Life After KE
Nauman Mufti

After I passed my finals, the paid house jobs I could get were Cardiac Surgery and Chest Diseases. Cardiac Surgery was also called Thundi Ward because it was entirely air-conditioned. Summer was upon us and I loved being in an air-conditioned ward. While on call one weekend, I heard a lot of commotion. Loud noises were coming from the lower entrance next to Cardiology Ward. I went down-stairs. The gatekeeper at the entrance came rushing to me. He said Doctor Sahib there is a strange guy on a bicycle who wants to enter the hospital. He claims the he is a Professor. He pointed towards the person who was wearing a tracksuit and sweating from head to toe. I looked at the person and turning to the gatekeeper, I said, please let him in. He is indeed our Professor of Surgery, Col. Cheema.
The other surgeon we had was Dr. Jawaad Ahmad. He was the nephew of Ashfaq Ahmed, my most favorite author, intellectual and human being of the highest order. After a successful surgery, Dr. Jawaad would treat all house officers with delicious home cooked feast. However, during surgery he was the most fearsome of any surgeons, I encountered. He would throw instruments and his shouting curse words, though not directed at me, made my hands tremble. I remember after my first thoracotomy, which went flawlessly, he said to me Nauman, you should think seriously about becoming a cardiac surgeon. What he did not know was that when I had picked up the saw for thoracotomy, I had prayed to Allah, O Allah please do not let me harm this patient and I promise you I will never pick up the saw again. Allah helped through the surgery and I kept my promise.
After my paid house jobs, I wanted to do a house job in a Medical Ward. I vividly remember that one professor took his pen out to grant me the permission to do an honorary house job. He casually asked me so when are you going to take your PLAB. I said, never. I am going to USA. He put the pen back on his lab coat, without signing my application. This was the first symptom of the foot-in-mouth disease I suffer from. I have the knack of saying the first thing that comes in my mind, without assessing the consequences.
After my house job, I applied for many jobs within Lahore but had no luck. I finally found a job in Chak 25 GB (Guddu Barrage), a village near Okara. It was a Basic Health Unit (BHU). There was a residence for the Medical officer. I would have loved to live there and serve the village people however, there was a problem. The village people were using it to house their buffalos. Moreover, I was told that the electricity was disconnected because local people were stealing it to light their houses. I could get it connected without much trouble, provided I paid the outstanding bill. It was Rs 20,000. Being that my ‘salary’ was Rs. 2,000; my first 10 months salary would go towards paying the bill. In addition, they were not willing to accept installments. I was keen on doing the job so I decided to commute from my Temple Road residence. I would get my bus from Mozang Chungi at 6 AM to Okara. From Okara, I took another bus to reach Chuk 25. This bus was always crowded, packed with villagers and their animals. I reached the BHU by Noon after 6 hours. There were 20-30 patients politely waiting for me. I would then see patients, some of whom had never seen a physician. They were indeed very grateful. At 3 PM, it was time to head home for the 6 hr trip back home. After couple of weeks, my parents, who had by then moved to Lahore from Karachi, grew worried. One day I asked my Dispenser, if it was okay if I skipped a day every once in a while. Surprisingly, he was very pleased. Then he told me that that the doctor before me, never bothered to come at all and he (the dispenser) ran the BHU. He told me that I could do the same. I could not do that. Finally, we decided that I would come every other day. I felt very guilty, but 14 hr days were beginning to take their toll and my salary was barely covering the bus fare.
Luckily, after only 3 months at Chuk 25, I found what I thought was a better job in Shamke Bhattian only 40 km south of Lahore. What happened there is a story for another day.

The Way We Are.
By Mohammad Yahya

The two most abundant elements in the universe are Nitrogen (N) and Stupidity (suggest a symbol) and my clinic is no exception to it. I do not know whether it is stupidity or mere innocence on the part of my patients, but it does amuse me every now and again. As it provides happiness to me, I would rather call it innocence (although I know it is not). And I always make a positive effort to encourage my patients to keep contributing to this foolishness -- I mean innocence.

Once a patient called me at around 11 p.m. I was just about to go to sleep. Thank God had not already gone to sleep and woken up by this "important" query by the patient. He said, "I am Mr. Such and Such, you operated on me about 20 days ago." I recalled and said, "Yes, how can I help." He says, "You asked me to take a shower after ten days. I did take that shower" and he paused. Now I was getting worried about him. My sleepy head was turning brighter to be able to evaluate his problem. I wondered if he was all right. Was it that he had slipped in the shower? Had he caught cold? How the hell he could damage all the Coronary Arteries I had grafted by simply taking a shower? Had he dissected his aorta? A number of possibilities flashed across my mind. Worriedly I asked him, "Are you alright? Is there anyone around you to help?" He innocently said, "Everything is fine. I took shower ten days after the operation as you advised. Now I was just wondering when it is OK for me to take shower next time."

Another patient phoned to see me regarding itch in his foot three years after I had replaced his Mitral Valve. I asked him to come to the clinic at 5 o'clock the following day. He says, "What? 5 in the morning?" Anyhow, he came at 5 p.m. the next day.
I greeted him, "Aao ji kis tarah tashreef lay aae o."
"Rikshay te baith ke." he replied innocently.

A patient's wife asked me on fifth post op day, pointing towards the patient, "Can he sleep on his side?"
"Of Course, he can." I replied proudly as if it was a great honour for me to allow him.
The patient smilingly said, "Yes, he (me) is right. I slept on my side last night and nothing went wrong."

A diabetic patient's wife reported to me on the ward round that her husband went hypoglycaemic at 4 a.m. She told me that she gave him a glass of juice and the things were back to normal in no time. I praised her much, "You did the right thing. Even if we were here, we wouldn't have done any differently."
She proudly smiled and said, “Yes Doctor Sahib, with his longstanding diabetes, I know much about this disease. That's why I made sure to give him 'Diabetic Juice'."
What a great way to relieve hypoglycaemia I wondered.

Love to all,
Yahya

The Way We Were

By Nauman Mufti

We were in final year now. The emphasis had shifted completely to clinical medicine. In Medical and surgical wards we were now taught by the professors themselves. Majority of our teachers were excellent and loved to teach. Some were friendly while others had an intimidating aura about them. During ward rounds, they travelled in an entourage of Registrars, house physicians and medical students. Although terrifying and humiliating at times our clinical education was top notch.

Most of our clinical rotations were at Mayo Hospital. The only exception was that Ob-Gyn rotation which was at Lady Wellington Hospital. For our group, it was the last clinical rotation. To our surprise, our group comprised of both boys and girls. Kamran Hameed, Javed Ajmal, Imran Nazeer, Nasir Javed and others were there along with Zahra Haider, Naghmi Shirin, Mehr-un-Nisa, Raheela Ajmal, Rubina Aslam and others.
I remember that towards the end of our rotation we decided to go to Lahore Fort (Shahi Qila) as a group. We arranged with the bus drivers to take us there. To our dismay, when the day of the trip came there were no sign of any buses. Desperately, I tried to convince Imran Nazeer (the only one in our group who came to college in a car) to make a couple of trips to transport the girls there, but he refused saying that he was not allowed to have any girls in the car. I offered to drive the car but we could not convince him. In the end, all of us walked all the way to Lahore Fort. It was not a bad walk for us boys, however I felt bad for the girls, some of whom were wearing high heels. We were a bit tired by the time we reached the entrance of the majestic fort. We found a good spot close to the entrance and sat down for our picnic. No longer had we sat down when we saw four of our class fellows from another group appear from nowhere. They hovered a few yards away. Was it a coincidence? I know not. After the snacks, we told a few jokes and saw the splendor of Shish Mahal. Then we walked all the way back to KE. Soon after that we were studying for our final professionals.

We started our life at KE, 32 yrs ago, unsure of what lay ahead. We were rowdy during some lectures. However, we hung on every word when the lectures were good or we were intimidated into submission. We studied hard at times while at other times we goofed off. We shared smiles, laughter and sorrows together. Along the way, we made friends. We had class trips where we danced sloppily to English songs and stole pastries from girls. We had small group parties where we celebrated our successes. We shed tears on our failure to pass a sub-substage. We flew kites on Basant together. We lived in hostels, homes and empty places. Just for fun, some of us crashed wedding parties, stole petrol and rashly drove our motor bikes.

We pulled pranks on girls and wrote poems about them. While girls gossiped about boys and gave them funny nicknames. However, it was a taboo then and perhaps even now to admit that some of us fell in love. Mostly the old-fashioned Mir and Momin kind of ‘Ishq’ where the Aashiq could not gather the courage to express his feelings to the girl he loved and chose the cowardly way to suffer silently. I do not know, but maybe the girl in question never had a clue of what was going on. The vice versa could have been true also but again, I have no way of knowing.

Now, after twenty-six years, some of us are professors in academic institutions while others are renowned surgeons, and physicians. A few left medicine to pursue other careers. We are all spread out in Pakistan, Saudi Arabia, Malaysia, United Kingdom, Canada, United States and perhaps elsewhere too. Regardless of where we are today and what we do, we all remember the times we spend together at King Edward Medical College in the heart of Lahore, Pakistan. We are all bound together by our memories. Yes, the memories of the way we were.

Memories
Light the corners of my mind
Misty watercolor memories
Of the way we were
Scattered pictures
Of the smiles we left behind
Smiles we gave to one another
For the way we were

Memories
May be beautiful and yet
What's too painful to remember
We simply choose to forget
So it's the laughter
We will remember
Whenever we remember
The way we were

Written by Alan Bergman; Marilyn Bergman and Marvin Hamlisch for the 1975 Movie by the same name and sung by Barbara Streisand.

The longest year
By Nauman Mufti

Fourth year started with a class trip to Murree. Irfan Shami and his friends arranged the trip well. Although I did not go, when the trip was over I heard so many lively stories, saw so many gleeful pictures that I feel as if I had gone. For many days after the trip saw many people with a dreamy look perhaps still playing the video of the trip in their head.
It was also the year we were introduced to Forensic Medicine. We learnt about how to gather contact trace evidence and which poison did what to the human body. We also learnt that FJ girls would be coming to KE to do lab work at KE. My enthusiasm for the subject waned however after we attended an autopsy. The gruesome scene and the smell took away any excitement we may have felt about seeing the FJ girls who have come to witness the autopsy.
Although fourth year the least rigorous year academically in my opinion, the third professional exams were delayed by about four months. Suddenly we had a lot of time at our hands. If my memory serves me well Saeeduddin utilized this time by promptly getting married. I imagine people in hostels may have gone home. I stuck around at my Temple Road place. I spent my time playing Squash and Billiards at the Engineering University and playing Chess at home.
Mercifully, the third professionals were upon us. Soon we would be in our final year.

My recollections of the Third Year

By Naghmi Shirin

Nice recollection Nauman, but I must clear at this stage that except for a few who used their feminity to get through, most of the girls were very hard working. The reason that rarely a girl failed her exam was that they did not have those extracurricular activities that you guys had.

In the third year, we encountered real patients. One girl student left medicine because she abhorred touching the patients. In Mayo, we had a large variety of patients from all over Punjab. History taking was the toughest and the most boring task. However, it was a nice change going to wards in the evening to prepare our cases. We had started feeling like doctors.

There were quite a number of interesting personalities who taught us in wards. There was one Asst Prof.Khurram, who used to draw a line around him and instructed every female student not to cross that line.

We were extremely afraid of Prof Lakkar. One of our friends Maryam Hassan was related to him. Once she invited us for lunch. When we were seated, all of a sudden Prof Sahib appeared. We could hardly swallow. Later she told us that he was her khaloo and she was actually staying at their residence. However, after that we avoided paying any further visit, although her khala was an extremely nice lady.

Third Year… A transition from basic to clinical sciences

We were in third year now. Clinical ward rotations had started. Instead of useless dangling on my neck, I could now use my stethoscope to listen to heart sounds. Physicians practicing clinical medicine now taught us at patient’s bedside. We encountered some brilliant clinicians such as Prof Aziz of TBCD ward, Prof Mahmood Ali Malik of Medicine, Prof Rasheed Lakkar and Zafar Haider of Surgery. I also got a chance to brush up on my rusty Punjabi by communicating with patients. Finally, it started to feel like we are on the road to become doctors.

We also started studying pharmacology and pathology. We were the first class that Prof Bilquees Jamal taught in KE after her UNO job. Her lectures were interesting and her personality even more so. I still remember her description of the ‘muscarinic man’ illustrating the pharmacologic effects on acetylcholine on body. We also heard some good stories of her days at the UNO. We also heard some colorful Punjabi words and jokes.

Prof Zafar ul Aziz taught us Pathology. One day I decided to wear Shalwar Kameez to his lecture. Big mistake. He singled me out and had me approach the lectern. He wanted to know if I was son of a political figure. When I told him that my dad had served in the Pakistan Navy and had now retired he wanted to know why he had retired. I also remember that in our professionals, quite a few boys failed and none of the girls did. I found out why he was like that but that is another story.

With so much going on the third year went very fast. It was hard to believe that we surpassed the midpoint of our medical college. Soon, we would be real doctors.

Prof Pharma and the Girls Hostel.
By Naghmi Shirin

We had another interesting personality of our college days, she was Prof. Bilquees Jamal Zafar popularly known as Madam Pharma. She was one of the best teachers, who made pharmacology not only understandable but interesting as well. There can be no two opinions about that, but today I am going to discuss some interesting aspects of her personality.

She was appointed the warden of our girl’s hostel. She shifted with her family to the newly constructed bungalow for the warden within the premises. Every morning we woke up to a loud roaring sound and we knew that some servant was being targeted. Her cursing vocabulary was quite wide and we learnt quite a few colorful Punjab words. However, I admit that she was a good administrator. She brought a revolution in the girl’s hostel. Her discipline was strict and no wrong doings by servants or girls escaped her notice.

She was fond of animals and kept a large Alsatian dog and some deer as well. One day the deer came out of the cage and the dog ran on and on after it. The whole lot of servants was running to stop the dog but neither one nor the other gave a heed to anyone. At last, the deer collapsed with a broken leg.

We in the hostel, tried to avoid confronting her. But some people liked to get her attention. She was the guardian of a number of female foreign students. She had appointed some of our class fellows who were in her good books to teach them. Though how much it helped them, is questionable...

Madam had a great collection of exquisite Saris. When we attended her class, the first thing we use to notice was her sari of the day. We really loved them. I think she never wore the same sari again.

She had a strong personality. She was often found taking a walk in the gardens of pharmacology department. Students considered that area a Red Zone. Once we went to her office for some problem. We saw a nice well-suited gentleman sitting there. She introduced him by saying 'Well girls meet him, yeh mere shauhar honey key dawadar hain' and he smiled sheepishly. Later we learnt that poor gentleman was her husband, Prof Zafar Hayat, the renowned Principal of Nishtar Medical College.

Class of 84 Quiz by Naveed Yazdani

Following are 10 names of our class mates and below that is a list of 10 attributes. Your job is to match the Right person with the Right attribute.

1. Abdul Mannan Baber
2. Nasir Javed
3. Saqib Bukhari
4. Athar Usmani
5. Waqar Farooqi
6. Kamran Hussain
7. Kamran Hameed
8. Saroosh Hamid
9. Saeed u Zaman
10. Saeed u Din

Attributes/Concepts
1. Zaheer Abbas
2. RD Burman
3. Phil Collins
4. Automatic
5. Commrade
6. Computer
7. Married bhai
8. Unmarried bhai
9. Handsome
10. RJ Last

Thanks and have fun.
NAVEED YAZDANI

GAMMA...I remember
By Kamran Hussain, Iffat Saud and Shahid Bashir

Well some people have fond memories of Gamma. I certainly do not have fond memories of him although some are funny memories.

I remember that he failed almost the whole batch in a substage that he took... in fact three substages in a row and then the stage as well. This was part of the reason that I fell out of favour with my father who although he was not a strict disciplinarian used to keep an eye on my academics. It is certainly embarrassing when one has a certain reputation and is failing repeatedly in tests.

I remember he took the supple of one of the first substages of the Upper limb region. This was in his office and we were waiting anxiously outside. Interestingly the question he asked me was not anatomical in nature at all. He asked me to recite the Namaz for the Fiqah i Jafaria. Probably because of my name. I had been told beforehand not to argue with him so I stayed silent as telling him that I was not a Momin was tantamount to him asking me even more difficult questions about the Sunni faith. He relented and said that I was a good boy and to prove it I should get my hair cut and he would only pass me I would show him my newly cut hair before everyone had their viva.

You should have seen me bolt out of his office like a jackrabbit.

There was then the next problem.... I was out of money and could not find Asaad and the other friends anywhere. I was without any transport as some clever fellow had rung up my father and told him that I was dating girls everywhere in my car... my father’s only conditions on the use of the blue Mazda 808 was no girls in it and home by ten pm.....and of course one of the friends who knew of this played a practical joke. In addition, I had just finished my money in the cafeteria.

So there I was running to Masson Road down the Mall cursing Gama and my luck... sweating away.... Anyhow got to Masson Road... got a military cut as I had just had a haircut a few days ago, promised to pay the barber another day, hopped into the banned item... almost without petrol and drove like a madman to the anatomy department. I just got there in the nick of time as Gama was about to leave, showed him my haircut and passed...without having to recite the Namaz for the Fiqah i Jafaria.

There is also another aside to this. When we were in third year, we were having dinner and Gama turns up at my home with another dangerous looking Moulvi... meyn langh reyan sahn tey sochia tenun mil lawan. And in the next breath said I need to get to Mozang Chungi. When in the car he said that, he needed to get to Bund Road. I dropped him off on Queens Road making an excuse my parents needed the car. Probably just as well considering his later reputation

Kamran Hussain

___________________________

I also remember the day when I had to appear before him for my substage and failed as I had no idea how to make bhindi ki sabzi (He should have asked Bhindi about it) in supply I again flunked as i had no idea of bagan ka bhurta third chance was my lucky one as I knew dua-a-qunat. By the way now I make excellent bhindi ki sabzi and bagan ka bhurta ,thanks to Dr Ghulam Ahmed. May he rest in peace at high ranks.

Iffat Saud

____________________________

My lasting memory of GAMA is when I appeared before him in a substage. As soon as I sat down a peon who he had asked to get a drink for him came back and refused to get it. He got angry and started swearing at him and carried on for a good five minutes. When he finished you can imagine my state, he asked me one question and said go away. Of course I failed and that was the only substage I ever failed. Afterwards, he said in front of the class ‘menoo patta se anu aunda se me ung he fail kar deta’

Shahid Bashir

Gamma and Anatomy
By Malik Mubeen Awan
Well the blog by Naghmi Shirin reminded me an exhaustive four days of teaching by Mr. Gamma ( Ghulam Rasul ) who was Assistant Professor of Anatomy during our years 1977-79, with Madam Prof Toquyyia Abidi who used to come to the department on her Old MORRIS car. I recall Mr. Gamma behaved like a typical Moulvi in class & indeed, he had good Knowledge of Human Anatomy, too.

Dr. Ghulam Rasul (Gamma) was always wearing White Shalwar-Kamees, a Jinnah Cap on his head & a beard on his face.

Mr. Gamma announced that he is going to deliver very important lecture on Histology of Stomach. We were all made to realize to take quick notes during his lectures & it was imminent that he would ask the same questions during sub-stage & stage Exam. Well! Dr. Gamma started his lectures on Histology of Stomach & it was early winter days when it was too cold to reach the Anatomy Lecture theatre at sharp 8:30 a.m. However, we managed to be there at sharp 8:30am. Dr. Gamma started his lectures on Histology of Stomach. He kept on lecturing for four days with diagrams & notes written by him on the black board. We kept on copying the same with all the fear in mind that each word is very important & he may ask the same questions during exams. After full four days of exhaustive work up Dr Gamma announced at the end of fourth day, “OK, this was all about the histology of a BIRD's STOMACH.....Now we start HUMAN STOMACH”...!!!

I also remind that Dr. Abdul Mannan Babar (now Professor of Surgery) was one of the most favorite students of Dr. Gamma. He used to work long hours till late in the evenings with him & assisted him during his research as well & was also his companion during his many publications in various journals. Dr Abdul Mannan Babar conducted on research on Human Placenta with Dr Ghulam Rasul. I feel sad to know that Dr. Gamma has died sometimes ago. May his soul rest in peace.

GAMMA and the GIRLS
By Naghmi Shirin

Dr Ghulam Rasool popularly known as GAMA was our Asst.Prof. of Anatomy. I am sure most of you are very familiar with this interesting personality of our first two years. When we entered KE, we found all our teachers were quite liberal though the atmosphere was a bit reserved. Then we came across MR.GAMA!! I do not know who gave him this nickname, but it caught on like wild fire.
He was a perfect example of hypocrisy. At that time Gen. Zia ul Haque had taken over and the country had started drifting towards fundamentalism. He had ordered all the girls to wear dupatta on their heads in his classroom. We used to cover our heads as we went in the class and removed it as soon as we came out [he knew that]. Our parents had taught us to dress modestly and never forced us to fully cover ourselves like 'burqa' etc. Therefore, we considered it an intrusion on our privacy, and a religious show off.
The sub stages taken by him were hilarious. He would often ask recipes of different dishes. Once he gave top most marks to the student, who told the recipe of 'Pulao'. If he fancied some girl student, he would ask very easy questions. If he was not in a good mood, he would simply say that they should be thankful to God that they were becoming doctors, otherwise some very beautiful girls were becoming nurses. For some it was a nightmare to appear before him. He was particularly tough on girls who always covered their heads. [This, I could never understand] However, he was not vindictive. If he failed someone in one exam, he definitely passed her in supplee.
Whenever I think of him, I cannot help smiling and... But DR Sahib is no longer with us so we should forgive whatever grievances we had at his hands.He died last year of cancer. May God rest his soul in peace. Amin!

MURREE CLASS TRIP-2
By Naveed Yazdani

The train journey was decorated with songs, card games, luddo and what not. Shazib's family greeted us at Gujranwala railway station with eatables, which we gobbled up in moments.
We reached Islamabad University hostel around nine in the evening. Group 2 lodged itself in a huge room. We sang songs and played some in-door cricket. I think we (me, Shazib and Asaad) gathered small stones from the lawn and when all were sleeping; we took the ammunition out and started targeting Azhar, Najmi and Mannan. At first, they thought something was falling from the roof but then our laughter, which was no longer muffled, disclosed it all.
I have (to this day) never spent much time in communal life. For me it was a nightmare to go to a public toilet. In addition, its walls were full of graffiti and I could not lift my eyes in sheer embarrassment. But when I looked up to pull the ancient lever, I was greeted by one of the rudest comment of them all. It said: ANGRAIZ KE PUTR FLUSH KHARAB HAI.
That was it for me and I almost ran back to the sleeping area where Najmi was probably remembering his girl friend and Mannan murmuring something about Coolie's (I am not sure if I can recall the spellings) fracture in their sleeps.
Naveed Yazdani

Qayyum remembers the Murree Trip

Of course It was a memorable trip. during the journey my friends taught me how to play cards as I have no idea about it "being a paindoo". We stayed in one of the TV room of the hostels in Islamabad university. Early motning next day I found many "smart group" colleagues running towards the canteen. Later we came to know the reason for this big rush. girls from our class were strolling outside and taking breakfast, so everybody was busy impressing them. Of course it was a rare moment or chance to walk alnongwith the "elite and choosen few girls" of our class. We visited Cadet College Hasan abdal but I think not on the first day as Iffat wrote. Camp fire was in the open and not along the poolside. But we could not continue long as the "Jamiaat Leaders" of University interfered as they thought that our gathering is a threat to islam. Anyway It were memorable days with lot of photo graphers everywhere especiaaly capturing the girls with their shutter.

Abdul Qayyum

Off they went to Murree and I did not go. This is perhaps one of the biggest regret of my KE days. On the other hand, for the people who did go, it was more fun that way. You see, by the time I made up my mind to go there was one seat left. The minute I announced that okay, I would go, I found out that ‘Jeeja Ji’ has taken the last seat. Judging from the stories I heard of the trip, Jeeja Ji was quite a hit, particularly with the girls.

Iffat Saud and Naveed Yazdani were among the lucky ones who did go on that trip.
Below are their recollections.


Yaadon Ki Barat By Iffat Saud

With our bags n beddings packed, we left for Islamabad from Patiala Block on a 5 days trip. We had our lunch at Cadet College Hasanabdal, arranged by one of our colleagues. After lunch, we had a guided tour of the College. We reached Islamabad in the evening. Our base camp was Quaid-e-Azam University Hostels where we girls (nearly15) accommodated our self very nicely in one biggggg room .First day we went to Simli dam where we were supposed to have a lecture by one of our demonstrators but neither he nor we were interested. We had our lunch there by the side of the Dam. On our way back, we stopped by the river. Some of the boys went for hicking and we followed them but at places, it was difficult for us girls to climb the mountains and was immediately helped by our class fellows.
Next day we headed for Murree and on our way against our expectations, there was snow on the mountains--- it was March. This gift from the skies tempted us to get down and have fun. Someone came up with the bright idea of sliding down on the snow from the top. The snow helped to create a smooth slippery surface and we all started taking turns. It was so much fun! We also had snowman competition; ours was one with Aliya's scarf wrapped around the neck and a pine straw replacing the cigarette. We all gathered around it and took pics. I still have them with me. On our way back, Aliya's hands were ice cold which made her cry and we had to stop by a khoka to heat them. We strolled on the Mall and had ice cream and went back to hostels
At nights, there were campfires or dinner by the poolside and there we discovered the hidden talents of our class fellows. Someone wrote a poem on each and every one, one of the guys played flute and others entertained us with songs.
Folk museum, Shakar Parian, and Labs were few other places we went.


Trip to Murree By Naveed Yazdani

I think Irfan Shami and his friends were a major force behind the whole idea. Nearly all the class went on this memorable trip. The group was so large that was subdivided into many sub-groups.
I was given the charge to manage group 2. And what diverse personalities this group had. Asad Alamgir, Shazib, Mannan Baber, Najmi, Azhar, Nadeem Noor, I mean they were a challenge in themselves. Who could one convince Asad and Shazib? How could one tame Najmi? How do you handle Mannan without Harrison and Love and Bailey? These were on my mind but once the trip officially kicked off from Lahore Railway station (platform 2), the sheer excitement and enjoyment dimmed all the queries of my mind. The afternoon of 22nd March 1982 in Lahore was glorious; golden mellow sunshine with a slighty crispy breeze. What a combination of dying winter and budding summer

BASANT ON TEMPLE ROAD
By Nauman Mufti


Punjab University announced the results of first professional exams. All my friends including myself had passed. Now it was time to celebrate!

Arif Agha, Aquil Haider, Tajummul, Shahid Bashir, Afzal Saeed and others had all thrown wonderful parties at their homes. I wanted to do something too, but my family was in Karachi and cooking a feast by myself was out of the question.

I was living at my ancestral home on Temple Road. The two storey house was at edge of the street very close to Mozang Chungi and Abid Market. From its rooftop I could see Butt Jewelers across the street and the signboards for Shezan Bakery and numerous electronics and home appliances stores. One day at the start of February I took the stairs to the rooftop and looked skywards, I saw kites everywhere. Basant was only a week or so away. It was there I had an idea. Why not invite my friends on Basant to a rooftop party. There was one problem however. What could I do for food? I considered getting some snacks from Shezan but that did not seem right. I mentioned my dilemma to my aunt who readily offered to cook for us. Gratefully, I accepted and the party was on!

In addition to my friends mentioned above, I invited my friends from the hostel including Qayyum, Sadiq Zia, Talha, Mateen and others. I think Aamir Ali came as well.

Besides kites, we had a small cassette player and some empty tin cans. Kites of all sizes and colors filled the sky. I forget who among us was a better kite flyer. Therefore, whoever wants to claim their expertise kite flying please go right ahead. Whenever someone from our roof cut a kite, we screamed ‘Bo Kata’ at the top of our lungs. Our neighbors on their roof tops were much better equipped with powerful stereosystems with massive speakers, but they were no match for our full-throated vocals supplemented by drumming of the empty tin cans.

We stayed up until sunlight was replaced by reddish hue of the sunset and thus ended an afternoon to remember.

THE CLASS MAGAZINE LISTEN
By Naveed Yazdani

It was October 1979, immediately after the Mangla trip when I, Saroosh Hamid, Salman Munir, the two Saeeds, Imran Afzal and Fouzia Shoukat took out LISTEN. We used to sit for hours in a cramped printing press in Old Anarkali opposite Kapoor Thala Building, busy in proofreading, negotiating rates and having brain storming sessions regarding the articles and contributions. The magazine was a hit but that is not what I want to share. My memories are around the deep trouble, which the magazine could have caused to us.

In fact one article 'Sixty Minutes in Physiology Theatre' written by Nasir Javed (181) almost imposed a DC on us. Physiology department (especially Shahid Nadeem) and Union (Jamiat) found it very offensive and they infuriated Madam Nusrat Waqar against us. We had some extremely anxious moments before the diplomatic skills of Sohail Kiyani rescued us.

Another memory intertwined with LISTEN is that of Saroosh Hamid. What an individual! He was real daredevil and if challenged would do anything (including jumping off a running train). He had what is called guts. I was very close with him for about a year. Along with his memory, a song (Atee Raheen Gi Bahreen) is etched in mind. He used to love it. I am very careful by nature and the most adventurous part of my life is that period which I spent with Saroosh. He had many rare qualities. He could do anything for friends without considering whether it was day or night or cold or rain. He was like that. Sudden and sad demise of his dad changed him and I think the added responsibilities sobered him to a great degree.

I have had no contact with him for over quarter of a century. If come across these lines, do contact me Saroosh.

FIRST PROFESSIONAL EXAMS

I arrived early for my Physiology viva. In my hand was Guyton and some notes. I looked around, and I saw anxious faces everywhere. Jovial personalities had turned serious as they studied from highlighted textbooks and notes.
Besides Guytons, there were Ganongs, Best and Taylors and Chatterjis. Some were sitting down on the stairs and the floor; others were standing or pacing anxiously.

Earlier, the written exams come and gone uneventfully for me. I was accustomed to sitting down for three hours and answer essay type questions. It was the Viva that I always dreaded.

When the first student came out after taking the viva, he was mobbed and bombarded with questions. ‘How was it?’; ‘What were they asking?’; ‘How is the External (examiner)?’ ‘Is Prof Nusrat Waqar in good mood?’ Some of us were the ‘message boys’ relaying what was being asked to their respective groups where the ‘knowledgeable ones’ were providing the answers verbatim or looking them up the text books before summarizing the answer for the group. There were some ‘confident ones’ too. They were sitting further away looking at chaotic scene with a relaxed expression.

Agha Arif and Aquil Haider came out after taking the viva and were confident that they had done well. Then my study group friend, Afzal Saeed came out and… he was smiling. ‘How did it go?’ I asked. He told me that the external examiner was very nice. ‘He (external) started the viva pointing to my watch and saying that it was a nice watch. I said thank you. That made me relax and the viva went great after that’.

Soon it was lunchtime and my turn had not come yet. We were told that the viva would resume in about an hour. By now, we had already spent more than four tense hours. We waited and waited, an hour stretched to two and the examiners were not back yet. To this day, I remember the tension of this wait. I know that some of our class fellows are now in academia in Pakistan. If they happen to read this blog, I request them to take steps to change the way visas are conducted, if they have not done already. Perhaps the students can be grouped in a way, that indicate to them the approximate hour of their viva.

Worry, sleep deprivation, exhaustion from sitting, standing and walking had turned my brain into mush by the time my turn came. The external indeed seemed like a nice person. He was smiling. He held out a written exam paper. On the page, there was a diagram of Loop of Henle with arrows indicating what was being excreted and what was being absorbed at various levels. I recognized the writing, it was my own paper! Suddenly, my brain simply switched off. He asked me something about the diagram but I could not understand what he was asking. Noticing my panic- stricken face, he complemented me on how well I had explained the counter current multiplier mechanism in the written and asked me to simply read from my paper. Which I did... like a robot. The sentences coming out of my mouth made no sense to me. What happened subsequently is a blur in my memory, but I know when I came out of that Viva, I was not a confident of passing.

Anatomy viva was much easier, I think because of our experiences with Stage vivas. As I sat down in front of Prof Tuqqaiya, I expected her to start the viva with some bone. Instead, she slipped something flabby in my hand. As I recovered from my shock, I realized that it was a uterus. She asked me about the insertion of the broad ligament. Which luckily, I knew. Soon the viva was over.
As I walked out, and took in a deep breath. O how good it felt! A cool breeze was blowing and I could hear the birds chirping.

HUMAY BHI YAAD HAI-- EXAM PREPERATIONS

Ramzan men Parhai!
Hai Allah Duhai !
By Aamir Ali Chaudhry
This was the Slogan in hostel in those days.
In Hostel "ALL OR NONE LAW" applies as far as studies are concerned.
When the exam date was announced, all of us got very tense. We realized, or were made to realize that we cannot study in such state of mind. Therefore, we (Asim Rehra, Alvi, Nasir Shah, and Ahmed Raza) decided to spend 4/5 days in murree before the start of studies. Alvi declared that his Uncle had a house in Ayubia; he would get the keys from Uncle (in Faisalabad) and would get back in evening. All of us packed our luggage and I accompanied Alvi to Faisalabad to get the keys. It was extremely hot when we were going on GTS but imagination of relaxing in cool breeze of Ayubia was soothing. We went to his Uncles home. I waited outside and he went inside with a smiling face. When he came out, he was no more smiling. Uncle was in angry mood(mode) and he could not gather courage to ask for the house. We had a cup of tea from nearby Khokha. He went in again and came out , then we had Pepsi from the same Khokha. This episode was repeated again and again and our Khokha bill rose higher and higher, until after sunset we abandoned the project of asking for the keys.
We went back to Lahore on some late night bus. The friends were anxiously waiting, outside the hostel with their luggage, ready for Ayubia, .We never told them about our lack of courage and narrated fake story, that the roof of house had fallen in a storm and the house is destroyed etc. etc. .Once their anger subsided (after three years), we told them the whole story.
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Once again a great narration. A good reflection of old golden days. I don't mind sitting the exams again if those days could be brought back. But things don't bundle that way we know.

Love,
Yahya
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Thanks Nauman taking me back to the days that I still cherish,,,,,,whole life was ahead of us at that time and worries were nonexistent. I also belong to the US group and me Shazib and Naveed used to study mostly in the last 2-3 months. I was one of the lucky ones as was living in my own home with lots of people catering to my all desires and still would be studying only as if I was doing my parents and family a great favour. How unthankful and naive I was! Nice to be in touch with the old friends and I don’t remember going on the Mangla trip and now realize that missed a chance of great outing.
Asaad

I CAUGHT THAT FISH AND NICKED THOSE CAKES AND PASTERIES!
By Aamir Ali
Wow. Pervaiz Iqbal told me about your blog about the Mangla Trip a few hrs ago. I enjoyed this a lot. By the way, I caught that fish and not Dr Mansoor! He drove one of the buses (left hand driven blue Iranian bus).
Naveed Yazdani, Saroosh and myself thoroughly enjoyed the cakes and pasteries which we found on the bus. Yes!... we actually nicked those and went into the other bus.
Well girls I am sorry about that…

My Early days at KE
By Asaad Alamgir
My Early days at KE were really very tense. I did not get admission on open merit at KE but migrated from Quad-i-Azam medical college, Bahawalpur . I had no friends to start with except Bilal Bin Khalid who was the only other Aitchisonian to get admission at KE (he was there on open merit).
When we went for the first lecture in anatomy I really thought that it was a mistake coming to KE as I could not understand a word of what was being said and rest of the class was busy taking notes as if it was their mother language. Felt as if all were speaking and understanding this language and I was the odd foreigner amongst them. Maybe this was because I felt as if I did not belong in this elite group and this type of things could only be grasped by people with superior intelligence. I really started having panicky feeling and tried to talk to my cousins who were doctors and they just laughed away at my condition.
I bought new Grays Anatomy and started going through that ocean of foreign literature, words of which really were alien to me but I persisted and on top of it bought Guyton’s Physiology also, and good thing was that I could understand a little bit of this one at least. It also gave me great feeling that I was now reading big impressive looking books and may someday become a great name in the field of science and medicine.
An announcement was made and the first sub-stage was announced…. Felt as if the death penalty was announced for us. That was the time I started taking refuge behind the cigarette smoke, as thought that this would keep me awake because of the nicotine surge in my neurons. A habit that persisted with me for 30 years and I only gave it up 2 years back!
Did not sleep the night before the sub-stage and had shivers down the spine on facing the examiner, don’t remember the name of DEMONstrator who took the exams. I felt as if I went through a boxing match in which I was the punching bag. I only remember that it was a part of lower limb that was being asked and somehow the exam was over in around 10 minutes or so (though it felt like hours).
After a day or so when result was given I was one of the 30-40 who passed and I could not believe what an achievement I had achieved. It relaxed me and I than started to believe that it was not a alien state and that I may survive here and by the grace of god I did, but had to die before each professional and had rebirth after each exams.
It was great to be at KE and I so cherish my time spent there, the hockey matches we played the small skirmishes we had, the jokes we had together and being exposed to the fairer sex though from a distance. Life passes before your eyes and now my children are going through this phase and I pray that all of you enjoy your children growing up like I am doing and wish the best for all of you and your families as well.

Life in KE Girls Hostel
By Naghmi Shirin


Getting admission in KE was a dream come true. We reached Lahore with high ambitions and great hope. The beauty and grandeur of the building of KEMC won our heart on first sight. The first disappointment was when we saw the girls’ hostel. It was a small building, hardly large enough to accommodate fifty or so girls altogether. [The new blocks were added after two years] Therefore, we were refused accommodation for first few months unless our senior classes moved on.
How we managed, is another story.

When we moved in the hostel, the first strange thing that came as a pleasant surprise was the word "doctor sahiba" by all the servants. All twelve girls of the first year were allotted a single dorm. The seniors had four seaters, biseaters and cubicles. Since it was a small hostel, at that, time so there was no tradition of much fooling and senior girls were very welcoming. All the fooling that we faced was in the college. As far as I recollect my roommates were, Raheela Ajmal from Gujranwala, Rubina Aslam from Sialkot, Nasreen from Gujrat, Shahida from Rawalpindi, Naheed Sheikh from Sargodha, Iffat Salim from PAF, and Fauzia Shaukat from Rahim Yar Khan, Farida Shafie from Malaysia, Afsanah from Iran and myself from Wah Cantt. I apologize if I have forgotten somebody’s name. The other students from outside Lahore like Seemein Rukh from Wah, Sofia Ismail from PAF, were staying with relatives.

Can you imagine how twelve people of different habits and backgrounds, when forced to live twenty-four hours together would manage? However, those were great times and we not only tolerated but enjoyed each other’s company [there being no other option]. Fauzia was quite particular in prayers; she used to call everybody ‘Chanda ji’ so ended up with being called Chanda ji herself. While most of us complemented ourselves if we managed at least three prayers a day. Some never bothered. Nevertheless, at that time no one was concerned with each other’s religious habits.

When we reached the room after classes, everybody had something to tell and the whole dorm kept laughing. Our dorm was also the common meeting ground of our day scholar friends .It was the place where most of the nicknames originated. [Amir Ali was Radius. Amir Qazi was Ulna there was one Hanger, Kamran Hussain was...,well…, so on so forth]

Our main difficulty was to get time for studies because every week there was a substage or some Physio test. Most of the girls chose rooftop or the gardens for some solitude. Girls’ hostel had some very beautiful gardens and I being used to the lovely garden of my house preferred that.

The other problem was to get proper sleep. Everybody had her own schedule. As a result, one or the other alarm clock was ringing all the time. It was in times like these that we realized, how our mothers took care of our needs, when they would not allow our younger siblings to even walk or talk loudly when we were asleep. I think hostel life really prepares us for the future, where for the first time one learns how to make one’s bed.

The food in the hostel was terrible. We learnt that boys’ hostel had many different mess halls and a variety of menus, but we had to survive with the same monotonous routine. Anarkali was nearby, so we could sometimes flatter our taste buds with burgers and chat but there were no home deliveries at that time. [Our children are lucky] So on weekends we sometimes tried our culinary skills, which were quite poor. There was a small kitchen provided for this purpose, mainly to make tea at odd times apart from the main mess kitchen. Chicken karahi was the easiest and the most popular even then. Hierarchy had to be maintained at all times. So we had to wait until our seniors were finished if they pleased to cook something. Sometimes our day scholar friends would invite us to their homes. I remember Mehr, Iffat, Zahra , Seema Naz and Maryam often invited me on one pretext or another. Thanks to their moms for their loving hospitality.

Preparation of exams in the hostel was an uphill task. But we had the advantage to do group studies. Many of the day scholars came to hostel for the preparation of exams. One of our sweet friends who was also our GR, had the habit of taking a night round at ten o clock and inform us in a very smug tone that she had finished her preparation and was about to go to sleep. We really panicked and started our serious study after her proclamation. First professional was the longest and toughest exam we ever had. Only after that, we realized that we are in a university and respectable citizens of this country.

First Professionals: The Exam Preparation

First Professionals: The Exam Preparation

The news hit us like a ton of bricks. Punjab University had announced the date for the first professional exam. This was not a good news for most of us. Sure, there were a few ‘overachievers’ like Mannan Babar and Aamir Ali and others, who studied regularly and could take the exam tomorrow and pass easily.

However, the rest of us studied for exams like an old car with engine trouble. We lurched forward on all four cylinders for a day or two for the sub-stage and about a week or so for the Stage. The rest of the time, we simply stalled.

Therefore, for most of us the news meant that the party was over. We would have to drastically change our lifestyle for a couple of months, if we had any hopes of passing the professionals. I realize I am applying the term 'us' rather loosely and that some of my readers would be exception to this generalization. Please let me know via your comments if you would like to be excluded from this group I call 'us'.

Since we were no longer going to college, some of us formed small study groups to study. My study group was with Saroosh and Afzal Saeed. Saroosh’s dad had passed away at a young age recently and the whole class felt the pain. When he asked Afzal and me to form a study group, we agreed.

We decided that Afzal Saeed’s house would be our place of study. I was living without my parents at my grandfather’s house on Temple Road. I drove everyday from Temple Road to Model Town Block A to study with Afzal Saeed and Saroosh. Altogether, it was about two hours round trip for me each day but I did not mind. That was two hours less I had to study. Another big attraction was the home cooked meal I got at Afzal Saeed’s house and his mom was a great cook and a gracious host.
To take a break from studies we watched ‘Mind Your Language’ on TV or played Chess or Carom with Afzal’s younger brother Jami.

Sometimes after studying at Afzal’s house, I would go to Saroosh’s house. Understandably, Saroosh was deeply affected by his Dad’s passing away. I did observe a few changes in him. For one, he had greatly increased his smoking to a level where he was chain-smoking. Secondly, Saroosh would play the song ‘Dufli waalay dufli Baja' repeatedly. The song seemed to soothe him. This song is forever etched in my brain along with memories of our preparations for first professional.

On my way home, sometimes I would stop by at Shahid Bashir’s house. Not to study, but to chat. Another attraction at Shahid’s house was of course the home-cooked meal. It was a very big deal for someone such as myself, who was neither at a hostel nor at parent’s home.
Thus, the next two months went painfully slow. My mind felt like a pail of water with hole in the bottom. The more I filled it with knowledge, the more seem to leak out from the bottom. Mercifully, the preparation time was over and it was time to take the exams.

I realize that mine is just on many different stories on how we prepared for the exams. I hope you will share your stories. How did the people in boys and girls hostels prepared for the exams? What about the day scholars?

MANGLA TRIP: YOUR COMMENTS

Dear Nauman
Excellent description. Your memory is great.
I remember few glimpses.
I swam in Mangla lake for about half an hour. ( Swimming in lakes and rivers is still my hobby. Even at this age I cannot resist this temptation. I swam in Ravi, Chenab, Jhehlum, Trimu in high floods and ice cold lakes like Satpara in Skardu).
The most important event which you have not mentioned is that on our way back, the brakes of one of the buses(those Iranian buses)failed. Nobody was ready to sit in that bus. We were only few adventure loving(read fools) who sat in that bus. On our way down our bus almost collided with a car.Then there was long stop at Dina or Jehlum at some workshop. I dont know whetehr other buses waited for us or not.
Regards
Aamir Ali Choudhry
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Nauman I remember that while we Were at Mangla somebody playing GIRL YOU WILL BE A WOMAN SOON AND SOON YOU WILL NEED A MAN on their cassete player, yes cassette player. Dont know who. On the way back I was in the bus that broke down in Dina and we spent a good few hours having jalebies and the like. By the time we got back to Lahore it was nearly midnight. I remember Me Tahir Majeed Aqueel and Agha walking on Mall road at mid night trying to find a way back home.
SHAHID BASHIR
______________________________________________________
Nauman, excellent narration. I thoroughly enjoyed. Felt as if it was happening right in front of my eyes. Jazak Ullah.

Lots of love,
Yahya
____________________________________________

Nice walk down the memory lane of about 3 decades. The demonstrator who caught the fish was Dr. Mansoor Qureshi. I conducted the survey after the trip for class megazine LISTEN. Kindly ask if someone has any copy of any of our class megazines which can be scanned and put up as a link. Regards
NAVEED YAZDANI
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Dear nauman mufti, this detailed description of mangla trip was the
best gift for gloomy eid this year. million thanks.
Pervaiz Iqbal
______________________________________________
Nauman, what a memory I have? Can you believe I dont remember this trip at all. although I am sure I was a part of it and my old albums in Pakistan will have some photos also.
ABDUL QAYYUM
_____________________________________________
One more thing which I clearly remember of the trip is an extremely sloppy piece of dancing we did (some of us) in the lawns where a rather disappointing lunch was served. I also remember listening to RASPUTIN, TAKE A CHANCE ON ME, SOS during the bus ride.
Regards
Naveed Yazdani
___________________________________________
One of the buses, was driven by Dr.Mansoor, although for a short time.
Dr. Mansoor also caught a tiny fish at Mangla.( Dr.mansoor is currently with me at Services Hospital, Lahore. Ah… the good old memories !
MOHAMMAD AZHAR.
_________________________________________
One more thing which I clearly remember of the trip is an extremely sloppy piece of dancing we did (some of us) in the lawns where a rather disappointing lunch was served. I also remember listening to RASPUTIN, TAKE A CHANCE ON ME, SOS during the bus ride. Regards

NAVEED YAZDANI
_________________________________________
Great work. I think I have many pics of the trip somewhere in my collection. Will try to find them out and post them.
Nauman, please don’t stop. Continue describing other events and memories.

TALHA RAZA
_______________________________
Yes ,it was a great trip enjoyed by all of us.I remember the tasty sandwiches brought by Raheela jaffer which she kept feeding us during the whole journey.{perhaps she thought hostillites needed a change in their menu] Iffat Salim was naughty as usual and kept us smiling .Weather was woderful and some great songs were being played.I wonder, how happy and carefree were those days!
NAGHMI SHIRIN

The Mangla Trip

The four buses were outside the canteen ready to leave. It was our first major outing as a class. Excitement was in the air. One of the buses was designated the ‘girls’ bus’, since all the girls were going to sit in the same bus. However, there would room for a few boys on that bus. I do not know who were the ‘lucky’ (read influential) boys who sat in that bus. There were some demonstrators chaperoning the trip presumably to keep things ‘civil’. Naturally, they will sit in the girls’ bus. In addition, the class reps ‘had to be there too’. My friends and I, tried to be together in the same non-girls’ bus.

Our bus was crowded, as were the others but our spirits were high. We sang Punjabi tappeys until our voices became hoarse. Some of us like Qayyum, Sadiq Zia and Pervaiz knew the tappeys well while others like me knew some words here and there but that did not stop us from joining the chorus. I would hear the words and sing with half a second delay. With most voices keeping the rhythm, it did not matter much. The idea was to sing and have fun.

On the way, we made too many unscheduled stops therefore; we reached Mangla a bit late. We were all very hungry. We had hot soft drinks and cold chicken. We would have preferred hot chicken and cold soft drinks but we were so hungry that we would have eaten a cardboard. At least it was real food and we were thankful.

After lunch, we went to see the hydroelectric power station and then strolled around the lake. One of the demonstrators had brought a fishing rod and I saw him catch a fish. Apparently so did some of the girls, as one of them responded to a questionnaire after the trip that the most memorable moment of the trip was that sight.

I was enjoying the view of the lake when I heard a thud. I looked around Kamran Hussain jumping up and trying to be in the photo for which Aamir Ali and Aamir Ali Choudhry were posing. It was a tall order to say the least, considering the height differential between Aamir Ali and Kamran Hussain. That moment is wonderfully captured in a photo presented in this blog. Yes, it is Kamran Hussain’s hand that prevents you from seeing part of my face, but that is okay; At least he managed to dangle on Aamir’s shoulder long enough for the snap.

While others were busy taking photos, I decided to take my shoes off and walk over the stones to dip my feet in the Mangla Lake. I spotted a group of girls just standing and staring at the lake. In a rare bold move, I suggested to them to take their shoes and dip their feet in water too. They politely declined, saying ‘We prefer to just look at the lake. Thanks’. To this, I made a comment to no one in particular, that ‘Dakhney aur mehsoos karney mein farq hoota hai’.
No response.
I decided to move away from the spot thinking to myself, ‘Nauman, this talking to the girls thing is so overrated’. It was then I saw that they were taking their shoes off and dipping their feet in water.
Okay, a delayed response perhaps, or maybe they wanted to do that all along, and I was simply in their way.

The sun was about to set and it was time to leave. Reluctantly, we packed ourselves back in the buses. For some reason, it seemed a lot more crowded. Luckily, I found a window seat and soon, I dozed off. When I opened my eyes again, I saw familiar tall structure of Minar-i-Pakistan, standing proud and tall in the night lights of Lahore.


• The Mangla Trip took place on September 20, 1979, according to Naveed Yazdani.
• The photos presented with this blog were shamelessly copied from Aamir Ali Choudhry’s Facebook page. I hope he will forgive me for not asking first.
• This is my recollections of the trip. I do not claim accuracy.
• Please contribute your recollections about the trip for the rest of us.

KE: Beyond Lecture Theaters and Dissection Hall

After an hour of mind numbing Physiology lecture (and it did not take too much to numb my mind in those days), I enter the cafeteria. A game of chess is in full swing. A crowd of spectators has already gathered on either side of these players. Having a rudimentary knowledge of the game myself, I decide to watch for a few minutes. The younger and leaner of two has found an outpost for his bishop, deep in the enemy territory. ‘Pheel bund’ he says to no one in particular as a faint smile appears on his face. I am not familiar with the term. I look at the chess board again. His bishop has the support of his pawn and is protected from a frontal assault by the enemy pawn. The enemy pawn that could attack the bishop diagonally is missing. The bishop is now attacking the enemy castle while it remains secure itself.

Brilliant. 
The other chess player is shorter, and has a calm look on his face. Apparently he has seen this before. He calmly advances his pawn; I see no obstacle in its path to become a queen. I can tell that these two chess players are way beyond my league.

I settle on an adjoining table, I have decided that I am not going to the dissection hall.  Instead, I plan to have a nice breakfast. I call Lal Baba, a polite, short and stubby man with a big scarf on his shoulder and a red beard—hence the name. In his late forties, he has been here since he was eighteen. ‘Please bring me two Samosas and a kebab. I do not mention tea but that his understood between the two of us. ‘Abhi laya sahib’, he says enthusiastically and then shouts my order to the cook in the back right from there. There is no time to be wasted as people are all pouring in from all directions.

I look over my shoulder, the game of chess is in full swing and the two chess masters are completely engrossed in the game, totally oblivious to their surroundings. I see that the crowd behind the shorter player is larger and comprise of clinical year students. (I am sorry, I never learnt the name of either players, I hope my readers may provide this information when this blog is published). Every now and then the younger player takes a hard swig at his ice cold Pepsi, without taking his eyes off the board. The game seems to be reaching a climax. Judging from the reaction of the crowd, the younger one seems to be winning. Then I notice that one of the boys from the crowd of seniors picks up a full bottle of ketchup and puts a straw in it. That is very odd I think. I know this cafeteria ketchup is barely edible with the kebab, is he going to drink that? Wait, now he is on the other side, behind the younger player. Now he is reaching for his bottle of Pepsi.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he has managed to swap the bottle of Pepsi with the bottle of ketchup. So that is what he was up to!

Meanwhile, the senior player has lost some of his calm demeanor. I can see a bead of sweat forming on his temple. The leaner one is sensing victory. He decided to take one final guzzle at his Pepsi!

Everyone present in the cafeteria hears the yelp that comes out of hapless chess master. Taking advantage of this commotion someone has toppled the chess board.

I guess we will never know how this game would have ended.

I have finished my breakfast and after paying Lal Baba, I decide not to wait for my friends who are still in the Dissection Hall and take a stroll into Dhani Ram Road, Anarkali by myself.

By the way, I avoided Dissection Hall because I got sick after four months of daily dissection. I had a low grade fever which last more than a month and I had developed  shortness of breath. (I didn’t know it then but I had developed formalin induced pneumonitis after exposure to formalin-- liberally used to preserve the dead bodies in our Dissection Hall).

As I approached the tall iron gates that separated KE from the hubbub of Anarkali, I pulled out my Littman stethoscope, a gift from my physician uncle in United States and put it around my neck, as I had seen the seniors do. Why do you need a stethoscope? Some of my vigilant readers might ask. Did I need it to examine someone?
No, I did need it to auscultate anyone. And no, I had not learnt how to use it beyond telling you that your heart made a Lub-Dub sound and that you are alive. So what did I need it for? If you do not know I am not going to tell you. Because you are way beyond the average fickle medical student that most of us were at that stage. Others used a lab coat for similar purpose, but mine was too dirty from my primary use of the lab coat. I used it for cleaning all those lecture theater desks and seats therefore it wasn’t useful for impressing anyone!

So, with a brand new American stethoscope dangling around my neck, I was now walking on Dhani Ram Road. Yet everyone else was busy dodging the traffic and avoiding crashes with a mob of fellow pedestrians. It had recently rained so I had to also watch out for speeding rickshaws and cars as they drove right through the puddles of water on the road, sending the dirty rain water every which way. I walked right past the mango milk shake places, where enthusiastic flaggers tried to convince me that their milkshake was the best. I also stopped at one but on my way back. Besides, I just had breakfast and I was headed straight to Bano Bazaar, for a plate of ‘chaat’. The place had the ‘best chaat’, was a line you frequently heard from all the enthusiastic Bano Bazaar frequenters.

Some of my alert readers will question me. Chaat? They would ask. Did you not say, you just had breakfast?

For those who don’t know Bano Bazaar and can’t figure it out from the name itself, there is a hint. It is a popular place for shopping for all the girls from nearby Punjab University, Government College and Lahore College of Fine Arts, all within walking distance. Besides, the chaat is nice too!

So I sit down and order my chaat. The stethoscope is dangling in my neck. I look around. The place is crowded with shoppers, predominantly girls. Some younger ones are there with their mothers. Everyone is busy around me shopping, talking, laughing, shouting, secretly whispering, elbowing companions and pointing discreetly.  Yet, not a single pair of eyes locks into mine.

The chaat is still not done, but I am.

As I pay my bill, I write a mental note to self.

Nauman, you are invisible here too.

Need Your Help! Pictures, Co-authors.

Thank you so much everyone who has contributed to this blog so far. 


In particular, I would like to thank Shahid Bashir, Wajahat Hassan, Abdul Qayyum, Naveed Yazdani, Zahid Chohan, Qasim Ghani, Mubeen Malik,  and Naghmi Shirin sharing their wonderful stories. Today I invite each and every one of them to help me continue the blog by becoming co-authors. Blogger allows for up to ten co-authors and there is no reason what so ever that we could not share some assignments.
For Example, Naveed can pick the story about the Mangla Trip. Mubeen Malik could tell us more stories about hostel life in KE. Shahid could dwell a bit more the Anatomy dissection hall and Wajahat could talk about the 'Badoos Fraternity', Naghmi can bring us the very important perspective of the girls, etc.

I know for a fact that there others who could also make a contribution. Wajih or Imran Rashid could bring the perspective of the 'Abdallian group'. Saeed uz Zaman can talk about-- anything really but specifically, about the amazing trio from FC College, the other members beside him are Saeed Uddin and Saroosh.

Another request: Please send your class photos. I wonder if Sajid Hameed, Naveed, Qayyum or Wajaahat or some one else volunteers for that important project.

So please help me out.

Please let me know if you like the idea. 

Then we will work on how to make it happen.

Class Magazines

Listen The pioneer magazine published by Sarosh Hamid Khan, an outgoing and energetic member of our class. I still remember the cover. It had a big ear on it. It had one article that I remember. It was written by a close friend of mine—Nasir  Javed. He described the scene of the Physiology lecture theater, which Naghmi Shirin recently recalled in her comments. It was a funny article, and I still remember the first line…it was Ghora! Ghora!

I too wrote an article but it missed the deadline of publication. Listen was followed by a magazine whose name I cannot recall and that is embarrassing, because that is where my article finally got published. I learnt about the magazine from my friends Javed Ajmal and Kamran Hameed. When the magazine came out, I was surprised by one thing. At the end of every name the word ‘Sheikh’ appeared. Nauman Sheikh was the editor of course. But Javed Ajmal became Javed Ajmal Sheikh and Kamran Hameed became Kamran Hameed Sheikh. In fact I was the only ‘non-Sheikh’ in the whole magazine. Some thought I was a ‘Sheikh-in-hiding’. Needless to say the magazine was dubbed ‘Sheikhon-ki-Sheikhian’ – a fact I learnt from my ‘secret informer’—Rameez. By the way, the article I wrote was about the scene in Anatomy Dissection Hall. It was titled ‘Two hours with the Dead’. However there were only two people that I know of that actually read that article. And one of them was me!

Vision: I had forgotten the name of this magazine, until a few days ago my friend Wajih Zaheer mentioned it a few days ago. Wajih knows a lot more about this than I do and I hope he or the authors of the magazine come forward and describe it for us. If I am not mistaken, this magazine came out after our famous Mangla Trip that Naveed Yazadani remembered in his recent comments. I remember that it had a questionnaire about the trip and goals in life. This was the only magazine where the girls participated with comments. Perhaps it was the charisma of the authors… Anyway, some comments I remember to this day.  In response to the Mangla trip someone recalled the ‘Thanday nan aur garam botallain’ another recalled ‘the fish that one of the demonstrators caught’ but no one could top the comment made by a girl who wrote in response to goal of life…’Ayaashi!’

Unpublished poetry. So far I have mentioned anonymous poem ‘Battain Humary Ghor se sun Lo’. But at least it got published. Now I would direct you to anonymous poems that were not published. The first one went like this.

Ik patta gira, aawaz huey na shoor huwa

Dil mera bhi kuch aisey hi…. (patta nahin keiya huwa)

The other one is actually in English. It goes ‘One you are the only ONE’

I promise you the authors shall not be revealed unless they themselves choose to do so!

Request Please if anyone has saved a copy of any of the magazines; please share them with the rest of us.

Early Years at KE: The Girl Groups

In my earlier blogs, I mentioned two groups for boys and one for girls. To this list you, my readers have added ‘Anonymous Group’ and ‘Paindoo group’. Today I will highlight other groups among girls.

Girl Groups and their ‘followers’ (Here you may include all boys which still had a beating heart)

Here I feel I am walking on thin ice. One false step and I am history!

Besides, Quadratus Kinnairdus from Kinnaird College, there were several girls (I think) from Lahore College. Ambreen Rauf (# 1), Atifa Naheed (# 2), Fareeda Zahoori (#7?) and several others. This group had a large ‘following’ among boys. Another prominent group was that of Zara Haider, Mehr-un-Nisa, Naghmi Shirin, and others that escape my memory. This group had a large following also but most of us were either ‘deathly afraid’ or ‘respectful’ as the case may be, of Prof Zafar Haider to venture into knowing this group’s graceful members. It was not until the final year that some of us discovered that this group was actually very nice!

And then there was a group, which may have been a subset of a larger groups already mentioned. Its members were Rubina Aslam, Rameez’s sister (sorry cannot remember the name) and others. Some of us who were friend with Rameez would catch a stray sentence here and there to know some of this group’s activities. It was rumored that this group may have been responsible for naming one of my dear friends as ‘Hanger’. I think it was a cool name, given that the boy in question was very slim and some of his shirt may have been big and that it may have appeared to some observers as if the shirt was walking on its own, and hanging on a hanger. I wonder why it did not catch on like Bhindi. Or maybe it did? Who knows!

And then there was one girl who had ‘I hate everybody’ embroidered on her lab coat. I heard that to the contrary, she actually like most people and was very pleasant to talk to.

Now there is a lesson this you boys… although I have a feeling it may be too late to put into practice at this stage in the game for most of us. And the lesson is ‘Do not judge the book by its cover’. However, I must confess when it comes to girls most boys miss that point particularly at that age. Although I was aware of that even then. You see my Ammi had mentioned it to me several times. However, I could not say that ‘the cover’ was not important to me. Besides, in my defense I would like to point out, that in KE of those days, most of us did not have the opportunity or the ‘skill’ to have any meaningful conversation with a girl. Therefore, for most of us, ‘the cover’ was everything.

I am sorry for the above analogy where I am describing girls as books with covers. It does seem pathetic not that I think about it. I guess it may simply be that I am still a little awkward when talking about girls in a public blog such as this.

Okay so let us move on…

Mufti…or Not:

Here we go again, you may say. Do we really need to know more about you?

Hey, I reply, I am writing this blog, remember. If you have a problem with that go write your own blog.

Just kidding!

I was not going to write this piece on my background, but I found that some of you had trouble remembering me. Being that I am no Aamir Ali, the matter got further complicated by my last name. In King Edward, I was known as Nauman Jameel.

Now you are hearing from some guy named Nauman Mufti, claiming to be from your class. So to clear the air, let us take another trip into my background. My Dada Abu was Mufti Abdul Hameed, who I have mentioned in my previous blog. Incidentally, my Nana was also from the Mufti clan. His name was Mufti Abdur Rashid. My father’s full name was Jameel Akbar Mufti. When I was born, my Abu named me Nauman Jameel Mufti. In 1974 when the Bhutto government announced that, certain titles such as Khan Sahib, Khan Bhadur or Nawabzada etc were not allowed to be used. One of disallowed names was Mufti, or so I was told by the clerk at Hyderabad Board responsible for issuing the Matric Certificate. Therefore, when I received my Matric Certificate my name was Nauman Jameel and my father was listed as Jameel Akbar.

I want to tell you I was not outraged. Having suffered through school, with comments like ‘Muft ka aya’ in elementary school or questioned about my religious knowledge, in later years, I was somewhat relieved. For religious scholar, as the name Mufti implies, I was not. However, my ‘non-Mufti’ era was going to end eventually. When I got married, our Nikah Registrar, following proper protocol asked me to produce my birth certificate where my full name was written and that went on my marriage certificate. My wife’s name on her passport was thus Lalarukh N. Mufti. When our son was born, his name was written as Altumash N. Mufti. Guess who was the only ‘non-Mufti’ in our household? Yes, yours truly. There after spending 20 years of my life, during which I attended GC, KE and four US Universities, I officially changed my name to Nauman J. Mufti in 1994 when I became US citizen.

So relax, no stranger has invaded our class forum.

Next Blog:

Some more boy’s group including Islamabad group and FC College.

College Magazines including Listen, Vision etc.