My story, as I know it, 2nd installment.

nana Abbu

My grandfather’s card.

Waris and Wahid         Waris

My Uncles, Wahid and Waris.               Uncle Waris

So my grandmother, Begum Mushtaq Fatima, was married to my grandfather, Ahsan Mohammad, when she was 13 and he was 20. He was handsome, 6 ft tall, and educated in the Western style. She was diminutive, not even 5 ft. tall, but she had a formidable personality, was a crack shot with a rifle, and if you knew what was good for you, you did not cross her! They started having children immediately of course, as no birth control was available at the time (India 1920’s.) They had two strapping baby boys, Waris, which means the inheritor or successor, and Wahid, which means singular or unequalled. My paternal great grandfather said they shouldn’t have named the second child Wahid, that was the bad luck that caused it. Their first child, Waris, being a rambunctious, spirited boy, ran out into the street when he was five years old and was hit by a car. He didn’t survive. That was the bad luck. A few years after that my great grandfather decided to ship my uncle Wahid off to boarding school, in order to save him from a similar fate. More about that later. In the meantime, my grandmother had my aunt Wajahat, my aunt Liaquat, my uncle Ahmed, My mother Sabahat, my aunt Farhat, and finally my uncle Khalid.

From the stories I have heard, I am convinced my grandmother suffered from Intermittent Explosive Disorder. She apparently got so enraged and angry at her little children, and about minor things, that she lost total control of her self and beat them mercilessly. When my uncle Waris was four years old and my uncle Wahid was three, they decided to rum away from home because of these heartless beatings. They walked to the train station and boarded a train to leave! However my grandparents were well known in the area (they owned most of it, and because of our central asiatic roots, we are all recognizable) the little children were recognized and taken back home. I don’t know what happened to them when they got home, whether they were embraced with loving tears, or beaten, I don’t know…

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