Amar Bail

A plant of eternity

Posts Tagged ‘Memories’

From where I see it

Posted by Haris Gulzar on November 26, 2010

137

But I was wrong. You win. You beat her, or probably she let you beat her. Probably she accepted defeat herself. Maybe you were too much for her, though I’m sure she gave you a tough fight. Two and a half years, long surgeries, all sorts of medicines, frequent visits to the hospital and staying admitted there at times, bearing all those pains that are easier to talk about but extremely difficult to feel, not eating anything that might have ignited you again, it isn’t easy you know. She was definitely very strong. You were almost asleep for good, but then you woke up, only to prove her strength was not enough…

But hey cancer, don’t you see the tears a father has in his eyes after losing his princess? Don’t you see how broken he feels? Don’t you see him bursting into tears all of a sudden? Don’t you see how shaken he is with what you have done? A father who, she used to tell me, loved her more than anyone else. She told me, if there was anyone to go to the extremes of doing something for her, it would be her father. Someone who could do whatever it took only to make his daughter smile. But you don’t see all of this do you? You just don’t know how terrible it is for a father to see his child lying dead in front of him. For you, it’s only your strength to prove isn’t it?

And you don’t even see the confusion on the face of a five year old boy who wakes up the next morning and doesn’t find his mother around him. Who doesn’t even know why isn’t he being sent to the school. Who doesn’t know who to call if he needs a feeder of milk, or wants to get cleaned after getting his pants wet. And you certainly don’t see the tears a three year old girl has in her eyes, not because her mother is not living anymore, but only because everyone around her is crying. This child wouldn’t even know what actually happened. She wouldn’t know where her mother went and if she’s ever coming back or not. You just don’t care do you?

And I’m sure you are least concerned with what a mother felt when she was told her daughter is no more. With what a brother and a sister felt when they came to know about the death of their eldest sibling, and no doubt, you’re least concerned with whatever each individual associated with her felt when the news of her death broke. You’re just concerned with winning aren’t you? You just know your strength. But is it what you call winning? Is this how you defeat people? If only you had feelings, I’m sure you’d be ashamed of yourself today.

You haven’t won Mr. Cancer, you might have shown your strength alright, but this isn’t a win. She might have been beaten, but this is not a victory for you. In fact, from where I’m seeing it, you’ve actually lost. I’m just so proud of my friend to have fought with you, and to have fought so well. You’ve lost Mr. Cancer, you’ve lost…

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Those who matter – 3

Posted by Haris Gulzar on August 22, 2010

I never thought I’d write about this person when I started writing about the people who mattered in my life. But that’s what life is all about I guess. Who knows who’d be living the very next moment…

Muhammad Umar Khan. I first met him on the 5th of June 2008 at the PC hotel Lahore where we gathered for our group discussion and interviews for IBA admissions. That entire day was enough to make the 10 or 11 of us become friends of each other, because we all were to be part of the IBA hostelite family once selected. I had my interview taken ahead of everyone else because of the alphabetical order and I wasn’t allowed to see my other fellows waiting to be interviewed, so I could only exchange mobile phone number of Umar, that too in a hurry, before I left the hotel. Hence, Umar was the person I communicated with for anything related to IBA before we actually submitted our fee. I would ask him if he is planning to join IBA or waiting for other options, or if he’d start his job? I’d ask him if he had filled out all the forms or not? I’d ask him if his other class fellows who got selected for IBA were willing to join IBA? I’d ask him to stop thinking much and to make up his mind once and for all and submit the fee…

The second time we met each other was on the 30th of July, 2008. That was in Karachi, when we had our orientation. The journey started from there. I moved into my hostel room on the 31st of July 2008, and Umar moved in on the 1st of August. We would just sit together in the TV lounge and talk about everything. We would go to the market together. We would wait for each other before we had our meals in the mess. We would be found in each other’s rooms more often than being found in our own rooms. We would make project groups together. We would participate in competitions together. We would walk to the campus together and would come back to hostel together. Umar Khan was one of the closest friends I had at the IBA.

I also wrote about one of the experiences I had with Umar in a competition held at the IBA. That post can be found here. Before summer vacations were to start, several companies came to IBA for recruiting our seniors and for our internships. One of them was GSK who, when they came, gave the attendees some gifts. Their gifts included a small tension reliever ball, that we played catch catch with :-P. I remember whenever I went to Umar’s room, I got hold of that tension reliever ball of his and would throw it on his room walls as hard as I could and would catch it. Sometimes he would sit on his bed and I’d stand in front of one of the walls and would throw the ball on another wall in such a way that made it difficult for Umar to catch it, and Umar would have to dive on his bed to catch the ball.

We also used to celebrate our birthdays at the hostel, though it was always a four or five member gathering, but we would bring cakes and would cut them at exact 12 midnight. We used to take pictures and make videos of those celebrations using Umar’s mobile. He just had his 24th birthday on the 2nd of April this year and I remember Shahid and Waqar trying to get hold of him and me making a video of the entire event, to make him wear things we brought for Umar that he didn’t want to wear :-P.

Umar was one of the luckiest guys from our entire batch at IBA who got a job before the exams ended. He started his job on the 12th of July in Karachi. On the 27th of July, I had a chat with him and he told me he’d be coming to Rawalpindi to attend to his mothers surgery, and that he might also come to Lahore over the weekend. I asked him to stay at my place if he does come to Lahore. He told me the details about his mothers operation and that he had taken three days off from office and would be flying the next morning.

That flight didn’t allow him to see his mother get well after the operation :-(, in fact, it even took him away from his family. The ill-fated airblue flight from Karachi to Islamabad had one of my best friends in it, and that flight took him away from all of us. A few days back I was going through the pictures of my stay at IBA and was recalling the times we were together. The pictures at the beach, at the restaurants, at ice-cream parlors, at the hostel, in the funniest of poses.

His memories are never ending and ever lasting. I pray that his soul rests in peace at the highest of places in Jannah Insha-Allah, and that Allah gives sabar to his family. Ameen. Umar Khan, you will always be remembered Insha-Allah. I miss you…

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Those who matter – 2

Posted by Haris Gulzar on July 22, 2010

When I came back to Lahore after my final exams ended around mid June, I met one of my street friends who started off his conversation by asking me if I came to know about Omer. I asked him what happened and was told that Omer passed away a week back. Omer was another street friend, exactly my age, as in we had the same date of birth. We’ve played so much cricket together and have spent so much time together that it was extremely difficult for me to even believe he is not living anymore :-(. I remember when we used to sit late in the evenings after our matches were over, and we used to discuss what we wanted to become in our lives. We would discuss our options and which Universities we could apply to. I remember him telling me that he cleared the entry test for Army and that he had decided what he wanted to become.

We used to organize cricket matches amongst the adjacent blocks of the society we lived in. We would just walk to the streets of other blocks, find boys playing cricket there and would ask them if they wanted to have a match with our team. These street matches were starters to big matches that were played in grounds on Sunday mornings. We would fight on the stupidest of things such as if the bowled ball was a no ball or not, and if the runner had completed the run. I even remember us backing for each other if any of us got engaged in a quarrel or something. He was an extremely good batsman and lead our team most of the times. I just can’t stop visualizing his face right in front of me every now and then. We used to be together for most of our evenings, specially in Summers.

But then he joined Pakistan Army, and I started my Engineering studies. Another street friend left for abroad for his studies, and yet another friend went to GIKI for his studies. That was when the members of our cricket team chose their own paths, and though we still met but not that regularly. But Omer and I met a bit more frequently whenever he was in Lahore, maybe because we were the same age.

This friend who told me about Omer’s death told me that Omer was the commanding officer of his sepoys at Siyachin post and was coming back after completing his term there when he slipped off the mountain :-(. Although his body was recovered but he had fatal head injuries and he couldn’t survive. It is just so difficult to believe that the person I’ve spent my childhood with is not living anymore. He is one person I probably won’t forget, not in my near future atleast. May Allah grant him Jannah and me his soul rest in peace. Ameen

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Those who matter – 1

Posted by Haris Gulzar on July 15, 2010

Life has to end, but no one knows when. At times it only shocks us to come to know about someone who passed away, after which we realize how important that person actually was. Yesterday, while having dinner with my friends, we somehow touched upon the topic of sudden death and recalled people who died suddenly, only leaving people behind them shocked…

One of my teachers at IBA, Dr. Iqbal, recently passed away. It was nothing less than a shock to come to know about his death. Though he did have white hair and aged skin, but he was healthy. Not only healthy physically, but from heart. He was probably the most soft spoken person I ever met. He unfortunately did not have any children, and at times during his lectures, when he needed to give examples to explain his point, he would take examples from his life. He would always try to be as realistic as possible. He would even tell us table manners and etiquettes, he would tell us how one should be dressed up. He would tell us how we should use words such that the other person gets the message without feeling bad about what we want to convey. We usually did not like his teachings as we thought they weren’t too related with the course contents, but I guess we were wrong. He taught us Business communication and Negotiation, and I can so relate to his words and how each of his lesson was so important.

Dr. Iqbal had close association with hostelites. He even came to the hostel one day at around 8:30 in the morning and had breakfast with us before his class was due to start at 9:00 am. He always open heartedly invited the hostelites to his place. As I mentioned earlier that he did not have any children, he would at times ask us more than once to visit his place, specially on Sunday mornings, and to have Sunday breakfast with him. A few of us hostelites planned a couple of times to visit his place but somehow those plans couldn’t be implemented. This is one regret I have, not being able to visit his place even after he invited us so many times…

He died from a cardiac arrest. it is still hard to believe that he is not living anymore :-(. May Allah rest his soul in peace. Ameen

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When there is will

Posted by Haris Gulzar on February 14, 2010

“One starter platter, one large Pizza and a Salad bowl”. She finally placed the order.

They fought for at least 10 minutes before deciding who it would be to call the waiter and dictate the menu for lunch. She probably had the best choice amongst all those present, making her the victim of deciding what should be ordered. She even knew what everyone would like.

They were seeing each other after 8 years. I saw them after 16 years. I was only in touch with one friend leading me to having a lunch with the other three who I knew but didn’t remember very well. Although it was really astonishing and amazing to know that they remembered me fine. Their explanations about how I used to be back then, the stupid things we would go around doing at school, our old teachers; a couple of whom had died already, our other class fellows, everything we talked about was just so nostalgic and clearly recalled in my mind that I could visualize and see everything happening in front of me again. Everyone settled in with their lives, some of them working abroad, some happily married, some still studying and so on…

I did remember her name but couldn’t associate her with any of the faces I could recall from my memories of that time of school. Whenever we discussed about our other class fellows and discussed any incident associated with them, she would point to her neighbor with her eyes wide open, as if they both recalled something they shouldn’t be discussing in front of everyone, and then they would burst into laughter, giving each other a hi-five. She wasn’t different from other girls. She would talk, laugh, pass witty comments and would do just about everything that any other ordinary girl would have done after meeting her best friends after 8 years.

“Did someone order for the ice-cream?” Inquired one of the friends.

“No I’d order for it when the meal is served”. She said.

“But it’d seem odd yar, we don’t want to be eating Pizza’s with you waiting for your ice-cream. Call a waiter and order your ice-cream flavor immediately”. She was rather ordered than requested.

And there started again the fight about who’d call the waiter this time. They didn’t let go the possibility of making use of any passing moment to its fullest. They were thoroughly enjoying this meeting.

Two scoops of strawberry ice-cream was what she ordered I suppose. “You have your meal first ma’am and we’d serve the ice-cream after that” responded the waiter.

“No you serve it with the meal, because they’d all have Pizzas and I’d only have ice-cream”. She said with her hands pointing to the other four people sitting around a circular table.

Everyone knew she couldn’t eat anything available except the ice-cream that she had already ordered. The starters were here already. “Self service everyone”, announced the person sitting at my left and took a piece of garlic bread.

“Couldn’t you ask the ladies to start first?”. Her neighbor said angrily and took hold of the garlic bread basket.

The Pizzas were delivered soon as well. “Make room”, she said while starting to move the empty plates and sauce bottles aside to make room for the Pizza pan.

“Move your plate forward”, I said and put a piece each in their plates.

“Won’t you even taste it?”. I inquired. She brought a trace of smile on her face and shook her head. When everyone was busy deciding if they should use the knife and a fork, or just hold the Pizza piece in their hands and byte it, she was served with her ice-cream as well.

“Why don’t you eat anything?”. The person sitting on my left asked.

“Because I can’t”, she replied.

“Yeah I have been thinking about asking this. It seems everyone else knows but only I don’t know why you’re avoiding eating anything at all”, said the lady sitting next to her.

She smiled, she probably wanted to say something when he intruded again. “I asked her before as well but she said its a long story and that she’d tell me about it later…”

She put her ice-cream bowl on the table, stretched her left hand behind the lady sitting next to her, took a deep breath and very confidently said “I have been fighting cancer for the past two years”.

She had a lazy smile on her face. She was trying to control herself. “Two years”, she said, slightly raising the two leftmost fingers of her right hand. She tried to smile back again but this time, she couldn’t control her tears. She unfolded the tissue she had in her right hand, one that was probably served with the ice-cream bowl, held both ends of the tissue in her hands and kept it on her eyes. Everyone started to cheer her up. They all knew that there was something wrong, but they probably didn’t know the scale and intensity of her illness. It was a shock for everyone.

“Only I know how painful those two years were for me and how I have spent them”, she said, still trying to gain back control on herself. “Anyways”, she said, “I am recovering now Alhamdulillah, and it won’t be long when I recover completely Insha-Allah”. She was confident. She had will. She had determination. I could tell from her face that she had fought hard, and that she had fought well. She was destined to win Insha-Allah. That was when she also reminded of a couple of teachers from that time who had already died. They even recalled meeting each other on the funeral of one of the teachers, almost about 10 years back.

“Guess who this bride is?”. She took out a passport size picture from her purse and gave it to the lady sitting next to her.

“Don’t tell me its you…”. Exclaimed that lady. To which she nodded and brought that girlish smile back up on her face.

“Show it to me too”, said the person sitting next to me, and was handed over her picture. She took out another picture from her purse in the mean time.

“This is my son”, she told him, taking back her wedding picture.

“Give it to me”, asked the lady sitting next to her. “Awwww shoo cutteee”, the lady said when she was shown the picture. “Whats his name?”, the lady inquired.

“Ahmed”, she said. She was back to normal again.

“So when are we meeting next?”. I asked. “And who’s planning for our next meeting, just so that the venue is mutually agreed upon and we don’t flop the plan?”.

“So what you’re saying is our plan flopped today?”, asked the lady sitting at my right.

“No it didn’t but I’m not in favor of such short notice plans”, I replied.

“Lets have a one dish at someone’s place”. We were now done with paying the bill and were getting up when she said this, totally letting go of the fact that she almost cried a few minutes back.

“Remember how we met at that place back then and you came to pick us but didn’t come inside that place…?” She asked inquisitively, pointing at the lady who was sitting next to her, and they burst into laughter again…

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Associations

Posted by Haris Gulzar on September 8, 2009

Its amazing how we develop associations with those we hardly know. Associations that aren’t only associations on the face of it, but are deep and meaningful. And not always do we realize the sense of association unless we part with those whom we feel associated with. These people may not be our closest of friends, but only someone we met a couple of times only. These people themselves may not be valuable to us, but a feel of their existence after we part might be very valuable.

In my first semester here at IBA, I was a teaching assistant of a course that was being taught to the first year BBA students. There were 3 sections of this course, about 120 students for whom I was assisting the teacher. Although I didn’t know each and every student by name and face by the end of semester, but I did know quiet a lot of them, specially those with whom I used to have a bit more interaction. Students usually came to me to submit their assignments or reports, or occasionally a couple of them would come to ask something from some other course they were taking.

That was the entire relationship I had with those 120 students. A sort of a student teacher relationship, where the teacher (not exactly a teacher but sort of a teacher) didn’t even know each and every of his students, but still I felt associated with them. In the second semester, whenever any of my students would see me, they would say Salam to me and I’d reply and ask about their health. Some of them used to discuss with me their teachers and their gpas and their progress in courses etc, although I wasn’t assisting any of their teachers in the 2nd semester. It somehow felt good to see them.

One morning when I was getting ready for my class, a fellow hostelite who happened to be one of my students as well, came to my room and told me that one of their class fellows had a severe accident while to coming to university. A bus ran over him. He just told me about the accident and didn’t tell me if that student made it or not, but his shaky voice and the hurriedness said it all. When I reached the campus, which is hardly a 7~8 minutes walk from hostel, I could tell immediately that he did not make it. The way people were sitting in groups, saddened, a few of them having tears in their eyes, and a few faces shocked by the news, it was apparent that my student had died.

He was 19. I didn’t know him much, but he was my student. That day, whenever any of our teachers asked our class if we knew the boy, I raised my hand and said he was my student. I so felt bad every time I mentioned it. I felt bad only because I knew him. Only because I had a feeling of association with him, and I only realized it when he was no more…

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The question!

Posted by Haris Gulzar on July 21, 2009

A couple of days back, I was walking with my dad when he asked me if I have my wallet and mobile with me. I told him I didn’t have them and suddenly I recalled why did he ask me this question. There are two incidents associated with this question and with we being careful now to have our wallets or mobiles with us if we’re walking.

Incident # 1:

It was the 23rd of November, 2006, 2215 HRS. I was coming out of my University after having a meeting with a few faculty members. My car was the only car parked in the parking and the guard was only waiting for me to pay the parking charges so that he can leave. I was accompanied with three other friends. As soon as we came out in the parking area, I paid the parking charges and the guard left immediately. We discussed the points we had under discussion in the meeting with faculty and soon the other three friends of mine were on their way as well. Their motorcycles were parked inside university. They went inside, brought their bikes out and were gone, that’s when I also unlocked my car, sat inside, closed the door, put the key in the ignition and…

I heard a knock on the window followed by a very loud voice. “Bahar aao, BAHAR AAO” (Come out, COME OUT). The person shouting through the window had a gun pointing towards my head. I opened the door, stepped out and before I could say anything, I saw another person running towards me, and as soon as he reached me, he loaded his gun right in font of my eyes (that’s a scary sight I tell you) and put the gun on my chest. Within less than, or a maximum of 10 seconds, I was deprived of my mobile and my wallet. And let me also mention that the mobile I lost was the one I bought after doing Teaching Assistantships at my university for one complete year. That mobile was worth my life time savings at that time. The knock that I heard that day is still so fresh in my ears that I still get frightened sometimes when someone knocks on a window :-(.

Incident # 2:

My father was walking to the mosque for Isha prayers. The area mosque is hardly 7-8 minutes of walk away from our place. He was almost a 100 meters from the mosque when two young men approached him on a motorcycle and asked him to handover everything to them. Fortunately, he wasn’t carrying his mobile or his wallet with him. Confused, he started running towards the mosque, and the dacoits (they also got confused probably) just flew away Alhamdulillah.

My father has now made it a point to make sure everyone walking with him at the time of Maghrib and/or Isha prayers doesn’t have his mobile or wallet with him. He now doesn’t forget to ask this question…

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Innocent times…

Posted by Haris Gulzar on July 8, 2009

I want to go back to the time when “getting high” meant “on a swing”, when “drinking” meant “apple juice”, when “dad” was the only “hero”, when “love” was “mom’s hug”, when “dad’s shoulder” was “the highest place on earth”, when your “worst enemies” were “your siblings”, when the only thing that could “hurt” were “skinned knees”, when the only things “broken” were your “toys”, and when “goodbyes” only meant “till tomorrow”…!!!

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I love you “too”…

Posted by Haris Gulzar on April 29, 2009

A few days after I came to Karachi for my studies, I talked to Muneeba on phone. After asking about how she was, if she was missing me or not, how her school was going and what she did the whole day, I was just about to hang up the call when she got my attention and said “Chachoo”, I replied “Ji Beta”, and she said “I Love You too”. This was the first time I heard her say this sentence (with an extra ‘too’ at the end), and it made me cry and laugh at the same time. What amazed me was the way she inserted this sentence into our conversation, and the way she got my attention just to say this one sentence. She must have been eagerly waiting for the right time to say this to me throughout my conversation with her. She must have planned to say this to me before the call ended. I knew straight away that this sentence came right from her heart. I knew that she really meant it.

Days went by. I usually talked to her every alternate day or sometimes after a gap of 2 or 3 days. Whenever I said to her that I love you, she replied I love you too. She probably had understood by now what the “too” meant. But it was always her who got to say this “too” after saying “I love you”.

A couple of weeks back when ammi was coming to Karachi, she told Muneeba that she’d be meeting me here as well, and also that my birthday was approaching, hence Muneeba should make some cards for me. How could Muneeba waste such an excellent chance of sending me something? One day when she returned from school, she silently went to her room and made a lovely landscape at the back of one of her class work sheets. That’s probably the only paper she found to work at. She didn’t want to waste any time or to ask anyone to give her a piece of paper. She drew a house, a lot many stars and a moon, and above all, she glittered it. Another day when ammi put some receipt on a table, Muneeba got hold of it and made a lovely flower at the back of that receipt, checked her work herself, gave herself a star, and glittered it as well. No one knew she had started making gifts for me, but she was silently collecting her drawings for me.

When ammi’s departure for Karachi was only a couple of days away, she asked Muneeba if she had made any “card” for me, which she hadn’t. She had only been making drawings at the back of papers. She must have felt disappointed because as soon as she realized the fact that she hadn’t made any card for me, she asked her mother to give her some piece of chart paper to work at. She found a blue chart paper, which she made into a great card. On the front of this card she drew a beautiful butterfly and colored it, drew some flowers, and a sun and clouds, and some grass, and colored them all. Inside, she wrote:

Dear chacho

I miss you

I love you

From Muniba.

It was only later that everyone at home found out that Muneeba had not only made one “card” for me, but had also been working at drawing at the back of her class works. This was when everyone came to know that it wasn’t one card, it was three of them. When ammi handed over these cards to me, I didn’t know if I should smile or cry. I immediately said out loud, I miss you “too”, I love you “too”. That’s when I realized that it was the first time I got to say I love you “too”. Muneeba said it to me through those cards, I’m saying this to her through this post.

Muneeba, I love you “too”.

 

 

The cards that Muneeba made for me…

 

Front of the card

Front of the card

 

Inside

Inside

 

The landscape

The landscape

 

This picture speaks for itself

This picture speaks for itself

 

Related Post – – -> چاچو  بیٹی  ہوں ۔ ۔ ۔

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Four Years Spent or Life Lived!

Posted by Haris Gulzar on February 4, 2009

 

A long journey it was wasn’t it? But it flew by in just a snap of fingers right? That’s exactly what a snap of fingers can mean to us. It just feels of something from a very recent past that we were together. And yeah, I should be stressing on the word “WE” shouldn’t I? It started off with 5 sections. It started off with people belonging to one section or the other. It started off with the person from Section E getting 3 A’s, and a person from Section B getting a GPA of more than 3.5. The groupings used to be from within the sections. But what did it end with? It ended with a very proud Batch 2002. It ended with one batch, one entity, and one unit. That’s the transformation these four years made. It turned us from “ME” to “WE”. The maximum GPA was then not from one section, it was from amongst the batch, friends were no more from any one section, they were from the entire batch.

FAST-NU Lahore Campus, almost our second home. That’s what it really had become for us. We really lived like a family. We used to sit in circles in the back lawns, talking about just anything that popped in our minds, may it be “aaj mausam kitna acha hai!”. We used to stay late in campus, just to stay with friends. We used to reach university well before the class was due to start, so as to finalize the day’s schedule with friends. We used to keep seats for our “Best friend”, who obviously came in late because they got their assignment as well as ours printed. We used to delay our lunches to make sure we have it only when our mates were free. We used to take courses after having a look at the number of available seats for that course, to make sure that all friends are in for trouble together.

I still remember the summers of 2005 when I, along with a few very close friends, used to come to the university almost every day and used to pick Jaman from the trees located near back lawns. We used to borrow the lunch boxes of faculty members from the kitchen, put the Jaman in them, and used to place them under cold running water, and ate them as soon as we thought the Jaman were chilled enough. This Jaman party usually lasted a couple of hours. The Chicken Karahi and Shawarma parties in evenings weren’t too uncommon either. The “aalo walay parathay” and “kulfa” in the basketball court was a special get together menu. We used to bring in all this stuff inside university and used to get together in CoNE lab or in girls café, and in case we got caught during a round of the faculty advisor of CoNE lab, we had to invite (bribe) that teacher as well. Stuff from International bakery like Chicken bread, a 2 pound fresh cream cake, and Pizza’s were normal on birthdays.

Arguing from teachers about marks was almost an everyday routine, may it be a quiz, an assignment, a mid-term exam, or a project. And not only did we used to do it during class, but as soon as we saw a teacher who had been teaching us in that semester, the first thing that came into our minds was “Sir, wo mainay aap se marks ki baat kerni thi”. Friends would rarely compare the marks they received on a quiz or an assignment, but the marks they got increased later. It usually went like “Oye! Teray kitnay marks barhay?”, and the other person would answer “yaar sir barha hi nahi rahay number, buhat bola hai magar wo sun hi nahi rahay”, and the first person used to announce victoriously, “meray 2 number barh gaye”.

The last year at FAST-NU was no doubt the best of all years. People chose their project PC’s as far as they could from the lab entrance and the lab attendant room so as to be able to play games. All the Age of Empires and Counter Strike matches we used to have, and not to forget the MOHAA challenges, and the lab attendant coming over to us, asking us to shut the game down, and we asked the attendant one last chance to continue playing. People would suddenly find someone standing behind them with a fire extinguisher in their hand and before the culprit could be figured out, the zszszszszsz sound of the fire extinguisher used to make everyone laugh at their maximum volume. The black day, the white day, the batch dinner, the job fair, the batch picture and obviously the most memorable “02” sign we made, will stay with us forever.

All those one day trips in each semester, the singing and dancing in buses, the bar be queue, the SOFTEC events each year, its preparations and success, the spring fun fair festivals, dedicating songs to batch mates, the surprise engagement functions on those spring festivals, the welcome and the farewell parties, all the shughal in boys common room, having aftaar together with friends, occupying the discussion rooms and sometimes getting the juniors out of the discussion rooms only because we were seniors, who can ever forget these memorable moments. These will stay with us throughout our lives. Did we only spend our four years in gaining lifelong friendships, in learning what it meant to have a friend, in knowing that we’re incomplete without these friends? NO, this cannot be termed as only spending our fours year at FAST, we definitely lived our lives in these four years.

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