There are many things in this world no university can teach, and one of the hardest is parenting. Especially today, when we’re haunted by the question: Do we need to be harsh and strict in this spoiled world? Or soft, because the world has become too sensitive? Where is the balance?
Just a few decades ago, parents never even dreamed of this dilemma. They did what they knew.
Papa often tells us this one story, and we laugh till our stomachs hurt, but even now, we can still see the horror in his eyes.
So here’s what happened.
Long ago, there used to be a Guzarwan, a kind of octroi post, in the area where we live, in the old parts of the city.
A man administrating the post was very full of himself, the local “investigative type,” and asked all kinds of questions to people passing by.
One day he asked my father (papa) and his cousin about a man he saw walking past.
That man was their uncle: tall, serious, full of ego always.
The kids were irritated by uncle keeping watch on their movements to Guzarwan jasoos.
“Oh him? He’s just our helper. Takes care of the cows at home.” And that was it.
The crime was committed. The seed was planted.
Some days later, uncle and that Guzarwan man got into a heated fight over something small. In the middle of the shouting, the man screamed: “Don’t raise your voice at me! Kids told me you’re just a servant at the Qureshis’!”
Uncle froze.
Within the hour, he had stormed home, furious and deeply insulted. He gathered his brothers: four of them, stern, egoistic, and carried themselves like old-school Peer sahibs, as if even their silence was a sermon, like carrying centuries of honour on their shoulders.
One said, “These kids have gone completely wild.”
Another added, “Their roaming needs to be stopped.”
A third muttered, “They’ve started lying about the elders. Tomorrow they’ll sell the house too.”
And then came the final word from papa’s father: the eldest, the final judge, always dramatic.
He said: “Before these rogue elements wipe out the name of Khandan-e-Nabuwat, we must take strict action and set an example for the rest.”
And the verdict?
Head shaving. Public. Painful. Unforgettable.
A day was fixed. A time was fixed. And a spot was fixed-under the mulberry tree in the middle of Qureshi Mohalla, where everyone would definitely see.
The barber was called.
Now papa says this barber didn’t just do his job, he enjoyed it.
He looked like someone who used to hang people for a living. Unnecessarily angry, he walked in like he was about to perform an execution. Papa remembers sitting there on a small stool, kids looking at him like he was a zoo animal, telling each other, “Look! That’s the boy who said his uncle is a cow caretaker!”
And just when things couldn’t get worse, he saw a girl from his class walking by, on her way to collect water from the public tap.
He says, “My ears started burning like someone poured red chili powder in them. My hands went numb. My legs forgot how to be legs. Even the stool I was sitting on started shaking. My heart dropped faster than the hair falling from my head. I wanted to roll into the nearest gutter and start a new life as a pipe worm.”
Then it began.
The barber clamped papa’s head between his knees and started the ritual.
Pin-drop silence. Only the sound of blade on skin: shhhrrkk, shhhrrkk.
Papa swears every drop of blood in his body ran straight to his face.
“After it was done, we were a mess: eyes full of tears, cheeks sticky with streaks of water, snot, and little hair strands, and heads shining like two freshly washed meatballs in the sun,” recalls papa.
The real villain of the story showed up.
The uncle. The same one who is called a “cow-helper” by the kids.
He walked up slowly… shaking his head, he said:
“Hai hai hai… afsoos! Kya haalat gayve…”
(So sad… What a sorry condition you are in.)
“Apouzz gouch ni vanun. Neiriv gabour gharee, kariv sran.”
(You shouldn’t have lied, now go home and take a bath.)
And with that, the show ended. The lesson was taught.
Papa says that night he didn’t sleep a single minute. Not even for a second. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw his shiny bald head and that girl at the tap, laughing like she saw a circus.
I’m not in a position to say whether the approach was right or wrong. All I know is both boys grew into wonderful men: honest, successful, and full of heart.
Maybe that’s all that really matters in the end.
