Now should I carry on with this in detail or go back to school?
In our times Matriculation exams were conducted by Peshawar University as a whole. Three months before the scheduled date set by the University, tests were carried out to determine which student qualify to appear in the final exam. This was called Detention Exam. Students failing were returned their exam fee.
After our Detention test the result was delayed abnormally. So a few of us went to Head Master’s Office to get information when the result would be declared so that the eligible student could prepare for annual exam.
He was a refugee Raziuddin Hasan by name. He replied and I quote his words exactly that were, “Arshad’s mother says do not announce the result. These Pathans will kill all of us”
In short, he went on two days leave and Gran Badsha announced the result, not openly but the detainees were called one by one to Head Master’s office and refunded their Exam fees Rs.17 plus.
Any how I passed Matric at the age of fifteen years and joined Jahanzeb College as Arts Student. My subjects were English, Civics, History and Persian. Urdu was my optional subject. My old chum Haider Ali khan joined Pre Medical. Thus we were separated after a long journey together. But our English periods were jointly attended by Science and Arts group.
When winter uniform was about to start rich students got tailored suits or Sherwanees and the poor students purchased 2nd hand available at Rs.10 only. I refused to take “kabarh” sherwanee and my father hardly managed to provide me new one tailored by the famous Behroz Ustad of Mingora at Rs.70. My brother Sher khan sent white pants and shirts from India and thus I was able to show off like the elite class.
I desperately wanted to write some sustainable poetry or prose, but failed. So far the search of someone whom I could love, continued. All big names in literature had scandals in the past, like Ghalib and his Domni, Iqbal and Athia Faizi, Sagher Siddique and Meera Jee.
Then I read about Josh whose first love was a Euro-Asian boy. This type was easy because loving a girl was dangerous and risky. But I failed in this field too. My taste changed with every new face whom I wanted to love and then write some verses, describing the pain of seperation, a favorite topic in our Eastern Literature.
I also learned that most of the great poets were alcoholic. But that was out of our reach. Suddenly, I had a revelation. I was unable to love others because I already loved a person who did not let me love someone else.
That person was ME. I was a self-deceptive Narcissist. It was a psychological reaction of the negligence, I received from others. I was ignored by other boys, because of my unattractive cuts. Though I had a lot of sincere and caring class fellows who really were kind, and ready to help me whenever I needed them. But we could live without each other. But I was mostly searching for someone to love me rather than I. So I gave up poetry and stacked away this project in the back of my mind.
To Be Continued…