Yaadish Bakhair: Abdul Hadi

Abdul Hadi of Nauabad, Quetta

"Observe what he does, look into his motives, find out in what he is at peace. Can a man hide himself? Can a man hide himself?" 
                                                                                            Confucius
Abdul Hadi (Mama Hadi)

“Oh, so you are Hadi sahib’s nephew. Why didn’t you say so earlier? No problem, just give me a minute and I’ll get your file in. Please have a seat here. What would you like to have? Green tea or tea with milk?” I have no count of how many times I have heard that in the numerous government offices of Quetta, from superintendents, section officers, office clerks and peons. Hundreds of times, I am sure, if not a thousand. Anybody who has lived in Pakistan, or knows a thing or two about how Pakistani government offices work can easily understand what that sort of thing means and can easily relate to it. There, in Pakistani offices, especially government offices, unless you hear something like that from the demigods who populate those offices---all the way from the G-21 secretary to the peon, or the chaprasi--- you are sure to spend days, weeks and months, if not years, without getting the smallest of things done----your very legitimate official things, that is, as were my cases. Unfortunate as it is in a way, through the years that I lived in Pakistan, I got things done that way, by mentioning the magic word: Abdul Hadi. 

                                   

My uncle Abdul Hadi, the elder brother of Nasim Ahmed about whom I wrote earlier on this blog site, was a workaholic. A government servant all his life, he was a dedicated professional. I have used that adjective "professional" before. What I primarily mean by it is someone who does his or her best in the most difficult and trying of situations. It has, of course, other denotations and connotations as well, but that is the meaning that I often have in mind when I use it. Abdul Hadi became a public servant soon after graduation, moved through the different tiers of the provincial bureaucracy by dint of hard work and finally retired as an Assistant Commissioner for Quetta District. Just like in private life, he was old school in public life, too. What that means is that he had an old-fashioned work ethic which required a sincere commitment,  a principled dedication to his work. Ever ready to deal with all sorts of emergencies that his tough job demanded, he was often on duty round the clock, all day and all night, and would return home at dawn only to leave again for work a couple of hours later. 

In office with local elders

Widely known, especially in the official circles of the city, he was loved and respected not just for his professionalism but more than that, for the kind of person he was: generous, self-effacing and at home with all, irrespective of social class, age, caste, tribe or ethnicity etc. He was more Hadi Sahib than Abdul Hadi Hazara or any other ethno-religious appellation attached to his name that would make him tribal, parochial or sectarian, or so perceived, if I may put it that way. For sure, he had his own distinct identity---ethnic, linguistic, cultural-religious, like we all do----but he was there for all, an awami figure universally approachable, as a true public servant should be in an ethnically and linguistically diverse, multi-cultural society. And that is also because he was old school through and through. Like his good friends and colleagues from almost all the ethnic and linguistic groups of Quetta City, he was an authentic Quetta Waal. He belonged to that breed and generation of people who are now fast becoming extinct as its last remaining members who embody the old values (iqdaar) of Quetta Waali retire and pass away. Indeed, the city will be impoverished in a very profound sense when the last of these noble souls vacate the social, cultural, political and religious landscape of Quetta City.

Pishin posting (in white shalwar kameez and coat)

Abdul Hadi was a man of community. The community that he was born into and where he lived all his life is called Nauabad, meaning “new neighborhood’ or “new community” although it is anything but. There is a story about this old Alamdar Road mohalla of equally old Hazaras that it was established at the start of the last century by his father Mullah Ghulam Ali and with that it came to be known as “Nauabad”. I cannot attest to the authenticity of that, though. My uncle Hadi was a regular and constant presence in his community. Exhibit: on any given evening, especially after he retired, he could be seen cleaning not just the patch of asphalt in front of his house, but the entire street. Water hose in one hand and a sturdy long broom in the other, he would wash and sweep the narrow street with a small army of boys and girls, all mohalla kids, running about him and helping as he instructed each one of them their assigned chores. One of these kids would pick the pile of collected garbage, another would bag it, a third would run it to the collection spot for final removal and a fourth would assist with the long hose to make sure it did not get bent or stuck somewhere and so on. And then there were times when he would use his position to make sure the mohalla had its electricity, water and gas running, not in a way that would be considered unfair or illegitimate use of power, or abuse of authority, but doing all of it within the bounds of propriety and general human decency. Those who obliged, who carried out his orders or requests, did so more because of his accommodating character and genial personality than because of his official authority or position in the government, anyway. In him and in what he used to do in and for his community, one could discern the ethos that are the very foundations of any tightly-knit traditional community where people are like one big family, like a single organic unit, where they are equal partners in everything small and big, in all that makes the community smile and cry, in happiness and in tragedy, or in life and in death. Old school, again. 

Nauabad

Nauabad

                                                                                            

There was something about Abdul Hadi of Nauabad, something that one could not quite point out clearly or put in precise words, yet one knew it and felt it because of his downright, unostentatious presence. There was humility and a dignified demeanor, for sure. There was the generosity of spirit and self-effacement that I have already mentioned. These were qualities that attracted both the young and the old equally. But there was something more: a certain calmness, a quiet repose that was a kind of carelessness about, or a disregard for the mundane and the petty. This carelessness was invariably accompanied by an attentiveness to things usually ignored by the many, a subtle attentiveness to the invisible, little things: an attitude that can be called sophisticated simplicity (exemplified in the way he dressed and spoke) and that befits a dervish. Perhaps it was that. This quiet calmness could be seen not only when he was doing his community chores with his team of mohalla kids---which he obviously enjoyed---- but also when he was in the midst of his often nerve-wrecking, round-the-clock assignments as the Assistant Commissioner of Quetta district. After all, he was, yes----old school.

With friend Flt. Lt. Samad Ali Shaheed

Yaadish Bakhair.


Note: The people that I write about in this Yaadish Bakhair series were all too human, just like the rest of us: frail, fallible, imperfect. The attempt here is not to paint them as super-humans, or to elevate them to the angelic realm of perfection, but to shine a light on one, two or some aspects of their multi-dimensional personalities. These are mere fragments, or fragmentary sketches, about the subject personalities the way I saw and knew them, and the way I now remember and write about them. These are not whole biographies. How could they be? Yes, there is choice involved since we cannot do without that when we engage in any discourse, of this type or any other variety: a story told is always another one ignored. Others may see things differently and may wish to draw their own conclusions and sketches.

For more, click:Hussainabad:The place, the people and their values

Visit (click):          Dervaish's Quetta Channel (Youtube)