Baba and Amma Jaan (My paternal grandparents) had, in all, twelve sons and daughters. One soul returned from half way. By the time I was born only six were alive, four sons and two daughters. Baba would say that he and his wife had negotiated a semi partnership with God by surrendering half their children to His will. Seven years before 1 was born, the youngest, Husain Chacha marhoom? died at the age of fourteen. Safi Lukhnavi wrote the marsia which is engraved on his tombstone.

Among the surviving sons Abba, Musa Chacha Jaan and Mohammad Chacha Jaan were successive siblings. Their friendship was deep, their differences of opinion equally intense. After an interval two sisters Sakina (Bari Phuphi) and Fatima (Choti Phuphi) were born followed by the fourth brother, Jafar Chacha Jaan. The three older and the three younger siblings formed two distinct groups in the household. The older group was frequently out of the house, whereas the younger group spent most of its time indoors. Temperamentally each was unique. Abba was not a poet but had a poet's keen sensibilities. His temperament was akin to Ghalib's; Musa Chacha Jaan was a soldier both by profession and by temper; he was not subtle in expressing his feelings and did not shy from taking actjon. Mohammad Chacha Jaan was the quintessential poet (he became one of Urdu's greatest poets of humour and satire).

Bari Phuphi was the intellectual among ladies of the family who was still searching for a voice and stature within the family and society at large. She did not achieve either, but she did not give up the struggle or her right. In a last defiant gesture as she faded, she handed this torch to us.

Affirming a clear voice and identity demands struggle and sacrifice, and we offered both. I dont know when in my life and how, I found both. This torch which was lit at Bari Phuph/'s birth some ninety two years ago still glows. Insha'allah, our next generation will not face the same challenges. I must clarify one important point; I am not using We or “I” in the first person here. Nor do I claim to be an intellectual or a genius.

Choti Phuphi was organized and industrious. She too could not give appropriate expression to her talents. Both sisters had considerable leadership qualities and unique personalities; both never went to school. Tutored at home, their command over Urdu, Persian and Punjabi and Fiqh (Jurisprudence) was impressive. They could read and write Arabic and English. They wrote English in an exquisite hand, far superior to what appeared to be our scrolling. They were able ladies of considerable potential and enormous reserves of creativity, but they never made us feel that they were far superior to us.

Affirming a clear voice and identity demands struggle and sacrifice, and we offered both. I dont know when in my life and how, I found both. This torch which was lit at Bari Phuph/'s birth some ninety two years ago still glows. Insha'allah, our next generation will not face the same challenges. I must clarify one important point; I am not using We or “I” in the first person here. Nor do I claim to be an intellectual or a genius.

Other than my aunts, my uncle their age Jafar Chacha Jaan was the sage and the pious one in the family. There was great respect bordering on awe for the elders in the family. Jafar Chahcha Jaan would submit to their scolding quietly but the moment he was out of earshot he would grumble and complain. On occasions when he felt his elders to be unjust, he would fret over the likelihood of their stand being taken as the right one. He had a special kind of refinement. He was very sensitive though he endeavored all his life to prove otherwise.

There were some shared values between the maternal and paternal sides of our family. For example they were held in high esteem in their own circles; both had the faculty forgiving affection and helping others; both were distinctly gracious and cultured; both seldom shied away from taking on a major inconvenience to help others.

What went wrong probably was that the group of elder brothers became domineering. They must have loved their sisters but they never paid enough attention to their sisters' upbringing. Probably no one at that age has that kind of concern. During my childhood I resented this about my father and my uncles.

This seemed odd as the paternal side of my family carried an austere demeanor that did not lend itself to public expression of sentiment.