ONE fine Sunday Morning I arrived at the Aiwan-i-Riffat earlier than usual. Sitting in the parlour was Nawab Begum Nazli Rafia Sultan (Nazli Begum’s titled name), with a little mound of freshly cut roses before her in a large glass tray. Nawab Begum looked peaceful, serene and satisfied. She was looking at the red roses like one looking into a burning fire.

Maybe she was remembering in her mind the beautiful lines from Robert Burns:

O, my luve’s like a red, red rose,
That’s newely sprung in June.

Or she might have been nostalgic at the time. Nostalgia seldom brings happy thoughts, particularly at a ripe age. Even thoughts of bright days are clouded by the memory of days forlorn. Sounds of old memories are wonderful like the faint ding-doing of distant caravan bells, solitary and fleeting. Sometimes old memories can be sweet, some times as salty as the tears they bring forth in your bleary eyes.

Well, when I was seated near her, Nazli Begum came out of her reverie and told me that the flowers were a gift from the governor general’s house.

“The Governor General Ghulam Mohammad sends me these every morning”, she told me with a marked pride in her voice. “The head mali has G.G’s express orders to deliver these at our door every morning”.

The Governor general’s house, or the government house as it is known today is but at a stone’s throw from the Aiwan-i-Riffat on the other end of Strachan Road. Old Ghulam Mohammad did not live long. He is remembered today as a person who gave a devastating constitutional headache to the Pakistani Nation. I have an inkling that his demise left the Fyzee family weaker and without valuable support for days to come.

The Headstrong Girl: Exchanging gossip on a Sunday morning was a treat at the Aiwan-i-Riffat. But from my side it was not much of an exchange in the real sense. What I could offer in return was only an attentive ear. These conversations or gossips as I have termed them used to be interesting and instructive.

One day for instance, our conversation took a shift to Atiya Begum’s sometime sudden drifts and whims of the very unusual kind. Nazli Begum harrowing narrative illustrated how head strong young Atiya could be, always demanding to have her own way. During their travels in North America Atiya was so much thrilled with the sight of the great Grand Canyons that she decided at once to go down the deep and dangerous gorge all by herself, to touch a trickle of the Colorado River at the bottom.

Nazli Begum described how Atiya managed to go down, using two native Red Indians as human stairs, and how she was exhausted to death as a consequence, how she developed a raging fever when the horrible adventure was over, and how her upper skin was all peeled off and she had to spend several weeks in hospital before she could continue her journey.

The Fyzee family travelled extensively. They had seen most of the sub-continent, the Arab world, China, Japan, the Americas, North Africa and the whole of Europe. Their travelogue of Europe made in the year 1908, and compiled in book-form by Zohra Begum Fyzee is perhaps the first book of its kind, its merit being the first travel book written and published by a Muslim lady in Urdu, describing their travels in European countries.

Twilight Smells: In the first part of my narrative it was mentioned how I used to illustrate Atiya Begum’s articles to oblige her. For these illustrations the pen and ink were mine, the paper was hers. But what paper! Those were the invitation cards she had received in abundance from the foreign diplomatic corps and the many social groups in the city. Please remember that Karachi was the capital of Pakistan then.

Drawings were done on the back side of these cards which were invariably rough and grainy, if not gritty. The India ink would smudge and blot, some times giving the black lines a bristling look. Some bristles would vanish though, when the drawings were reduced before printing.

I would be too absorbed in my work to sense the approaching sunset till the sweet smell of burning frankincense would driftinto my nostrils. Only then would I know that Atiya Aunti was going through the house with a smoking brazier. Rahamin Saheb would be spreading his old Turkish prayer carpet (with the picture of a stork crane woven into it, it had big holes where his knees touched the carpet). Then I would collect my drawing materials and set out for home on my bicycle.

When the drawing work was finally over, Atiya Aunti recommended me to Ghulam Hussain Thaver for the job of a junior artist in his newly founded advertizing agency. It was on West Wharf Road. The salary was paltry but I felt happy at being recognized as a commercial artist. There I worked so feverishly that ultimately I developed a fever. It would not go despite medical treatment. Then the doctors advised me complete rest and I regretfully had to abandon the job, after working for only four months. This happened in July 1957.