My Father…

My earliest memory of my father is that of a well dressed, handsome person who appeared to me as someone larger than life. He had a job, working as an Assistant Messing Officer in the PMA Kakul. We used to live in a colonial style, old, bungalow in the middle of the PMA and continued to live there for the first fifteen years of my life.  My father’s office was at about a 10 minute walk from our home and sometimes when I would sneak to his office I would be fascinated by the big ledgers and files that filled the cupboards. I always thought my father was a most important person and I looked on with great awe and wonder when he would write in his files and registers. His handwriting was extremely neat and I would often try to imitate his signatures and pretend I was him!

My father was a very compassionate and humble person. His personal journal, which he maintained most his life had this verse written on its first page: ‘Aatish e ghair say bhi milo jhuk ker, Khuch ajab cheez inkisaari hai!’ He had a large number of people who worked under his direct or indirect control and any visitor to our home, irrespective of his station in life or the purpose of visit, would always be welcomed warmly and offered a drink etc. His subordinates and colleagues held him in the highest esteem and maintained a connection with him long after he had retired. We were always told to be respectful, treat all servants with the utmost respect and not to call them by name.

While I was in Primary school, at the start of the new school year he would always put brown paper and plastic covers on my copies and also write my name on the copies and books. It was always meticulously done and I would feel very proud of his handiwork, which included putting margins on my copies and drawing straight lines whenever I needed.

My father always wore suits and ties to office and his shoes would always shine and his trousers’ crease would always be razor sharp. He had a thing about gardening and plants and he would always water the garden in the late afternoon, encouraging me to plant saplings and look after them and so I learned to care for nature and be close to it.

My father at last grew disillusioned with his job at the PMA. After serving there for about 22 years he at last resigned. He was about 57 then. At that age when most men are looking forward to retirement, my father took up a new job in Saudi Arab. He stayed there for about 6 years with great help and support from my uncle who lived there at that time. It must have been very difficult for him to be away from the family he loved so much but it was this love which made him take this decision and bear this 6 year long estrangement from his loved ones. His resilience and will power continue to inspire me. I now realize that both my parents sacrificed their own comfort and ease, in so many ways, to ensure a better life for their children.

In Abbottabad, with my brother in 1959

My father had left home when only 16 and traveled to India in search of greener pastures. His first job was that of a telephone operator in Pune, India. He then joined the army in the Indian Observers Corps and was later commissioned into the AKRF. He was an avid photographer and his photograph collection, which he maintained meticulously, dates back to pre-partition days.

My father was one of the most honest , truthful, hard working, well-intentioned and dignified people I have ever seen. He resigned from the Army as a captain. Though he never told us why, we learned that it was because of an incident with a superior in which his values and integrity were being compromised. His integrity and his commitment toward his responsibilities, professional and personal, were beyond reproach. An epitome of self discipline, moderation and propriety, he had a routine of his own which he followed all his life. He was a deeply religious person of an unwavering faith and ever since I can remember, he used to get up for ‘Tahajjad’ in the early hours. He performed a number of Hajjs and Umras and had a very deep connection with the creator, but he was very self-effacing and never self righteous or boastful.

They say the best thing you can do for your children is to love their mother. My father was a perfect husband. He treated my mother with the utmost respect and fully supported her in all her endeavors. My mother created a new life for herself after marriage. She had gotten married at an early age, as was the custom in those days, but as soon as she had adjusted to her new circumstances, she went on to obtain a BA and later an MA and B Ed degrees from the Peshawar University. She started work as the Headmistress of a government middle school in the sixties, progressing to become Principal of Higher Secondary Schools and then a District Education Officer, serving in many parts of the then NWFP. My father not only endured whatever disruptions her job caused to his life but proved to be a pillar of strength for her. My parents enjoyed more than 50 years of a blissful and contented marriage.

I am grateful to him for so much. He always treated me with respect and was never judgmental or domineering. He accepted me for the person I was, giving me freedom to follow my heart, even when he did not like my direction and he could tell I was not making the right decision. He supported me at all times and even at the bleakest period of my life when I was rudderless and lost, he was there for me. At all important points in my life, whether good or bad, the first person I still think of now is my father. The amount of love and patience he showed toward my transgressions was phenomenal, though I did not realize it then. I now wonder at his forbearance and self restraint  as I know that, hard as I may try, I can never even begin to emulate him, when it comes to being a father to my own children.

My father was an energetic and active person and he led a full life till the very end. The last three years of his life were haunted by cancer and heart disease. He combated these illnesses with great fortitude and stoicism. The Almighty was particularly kind to him as there was no pain and he continued to be up and about, loving his grandchildren, who were devoted to him and being his usual cheerful self. My brother and I, but more specifically my brother, by merit of being a doctor, tried to do all we could and one treatment followed another, from radiotherapy to chemotherapy to whatnot. He just wanted us to let him be but he endured all these simply to make us happy.It was the end of November in 2004 and both my mother and father were on their way to Khewra to spend the winters with us. They were spending a day or two in Pindi and we were with them, when my father was taken ill.He breathed his last on 29 November 2004 in CMH Rawalpindi. He spent two nights in CMH Rawalpindi and I was with him during that time. We were able to share many memories and feelings. My brother and I both were with him when he passed away and it was a perfect ending. He knew his time had come and he told us the same, recited the Kalima and was gone!My dear mother stayed with us for another year and 5 days.

Hardly a day goes by when I do not think of him. He continues to live on in me. So much of who I am today and how I act and react is derived from him. My values, my code of conduct and my personality all are his reflection albeit not as bright as him. Lately, when I look in the mirror I see my father’s eyes and I am so grateful that he was my father.  In our starry eyed youth we are full of ourselves and in our impatience and haste, whirling in the vortex of life and caught up in the hot pursuit of unrealized dreams many of us tend to take many things for granted. It’s only when you have children of your own that you begin to realize the profound and sensitive nature of the relationship between children and their parents.

Dear reader, if you are fortunate enough to have the company of your father, cherish him, honour him and make the most of the time you have with him. The emptiness his departure will create will never go away.

”Its not until much later when the skin sags and the heart weakens, that children understand; their stories and all their accomplishments sit atop the stories of their mothers and fathers, stones upon stones, beneath the waters of their lives.”(Mitch Albom in ‘The five people you meet in heaven’)