Yaadish Bakhair: Muhammad Hussain (Mamo)

Muhammad Hussain (Mamo) of Hussainabad, Quetta

Muhammad Hussain (Kaka Mamo)

"The noblest form of mercy is to protect others from yourself."
                                                                           Abdal Hakim Murad
"The love we give away is the only love we keep."   
                                                                                    Elbert Hubbard

“And that’s how this tragic story ends. Having lost his “Kilander” (cleaner/assistant driver) in that gruesome manner, Neko, the veteran truck driver, never again made a stop at that dilapidated road side shack for chai, especially when he was driving by that cursed spot after midnight. The upper deck of his old “rocket” (pronounced "raakit", the bonnet-model of the classic flat-fronted Bedford truck) still has the brownish stains of the unfortunate Kilander’s blood, despite all the scrubbing. To this day, two years after the tragedy, he is haunted, and gets into fits whenever someone mentions that patch of highway near Jacobbabad, or the name of his dead Kilander.” Sitting in a semi-circle---- all ears, eyes wide open, mouths agape-----we, my siblings and I, would then slowly return to reality from the trance-like state into which we had been pulled in by this story-teller who was none other than our Kaka Mamo. “Kaka” means uncle in Persian, and in some other regional languages of Balochistan such as Pashto. His real name was Muhammad Hussain but for everybody in Hussainabad, Quetta, he was just Mamo.

A Bedford "rocket"

Long before I got introduced to master story tellers, both from the East and the West, especially in the genres of crime, true crime, horror and psychological-terror, we children would get our entertainment from family elders like Kaka Mamo. Years later, when I first read and then re-read Stephen King’s The Duel or watched the blockbuster movie The Hitcher, I would recall Kaka's stories with which we had our imaginations soaked during the long winter nights of Quetta. His road stories were the best. You see, he himself was a truck driver for many years. My grandfather, who was a coal man, had put him in charge of the trucks that used to transport coal to far flung places in the Punjab province and beyond. But he was not made for any kind of desk work. He preferred the seat behind the wheel to the one behind the desk in some dingy office in Mach Town where the coal mines were and where the business of coal was conducted.  His first love was the “rocket” (pronounced "raakit") truck. These were heavy duty lorries that were made by the British automobile maker Leyland-Bedford. He was a rocket fundamentalist and knew about every nut and bolt of that heavy road monster. He reluctantly started talking about Hino and Isuzu brands during the latter years of his life when these Japanese trucks were introduced in Pakistan. But his love for the rocket never died. Rarely have I seen someone so passionately attached to a vehicle. 

Dilip Kumar

His love for the rocket was matched only by his great affection and admiration for the Bollywood superstar of the day, the one and the only Dilip Kumar. It was Dilip who deeply inspired him and informed his sense of style, and even of person-hood. This was pretty much visible in the way he wore his hair: jet black, amply oiled, tidily trimmed at the back and curled-up in the front. He was also very particular about his shoes, especially the hand made chawwat  (locally made leather sandals). These sandals were of the special type—made-to-order----ones that made a rather musical squeaking noise when someone walked in them. Another feature of the chawwat was that they were worn in such a way that the heel would protrude half way out, as if one was wearing a two sizes smaller shoe. That was the style and fashion then and nobody exemplified it better than Kaka Mamo. He knew almost everything about Dilip Kumar and his movies. He would recite the movie scenes with Dilip as the hero and his famous dialogues like a child would recite his or her multiplication tables. He was especially knowledgeable about the perennial rivalry between (the Muslim) Dilip and (the Hindu) Raj Kapoor, the other megastar of the Bollywood of that era. About that particular topic he was the Encyclopedia of Britannica. But what usually amused me was that after all the Raj Kapoor bashing that he would indulge in---and that was often-----he would utter something like this: “But yaar, we have to admit that nobody can play that role the way Raj Kapoor does, not even Dilip. Raj Kapoor ko salam hai!” 

Raj Kapoor

And to talk of Bollywood and not mention songs is like talking about South Asian curries without mentioning spices. For Kaka Mamo, the spice of the curry was, of course, Muhammad Rafi, the great crooner and balladeer of Bollywood for more than three decades. Rafi “the king” as Kaka would call him. Rafi and Dilip made the best pair then---Dilip the uber-actor and Rafi the super-playback singer-----just like Rajesh Khanna and Kishore Kumar would in the 1970s and early 1980s. While listening to Binaca Geet Mala on the radio (popular late night Radio Ceylon broadcast that played Bollywood songs) he would tell us the movie name, producer, director, the lyricist, the composer, the year the movie was made and especially the scene in the movie that was the background for that particular song. His knowledge of movies was immense, just like his knowledge of the rocket trucks. 

Muhammad "the king" Rafi

A short man with a solid body set on a solid frame, Kaka Mamo was not a loquacious man. A simple man, he was quiet, rather shy in some ways. In fact, he had a sort of serenity about him. I would even say that he still carried that innocence about him that many of us lose on the way to adulthood, as we embrace, wittingly or otherwise, the ways of the world and lose ourselves in worldliness: a sort of repose that one sees not just in children but also in God’s loved ones, those who are near and dear to God. We must recall the saying of Hazrat Isa (Jesus Christ, may God's blessings be upon him) that in order to enter the Kingdom of Heaven we must be like children. Muhammad Hussain Mamo kept to his business most of the time and was always ready to help out, especially in the community that was the Hussainabad of then. People knew him and he could be seen at most of the community events, be it weddings or sad occasions like funerals. After I left Pakistan, I hardly had any contact with him and then he left us all for his final abode. I was in the U.K. (for my studies, or maybe it was Canada) when my mother informed me of his passing away. The story-teller to us kids, the lover of old rocket trucks-----those perennial mechanical mules on the decrepit and deplorable highways of Pakistan----the admirer of the great Dilip Kumar and of the equally great Muhammad Rafi, and the man of style especially when it came to hair and footwear died while I was away from Quetta. I was not able to attend the funeral of Kaka Mamo but he is always with me whenever I read a good story, especially a scary road story, or when I listen to my own old collection of Bollywood songs, but above all, when I see a Bedford truck. 

Yaadish Bakhair.

For more, please click:  Hussainabad, Qta: The Place, the people and their values
And here:  Regal Cinema Quetta: The Old Turkey Buzzard

Please visit:  Dervaish's Quetta Channel (Youtube)