heart sunk. The real adventure had just begun.

It was a very large ship. I did not know where to put my bag and sit. I started looking for some place for myself. There were 3 huge holds in the ship. If i remember correctly the ship had 4 storeys. The hold mean the bottom of the ship, under which there were the engine rooms. The base of the hodls were made up of wood. Quite large.

( photo of a small HOLD of a ship)

There were cabins for the first class and second class passengers. The third class were the majority, like me .....the deck passengers. They were supposed to find a vacant place for themselves anywhere in the ship, within the allowed portions, and enjoy themselves. There were quite too many hanging beds on all four sides of the holds, but mostly people had decided to remain on the bottom of the hold. There were three holds in the ship. I put my bag somewhere in a vacant spot on the floor of the hold. Opened my folding foam and sat on it. There were quite too many people around me, Different people, different ages, men and women, different faces, different colours of dresses and sheets, different languages. But we were all one. Heading in the same direction, under the same conditions. I looked up from the place where i was sitting squat. Open sky could be seen in square form, four floors ahead. It was a unique scene. The ship was going too fast. I left my bed and bag there and set off for a tour of the ship.

It was a huge ship. I passed through the hospital, the toilets, the cabins, the mosque, residential portion of the crew, the kitchen, etc etc. There were 2 or 3 big TANDOORS. The two men there had already started working there. It was too early, but indeed the did have to feed 1200 persons . A very hard job indeed.

I returned back to my place, because the breakfast was going to be distributed.An announcement was made by the captain that everyone must go back to his place and wait for the breakfast.  A couple of crew members were distributing tea, biscuits, cake pieces etc to everybody. Everybody was advised to remain seated at the place where he was. They were approaching to each and everybody. Everything was very disciplined. No one was shouting, no hustle and tussle, everybody was sitting quietly, nobody was pushing . I thought if they were the same persons who used to push everybody while boarding the buses, or in lines. But they were the same people. Some may say that it was because they were going to perform hajj, some may say that there was no other option left to them but to obey the directives given to them by the captain and crew of the ship.

I enjoyed the breakfast.

I looked around to see the people between whom i was sitting. A big number of people there seemed to belong from Northern part of Pakistan. I did not know their language, but they did know mine. In a short period of time, we managed to loosen up. Since most of the persons there had already met each other in the Haji camp in karachi, so they had already taken their places in the form of their groups. I was not in any group. I was going to be simply someone or to be very correct nobody.

I realised once again that one has to find his own way by himself. I was used to this. But i was not and still not, a person who make friends easily. I always prefer to have my own ways, which frequently do not match to other people.

I continued my tour of the ship. There was a barber shop too. A small shop providing the newspapers too. It was a huge ship. Perhaps everything was there. Something like a small city afloat. I tried to read some newspapers, but left. I was more interested in looking at the huge fishes chasing the ship. They were jumping out of the blue sea and thumping back metres ahead. They were trying to outwit the speed of the ship. My parents had already told me this scene many a times.

The weather was not very good. Strong winds were there, and huge waves could be seen everywhere in the sea. The ship was moving ahead with great speed, but the way it was groppling with winds and the waves, we the passengers were feeling it inside our stomachs. The movement was exactly like this. First the front of the ship was going up high and then the whole ship was falling down with a thud over the wave. The same exercise was being repeatedly in harmony. Everybody started feeling vomitting. I saw the crew of the ship spreading all over the ship, directing the passengers where to vomit and where not. They were having cleaning utensils with them and cleaning everywhere. The situation had become too different from what it was a couple of hours earlier. The majority of the passengers were vomitting. The foul smell was everywhere. But the experienced crew was fast taking the remedial measures. Luckily i was not vomitting.

At lunch time once again we were advised to sit at our places. The crew started distributing food. Everyone had had to have their own plates. The food was of high quality. My favourite dishes were there. The mutton and potatoes. The tandoori roti (bread) and rice. But the most important item was AAM KA ACHAR (the mangoe pickles) . It was compulsory to eat the achar, since it was going to stop vomitting. The crew was asking each and everybody to eat it. We all obeyed.

At Zuhr prayer times, although most of the people had formed separate jamaats at different places, yet i preferred to go the ship's mosque. It was a small place. The movement of the ship was such that repeatedly we had had to hold each other to be able to remain on our feet in the saf.

By evening , most of the passengers were better. The initial attack of vomitting was over. After all we all were going to go through the same conditions for 9 days. How long can one continue vomitting? Our internal body systems had started adjusting itself to the demand of the time. Swinging right, left, front and back with the movement of the ship, our bodies had started becoming used to it.

I slept on the wooden floor, just like so many other passengers. It was cool. I was deep in my sleep when i felt my stomach going upset. I was vomitting. I ran and managed to reach the place where we were advised to vomit. But it was not stopping. I felt very very bad. I returned back to my place, but started feeling myself very sick. It was just the time of Fajr prayer. I was feeling too bad. My stomach was out of my control. I was feeling very week.

I  raised myself from the place where i was lying. Collected whole of my strength, and went to the ship's hospital. I was feeling myself in so bad a condition that i had thought that the doctor would immediately admit me. But the situation happened to be very different from what i had thought. The doctor listened to me patiently. he did not give me any medicine. He told me to go to kitchen, and take some green chillies, and a Tandoori roti. He advised me that i should remain in the middle area of the ship, just because the effects of movements of the shops were minimum there. He further advised me that when i lay down i must not sleep flat on my back. At first i was somewhat shocked at his advices. But later on as i acted according to his advices, i realised that he was correct. I was too happy and active in a very short period of time.

There was nobody to take care of me. I had had to take care of myself alone. That was just an another reason that i was back to normal in a very short period of time. I had learnt yet an another lesson, to guide me in my future life.

The days and nights kept on passing fast. I had made a couple of friends, but mostly i preferred to spend my time alone, watching sea, fishes by standing on sides of the ship. I was too interested in how does the crew of the ship worked. I did speak to some of the cadets and other staff there. Interestingly, the owner company of the ship. M/s PAN ISLAMIC SHIPPING was one of  the clients of Rahim Jan &Co. Chartered Accountants, but unfortunately i did never get a chance of auditing their accounts. Mr. Saeed, who had been my Senir Job Incharge in Rahim Jan &Co. during the days of my Articled ship, later joined Pan Islamic Shipping as its Chief Accountant. I myself did have some understanding of the ships and their management, as i had audited the accounts of  Pakistan National Shipping Corporation, the then largest merchant shipping corporation of Pakistan, and of Karachi Shipyard also. So i did have a sense about the ships..

I remember, during early 1980s on one particular day the Safeena e Hujjaj ship was made open to general public on the west wharf of karachi port. I had visited and toured the ship. There were 6 floors of the ship. It was a huge ship. I had enjoyed touring the ship with my father, who was too excited to pinpoint the places in the ship we he and my mother had slept years ago.

Well coming back to the main topic, life continued almost with the same routine for the next 9 days. sleeping, eating, praying, reading the book about Hajj,  wandering around  inside the ship, watching the games the fishes plays, observing the colours of the sea, which used to change frequently, from blue to green to black of varying shades. Life was going too smoothly. As always i never had the habit of missing anybody. My parents, brothers, sister, relatives, friends, i never felt missing anyone of them. This was my characteristic and still is. I do not miss my wife or children whenever i go out somewhere. I am perhaps aloof of such feelings. I am somewhat different sort of person.

Well the otherwise routine life suddenly got a jolt as we the ship reached the point where we were supposed to wear our ahrams. There was a sudden change of atmosphere inside the ship. Everything seemed changed. Everybody started off, going to take the bath and to wear the Ahram. The goal for which we all were travelling had started making its presence. A totally different feeling that i had never experienced before took me into its grip.

The ship kept on moving fast ahead, and we reached the port of jeddah. After a long period of 9 days and nights we all had seen the face of the land. Everybody took out the Hajj passport, and  started disembarking from the ship. But i was without the papers. As more and more left the ship, i found out that i was not alone. There were a few more pilgrims like me, who were not having their documents and Hajj passport. We were told by the crew to wait in the ship.

It did not take too long. Some persons, perhaps from the Pakistan embassy boarded the ship. They had brought  our Hajj passports with them. They handed over the passports to us and we too step on the soil of Saudi Arabia. During the period of 9 days the Haj department in karachi had prepared these passports, got the visa stamped from the Saudi consolate, and had sent them by air to Jeddah to be handed over to us on the ship. The first part of the adventure had finished. Much more had had to follow.



                                                          (jeddah port)








Friday 4 May 2012

ORANGES ARE YELLOW AND LEAVES GREEN



The families of two nephews of my wife visited us in northern cyprus last summer. They stayed for a short period. The most part of the time ofcourse was spent in sightseeing. Although northern cyprus is a simall country, yet still there are quite too many places to go. The predominant characteristic of this part of the island is its natural beauty. I prefer to call it the nature at its best. The official tourism brochures however mention the northern cyprus as a corner of the earth touched  by heaven. Indeed it is.

So one day we went out for a day long travel from Lefkoşa to the Güzelyurt area, which is at a distance of about 40km. It was a nice drive and we stopped at a number of places to roam around.

However, the most prominent aspect of natural beauty of that areas are the gardens drooping with oranges. I call  that scene as a very unique combination of yellow and green colours. That's a chance to view the splash of colours on a very very huge canvas. Natural canvas, painted by the nature with natural colours. That is the beauty of the nature.

Well, we decided to stop at a point, where there were orange gardens on both sides of the road. Everybody  jumped off the car to enjoy the scene. It was a unique chance for the guests. We all enjoyed, roaming around the trees, with oranges almost touching our heads. The deeper we went inside the garden, the more natural the scene became.

Here are some evidences of that adventure from the eye of my camera






























Monday 30 April 2012

NORTH CYPRUS ON FOOT


I run and run, jog and jog and walk and walk. It has never been important for me if i run or jog or walk. Whatever it may be, i like it. The movement, and that is it.


For years i am walking, sometimes less , sometimes for long period of times. With the passage of time, i developed a liking for going out for long distances. I started going to a place called BOĞAZ, which is at a distance of about 10km from my city Lefkoşa (pronounced as Lefkosha). It is a straight broad road, which starts from Lefkoşa and goes to the port city of Girne (Kyrenia),passing through high mountains. Girne is about 20km from my house.

Mostly on sundays , whenever i managed to get time to walk, i started running/walking from Lefkoşa to Boğaz. The stretch of going and returning used to take around 3 to 4 hours. I liked walking that way. The natural beauty attracted me. 

Then one day i thought that if instead of returning back home from Boğaz, i keep on moving ahead, i would be reaching Girne (20 km). The idea fascinated me. I started off for it. It required quite terrible climbing also, as the road pass through narrow gauges. I started going off for Girne in the evening of saturdays around 5pm, reaching Girne at around 8pm. The nephew of my wife lives in Girne. I started staying at their place for night and started returning the next (sunday) morning to join my family at the sunday breakfast. This practice continued for a couple of years, with gaps, since mostly this could have been done only during summer, when the days are long .

However, over a period of time, i started thinking of walking to some other places to. But where? That was the main question. 

However, the vital point of going out for long distances is to manage the food, rest and returning home back. This aspect appear too difficult as compared to the act of running/walking. Someone must pick me up from the point where i finish my walk at the end of the day, and must be able to retake me back to the same point the next time to let me start the long run again. Providing water and food at various points is always a problem. My wife is very helpful in such cases, but it is not always preferable to engage her in such at the expense of personal and family engagements. 

So what should i do, if i want to go out for longer distances.?

With the passage of time, the idea further developed into my mind, and i started thinking of covering the whole Northern Cyprus on foot. 

To some the idea may seem too impractical. But too me, it is easy. I always believe that in such expeditions what is needed the most is strong will power. I always consider fitness as 30% and remaining 70% as will power. Once one commits himself/herself to such a goal, half of the problem stands solved instantly. This is what i believe.

Although i still have got to finalise the details of how would i be able to walk through the whole northern cyprus, however, yesterday (29th April 2012), i decided to put myself through the first challenge. To Test Myself. The longest stretch of my run/walk had been 25km. This time i decided to put my legs to a bit harder test. I decided to go for a 35km run/walk.

A family friend of ours live in a village named PAŞAKÖY (pronhounced as PASHAKOY...meaning the village of the General). I decided to go there by foot. The point of returning back home was kept open. I had thought that it would depend on my physical condition. If bad, i would be asking my friend to drop me back home, if not i would try to return on foot. But i remained undecided on this issue till the last.

So as the day arrived, i started off at around 6.30am.  I had taken a light early breakfast, but had taken two packets of biscuits and one small cake piece, alongwith a half litre water filled bottle.  I was happy to see that the weather was cloudy. "It is doing to be a good day for running", i said to myself. I started jogging. I continued on the same road which take me to my workplace. From the round about of the Çangar motors i turned left and reached the main highway which links Lefkoşa to the port city of  Gazi Mağusa (Famagusta). 
Although the clouds were there, but the sun had started showing its presence, as i was heading east, facing the sun. 

It was an easy run. There was very little traffic on the road. I was enjoying running at my usual slow space on the highway. It started becoming a bit hot while i reached the round about of Hamitköy. I estimated, i had perhaps crossed first 5km. 

The next point was going to be Haspolat. A small industrial area, which has got the University opposite to it, on the left side of the highway. I was no more running. Just walking. Enjoying the walk. I walked passed Haspolat at around 8 am. 

The next point was going to be the bridge, from where i was going to take a right turn, to go towards the Ercan airport. I decided to take first rest for a couple of minutes. I drank some water from my bottle. But i was not supposed to waste the time . The sun was fast rising up. It was getting hot. There was no other option for me but to move ahead fast. I sat off. 

The newly built road leading to the Ercan Airport is the one that i always wanted to run on. The time had come. I started running. I was enjoying. The sun was shining, i was running with the bottle in one hand and the packets of the biscuits in the other. I was running, singing. Easy going. Metres after metres were passing by. 

But the road was too long. After a couple of kilometres i was walking. Still enjoying. I was not feeling any tiredness. Just moving ahead and ahead and ahead. I had started listening the signals of tiredness coming from my legs, as i was reaching the 20km mark. I understood the feeling, as that was the maximum distance to which my legs had been taken me till then. But now they were supposed to take me much too far. The real test of endurance had just started. I had had 15 more kilometres to go. I told my legs that it was the time for which i had been training them for. 

As i reached the round about of the Ercan Airport, i decided to give myself  an another break. I sat on the grass, took off my goggles, hat, shoes and socks. I ate the small cake piece and drank some water. I wanted somebody to take my photos, but could not find anybody. I took some photos myself.



which one is more tired?
my legs or shoes?

I looked at my watch. The time was 10.30am. 4 hours had passed. I was on the road. It had started to be really hot. I was not supposed to waste any more time. There was no other option but to move. I don my shoes, put on my goggles and hat. The long long road towards Paşaköy was waiting for me.

It was a single road, so i had had to be careful walking. There were hip high brown wild grass on both the sides of the road. There were trees too, but their shades were not extending up to the road. I had had to bear the heat. 

I kept on going ahead, sometimes running just to change my mood, but mostly walking. Tractors, some cars crossed me from both the sides. I had had to go, so i continued. It was terribly hot. 

Gaziköy was the next village at a distance of about 12km from Ercan airport. I was too happy as i entered the village, because i did know that Paşalöy village is not much too far then. I crossed through the village in a very pleasant mood, although the weather was quite too hot. There was very little water left in my bottle. I wanted to buy a bottle of water from some market, but the only market that i found out on the main road, was closed. It was sunday. I crossed through the Sports club, where some people were sitting, first i thought to go there and see if i can buy a bottle of water from there, but i decided otherwise. 

I re-started running, because i wanted to finish the episode as early as possible. The temperature was around 30 degrees centigrade, and i was running, enjoying. My legs , which had been complaining of tiredness at Ercan, had infact stopped sensing anything  that could be referred to as tiredness. They were just under the command of my brain, which was pushing them to run and run and run, without feeling anything. My feet were chasing each other in an automatic rhythm. I was running, without feeling anything. No heat, no thirst, no tiredness. Perhaps all senses had started becoming ineffective on me. I was running slowly but in a very passionate style.

It was not too long that i found myself entering the Paşaköy village. The grand mosque of the village was in front of me. The house of my friend was just 100 metres away. I took a snap of the mosque, as a landmark for my expedition, and ran past it. 

The door was opened by the wife of my friend, who was terribly shocked in seeing me in such a condition. She did not believe me when i told her that i had come running/walking all the way through from Lefkoşa some  35km away. She took some time to come back to her senses. I drank two large glasses of water, and fell down at the sofa. It was 12noon. I had completed the span of 35km in 5.30 hours. Not a bad performance. I was a bit tired but too happy. 

I slept for about an hour. A deep sleep did the wonder. I woke up at about 1,30pm, almost fresh. The lunch was very nice, and i loaded myself as much as i could. Rice, potatoes, bread, salad, yoghurt, i cleaned all plates on the table. I did not sit back as i finished the lunch. I did not want to sit back. Later on i drank two cups of hot tea. I went to the toilet .

I was all ready to run/walk 35km again. I was no more undecided and confused. I had been feeling myself sufficiently fresh and confident to go out for further 35km. The time was quarter to 3pm. I said goodbye, and came back on the road, heading back towards Gaziköy and Ercan airport. 

I was in high spirits. The only problem was heat. It was quite too hot. Scortching sun was just on my head. However, i succeeded in keeping my attention diverted to the sceneries around. In fact there was nothing extraordinary around. Stretched to the forenost were plain fields. There was nobody anywhere, except small lizards emerging from the brown grass, going faster than me for a moment and again going back to the grass. They were of all sizes. I enjoyed looking at them. I kept on walking. The road to Ercan was too long....more than 10 kilometres. 

Again i gave myself a ten minutes rest break as i reached Ercan airport round about. I took off my shoes, sat on the grass, rested my back to the iron base of a neon sign. I closed my eyes. The clouds had re-started emerging. In a short period of time, it was no more as hot as it had been before. I was lucky.

I took off again, to run back on the long long road with my back towards Ercan. It was a nice run with long patches of walking. Cars and taxis were fast passing by me. The traffic on the road had started to increase. A couple of aeroplanes had landed a little earlier, and the passengers were fast going to their destinations. Some did blew their horn, some waived hands to me as they crossed by. I enjoyed the scene. But i had started feeling tiredness. It was still more than 10 km to go. 

I was no more running. I decided to give myself another 10 minutes rest gap, as i turned left ton the main highway facing Lefkoşa. There was a small bus stop there. I put my things on the bench, took off my shoes, and closed my eyes. I was tired. 

I took off again. I had had to walk, there was no other option for me. Walk and walk and walk.  "Just ten kilometres left,"i told myself, as i set off with fresh commitment. I had already finished the water. I bought a fresh bottle from a petrolpump.The water was cold. I finished the whole bottle in one go. 


It was about 8,30pm as i crossed Hamitköy roundabout. Totally dark.  "Reaching home in 45 minutes." i messaged to my daughter. 

My legs were tired but were moving in full swing, as i turned to the road where i walk 6km daily. The rest was easy. 

It was 9 pm as i entered my house. Home sweet home.

It was a wonderful day. I was too tired physically , but not mentally. 

Now i am more confident. I tested myself. I passed. Next time i will be goiing for a further longer distance. I have already crossed the 70km mark. 


(In the end i would like to say that it is only Allah who helps me moving ahead in life and in overcoming all obstacles. But i do not like saying İnshallah, Mashallah, etc every now and then, because i believe that excessive repitition of any word leads to reduction in its importance. )