THE WAY IT WAS: Bugti lets our heaters burn —Mian Ijaz Ul Hassan
When Forster exclaimed that he would rather betray his country than his
friend, he, I believe, was saying that a person who cannot be truthful to a
friend will never be truthful to his country. We owe it to ourselves to have
friends. When time runs out, friends don’t
It is a cold grey day. It has been drizzling for the last two weeks. The
prospect looks dismal but wheat looks cheerful. The farmers on the Potohar
plateau and the highlands who depend on rain for their crops should consider
themselves lucky for having such a long rich spell. In the recent past winter
rains have been slight. Is it because of global warming? My wife tells me that
global warming will cause the next ice age to arrive early. We had better start
acquiring warmer woollies and thicker quilts.
In old times on rainy days children insisted that their mothers make pancakes
for them. Our pancakes or pooras as we call them are different from European
pancakes that are thin, flaccid, eaten with spoonfuls of maple syrup and cream.
I believe the best maple syrup comes from Canada. Whoever drives across the
border from the US tries to bring back a can-full. Our pancakes are sweet and
portly, eaten without cream or sauce. My late friend Taufiq Rafat, our
celebrated English poet, whose family came from Dera Doon and settled in Sialkot
after the partition, insisted that he be served salty pakoras instead.
Personally I do not consider that better but it is an option open to diabetics.
Those who suffer from hypertension (high blood pressure) would do well, however,
to stick to the sweet pooras. Most wives are convinced that their husbands
harbour hypertension in order to enjoy bad tempers. Try persuading them that it
is not true, while they are taking your blood pressure, they will dismiss you
with a “shut up”. No one should speak when his or her blood pressure is
being taken. But this is the only time retired husbands get to get a word in.
Rest of the day the wife is so busy attending to more important chores.
Bless Akbar Bugti for letting our heaters burn. There is nothing better on days
like this than sitting together next to a fire. Pealing chalghozas or peanuts
and throwing their shells at a log fire can be a dream experience. I wonder
whether we are depleting our forest reserves in order to nurture our dreams or
to add to personal wealth?
On a lighter note, I am reminded of a notable from southern Punjab who loved his
hookah dearly and was very particular about the wood lighted to prepare his
chillam (the terracotta bowl with ambers residing on tobacco). He believed the
mango wood to be the best for this purpose. The gentleman in question wore his
turban rather well and was in his mid seventies when he was mentioned to me in
absentia. He had in his lifetime smoked away his entire mango orchard except for
a few magnificent superannuated remnants under which he sat during the long
summers, puffing his hookah without a troublesome thought.
Letting down old friends cannot be easy. No one can feel good after having done
it. In an era where commitment to ideas for ideological reasons has been
abandoned and brute nature allowed to pursue its vicious course, the idea of
friendship acquires weightier significance. It seems that soon the garden
cultivated, manured and manicured by humans for centuries may revert to a
wilderness that harbours its own terrible laws.
For one, nature does not take any prisoners, I heard someone say the other day.
Every creature lives on or off the other for its survival. When homo erectus
strode and strived ahead he must have stumbled on the idea of friendship to
consolidate human community. Friendship encouraged man to achieve incredible
feats for love and honour and helped build the essential fabric of materially
and culturally rich civilisations. Without friendship life would be meaningless.
Men who cannot bear the weight of friendship are surely incapable of undertaking
bigger tasks. Men without friendships live for themselves alone. They are
usually predators and parasites. When EM Forster exclaimed that faced with the
choice he would rather betray his country than his friend, he, I believe, was
saying that a person who cannot be truthful to a friend will never be truthful
to his country. We owe it to ourselves to have friends. When time runs out,
friends don’t. Only rats hurry to abandon ships, not friends. It is said that
men in high places cannot afford to have friends. Perhaps that is why they are
astonished to find themselves unexpectedly pushed into the cold or with a bit of
luck beheaded or shot in the back of the head.
Would you say that sitting next to a cosy fire on cold days makes weak minds
sentimental? Perhaps a little, but show me a worthy person devoid of sentiments.
Prof Ijaz Ul Hassan is a painter, author and political activist