Zubi's Blog

Trekking part-2 (base camp)

2009-11-17T10:55:00.008+04:00

On arrival to base camp Raison about half way from Kullu & manali, it was a dream come true.

Beautiful camp sat on the noisy bank of beas river, neat & tidy surrounded by green peaks.

we have been alotted tents & guidelines to stay there.

I got a tent with my 5 trekker friends & we settled down before go out to get fresh.

In those days, we were habitual of asian w/c & what we found in the toilet was Europian!!

First time, was a bad time...an indian goes europian way & things were messed up with agreat degree of dissatisfaction.

we decided not to go that direction again!

myself, qyam & muzaffar decided to have a bath & we walked in the mangroves @ 500m away from our camp to take bath in beas.

Roaring sound of water with a good speed challenged us to conquer.

except Qyamuddin we both were not swimmer & for him there was no room to swim as the water was shallow at the banks & we tried to settle for few rocks.

Finally we kept our soap on one side & took our mug to take water for bath.

It was cold & the first pour on our body made us felt that, it was very cold.

@ 8-10 degree.

we controlled our shiver & pur few more mugs in order to use soap.

Using soap was our biggest mistake!!!!!!!

we kept on pouring water on our temporarily paralysed skin to wash away soap & it didt happened.

Then we realised, it was comparitively hard water.

Once become unbearable, we given off & used our towels to take the sticky stuff off from body.

The first lesson learned: dont use soap if you are bathing out side the designated bathroom.

Soon, body starts coming back to normal & we dont know how we were walking.......The foot was not landing at the place where it intend to.

This continues till we reach near to base camp.

We share our experience with others & given tips HOW TO TAKE BATH.

taking bath directly from the river or from water fall throughout the trek becomes the status symbol of "Daring" as other group doing trekking with us was from Gujrat.

We never saw Any Gujrati taking bath....they used to soak their towel in water, squeezed it & then taking towel bath.

The food at camp was pure vegetarian & good in taste like any camp in such scenario.

After dinner we have been called for camp fire, the main attraction of base camp & throughout the the trekking program.

The base camp was a place where 70-100 people are present all the times, from different part of india.

We went there sat quietly to see the proceedings....The anchor, the person & groups performing were not found very attractive to us & the whole group decided to challenge them next eve.

Jamiaets pushed me to take charge to play anchor & as pre planned, we rock the camp fire.

The sweetness of urdu, culture of jamia, activeness & dscipline of NCC brought the good results in our favor & Jamia gang become the hot favorite over night.

Three night stay at raison base & performance of all jamiaets inlcuding me, zia haider, kamil hasan, talib, musarrat bhai & many more did magic to make camp fire as ever lasting experience.

Jamia NCC-Trekking program (chandrakhani pass)

2008-12-24T14:39:00.002+04:00

In last posting I was mentioning about trekking program, so lets pick it from there & continue.
We were about 20 students,10 each from junior & senior division & Mr.Afaque was our team leader, an employee of JMI NCC office.
BAM, QMD,Kamil hasan, Parvez Akhtar were prominent in our group.
When Bus Started from ISBT,we were full of energy but soon after traveling 100km, our energy level went down & we felt exhausted.
We have to travel whole night & it was expected to reach Kullu between 10-11AM.
Trying to sleep but there was no angle that we can sleep due to bumpy road & bus was far away from comfort zone!
Tried different positions
Head resting back on iron bar, too risky & can’t sleep.
Head on bar at front seat, no sleep.
Leaning either side! Forget about it.
Finally we rested past our leg on the top of front seat bar while half body on the seat in a way that our head should touch & move freely to the seat we were occupying.
This posture given all of us a tough sleep till driver applies brakes signaled that we reached Ambala (Punjab).
Went down, had our dinner & a cup of tea before disembark again.
It was last hours of night when we felt some cold, cant see outside as there was no light & no moon.
Only black tarmac visible through bus head lights but we can felt bus is gaining altitude as engine was too noisy.
Few hours later we feel company out side while covering ourselves in shawls.
To our surprise, the bus was penetrating through Himalayas.
It was my first time that I have been face to face with the youngest mountain of the world.
The brown/grey giants fully covered with greenery.
Conductor told us that we left shimla behind through bye pass road.
Unlimited peaks surround us with a kind we feel that, yes we are above the world!
National highway looks merely a line in comparison with Himalayas however it was strong enough to challenge its greatness by penetrating through.
Left side huge wall of mountains towering hundreds of meters while right side deep gorge descending straight 100 of meters.
Beautiful but frightening, a single mistake of driver can plunge the bus deep down.
The expert driver of himachal roadways was driving it fast towards destination & now we can feel cool breeze on our faces & deep down blinking Sound of Beas River.
Altogether, it was wonderful looking all around & we forget our breakfast.
Kullu came, bus stopped to drop few passenger & starts again towards Manali.
It was after kullu that we came near to Beas River as far as altitude was concern & easily hear roaring sound of flowing river.
After 20-25km bus stopped almost few hundred meters away from river on a plane & we all disembarked.
It was our base camp set on the bank of Beas river.
A very beautiful place can hardly be described in words.
The whole trekking program was organized by YHA (Youth hostel association) & we have been welcomed by officials upon arrival.
Soon after registration, we have been allotted with tent & 8 people gets one tent.
Our tent was situated very near to the banks of beas & its roaring sound was very prominent.
We have been briefed about our trekking program & its essentials to be kept in rucksack with many do’s & don’ts.
We also informed by our instructor to get ready next day for a 10km acclimatization walk which eventually will help us to get ready for the main program.
Other training highlights were rock climbing & river crossing by rope.

Trekking program in 1986

2008-10-13T11:27:00.005+04:00

"Abe NCC ka tour ja raha he"(NCC is organising a tour) said one of my colleague!

I asked where?

Replied "Himachal Pradesh"!!!

It was in 1985-86 & i was in Xth standard, fully involve & active cadet of Jamia NCC.

Summer vacation were approaching & NCC office announced a tour for its cadets in Himachal Pradesh to do tracking in Himalyas.

It came to me like a dream comes true!

NCC was bearing @ half the cost & half to be arranged by us.

I went to NCC office along with QMD & BAM to register ourselves.

It was one month before i must make the payment.

The question remians, how to pay?

I dont wanna trouble my parents for this.

Also, the tution i was offering was not enough to bear the required expenses.

Trying to figure out, i came across a contractor backfilling Yamuna for ploting at batla house.

He offerred me to supervise backfilling operation for 20days & offered me a good amount in return.

Finally i got the amount needed to finance tracking tour.

Finished with the formalities, NCC office divided us in three groups & i was named in group-3.

My self, QMD & BAM decided to go shopping & went to Sunday market/Chor bazar behind red fort.

We purchased Gum boot, ruksack,knives & specially foam filled shirts at shoulders for our tour along with few small items.

Finally the day came & we departed in a DTC bus for ISBT (inter state bus terminal).

Few of our seniors like Musarrat Ali/Afaque bhai joined us there.

Boarded on Himachal pradesh state transport corporation bus finally departed for Kullu (HP).

One more personality passed away.....

2008-10-04T08:39:00.002+04:00

Dear All,

Death of Meenai saheb came to me as a shock.
I met him only once or twice in JMI, however my father was very close to him as Meenai saheb was close associate of Professor Mujeeb (EX VC JMI).
I know Zubair Meenai his son, personally as we both active cadets of JMI NCC.
I express my deep condolence to Zubair Bhai & Family at demise of Professor Meenai.
Following is an obituary written by Ghizal mehdi, Close friend of Zubair Meenai.

Zamana bade shauq se sun raha tha
Hum hi so gaye dasstaN kehte kehte

OBITUARY

Mohammed Naziruddin Menai, retired Professor in the Department of Political Science, Jamia Millia Islamia, passed away peacefully in his sleep on 28th September 2008 at the ripe age of 81 years. Professor Menai joined the Jamia Millia Islamia in 1957, quitting a well-paid `gazetted' job with the Government of Rajasthan for the Jamia mission. Professor Menai, a contemporary of late Vice chancellor Prof M Mujeeb and his close friend, was part of the initial building up of the institution, setting up many offices and systems in the university. He was the founder and former Head of the Political Science Department of the Jamia. Professor Menai was one of the last breeds of committed Jamaiees who passionately believed in the principals of secularism and nationalism. His commitment towards his students was legendary. He was the Secretary and President of the Jamia Teachers Association and played an important role in the teacher politics in the university.

Professor Menai closely worked with Mrs Subhadra Joshi in 'Citizens for Democracy for Communal Harmony'. He was a towering personality on the campus and was a regular theatre activist, being part of the Naya Theatre launched by renowned theater personality, Habib Tanvir and was in the original cast of several of his plays. He along with his close friend, late Professor Iqbal Mahdi, was also a founder of Progressive Writers' Association in Jamia. Professor Menai was a popular and much loved figure on the campus by all sections of the university including the teachers, administrative staff and karamcharis. He was a gentle and considerate humanitarian and impressed one and all with his demeanor. He is survived by his wife and four children – Mrs Ghazala Meenai, Mrs Tasneem Meenai, Mrs Sheeba Meenai and Professor Zubair Meenai.

Chronology:
Date of Birth: 01 January 1928
Lecturer Political Science at the Jamia Rural Institute: 24.10.1957
Reader, Political Science: 08.08.1970
Professor, Political Science: January 1983
Offg Registrar: 5.10.1985 to 5.7.1987
Retired on 31.12.1987
Expired: 28.09.2008

Jamia senior secondary school-Razi Ahmed Farooqui

2008-07-23T20:18:00.006+04:00

After final examination in 12th standard engineering entrance was standing like a monster.

No guidance, nothing predefined other than a small guide costing IRs.40 was the only way to understand pattern of engineering entrance.

Agreed with Shareef & Razi Ahmed Farooqui to do joint preparation, we figure out Razi's house in noor nagar was a perfect place to sit & concentrate on entrance.

His house was empty as parents were off on summer vacation & there fore it was a fantastic place without any hitch.

morning session don't have any problem as music, tea & preparation for exam always go smoothly but problem comes when lunch time arrive!

Some time from hotel in noor nagar but Shareef was very fond of DOSA.

Whenever we try to discuss & finalize what to eat then without any delay Shareef propose DOSA.

Not, always but some times we do agree with him to try dosa at community centre.

It was IRs.4 per masala dosa those days.

Razi used to open his drawer to take his share where he had around 100 rupees change before we go & enjoy dosa.
One time, two time......why should we spend money on dosa?
There after we keep on enjoying Dosa till one day Razi discover about our mischiefs when his money fully disappeared from drawer!
He went little mad but took it lightly & we all agreed to compensate him by exempting to pool any money for next week.
Actually, it never happened & he keep paying as usual.
Our presence in his house widely spread & we got companions from neighbour hood.
Those were Asjad majeed & BAM.
Asjad has chosen to take admission in BUMS rather going for engineering while BAM continue to prepare for entrance.
Razi was little fat as compare to me, asjad, shareef with almost equal height.
One day he we saw him wearing a nice light pink shirt!
It was a nice shirt & i asked him to give me for one day. he out rightly rejected my request & told to go & buy as he like that & cant share with any one.
He left on his bicycle & i took recourse to have that shirt at any cost!
Tried in community centre but didn't get the right one.
Returned dejected on my bicycle, with desire, i went towards noor nagar to meet razi but he wasn't at home!
Since summer was on peak therefore i decide to go inside to have some chilled water.
Infact, we all were aware where razi used to keep his house keys, so i took it & went inside.
While drinking water i saw the same pink shirt hanging inside room.......A lightning idea flashed in my mind & took his shirt & went straight to my house.
With a pre planned scheme, i sat on sewing machine & stitched the shirt according to my size & cut the additional portion to curb any doubt later!
Did ironing & it was ready for my use.
After noon we met againg & razi, shareef, Asjad & BAM were delighted to see my shirt.
Razi exclaimed & said this exactly look like my shirt!
I was smiling from inside.
Suddenly he took time out & went inside his house, came back with multicolor face.
He said in anguish that his shirt is missing!
He pointed out at me & said you have taken my shirt & i refused his claim.
He then asked me to take it off for checking.
We went inside & i took off my shirt.
He examined & returned back the shirt with uncomfort & doubt.
He was not convinced but cant do any thing because it was not of his fitting.
After few weeks in a good mood after listening many complaints from Razi that his shirt disappeared since i bough new shirt.
Decided to end the suspense, i revealed him that his shirt although disappeared, however, it still exist, he asked where?
I told him that the one i wear was actually his shirt.
While i was making the statement, razi's mouth was wide open with a disbelief.
He said, he was always doubtful that i took his shirt but there was a logic for not believing that.
I asked him the logic.
He said, Morning time shirt was with him & afternoon time it wasn't, infact the one which i weared was smaller in size & it was beyond imagination as all the tailor shops closed during noon time & no one can do repair in such a short time!!!!
Then i told him that he is absolutely right but some time things can be solved with a simplicity without complications.
He put the right logic but i did the job of a tailor.
Although little angry with the act, finally he salute the art & offered me the shirt as gift.
Since that time, he never forget the episode & iam sure if he read this he will be delighted to share this with his wife & kids.
It is not very important to mention that we always finished sweets without his permission that he used to hide in the cupboard which was sent by his relatives quiet oftenly from Lucknow.
I met razi last time few years back on Batla house chowk.....he was in Delhi that time but i heard recently about his presence in KSA.
Trying to find out his contacts.

Crazy friend Akbar......Jamia senior secondary school

2008-06-24T14:10:00.005+04:00

Mohammed Akbar

Few years back i was in Delhi during my terminal leave & relaxing after short escape from Dubai.
One day,
Akbar called me & asked what iam doing in evening?
I said nothing much!
He offered me a dinner old Delhi.
I agreed.
Out of context & previous experience, i asked him how many people & how to reach there?

Without hesitation, he stated to take master ji (mohammed shareef) & take rickshaw to reach okhla railway station.
From railway station, pick local to reach old Delhi railway station.
From old Delhi railway station, hire Tonga to reach near by place & then leave Tonga in near vicinity to cover remaining distance by walking.
I told him, Are you crazy?
Why don't we take auto rickshaw & reach the place?
He remain adamant to go there only the way he has planned & shareef ( The Dosa King),was part of it.
I refused & said, iam not in college life now & please you also come out.
I know you & shareef are jamia employee but don't you think its too harsh for me & nihari to spend these efforts & time in commuting?
I know even i refused, both of them might have went there as per their wish & plan.
This was AKBAR, my sarcastic, crazy friend.

If i talk about honesty, i will find akbar on top of the list.
He is so nice, humble, honest, lovable & most of time intolerable friend of mine.

You will be surprised to know that he used Halliday & Resnik books when we were trying to understand the contents of NCERT physics book.
Moreover, he was the only guy expert in collecting & referring to foreign writers during our school times.
He was hard working person, very responsible & ready to do any thing for friends & friendship.
For example, if he has money to deposit school fee & he found one of us wants to eat kebab then without thinking twice, he will pay kebab bill rather retaining the same to pay school fee.
Never mind if he gets punished for late fee later on.
He is the one who sacrificed his whole career just to understand few fundas of physics in XII standard.
I learned few things from him & the most imortant was NOT TO GIVE UP.
When the going gets tough then the tough gets going.
He used to work as a porter at Delhi air port at night to sustain his education expenses & day time, he was the first to arrive in school!
Smiling, full of energy all the times.
Many people among my friends used Akbar for their benefits & despite knowing the facts, he never yelled & complain.
He is source of inspiration & energy for many, but unfortunately his education career came to an abrupt halt during 1987.
Our friendship didnt stopped there & Akbar was part of my life since then.
He joined JMI later on as an employee & recently looks & behave like a government employee.
But, there is person inside Akbar, looking for freedom from busy life schedule.
I saw a darkness in his eyes, like a boy become adult in childhood.
I saw many of his dreams trying to come out but he is holding them tight just to fulfill his obligation & responsibilities to his family.
Last time when i went india for 7 days in 2005, i didnt get time to meet him.
This time i will try........
One more thing about akbar.
B.A.M( one of Akbar's friend) asked him few years back to make passport, so that we can call him Dubai.
Since he is governmnet employee therefore it can be easy for him to get long leave like others.
Akbar said, he doesnt have money, so BAM given him that money.
As usual we used to eat out at night & these times akbar was very happy to pay all the bills.
Suddenly, one day BAM asked him, did he submitted passport form?
He smiled & told that all the money he spend by paying food bills.
I know BAM is one of those friend of Akbar, who never used him.
Akbar, he is simply great like great mughal emperor Akbar.
He is king by heart.
I pray to ALLAH to make his life easy & give him a life partner to experience family life.

Next time i will post some thing about Shareef (The dosa King), Internal student, topper & now Reader in Jamia Engineering college.

Math paper leak in 1989

2008-06-21T15:08:00.005+04:00

It was engineering second year & final exams were near.
People like me went underground as to cover up lost time invested in college canteen to avoid a shameful result.
It was a trend to go back to studies at least 40-50 days before exams & we did the same.
Although we got rid of Physics but mathematics was again there in second year & it was an uphill task.
I was doing preparation with other guys while came to know that Math paper is out!
To avoid labour, we also went in Que to break the code & get the paper before.
Tried many contacts but no result!
One day left!
Preparation were nothing except two sample paper (model paper).
Then one of my colleague broke the silent with a good news that he knows the person who has the paper.
We decided & contribute whatever in pockets to buy maths paper.
There was a condition!
Only one person is allowed & he will get the paper to have a look on spot write every thing on note book with a warning of not revealing it to any one!
It was an easy thing for us, we got the question paper & asked one of the brilliant engineering student to come & solve it.
One of our friend Ejaz Ahmed, refused to look into it & went along with his preparations.
Any how, Brilliant student came, solve the question paper & we got every thing in our mind.
It was party time, Nihari roti in Batla house was not less than a feast that night.
We talked about so many things & slept without exam tension.
Next morning i left for examination center, i found many of my friends but no body was interested in talking to each other as we used to do before any paper.
Actually i was also not interested in talking to any one as the whole questionnaire was in my mind & i was in hurry to solve those questions.
Finally the moment arrived & invigilator distributed the math paper.
I took it from his hands, opened the fold quickly & suddenly it seems that some punched me on my face.
I went blank!
It was a shock & i asked invigilator to check whether this is the one for us?
Is it not for people appearing for compartment?
He smiled & said, there is no mistake at all & this is mathematics question paper for BSc.Engineering II year.
It was just like that some one punctured the inflated balloon with only difference that no body has heard the blast!!!!
I looked around & found majority of students in the same state as of mine.
With lot & lot of difficulty i attempted 04 questions out of 5 compulsory with an uncertainty to have 03 correct to get me green pass.
Not more than 90 minutes & i was out of the examination hall.
I found most of them outside, now talking, abusing & cursing.
I joined the group.
I saw Ejaz Ahmed coming out smiling.
He took us to muzaffar bhai ki canteen for console.
There was nothing to say, the man ran away who sold the paper & there was no paper leaked that year.
It was simply a trap made for the purpose to earn money.
At least 85% students got compartment in second year mathematics, fortunately i was among those 15% lucky students who got the green pass without compartment.
Quite often Ejaz Ahmed used to smile on us whenever we talk about that particular instance & happening.
Some time over smartness give negative results & short cut cause only PAIN.

Mimmi baji passed away

2008-05-31T10:37:00.003+04:00

(Reply to Zoya Ajmali on Jamia alumni directory yahoo group on 31.05.08)

I do agree with Zoya, I don’t know but zoya name looks familiar to me, may be you were my nursery mate during 1973-75!
This immense & irreparable loss not only shocked me but Jamiaets much elder & younger to me.
She was famous as Mimmi baji for us & Mimmi aapa for people elder than me although her name was “Jamal Fatima”.
I already tried to sum up few moments on my blog last year.
It is almost impossible to describe your first teacher.
I was so young (about 3year old) when admitted to Jamia nursery.
Not clear with each & every aspect of happenings other than few faces & impression of first activities on the canvas of my innocent mind.
The very prominent were two.
Mimmi baji & Abdullah Bhai.
A lady or a second Mother to us is wearing a saree, & a prominent looking big spectacle & a lovely voice.
Story telling, various academic & sports activities with love & affection was so attractive that very few wants to leave nursery at 12.
There might be millions of happenings in ones life, thousands of people you come across meeting & hundreds of teacher you might experienced but there are very few you remember throughout your life.
You may remember those, who played a significant role to guide your life on the way to success.
Although Nursery students were not able to think about future, experience, career & all those difficult things waits for them on threshold, however, it was life taking shape under control guidance & careful hands of Mimmi baji & those associated little later.
Mimmi baji taught us to share our lunch box with others.
It may sound little important but Sharing lunch box lead to tolerance & cohesiveness among each other in many ways!
The first lesson learnt always mean too much for many & for me too.
Mimmi baji initiated with a right script on the canvas of our mind.
I do remember to receive invitation from Jamia nursery to attend annual function even after 12 years after leaving.
How much it touches you when you see mimmi baji remembering your name after 10-15-20 years?
It matter a lot to me.
I don’t remember complete name of my engineering mates from 1991 in 2008!
But she (mimmi baji) remembered all her students.

“Kullu nafsin zayeqatul maut”

Death is certain, life is uncertain.
Despite knowing the fact we all care, run & live for the uncertain thing.
Also we do care to retain few of them forever which we know is not possible.
She was one of the certain personalities in my uncertain life that will remain certain till shadow of uncertainty took over me.
Future become reality in present that passed quickly to dump it in past & within no time we lost in never ending black hole of the cruel past.

I dedicate this article to Mimmi baji & Pray ALLAH to shower blessings on her & rest her soul in peace.

Note: Did any one have photograph of Mimmi baji?

----- Original Message ----From: Zoya Ajmali To: jamia_millia_alumni_directory@yahoogroups.comSent: Thursday, May 29, 2008 10:25:14 AMSubject: Re: [jamia_millia_alumni_directory] Mimmi Baji, Jamia nursery passed away on 26.05.08.

Today I go back through the memory lanes of those days when as a kid I used to go to jamia nursery.The only source of attraction for me in that school happened to be a frail short but sweeter than sweets lady called MIMMI BAJI.......Yes! I'm proud very very proud to say that she was my first & foremost teacher.She proved to be a Florence Nightingale in those days and also thereafter.Even though I left Jamia after nursery itself but she always remembered me and always showered her blessings in the little get togethers of jamia through which we met.A few years back I had the privilege of meeting her again and I very proudly showed my children MY VERY FIRST GUIDE OF LIFE.She again blessed me and my children too. I can still remember her warm smile of recognition as well as feel the warmth of her embrace. I pray to Allah For her Maghfirath.

Mimmi Baji also left...

2008-05-27T13:24:00.002+04:00

Dear ALL,

I got an email from Aziz Akhtar bhai, giving a sad news.

"Mimmi baji expired this morning (26.05.08)".

What to say!!!!
She was like a mother not only for me but many of us.
Thinking about Jamia nursery during our times & much before cant be possible without mimmi baji.
May ALLAH rest her soul in peace & Place in Heaven.

HazaroN saal Nargis apni benoori pe roti hai
baRi mushkil se hota hai chaman meiN deedawar paida.

Farooq Saheb

2008-04-27T13:17:00.004+04:00

Dear All,
Today morning (27.04.2008) Haroon called me & said FAROOQ SAHEB, our beloved teacher in Jamia middle school passed away.
He was more than a teacher for us.
May ALLAH rest his soul in peace.
Slowly, The certainity of death putting a full stop to the uncertain life of many......Our turn will also come.
We will soon be the part of PAST.

Kal aur aaiyeN ge naghmoN ki khilti kaliyaN chun ne wale
Mujhse behtar kehne wale, tum se behtar sun ne wale............

Dear Sir (Farooq Saheb),
You will remain in our memories for ever.

Jamia NCC

2008-04-08T15:32:00.006+04:00

It is not possible to for me to leave sweet memories pertaining to JAMIA NCC.
Actually, I was collecting all other happening before key down episode related to NCC, NSS & BAL Bhawan outlet in Jamia middle school.
I don’t know exactly when I become interested in NCC but thing that fascinates me like other kids was foundation day parade in middle school campus.
Earlier we used to take small flags in our hand to gather near intersection of parks dividing middle from higher secondary school.
Later during 6th standard onwards, we used to escape & look at the heart throbbing march past (drill) from different angle.
It was fabulous to see cadets from all grades marching towards the centre stage to give SALAMI to VC.
Military drum, the scintillating beat (sare jahan se achcha, Hindustan humara), Army fit out with color full red & navy blue scarf, followed by senior division boys, girls, junior division boys & girls file.
With one beat of drum & a clear sound of (TUCK) from heels of the cadets.
29th October never comes in summer there fore it was always a nice weather to stand there in school lawns for hours to see people performs.
Once Cadet Company reached to destination, they ordered to stand in at ease.
Mean time, there were four pilots, wearing the NCC dress appears on bullets as VC’s escort.Approaching slowly like President of India goes for 26th January at raj path......continue

Library- Jamia middle school

2008-03-02T14:56:00.002+04:00

It was 1978-79, when I came to know about Library in Jamia Middle School.
During recess timing I went to library with one of my friend.
It was situated below Iqbal Manzil.
For the first time I saw Habib sahib, sitting behind the table with spectacles & topi on head.
I asked him to allow me to go inside & search for a story book.
He asked, is it your first time?
I said yes.
He said go to your class teacher & bring a signed application for the membership.
I tried & found Hashmet sahib on leave, went again to Habib sahib & briefed him.
He provided with an alternative to take signature of any teacher.
Eventually I got it signed by Aisha Madam.
Habib sahib opened & activated my account.
I was allowed to go inside where racks & racks of books were stored.
Fascinating, I grabbed one small storey book.
As rule one should return the book with 7days/ 3days of issue, depending upon the demand or else pay late return fine.
Days become too long after the school for those small storey books.
By the time I reach to 5th standard, I was finished with all storey books of my taste kept in library.
Taste developed at that time was fantasy, adventure & magic.
Mazhar ul haque alvi was one of the favorites.
Apart from storey books, library was full of other books as well.
Daily news paper of Urdu, Hindi & English that can be read in recess.
Table full of Khilona, payame taleem, champak, lot pot were amongst the favorite of the pupil.
Some times you find them fighting for magazines.
It was habib sahebs tool to tackle students in such situation.
He used to send every body out from the library in such situations.
There fore fight scenes were negligible.
Apart from issuing the story book directly from library, we used to circulate them among friends by squeezing our reading time otherwise; it was difficult to get the same once some one return.
Habib sahib although strict but have soft corner for those who return the books in time, keep them neat & tidy, never tear or fold the pages & of course class mate of his daughter Ruqaiyya.
I don’t have much of memories of middle school library except that I used to run before school ends to ensure a story book for self.
It was a rare incident that I sit inside reading room to enjoy any digest & news paper.
Library can be found in any school, any where in the world.
Habib sahib was a thorough gentleman & a respected person.
I know many years back that he is no more in this world.
I really enjoyed my library association along with my friends.
It was also mandatory to take clearance before issuing the hall ticket of Class VIII.
I pray to ALLAH to rest Habib sahib soul in peace & bless him with a place in Jannat.
His contribution was unique in making our future; at least, I got the habit of reading just because of Library of Jamia middle school.

Assorted Fun in Jamia School

2007-12-01T15:05:00.000+04:00

During 80's

A Basket of Seasonal Joys

As an assortment of entertainment during school days, there were many inclusions to our basket. Although seasonal, they were an important part of student life, beside the curriculum. These were not lessons taught in classrooms. These were lessons taught by trees, by grounds, by the changing seasons, and by the simple act of being a boy with time on his hands and hunger in his belly.

Many types of trees were part of our school campus. Gul Mohar, Shehtoot, Bel Paththar, and Jungle Jalebi. I don't know their botanical or English names. I never needed to. I knew them by their fruit, by their taste, by the memories they gave me.

The Red and the Tangy

It was our favorite activity to enjoy the flower of Gul Mohar. We used to pelt stones to take those buds out from the tree to eat. They were simply delicious due to their tangy taste. I don't remember a year without eating these flowers during my stay in school.

It was a real beauty to see the flourished, colorful Gul Mohar tree with green branches and red flowers on them. Those trees were all over, but densely situated on the peripheral way to the Fine Arts department. We would walk that path slowly, eyes scanning the branches, hands searching for the perfect stone. The aim had to be precise. Too soft, and the bud would not fall. Too hard, and it would be crushed before it reached us.

Thok.

One falls. We scramble. We peel the petals back, bite into the base. That sharp, tangy burst on the tongue. Sour. Sweet. Alive. We never missed a year. Not one.

Jungle Jalebi

Jungle Jalebi. I don't have its English name, but those who know it by this name might have their mouth full of water.

Scorching and sizzling summer never was a hurdle for those who liked to enjoy this unique fruit. The back side of Baghbani in middle school, next to Bhopal ground, was the location to find Jungle Jalebi. Since the branches have thorns, it was damn difficult to climb and pluck the fruit. Ghulail or good aimers were always having an advantage to get more in less time.

I still remember collecting Jungle Jalebi along with Kamil Hasan, Mohammed Talib, Shakeel, Muqeed, and others in Bhopal ground. We were a gang of hungry marksmen. Summer heat? What summer heat? We were boys. We had fruit to bring down.

Bel Paththar

Bel Paththar. These trees were under secured mode and guarded properly due to their fruit and healing benefits. A few of them were situated in Baghbani of middle school, and in Baghbani of Faujdar Saheb, in between the school field and Jamia nursery.

In Baghbani, it was Baba Din who made it very difficult for us to steal this fruit, and it was next to impossible with Faujdar. A group of four to five people was always ideal to execute this mission. Lookouts. Climbers. Runners. One wrong move, and the stick found your back.

I think I have mentioned in one of my posts earlier about a Bel Paththar falling on one of my friends. Heavy. Merciless. We laughed later. Much later. Once we ditched Baba Din and got at least two pieces of fruit, it used to be a party time. But it was equally dangerous to climb the tree, as all the fruit-bearing branches were weak and there was always a risk of fall.

Kammu ka Khet

Kammu ka Khet. On the way to Jamia College from the store, just after Maktaba Jamia, where MCRC is situated now, there was a big piece of land. Very fertile and always green with seasonal vegetables and fruit trees. Barricaded by wired fence and Kammu's vigilant plus violent approach, it was very difficult to sneak through and try something that violated Kammu's commercial interests.

But as usual, we always broke through his fence to steal Amrood, mainly, and sometimes Gaanth Gobhi. By the time he traveled 20-25 meters almost running, we were already through with a few guavas on the road. The math was simple. He took time to reach us. We needed seconds to grab and run.

Sometimes the calculation proved wrong and a few got caught. And a few got the taste of his batten instead of guava. The impact of hitting with a stick, although bad and painful, was controllable. But being trapped with Kammu was very bad, because finally one had to bail out on parents' request or through a known person. That meant a lot of humiliation and firing.

Never mind. Kammu's Amrood were really good, and so were the Gaanth Gobhi, Gajar, and Mooli. Kammu used to sell fresh vegetables and fruit to Jamia employees and to the local market at reasonable rates. He was a businessman. We were thieves. But his Amrood were worth every risk.

Faujdar Saheb ki Baghbani

Faujdar Saheb ki Baghbani. It was very difficult to get access to his farmland for the purpose of stealing. All four sides were properly protected with barbed wire fencing, along with branches of Babool or Keekar. The only way possible to try was from the playground.

Mooli, Gaanth Gobhi, Gajar, Amrood, Jamun were big attractions of his orchard, and they were very tasty indeed. Another problem that made our mission more difficult was his two sons, Gulzar and Mukhtar. In fact, Mukhtar was with me, and his presence at all times made it very difficult to avail any fruit.

But I have never given up in my life, and so my friends were also hungry for those tasty fruits. We tried all means to find a passage. Finally, during hockey practice session, we found one. We properly inspected it for operation and then left it covered with tree branches for tomorrow.

The next day, I sneaked inside with Kamil to steal radish. We succeeded too. But at the time of returning, Faujdar Saheb noticed our unauthorized presence. He shouted and started running towards us, and we did the same. He recognized both of us. While escaping through barbed wire, I got my school shirt stuck and finally torn.

I enjoyed mooli with my friends, but worried about the shirt and what to say at home. My eyes blinked and I thought of an excuse, without knowing that Faujdar Saheb had already conveyed our activity to our parents. My mother asked me the reason. I lied to her. Knowing the facts, I got some nice imprints on my body and face.

I promised never to steal anything from anywhere in the near future. It was a promise based temporarily on emotions to find an escape route. I must admit that stealing Amrood, Mooli, Gajar, Gaanth Gobhi were really fun, and I never got the same taste since after leaving the school.

The Taste That Never Returned

I don't know whether Faujdar Saheb's plantation still exists, but Kammu's khet is now a part of our memories during our school days, to give way to MCRC.

As small Shehtoot were in abundance in Jamia, we found it easy to eat wherever and whenever required. However, the bigger version was available only at limited places.

While looking back, I wonder how people become very busy nowadays. We used to have plenty of time after school timings and used to sit in school for multiple activities. Maybe those days were more secure and parents had faith in the school.

I am sure many of you reading this have a similar past when it comes to the sweetness of an AMROOD. An Amrood stolen is never just an Amrood. It is a memory. It is a taste. It is a time that will never return.

Time out in campus-2 (1987-91)

2007-11-07T11:33:00.000+04:00

The Curse of Being an Internal Some doors you enter with hope. Others, you enter with a noose already around your neck, only you don't know it yet. For many of us, entering the engineering faculty at Jamia Millia Islamia was that second kind of door. We didn't know it then, of course. We were young. We were eager. We had dreams in our eyes and fire in our bellies. We were ready to take on the challenges of life, ready to become engineers, ready to make our families proud. But dreams, I have learned, are fragile things. They can survive poverty. They can survive struggle. But they cannot survive the slow poison of prejudice. Those dreams were the first to evaporate. Not after the first semester. Not after the first few months. After just a few classes. It was not because of the course contents or any difficulty to understand them. The equations, the diagrams, the theorems, we could grasp them all. We were not stupid. We were not lazy. We were not unprepared. But there was something far more destructive than difficult subjects. It was the very bad behavior and biased attitude of many faculty lecturers who hailed from a particular institution. I will not name that institution. I don't need to. Those who know, know. Those who were there, remember. They were openly against all internals for reasons unknown, with the exception of a handful of lecturers who still remembered what it meant to be a teacher. Reasons that were never explained. Reasons that had nothing to do with our merit, our work, or our potential. They had decided who we were before we even opened our mouths. And no amount of proof, no amount of performance, could change their minds. This was the time when I experienced a totally new Jamia, although I was from the third batch after the commencement of B.Sc. Engineering course in 1984-85 by Prof. Ali Ashraf, the VC at that time. The Jamia I had known since childhood suddenly felt like a different place. It was still the same campus, the same buildings, the same corridors, but the people in power had changed. And they didn't want us there. I had grown up in this campus. I had played in its grounds, studied in its schools, breathed its air. Jamia was not just an institution to me. It was home. It was identity. It was the soil that had raised me. But suddenly, it felt alien. Cold. Unwelcoming. We were pioneers in a way, the first ones to walk a new path. But pioneers, I discovered, are often the ones who bleed first. It was a common practice of many lecturers to demoralize internals in the classroom, followed by an expulsion from the period. They would walk in, look at us with disdain, and before we could even open our notebooks, the taunting would begin. Let me paint you a picture. You walk into the classroom. You find your seat. You open your notebook. You wait. The lecturer enters. He doesn't look at the class. He looks at you. Specifically you. The internal. The one from Jamia School. The one who doesn't belong. And before you can even write the date on the top of the page, the taunting begins. "Some of you think you deserve to be here," he says, not looking at anyone in particular, but looking at all of us. "Some of you think because you studied in Jamia School, you have a right to this seat. Let me remind you. You don't." The words land like stones. You don't react. You can't. You just sit there, pen in hand, pretending to write, pretending it doesn't hurt. Then comes the expulsion. "You. Out. I don't want to see your face today." You gather your things. You walk out. The door closes behind you. And you stand in the corridor, alone, wondering what you did to deserve this. The answer is simple. Nothing. You did nothing. You were just born on the wrong side of their prejudice. There were exceptions though. Mr. Waqar, Mr. Masood Alam (Chemistry), Prof. Rafat (Physics), Mr. Afaq (English), and Mr. Idrees Qureshi (Maths) were really good. They acted like lecturers without any prejudice during my first year in 1987. They taught us, they guided us, they treated us like students. They were the reason some of us didn't give up. They were the reason some of us still believed that teaching was a noble profession. But they were few. The rest saw us as intruders. One person who stood out was Prof. Mubeen. He was the Dean of the Faculty of Engineering, and he was indeed a fair person. He could judge people for who they were, not for where they came from. He understood problems instead of creating them. That was the reason why he was considered a good Dean. In a faculty filled with bias, he remained neutral. In a storm of hatred, he was the calm eye. He gave us hope when hope was in short supply. But one man, no matter how fair, cannot fight an army. And the army was relentless. Whether it was Mr. Mehtab Alam, Mr. Shakeel, Mr. Gohar Mehmood, or anybody else, they were openly found discussing and disgracing JMI and the students coming from Jamia School. They would gather in the staff rooms, in the corridors, and talk about us as if we were a disease. "You know these Jamia School types," they would say. "They are all the same. Bad students. Political bugs. Miscreants. Disturbing elements." These were the labels they stuck on us. Without evidence. Without justification. Without even a single incident to back their claims. We were targeted. We were profiled. We were condemned. We were labeled as bad students, political bugs, miscreants, and disturbing elements by them, without even a single justification for their accusations. The day started with taunting and ended in disgrace. There was no escape. Every morning we would brace ourselves, and every afternoon we would carry the weight of their words back to our home or hostel. The whole first year we spent in real misery and the same attitude was thoroughly reflected in the sessional marks given by them. The numbers on the grade sheets were not a reflection of our ability, but of their prejudice. A student who answered every question correctly would still get a passing mark at best. A student who showed up every day would still be marked absent in their hearts. We were being graded not on our knowledge, but on our identity. It was in the second year when we started to sustain their accusations. Something shifted inside us. We learned that the problem was never us. It was them. We stopped breaking. We started surviving. And we never faced this kind of problem with external students. With them, we were just colleagues, just classmates, just part of the engineering faculty. The bias came only from those who had made it their mission to break us. Mechanical, Civil, and Electrical were the only trades available during our times, with priority to Mechanical, then Civil, and then Electrical. Initially, I was allotted Mechanical, but I changed my discipline to Civil and registered as the first student rolled back to Civil from Mechanical. It was a small decision, but it felt significant. I was choosing my own path. I was refusing to be defined by their expectations. There were many who adopted a policy to degrade internals in the classroom as their hidden agenda, but it was Mehtab Alam who came openly against us. He didn't hide his bias. He wore it like a badge. Mr. Shakeel from Hydraulics was no different. I still remember when he literally abused one of my classmates. We were sitting in the classroom. The lecture was going on. And then, for no reason at all, Mehtab Alam turned on one of us. His words were not criticism. They were not correction. They were abuse. Pure, unfiltered abuse. My classmate sat there, silent and dejected. The pain on his face was unbearable. You could see it in his eyes. You could feel it in the air. The humiliation was so thick you could touch it. And I couldn't resist. Something inside me snapped. The pain inside me grew until it had to come out. I voiced against Mehtab Alam. "Sir," I said, my voice shaking but my words steady. "You have no right to abuse anyone. You have no right to go personal." He was surprised because it was the first time when he was opposed by someone. A student and particularly an internal. He stared at me. The room went silent. You could hear a pin drop. He then emphasized on holding all of us for another six years in engineering. It was a threat. A promise of prolonged suffering. He wanted to break us. He wanted to make an example out of us. I took his challenge and told him to go for it. And he did. He targeted most of the internals and me in sessional marks. The grades were cruel, but we had no choice except to wait and pray. Finally, the long-awaited results came out. While taking the mark sheet from the office, he caught me along with his colleagues. Satirically, he asked me about my results. His smile was sharp. His eyes were mocking. He expected to see failure. He expected to see defeat. I looked at him. I looked at his colleagues. And I bluntly told him that I got passed and he failed. He didn't understand. Confusion replaced his arrogance. I elaborated further. "Mr. Mehtab, you have tried with your associates to hold me in the second year by giving very bad grades in sessional. But it is Allah's grace that I performed well and the exam grades are far better than yours. Therefore, never try to abuse anybody with or without reason. You will lose the respect of a teacher." The words hung in the air like a verdict. I walked away. But I didn't forget. Despite all kinds of abuse heaped by those people, there were few who always acted like a teacher. One of them was Mr. Rasheed Ahmed in Environment. In the fresher's party arranged by second year students, he was the only one who openly spoke a few words in favor of Jamia internal students. He mentioned, and I remember every word. "Please do not degrade internals in any specific way. They are no way inferior to any external in any regards. If we extend our trust on them, then we will find them performing better than anybody else in the college, not only in education but in other fields too." This statement took all others by surprise, the ones who belonged to a particular institution and formed a sort of mafia in JMI. They didn't expect one of their own to break ranks. They didn't expect a voice of reason in their chorus of hatred. But there were others who were not surprised. Mr. Khalid Moin, Mr. Nusrat Ullah Khan, Dr. Rafar, Mr. Waqar, Mr. Masood Alam, Dr. Idrees Qureshi, and Dr. Mubeen. They were the ones who had always been fair in their treatment to all students. They had always been teachers first. Mr. Rasheed's statement was a cold breeze in the midst of a desert. After years of scorching heat, after years of parched souls, we felt a sigh of relief. We felt seen. We felt valued. We felt human. And we committed ourselves to perform better. Not for them. For ourselves. For Jamia. For the ones who believed in us. It was one of the reasons that Engineering final year's results faded the faces of the mafia indulged in abusing internals. The toppers of Civil and Electrical in 1991 were from Jamia Senior Secondary School. The very internals they had tried so hard to break had risen to the top. It was poetic justice. It was sweet revenge. But more than that, it was proof. Proof that we were never inferior. Proof that we only needed trust, not criticism. Proof that Jamia's own could shine brighter than anyone else. It might be possible that all those names I mentioned above have become big bosses now. It might be possible that they have transformed themselves into unbiased entities now. People change. Or at least, they learn to hide their biases better. But they should not forget that JMI is the only institution which enabled them to attain high positions in academics and in society. It gave them everything. A platform. A name. A future. They must feel sorry for their behavior. Not for us. We survived. We thrived. We went on to build our own lives, our own careers, our own families. They must feel sorry for themselves. For the teacher they could have been. For the respect they lost. For the legacy they tarnished. As a person. And as a teacher.

Memory lane...JMI, Ansari Health Centre

2007-10-31T15:08:00.000+04:00

The Doctor Who Thought She Was Indira Gandhi Some places you avoid because they are dangerous. Some you avoid because they are unpleasant. And some you avoid because they make you feel small, powerless, invisible. For many of us at Jamia Millia Islamia during the 1980s, that place was the Ansari Health Centre, and the person who made it feel that way was Dr. Asma. Ansari Health Centre is of course very established and advanced nowadays, but it was small with limited people during our days. The main people at the dispensary were Jafar Bhai (late), Sadaqat Bhai, and Dr. Asma. The worse part of the dispensary was Dr. Asma. The best was Jafar Bhai and Sadaqat Bhai. Two men who healed with their hands and their hearts. One woman who wounded with her indifference. Looking at the perspective of just a student with no great reference will put more light to my comment about Dr. Asma. She never considered herself lesser than Indira Gandhi, PM of India. In her mind, she was not a doctor serving a university. She was a queen ruling a kingdom. And we, the students, were merely subjects who had to wait for her grace. Whenever you go to her, for cough, fever, cold, or pain, she always keeps you waiting for a long time. The chairs outside her cabin were not seats of comfort. They were seats of humiliation. She gives preference to top grade people of JMI, like professors, readers, and then teachers. No matter how long the queue is, they always get instant entry upon arrival. You could be sitting there for an hour, fever burning your forehead, cough tearing your chest, and then a professor would walk in, and the door would open for him like magic. Sometimes, even other employees of Jamia get frustrated by this, but what to do? She was the only doctor available. Therefore, live or leave, it is all up to you. During checkup, she seldom put stethoscope and rarely touches you to examine anything. Your checkup is over without even looking at you and your prescription always remains self-explanatory of the discrimination in AHC by Dr. Asma. You always end up with diluted syrup from one gallon bottle with loose tablets of Vitamin C, yellow color B Complex, aspirin or paracetamol, and sometimes phenyl butazone. Those loose tablets in paper folds were not medicine. They were reminders. Reminders that you were not important. In contrary, any professor and top-grade employee or even acquaintance of Dr. Asma goes with fresh packed bottle and strips of tablets. The same dispensary. The same medicines. But two different worlds. Those were the issues, really annoyed many of us during those days. That's how I never got well even a single time by her prescription. Maybe the medicine was fine. Maybe it was the diagnosis that was missing. Or maybe, it was the dignity that was never prescribed. However, if you go to the dressing lab, the whole dispensary looks totally different. It was a different world altogether. A world where Jafar Bhai and Sadaqat Bhai ruled, and where even pain was treated with care. Jafar Bhai. He was an old man with black and white moustaches and an old fashion vision glasses. His smile was very bad and students always afraid to go to him. He always has either red or blue lotion for your injury and belladonna tape for boils. The problem was not with lotion or tape. The actual problem was his talking and handling your injury. The way he talks made you half-finished and balance after you come out of lab. You would walk in with a small cut and walk out feeling like you survived a battle. Despite all, nobody hated him ever. Yet, we don't like him but always respected him because he knows parents of every day scholar and warden of each hosteler. He knew us not as files or numbers, but as sons and daughters of people he knew. He is no more in this world now, but whenever I think of dispensary, I can't forget his eyes and smile. Sadaqat Bhai, an opposite equal of Jafar Bhai. Sadaqat Bhai was hot favorite. He was young compared to Jafar Bhai and was very quiet and calm person. Always listen and try to understand your problem. He also uses the same medicine but with a difference. People get little pain while handled by him rather than Jafar Bhai. His practical jokes of Jamia staff were also liked by many. With Sadaqat Bhai, you felt like a patient. With Jafar Bhai, you felt like a case. But both of them, in their own ways, cared. Once after facing a lot of frustration by Dr. Asma, I have decided to write my own prescription on card. I did it and pharmacist caught me and referred to Dr. Asma. It was the time when another fellow has joined AHC, Dr. Khalid. She summoned me and as usual threatened me of reporting the matter to school principal and consequences of getting expelled from the school. I was little afraid by this because, it was for sure that I did a big mistake and it will be difficult to get rid of this lady. Dr. Khalid asked me why you did this. I told him that, it was a long queue and I was getting late to class. She was attending to those not in line and also, I wanted to avail good medicines as we all are paying equal fee whether student or professor. She became defiant after listening to this and I had remained with no alternate to throw a "SORRY". Dr. Khalid came to my rescue and advised me to leave after saying sorry. I felt relaxed while coming out from dispensary and promised myself to never repeat mistake and never consult Dr. Asma. That was my last encounter with her and I never visited her due to available alternative. Stories keep coming to me during college days that she remained unchanged.

Jamia Middle School...Art Teacher (hafizuddin Sahib)

2007-10-17T14:11:00.000+04:00

Some teachers teach you mathematics. Some teach you science and some teach you the art of keeping quiet. Hafizuddin Sahib belonged to the third category. He was our art teacher in Jamia Middle School, and while most of us never learned to draw, we all learned to fear one phrase. "Ek, Do, Teen (One, two, three), Khamosh!! (Quiet)" This was a normal hearing during art class conducted by Hafeezuddin Sahib to keep the students quiet during Art period in Jamia Middle School. It was not a request. It was not a suggestion. It was a warning. The countdown before the storm! Very tall, thin and slightly dark complexion man with conical shape beard, white skull cap (topi) and wasket of Khadi Gram Udyog. With this attire and a different attitude, Hafiz Sahib was altogether carrying a different persona in school. He looked like a man who had walked out of a different era, a different world, where art was serious business and students were meant to be seen and not heard. I don't remember exactly, but in nutshell he tried his level best to teach us art and many of us turned to be a big zero in arts including myself. The funniest thing we learned was his style to make the class quiet. Ek, Do, Teen was always an alarm to sealed the lips. But it was not an alarm that worked immediately. It was an alarm that had to be repeated. Again and again. Until the noise died. Until the chatter stopped. Until the class finally understood that playtime was over. As a steroid, he used to keep one stick always with him. In first attempt nobody cares to listen Ek, Do, Teen, until he repeat it three to four times before punishing the rest with the stick. Once he succeeds in keeping the pupil of first rows he moves to last rows allowing the first rows to start chatting again. Therefore, stick was always an effective and last resort. The stick was not just a tool. It was his third hand. His constant companion. His only ally in a classroom full of boys who would rather talk than draw. "Keep your drawing notebook, HB, HB1, B1 pencil, eraser, sharpener, water paints on the desk!" None of students ever has all the accessories available with them. After all these repeated frustrating non-cooperation from students, Hafizuddin Sahib used to remain determined towards his teaching. He would look at the empty desks, the missing pencils, the forgotten notebooks, and still, he would teach. Still, he would try. Still, he would believe. He then used to move on black board with chalk and a duster in hands. I never witnessed that he ever progressed more than three to four themes during my entire art classes. Every grade we move, he updates the same models and asked us to generate the same with a clear-cut understanding that we will never going to make up. He was right. I never generated more than three themes! Two cubes! Two cubes with a utensil! Human face outline! Scenery, Now the last option always comes when he left the choice on students with a topic to draw "Man pasand" (your choice). It was the best option for many of us. We never hesitate to draw a mountain, setting sun, a river coming down having a hut on the bank of it, a boat, and lot of grass, a palm tree and outline of many birds returning home. It was the same drawing every time. The same mountain. The same sun. The same hut. The same boat. The same birds. Maybe 100 times we drew it. And maybe 100 times, Hafiz Sahib checked it without complaint. Hafizuddin Sahib was patient enough to check all those repeated drawings with his remarks. During teaching and practicing, he taught us to adjudge the things in real and transform them on paper proportionately. Unfortunately, I never understood this funda despite of his grave efforts. I could see the mountain. I could see the sun. But I could never see what he wanted me to see. The proportion! The perspective! The art! Sometimes he beats the arrogant and dumb art students like me with duster, which in fact was painful. The duster would land on our heads, on our shoulders, on our palms. It was not violence. It was frustration. The frustration of a teacher who knew his subject but could not make his students see it. Girls were little sensible in their approach. Although they all were not very good in drawing but their works were neat, tidy and clean all the times that fetched them high marks. They understood something we boys never did. Art was not about talent. It was about effort. About neatness. About respecting the paper you were given. Hafiz Sahib was having a nick name given by Unknown but inherited to us by our seniors. "Chuggi Balla." I never understand the full meaning of it. However, it was really funny at that age to repeat this nick among friends. Maybe due to his height and type of beard someone has given this name. We would whisper it in corridors, laugh in corners, and feel like rebels for saying two words that meant nothing and everything. Although I know this is bad to give nicks to teachers but during school days, it was a normal practice and the one among few entertainments. If I regret at this age of that kind of attitude, then I will be denying a full student life. However, it can always be forgiven on the basis of childhood. We were not cruel. We were just children. Children who did not know better. Children who laughed at things they did not understand. Hafiz Sahib was the most wanted and busiest person during one day's school and Talimi Mela later. All the artworks, cutouts were under his supervision and students took benefits by working under his guidance. But there were few who slipped to his camp during those days just to grab a token in favor of canteen to grab tea and samosas. They would volunteer to help with the decorations, hold the scissors, paste the paper, and then disappear towards the canteen with their reward. According to Hafiz Sahib everything was an art. Therefore, few consider cheating him for the sake of samosa and tea as an ART! I was among those who believe in Samosa and tea at that time back in 1980's. I was not an artist then. I was not a painter. But I was a boy who loved samosas and understood that art could be found in many forms. Even in the art of getting a free snack.

Past tense....Jamia Senior secondary (half yearly exams)

2007-10-16T08:44:00.000+04:00

One of my school friend came to see Dubai recently.
He called me on my mobile from a familiar number; I replied & heard his voice.
Was happy to hear & know that he will be here for few days, further elaboration, I heard many voices from background & understood that he was with many people around.
Suddenly he skip on subject “Friendship” & reminded me of something happened during 1986-87.
He claimed his generosity of being my friend despite I complained about him to examination branch 20 years back!
I yelled & reminded him that, it is not his generosity; it is my truth fullness that I accept openly to what I did & pointed to think about those cheaters, who was with me to make a complaint & immediately switched over like today’s politicians & told him the same under my name!
I called them cheaters & they are still pretended his well-wishers.
Any how, our telecon concluded in a healthy atmosphere.
What actually happened 20 years back was really interesting to key down.
Actually, our friend “X” father was in examination branch, holding responsible position.
After half yearly results, we came to know about his position in the class, which on actual academic grounds he never deserves.
All knew that X is not very intelligent or laborious to get such high marks, then how comes he secured such marks was indeed the question to every body.
BAM, HZS & I sat together & reach to a conclusion that X can’t do this without help of his father.
Jinn of honesty enveloped our mind.
We decided to protest against injustice & brought to the notice of controller of Exams.
Finally, agreed & we sat together in Noor Nagar to write a complaint.
They asked me to write down matter on paper after composing the whole matter.
Upon finishing, we sealed it in envelope, stick postage & dropped in one of Red post box.
As normal, one of the fellow double crossed & immediately went o X & told that Zubair has written a complaint about you about securing good marks & accusing you of getting help from your father.
Days, weeks, months gone by, nothing has happened.
We remain together as friends with growing discomfort.
Finally X revealed the secret after two years during one of heated discussion.
I was shocked at first instance not because of news but due to accusation that I was made sole responsible for that epic.
I made him very clear that yes I was the one who wrote the letter, but there were more behind the whole scenario.
The one was BAM, who once again shifted his loyalty.
Never mind, he has repeated many things years after & may be who knows, he has matured with the same frame of mind.
The core reason when he taunted at me about that particular happening of 1986-87 in 2007, I replied to him,
More dangerous is the one who has cheated you, not the one who did & accepted.
He did his BUMS instead of engineering & now a successful doctor.
He was in Dubai for a week, enjoyed a lot & we went many times in past to dig out things & events.
This time while going back to India, he understand many things for the first time in his life because his new friends bypassed & ignored him once again & he remained limited with me, bel paththar & Gheyas.
I will try to key down many other events with X in coming days.

Past tense....Jamia Middle School (Picnic)

2007-10-07T11:49:00.000+04:00

There were days we dreaded going to school and then there were days we could not sleep because we were going to school. Picnic was that second kind of day. The announcement would come weeks in advance. A teacher would walk into the classroom, and before he could even finish the sentence, the room would erupt. Desks would bang. Hands would shoot up. Voices would overlap. Sir, I want to go!" "Sir, please include my name!" "Sir, my mother will pack samosas!" The teacher would try to restore order, but it was useless because once the word picnic entered the room, discipline walked out. That night, sleep became impossible. You would lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, going over the same thoughts again and again. Which tiffin will Ammi pack? Will she give me extra rupees? Who will I sit with in the lorry? What if Zaman Bhai leaves without me? What if I oversleep? The clock on the wall ticked slowly, cruelly, as if it was enjoying your restlessness. The whole night mind bubbles with Jamia ki lorry, different locations and a colorful day. Two days before the picnic, you were already useless. One day before, you were unbearable. On the morning itself, you were the first one awake, even before the azaan, even before the birds, even before the sun had decided to rise. Nice breakfast and Tiffin packed with something special by Ammi. The tiffin would be wrapped in a cloth, tied carefully, and handed over with instructions. "Don't lose it. Don't fight. Share with your friends." You would nod, not really listening, already halfway out the door. Few rupees to spend and a water bottle to carry was a sign that excitement has begun. It was mode of HURRY that attracts every single student to school on the day. Nobody walked. Everyone ran. The corridor/open space were full of boys and girls clutching tiffins and water bottles, comparing notes on what was packed inside. "What did you bring?" "Biryani. You?" "Parathas and omelette." "Can we share?" "Only if you give me your samosa." Deals were struck. Alliances were formed. And the classroom is full of chatting with smell of different food. The wait for the lorry was the longest wait of the year! We would rush to the windows, pressing our faces against the glass/grill, scanning the school road for the first glimpse. "Is it coming?" "No, that's a truck." "Wait... wait... yes! It's coming!" And there it was. Jamia ki lorry. The Chevrolet bus. Green and white. The inscription of Jamia Millia Islamia on the side and at the wheel, the man we all knew. Zaman Bhai. I remember, we used to wait and look outside from the window to see arrival of Jamia ki lorry, always driven by Zaman Bhai. That bus had carried generations of Jamia students before us. It had carried our seniors. It had carried our seniors' seniors and now it was carrying us. The paint was old. The seats were worn. The engine made noises that sounded like complaints. But none of that mattered. Because that bus was ours. Around 9-9.30 we used to get permission to board. The line would form, but it was not a line! It was a crowd! Everyone wanted to be first. Everyone wanted the back seat. Everyone wanted to sit next to their best friend. The teachers would try to bring order. "No pushing! No running! Everyone will get a seat!" But nobody listened. Because the back seat was the prize. The back seat was where the mischief happened. The back seat was where the laughter was loudest. Once seated in the bus with desired partner, we discuss about what food other has brought. The tiffin boxes would open even before the bus started moving. The smell of biryani, parathas, samosas, and sweets would fill the air. Hands would reach across seats. Fingers would grab. Mouths would chew and the sharing would begin. Lorry starts moving and big shouting by all. "Jamia ki lorry zindabad!" "Zaman Bhai zindabad!" The slogans were not planned. They were not rehearsed. They just happened. Because when you are young and happy and free, you shout. You shout because you can. You shout because it feels good. You shout because the day is yours. The first destination used to be Shankar's Doll Museum or Rail Museum, followed by Tughlaq Fort or Humayun Tomb. I personally like Rail Museum as I never had any interest for dolls. Dolls were for girls and few boys too Trains were for boys and the Rail Museum had trains. Big trains. Old trains. Trains that had carried people across the country before we were even born. We would walk through the museum in groups, our eyes wide, our necks craned. The steam locomotive that took tourists to Darjeeling was stationed there in our times. It was massive, black, and powerful, and we would stand before it, imagining what it must have been like to ride it through the mountains. There was also a locomotive with mono rail. I always wonder how it runs? How could a train balance on a single rail? We would ask the guide, but his answers never satisfied us. There were other displays too. Old signals. Old tickets. Old uniforms. But the toy train was the reward at the end. We would ride it around the museum grounds, laughing and shouting, and when it stopped, we knew the visit was over. After this, Lodhi Garden or Nehru Park was the next destination to play and have lunch. The gardens were our playgrounds. The lawns were our dining halls. The trees were our shade and by the time we arrived, we were hungry. Not just for food. Hungry for the grass under our feet. Hungry for the open sky above our heads. Hungry for the freedom that only a garden can give to a child. All the teachers and students sit together and open their Tiffin boxes to share among them. There were separate arrangements for hostlers from MATBAKH (Dining hall kitchen). The hostlers were the ones who lived in the hostel. They did not have Ammi packing their tiffin. They did not have home food. But they had the matbakh. And somehow, their food was always the most sought after. Maybe because it was different. Maybe because it was shared more freely. Maybe because they knew what it meant to miss home. Once properly seated, food distributed among all and enjoyed. The parathas were passed around. The samosas were traded. The sweets were saved for last. The teachers would sit with the students, not as authority figures, but as companions. They would eat from the same tiffins. They would laugh at the same jokes. They would become children again, just for a day. The trouble always started the same way. A girl would open her tiffin, ready to eat, and find nothing inside. Just an empty box. Just crumbs. She would look at it, confused at first, then shocked, and then the tears would come. "Someone stole my food!" The cry would go up. The teachers would rush. The boys would look innocent. Too innocent. Because we knew. We always knew. The theft had happened long before lunchtime. During the walk from the bus to the garden. During the settling down on the grass. During the moment when everyone was busy finding their spot and nobody was watching their tiffin. That was the moment we struck. Quick hands. Quiet movements and the food was gone before the owner even knew it was missing. The girls were the easiest targets. Not because they were careless. Because they trusted. They trusted that nobody would steal from them. They trusted that everyone would wait for lunch. They trusted that boys would behave. They were wrong and when the tears came, the teachers would intervene. Questions would be asked, denials were common and then, slowly, the sharing would begin. The crying girl would wipe her tears and accept. Not because she had forgiven us. Because she was hungry. Because that was the only way. The best part was that food always remained surplus and everybody got a chance to enjoy the variety because sharing was not just encouraged. It was expected and It was the Jamia way, a concept deep rooted within "Jamia Biradari". After food and Zuhr prayers, starts the field activities like tug-o-war, ping pong etc where staff and students took part and enjoy every bit of it. Few elder (adult) students used to walk through the park to see other attraction at those times. The teachers became players and the students became competitors. For a few hours, the line between them disappeared! Afterwards lorry heads for Tin Murti, Nehru Planetarium, BAL Bhawan etc. Visiting Planetarium and Bal Bhawan was always informative and attractive. The planetarium was a journey into the stars. We would sit in the dark, our heads tilted back, watching the dome above us fill with constellations and planets and galaxies. The voice of the narrator would guide us through the universe, and for those few minutes, we forgot where we were. We were not in Delhi anymore. We were somewhere far away. Somewhere infinite. Somewhere magical. By the time clock hits 5 or 6, every one of us looks extremely tired. The tiredness was not just physical. It was the tiredness of happiness. The tiredness that comes from excessive laughing, running and eating. That was the time when Zaman Bhai put Jamia ki lorry on the way back to school. Very few students chatting, looking at each other fully satisfied. Few students sitting at back, calculating their mischief. The back seats were always reserved for the mischief makers! The ones who had stolen food. The ones who had played pranks. The ones who had done something they would laugh about tomorrow and deny forever. The moment Lorry enters on Mohammed Ali Johar Marg and after Holy Family Hospital, students recollect their energy and starts again with "Jamia Ki Lorry Zindabad" and Zaman Bhai zindabad till we reach the "D" of Jamia Middle School. The slogans and energy returned because the journey is just over for a while. Many parents were waiting there for their wards. Ammi and abba and the moment one stepped out of the lorry, the questions would begin. "Did you eat?" "Did you share?" "Did you behave?" You would nod, too tired to speak, too happy to explain and then students like me used to walk home from there to conclude one of the best days in school but out, on a picnic. Walking home, you would replay the day in your mind because you knew. You knew that this was not just a picnic. This was a memory being made. In higher classes picnic remains but way of enjoyment transformed from one form to another with a difference. We grew older. The destinations changed. The games changed. But the feeling remained the same. The feeling of being free. The feeling of being young. The feeling of being part of Jamia.

Jamia Millia Islamia....Faiz Sahib JHSS

2007-10-01T11:06:00.000+04:00

Some teachers you remember because they were kind. Some you remember because they were wise and some you remember because they were giants.

Faiz Sahib was that third kind.

He was not just a teacher.

He was a presence.

A force of nature.

A man who could silence a classroom with a single step and make grown boys tremble with a single glance.

Faiz Sahib. Teacher of Mathematics in Jamia Higher Secondary School during 1980's.

It is difficult to forget him, because of his personality.

More than 6 feet high, well built, white moustache and commanding voice made him distinct person of Jamia Higher Secondary School. He taught us mathematics in class IX and X in 1983-85.

But to be honest, he did not just teach us mathematics.

He taught us fear.

He taught us respect and sometimes, when we were lucky, he taught us something in between.

I don't have much of him in my memories as he was very senior teacher and I never had much interaction with him except for few incidences that I witnessed.

But those few incidences were enough to last a lifetime.

IX C was situated next to IX A below Hostel No. 2 and adjacent to Sadar Darwaza of Higher Secondary.

Those days Faiz Sahib was living back side of Hostel 2/3 and he also in-charge of dining hall, that means he was always around.

Always watching.

Always walking.

His path crossed ours more often than we would have liked.

The doors of classroom were of old style and very high.

One day, someone purposely closed them from inside.

Girls tried to open all three doors, but to no result.

They start making noise and we all were happy inside.

The noise was our music.

The frustration of the girls was our entertainment.

We sat there, grinning, watching them struggle with the heavy wooden doors that refused to budge.

After few minutes somebody knocked the third door situated near to Sadar Darwaza. Nobody opened, thinking girls are there.

Knocking becomes louder and then Fakhre Mateen, our class fellow tried to become smart and went there to open.

Fakhre Mateen was from Bihar and resides in hostel.

He was also well built boy, almost taller than everyone in IX C.

He was not the smartest boy in class, but he was the tallest and in his mind, that was enough.

He stood up, straightened his shirt and walked towards the door with a swagger that said,

"Watch this. I will handle it."

He opened the door in anticipation to get appreciation from girls.

A smile was already forming on his face. A clever comment was already forming on his lips.

He was ready to be the hero and he found Faiz Sahib standing just above his head!

Faiz Sahib was very angry since he was knocking it since long time.

His face was red.

His moustache was twitching.

His eyes were burning and without asking a single question or a word. A hand like hammer went up, attains 8.5 feet height from ground, dropped down and hit Fakhre Mateen!

The sound echoed through the corridor. Through the classroom. Through our bones. Since Faiz Sahib took him by surprise and everything happened all of a sudden, it shocked and shacked Fakhre Mateen.

His legs wobbled.

His eyes went wide.

His mouth opened but no sound came out.

He was so scared that we saw him pissed in his pants!

The boy who had walked to the door like a hero was now standing there like a statue, frozen in terror, his pants slowly darkening.

Faiz Sahib asked him why he closed the door.

Before he would have unfolded the name of culprit, Faiz Sahib told him to go immediately and change his pants.

That was the mercy of Faiz Sahib. He did not ask for explanations.

He did not ask for names.

He just saw a boy who had been punished enough and sent him away to preserve whatever dignity he had left.

This was an episode that will remain in my memory forever. Those were the days nobody dared to look at Faiz Sahib, forget about making any noise in his class.

I never saw him using book while explaining theorems in the class.

Everything to him was by heart.

He comes, start delivering lecture, same as illustrated in book, word by word and number by number.

We used to sit back, take notes and try to listen him.

There was no need to open the textbook!

Faiz Sahib was the textbook!

Every formula, every theorem,every proof! It was all there, stored in his memory, waiting to be delivered.

He would stand at the blackboard, chalk in hand and the numbers would flow.

His voice was deep and commanding and when he explained something, you listened.

Not because you were afraid.

Well, partly because you were afraid!

But also, because he made sense. Mathematics was not a mystery to him. It was a language and he spoke it fluently.

Once he punished Waheed from Delhi-6, resident of Hostel-3 by holding his ears and lifting him up from the ground.

Faiz Sahib was so big, Waheed's feet dangled in the air.

His face twisted in pain.

His hands reached for Faiz Sahib's wrist, but there was no escape.

The whole class watched in silence. Nobody moved and breathed and then, just as suddenly, Waheed was back on the ground, his ears red, his eyes watery, his lesson learned.

Waheed was a jolly person, dark in complexion and won many prizes in mono acting in many events. He could make anyone laugh.

He could imitate any teacher.

He could bring the house down with his performances.

But in front of Faiz Sahib, he was just another boy. Just another student.

Just another victim of the giant's hand.

This was my little experience of Faiz Sahib during my stay in Higher Secondary School.

He was not a man who sought friendship with his students.

He was not a man who tried to be liked.

He was a man who commanded respect, and whether we liked it or not, whether we admitted it or not, we gave him that respect.

Because he earned it.

Every single day.

Jamia Millia Islamia...Jamia Sr.Sec.School

2007-09-23T09:12:00.001+04:00

Chemistry was not a subject we looked forward to.

It was a subject we endured.

But it was also a subject that came with its own world.

A separate laboratory, peculiar style of teaching and a teacher who, whether we liked it or not, left an impression on all of us.

Malik Sarwar Khan Inami was our Chemistry teacher in XI and XII in the year 1985-87.

He was a shorter height healthy person, with nice beard and bright face.

A smart person altogether.

He carried himself with a quiet dignity that set him apart from the other teachers.

He did not need to raise his voice to command attention.

He did not need to tell jokes to keep us awake.

He simply taught, and he expected us to learn.

He used to come to take period before five minutes and wait in his lab before appears behind the curtain to classroom.

The first thing he does is to pick chalk and write "Chemistry" with date on black board then holding chalk in his hand, he starts delivering the lecture in English, without a single word of Urdu.

Sometime when he uses to call Wasi Sahib, his lab assistance in Urdu, he delivers Urdu in English accent. It was a small thing, but it made us smile.

The only smile we would get in that class!

No joke, no smile, just flat teaching and in short, a boring 40-minute period.

Another specialty he used to say before ending his lecture was

"Rest we shall take to the next turn."

We would hear those words and know that the period was almost over. The bell would ring. He would leave. And we would breathe again.

Other than few girls and buttering boys in front row, we all were fed up with dryness & monotony in class. Sometime when we talk about him, we used to describe him in chemistry that

"Malik Sahib is although an inert gas but pale yellow with pungent smell".

It was a joke that made no scientific sense but made perfect sense to us.

He was there.

He was present.

But he was unreachable.

There was not a single doubt about his teaching.

He was very serious and sincere in the classroom, used to deliver and finish syllabus in time disregard if it has been understood by students or not.

He did his job, did it well and on time!

What more could you ask for?

Well, we could ask for a little warmth.

A little humor.

A little humanity.

But Malik Sahib was not in the business of warmth.

He was in the business of chemistry!

One funny thing was passed on to us by our seniors was his nick name

"MATRU."

His nick was the only way of entertainment for us. I guess they termed him Matru due to his appearance and fast walking. It may be derived from "matar ka dana", (Chickpeas) which is round in shape and could roll easily.

The name stuck & once it stuck, it became ours.

We would whisper it in the corridors; write it on desks & say it under our breath when he walked past.

It was our rebellion.

Our secret.

Our small victory over the boredom he represented.

One day while waiting for him in class, he gets little late.

Students were sitting, chatting and laughing in class.

Zia was standing next to window overlooking principal office, just to alarm in case he arrives. He was our early warning system!

Suddenly he starts shouting "Matru aa gaya", "Matru aa gaya" (Matru arrives).

He forgets that his voice can be heard outside easily but kept shouting till he remains 10-15 meters away and then everyone went quiet and took respective places.

Books opened.

Pens picked up.

Faces straightened.

By the time Malik Sahib entered, we were the picture of innocence.

As usual Malik Sahib went to lab washed his hands and appeared behind the curtain & instead going to black board where many of us tried to write "Chemistry" in his style and forget to wipe it, he asked only one question.

"Who was saying Matru aa gaya"!!

Tell me, "Who was saying Matru aa gaya?"

Pin drop silent!

Nobody wants to utter a single word.

Actually, nobody likes him, therefore he had no "chamchas" in class.

The front row, usually so eager to please, looked down at their desks.

The back row, usually so loud, became invisible.

Nobody moved & breathed.

He waited before someone dares to accept, but to no avail.

He finally ordered "Wasi Sahib zara qamchi laayyega" (Mr. Wasi please bring the stick).

Wasi Sahib brought the stick.

He then asked everyone to line up, and he stand on the exit door.

One by one he punished everyone with stick and adjourned the class in anguish.

He did not ask who did it.

He did not care who did it.

We were all guilty in Malik Sahib's class, therefore collective punishment was the only solution.

Everyone was happy to get additional 10-15 minutes of fun while expelled

We had lost the period, but we had gained the story, and in school, stories were worth more than lessons.

Once he took sessional test, I attempt it and person next to me Qyamuddin who copied the same wording and without a single thought the same line was copied as it is by the whole row of about seven students.

It was a rare incidence that we saw Malik Sahib smiling in a satirical way and questioned, how it is possible that everyone written same line with same wording?

He finally written off that question and none of us secured any marks on that.

We had been caught.

Not by evidence.

Not by proof but by our own laziness.

We copied the same mistake & Malik Sahib, for the first time, smiled!

We have noticed a drastic change towards ending of session of class XII.

He became little polite, actually, he has started coaching for engineering entrance exams and invites many class XII students to join.

During 1986-87, he charged handsome amount from students, therefore, majority of them couldn't afford & avail.

The same teacher who never smiled in class was now smiling at the door of his coaching center.

The same man who never spoke a word of Urdu in class was now speaking the language of business.

While coming out from examination hall after attempting entrance for engineering, we found Malik Sahib standing out with few of his people approaching every single student of Jamia Senior Secondary School to retrieve the questions.

His efforts didn't stop there.

Once he caught me in front of Kewal Store and talked to me for the same business.

He wanted the questions.

He wanted to know what had been asked and he was not hesitant to ask.

Finally, he succeeded in compiling list of model papers for entrance exams and for sure it brought nice return for him.

Looking back now from 2007 to 1987, I found that maybe we were right in our thinking, but Malik Sahib was not wrong as per the materialistic approach.

He was doing exactly what a professional supposed to do.

At least he was doing all his efforts to make money rather trying to drain Jamia, which in fact becomes the normal practice later.

He was not corrupt or lazy.

He was simply a man who understood the system and played by its rules and in a world where everyone was trying to survive, Malik Sahib was trying to thrive.

Many of the reader might think that how disrespectful a student could be by writing all these about a teacher!
Well,

Answer is simple, it's the incident(s) that happened right Infront and these are the accounts of what has already happened.

The students are human being and being mischievous is their right though as an adult at this time we might have some regrets of what we have done but at the end it pure STUDENT LIFE.

Jamia middle school.....Hameed/Farooq sahib

2007-09-16T08:31:00.000+04:00

Mathematics was never just a subject in Jamia Middle School.

It was a challenge, a hurdle, a test of patience and survival, and that is why most students tended to take tuition from Farooq Sahib during my school days back in 80's.

Farooq Sahib was the safe choice, the familiar choice.

He taught at school.

He taught at home.

He was also a class teacher of different subject, which meant he knew us beyond just our math's skills.

He knew our weaknesses, he knew our strengths, and he knew how to push us.

While in VI standard, we were introduced to a new teacher.

Hameed Sahib.

Topi, sherwani, normal height and small black beard. Smart, intelligent, quick and always carrying a black leather bag with him.

Within a few days we grew afraid of his carry bag.

That bag was not just a bag. It was a warning because inside that bag was a stick!

He joined the school and every day made it a practice to open his bag, take out a small stick and hit all the students on their palms. Believe me, it hurt a lot and became worse during winter season. The cold made it sharper, and the sting lasted longer than usual.

Girl or boy, all had to keep their hands on the desk.

He would come with the stick and hit right on the palm and a wave of pain would intrude inside with sensations that remained for 15 minutes and even later. If you were late to the class or delayed in keeping book and notebook on the desk, then you had to pay a higher price. Otherwise, one hit was a normal practice.

He was given with one section, and the other section went to Farooq Sahib, who continued with his usual style of teaching at school and later giving tuition at home.

Since Hameed Sahib was good in teaching and due to his hit man habit, many students sought tuition from him to find an easy escape.

The logic was simple.

If you understood him, you avoided the stick.

He lived near to Zakir Nagar masjid, and the specialty of his tuition was far different from Farooq Sahib or any other teacher at that time.

He rejected the normal style and adopted a new style, created a classroom, placed chairs and a glass green board. T

his attracted many students despite the fact that he charged Rs. 200 for one hour per student per month as compared to Rs. 150 of Farooq Sahib.

Initially there was no problem, but the whole school smelled the rivalry between two teachers when students started withdrawing themselves from Farooq Sahib and joined Hameed Sahib.

Farooq Sahib often became irritated and frustrated due to this in the classroom and students had to face the heat.

Most of the time we saw his anger inflicted on to Mirza brothers.

The advantage with Farooq Sahib was that he also taught another subject and was a class teacher, not limited to one subject.

During half yearly examinations and specifically the maths paper, I got both of them as my invigilators.

It was like two lions in one territory.

I had some problem in one question, and I asked Hameed Sahib near to me for clarification. He came and told me if I can't understand then attempt another question.

Hameed Sahib went to the other row, and Farooq Sahib immediately approached me and asked what I was asking Hameed Sahib. I repeated and told him that he refused.

Farooq Sahib became a little angry and explained the question to me along with the solution.

I felt delighted.

After a few minutes, Hameed Sahib approached me again and questioned what Farooq Sahib was telling me.

I told him the truth.

He asked how many questions were left.

I said five.

Do you find it difficult?

I said yes, one of them and I pointed it out.

He then solved the other question for me.

Farooq Sahib was staring from another row and came soon after Hameed Sahib departed. Again, the same things happened and I got another question.

Overall, their rivalry solved four questions for me 😄

Actually, I was not alone in that room as beneficiary, Tanweer & Shamama were among others.

Looking back and remembering those days with such rivalry made me smile because students were benefited by them in so many ways, although what benefit we got was totally wrong.

I still remember, once Hameed Sahib came to me and offered me to join his classes free of cost and I refused him with thanks.

The reason for his offer was that he always covered more than what he covered in class. Therefore, majority of students took tuition from him to perform better in class and in sessional assessments.

I have given many additional hours to the subject at home and by the grace of ALLAH secured a position in grade VI.

Often, I met Hameed Sahib during college and senior secondary days. He passed always smiling and I always look back to my palms.

Jamia senior secondary School...Gupta Ji

2007-09-13T09:24:00.000+04:00

GUPTA JI

Biology teacher in Jamia Senior Secondary School during my stay in 1983-87.

Even today I don't know his full name, other than Gupta Ji.

He was tall, dark old man in his 50's.

A thorough gentleman and well versed with knowledge of his subject.

Biology lab was incomplete without Gupta Ji and Jumman Bhai (lab assistant).

They were a pair, one taught the theory and one prepared the practical, and together they made biology come alive for boys who would rather be anywhere else but in a classroom.

I have chosen mathematics and Urdu in class XI, but have enough experience with Gupta Ji during IX and X.

Those two years were enough to know the man, enough to respect him, enough to remember him.

He was not the kind of teacher who shouted.

He was not the kind who threatened.

He was the kind who simply stood there, patient and calm, and waited for you to realize your mistake on your own.

When allotted with section C in IX standard in Higher Secondary School, I was pretty happy and satisfied because maximum friends of class VIII were there with me.

It was the first time that section C was created in 1983-84 due to bad results and complete IX "A" was filled with those students who didn't succeed to class X.

Therefore, newcomers from middle school were accommodated in a fresh section "C".

However, new to Higher Secondary School, new to biology class.

Those days biology class was situated on first floor, just above the chemistry lab and class.

The whole block was in symmetry with one on middle school side. While coming from principal office, it was on the left side of pathway going to Jamia Nursery School (new building) and extended up to playground overlooking physics lab.

It was a classroom like any other, with wooden benches and a blackboard and windows that let in the Delhi heat, but for us it became a stage where a small moment would become a lifelong memory.

It was a biology period, and we all were sitting in a jolly mood and listening to Gupta Ji. Taqueer, Rashid, Muzaffar, Qyamuddin, Zia and I was sharing one table, and Tauqueer continuously saying something supported by Rashid Rafique and Muzaffar.

They were the talkers, the jokers, the ones who could turn any classroom into a comedy show and I was part of them.

Gupta Ji once pointed out "Beta chup ho jao" (Son, please keep quiet).

His voice was soft, tone was gentle & he was not angry.

He was just asking, requesting, hoping that we would listen.

Since he was very polite and we were new to Higher Secondary School and the fellow sitting with me were really Guru, therefore they kept continuing and I was part of them.

Someone laughed and Gupta Ji once again "Beta... Khamosh ho jao."

He just continued with cell, membrane and dissection and we continued with joke dissections, totally unaware of next happening. The words floated over our heads. The warnings meant nothing. We were young, we were foolish, we were having fun.

Tauqeer said something funny and we couldn't stop our self. The laughter came out before we could catch it. Echo of our laughter went from one table to another, reaching to Gupta Ji and finally came back to us. It was loud, it was uncontrollable, and it was the last straw.

Gupta Ji stopped and asked angrily, who was he? No one uttered a single word and Gupta Ji asked once again, who was he? The silence was thick, the kind of silence that makes you hear your own heartbeat, the kind of silence that makes you look at the floor and wish you could disappear, and then the third call came.

I thought, if I take the blame, then these people will be spared and what maximum will happen? Gupta Ji never beats anyone.

Maybe he will slap me once and that's it!

On his third call, I raised my hand.

He then said, come here.

I went to his desk. He moved back to the door, closed it and took one thick piece of wood (palang ka paya) (I don't know the English of it).

I looked at it and said to myself, Zubair, this is your last day in school.

In one hit you will have a broken bone.

I also looked at my friends.

They were also in a state of shock, but not like me.

Another thought came to me that, today I will be paying the cost of friendship.

Gupta Ji angrily moved at me. I closed my eyes and tightened my body in position of "Saawdhan" (attention).

Yes, he struck me by holding it in both hands and I felt it on my hips. The pain shot through my body, sharp, burning, unforgettable.

Second one on the same place but all to ALLAH, the almighty and to the termites who infested the wooden piece therefore once struck it broken into two.

Gupta Ji looked at broken piece and then at me.

Ordered me to go and sit down.

Class finished.

All my friends asked if I get hurt. I said no. We went to canteen, relaxed a bit and cursed Tauqeer who finally cleared the bill.

I decided not to take blame of anybody, but it was a temporary decision and I repeated the mistake many times for my friends and still in practice, despite loosing alot in many ways.

Next day Gupta Ji called me and asked, did I get hurt?

He said to me, "I know you were not alone but you took the blame."

"Beta, class mein khamosh rehte hain, mujhe maarna achcha nahi lagta hai, ab khayal rakhna."

(Son, be quiet in classroom, I don't like to beat anyone, be careful next time).

I also forget yesterdays' happening because his love prevails his punishment.

Jamia Millia Islamia....Jumman Bhai

2007-09-12T08:37:00.000+04:00

JUMMAN BHAI was a prominent personality of Jamia Senior Secondary School.

Basically, he was responsible for many things in school other than administrative and teaching job. Right from ringing of bell to provide mice for dissection in biology lab, he was absolute. If the bell did not ring on time, the classes would not begin.

If the mouse did not appear in the biology lab, the dissection practical would not happen and somehow, the bell always rang on time, and the mouse always appeared.

That was Jumman Bhai.

He made things happen without anyone noticing how!

Jumman Bhai was having many friends with no enemy. He was always smiley with cracking jokes to all the people. It is very difficult for me to key down personality of Jumman Bhai, as he was a multidimensional man.

A man who could be a caretaker in the morning, a smile spreader in the afternoon and a guardian in the evening. A man who belonged to everyone and belonged to no one in particular!

I still wonder from where he used to get rats for the laboratory. They would appear, somehow, whenever they were needed. Nobody asked where they came from. Nobody questioned the mystery. We just accepted it as one of the many small miracles that Jumman Bhai performed without fanfare.

There were three hostels in Jamia Senior Secondary School, and I have witnessed many students going to Jumman Bhai's house, within school boundary and adjacent to Hostel-3, and taking breakfast, lunch and dinner.

All free of cost.

His house was not just a house. It was a home for the boys who had no home nearby. A kitchen for the ones who were tired of hostel food. A place where you could sit and eat and feel, for a little while, that you were not alone.

During school time, many girls used to visit his house and the care shown by his entire family was beyond explanation. His family did not treat these girls as guests. They treated them as their own.

There was no formality, no distance, no hesitation.

Just warmth, care & the quiet assurance that someone was looking out for them.

If any hosteler is sick, it is Jumman Bhai, who used to take care of him.

I remember one boy from the hostel who fell ill with high fever.

The warden did not know what to do and then Jumman Bhai showedup.

Nobody had called him or had informed him. He simply came, as if he always knew when someone needed him.

He helped the boy walk to Ansari Health Center, his arm around the boy's shoulder, talking to him softly, telling him not to worry.

After the checkup, he brought him back to his own house, not the hostel but his house, and made him lie down on a bed. He brought whatever was available in his home and sat beside him until the fever broke. The boy's parents were in another city. They did not know their son was sick. But Jumman Bhai knew and that was enough.

I never found anybody complaining of Jumman Bhai right from students to the staff.

Not a single person & a single word. It was as if he existed outside the realm of complaints. As if he had somehow managed to live a life without making enemies.

If somebody dies, then it was Jumman Bhai and his family who arrive first to console them. Before the relatives & the neighbors OR anyone else even knew.

They would be there, standing at the door, ready to help, comfort & to do whatever was needed.

When it comes to collecting money for Jamia Masjid, it was Jumman Bhai and family along with Mirza family who leads the way.

His support was not limited to the students of Jamia Senior Secondary School. It went up to Fine Arts Department situated next to school. If someone needed help and Jumman Bhai could provide it, he would. It was that simple!

I am sure that his earnings were way lesser than the teaching staff, but he leads all of them in many ways. He leads them in kindness, generosity & in humanity.

The teachers had degrees and positions and salaries. Jumman Bhai had something that could not be measured by certificates or pay scales. He had the love and respect of every student who ever passed through those gates.

He was the one who even dared go to Abdul Haq Khan Saheb to influence his decision if it comes to the benefit of any student and was very much successful. He did not do it for himself. He did it for the boys and girls who had no one else to speak for them and Abdul Haq Khan Saheb, a man of great authority, would listen because even the powerful knew that Jumman Bhai spoke the truth.

Although short in height by nature, his real height was more than many big people around.

If somebody asks me what are the values of Jamia Millia Islamia and what culture does it have?

I will simply reply to him, go and meet Jumman Bhai.

Love and affection for all, big heart to accommodate everyone, gratitude, courage to share even if he does not have, bring smile to someone even he is in pain, teaching the practical things to the students even he was not a teacher, getting them familiar with truth of life by help of easy and thoughtful examples, taking initiative to help the needy are few features of Jumman Bhai rather, feature of My beloved institution, JAMIA MILLIA ISLAMIA

Jamia millia islamia...Mohammed Yusuf PAPA

2007-09-11T11:29:00.000+04:00

Mohammed Yusuf PAPA, physics teacher, vice principal, Jamia senior secondary school.
Urdu poet of humor,
Simple person with a style of his own.
A brand with an ambassador within was all famous for many things.

Papa was a terror for students & every single student tries to even change the track on which papa used to come.
Still bright in my memories, whenever he enters from school gate, the track dividing the four lawns of middle & senior secondary school becomes utmost clear right up to his disappearance to one of the class room after crossing the centre stage.
Students disappear from his path like strong wind of a chopper disperses the grass around!
I already mentioned his onslaught on me in my previous journeys & that was the last for me, but there were some unfortunates, who had experiences it many times.
During practicals of measuring the current by ammeter in class XI, one of the very common episodes, iam sure many of the students may have gone through is,
Shunting of key & winding the wire on the knob.
Papa was very active all the times,
He saw QMD having some problems in taking the readings, he went & observed him.

QMD looked at him, he then said, “Shunt kar”.
QMD didn’t understood & papa repeated, “Shunt kar”
Papa lost his patience & shouted “abe soowar shunt kyoN nahi karta”?
QMD said, ok sir & he remove one connection going to ammeter!!!
“Tujhe shunt karma nahin aata? Din bhar bijar ki tarah ghoomta rehta hai”
Aa meiN tujhe shunt karooN!
He kept his wrist watch, as usual on table & praised QMD in every possible way he can.
After beating him, Papa becomes more ferocious.
It was bad luck of HZS who tries to play smart & come to papa & said, sir I did the shunting, but readings are not very good.
Papa went to his table, looked at the complete assembly, tried shunting & without shunting, same results!!
About to ask sami sahib to change the apparatus, he found the fault.
Now it was the turn of HZS.
HZS made a mistake while connecting copper wire, he winds the wire on knob at least five times & that was crime in papa’s lab.
He shouted again.
Soowar!!! Reading kaise aayegi?
Tu ne pagdi jo baandh rakhi hai.
(How you will get the reading? you have winded it like a turban)
Tujhe meiN pehnata hooN pagdi…..by the the time HZS said sorry, it was almost over.
These were little glimpses of our physics practical classes, English language is unable to express the real feelings we had experience at that time.

It was very common for papa to throw jokes while teaching, those jokes some times went out of proportion, but after all, he was PAPA.
Soowar (pig) was his pet word, chappan chhuri ka dance, tansen ki aulad, bahar kya teri amma nach rahi hai were few of his favourite dialogues.
Apart from all what I have mentioned above, every body might smell that papa wasn’t a good teacher or a good human being?
It’s not like that.
It is a reality that papa was not comfortable at all in numerical, but his theory was very clear.
I remember, during one of the sessional test.
One of my friends played mischievous.
It was papa’s style to provide spread sheet, thoroughly stamped, signed & stapled along with questionnaire.
With the same anticipation, my friend prepared some answers prewritten on loose papers.
Papa distributed the paper, students started attempting them.
As usual papa keeps close eyes on all.
My friend selected the required sheets & removed the pin from the original sheet & inserted the pre written answer sheets to the original by keeping the front page of original intact.
Papa, suspected him, went near to him, stands there for a while and took his answer sheet.
He then said, abe soowar, tu itna hoshiyar kab se hogaya ki saare sawal zara si der meiN hal kar diye?
(How you become so intelligent that you have finished all the questions in no time?)
There was no reply to his question & the ultimate thing has comes once again.
He beats him like a beast.
Throw him out side the class & assured him all the consequences preventing him to appear in exams.
Now, this was very serious.
After finishing the test, we assembled in muzaffar bhai ki canteen to seek a solution.
We have decided to meet papa to apologies.
The main question still remains?
Who will go & talk to him & where?
The way he acted, it means, he can repeat the same any time, any where.
Finally it was decided to go & meet him at home after Maghrib prayer.
A panel of four including me was agreed upon to seek his forgiveness.
Evening came & we all proceeded toward his house, at the entrance we encountered his son & our senior masood bhai.
We asked & he said papa is in.
We send the message that few students from school seek meeting.
He came out & looked at us!
We were frightened for some unexpected to happen.
Yes, it happened, but not the way we were thinking.
Papa, asked us, Kya tum sab iski sifarish lekar aaye ho?
We all said, we are here to seek your forgiveness & he was very afraid, so we accompanied him.
He then said, come in.
We went & sat in his drawing room.
He once again asked our fathers name & told us that whats has happened wasn’t good & we should be honest in what we are doing.
If we are not dedicated with honesty then it will be difficult to achieve the targets in our future life.
We were looking at him while he was talking, completely changed person, quite, smily & calm.
He then forgives him.
He offered us a cup of tea in nice bone china cups, totally different to the cups in muzaffar bhai ki canteen.
We all came out thanking ALLAH & Papa.
It was an achievement for us & we celebrated with Nihari roti in Batla house.
I think, he indeed was a nice person, because he had humorous imagination power.
It was his versatility that made him an icon in jamia millia islamia.
Later on after many years, I heard that students become “very bad students” & one of them has puffed cigarette smoke on papa’s face.

That was the end of one teacher & we never heard any story of papa from our juniors there after.
He has shouted because he knew that we listen to him, he beat us because he knew that we respect him like our parents, he loved us because he knew that we will never hate him.

He was a real person with no artificial flavouring of so called professionalism.
I still respect & love him & this will be conveyed to my kids forever.

Jamia middle school...(english)

2007-08-26T08:24:00.000+04:00

It is a month since i posted something here, As usual busy schedule!!

It will be a total injustice if i don't mention the name of Ms.Razia yunus during the journey to Jamia middle school.
She came new when we entered in class V in 1979-80.
I mentioned previously that English as a subject starts in class V while Hindi commence in class III.
She was one of the good & since teacher we ever come across in middle school, so passionate & humble with sweet strictness.
Very keen in making every body understand much of the subject during class.
Since it was just a beginning, there fore excitement mixed with difficulty to understand a new language.
Her pet word was "Kachra", whenever she disagree or not happy with any student.
"Good boy", "Good girl", in case she pleased with some one's performance.
I still remember the good students of English in class, soofia khatoon, irfan ul aziz, irshad hameed, Aijaz zaidi, zia haider etc were prominent among all.
One day Razia madam asked me & aijaz to prepare a poem for morning assembly.
This instruction was not lesser than to step on a live bomb.
Just begun with ABCD & our madam want us to prepare & present a poem in morning assembly!!!
"Baba black sheep have you any wool" sounds very simple & easy now.
It was one of the hardest task for us at that time.
No second chance, no error & pronunciation must be perfect in conjunction with proper rhyme.
Reluctant, nervous & almost shaking while practising the same in the class.
Three days for practise before the showdown.
I couldn't sleep that night & so was aijaz.
Written on paper, we waited for our term......
Tilawat, hadees......................NAZM,
Our heart beat went on peak, whistling ears & tense body proceeded towards mic.
Good Morning every body, my name is Zubair, my name is Aijaz zaidi, we are from class VA and we would like to sing a poem...
Baba black sheep.............
I don't remember how we have finished that.
What we heard was a clear sound of clapping while running toward our row after finishing the poem.
It was for the first time that an English poem was read in school assembly & we have made this record.
It wasn't a record, actually it was a daunting task, well prepared, presented & extolled by many.
Altough, both me & aijaz went through a mental fatigue during the whole time period.
Razia madam was happy to achieve a mile stone & she also praised us.
We came into the list of her "good boys".
She was our English teacher up to VI standard & then we switched to Niyaz saheb.
I have no hesitation to mention that our progress of English as a subject remain constant as it was in class VI even after we have passed class VIII & entered into jamia higher secondary school, where few discrimination rather challenges were waiting for all of us.
I still rate Ms.Razia yunus as my best english teacher.