in Lucknow for as long as I can remember. If he says he can get me a job I’m confident he can,’ Nawab told Hamida later that night. And so, two weeks after his father died, Nawab moved to Lucknow with his wife of not quite seven months. Nawab’s uncle had got him a job as an assistant to the physical training instructor in La Martiniere College and it wasn’t long before Nawab and Hamida settled into a quiet but happy life on the school campus in the small house allotted to them in the Staff Colony.
As a member of the staff, Nawab’s children were allowed access to what would otherwise have been an education well beyond his means. And he was thrilled when Iqbal more than proved himself as a good scholar and an outstanding sports player. ‘He is my son after all,’ Nawab would proudly proclaim.
‘Of course he is. I was just a sleeping partner in the whole thing,’ Hamida would chuckle, barely concealing her pride.
Though Iqbal did well in school he had few friends; he couldn’t compete with the other boys’ socioeconomic status and so maintained a distance. He took to spending his spare time at a small auto-repair workshop on the edge of the school campus. He had gone there to get his cycle fixed one day and fallen in love with the sights, sounds and smell of machinery. Shukla Sahib the owner of the workshop took an immense liking to him and spent hours teaching him whatever he knew. Soon Iqbal was getting under the hood of all sorts of vehicles and fixing engines himself.
‘I tell you, madam,’ Shuklaji would jokingly complain to Hamida, ‘the way he is going, very soon this boy of yours will ensure I am jobless and hungry.’
Nawab on the other hand would grumble whenever Iqbal arrived home covered with grease and oil. ‘What is the point giving this boy an education? You don’t need to study if you just want to be a motor mechanic.’
As things turned out, Shuklaji and his garage were to have a profound influence on Iqbal’s life. It was his love for engines that made Iqbal decide that he wanted to be a mechanical engineer. It was this quest that had led Iqbal to Delhi to join engineering college and look after the business of Uncle Rashid’s spare parts shop.
Iqbal’s move from Lucknow was a highly traumatic experience for all of them, but especially so for Hamida and Navaz. Hamida’s grief at parting with her firstborn was enhanced by the fear and worry that she felt for him. All of them had heard such horror stories of life in Delhi that she was petrified at the thought of his having to brave the evils of a large city on his own. ‘How will you manage? You are so fussy about your food. Are you sure you will be all right?’
‘I will be fine, Ammi. I have to move out one day and learn to manage on my own.’
Hamida understood this but that did not mean she liked it. She put on a brave front as they got ready to drop Iqbal off at the railway station. ‘Come on, Ammi, all of you don’t need to come to the railway station to see me off.’
‘If your Ammi had her way she would go all the way to Delhi to see you off,’ Nawab quipped. They all laughed at that; Hamida did too. The laughter helped dispel the tears that were crowding her eyes.
Rashid’s spare parts shop was located just opposite the small mosque in Savita Nagar. Iqbal used his exhaustive knowledge of cars to expand the shop’s scope of activities to include repairs and modifications.
Rashid could not stop singing Iqbal’s praises whenever he spoke to Hamida or Nawab. Hamida was so proud of her son. Maybe that’s why she was not surprised when a year after moving to Delhi she got a phone call from Iqbal. ‘Ammi, guess what?’ He seemed really thrilled and excited. ‘I have got a fantastic job in the Middle-East.’
‘But, bete…’
‘I have said yes to them, Ammi.’
Her heart sank.
‘I will soon be leaving to take up this assignment. In fact I have to leave for training in a few days…’
Iqbal seemed so
As a member of the staff, Nawab’s children were allowed access to what would otherwise have been an education well beyond his means. And he was thrilled when Iqbal more than proved himself as a good scholar and an outstanding sports player. ‘He is my son after all,’ Nawab would proudly proclaim.
‘Of course he is. I was just a sleeping partner in the whole thing,’ Hamida would chuckle, barely concealing her pride.
Though Iqbal did well in school he had few friends; he couldn’t compete with the other boys’ socioeconomic status and so maintained a distance. He took to spending his spare time at a small auto-repair workshop on the edge of the school campus. He had gone there to get his cycle fixed one day and fallen in love with the sights, sounds and smell of machinery. Shukla Sahib the owner of the workshop took an immense liking to him and spent hours teaching him whatever he knew. Soon Iqbal was getting under the hood of all sorts of vehicles and fixing engines himself.
‘I tell you, madam,’ Shuklaji would jokingly complain to Hamida, ‘the way he is going, very soon this boy of yours will ensure I am jobless and hungry.’
Nawab on the other hand would grumble whenever Iqbal arrived home covered with grease and oil. ‘What is the point giving this boy an education? You don’t need to study if you just want to be a motor mechanic.’
As things turned out, Shuklaji and his garage were to have a profound influence on Iqbal’s life. It was his love for engines that made Iqbal decide that he wanted to be a mechanical engineer. It was this quest that had led Iqbal to Delhi to join engineering college and look after the business of Uncle Rashid’s spare parts shop.
Iqbal’s move from Lucknow was a highly traumatic experience for all of them, but especially so for Hamida and Navaz. Hamida’s grief at parting with her firstborn was enhanced by the fear and worry that she felt for him. All of them had heard such horror stories of life in Delhi that she was petrified at the thought of his having to brave the evils of a large city on his own. ‘How will you manage? You are so fussy about your food. Are you sure you will be all right?’
‘I will be fine, Ammi. I have to move out one day and learn to manage on my own.’
Hamida understood this but that did not mean she liked it. She put on a brave front as they got ready to drop Iqbal off at the railway station. ‘Come on, Ammi, all of you don’t need to come to the railway station to see me off.’
‘If your Ammi had her way she would go all the way to Delhi to see you off,’ Nawab quipped. They all laughed at that; Hamida did too. The laughter helped dispel the tears that were crowding her eyes.
Rashid’s spare parts shop was located just opposite the small mosque in Savita Nagar. Iqbal used his exhaustive knowledge of cars to expand the shop’s scope of activities to include repairs and modifications.
Rashid could not stop singing Iqbal’s praises whenever he spoke to Hamida or Nawab. Hamida was so proud of her son. Maybe that’s why she was not surprised when a year after moving to Delhi she got a phone call from Iqbal. ‘Ammi, guess what?’ He seemed really thrilled and excited. ‘I have got a fantastic job in the Middle-East.’
‘But, bete…’
‘I have said yes to them, Ammi.’
Her heart sank.
‘I will soon be leaving to take up this assignment. In fact I have to leave for training in a few days…’
Iqbal seemed so
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