It was my paternal granny’s death anniversary and I remembered the events of the past. I was a little over six when my Dadi expired a few years ago. Memories about her are fresh in my mind even today and will always be so. They are dear and precious to me and I hold them like valuable diamonds in my hands.

Granny’s face expressed her energetic and determined character. She was very wise, dedicated and a hard working woman and showed endless stamina while at work. She enjoyed cooking and would easily prepare variety of delicious dishes in the shortest possible time. She also took pride in sewing and was a good house administrator.

I was very fond of listening to stories, like other children of my age, and she would tell stories, of which she had a good stock, unlike others who tend to repeat the stories they have already narrated.

Granny would only tell stories of successful people like the Quaid-i-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah, Allama Iqbal, Maulana Mohammad Ali, Maulana Shaukat Ali, Maulana Hasrat Mohani just to name a few. She would emphasise how these celebrities first acquired education that gave them inner strength and taught them values, and how these great men devoted their lives fighting for the Muslims of subcontinent.

She also told me that so strong was their love and respect for the Quaid, that food was not cooked in her house on the day the Quaid died.

She remembered that Karachi in 1948, the year she had migrated to Pakistan, was clean and orderly and trams were the most popular means of transport. At weekends, especially in the evenings, she would say, people were seen enjoying a ride on Victoria (a buggy) around Frere Hall, at Elphinston Street (now Zaibunnisa Street) and between Mereweather Tower and Kemari. Traffic police was smart and helpful, and traffic management was efficient. Unlike today, people would listen to the cops controlling the traffic.

Granny was a confident lady and she would tell me how during the 1950s and early part of 1960s, when women were usually not seen taking long train journey alone, my granny would take my father every year, during school summer vacation to Lahore.

The economy class train fare for one person during those days was around Rs75; whereas one way airfare for one person was around Rs250 to Rs300. Those were good old days when travelling was safe and inexpensive.

She would tell me that train in those days ran on coal and window shutters only partially saved passengers from soot and their faces would still get blackened necessitating washing of their faces before they got down from train. The peculiar odour of coal smoke from passengers’ clothes was a common experience. She fondly spoke about the earthy taste of tea served in small clay pots by hawkers at the railway stations.

To me the death of my Dadi, who was an important part of my life, does not mean the end of my relationship with her and I will go on remembering her fondly and following the lessons she taught. May God bless her soul.