My Father and Mother Have Inspired Me
By Mohammad Yacoob
Los Angeles, CA

Amina Begum	Mohamed Abdul Khader
Mohammad Yacoob 1940s	My Father Card Printed in 1935

Mother’s Day is celebrated every year on the second Sunday in May and Father’s Day on the third Sunday in June. Not a day goes by when I don’t think of my mother and father. I love my mother and my father and the acronym FAMILY says it all – Father And Mother I Love You. I believe that very few human beings on this earth have been inspired by both mother and father. I am one of the lucky few.

Each parent cared for me and my siblings in their own personal way without having to say it. My mother knew her rights and responsibilities as a strong Muslim woman, used them very effectively to protect the family and children. Her advice and concerns to me were not only from a woman’s perspective to inform me as to how to protect the female members of the family but also to warn the male members as to how to behave. My father gave me advice not by giving lectures but by using very few words. He discussed politics with me, and made me read editorials on current topics from the local newspaper and encouraged me to excel by employing unique methods available at hand. 

There are hundreds of reasons to thank Almighty God for giving me such a good and strong mother and father. I would first like to talk about my mother. Her actions reflected my family’s traditions at the highest level of decision making. As a Muslim, my mother knew the rights Islam gave her. She was a decision-maker and never shied away from expressing her opinions, occasionally by using very powerful words, a rare trait among women. 

In the 1940s, my family was living in the city of Poona, now known as Pune, approximately a hundred miles from Mumbai. One day she sent me back to our hometown, Secunderabad, twin city of Hyderabad Deccan, south India. I was angry at my mother. With the passage of time, I became very much attached to my grandmother. Almost fifteen years later – ten years after partition of the Indo-Pak Sub-continent – my grandmother told me the truth as to why I was suddenly shipped to our hometown, Secunderabad from Poona. My uncle, Major Iqbal, a distant relative of my father, was the Municipal Commissioner of Sialkot. Since he was a retired army officer, my granduncle asked him to  join him and his two nephews in Poona. Our granduncle, my father and my uncle (Taya Abba) were in construction and supply business for the Indian army. Major Iqbal and aunt were very pleasant people. They loved children, perhaps because they did not have their own. It seems one day aunt mentioned to someone that she was thinking of adopting me and was making plans to make a formal request to our granduncle, the family patriarch. If the patriarch of the family assents to such a request, then it is hard for any member of the family to refuse his decision. Hearing this from a very reliable source, my mother knew that my father will agree with his uncle for my adoption and shipped me to Secunderabad. I have no idea what transpired after my departure from Poona because I never saw my aunt and Major Iqbal again. My grandmother never gave any details.  

Our family business was in Poona, Devlali city, Secunderabad and Bengaluru (Banglore). My father moved from Poona/Devlali to Bengaluru and my parents on their way stopped in Secunderabad for few days and took me to Bengaluru with them along with my other siblings.

My father was also a very outspoken man. He was interested in his children ’ s welfare and wished us utmost excellence in life like any other father. Yet he used his assertive and do-it-now style to make us do things. Since he spent most of his life with military personnel as an army contractor, I believe the military traits rubbed off on him. I still have one of my father ’ s business cards printed more than 85 years ago in 1935. It has a beautiful pink colored rose flower with four buds and few rose leaves on the top left hand corner and next to it is his name: Mohamed A. Khader, R.I.A.S.C. Contractor; acronym for Royal Indian Army Service Corps Contractor.

In addition to the construction and supply business, our family also ran an eatery ‘ Supper Bar ’ in the Military Complex and built houses for our extended family. Being a smart child, he learned speaking English, and even later in life, deliberately never spoke fluently to avoid being told to read or write something because he never learned to read or write English.

My father was ten years old when he went in the evening to the Supper Bar. The cashier asked him to stay at the cash register for a few minutes and went to the bathroom. An army private walked up to the register and asked my father for something. He told him to wait. After a few minutes the private got impatient and turned to my father, and looking directly into his eyes cursed him saying, “ You bloody chap! ” After hearing those words, my father got upset, he placed his left arm on the counter, leaned on the left side, raised his right hand and hit the army private on the jaw, dropped to the ground, turned to the other side of the counter, crawled under it, stood up and ran. The private gave a chase. Spying an army officer nearby my father ran and stood next to him. The private and the officer had a brief conversation, which ended with the officer telling the private to leave the little “ chap ” alone. My father, a brave and fearless kid, may not have been thinking about the consequences of his actions, but at the same time he could not stand insult, even as a young boy.

The military contracts were managed by our granduncle Shaikh Mohammad Ibrahim, my uncle Shaikh Mohammad Younus and my father Mohamed Abdul Khader, in many cities in India, including Poona, Devlali, Sholapur , Nasik, Bangalore and Mysore. My father and my uncle supervised construction of our Marredpalli locality house in Secunderabad, two identically looking houses on each side of the street known as ‘ Kingsway ’ and a commercial building which was rented to the Punjab National Bank. (The Marredpalli house, where I was born, known as the Ibrahm Mansion became a poster house for the Associated Cement Company, because our construction company used their cement for the first time. )

( (https://libraries.mit.edu/img/libs/rotch/HyderabadGuide_2009.pdf   Architecture in Hyderabad-Deccan, India. Omar Khalidi Aga Khan, Program for Islamic Architecture, MIT Libraries, Cambridge, Massachusetts. 2009.)

As a man he was very tough. Acutely conscious of time, he believed in punctuality; another military trait. His association and dealings with the army made him a very time-conscious person. My father would hire masons and day laborers to start work at 7 am. If a laborer showed up to work at 7:15, he would send him home and tell him to come back the next day. Later in life, when he was sick and bedridden, he told my mother that he was suffering from all these illnesses, including emphysema, because of the curse of the poor laborers, whom he had sent home for showing up late to work.

One day, in 1946 or 1947, when we were going to the Mosque for Friday prayer, he told us to be ready by 12:00 noon to leave the house. At around 12:00, I entered our parent ’ s room. My dad looked at me, then looked at his watch and remarked, “Still one more minute left. ” After uttering those words, he sat down on the corner of the bed. After a minute or so he stood up after looking at his watch saying, “ It ’ s time to go. ” This incident had a profound effect on me on time management. Much of his advice that I never forgot include:

“ You must work hard in your studies. Do this with joy and enthusiasm. ”

“Beta (son) never be afraid of anybody. ” He said this without adding that you must use decency, etiquette, and good manners while talking to others or presenting your view point.

“ Polish your shoes very thoroughly, when you look down while wearing them, you should see your face. ”

He was greatly interested in politics, and would often discuss newspaper editorials as well as finer points of current events with me. He would ask me to read the newspaper editorials from the Urdu daily “ Rahnuma-e Deccan ” ; talk about the glorious days of Hyderabad during the reign of HEH Mir Osman Ali Khan Bahadur, Asif Jah Sabih, the seventh Nizam of Hyderabad, one of the top ten richest men of all times. In the 1930s the Nizam was one of the richest men in the world and king of the largest state in India. In 1937 the Nizam was on the cover of TIME Magazine dated 22 February 1937 labeled as the richest man in the world. I am an alumni of Madras-a-Aliya High School, and it makes me happy to know that Aliya High School boasts of alumni like Nizam Mir Osman Ali khan.

In 1955 the Government of India formed a Commission to restructure and reestablish boundaries of various states in India. The Nizam ’ s State had three big divisions or counties called Marathwada, Karnataka and Telengana. The Commission recommended breaking up of the Hyderabad State into three parts and giving them to three different states. The people living in the Telengana area, where the capital of Hyderabad was located, started an agitation for a separate Telengana State. I was in junior college at that time, studying physics, chemistry, and math. The university students were in the forefront of this agitation. One day while I was reading one of the editorials for my father from the newspaper he told me, “ Beta (son) Mohammad Yacoob, go with the students, the protestors and demonstrators. After ten minutes tell them that you have to go to the bathroom and come straight home. You need to concentrate on your studies. A separate Telengana State will never be established. ” I did exactly what he told me. My father had vision. Telengana became part of Andhra, and the State of Andhra Pradesh came into existence. The Marathwada division was given to Bombay State and the Karnataka division to Karnataka State.

My father wanted his children to become engineers or doctors, and at the same time he insisted that I learn typing and shorthand. “ This is going to help you in life; you can take shorthand notes in the class during the lecture ” , he would say. How true it is today about typing in this age of personal computers! At that time, I resented learning typing and shorthand, because the overwhelming majority of the people who knew typing were male clerks in private companies or government offices in Hyderabad Deccan. My father ’ s decision was final. Also, the high schools in the twin cities of Hyderabad and Secunderabad did not offer any courses in typing and shorthand. He enrolled me in a nearby private typing institute.

The digital movements of the fingers, the rhythmic strokes of the keys caused pain in my fingers but after a while it became bearable, then easy. I started to like typing. In addition to this I was learning shorthand from an instructor and finished the book written by Sir Isaac Pitman after several months. After finishing each exercise, the class would take dictation from the instructor. It would be news items or editorials from ‘ Deccan Chronicle ’ , a newspaper published from the city of Secunderabad. The most amusing word I found during dictation was the name of the Indonesian Prime Minister in the 1950 ’ s, Ali Shastru-me-jojo. Every time the instructor uttered the name from the Deccan Chronicle editorial, I would smile or start laughing. I have now completely forgotten shorthand, but I do typing every day and remember my father while sitting at the desk in front of my Personal Computer.

My father had a vision for me. He did not just say to me typing would help you do typing of college reports, actually he backed up his statement with a gift. He bought a petite portable typewriter for me. Now, in this 21st century, we know hundreds of Hyderabadis and Indians are getting personal computers and cell phones from their parents. How many of us from the earlier generation got a typewriter in the 1950s from our parents? I don ’ t know anybody.

My father was a chain smoker and developed emphysema. It became worse in the early 1980s. He developed audible wheezing while breathing which many times became unbearable. In the 1960s he followed the doctor ’ s orders to cut down on smoking in a very peculiar way. He would break a non-filter cigarette in half, smoke the first half, and pick up the second half from the packet immediately after finishing the first half. Thus, he continued his chain-smoking cycle. Then, he told the doctor that he had cut his smoking by almost 25% to 50%. Still, this did not help and he ended up contracting emphysema.

In the 1950s and the 1960s he used to walk eight miles a day, two miles each way, twice a day. In 1976 when he visited us in California, he got ill. The doctor examined him, prescribed medication, later told me, “ Your father ’ s heart is as strong as a 10-year-old ’ s ” .

We believe that his strong heart prolonged his life even though his lungs became weak. In the 1980s the doctors told my older brother, “ If we operate and remove one of his lungs, your father is going to die, because the other lung would not be able to carry him through, however, because of his strong heart, his brain is getting enough oxygen. It is better that we leave him alone. ”

He was a person who was not easily impressed. I remember that he showed amazement at only two ordinary things during his stay in California in 1976. In the supermarkets he would look at a bottle, love the shape, color and beauty. He showed interest in taking many empty bottles with him, but later decided to drop the idea because of the heavy luggage he and mom were carrying back with them to Hyderabad. He also showed amazement at the clocks in the house and said, “ I am surprised at the number of clocks and time pieces in your home, including bathrooms. ”

I miss three books, which, in a way, I inherited from my father in 1952. One was “ Who ’ s Who in India - 1935 ” . This awesome encyclopedia listed the names of all the freedom fighters of the British subcontinent, including those who 12 years later, in 1947, became the leaders of India and Pakistan. I used to go through this book whenever I saw the name of a leader in the newspaper, to see if he was listed in Who ’ d Who. The other book was a blank diary 3 ½ x 4 inches of 1942 that was never used by my father. This diary was printed in England and perhaps given to my father by one of his military friends. It was a beautiful diary with a leather jacket and onionskin light blue paper. On each page there was a proverb. Two proverbs are still in the recesses of my memory: “ One man ’ s experience is knowledge for others; ” and “ You can do anything with a bayonet but sit on it ” . The third book, written in the Urdu language entitled “ Tears of Blood ” (Khoon kay Aan-soo ) listed human shortcomings and weaknesses, and made suggestions as to how human beings can improve their lives The author of the book was very straightforward and used strong words to describe the mistakes human beings make or the activities they indulge in, and later make excuses or produce rationale to justify those mistakes and indulgences. In the preface, the author ’ s very first sentence was, “ Don ’ t pay attention to who is saying it, pay attention to what he is saying ” .

The only time I saw my father crying was at the death of our granduncle, Shaikh Mohanad Ibrahim, his uncle and guardian. He was a very tough man yet he cried like a baby. I can ’ t forget his face, tears and sobs while holding his eyeglasses in his hands. This indelible image always sends shivers through my spine.

May Almighty God give him a high place in the heavens (Firdous-a-Aala in Jannah). Ameen.

Our granduncle later made a decision to send my father to Bangalore to manage the business there. Our family came to Secunderabad from Poona and there I was already living with my grandmother. My parents picked me and along with my older brother and two younger siblings went to Bangalore. Later In Hyderabad, in late 1945, after our family returned to Hyderabad from Bangalore, my mother would read to us stories of Hatim Tai, Ali Baba and Forty Thieves, Aladdin and his wonderful lamp and other fables from “ One Thousand and One Nights ” – Alif Laila O Laila - in the mornings or evenings. Her favorite book that made her a strong woman and a decision maker was a thousand-page book entitled “ Bahisti Zevar ” ( Heavenly Jewelry) written in Urdu language for Muslim women by Maulana Ashraf Ali Thaanvi, a Muslim scholar, on the Islamic Fiqh (jurisprudence), Islamic values, and responsibilities of Muslim women in Islam based on the teachings of the Qur ’ an and the life of Prophet Muhammad.  

In the early 1950s one of my teachers made a comment about this book to show how Islam had liberated Muslim women more than 1300 years ago. He said, “ If your wife is the owner of two houses and you live with her in one house, then you don ’ t have the right to tell your wife that you would collect the rent of the other house. She has the right to conduct her own business ” . This is one of the finest statements about women ’ s liberation uttered in the 20th century.

Our granduncle did not have children. In early 1940s he told my older brother Mohammad Yousuf that he would send him to England for higher studies. This was related to us in late 40s and 50s. We both had a dream to go to England and if possible even to America. I continued to pursue my dream after marriage; finally got admission in Northrop University in Los Angeles. My parents supported me and I came to California in 1962. My wife and my two children joined me four years later in 1966 after I graduated from the university.

My wife brought me the book Bahisti Zevar as a gift from my mother. She was indirectly telling me how to respect women by referring to this book. Of course, I had read this book, my mother ’ s own copy, in the early 1950s, even before my marriage. I belong to a joint family. My uncle and my father raised their children together, in a big house. We were so close that the fourteen first cousins were like siblings. We would fight, remain friends, break friendships, play games and enjoy school days, even snatch   home work   from each other ’ s hands to read.

One day, my mother saw me and told me, “ Just don ’ t touch the girls. ” In the US, we tell our children not to talk to strangers and also tell them not to allow anybody to touch them. From a woman ’ s perspective, my mother in 1950s was telling me that the naked physical hostility against women starts with simple action like touching them. She advised me in 1962 about meat and flesh when I was coming to the United States. She used the Urdu word ‘ gosht ’ twice, telling me to stay away from them; this word that has two meanings, meat and flesh. Eat Halal meat and as a married man stay away from flesh, in other words, stay away from other women. She said that realizing that no halal meat was available in the US in the 60 ’ s. She said, “ Make omelet often and eat vegetables and fish. ” In addition to this, she dispensed an additional advice and said, “ If you feel you are missing your wife and your children, drop whatever you are doing and go to sleep. ” My mother gave me advice; face to face to a married son; reminding about the Islamic values, family values and ethical values.

In the late 1980s my mother decided to visit California after performing Hajj. Ten days before departure for Hajj, she had a mild heart attack. In the hospital she heard about the death of another patient. She mentioned this to her doctor who avoided talking about death, seeing that my mother quipped, “Doctor Sahiba, mai yahaan apney marzz kay elajj kay liye aayee hoon; mout kay elaj kay liye nahi.n” (Doctor Sahiba, I have come here to get medication for my disease; I have not come here to get medication against death). The next day without filling any discharge papers or obtaining any release authorization my older brother brought her home. It was a classic case of kidnapping. My older brother went to the hospital later and completed the paperwork. Our family members accused my brother of trying to kill our mother. He said, “It is the command of my mother and I could not disobey her wishes. Her wisdom, determination, courage and faith are so powerful that she would under no circumstances have changed her mind not to go to Hajj.” She cancelled her trip to California and after performing Hajj returned home as a much healthier person. She lived for another three years before going to her eternal abode.

My mother always received requests for money from relatives and close friends. Many times, distant relatives would come to our house and ask my mother for a loan. She had developed a unique way of enquiring about the intentions of the people. Whenever she was informed that a relative had arrived and was waiting for her in the living room she would immediately ask, “ What does he/she want? ” Once my married younger sister came and stayed with us. Two weeks later my brother – in-law came to take her home. My younger brother went to tell our mother about the brother-in-law ’ s arrival. As usual and without much thinking, she made the customary enquiry, “ What does he want? ” My younger brother turned to her and said, “ What does he want? Mom, he want his wife. ”

Now, I remember her every day. It is very painful, because, as soon as I think of her, the first word that comes to my mind is ‘ speechless ’ and the day of her passing. This whole affair I feel is incredible and unbelievable, sometimes I think that it was a dream or a scene from a movie when she passed away. During the last week of April 1992, I kept on dreaming about my mother. My older daughter Bilquis got married on 18 April 1992 and our mother very much wanted to attend the marriage and come to California but was too weak to travel. I think this is the reason that I kept on dreaming about her. I called her. She picked up the phone and uttered the words, “ Who is bothering me so early in the morning? ” and hung up the phone. I wanted to talk to her and tell her about those dreams and enquire about her health.

On Saturday May 2, 1992, I called Hyderabad, late in the afternoon, to talk to my mother. My older brother picked up the phone. “ I want to talk to ‘ Dear Mother ’ (Ammijan). ” I said. “ You don ’ t know, Abdul Rubb didn ’ t call you. She passed away two hours ago ” , he said with a choking voice. It was a big jolt and a shock that rendered me speechless for a few minutes. Was it an ESP (Extra Sensory Perception) from her side that kept me restless for a week? I don ’ t know. It seemed my older brother called me within five minutes of her passing away. All lines were busy for an hour. Our younger brother Abdul Rubb went to the telephone exchange to make a ‘ lightning call ’ (special call lines available at the telephone exchange) to me. He was still at the telephone exchange waiting for his turn to make the call when I called home.
Our mother passed away in peace. May Allah Mighty God shower His grace on her and give her the highest place in Jannat - paradise.

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