It was the year 1950.My father was a captive in a camp in Srinagar.War was on.A war of freedom.
Then one evening there was no camp and a military convoy was seen leaving for an unknown destination. Rumours of an ambush were common. No news came for days and there was no way to find out.
For many days my family lay quiet in their house the huge mansion named 'Barzalla Baghat'. Shots could be heard at a distance from time to time. My Mother and my Aunt one morning dared to venture outside, looking left and right found the street and road deserted. Wrapped in large shawls they both hurriedly made their way to a family friends house.They had a telephone.It felt like years to reach that house. Finally a call was put through to a senior friend and was asked to find out the welfare of my father.
My mother and aunt were escorted back safely by a trusted servant.
Days, which again seemed years, later it was learnt that the convoy had crossed the border into Pakistan and my father was safe.
It so happened that that very crucial night there was an exchange of prisoners.Twy hundred had to go. An option for Pakistan was offered by the warring Gurkha army. My father agreed and this is how he was saved.But that was the last he eever saw of his native land.He was now a Pakistani.
War clouds lifted a bit but not cleared.My mother now somewhat relieved was asked to prepare to leave for Pakistan and that was the beginning of my journey of life. I was a year and a half in age. I was carried across the barbed wire border.
I have been trying to fill in the details of this part of my life but there are different versions. One of my uncles says that my mother flew from Srinagar by air to Delhi and from there travelled to Lahore.Another version is that she travelled from Srinagar by bus to a small town known as Suchetgarh.Stayed in a refugee camp for two days and then one morning crossed the border by foot and entered Pakistan at the city of Sialkot.
Who came to receive her? Who helped us out from there? who were the managing the refugee camp? Who carried me across the line was it my mother? She must be exhasted from all the tension and stress the uncertainty , the fearful travelling.There are no answers to these questions.
Murree Hill Station
This is the place 9000 feet above sea level 30 miles from the now capital city Islamabad , where we came to stay together as a family united after separately reaching safe havens.Safe fro war and strife, only safe for a some time.It was a military hospital and father was posted as Captain Staff Surgeon, he was a qualified medical practitioner. And we were together in a cold rainy but peaceful place, a home far away.
But what I remember as my first memories of my life is the this house
this was 24 Willoughby Road a spacious house with open area all around the house
I started school from here.I made my first friends and remember my birthday party.The best nine years of childhood.
