Tag Archives: memoir

BEST YEARS OF MY LIFE [at Bishop Cotton School]

The Best Years Of My Life:

My parents settled in Lahore decided to try for my admission at B.C.S where a nephew of my Late Father, Rustom Boga studied in the late 20’s. I was admitted to the Preparatory School situated at Chota Simla in March 1945 and recall Boarding a train at Lahore on around the 10th March,1945 and it was part of the Frontier Mail carrying fellow school mates who were travelling from Peshawar to Kalka via Lahore, Amritsar, Jullundar and Ludhiana to Kalka. We had a short stop at Kalka before Boarding the train around 6 AM to Simla which was about a 6 hour journey with numerous stops. It was an experience travelling on a mountain train which passed through about 100 tunnels. The main attraction was Jetoog/Behrogh where we had a short stop to fill the belly and thereafter I recall the stop at Tara Devi where Kevinter had their farm. We were escorted to the school around 2PM and after a tiring journey were moved to our Dormitory. I was admitted to Cotton House and my house Master was Mr. Shalom and later Mr.Murray. The Headmaster was Mr. Priestly with his wife in attendance to look after us. This was the first time I had left home and the first week was tough for most of the new faces. However, we were very comfortably looked after and fed and soon settled down to a very well organized and settled life. My first friend was Ramesh Bhasin who assisted me in settling down and finding my feet and as time went on the group of mates increased with Derek Crowl, Durrani, Ali Afridi, Niaz-ul-Haq, Persis, Ifti Malik, Mcdowell, Edrich etc.

Among the staff the name of a Mr.Shalom and Jones comes to mind who assisted us in our development and Dunda Hawkes-the Physical Training Instructor who had retired from the Army and was a boxing Champion in his day. I was at the Prep School for 2 years-1945 and 1946. In early 1946 Mr. Priestly left and an Old Cottonian Col. A.E.R Bruce took over as the Head Master. These 2 years at the School played a significant part in my development as the Staff were committed in assisting the country in producing men of character who would take the country and World forward. Apart from taking us for outings regularly to Chota Simla they also took us to some beautiful spots and the one I still recall is Brockhurst. We also visited the Main School on various occasions and they were mainly to view the Inter School fixtures between B.C.S. and Sanawar and we followed the path through the woods to the main school and entered where there was a Birds House in which a variety of birds were held. We watched the School’s matches against Sanawar from the 1st Flat which was covered and was the entrance to the Swimming Pool and the Gymnasium.

I moved to the Main School in 1947 and the year brought new challenges which added to my vision of the outside World as I witnessed the School go through a very traumatic and upsetting period. The School went through a very trying and difficult year in August 1947 at the time of Partition of India when a very large segment of our mates departed for their homes in Pakistan. The Head Master Mr. Drake and Staff at the time Mr. & Mrs. Fisher, Mr. & Mrs. Brown, Mr. Papworth, Mr. & Mrs. Murrey assisted us greatly in settling down. Continue reading

BCS in WW2 – by David M. Wood-Robinson

I and my two brothers, Mark & Colin, were some of the large number of boys who came out in 1940 to spend the war in India with our parents; while Europe was in turmoil and even the defeat of Britain seemed a possibility.

Mark & I came out with about 600 other children on a passenger ship with Thomas Cook staff looking after us and arrived in Bombay(!) in September. We started at BCS later that month but due to the large number of ‘new boys’ the Headmaster, George Sinker, took about 20 of us into his house while another similar number of older boys went to a house near the school gate with a matron in charge. These arrangements were only for sleeping and we each belonged to one of the four houses for everything else including inter-house games.

Some of my memories include stealing chemistry lab equipment to make hookahs in which we smoked all sorts of strange things, climbing over the barbed-wire school fence to ‘scrump’ bhuttas which we roasted in the school boilers and fighting with kites with ground-up glass glued onto their strings. Also that some of the older boys had their eye on Joy Sinker, the Head’s pretty daughter! And at the end of term in December, the school train spread a trail of destruction along the various lines to where the boys’ homes were all over India. Why do we always remember the naughty things?

At prize-giving every year the current Viceroy came to preside and I was lucky enough to shake hands with Lord Linlithgow, Lord Wavell and one other whose name I forget. And of course we made many wonderful friendships which I’m glad to say joining OCA has opened the possibility of renewing.

David M. Wood-Robinson
[1940-44 Ibbetson].

[EDITOR
Here is a listing of the boys who joined BCS in 1940/41/42/43/44 –  general information for those who might be interested : [ bcs-list-1940-1944 ]

Bon appétit – from Al [Ashok] K. Stokes

Bon appétit – OCA Dinner.

September 18, 2011
Five months ago, I was surprised to receive an email from Sukhinder Singh and Vijay Khurana to attend the 50th class reunion. I apologize for taking so long to reply. Firstly, I was in the process of moving. Secondly, since I could not attend, I did not feel I could contribute anything.

Upper II Class Photograph:
I have included the 1956 Upper II photograph originally sent by Brandy Gill. If my memory is correct, the person in the second row behind the 7th person from the left in the front row (the person with eye glasses) is  Bentick ( I don’t know if I am spelling the name correctly; I don’t know if that is his first or last name). Minor correction to Sukhinder Singh’s  message “we were together in the III form” It should read Upper II and not III Form. I left after completing Upper II, the year this photograph was taken. I joined BCS in 1952 when I was 8 years old and I was expelled from BCS in 1956 when I was 12 years old.


[Click this picture for a full size view, or right-click to save it]

[EDITOR: This is the listing we had earlier from Vijay Khurana when this picture was circulated in April 2011] –
Vijay said: “
I can recognise the following :
Sitting first row: (left to right) Gurdial Singh, Brandy Gill, KS Dugal, Sabharwal (Rivaz, left to join Doon), RLV Nath (second from right same row). . . but none of the others .
Standing second row( left to right) Rupinder Singh, Rakesh Sawhney, unknown and Ramesh Suthoo.
Standing third row (left to right) unknown, unknown, Ashok Anand, Ashok Mulchandani, unknown, SM Nanda, Himmat Singh,  AK Stokes, unknown, Inderjit Singh (Badal).
Standing last row(left to right): Preharan Singh, JS Rarewala, Hundal, GS Anand, unknown, unknown,  A Motwane].”

Graduated Senior Cambridge in 1960:
I considered Upper II as the 7th grade and VI Form as the 12th grade. After leaving BCS, I joined Modern School, New Delhi, in the 7th grade. This did not work out and I did not cooperate. I was in the boarding school. My parents then put me in day school. I was staying with my father’s friend. They thought that perhaps I was afraid of girls as Modern School is coeducational or perhaps I did not like the Hindi medium of instruction. Little did anyone know what upset me. I was only 12 years old and kept everything to myself. What bothered me was why they put me in the 7th grade when I had already completed the 7th grade in BCS. If you remember, I use to be on the top or near the top of my class. To make a long story short, I lost one year doing nothing. In 1958, my father put me in Hyderabad Public School. I insisted that I join the 7th grade which the school accepted. Luck would have it, their grading system was different. Their highest grade was not 12th grade but 10th grade. (On the first day of my class I had my Geometry class. I started with the 49th theorem. Within a few days I started to learn Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus!)  So I gained two years and lost one year. That is why I graduated one year before my classmates in BCS. This is not the end of the story. My father and my elder brother both graduated in Engineering from Benares Hindu University. The only college that I applied to was Benares Hindu University. The university was prejudiced against Senior Cambridge students as it was a foreign examination. I was told I did not qualify for admission. My elder brother told me that I was foolish in applying to one college only. Once again, luck was on my side. The son of the Vice Chancellor of Benares Hindu University was in the same predicament that I was. Finally, the university admitted Senior Cambridge students. In the first year of college I stood first in my class. From then on my mother had complete faith in me. This experience had a profound effect on me. We are taught to think within a box. This taught me to think outside the box.

Uranium Enrichment by Gaseous Centrifugation 1970-1985:
I had proposed to the Government of India for providing nuclear fuel two times in 1970 and 1985. Enclosed is a 1984 article from The Tribune, Chandigarh. Both my attempts were unsuccessful and I gave up on this good idea.

[Click this picture for a full size view, or right-click to save it]

Toastmasters International 1994-Present:
Toastmasters International is a nonprofit organization that teaches public speaking, communication and leadership skills. It has 270,000 members; 13,000 clubs in 116 countries. I have been a member for 17 years. We practice original speeches that last between 5 to 7 minutes.From time to time, I have given speeches on energy in general and nuclear energy in particular. The purpose is to explain in a non-technical the various facets and aspects of energy. I had stated earlier that I felt I could not contribute anything. Then, it occurred to me that this information would be educational to the students at Bishop Cotton School. I have introduced several new terms  such as Nugami (portmanteau of Nu for new or Nu from Nuclear and gami from origami) and Hatt (portmanteau of H from Heat and att from Watt). My proposal was based on providing 100% Nuclear Energy. This included both generating electricity and providing hydrogen fuel for automobiles by the electrolysis of water. France has come close to providing 100% electrical energy though they have not gone as far as using hydrogen fuel. They closed the last coal mine a few years ago. So far only Iceland and a few other countries have experimented with hydrogen as a fuel. I had proposed one 1 Gigawatt Electrical / 3 Gigawatt Thermal (in my terminology 1 Gigawatt  / 3 Gigahatt) Nuclear reactor for every 100,000 (one lakh) population. The title of my paper is: Energy is almost God… and God said “Numbers do not lie”. I had hoped to complete this paper by now but it has taken longer than I had estimated. Firstly, I had changed from a Microsoft PC to an Apple Mac and had minor software issues in producing the documents. Secondly, some of the documents were done on a phototypeset over 40 years ago. I want to convert these documents into digital format instead of just scanning the documents. As a sneak preview I have included a document “Nugami.pdf“. When you print this, make sure the “Page Scaling” is set to “None” so that you get a full size of the drawing. If printed correctly, the 32 x 32 grid should measure 6.375 inches by 8.25 inches (75% of 8.5 inches x 11.0 inches sheet of paper).

Hope to send the complete article as soon possible. Maybe the students at BCS will find it useful educationally.

Regards,
Al (Ashok) K. Stokes

EDITOR: Here is an email from Vijay Khurana to Ashok [published online with permission from all concerned!]

Continue reading

A School Boy’s Story

I was a young school boy studying at Bishop Cotton School, Simla when partition took place. After 60 years I was invited to the School for its 150th Anniversary and I then decided to write about myself and the journey from Simla to Lahore made possible by the kindness of many from both sides but mainly from the Indian side. The story is
factual. I shall be too glad to answer any queries.

Sincerely,
Iftikhar Malik
Lahore

A Schoolboys story – 1946/1947:

The winter of 1946 was spent with my grandmother and parents, brothers and sister in the  village on the banks of the river Chenab on the GT Road in District Gujrat. It was cold and frost covered the land in the mornings. The sun came up shortly before noon for a few hours before people retired and smoke from their homes wound  up and settled  at a height.

I was a boarder at BCS in Simla and as I had learnt the best way of spending holidays was to walk around the house, fag for my elder cousins Nasim and Akhtar, play football with the local schoolboys and read stories. The elders in the family excelled in medicine, civil service, engineering and were a source of inspiration for me and books around the house on the subjects were of some interest. Grandfather’s desire was that all his children excel in studies and they did not let him down. Visits to the fields were interesting especially where jaggery was prepared.

Off and on news from the city about a rebellion, civil disobedience, public meetings, hartals, tear gas and those who were arrested in the city defying the authorities filtered down to the village. Some of the village folk who used to go to the city  would return and tell us what happened. The word ‘Pakistan’ featured prominently and the village bard hoped to be sitting in the ‘Coamatee’ Hall !

The slogans ‘Pakistan Zindabad’  and ‘Azadi’ were engraved in my memory.

I did not have many questions but kept staring at bandaged men who narrated how they got injured  quite different from the bruise on the knuckles whilst batting or a hard blow on the shin in hockey or a bloody nose at the end of three rounds in the gnat weight league boxing. First class stuff for a young Boy Scouts Cub troop leader and enough stories to tell my school mates when I got back.

I noticed as the jathas increased their visits to the city and the stories became  more vivid and thrilling that a green flag with a crescent, not very neat, all  of different shades of green and size being carried by the village folk when they returned in the evenings. I was presented one which I carried all day long around the house shouting the one slogan I learnt ”Pakistan Zindabad”. I was then just short of 8 years.

One person, Sita Ram, my grandmothers munshi stayed away from these meetings and by nightfall used to retreat to his home across the nullah. He had a beautiful rifle which he carried all the time.

The holidays ended and I proceeded to Rawalpindi where my father was posted after his transfer from Simla in 1946 and awaiting to occupy his residence at Mackeson  Road. Meantime my parents  were living close to the Army Chiefs residence. In late February I was booked to leave home for Simla.I had no idea of the problems ahead and gladly jumped into the front seat of the bus which was to take me to Lahore Railway Station. At the bus stand it was cold and wet but I was well clad in my School blazer, grey flannels and the all important school cap. I was busy trying to see if my box had been loaded when my grandmother called out to me from the car in which she and my mother, sister Kanta, brothers Farooq  and Sheri were sitting. to say farewell to my mother. I got off the bus and approached the car and saw that she  was crying. It was the first time I saw her as such and this memory saddens me even today. She kissed me goodbye and off I went into the bus. She slipped in a Nestle bar and a dinky in my coat pocket. My sister and brothers were quiet and subdued.

The bus ,run on coal gas, lumbered steadily to Lahore. It stopped enroute to drop off and pick passengers the largest number at Gujar Khan. I reached Lahore in the afternoon and was glad to see staff from the school awaiting boys to take the night train to Kalka. I do not remember what food we had but slept all through out the night. From Kalka onwards the journey was a few hours and I reached the school at dinner time and ready to go to bed.

School life settled into the routine with which I was familiar. I had been appointed a Prefect and sat at the top table for meals. Sports were very competitive and camping in the ‘khud’ as a  Scouting Cub was thrilling. Letter writing to parents were compulsory once a week with most of us copying what the teacher had written on the blackboard. The 6 annas per week pocket money was enough to get a bottle of jam to last for a week and a tin of condensed milk consumed on the spot. Meringues from the Mall were a big attraction and I remembered the site where the Quaid e Azam addressed the citizens of Simla in 1946 which my mother attended and I went along..

Academic standards were high but I managed to hold my own amongst the top. Years later in 1999 when I visited the School and saw the honour boards in Irwin Hall I was to see the names of Humayun Khan, Pakistan’s Foreign Secretary, Jal Boga whose friendship has lasted well over 6 decades, Col. Mohd Sharif and General Jahanzeb Khan, Army Officers holding senior positions on both the  academic and sport boards. I stood mesmerized in the great Hall ,there was a lump in my throat and it was  hard to keep me from breaking down. Much that I would have liked my name to be there too it was not to be. Tuition and extra classes were unknown with all work and learning including French and Latin to be completed in class. Turnout was always excellent. The newspaper ‘The Statesman’ was read out to boys by Mr Murray standing around him. Bradman and Hammond entered our minds.

In about July,1947,whilst on the playing field and it was almost past sunset I suddenly heard the sound of people shouting above the school in the  Bazar and the faint sound of ‘Pakistan Zindabad’,  rising and then dropping.. I was amazed and tried to hear the sound again but in vain. I felt that my memory chords  had been touched, memories from a few months ago. Instantly my hockey stick became my flag and I strutted a few smart steps  shouting ‘Pakistan Zindabad’ afraid that I might be overheard some instinct telling me not to be too enthusiastic lest Mr Murray hears me.

As the days went by I noticed the shouting and slogan sessions increasing and one night after lights out we were woken up by the teachers and told to wear our great coats over our night clothes, put on our shoes, and stuff our toiletries in our pockets. We were marched out, all about 200 boys, lined up and led out in the darkness through the khud to the Senior School where cots had been lined up in the corridors of the dormitories on the first floor. On the way our teachers some with guns and torches and lanterns remained close to us with a solitary enquiry ‘kaun hai’ from a house up on the hill. The way down the khud was full of fun, Bushes and nettle thorns , an uneven path, darkness except for the stars…a Scouts Cub dream of leading his pack through enemy territory in complete silence.

Boys evacuated from the Prep School had a pleasant stay in the Senior School. It is located at some distance from the Bazar and slogans could not be heard there. Special classes were organized and there was plenty to do on the sports field and the swimming pool. I noticed tinned sardines were provided on the breakfast table. The routine carried on peacefully but sometime in late August I was summoned by the Headmaster on Flat One where I noticed an army jeep and a Sikh Police officer. Father Drake the Headmaster and another  teacher were talking to the Officer and when he saw me he said ‘Son, he will take you home’. I dashed upto the Headmaster and held onto his legs firmly and sobbing said ’Father, I don’t want to go”. I was quite happy in School and did not know why this was happening. It took him a while to release my grip and he said ’Son, don’t worry, you will get home soon and write to me when you get there’.

I noticed some senior  boys watching from the first floor verandah. I waved out to them and suddenly cheers erupted from them with clapping wishing me well. Off was the Prefect from Cotton House. Amongst the Senior School heroes which I thought had a good rapport were Agha Hashim,the School Captain, Chandulal. Durrani, Hay Jahans , Jones, Stringer, Mehra, Wamiq  Rasheed, Sahibzada, Sarda to name a few who I felt  were on the verandah waving me farewell.

Rubbing my eyes and trying hard to dry them with my handerkechief I sat in the jeep and left the School  with the Officer and his Driver not knowing where I was headed which was ending a happy childhood stay in the finest School  that I knew. Gone were my teachers, friends, my books, my stamp collection, my butterfly collection and my school cap. I thought that perhaps I would be back one day but such hopes faded away quickly as I settled down to a place I did not know. I turned round for a brief moment to look at the School to which I hoped I would return.

About 60 years later I was told that the great wooden doors at the entrance to Irwin Hall were closed in honour of the Muslim boys who left the School in 1947.They were reopened in honour of the contingent from Pakistan who were invited to the 150th year celebrations. A shield was presented to the School. I was one of the lucky 6 who would participate.

The jeep groaned past the Bazar and onto the Convent on the outskirts of  Simla where  my cousins Farida and Asma were waiting clutching hand bags with a few Nuns. The Officer got out of the jeep, met the Nuns and escorted my cousins to the jeep. Somewhere past the Ridge we were transferred to big black car. We settled down on our way I did not know where but in the evening we found that the ferry at Ghaggar had closed and we had to find a place to stay overnight. The Officer rang a bell at a small house in an Army compound at some distance from the ferry crossing and asked the lady who opened the door to keep the children for the night. She was a kind Hindu lady and let us in and gave some food. Her husband an Army officer came in late but we were fast asleep by then. .I was given the sofa in the drawing room whilst my cousins presumably had another place to sleep.

Early the following morning I awoke to see a huge Alsatian dog sitting on his haunches ,head cocked and looking at me lying on the sofa. It was not aggressive but had a loving look. I stretched out and got close to it and hugged it. It stayed close to me during breakfast and went with me to the car where the Officer was waiting. With a big thank-you to our hosts we restarted our journey, crossed the Ghaggar and after a few hours reached the residence of the Deputy Commissioner, Ambala and were lodged in the guest room. Years later I came to know that the Deputy Commissioner was Mr Grewal Singh ,an Indian Civil Service officer and he was a friend and colleague of my Uncle Khalid, the father of my cousins travelling with me.

Mr Grewal met us the following morning and said that we would be living with him till evacuation was possible. I had a vague notion then of what was  in store for us but  my cousins were anxious, worried and always kept the curtains of the room drawn. They never stepped out but I ventured out in the verandah and one day went around the house. It was a big house with a long driveway and lawns around it. ’Dal roti’ was our preferred meal and I tried to keep the room spick and span .I was wearing the same set of clothes with which I left School and did not have a change. My cousins used to threaten me that they would report me to Mr Grewal if I upset them on any count and one day he did visit us which left me motionless as soon as we were told by the bearer that the Sahib was coming. It turned out to be a pleasant visit much to the disappointment of my cousins as they thought he would upbraid me for annoying  them.

I cannot remember how long we stayed there but it was an awfully long period in one room with little or nothing to do. I felt listless and only when some of the DC’S staff told us from time to time that a plane would be coming to take us home would there be some excitement and noise in the room. Days passed and we settled into a routine. We did not  have any news what was happening which added to our misery. One fine morning we were told that we would be taken to the airport to take the plane. We got ready but it was a disappointment as nothing happened. A few days later the exercise was repeated. An older person would have his nerves all jangled with such developments but we were small and quickly went back to normal life in the room with the drawn curtains.

Finally on a beautiful day Mr Grewal Singh rushed us to the airport in his car followed by a police escort. In a short while we reached the airport and in the distance on the horizon saw a plane coming in. It was the first time I saw a plane in real life. It  landed and came close to us near the airport building and the doors were opened with the engines running. Out stepped my Uncle Khalid wearing a suit. He saw us  called out  to run to get in. He got off, met Mr Grewal ,exchanged a few pleasantries and reentered the plane.

The plane taxied to the run way and we were seated in the front part .The doors were still open  and whilst it was   readying to take off, lo and behold it was surrounded by several hundred men and women and children of all ages who wanted to get on. These were Muslims staying close to the airport waiting to take the train to Pakistan.. It was an amazing sight with people trying to enter, some did and some clung onto its wings and undercarriage. It could not move.

Mr Grewal Singh was watching the huge crowd which surrounded the plane and  went upto them and with kind, gentle words  with the help of the Police brought some order. Yet people were clinging to it. Gradually with great difficulty it started moving, the doors open as the staff could not close it because of the people trying to enter. It started gathering speed and from the window I saw people fall off from the wings. One had held onto the roll-bar in the doorway and was pleading and crying to let him in but that was not possible and the staff pushed him out with force and closed the door. We were jam-packed in the aircraft. My immediate reaction at that time was of sadness for the persons left behind and how would they manage. I was one of the few that got across safely.

The plane took off smoothly, this being my first plane journey. I could pull open a little cylindrical window cut in the big window and took my arm and hand out and feel the breeze. It was wonderful. After a short while I was taken to the cockpit where the pilot told me how the plane went up and down. Amazing I thought. The journey to Lahore was over in about 30 minutes or less. At the Airport my father  along with my Aunt Saliha, mother of my cousins and a few relatives received us safe and sound. It was a joyous and happy time.

The get together with other relatives and friends took place at Uncles residence. Lots of  mubaraks and gratefulness to Allah was expressed and suddenly I felt my mother to be missing. She could not come from Rawalpindi but my Aunty noticed that I was feeling that I was not  part of the homecoming celebrations and stood silently in a corner wearing the same shirt and shorts when I left School, now stained and quite filthy. To cheer me up she asked if I would have a squash. I nodded and followed her to the pantry for the drink. That gesture remains as a pleasant memory of my days..

My Dad and I  motored down to Rawalpindi via the village. Many villagers came to see me and wish me well. In the 9 odd months away from home the only language I knew was English, Punjabi and Urdu were forgotten. So the young boy from the plains of the Punjab had returned home but I was anxious to get to Mackeson Road and the tennis court there and my bicycle. It was winter and cold and a few days of food of my choice and freedom changed me. In January 1948, I was admitted to the Convent and upon my parents transfer to Lahore in St. Anthony’s and later Aitchison College. The life at School in Simla had set me on a path to which I have no regrets. Boarding life in particular taught me self reliance, sharing with dormitory mates, competitiveness, good manners and a host of other matters which steadied life ahead.

As the years rolled on, gone is the journey to School, the end of the Persian Water wheel in the village and the ride on the drivers seat going round and round the well, the gas lamps, the spelling competition with cousins. Sita Ram is no more and forgotten  are the deodar  trees of the greater Himalayas around Simla, the trek to Kufri where the flowers were taller than us young boys, Wild Flower Hall, Barnes Court, the Ridge, Flat One in the School, Gone are Cotton, Sinker, Barnes and  Emerson Houses and the Prep School which is now a Tibetan Center, and so are Kathala Railway Station and the beautiful Kidar Nath Farm.

I got my tin box back and collected it from the Indian High Commission office at that time located on the Mall next to the Canal. It was empty and I felt that it was of no use to remember the material part of life. I was glad to be home with my parents and sister and brothers and only now can I feel what parents had to go through as there was little assurance that we would return and life would probably have  taken a different path.

And onto matriculation, O/A levels, graduation, service with a multinational with a multicultural work force with gems from across the border working with  different ideas and values but simple for me to understand as I was in boarding with boys from all over India and had known some of their thinking and my way of getting along with them…Amongst my seniors Zafar Hassan from Amritsar and Lahore,, Zia Shafi Khan from Shahjahanpur in the UP, and Nizam Shah from Sirinagar were outstanding and there are lifelong friendships forged with Ejaz,Naveed,Anwar  . Service  in Aitchison College followed and more attention given in the twilight of my life to a loving family across the globe in a different setting. I married Asma and our sons Jaffar and Usman studied for  their degrees in the US and are now in Calgary and Karachi respectively  with their families. Grandchildren Hassan, Haider and Sonia are growing up to be good human beings.

The village prospers and the descendants of Malik Maula Baksh keep his name flying high. He lies buried there with his sons Abdur Rahman, Abdul Mannan and Abdullah Khalid with place in the graveyard  for more to follow. Doctor Sahib, Chief Sahib and Commissioner Sahib are remembered to this day. But there no slogans or eventful days and the dream that was ‘Pakistan’ sadly disappointed  many. Only a brief period in the 1965 skirmish as Gujrat borders the Jammu area did the residents show the determination to succeed from the soil  that has made them. On a clear day one can see the Pir Panjal range in the Himalayas, beautiful and serene and standing tall and mighty unchanged as time goes by.

Thanks could not be forgotten to be given to Mr Grewal Singh. In the 60’s Mr Kewal Singh, his brother, was appointed as the High Commissioner of India to Pakistan. Aunt Salihas father and who was also Asma’s grandfather and I called on him .He was deeply touched by the gesture of a distinguished person around 90 years old to make the effort. But such men and such values are few.

In conclusion I can sum up my experience in real life as truly rewarding. I was never unsure about my capabilities and fear did not ever cross my path.

Iftikhar Malik
July 15, 2011

The author, Mr. Malik, is an Old Cottonian. He was at BCS from 1944 to 1947.
Mr. Malik was the Head of HR at a Multinational company and later took up position as the Vice Principal and Bursar of Aitchison College Lahore.

Iftikhar Ahmad passed away 2017

20th November 2018

From: Jai Joshi MD
Subject: A SCHOOL BOYS STORY by Iftikar Malik

Last night I read again A SCHOOL BOYS STORY and was moved to tears. I wanted to know how the author was doing so I googled him and was saddened to realize that he had passed away
Iftikhar Ahmad Malik, former Vice Principal (Admin)/Bursar and an Old Aitchisonian sadly passed away on March 13th, 2017.

Jai Joshi MD