Our friend Ramiz

A perennial back bencher throughout life, it was a bit of trauma  when I ended up in the front row of a cramped classroom, with the teachers desk only a yard plus away. Coupled with that, this kid sat next to me, who was a trial and a half. He never stopped being incredibly happy. 

In the junior school of Karachi Grammar School, in those years, we had these old 1930s benches (1930s because it had carved on it, X loves Y, 193x), with two attached desks cobbled to the bench. Effectively, you shared one long desk with the person next to you and that happened to be ‘the happy individual’. Ramiz Allawala from then on, for almost fifty years, remained a happy part of my existence.

So this was Junior School and through that year, it did not matter if the tests were tough, or the results bad, or Pakistan lost in hockey or cricket. Ramiz was always happy! He just laughed and smiled at everything and had no other mood swings. Even for under tens like us (who were generally optimistic and with few hang ups) this was a difficult one to handle. I must have stared at him hundreds of times and considered how to take that smile off his lips. But, I am so glad to say, that I did not succeed then, or in the ensuing years.        

Yes, there was one occasion when I saw him serious, but that was not my doing. It was a particular showdown with our Principal, in our last year at school. Both Ramiz and myself were House Captains and we had been summoned and given a set down. Surprisingly, Ramiz was vocal during that meeting and it showed a particular fighting quality in him, which  resurfaced at various times in his life.   

We came back to Pakistan in the 1980s, after our studies, as did most of our class (this was usual in those days). It was a great bonding period for us friends. Early careers, unmarried and fairly care-free. It was around this time that Ramiz showed another part of his personality about which we were totally unaware. He started speaking and spoke about things, which never in a thousand years we could imagine floated in that happy brain. He spoke about spirituality, about sincerity, about doing the right things and more importantly about how to make life happen.

Over the years Ramiz reached out to thousands. Some for free, some as part of his new profession. He became articulate and respected, inspired other people, helped change lives, but still never lost his grassroots or his happiness. We saw less of him, as he traveled and eventually settled abroad, but whenever we met, it was like sitting on that desk and bench in school almost fifty years ago. That connect with ground reality, what we were and where we came from never left us. It was always an emotional experience meeting him, sadly only once in a while.

When our childhood friend Ramiz Allawala arrived back home at Jinnah Terminal, a dozen of us went to receive him. It was no ordinary homecomIng. He had bravely chosen to walk away from a one year fight with late stage colon cancer. His decision to come home to family and friends was a decision of faith and love. It was a decision which said there are more important things in life than mere existence. Love, friendship, loyalty and home are perennial and count for more. A wish to be buried in your soil is a strong attraction for us humans. To see a man supremely fit (he used to do tens of laps of the pool regularly) at almost half his size, shrunken, eyes glassy and cheeks sunken in was a shock and emotions and tears flowed freely. But, we are glad that Ramiz got his final wish to die with all of us and to celebrate a life which in passing was wonderful, warm, giving and happy. 

When you have known someone that long, his death is like a part of the self is afflicted.

There are so many of you out there who interacted with him and benefitted from his time, words and sincerity. It is time to return that hard work of a well spent life.  Send some gratitude back towards him.

Please pray that Allah (swt) grant him maghfirat and Jannah. Ameen.

Karim Bhai

— 06 April 2012

Sometime in October 1983, I happened to be driving past the Hanging Gardens Apartments on the way to a friend’s place to play cards. That area of Karachi was still being developed and the famous Boating Basin was yet to be commissioned.

1983 was a year when we old class fellows had returned from our studies abroad. Karachi was home and had been our shelter for the first 18 years of our lives. It was a joyous homecoming. Life was still young and hopeful. Early career and a slog at work, was compensated by a lot of eating out and then playing cards all night. Come early morning we would go home, have a short nap, shower and be off to office. The invincibles! As friends we were doing a lot of catching up for the 6 years we had been abroad. It was a carefree time and life looked rosy.

So on this particular day, driving to my friend Adil’s house, I saw a rather bare looking pan store in the newly constructed Hashoo Terrace. This was manna to me, as at the time that whole area was bereft of shops. Turned out that I was the first customer – it was a Saturday morning. A couple of paan and cigarettes were supplemented by a chat with the new proprietor. Karim and later additionally ‘bhai’, as it turned out was a smiling individual, who loved to be happy and talk. Cricket was his forte, but he would also listen to us about girls, work and travel experiences.

Karim Bhai became a regular supplier for all of us and we would also indulge in deep conversations with him. I was at that time working for Unilever on a princely sum of Rs 6500 a month – don’t laugh, it was a top salary in those days when the Rupee went far.  At the end of the first month of operations, I asked Karim Bhai how much profit he had made. His reply, Rs 7500, left me flabbergasted and he went into peals of laughter. Later I said to a couple of friends that I might as well have stayed back and started a paan shop, rather than go to the UK for CA.

The years moved on and we did not remain young and carefree – yes marriage and promotions, real spoilers of freedom. Some of us left smoking and we stopped playing cards regularly.  But my attachment to Karim Bhai still remained. I would stop for a paan and now started developing the relationship by experimenting with the types of paan. He was still jolly, though now I had outpaced his earnings, but we raved and ranted about Pakistan cricket together.

Unfortunately work took me abroad and in the 90′s, few and far between, I would come to Karachi and a visit to Karim Bhai was obligatory. His hair was turning grey and weight had gone up. Apparently constant standing to deliver paan to customers had taken a toll, and he suffered from sciatica. On a couple of visits he would not be there, because of the pain. I wish I had asked for his address and gone to see him wherever he lived. Finally, in 2005 I returned to Karachi permanently.
One evening I took a drive to the paan shop and he was not there. I asked after Karim Bhai and some new assistant said ‘but he died’. The assistant showed me the sign on the shop, which had now changed to some other name, as the ownership had passed on.

How does one evaluate such a loss? For me a part of my life had gone. The pain was all the more, because of the regret of neglect which swept over me. I had allowed trivial matters to control my life and overlooked an essential. No amount of regret or sorrow will change that feeling of inadequacy.

Today, when I look back and analyse my life, it’s full of so-called successes. Strangely though, compare the memories about friends, family and small things versus the memory of lives successes, there is just no comparison. I cannot picture my CA results, or being made CEO, or driving a posh company maintained car, or receiving various awards along the way. But I do remember friends and family vividly. I do remember a paan wala’s laughter as he told me he had trumped me on my salary.

That is the very essence of life, but we learn it back-ended, having traversed through it.  We all must look after our friends and family, because they will not be with us always and then we don’t want to face the regret of lack of fulfillment.

You all will have your Karim Bhais. Nurture them while you can …

KVTC – Karachi’s conscience needs your help desperately, please read and help

Down in Defense Phase 4, very near the Imam Bara, is a three story building, which functions as a salve to our open wounds in Karachi. It houses some 150 people who walk, smile, eat and live as if they are ordinary humans…unfortunately they are not.  You just need to talk to them to realize that there is a problem…they are the ones who we locally call “buddhu”. 

Their problem is that they fall in the vague territory of 70 IQ.  Per se there is nothing wrong with these people and at an early age they are sent to school, only to be sent back because they cannot work with the class. Imagine going through life, looking and hearing through a haze and not understanding most things, not being able to comprehend simple things and with no hope of recovery. But now there is some hope. By some miracle, these same desperate people have been blessed with an innate ability. They are able to take up repetitive tasks, do them extremely well and therefore function in the normal world and even sustain a living. So the real question is to find a vocation which suits them and train them to do it well and then they are on the road to independence. That is where KVTC (Karachi Vocational Training Centre) comes in to do this training.

For 21 years, KVTC has functioned as a beacon of hope for these people, in this unequal battle of numbers. It has managed to train hundreds and has released them into the world successfully.  A 12-18 months program makes the pupils capable to handle a vocation. He/she is then employed at various organizations. Vocations can be as varied as mina kaari, stitching, mechanical repair, painting etc. The teachers at KVTC are very dedicated. They are specially trained to handle these pupils and have great emotional control, also show lots of patience and love to the pupils. Invariably, visitors to this centre are totally emotionally overwhelmed with what they see and most have come out in tears. 

The KVTC has flirted with extinction all of its 21 years and it is a credit to its teachers and administrators - who work on a pittance - and a dedicated band of people who continue to sponsor it, come what may to ensure that these poor students get the necessary support. It is now in desperate need of help to continue to function and make a difference.  Really not much is required beyond what is being done…..for instance a 1000 people giving 500 a month will see this place comfortable and working well. We, who have food on the table and healthy children in our houses, have a lot to thank Allah for. It is to your type of thankful individual I am appealing, that you should go and see this place. Once you have done that, the battle will be won, as you will yourself take time and commitment out to do whatever is required for its survival.  

The contact for KVTC is a gentleman called Aamir, who manages the place. His number is 0300 254 8886. I exhort you to have a look at this exceptional facility, as it will change your outlook on life.

Dated : Apr 2nd 2012