© Copyrights reserved with the author This electronic edition is revised and edited by Kazi Zulkader Siddiqui. It is published and distributed by www.petaro.org, 2013. This e-book is available for free distribution. However, the author's permission is required to republish any part of the work in any format. The author may be reached at [email protected]. The book was first published in print format in 2013 by Royal Book Company, BG-5, Rex Centre Basement, Opp. Panorama Centre, Fatima Jinnah Road, Karachi-75530, Pakistan. Designed by Decent Print Enterprises Printed by: Zaki sons Printers, Karachi ISBN: 978-969-407-410-8 i CONTENTS PREFACE ____________________________________________________________ iii 1. IMPRESSIONABLE AGE ________________________________________________ 1 2. LARKANA – MY HOMELAND ____________________________________________ 7 3. PETARO-A TRAINING GROUND _________________________________________ 17 4. UNIVERSITY WITS ___________________________________________________ 33 5. PETARO REVISITED __________________________________________________ 53 6. EDUCATION OFFICER IN PAF ___________________________________________ 60 7. CLOUDS OF WAR ____________________________________________________ 72 8. BACK TO EDUCATION ________________________________________________ 80 9. MARRIED LIFE ______________________________________________________ 86 10. ISI ________________________________________________________________ 99 11. DEPUTATION TO SAUDI ARABIA _______________________________________ 106 12. BACK TO PAKISTAN _________________________________________________ 114 13. MOVE TO USA _____________________________________________________ 150 Our Family Tree ____________________________________________________ 162 ii PREFACE When I thought of writing my autobiography no one took it seriously; I was neither a politician nor a general or Air Marshal to qualify for penning down the story of my life. I had no singular achievements in life and had spent a simple life as an underdog in PAF. But I still had my thoughts, my feelings, emotions and aspirations which I could share with my friends, family members and pals. May be the story of my life could be of some interest to ordinary people as they might associate themselves with my mundane every day issues and occurrences that are typical to a Pakistani “Common Man”. A towering personality that shines with singular scintillation in the story of my life is my mother “Ammi” who struggled against all odds to provide the best possible education to her children. She fought with a deadly disease like cancer and did not submit till the mission of educating her children was accomplished. She is a beacon light for all the oppressed women of Pakistan who surrender in front of insurmountable difficulties and do not play an active role in the development and grooming of their children. These memoirs in fact do not only recollect the incidents, happenings and episodes of my life but trace the impact of these events on my thought-process. They encompass my intellectual journey from a submissive child to a socialist, a mystic and finally a humanist with an ardent desire to serve the humanity at large with no discrimination of caste, colour, creed or religion. Henry Dunant had to stand in a knee deep pool of blood at Salferino (Italy) to start the International Committee of Red Cross in 1859 but my sensitivities for the suffering humanity were awakened just by reading about wars and conflicts carried out in the name of religion, nationalism or political ambitions. The world is now moving towards iii peaceful co-existence and the days of bloody wars are over. Let us hope that these pseudo slogans of nationalism, imperialism and colonialism are overshadowed by the love of humanity and universalism. It is no more a world where thousands of people laid their lives on the altar of patriotism, ideology, faith or opinions of any kind. The individual has to be defended against the tyranny of the prevailing opinion and nothing is to be considered sacrosanct as far as freedom of conscience is concerned. This book has been written not to please or offend anyone but just to give vent to my feelings and exercise my right of freedom of expression without being accountable to others. So if some people don’t agree with some of my thoughts please bear with them. I also take this opportunity to express my profound thanks to Air Cdre (Retd) Aslam Bazmi who spared his valuable time to go through the draft and suggest some appropriate changes. My daughter Beenish played a key role in inspiring me to write this book and help me in countless ways to complete this project. The publication of this book would not have been possible without the help of Mr. Mustafa Kamal who typed the hand written draft which was indeed an uphill task. I am thankful to my wife Naila who set up a study in our new apartment which provided me a tranquil place to work. The credit for converting this book to e-version goes entirely to my Petarian friend Kazi Zulkader who used all his IT skills to retrieve the draft and scan the pictures. In addition to this he even corrected the typo errors and formatting, arranged the footnotes and added some facts and figures about Petaro (as all Petarians know that he is an encyclopedia on Petaro). I convey my personal gratitude to him for his contribution and all the pains he took in compiling this e-version of the book. iv CHAPTER – I IMPRESSIONABLE AGE “Barre Mian, Jin Dikhau!”1 The boys ran after the old man who lived in a corner house of our street at Larkana. He had a weird mystic-like appearance; a man of few words, always clad in white Kurta Pajama2 with a matching “Do Palli Topi”.3 Instead of responding to the urchins’ chants he only stared at us with blank looks, conveying through his red protruding eyes an expression of wakefulness, anger and exasperation. It was generally believed that Barre Mian had achieved control over Jinns and spirits through his “Amalyat”4 and “Wazaif”.5 The routine had continued for some time but one evening Barre Mian lost his cool and said, “Come on. I will show you Jinns, if you so insist”. Everyone was dumbfounded; is he really going to show us Jinns? We had heard so much about Jinns, evil spirits and Hamzads6 that we had some idea about these creatures in our little minds. We thought they were gnomes, or big black creatures with horns — some ephemeral spirits made of fire like Satan or Mephistopheles with weird features and tongue protruding out, ready to enter the 7 body of humans. Barre Mian uttered, “Ander Aao” and led us to his dingy house. 1 Old man, show me Jinns (Urdu) 2 Long shirt and pajama worn in India and Pakistan (Urdu) 3 Home stitched cap (Urdu) 4 Acts and incantations to exorcise or control Jinns (Urdu) 5 Recitations of liturgies and prayers for spiritual upliftment (Urdu) 6 Ghosts (Urdu) 7 Come in (Urdu) 1 After pushing the “Tat”8 curtain which was hanging to ensure “Pardah”9 for the female inmates he started climbing the rickety wooden stairs. We were five — Qadir, Mammon, Lala, Khalid (my elder brother) and me, the youngest of all. Although I had a strong feeling of “disbelief”, I was quite scared and curious. How could he show us Jinns? They don’t exist. I have never come across them but the Quran says there are Jinns. This is what I had heard. And this was the final argument which everybody quoted for the existence of Jinns. We were taken to a small room upstairs and made to sit in a circle. The room was rather dark and damp as if the sun rays or fresh air had never entered it. He took out a wooden inkpot and put some black ink on the right thumbs of all of us. A somber silence pervaded the room. Barre Mian said, “Now we are going to call the Jinns but no one should talk, joke or whisper. Hold your breath on both ends and try to see through your thumb nail.” He called Qadir first and said, “Can you see a Darbar10 and a Takht11 laid out in the middle for the King of Jinns who is a disciple of Hazrat Suleman.12 Now a “Bhishti”13 is doing “cherkao”14 in the Darbar. “Do you see everything” and Qadir nodded his head. “Now the King of Jinns is going to arrive in the court and sit on the throne. Can you see it?” Qadir’s eyes were glued to his nail and he was nodding in affirmation. We were speechless as if in a state of trance. He called each one of us and showed us the King of Jinns. A feeling of triumph and victory was sailing in Barre Mian’s eyes, “I have shown you what you wanted to see, so dare not take me non-seriously.” Finally, he called me and repeated the same instructions and questions. “Can you see the Darbar of Jinns?” I pulled my eyes out to see the Darbar but could not see 8 Jute cloth (Urdu) 9 Cover for protection of females (Urdu) 10 Court (Urdu) 11 The meaning here is of "Throne" (Urdu) 12 Prophet/King Solomon 13 Water carrier (Urdu) 14 Sprinkling of water (Urdu) 2 anything except the glare of light shining on my black nail. I kept quiet and didn’t want to be sacrilegious by saying, “I don’t see a damn". I was terrified and overawed by the red eyes and black face of Barre Mian and the grim environment of the room. I feared that I would be cursed or damned by the Jinns if I uttered anything sacrilegious. I just wanted to nod my head in affirmation but words slipped out of my mouth spontaneously “kuch nahin dikhta”15 (I don’t see anything). Barre Mian turned crimson and said, “Tum Napak ho”16 (you are not clean) and that’s why you are unable to see it.