In the village, hujra is a house used by men. Typically, it has a large room, veranda, and mosque. Most hujras also possess djinns; they are spotted at night. Awais Khan’s hujra is no exception. The djinn in his hujra is named Gul Khan, who wears a waaskat – sleeveless jacket – a hat and has white thick mustaches. But tonight is different. Gul Khan is not spotted. The lights are on. Two charsis’ – hashish smokers – are filling cigarettes on the veranda. Awais and his friends are in the room. I’m also sitting in of the cots and listening to him with curiosity. One person asks him, “We heard that Kabul sends students to Russia. Why did you return and didn’t go to Russia?” He sighs, “Unfortunately, I couldn’t go.” He inhales the cigarette, “Under President Gorbachev’s Perestroika and Glasnost program, the funds for Afghanistan were cut. They were not sending students to Russia anymore. I was in the last batch; students before us were sent.” He exhales the ringy smoke “Thanks for this.” Referring to the chars’ cigarette in his fingers, “Food was scarce. In the battlefront, this full cigarette was the only source that kept us warm in the cold weather and gave us energy. We were not only students in Khushal Khan Khattak lycée but fighters too. We fought with terrorists [Mujahideen] in the frontline.”
Awais returns from Kabul in December 1989. This is when I’m in my first year in college doing F.Sc. The Kabul graduates have no good reputation in our village. They use blasphemous language, drink alcohol and are called sra kafir, red infidels. Yet the return of Awais increases my curiosity in a meeting with him because one time I also wished to go to Kabul; but my brothers didn’t allow me to study in a Communist regime. Awais was also not allowed, he left for Afghanistan without his parents’ permission. Afghanistan was the nearest country to go to. It is about 25 miles west of Jamrud.
Awais teaches us Marxism. Initially, we are three friends. Besides Awais and I, our third friend’s name is Hamza who is also our neighbor. Awais has brought two notebooks which are very dear to him. They contain notes on philosophy. He says he has taken these notes during the meetings called study circles in which comrades learn philosophy. While coming from Kabul, he hid these notebooks safe in his luggage. He says if Mujahideen saw it, they would kill him. Afghan troops could not control the roads. Mujahideen fighters attacked the roads; the search of pro-Soviet people.
Awais teaches us that, basically, there are two schools of thought in philosophy. One thinks that consciousness is primary and matter is secondary. This school of thought is called idealism. The second school of thought, which is called materialism, thinks that consciousness emerges from matter. In simple words, if you favor the former, then you are a believer, and in the latter case, you are a disbeliever.
We meet up on an empty lot in front of our houses. Children play here. On one side of this area is a creek. The sound of the flood can be heard from our homes when it rains. When we were little, we could not wait to play in the muddy water. Children are lucky to have a ground like this in the middle of the village. Villagers do not spare open lands unless it is disputed. This lot is also disputed. Our family is a strong candidate of it. It is as old as I was born or maybe older than that. This is a part of our property given to us as a fine by other villagers who stole valuables from us. Another place where we meet up is called Kas. It is another disputed area in front of Teddi bazaar, walking distance from our street. There are several soccer and cricket grounds where boys play. The picturesque mountains of Khyber Pass, in the west, can be seen from here. It’s an ideal place for walking or running. You can make a meeting place anywhere, people will not bother you. We also remove stones from one spot, making a round sitting place on the ground. We are now several friends, we call each other ‘friends’.
Initially we read the Awais notes to each other in our study circles. Later we find a more concise book on Marxist philosophy by V. Afanasyev, a Russian author. In Peshawar, there are certain book stores that sell progressive literature. Like Awais notes, the very first topic in Afanasyev’s book is “The Fundamental Question of Philosophy”, which emphasizes on whether matter or consciousness is primary. This book becomes the basis of our study circles. It discusses interesting questions. What is matter? What are space and time? Cause and effect…. It is physics. I have never learned these topics although I’m taking physics in college. Physics is my favorite subject. Philosophy further increases my interest in it. I like the Afanasyev’s book so much that I read it every night. It mainly has two parts: the first part is dialectical materialism and the second part is the socio-economic theory of communism. I never make it to the second part. I take a deep interest in the first part which is philosophy. Later, I find more books. Urdu is rich in progressive literature. Most of these books are reprinted several times which means they have a big market in Pakistan. One book is Insaan Bara Kaisey Bana – The Evolution of Mankind – by Allen Senegal, published from Moscow. When I’m reading this book, I’m all shaking like I’m committing a sin. Another book is Mazi ke Mazar – The Shrines of Past – by Sabte Hasan. Your study without Hasan is incomplete. He is a progressive writer and has written several books. When I read Mazi ke Mazar, it gives me a feeling like religions have emerged from one another – a kind of a parent- and daughter-religion.
**
The long days of summer are ideal for reading. We have a shop in Jamrud bazaar. Beside Tedi bazaar where I live, Jamrud bazaar is the main bazaar. In the noon time, the heat waves make the bazaar almost empty. Most stores are closed. Our store remains open. We four brothers run the store. My shift starts at the noon. The roof fan is blowing very hot. The chair on which I sit is also warm to touch as if it has a high fever. The chair is so uncomfortable that it has swollen my legs joints. Sometimes I put my hands under my legs. When there are no customers, I read books. One day I was looking down reading a book, a cow ate sugar from the basket. A customer pointed it to me. The baskets of loose sugar and tea are displayed in the front; other merchandise are behind. Our store is famous for Kenya tea. Afridis – our tribe – are very picky in tea, especially green tea. It is said to tell how good one’s home cooking is to tell if one knows how to cook green tea. Everything should be added to the water in perfect timing. First, heat up the water. When it starts to boil, add green tea and sugar to taste, then cardamom. Leave it on low heat for a while and then serve. Another variation is to add sugar, green tea, and cardamom to an empty but hot pot and then pour hot water on it, and leave it on low heat for a while. The color must remain yellow. If it turns red it is a bad tea.
I still pray although the Afanasyev’s book changes my mind. All my family members pray five times a day, I’m no exception. But it’s not possible to sit in two boats. A little push is needed. I’ve climbed the wall, leaping to the other side is needed. I’m in a state of transition. One night, I’m in bed. I see a deep space when I close my eyes. I don’t find anything in space but a dark, void and Godless universe. The next day, I go to college while still fasting habitually – it is the month of Ramadan. I’m not courageous to break the fast. After college, later in the day before dusk, Awais comes over. It’s only him and me in the hujra. I say to him, “I did it.”
“So?” He inquires, “Are you fasting?
“Yes.”
“Fasting for what?”
I go straight to the pitcher in the veranda and drink a full glass of water. Later, as usual, I’m sitting with my brothers around the table for iftar – meal eaten after sunset. How can I tell them that I do not belong here? I feel guilty. When everyone is doing one thing and you are doing another thing, you feel like you are wrong.
After committing the first sin, I plan for a second one. Two days later another thought comes to mind – to drink alcohol. Though drinking was not new in our house, Manan – my oldest brother who died in 1988 of kidney failure – was a drinker. He comes late at night. He was yelling, swearing and breaking pots. Since his time, I hated alcohol, but today I need just a sip. I know comrades drink. For this, I do not want to blame anyone. I want to do it myself. Solely my decision, so that tomorrow I do not say that so and so made me a drinker. I go to a liquor store in Teddi bazaar to buy a bottle. Liquor – and other drugs – are openly sold in tribal areas. The owner does not ask me as to whether I buy it for myself or someone has sent me. He’s nice and sells the bottle to me. When Manan was alive, he would send me to this store to fetch him a bottle. Though I was underage, neither my brother nor the storekeeper minded it.
I come back to hujra. There is no one in there. They left for Taraweeh prayer, a night prayer performed during Ramadan. I also bring some snack. I saw Manan was drinking it with some snacks and soda. I don’t know as to which thing put in the mouth first, to sip or make mouth salty. Anyhow, I do something and drink it.
My friendship with Awais does not stay long. He becomes jealous of me as, gradually, I led the group. We are now about ten friends. Awais, Hamza, and I are clear. The other friends are in the process of being cleared. Clear friends are those who made the transition leaving the religion. One day Hamza and I are sitting in Kas, he gives me a long speech, I don’t get it. I ask him to tell me clearly what’s the problem. Did I do anything wrong. He says nothing but asks me to leave the group saying it is the group’s decision. I’m shocked. Where did my sacrifices go? Most of our group meetings were held in our hujra because there was more privacy in our place. I do not say anything and leave quietly.
Marxism impacts me both positively and negatively. On the positive side, it enlightens me. On the negative side I stay behind in the college. I have failed the F.Sc. exam, because of not focusing on my study but reading progressive literature. It is the winter of 1992 and my last chance to pass the exam. If I failed this time, I would lose the chance of education in science. Putting blame on Marxism alone would not be correct. There were other factors which also contributed to my failure. One reason is the sudden change of medium of instruction. Up to high school, education is in Urdu; it becomes in English in college. The second reason is the wrong choice of the college.
In August 1989, I pass the SSC exam – a two-year 9- and 10-grade certificate – in low grade. I apply to several college but only a mediocre college in Pabbi accepts my application. Pabbi is a town outside Peshawar. I have to change two busses. First, from Jamrud to Peshawar, then from Peshawar to Pabbi. Altogether it is a one-and-a-half-hour drive by bus. The tiresome part is the Jam bus. Jamrud is called Jam in short. The Jam bus stops everywhere. It does not go until it finds a passenger. If you say za kana – please go – to the driver, he bursts at you saying get off and get a taxi.
The college is inside the fields at the bank of a stream. It is said that prior to college, this place was a slaughterhouse. Most local students come on bicycles. They also bring a saw to reap the crops for animals on the way back. Student organizations, which are political wings of various mainstream political parties, are also very active. Every other day is a strike and classes are canceled.
In Jamrud, I do not tell anybody that I go to college. If I do, people ask annoying questions. Which college do I go to? If I say Pabbi College, they make fun of me. Pabbi College! That far! Why not Islamia College, or Edwardes College, or Govt. College Peshawar. One day, I’m coming from college. I’m in the white college uniform. A high school classmate sees me in Teddi bazaar and runs after me to check my books as to which college I go to, but I run faster.
Since in college the medium of instruction is English, I have a hard time with study. I cannot forget one topic in physics on which I spent weeks to understand. This topic is called ‘resonance’ – the vibration of, say, a string with natural frequency. It is explained with the help of an example that soldiers are asked as not to march in unison over a bridge. It may cause the bridge to collapse. I’m lost. How could a march cause a collapse? To understand the topic, I search the Urdu meaning of resonance. The word is baazgasht, which I have never heard. The Urdu translation makes it even harder.
When I’m doing nothing, I play with physics equations. One day, I combine two Newton equations of motion and obtain a third one. The new equation is not in the textbook. I’m very excited. On dinner time, I discuss it with Laiq Khan. He cannot believe that his brother has discovered a new formula. He says it should be called Shahid’s formula. Even for a single second, it doesn’t come to my mind that I should first discuss it with my own teacher in college; instead, I ask my brother if he knows anyone in Peshawar University. Luckily, he knows a professor in Islamia College. That professor arranges my meeting with the chairman of the Department of Physics, Peshawar University. By then I have obtained several other equations. We meet in the conference room. My brother is also sitting. He is taken off from work today. This may change our future. The chairman takes a look at my equations and says that there is nothing new in it. When he explains one thing, I arise another question. It takes more than an hour, but I’m not satisfied. Finally, he gets angry saying we’re done. We come from there. After that, I derive more equations but over time the craziness fades away.
When the first-year exam comes, I fail several papers including physics. Many students switch from F.Sc. to FA. Science is hard. FA, which is a certificate in arts, is easy. Next year another bad luck happens with me. New textbooks are introduced, but we – the failed students – are told that our exam will be based on the old coursework. Unfortunately, on the exam day, the Board only sends papers based on the new curriculum to our college. I fail again. I do not give up. I study the new course and finally pass the F.Sc. in a supplementary exam.
In fall 1993, I enroll in a two-year B.Sc. majoring in physics and mathematics. The class size is small as compare to the F.Sc. class. I learn from my classmates that without private tutoring one cannot pass the exam in high marks. This thought never came to me in F.Sc. I had no one to guide me. I depended on the classwork. We didn’t even finish half of the course. No one uses class notes because there are better notes available in the market prepared by well-known professors. Tutoring is the second source of income of lecturers. Popular lecturers are very busy. They hold tutoring sessions since early morning until late evening. They only take a break from tutoring during the day to go to college for work. The sessions are held in groups, one hour in length. The tutor takes notes on special thin paper under which are several carbon copies, which are then distributed among the tutees. Or one master copy is produced. Then students make photocopies in a nearby photocopier shop.
My math tutor is a senior lecturer in our college and my physics tutor is a senior lecturer in Islamia College Peshawar. The math session is at 7 a.m. at the professor’s place across from our college. This means that I get up very early to take a bus from Jamrud to Peshawar and then from there to Pabbi. The physics session is at 3 p.m. in Hayatabad. Hayatabad is a residential area near Jamrud. Our math teacher has very weak eyesight. We say that he has memorized all the mathematics. He remembers every single problem in the book. His house is by the main road. After our session, we walk him to the college. He tells us that in his time he revised the course more than fifty times before the exam. The same is his advice to us. Practice and practice. Math is learned through practice.
The B.Sc. exam is held in August in two parts for which we are freed almost three months before the exam. Following my math professor’s advice, I revise the course several times. I never studied like this in F.Sc. Scratch papers are all over my study table and pens without the caps. The cap moves in front of my gaze which bothers me. I remove it. The fan is also off when I’m studying. Though it makes the room unbreathable, it blows away the papers on the table.
I don’t really have friends who disturb me but only sometimes one of my customers named Yaseen visits me. He tells me inspiring stories of Quaid-i-Azam University Islamabad, from where he did the master. One of the reasons I’m studying hard is to get admission in Quaid-i-Azam University which is the top No. 1 university in Pakistan. I like Yaseen’s company; however, he does not realize that he is also wasting my precious time. He comes in the midmorning and leaves in the evening. One day he comes with another person whom I don’t know. Yaseen introduces his friend, “This is Mushtaq.” I’m thinking what to say. All of a sudden it comes to my mind to show them my article that was published in Science Magazine, an Urdu magazine. I discuss in the article that there is no room for supernatural in science. Science cannot be derived from religion; they are different things. I wrote the article as a criticism to an article published in the same magazine that related science and Quran.
Mushtaq likes the article and asks if I can lend it to him. Next day he comes again but without Yaseen. I’m surprised how could he visit me unannounced. I saw him just yesterday for the first time. I’m not that fast in friendship.
“You write well. Very philosophical article.” He praises my article.
“Thanks.” I say.
“I know all lefties in Jamrud. How could I not know you?”
“I was part of a small group. Our politics started in hujra and ended in the hujra, haha. We didn’t take it to the next level.” “Are you also a lefty?” I ask back.
“I’m a nationalist, I support ANP.”
Awami National Party (ANP) is a Pashtoon secular party. It was founded in 1986 by Khan Abdul Wali Khan, son of Khan Abdul Ghafar Khan, aka Bacha Khan. Bacha Khan is also known as the Frontier Gandhi. My forefathers were also in Bacha Khan’s Khudai Khadmadgar, God’s Servants, moment originated in 1929. The moment was active in Northwest Frontier Province of India to oppose nonviolently the British. Bach Khan died on January 20, 1988, at the age of 98. Though he lived long, he spent one-third of his life in the prisons. According to his will, he was buried in Jalalabad, Afghanistan.
“Politics is not my thing. I like pure politics. I saw that purity in Marxist philosophy, but now I see it in physics. Physics gives me more pleasure.” I say.
“I have an idea. We can establish an organization. To promote education. People will also benefit from your knowledge. Just a food for thought.” Mushtaq suggests.
“Let’s get this exam out of the way then we can think about it.”
When the result is declared I stand first in the college. Officially the result is declared in February 1996, but I request an advanced transcript to be directly sent to Quaid-i-Azam University (QAU) where the admission deadline is in January. I apply to physics and mathematics disciplines. I receive an acceptance letter from the mathematics department which I decline. My priority is physics. When the result is officially declared, I applied for M.Sc. physics in Peshawar University where I easily get the admission. After M.Sc, I again apply to QAU for M.Phil. program in which I get admission. Meanwhile I keep meeting with Mushtaq and his secular friend Irfan. We spend many nights together sometimes at our place or at Irfan’s place. Our discussion on philosophy would continue until morning. I lose my old friends, Awais and his company. Thankfully I find Mushtaq and Irfan as my new friends.
Mr. Monologue 
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