Zinda hoon is turhan ke...

Baba was ‘an open-air singer’: He would sing loudly, where other people would hum and be shy: Music and songs were his first passion. He had the most amazing voice, loud, clear, musically sound and full of pathos. His favorites were the songs from the movies Anokhi Ada, Humari Yaad Aai Gee, Merra Naam Joker, Awara etc. A lot of KL Saigal’s, Mukesh’s, Surendar’s and other older singar’s songs were always on his lips. Music was his language; his depression was raat undheree dur suwera...; his hope was ek bungla bune nyara; his anger was sujun re jhoot mut bolo; his lullaby was so jaa rajkumari so ja; and his welcome was tu aa gai ... 

Baba wanted us to learn to sing too, and usually would make us sing after him. Once he wanted the three of us to learn arre wah yahan to luga hai ye mela and got a non serious response from the youngest of us. This made him so mad that he gave us a talk on the importance of understanding music. The joke that my sister made was really funny and we could not stop laughing even though we were scared of his anger. Giggles were hard to hide and this made him madder, ending in his calling us unsophisticated donkeys.

I remember him singing loudly and us and our cousins following him as if he were a piped piper. He would jump over the sofas and tables and we would follow him in a line. Often, he would open the outer door and go out to the maidain and Eid Gah… singing and dancing. We were his biggest fans in those days. Later on, I came to know that one of his sisters and many of his female cousins were also his fans. I don't remember him refusing any requests of the songs he knew; in fact he seeked audience. 

In seventies, in his dismal days, he brought home a banjo. He invited all of us to play it but being the most obedient one only I tried… discovering that I was quite tone-deaf. Baba however got a few tunes right and next there was a harmonium sitting at home.  His love for harmonium stayed with him for the rest of his life. He sent his last harmonium to be fixed at a shop but could not get it back; all thanks to on of his sincerely insincere friend. 

Recalled by Romana Shaikh (Brohi)

Paapi (about Haleem)

Paapi

‘Our house is infested by females’, as per Baba. ‘House is infested by bugs, bees and lizards’, as per us. Mummy fought to keep the house as clean as she could. An occasional sighting of a mini or a mega cockroach could be handled by hitting it with full force with a tinkai walla jharoo.

We rarely bothered Baba with these issues. But a random sighting of a bug as beautiful as a moth would have all of us running around like headless chickens: same was true about wasps that were a plenty in our Jamshoro place. On such occasions, Mummy would sit expressionless and mum. Baba would try to ignore the four of us for the longest time and only on our persistent cries for help would he budge and try to show the bug a way out. Baba obviously detested this task but he would do it so that sanity would prevail again.

Ours was a quiet house - only girls, all students, and a mother and a father engrossed in teaching and writing respectively. In such a house, entry of a creature that had to be killed by Baba used to bring on an upheaval. We would be traumatized and Baba would grudgingly squash the bug with our instructions about how to go about it. On such occasions, he would revert back to the language of his childhood and call us paapi. In our trauma on encounter with the bug, we would start laughing at Baba’s constant grumbling about our paap.

To date, right after taking care of a bug, I loudly call myself paapi.

Romana Shaikh (Brohi) 

Palmistry and Face-Reading (about Haleem)

Baba kept skipping between astrology, palmistry and face-reading. Young people are anxious about future and so were we when we were young, but Baba was an exception. He always stayed anxious about his future. In his idle times, he would smoke, drink tea and be lost in his thoughts or look at his palms: either past or future captivated him as his present was always unacceptable for him.

His astrology was what we engaged in the most. He needed us to look at his ephemeris and find out planetary positions on particular dates and times but palmistry was his secret which he never taught us directly.

Books on palmistry and face reading appeared in the house out of nowhere. I read a few books and tried my novice expertise on my friends in the college so I thought I shall discuss it with Baba. I caught him sitting one day and asked him about the impact of a type of life-line on a person. Baba looked at the life-lines and replied “These are formed because a person holds lottas in bathroom with his hands.” I was so disgusted that I never again tried to learn palmistry from him.

Learning about face-reading also invoked similar responses from him and so though we discussed it whenever he wanted to, I never asked him any serious questions about it. I felt that his astrological predictions were mostly combinations of a person’s face reading and his birth chart.

Astrology stayed his passion for life as he did not know his own birth date or time of birth and continued making his own charts till the very end. My sister face-read Baba's face and shared with me that he would stay unchanged throughout his life: holding on to his imagination like a child. She took on his legacy and became a face reader for a long time… and Baba stayed the same.

Baba’s handmade astrological charts still appear out of nowhere to break our hearts all over again. 

Romana Shaikh (Brohi)

From Astronomy to Astrology (about Haleem)

In those days there was no load shedding. However, most of the evening there was no electricity due to one fault or the other. We would sit in the sahan and look at the stars: that was mostly Baba and I. Mummy used to spend her time sorting out the problems of household and three younger children who were not that interested in stargazing.

Mummy taught geography and therefore we used to have a large Readers Digest Atlas at home.. This Atlas has maps of constellations with the fascinating names that are given to the stars. In the dark nights, Baba and I would stargaze for long hours and try to find out the constellations that we were familiar with. When there would be light again, we would divert back to the Atlas and pat ourselves on the back on our findings. This was astronomy for us: till Baba and I gazed at the outer space on our visit to Washington, some eight years later: we were unable to make much sense out of what we saw.

Like all other friends of Baba, Chach Ahad Jan entered our lives and became a household name in our lives till he too fell out of Baba’s favor. He was into Astrology so he converted Baba’s passion of astronomy into that of Astrology and I became his horoscope drafter. Baba stayed a diehard astrologer all his life and passed on his passion to one of his child: that is not me.

Romana Shaikh (Brohi)

Anecdote from life with Abdul Haleem Brohi

Anecdote from life with Abdul Haleem Brohi

On a day like any other, we the girls were all busy studying as if that was what we were created for. Mummy came inside the room and told me to make two cups of tea and give them to Baba who was sitting in the drawing room with his ‘friend’. Willy nilly, I made the tea and knocked on the drawing room door. The door was open leaving me partial view of the insides. Baba came to the door, said “Thank you ma.” and took the tray back in the room. By default, I saw the profile of the guest as I turned towards the kitchen. The glimpse of the guest piqued my curiosity and I ran to mummy to ask her about Baba’s guest.

The profile of the guest was beautiful: Fair in color, chiseled jaw line and short, graying but well trimmed hair. I was so impressed by the sight that I believed my famously infamous father had a foreigner woman interviewing him. So, confident about this new happening in our life, I admired my modern Ma who was so undisturbed by all this interaction going on in the drawing room.

Mummy was not amused at my question, “Who is Baba sitting with?” Her reply was just a name, “Zaffer Ali Shah”.

I went back to my studies and that was that.

Recalled by Romana Shaikh (Brohi)

Beating all logic

Two Graves

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

Four miles out of Karachi, on the sea shore, there is a small isle; it is famous as “the isle of two graves”. There are just two graves on this little isle. These two graves are twenty paces apart. The weird part is this that there is nothing else on this isle. Leave alone men or animal, there is neither any kind of insect, nor any other form of life on this isle. This is unfortunate. After years of investigation it still remains a mystery and no one knows how these two graves got to be there; and if they did not get there than who made them there. And if they were made there, where did the makers disappear. This has remained a mystery as I have not yet opened up my mouth to tell the truth. Today, I disclose the mystery as today no one can stop me; my wife is gone to her relatives today.

Three or four years back, when I was still in my in the detective department, the murderer was running away after murdering someone and I was following him. Suddenly, the murderer slipped into a house and disappeared, leaving me in a confusion. But then, I also slipped into another house. The house in which the murderer went was his own and the house in which I went was someone else’s. I showed my badge and was given tea, “How long would you hide?” I thought in a low voice in my mind so that the murderer could not hear me. He did not hear. After hiding in his house for a week, when he came out, I followed him with a loaded revolver in my possession.

The murderer bought a newspaper from a stall; I bought a newspaper from another stall because if I had bought one from the same stall, the murderer would have understood that I was following him. I had not wasted my time in the department. The murderer started whistling lightly and went towards Shahi Bazar. Exactly twenty paces behind, I started following him whistling lightly. He bought or brought a pair of socks and some handkerchiefs from a shop. I was twenty paces behind and therefore am not sure whether he bought these or brought these. From Shahi Bazar, he moved through Qila and went on to the Station Road. I don’t understand why the department trains us to stay twenty paces behind. Because of this training I could not buy the socks or the handkerchiefs for myself. On the station, the murderer bought an Inter class ticket and sat in it. I did the same but sat twenty seats behind him, however, I found myself in the next coupe as the first one had only sixteen seats. Train started to move and my heart started to beat faster. This was the first time that I was following a murderer who had killed ten people. He was alone and so was I. I touched the revolver in my pocket and warm blood rushed through my whole body. Even the revolver in my pocket felt warm now.

Till we reached Karachi, the murderer kept sitting in his seat and I kept sitting in mine. If I had gotten down and the train had moved away, who would have captured the murderer - dead or alive? He had a twenty thousand rupees reward on his head. I perspired at the thought. 

The murderer got down at the Saddar Station and started walking on the pavement towards Kaimari. This was his mistake. If he had gotten down at the City Station, Kaimari would have been nearer.

{Let me share with you that when this murderer killed ten people, he telephoned our chief and laughed an evil loud laugh, saying, “ You and your department cannot do anything about me and I intend to murder eleven people.” That is when my chief called me and said, “Police and the detective department does not have a quicker and braver officer than you, what do you say?” I said, “Yes” and that was my mistake. Now I was missing my children. I won’t say I was missing my wife, as within our clan it is inappropriate to speak about ones wife.}

While walking, the murderer turned towards Jhuna Market. I stayed twenty paces behind him but turned in the same direction, hitting a wall, headlong. I rushed towards the murderer and caught up with him. This was his cleverness as he may have guessed that I was following him. He ate in a hotel, but I stayed outside as the hotel did not have twenty seats. I don’t know what he ate. Meanwhile, it turned pitch dark. In this pitch dark of night, where a hand cannot see a moustache, on a deserted road, I followed the footsteps of the murderer; exactly twenty paces behind him. 

Suddenly I thought of something and shivered from head to toe. What if the murderer was intentionally walking twenty paces ahead of me in this pitch dark night, in which a hand could not see a moustache? I started to sweat. The sweat ran down the nape of my neck. I took out a handkerchief and wiped the swept off my neck. I put my hand in my pocket and curled my fingers around the revolver. Allah above me and this revolver on the earth were my only two guardians. 

Now I was not worried at all. I kept walking. Suddenly everything went quiet. Very quiet! Where did the sound go? I panicked. Where did the murderer’s footsteps go? I got totally confused. I started shivering. In my confusion, I held the revolver and forced myself to look in the dark. Suddenly there was a spark, so I lied down flat on my stomach. This strategy of lying down with the spark is also taught by our department so that a bullet should not hit us on our mouth or on our body. A standing man is an easy target. Now I watched with concentration and saw that the murderer was standing and the spark was from a lighter that he used to light a cigarette. That is exactly why his footsteps could not be heard anymore and so I got up. If instead of holding the revolver and forcing my mind, I had forced the revolver and held my mind, this tale would have been told by the murderer instead of me. Allah is Kind and Merciful. I lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply.  

At Netty Jetty, the murderer bought a small boat and rowed it towards the open sea. At first I just kept staring, but later, I also bought a small boat and started following him. My heart was beating very fast as it was really difficult to stay twenty paces behind, because to measure the paces in the water, I would have had to get down in the water, and I would have drowned. I strengthened my heart. At our department we are always ready to die, but at a distance of twenty paces only.

We entered wide open sea and the murderer’s boat started to bob up and down in it. When my boat came twenty paces behind his, it also started to bob up and down in the rough sea. I did not lose heart. In our department, special emphasize is given on not losing heart. Out of nowhere there appeared ground before us. The murderer tied his boat on the beach, lighted a cigarette and kept starring at me. I pretended not to notice him and getting off my boat at exactly twenty paces away from him, I turned my face the other way and started whistling. I did this because I did not want him to know that I was following him. This trick was also taught to us at our department. 

Slowly the murderer started approaching me. My back was toward him, but we detectives have sharp ears. I kept whistling and started walking away from the murderer. The murderer fastened his pace and so did I. Suddenly he started running, so I also did the same. How could he be allowed to reach me? Our chief had instructed us to stay twenty paces behind the culprit at all times. While running, for a moment I thought that as per rule, he should be in front and I should be following him. But this was not a time to argue with the murderer.

I kept running and made a complete round of the isle. Now I realized that the murderer had not an inch since he got off the boat. He was standing at the same spot where I had last seen him. My confusion that he was chasing me was my imagination. So I lit up another cigarette and turned my back towards him. I heard him move towards me. This was my illusory imagination. We have been trained about such illusory imaginations at the department, so that we don’t fall victim to it. 

Suddenly, the murderer stabbed an inch and a half wide knife in my back and kept pushing it into my back till it could enter no more. Then he took it out and stabbed me repeatedly. This was not an illusion or imagination. I shouted a loud cry and died immediately. This was the murderer’s eleventh murder.

The murderer dug a deep grave and buried me in it. He covered me with a big load of mud and made a proper grave mound out of it and said appropriate prayers for me. Afterwards, he sat on my grave and had had a cigarette.

This was a golden opportunity for me, and our department's chief had instructed us that never let a golden opportunity go to waste. I sneaked out of my grave, put the nozzle of my revolver on the back of his nape and fired six shots, one after the other. His last words were. “I would get even with you and your chief.” I dug another grave at exactly twenty paces away from my own grave, buried the murderer, entered my own grave and went back to an eternal sleep.

This is the mystery of the two graves that are at a distance of twenty paces from one another and are at the isle where no men or animal live; neither is there any kind of insect, nor any other form of life on this isle.

PS: This is a hilariously illogical story and a true reflection of Abdul Haleem Brohi's humourous side. 

Another very short story

A New Grave

Written by Abdul Haleem Brohi

There was a sharp turn on the road. I glanced over the meter. The car was going at about the speed of 80 km per hr. I looked ahead and suddenly saw two huge, bright lights approaching at a fast speed. Within a moment, these two lights ran over me and entered my eyes and my car’s engine, pushing the steering wheel towards me, was all over me. My thoughts slipped. But then … I got out of the car and stood by it. It was a huge truck which had crushed the car and had pushed the remains of it, off the edge of the road.

Next, the people started gathering and shouting. And I started to move back. When I reached my mother’s grave, I realized that it was a miracle to stay alive after such a horrible accident. And then I saw my mother. She was standing near a new grave and was looking at me. This grave was not there before. My mother started smiling and I understood that this new grave was mine. 

PS. I was taught logic by Abdul Haleem Brohi as he was a master of Aristotle's work. But he defied it completely in his own work.