Dr. Umar Khan

khanmomar@hotmail.com

Dr. Khan belongs to a Lahore based Think Tank.

12-12-23

 

 

Our appalling and deafening silence vis-à-vis, 16^th December, 1971!

“The ultimate tragedy is not the oppression and cruelty by the bad people but the silence over that by the good people.”

 

Decembers brings painful memories for Pakistanis of my generation. 16th December 1971 was the most painful day for us when our newly created beloved Pakistan got dismembered, but the way it happened was even more painful. 90 thousand proud Pakistanis surrendered in front of people we considered our enemy and inferiors and had to endure years of humiliation in captivity. In addition to this humiliation the basic message of two nation theory, the basis of creation of Pakistan came under serious threat. No wonder the nation still mourns this tragedy and many vow to avenge it.

 

I see a still greater tragedy associated with 16th December 1971 than the fall of Dhaka.

The greatest tragedy was when East Pakistanis were being mass murdered and gang raped for months, nearly whole of West Pakistan along with me remained silent and didn’t resist or speak up. These silent people were the better one’s because many supported this carnage justifying it as patriotism. There might be an even bigger tragedy involved; after 73 years we still haven’t understood or corrected anything and might be repeating it.

 

“There is no greater tyranny than that which is perpetrated under the shield of the law and in the name of justice.” Montesuieu.

 

Dismemberment of Pakistan just didn’t happen by chance on that fateful day as our mistakes for a quarter century had culminated in that surrender. First of all West Pakistan harbored an irrational sense of superiority over the East Pakistanis which had a significant aspect of racism because of West’s stronger built and fairer complexion. This color complex was hammered into our minds over centuries where we were discriminated against by British and were even more brutal against slightly darker shades. West Pakistan also considered East’s language unimportant and tried to force Urdu while discriminating in jobs and development too. Politically they were forced to give up their majority to maintain equality with the West. Still can’t understand why East Pakistan agreed to the unfair parity principal forced upon in 1956’s constitution? After all this a military government was forced upon with people who were mostly from West Pakistan. Political liberties, basic rights and the constitution were repeatedly trampled at whims with no recourse.

 

After all this, things still remained under control till the 1970 election results were unilaterally defied although East Pakistan had given a very clear mandate that couldn’t have been any clearer. Unfortunately the military government mostly composed of West Pakistanis in power out of their arrogance and foolishness couldn’t understand it and resorted to violence trying to control and subdue the East Pakistanis. It wasn’t to work and there was resistance starting a vicious cycle of increase in the intensity and scale of violence.

 

This war against our own people ultimately resulted in the number of deaths between 50000-3million, depending upon the reporting source, and numerous rapes and frank dacoities by the state officials, most of them uniformed. Finally this tragedy ended in another tragedy of a horrendous military surrender.

 

While all this happened the West Pakistanis stayed mostly silent although a few people did speak against these atrocities but were mostly hushed up or simply slapped down.

 

Political liberties and civil rights vanished, collective punishment and religious profiling became a routine and the state apparatus developed a near complete impunity over treating its citizens.

 

During these shameful times when heinous crimes were being committed there was an appalling and deafening silence in West Pakistan.

 

This tragic situation ended in the only possible scenario it could have, absolute disaster with surrender in front of the enemy who turned saviors of the perpetrators as the newly independent Bangladeshis were revengeful.

 

More than the arrogance and insanity of the generals in power it was the indifference and lack of resistance of the decent West Pakistanis that let it happen making them abettors to the crime.

 

“Throughout history, it has been the inaction of those who could have acted; the indifference of those who should have known better; the silence of the voice of justice when it mattered most; that has made it possible for evil to triumph.” Haile Selassie

 

 

After this great tragedy we tried to bury it under the rug and started life as usual but it was not to be. We got involved repeatedly in many abrogations of the constitution, military takeovers, wars, strange form of extremism and militarism while ignoring our people and the country while enriching some who routinely launder the meager resources abroad.

 

 This sorry state of affairs made Pakistan into an example of a failed state and a classic example of what not to do. Now we are at the bottom of all human development indexes with perpetually faltering economy impoverishing the 250 million even more. Our rulers are always begging abroad and our passport lies at the bottom. Interestingly during all this we remain proud of being a nuclear power or more appropriately, “Nuclear power surviving on charities”.

 

Our acceptance of the 1971 tragedy had started rolling the chain of events that had to cause further disasters. It established that the state apparatus was sacred and enjoyed absolute impunity about how it treats its citizens. Rule of law became subservient to the whims of the state officials and violence became an acceptable, rather preferred way of solving problems. This impunity of state officials was conveyed to India by East India Company as the foreign exploitative rulers needed this dreadful aura and fear for it to operate and exploit. All this was an absolute recipe for disaster.

 

State and its institutions are for the people and not otherwise. While the world was converging on the need for the state to be subservient to the people with the sole aim of serving them, we are stuck in the bad old times. The state retains the right to subjugate and humiliate its citizens despite our apparent gaining of independence.

 

Those who don’t learn from history are condemned to repeat it; we in Pakistan just can afford to let it happen again.

 

We must commit to ourselves never ever to allow anyone to abrogate our constitution. Every person and institution must always follow laws and stay subservient to them. Human liberties the constitution imparts upon its citizens must be guarded jealously and we must stop the habit of saving our skin when under pressure while others are being trampled upon; just can’t afford this indifference anymore.

 

As a self-respecting nation we must protect our rights and defy all the illegal orders that might be forced down our throats. For this we must turn vocal and refuse to cow down to any tyrant. We must come out and if we do it in significant numbers it won’t be possible for future tyrants to try bullying us. Must remember that no one can abuse you without your consent and we must revoke this privilege given to aspiring tin pot dictators.

 

Having said that although it isn’t possible to undo the history we must take initiative and apologize with the depth of our hearts to our Bengali brethren whom we did wrong. We should consider rehabilitating Mujeebur Rehman and others who fought for their just rights. After all he services in the Pakistan movement and support of Fatima Jinnah are well known. Then we must punish the perpetrators of these crimes as severely as we can even posthumously. After declaring the perpetrators of this tragedy like Yahya, Justice Muneer or Gen Niazi as villains, punishments suggested by the late Justice Waqar Seth and the British treatment of Cromwell might be considered. We have to send a clear message to aspiring dictators that the nation won’t take it anymore, so don’t try.

 

One thing is for sure, as Pakistanis we just can’t afford this apathy and indifference towards highhandedness of the state apparatus anymore.

 

“First they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist

Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist

Then they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew

Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.”

By Martin Niemöller

 

 

khanmomar@hotmail.com

September 65 war, experiences of a 6 years old

 

Dr. Umar Khan

khanmomar@hotmail.com

Dr. Khan belongs to a Lahore based Think Tank.

4-9-23

 

 

September 65 war, experiences of a 6 years old Lahori

 

There are no winners of war, only survivors and even they die inside from guilt. They only physically survive to warn us. To warn us that there is nothing more terrible than what they have done. Jake Fulton.

 

 

I was six years old attending class 2 in St Anthony’s High school, Lahore. My father, a major in Pak army then, was posted in Chamb/Jaurian sector lately and we were staying at our grandparent’s house with young unmarried Chacha and Phopho in Islamia Park, Lahore.

 

It was a pleasant Monday of early September and I had to wake up early morning for school that had recently opened after summer vacations. Had a great Sunday playing with younger cousins and Chacha and Phopho. Heard lots of stories from Dadi (paternal grandma) and played with the neighbor’s kids. Sleepy or not, we had to go to the school.

 

Jim (elder brother, 7) and I got ready as usual, packed the school bag with lunch boxes having a jam sandwich and sweet beverage, probably Rooh Afza. Kids at school were very possessive of their sandwiches as hundreds of kites flying would snatch these from kids eating in the open. Walked over a km through Chauburji gardens to Multan road and got into a local omnibus number 3 that dropped at the Regal, half a km away from school. Father was at the border and although Mom could drive but wasn’t confident enough yet, so we had to take public transport with lot of walking.

 

There was nothing different on this 6^th of September in 1965 in Lahore from ordinary days just 20 miles from the border.

 

Atmosphere in the class was different with reduced attendance and a certain stress. There weren’t any lessons and as is usual in a church school, students were told to stay silent. We weren’t informed of any happenings.

 

One by one parents started coming with worried faces and taking their kids with them. It was a big surprise when I saw my Mom in the school. She had come on a rickshaw to pay school fee when informed about start of Indo-Pak war. Lahori rickshaws in those days used to charge 30paisas a mile or Rs.0.20 a km. She broke the news that war has started with India and our brave father was fighting on the border saving/protecting all of us. On our way home we stopped at a famous optician E Plomer where Mom collected her sun glasses, I think the shop still exists at the same spot and then reached home.

 

Home was different where many relatives had gathered everyone worried pretty sure that Indians would come to Lahore and do the terrible things of 1947 still fresh in minds. Didn’t take long to decide to go somewhere far from the border city of Lahore.

  

I shoot down a fighter plane, seriously!!!

 

Although only 6, I had to do my part in defending the beloved Pakistan. I knew that we were the good guys and the Indians were the bad guys as the state had done a good job of demonizing them. In those days there were toy guns available with small wooden enclosed cartridges that made a big bang with a bit of flame, this Pathan son of a military officer had one.

 

While the elders were discussing ways to leave Lahore and Dadi was crying for her son on the border I went upstairs and opened the window. Saw many neighbours on their roofs making it feel like a celebration or something shouting slogans. None of them realized what was happening and how it would affect theirs and their children’s lives. Suddenly with a big roar an airplane appeared on the sky followed by another. Smart enough to know that the front plane was Indian running away from the brave Pakistani plane, I aimed my loaded gun and fired. Slight flame came out and the Indian plane came down smoking profusely. I was delighted of my great achievement and rushed to inform my siblings and elders. No one really gave much of attention and kept on arranging for the transport. I just couldn’t understand why my heroism wasn’t appreciated enough.

 

For years I was convinced that I had shot down an Indian fighter plane.

 

A very sweet but panicky khala (aunty) whose soldier husband (who later achieved a very high rank and fame) was also on the border arrived with her 4 slightly older sons. Father had a very small Fiat600 car that he had imported after a foreign posting while the Khala had a Volkswagen; these were the kind of cars military officers could afford then. It was decided to go to Nana’s (maternal grandfather) house that lived in Lyallpur around 88 miles away. Drivers and petrol was arranged and we left, Mom, 3 sisters and brother along with Khala and her 4 sons in 2 cars.

 

It was getting dark and the Ravi Bridge was closed to we took the rarely travelled and longer Balloki/Jaranwala road. I got a seat in Khala’s Volkswagen between elder cousins and we were on our way reciting verses from Quran fully convinced that Allah SW listens to children’s prayers.

 

At many check posts we were told to switch off the lights but driver was adamant not to. VWs in those days had 6V electricals with dim lights but even those were considered risky.

 

In deep darkness on a desolate Jaranwala road the 2 small cars were running with 2 scared families with many small children. All of a sudden there was great thunder on top of our VW. Everyone put his head down and started saying loud prayers. Khala was reciting loudly, “Jal tu Jalal tu, Sahib I kamal tu, Aayi bala ko taal tu”, a very popular prayer. The boom lasted forever. Always a very curious child, I looked up and saw a plane flying very low on top of the car but ascending with a big blast coming from its engine in the center. The fighter plane flew away without doing any damage. Finally our driver switched off the lights.

 

Much later in life I figured out that the car headlights must have attracted the fighter plane looking for military targets and dived to attack but upon seeing small cars he ascended without firing.

Thanks dear Indian fighter pilot, you were very kind. All of us owe our lives to you after Allah SW who put this nobility in your heart.

 

Finally reached Lyallpur (now renamed Faisalabad) where many other cousins had also gathered in Nanas house.

 

Spent a few months in that large house without running water and only a single hand pump with high salt content that I never liked to drink. Bathed under it taking turns pumping it manually. Found it interesting sleeping on upside down laid charpoys (beds).

 

Listened to radio news every day with a Pakistani announcer routinely using the term “Bhartion ke chakke churra diye”. Loved it. Many patriotic songs were transmitted all day. Great news kept coming and we were sure that soon Pakistan would be conquering India because we were brave and strong, our President Ayub Khan was over six feet tall and handsome while Indian PM Shastri was small and ordinary looking.

 

Elders used to listen to BBC.

 

Family was worried about my father and uncle who were fighting on the borders but I wasn’t, father was a superman to me who was indestructible. Found the same feeling in my sons later who were shocked to see me fall walking when I twisted my ankle on a mountain trek.

 

For some time went to another relative’s house where we dug up trenches and used to spend nights there. Probably memories of WW2 were fresh and we suspected bombings on the civilians that fortunately never happened and sanity prevailed on both sides. In the pleasant September nights sleeping in trenches was a pleasant exciting adventure.

 

Then got the news that war had ended and Pakistan had won. We shot down more planes and conquered more territory. Couldn’t understand why the war ended before getting the coveted Kashmir and Delhi?

 

After the war had ended and schools in Lahore hadn’t opened we temporarily joined a new semi complete school nearby that later became Faisalabad’s biggest school, Faisalabad Public School making me one of its senior most students. Loved the attention and reverence we got being soldiers children who had bravely protected the country. This admiration lasted till 1971 when it came crashing down badly after December 16th.

 

Contemplating after 58 years with a changed world as a hexagenerian I feel that the 1965 war was hardly a 17 days skirmish in military terms, but it was watershed moment in Pakistan’s history derailing it forever. In the 60s China was going through devastating Cultural Revolution, Vietnam through unending wars, Philippines was experiencing Marcos’s massacres, Indonesia through Suharto’s butchery, Malaya was going through a painful division, in short Asia was a mess. Between all this mess in Asia, Pakistan stood as a model of stability, prosperity and growth with the brightest foreseeable future. It was not to be and Pakistan got destabilized and unsettled with terrible consequences.

 

East Pakistan (now Bangladesh) was told by West Pakistan that their defense lied in West Pakistan making them spend their resources on defense. It was a foolish theory that got exposed after we barely defended ourselves. This along with the shaken military government resulted in an unstable East Pakistan resulting in a civil war and then a straight forward war leading to Pakistan’s dismemberment where the major portion of the country ceded.

 

Division of the country was not the only side effect which ran deeper and deeper. After the fall of Dacca a severe grievance engulfed the Pakistani mind against India that resulted in non-stop conflict including Siachen, Punjabi insurgency, Kargill etc. and is still going on. Indians and Pakistanis labeled each other enemies wasting meager resources on destroying each other. Probably the world’s most senseless enmity between poorest nations needing all resources for their poor being wasted on arms.

 

Economy of the progressing Pakistan was also a severe victim. Investments dried up, social upheavals started resulting in socialist experiments ensuring flight of capital and growth. Ultimately our workers became our major export sustaining us until participation in international wars gave bouts of temporary affluence with dreadful after effects.  

 

And we are still suffering on the brink of bankruptcy with one of the lowest indicators of social development.

 

Unfortunately we never investigated the causes why and how we got entangled in this destructive exercise causing enormous damage to the country. Was it the military mindset? Unrealistic foolish optimism? Racial profiling of adversaries? Or whatever.

 

It’s never too late, must find the reasons for this debacle and correct them to ensure it isn’t repeated.

 

That’s the least we can do for our future generations.

 

"Mr. President, the Indians have got you by the throat." United States ambassador, Walter P. McConaughy replying to President Ayub Khan

 

 

khanmomar@hotmail.com

 

 

 

 

;Dr. Umar Khan

khanmomar@hotmail.com

Dr. Khan belongs to a Lahore based Think Tank.

10-3-23

 

 

The Pakistani Silent Revolution/Miracle

 

Before a revolution happens, it is perceived as impossible, after it happens, it is seen as having been inevitable. Rosa Luxemberg

 

 

A little more than a quarter century ago, in 1996, a freshly retired cricketing hero, Imran Khan jumped into politics announcing a new political party. We were used to seeing high profile personalities making new parties with big fanfare and tall claims soon melting down becoming obscure after a small stint of ridicule by the old, established and well entrenched political players and their influencers.

 

Imran’s fate was no different. He spent 15 years in total wilderness losing all elections becoming a butt of jokes and ridicule by ordinary journalists and others routinely. He was mostly compared with Asghar Khan as a man of principles but impractical, unable to compete with the established politicians, mostly Shariffs and Bhuttos, and was destined to the dustbin of history. Even his well-wishers found it hard to think otherwise.

 

Imran and PTI kept on struggling without tangible results repeating his message for 15 long years. It was October 2011 when changes in public perceptions and attitudes started appearing and there was a surprisingly large and charged up rally in Lahore and people started joining PTI.

 

Just before the elections of 2014 he spoke too candidly against a superpower in an interview and we knew his political future was doomed, at least for the next elections. Later he realized the realities and subtleties of Pakistani politics practicing pragmatism, not very attractive at times, and realized power in 2018 against the expectations of many. Because of his idealist nature we knew he won’t last long and he didn’t.

 

He not only lost power but became the target of attacks of all kinds coming from many directions. Despite this worldly loss when we see the society he wanted to change has already been turned upside down and that also so subtly that most could not see the change coming. Nothing short of a revolution or miracle and that also a silent one.

 

A new society has come into being in Pakistan I will enumerate a few absolutely revolutionary changes that even the advanced West is still striving for.

 

• Women participation in Pakistani politics.

Before PTI appearing on Pakistan’s political horizon, politics was considered too indecent for dignified men and unimaginable for educated middle class women. Gradually this stigma and taboo has been won over. Many Pakistani ladies, young and old, educated and others, rich and poor are active in politics mostly committed supporters of PTI. They have broken the barriers of gender stereotyping and shown their effectiveness and resilience doing everything and more that a man can do. They vote regularly and have become the determining factor in Pakistani elections leaving the established status quo players flabbergasted and desperate.

This level of participation and activity by the women is unheard of in the western world that can only envy this third world Islamic country.

 

• Families and the youngsters becoming determining factor in politics

In the old feudal Pakistan, the tough male head of the family was supposed to take the political decisions and the families were to follow him unquestioned. This has changed. Now mostly the families decide the political discourse in middle and lower class families and then influence their male heads. Differences of opinion are now amicably tolerated both taking their own ways.

 

• Monopoly of military on patriotism and politics has been challenged.

Since the creation of Pakistan and its ensuing bloodshed where the military helped the Muslim refugees, the military held a monopoly on Pakistani politics and its definition of patriotism. This was despite the fact that military had long served the foreign subjugators against its own people and Muslims worldwide. However the later image of protector of Muslims prevailed, mostly in Punjab.

The scenario has finally changed. Now the Punjabis and even the military families have started questioning the workings and intentions of the military and its agencies. Their subservience to the foreign powers, meddling in politics and even the accumulation of resources are being questioned.

This end of military’s monopoly has started showing results and is expected to show more changes in future.

 

• Pakistan leading the world in Corona/national self-esteem.

200 years of subjugation in the hands of the imperialists had badly damaged our self-esteem where the non-white were to follow the westerners who were perceived as wiser and smarter. The established collective wisdom was to see how it was done in the west and then follow it blindly. It was nearly unimaginable to do otherwise.

Imran  and the PTI government faced Corona, the biggest medical disaster of the century, against the established advice of complete shutdown preferring smart lockdowns instead. His opponents had already started criticizing and ridiculing him when the positive effects started coming and the world starting appreciating them.

This was the first time when such a thing had happened positively affecting the bruised national esteem of Pakistanis.

  

• Corruption had become acceptable and impunity considered normal.

Much before Hamza Shahbaz’s declaration of positivity of corruption, Gen Zia’s nonparty elections of 1985 had corrupted the political scene very badly, both officially and unofficially. Operation Changa Manga and signing of new IPPs despite inability to buy electricity from already installed plants, had become normal and expected. It got so bad that instead of the corrupt being ostracized it was the honest that became criticized and rejected in the Islamic Republic.

This dreadful development in Pakistani society resulted in near collapse of its economy impoverishing the nation.

Now the unexplained wealth and its ostentatious display is being questioned and should be showing results in future, IA.

 

• Tourism revolution.

PTI encouraged domestic tourism changing the complete scenario. The incomparable Pakistani north has developed beyond recognition providing many jobs and businesses. A lot more needs to be done and done more responsibly as this spurt of tourism has some negative points too but it has changed much of Pakistan forever.

 

• Economy : Sugar/IPP disaster. Exports rising

PTI government came in power in 2018 when Pakistan was the only country in the world with dropped exports 2014-2018. Despite this drop in exports, growth was claimed ensuring a certain economic disaster but it was well managed. PTI government worked hard to encourage industry and exports started increasing.

Interestingly the dropped exports were hardly questioned and the culprits claimed to be economic geniuses.

 

• Apathy.

Pakistani society had become hopeless and totally apathetic. “Nothing will change” was the popular saying and leaving Pakistan the only hope for its youth.

Now this apathy has changed and middle classes are active in politics.

 

The youngsters now want to change the society for the better and believe that their future is in their own hands unwilling to give it away.

 

This is not the Pakistan I saw and lived after Zia. It’s a new country with challenges but lots hope and energy in its people to strive for their preferred society.

 

Despite innumerable challenges and shortcomings the single quality of Imran that managed this silent revolution was his unbelievable resilience. He was dropped to the mat many times but he always got up and fought.

 

We are so fortunate that this silent revolution is quiet, peaceful and unassuming till now. We hope and pray it stays that way.

 

The best part of this silent revolution is that it gave hope to Pakistanis making me enthusiastic about its future. Revolutions never go backward and these changes would not be reversed no matter how much the opponents try.

 

Our youth have shown hope, and willingness to strive for it giving me even more reason to be optimistic praying in the words of Sahir, “Inka bhi janoon nakaam na ho “

 

Welcome to the new assertive and self-confident Pakistan.

 

 

 

 

One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors. Plato

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Afghanistan I saw in June/July 1977 (Conclusions)

 

In 1977 it was the same world physically but very different in every other aspect. The stones, sand, mountains were the same but everything else changed, changed for the worse, unfortunately.

 

Iran was ruled by a King, Shah of Iran, blatantly installed and supported by the west which was to have severe repercussions later.

 

Afghanistan had a liberal government of Mohammad Dawood Khan supported by the west and the communist block. He was playing one against the other making them develop his country. Universities, infrastructure and social development was going on at a fast pace and Afghanistan was catching up. Big cities had predominant western culture while the rural Afghanistan lacked education and liberal values. Mullah was influential but controlled.

 

This mix of 2 cultures was peacefully existing since the days of the British invasions when the King was forced to keep Afghanistan backward and Russians at a distance to avoid the vicious wrath of the Brits. This wrath was something they never hesitated showing, naturally with the lives and money of its most prized possession, India, that was itself suffering absolute poverty and misery.

 

Pakistan was democratic with a popular government which was liberal and semi socialist. It had a movement going on against it for the alleged rigging in recent elections but it was believed that the PP would again win free and fair coming to power with absolute majority.

 

Fast forward another two years and everything changed. The world wasn’t the same anymore. The world might have won the war against communism in favor of liberty and democracy but these three countries and their hundreds of millions poor citizens were forced to pay the price.

 

Iran fared badly as the foreign supported untouchable Shah was toppled soon and a government dominated by Mullahs gained power. This change brought war, sanctions and extreme poverty along with a suffocating theocracy. This suffering of Iranians has lasted over 42 years with no end in sight.

 

 

By the time I returned home after a few weeks, a very harmless looking general, Zia ul Haq, a Bhutto’s appointee, had taken over declaring martial law in Pakistan. He took pains to explain that he did all this reluctantly and temporarily as he was forced into it with absolutely no ambitions or lust for power. It was only much later we realized that Zia was the most ambitious, cunning, callous and ruthless person ever to have lived in Pakistan. He ruled for over 11 long years until he died in an air accident (we are told) and probably would have been in power if still alive as he had made a very influential power base for himself.

 

Only much later it was disclosed that Zia was planning Bhutto’s removal from power and hanging with US”s support for quite some time, but very clandestinely. Forming of the right wing alliance, PNA, was also arranged by him as was the movement against rigging in 1977 elections. Interestingly the movement that started against rigging somehow silently got converted to Tehreek I Nizam I Mustafa giving the control of movement to the mullahs. Such major changes don’t happen by chance as there are certain set of dynamics that cause them. Starting with Dulles’s open announcement to use religion against the Soviets to Kissinger’s equally public threat to Bhutto was certainly at work here.

 

 

Zia started with a naïve smile hanging Bhutto and the Pakistani judiciary, together. Then he also forced a very specific religion direct into Pakistani politics and society. The prevalent majority Sufi understanding was replaced by a puritanical and militant version of Islam that was imported and forced down the throats of the nation. Jihad against the Soviets was declared an essential tenet of Islam and the country was geared to support the anti Soviet war in Afghanistan.

 

This change in policy caused an influx of $ but also backwardness, illegal arms, violence, drugs and intolerance. We are still fighting these evils getting decades behind the world and sliding even further.

 

Within a year the Dawood government in Afghanistan was ousted by communists led by Nur Taraki. A few more revolutions later the Soviets invaded Afghanistan to help communists which was opposed by the US who engineered a guerrilla war against them. US had effectively trapped the Soviets and were over joyed at prospects of striking a major blow to their cold war competitors.

 

Guerrillas fighting the Soviets were declared Mujahideen, holy warriors, and supported with weapons, money and diplomacy. Brzezinski, the NSA of US met the Mujahideen telling them about the danger to their faith due to Soviets encouraging them to resist. This drama reached its zenith when these semiliterate, maulvi trained; violent men with a medieval mentality were invited to the White House by Reagan and pampered as the equivalent of Americas founding fathers.

 

This US supported guerrilla war lasted a decade costing a million Afghan lives and many more displacements, in catastrophe for the Soviets and USSR fragmented. Interestingly Afghanistan suffered tremendously and was thrown back to medieval ages, Pakistani society was irreversibly damaged but the US won just spending a few billion $.

 

After the Soviets left Afghanistan a strange thing happened, US also left the scene leaving behind chaos and enormous stocks of arms in the hands of trained people indoctrinated with a very backward and violent interpretation of Islam.

 

I find it most amusing when people criticize Biden for leaving Afghanistan abruptly but no mention of the criminal and callous departure 3 decades earlier.

 

In 1990 Pakistan was left to deal with the armed people and their backward but violent thinking by itself, something the full might of NATO couldn’t do in 20 years decades later. Nothing could be more unfair and cruel for Afghanistan and Pakistan.

 

After the Soviets, US trained, armed and brainwashed Mujahideen came to power and the most painful period of Afghanistan started. There was utter lawlessness, violence and destruction across the country. Strange sadistic and pathological warlords formed their fiefdoms and the common Afghanis suffered tremendously.

 

It got so bad that when young, poor, seminary students with humble rural backgrounds started getting assertive against the tyranny of warlords they were considered a blessing. These were mostly from remote villages and had the typical backward mindset and simplicity. They were led by a local cleric Mullah Omar having a very exceptional leadership skills and credibility. He was honest and believed in what he professed. He can be opposed, his beliefs negated and criticized, but not his honesty, sincerity and leadership. Despite extreme economic hardships he completely finished the opium production from Afghanistan for the first time in history although opium was the main hard currency earner. His beliefs were firm and had to be adhered to at any cost.

 

These Taliban soon prevailed over nearly the whole country and a time of peace and stability started. Unfortunately these good changes were accompanied by many unwanted things backward mentality harbors. The world was shocked by their punishments, misogyny, support of international jehadis, originally created and trained by the US. The West could not understand that for a simple madrassa student, changing positions couldn’t be as easy as the US foreign policy makers.

 

After 5 years of stalemate US came with enormous firepower. Arrogance displayed knew no boundaries and the Secretary Rumsfeld publicly declared that we won’t take prisoners. Surprisingly he found killing of a large number of Afghans funny as he was smiling saying these words. Loud laughter of the journalists was even more painful talking loud about our state of civilization. And tens of thousands of Afghans were massacred, both armed and unarmed. The greatest military force was feeling proud of killing and ousting the world’s poorest and most backward country having only basic rudimentary arms. No one ever mentioned this strange occurrence in the international media raising many more questions.

 

US stayed in Afghanistan for 20 years killing another 1 million Afghanis and causing over 80 thousand deaths in Pakistan and then left handing back power to Taliban. During this time as usual a few cities were occupied and developed. Culture changed here for a very few and no one cared for the rural and remote places. The warlords in line with the US again established their fiefdoms extorting locals. Extreme corruption was imparted and lots of money making opportunities were given to some collaborators, or may I say McCauley’s kids. US forces were directly involved in corruption selling even the equipment through middlemen. In Pakistan we knew the prices of US supplies delivered here. This was a typical army of shopkeepers, unchecked capitalists or maybe the modern East India Company.

 

Most significantly the Opium trade that Taliban had stopped flourished again telling a lot about the US occupation.

 

Now the unprepared Taliban have to deal with the enormous problems planted by the 40 years of foreign meddling (we are not allowed to call it US occupation). The first gift they get is of freezing of all the Afghan reserves. No country in the world can survive that easily. Afghans appear to be on a way to pay dearly for winning a war against their occupiers.

 

Looking back at these forty some years it is very painful to see how these lovely, tolerant countries that were optimistic that with time they will solve their small problems and progress to join the world was taken back and destroyed. All this was done first to win the cold war against the Soviets and later to get advantage in the foreseeable competition against the emerging China. US was the major perpetuator and cause for most of the problems faced by Afghanistan and Pakistan. However it has the ability to call all this a kindly act and an exercise to modernize or democratize. A nation that can build and establish a narrative that by dropping nuclear bombs they saved Japanese lives, anything can be said, established and made to believe.

 

The main lesson to be learnt is that no occupiers should ever be allowed in our part of the world or influence our foreign policy. More importantly we must never indulge in other’s wars.

 

If imperialists have their way, the next jehad and 50 years of new war for the region is too obvious.

“To be an enemy of America can be dangerous, but to be a friend is fatal.”

— Henry Kissinger

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

khanmomar@hotmail.com

 

 

Afghanistan I saw in June/July 1977 (Part 4)

 

Next day I went to the bus station to get a bus for Lashkargah where I had heard of some big hydro project erected on Afghanistan’s biggest river Helmand but couldn’t find one. Water, lakes, canals and rivers have always fascinated me and I routinely cross rivers swimming while on trips while my partners would drive the bikes or cars across. I always enjoyed swimming across rivers except maybe once when I tried to swim across a  flooded Indus at Attock. After diving I felt some powerful undercurrents taking me down and the depth seemed unending. I experienced feeling of impending death and struggled hard with full strength and managed to come out alive. I was terribly scared but unable to share it with my traveling partner not wanting to appear weak or vulnerable. That was in early eighties with late Dr. Bilal.

 

Dejected I got into another MB bus and felt bad when the bus crossed river Helmand. After a few hours drive the bus stopped at a small river where many touristy vehicles were parked and many were swimming and playing in the river. It was Farah Rud the second biggest river of the region.

 

The weather was a bit overcast but hot and I was steaming in sweat in the bus and instantly decided that I was stopping here. There was a truck full of western tourists with seats on the sides of its bed in the back, I assume it must have been pretty uncomfortable. And then there were a couple of vans, one of them a hippie favorite VW. These were also hippie type and very welcoming. The group had assembled in Brussels and was heading towards Katmandu with a long stop at Kabul and then Pakistan. Instantly I jumped in the river and loved the cool water and the small growth on the side. The river was between 2-4 feet deep with water flowing slowly and gradually. With a slight breeze it got even prettier. Suddenly there was a scream and a girl close to me slipped and panicked. Capitalizing on the opportunity (I had saved a swimmer in Hassanabdal too who is now a famous neurologist in Canada) I jumped and picked her up. She was a very pretty girl in her mid twenties wearing a bikini with a fully developed figure. For the 6’2” (140lbs) 18 years old bringing her out was very big experience with lots of butterflies in the belly and many other places. Having a woman this close with her hands around my neck would stay with me for ever. She was an American and I still remember her name and the fragrance of the deodorant she was wearing that day. Much later in life after having lived in US I realized that probably this drama was done intentionally as I had noticed her extraordinary interest in me too obviously. Whatever it might have been, I loved it.

 

After an hour of swimming and a nice hero’s lunch I got on the next bus that was going to Herat. The group repeatedly offered me to join them for a few days and stay with them till Kabul but I had my own plans. I still wonder if it was the right choice.

 

Another few hours bus ride in the near identical landscape and we were in Herat. It certainly looked different with slightly more sophisticated look of the people, women driving, increased oriental features and near complete dominance of Dari, the Afghani dialect of Farsi. Historically Herat was one of major cities of Khorasan, a land divided between many countries but mostly Iran. Herat used to be a centre for learning and excellence but it was Nadir Shah’s general and protégé Ahmad Shah Abdali who forced this part of Khorasan in Afghanistan and the world accepted. Frankly it didn’t appear to be part of Afghanistan to me.

 

Herat was a quiet sleepy little town. I settled down on getting a hotel and went to see the famous places. This hotel was also full of western tourists and in the evening had great discussions and I accumulated information about Iran which was a modern pro-western country ruled by the Shah of Iran. An Irani trekker on his way to Katmandu discussing the Shah commented that in Iran if you even dream against the Shah next day you will be jailed and tortured. He considered the thought of the Shah getting deposed within his lifetime preposterous and unrealistic. I got great information about the Caspian Sea area and its unending resorts. I visited them many times since then and still find the Caspian area pretty and most exciting.

 

The city had as usual a few parks, old ruins and then many tombs. The booklet talked about a naugazza kabbar i.e. a 9 yards long grave of some super Pir, it is much after death that ordinary people acquire extraordinary features. It was always like this and would stay until we educate everyone. The first time since entering Afghanistan I had a vegetarian meal in Herat.

 

Early morning I joined a group of tourists staying in my hotel to get a bus going to Mashhad via Islam Qilla.

 

My travels to Iran are a totally different topic and I would not include them over here and end my travelogue.

Shall be concluding in the next and last episode.

Afghanistan I saw in June/July 1977 (Third part)

 

Ghazni was fascinating for me for another reason too; I had always heard from my grand parents that we are Pathans of Mohmand tribe. Although Mohmand tribe is now settled north of Khyber Pass when our ancestors came to India, the Mohmands were settled somewhere between Kabul and Ghazni. It was in the days of Bahlol Lodhi over 400 years back and our family had their shajra with them that they lost it in the mayhem of 1947. Had Hoshyar Khan sahib (my ancestor) decided not to migrate to India I might have been a local here, interesting J

 

Ghazni was a small city with unpaved roads and a long bazaar. While looking for a hotel in the bazaar I saw an old Sikh goldsmith proudly wearing his turban. I tried to talk to him in Punjabi that I had recently started learning, he understood but couldn’t speak fluently. However he helped me find a cheap hotel and I settled down.

 

After yet another meal consisting of beef I had to visit my hero, the great Mahmood who humbled India 17 times. There was a small local bus stand where strange looking Russian pickup trucks were going to the mazar 10 kms away. I settled on its deck and gradually it started filling. The dress and demeanor around made me feel that all the passengers were poor, very poor. The truck was pretty high; probably a 4x4 and suddenly someone threw a big wooden crutch on the steel floor creating loud sound. I got attentive and saw a man with one leg in his late twenties pulling himself up holding a beautiful little girl in his other arm. A fully covered young women having part of chaddar on her face followed him and they settled down on the deck near me. The little girl was around 3 years old and too close to her dad. She looked a bit weak but was active and noticed me without beard wearing western dress, something strange in that culture. I noticed the wrist of this man which was many times the size of mine and built naturally with no gym involved. He must have worked really hard all his life. At 18 years of age someone in his twenties looks old and I considered him old too.

 

 

After initial social niceties he informed me in his Pashto that his daughter had been sick and he was going to a famous pir near the mazar of Mahmood to get his prayers for his daughter’s health. He was confident that the young lady would be treated by these prayers. Upon inquiring if he had taken patient to the doctor he told that he trusted the pir more. I found out that like doctors the pirs also specialize in different specialities and this was a Pediatrician Pir.

 

His wife and daughter were also interested in the stranger that I was, and he many times told them about me. I remember he once told her that I was a Muslim.

 

At the time of payment of fare he forcefully stopped me and took out a polythene bag which was folded manifold. After repeatedly unfolding the bag he took out money and paid his family’s and my fare. I felt really bad as he didn’t have much but a very big heart, a typical Afghan.

 

Finally the truck started and after a short but very bumpy ride we reached the mazar.

 

It was a big structure but nothing fancy, said my fateha and prayed for him. I thought of the gates of Somnath that he had taken to Ghazni that were brought back after the punitive campaign of the British laying much of Afghanistan to waste punishing them for winning the First Afghan War. Tens of thousands of Afghans civilians were butchered and cities laid to waste. Later research confirmed that bringing back the gates of Somnath was yet another British trick to create divide between Hindus and Muslims. These were newly made gates only to get the favor of Hindus at the cost of communal harmony. It explains how the Indian society was intentionally and methodically destroyed by the most cunning nation to ever step on this earth.

 

The friendly passengers were very kind to me trying to do me a favor took me to the Pir just next to the mazar. The Pir was obese, something rare in Afghanistan, wearing a long beard and displaying a kind of aura and arrogance. He was sitting on a raised platform next to a window opening in corridor while the rest of the packed room was sitting on the carpeted floor. Patients or mureeds would sit across the window and he would pray loudly and then breathe out on their face. After all this hard work he would accept some kind of gift given subtly in his palm and the next one would come.

 

I was given special treatment by the Pir as I was a foreigner and he graciously shared some fruit with me. I found eating alone with many in the room strange and uncomfortable. I still can’t eat without offering others. I offered fruit to others and the Pir seeing my discomfort himself offered everyone that they politely declined.

 

In the room there were some prosperous looking people sitting at a prominent place. They spoke Urdu well and told me that they had shops in the Landa Bazaar of Lahore. Landa is a distortion of the word London. Here during the extreme destitute of British occupation used clothes imported from London were sold cheap. Even in those days Landa bazaar was dominated by Afghans who could be undistinguishable from the local Pathans.

 

These traders and Pir educated me that the great Lahori saint Hazrat Data Gunj Buksh was from Ghazni and he came to Lahore with Mahmood as his cavalryman. Later he settled outside Lahore preaching Islam and humanity converting many with his humane and egalitarian creed. I was further educated that the shrine of his father was in Ghazni.

 

It was hot in the sun and wheat crop had turned golden. I had to take public transport to the shrine and then walk much to reach there. I offered fateha and returned to the city. My hotel was a very simple one on the upper story of a building in the main bazaar.

 

After a bit of rest I went for a walk having many qahwas on the way making new friends. Everywhere I was declared a guest and served free or someone else paid for my tea by less than affording but very dignified people. Here I made a few friends my age and they invited me to attend a local wedding and I agreed.

 

Late evening we went to that wedding. It was probably the son of an affluent person and was heavily attended. I saw many ladies wearing the typical heavy red frocks and big chaddars covering themselves well. It was a joyous event and although the genders were segregated I could hear the loud music and women celebrating although could hardly understand their chants.

 

Dinner had meat and meat, and then some more meat sparsely interspersed with thick Afghani rotis and some rice. After all that gluttony there was my favorite, the Afghani qahwa. The function must have lasted longer but I left after qahwa when the typical smell of cannabis started spreading and I went to hotel as had to go to Kandahar next day.

Next morning I walked to the highway where busses plying the Kabul/Kandahar route stopped to drop and pick passengers. After a few minutes a bus stopped and I got in. The passenger dropping at Ghazni must have been an important one because his seat was at the front on the other side off the driver with a great view and ample leg space, something I need at my height. The bus had the same stench which I got used to even earlier this time.

 

 

Kandahar was 350kms from Ghazni and it was all desert with hardly any signs of life or greenery. Suddenly we came across a very old rounded building with a few trees. It was a typical sarai of older times built close to a small source of fresh water sustaining life and human activities.

 

It came out that it was a namaz stop and namaz was the most important and sensitive aspect of Islam for the Afghans. Probably they weren’t very well aware of the extra importance Islam imparts on human rights, education, soft heartedness and manners unlike the earlier religions focusing on rituals. Apparently Afghan understanding of Islam hasn’t changed much since then.

 

While most passengers were busy in wazoo ablution I went inside the intriguing structure. Inside the little sarai there was kind of a little pond in the centre and around it were pine needles scattered on the floor making it a sitting and eating place. It must be cozy in winters. I felt like I had gone back centuries in a time machine and might meet historical characters like Ghaznavi, Ghauri, Babur etc at any corner. There was hardly anyone as all the locals were praying and it was me and a few Europeans who sat here and ordered tea, I mean qahwa off course.

 

Soon the bus started again and the same boring, rather scary scenery started. The road was as good made of concrete but as long, as straight and as barren too. The scene got too monotonous and I nearly dosed of when suddenly I saw something strange. In this hot desolate part of the world, two huge men were sitting on small little Honda cub and traveling long distances. I was further flabbergasted at Japanese quality and reliability. I still feel so indebted to the Japanese showing the world that it was not whiteness of skin that made Europe dominate the world and imparting the lesson that any race that works hard and methodically can progress. Japanese were the first non-Europeans to beat the west in its own game and leave it far behind.

 

I was dozing off and on crossing the unending desert with rare interruptions of oasis having trees reached Kandahar.

 

I had heard a lot about Kandahar, the capital of Durrani dynasty, known for its pomegranates with medicinal qualities and friendly people. Later during Mullah Omar’s time it was not the capital city but the place where he resided with final authority over nearly everything.

 

Kandahar was even hotter, a bit like Multan or Sukkur in Pakistan. There was lots of dust and noise.  It had the familiar Pakistani smoke emitting rickshaws but no attractive red pomegranates in sight. Kandahar was disappointing.

 

I got a room in a hotel in the central square of the city with big glass windows making it close to intolerable. I had read different touristic pamphlets that mentioned different graves or tombs which didn’t interest me much. One of the places of interest it mentioned were some ancient ruins of a prehistoric city a bit west of the city and I went there on a rickshaw. On the way back I got a lift from local residents coming back from their farms in a brand new Mercedes, something not very common in Pakistan. They were very fine, educated and hospitable despite being unable to speak English or Urdu. My very weak pushto, which by now had improved a bit, helped us communicate as my hosts were much interested in the conditions of Pakistan. They as usual offered qahwa and took me to their office in the city. Before qahwa I was served fabulous Afghani food which had a different taste from Kabul or Ghazni. Those were probably pre AC days as despite extreme heat we didn’t see any.

Burqa or chaddar clad women were visible in the bazars along with few European girls temporarily stopping on their way to Kabul. Kandahar didn’t seem to be popular with the westerners.

 

Kabul was so different from Jalalabad, Ghazni or Kandahar. There were two different worlds living side by side in the same little country, pretty peacefully; apparently.

 

After a bit of walk around the small city the heat somewhat lessened and I felt that I might be able to sleep and I went to my hotel.

Afghanistan I saw in June/July 1977 (Second Part)

 

I felt great roaming the streets till late night and enjoying local delicacies. There were many Indian Tata busses plying on the local city routes, an unusual site for me. Many Russians were also using strange looking cars that I wasn’t familiar with. I noticed 2 peculiarities among most Russian men the first being that they were shabbily dressed and then wore a pot belly that now I know can be called Beer Belly. Most westerners were backpackers or probably hippies. Local women were wearing from most conservative to the most western and revealing dresses

 

Next day was a Friday (weekly holiday) and my friends had planned a trip to the lovely Paghman area where much of Kabul spends its weekends picnicking with families.

 

A minivan took us out of Kabul crossing many educational institutions in the outskirts of the city on the way. I still remember seeing a university and a medical college with many hostels. I was told that atheistic Russians who were enemies of Islam had built them and by spreading education they were taking the God fearing Afghans away from their beloved Islam. Along with my hosts I also cursed the communist Russians for their evil designs. Being anti communists was an integral part of our Islam, part of the fabulous work by the CIA.

 

Paghman was all orchards around a small stream where numerous families were enjoying their weekend in the shades of fruit trees. Kabul was hot in the sun but shades were fine with nice breeze.  People were friendly and kind. Ladies were mostly wearing modest dresses with confidence and composure freely interacting with men. Western clad ladies were also there carrying themselves equally comfortably and no one seemed to be bothered by other’s attires. Although we had packed food still were feasted by the neighboring families too. I loved the home cooked Kabuli food; once again meat.

The Lahori friends went to watch more Indian movies but I preferred to walk the streets.

 

I utilized the opportunity roaming in the chic part of Kabul enjoying the attention I was getting from the girls. It was nice to know that someone other than my mom thought I was attractive.  

 

A pretty, tall and slim girl with slight oriental features was having the bright red carrot juice from the same stall. She had straight hair dropping on her shoulders. A red shirt with a black skirt was looking nice on her. Despite her good height she was wearing high heel court shoes making her look taller. Somehow I felt that I was being noticed too closely, it wasn’t a very uncommon thing at that age and I started enjoying the experience. After finishing the glass I paid for two and she thanked me in Persian while offering to pay which I naturally refused. She tried to talk in Persian but I didn’t understand. I offered her a cup of tea which she accepted and we entered a fancy restaurant close by. After a bit of exchange of niceties mostly consisting of smiles because her English was as good as my Persian, the waiter came for the order. The lady probably familiar with the place started ordering generously. The computer in my mind was working fast and I realized I will never be able to pay this bill and go back home in one piece.

 

Ultimately I also ordered a few dishes and enjoyed the food. A bit later I excused myself and quietly went out and took a taxi to the hotel. I still feel guilty of this less than dignified act of mine. I have never been so unkind with women the way I had disappointed this lovely lady. If by chance she gets a chance to read these lines I apologize and owe her a dozen dinners. I hope she accepts it, nothing wrong in being over optimistic.

 

Nervous of running away I got my stuff from the hotel and went to the other part of city, the famous Shahr I Nau. With my western dress and carrying a rucksack salesmen or touts outside of different hotels welcomed me and I selected one. It had dormitories with 4 independent beds and I settled in one of them. Now came time for registration of passports and they were disappointed seeing the green Pakistani passport I was carrying. They told that this hotel was for Europeans and not Pakistanis but after a long discussion among themselves and my insistence they graciously allowed me to stay.   

 

The hotel was built like a typical upper middle class Pakistani bungalow with a lawn in front. Ahead of the lawn there was a temporary shade built with many chairs and tables beneath it.

 

There were quite a few rooms, or shall I say dormitories with 3-4 beds which were all occupied by different tourists. My 3 room mates here were from continental Europe in their early twenties. One of them was a German getting some technical training and had taken a year off to roam the world.

The one thing that I found strange, rather different in these roommates was that they would change their clothes openly infront of others without a hint of embarrassment. I got used to it but couldn’t do it myself.

 

In the evening nearly 20 of us sat under the lighted shade in the lawn and shared stories. Luckily most could communicate in English but other European languages were also used occasionally. Nearly half of the participants were young European girls and a few local Afghans, probably workers of the hotel. One of the girls brought an old glass bottle of wine with a hole in its bottom where a long hollow wooden piece was placed. She lighted the outer end and the transparent bottle was full of smoke and everyone celebrated it. A typical annoying smell spread around that I had smelled many times in Peshawar and I soon realized it was hashish.

 

I had forced myself by then to smoke tobacco in Hassanabdal as it was the manly thing to do and I had to prove to myself and others that I have grown up. I never liked it because it always caused cough and could never imagine that I could get hooked to it but hooked I did and it took 30 years and lots of coughing before I finally quit. A few years more of smoking and I would have been forced by a doctor to quit anyway.  Coming back to the story, the girl lighting the bottle had a few coughs but a happy satisfied look on her face and she gave it to the person sitting next.

 

This way the bottle with hash kept circulating till late night. Everyone was happy or maybe delighted but some were definitely ecstatic. There was loud singing and dancing. It was a new experience for me. Girls were as confident behaving naturally as men were. Some of us ordered food and openly ate without offering others, another anomaly for me. However I enjoyed the evening finding new things, rather a new and different world and went to sleep as early morning I had to visit a place I had dreamed of for a great hero of mine was buried there, Ghazni.

 

Since early childhood like most Pakistanis I had admired Mahmood of Ghazni who as I was told was a great Muslim and conqueror. Had heard of an Urdu verse,

Phir Somnath har soo tamer ho rahe hain

Ab muntazir hai alam Mahmood butshikan ka

 

His greatness lay in invading India 17 times and destroying temples and idols. The simple fact puzzled me that he went thousands of miles to Somnath for destroying idols but didn’t do anything about the huge Bamiyan statues in his neighborhood. The tragedy of 1947 was merely 30 years old and Hindu/Muslim competition was in the mind of the 18 years old. Interestingly it was the British who humiliated, looted and impoverished the subcontinent for 200 years but the Brits were not my enemy, the Hindus were. Being anti Hindu was part of patriotism of a Pakistani and Mahmood of Ghazni symbolized all this and then some extra macho.

 

At the bus station I saw many beautiful Mercedes Benz busses with German written on them. I figured out that Afghans import used MB busses from Germany at a big discount and enjoy the luxury cheaply. Always fascinated by automobiles I was excited to travel in them.

 

I got in a bus to Kandahar which would drop me at Ghazni 150 kms away. Pakistan was still using miles and metrics annoyed me, so it was 90 miles that would take 2-3 hours. The buss was plush but not air-conditioned and windows didn’t open either. There was a certain stink and I felt suffocated until the bus started moving and 2-3 vents on the roof brought fresh air. It was highly inadequate but made things tolerable. The bus was full of men and a few women with children. Women were all in a particular kind of veil, which we call “tent burqas” in Pakistan, and I had seen in certain remote areas of southern Punjab.

 

We reached the main highway and simultaneously all the men in bus took out small tins of naswar (chewing tobacco). My seat fellow also put some naswar between his gums and then saw himself in the mirror attached to the tin feeling gratified. He was a typical hospitable pashtun inviting me to have naswar and insisting on my refusal. There were small used cans of powdered milk below the seats and the passengers took them out and spit in them. So I found the main source of typical horrible smell in the bus.

 

There terrible stench of naswar and sweat made the bus ride a bit uncomfortable initially but luckily after some time this disgusting odor vanished, probably a bit like the horrific smell of the dissection hall which stopped bothering the students later.

 

 

I found the road strange without potholes; all Pakistani roads were full of then, but this road was made of concrete and not bitumen giving it a grey color. Then it had kind of concrete blocks attached to each other with a slight void creating a kind of a train like sound whenever the tires crossed them but without giving a jerk. I was told these were all made by the Russians and concrete roads cost a bit more but last much longer. In Pakistan I saw use of concrete in roads much later and that also only on vulnerable roads.

 

 

Luckily within a few hours we reached a kind of oasis with road having trees and then we crossed a familiar structure that I knew was the tomb of my hero Mahmood. A few kilometers further we were at the Ghazni stop and had to walk to the city.