I received the news of the death of 37-year-old mild mannered Tariq Javed on a cloudy Sunday (11th July) morning, a few minutes before 8 am, and even though I hesitate to write about it, I must overcome this reluctance. I saw Tariq Javed's number on my cell phone and wondered why he was calling me at that unusual hour.
It was not his cautious confident voice. I would have expressed my impatience had it been him on a Sunday morning at 8. It was the voice of a woman, trembling and visibly sad. She only wanted to make sure that she was speaking to me. I asked her of what the matter was, imagining that it was Tariq Javed's wife on the line.
The caller clarified promptly that she was sister of Tariq's wife. I sensed trouble, and feared that Tariq was ill suddenly, or that there was some problem in his family. Numerous dreadful possibilities flashed through my forever anxious Karachi mind. In today's Pakistan, one expects a worst case scenario so often, if not most of the times.
Tariq's sister-in-law almost raced to tell me, eliminating any speculation that I could come up with, that Tariq Javed had died in a road accident near the Native's Jetty bridge. And that he was going to be buried that gray Sunday afternoon after Zuhr at Gizri graveyard. I was too stunned to proceed with the phone call any further. I believe that even she was unable to speak any longer.
I have been reflecting on this death of a young man, married, with two lovely children (Mujtaba and Dua, school-going both), who didn't survive when his two-wheeler was hit reportedly by a speeding Suzuki pick-up vehicle. I do not have details of the fatal accident, and I am not surprised that now our newspapers, and their local pages have no time and space, or curiosity and concern for such tragedies that take place daily. There are larger, macro issues that Pakistani society is grappling. Perhaps, it is understandable? Tariq's death went unnoticed. Not even a cold number does his death receive, which is what happens when terrorists kill, for instance.
It seems that there are today in this Pakistani society, so many ways a person can lose his life. Suicide bombings, bomb blasts, targeted killings, extra-judicial murders. Murders and other crime-related deaths (I am suddenly reminded of a friend of mine, who lost his life in Landhi (I am unsure) some 25 years ago, when armed robbers struck his relative's house when he was visiting them.
The criminals fired as they sped and my friend, Ashraf Khan, died instantly). Hospital negligence is yet another way to lose one's life or limb, both in private and public sector hospitals, being killed over petty issues, and trivia is yet another way in a society where public impatience is rising, And fatal road accidents that keep rising and reflecting the way Pakistani roads enhance their insecurity.
Karachi roads reflect the urban chaos that dominates its major and minor arteries, signal free or otherwise, and exposes the failure of its town planners and traffic police to bring discipline and sanity in the dense, dangerous world of our vehicular traffic. And in this dangerous world of Karachi roads, Tariq breathed his last. His body was shifted to the Civil Hospital, Karachi, on Saturday evening at 6 pm, said his family sources. According to them, the driver of the Suzuki pick-up was in the lock-up. But Tariq was gone. And forever.
Tariq was neither family, nor friend, nor neighbour, nor colleague. I wish he were one of these. I am reminded here of that quote from the English metaphysical poet John Donne (1572-1631) who has said that "Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind; And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee".
I knew him since the last four years or so, as an extraordinarily honest, diligent, forever efficient, well-qualified electrician, who worked seven days a week, for an honest living, and kept trying to raise his standards, completing technical courses from registered institutions. He didn't believe in short-term solutions to electrical problems that Karachi homes and offices have. He thought like an engineer, and looked at the larger picture, the long-term answers. He hailed from Haripur, Hazara, but had settled in Karachi for over 22 years, said his brother-in-law Uzair. Which means that he must have been a little boy when he came here.
Of course, I have lost an electrician in Tariq Javed. But more than that I have lost a good man in my life. He was so shy in his conversation, and so reliable in his punctuality. He was amazingly unconnected with all that has been happening in the city, and the country in the last four years, and never expressed any opinion on socio political matters, nor grumbled about the economic squeeze that he too was being exposed to. He was short, stocky, ever smiling, but mildly. He was invariably neatly dressed, reflecting his care about his attire.
He lived in a rented apartment and that has among other factors has had me thinking. What happens to such people in this society, who have neither regular jobs, nor social security, no any provision for the family when these tragedies occur. And they are taking place all the time.
Tariq and I would converse briefly, in between the jobs he did when he came over or we would talk of the breaking news that the TV channels would throw at us. He did not let the news distract him from his work. Of late, this year I had seen less of him, as he had become busier still. Economic compulsions, I suppose. He had been on foot for the years that I had known him, but he had got himself a 22-year-old Honda 50 cc so as to have more and better mobility and he was doing a graphics design course also. I was hoping to talk to him about this computer graphics interest of his. And I could never imagine that he would leave behind so many pleasant memories, in a short span of time that I and my family got to know him.
Of course, I am thinking about Tariq Javed's family and their future. And, of course, I will miss him. May Almighty Allah bless him in the Hereafter and give to his family the strength and courage to brave through in a very tough world and trying times that lie ahead. I would like to end with this quote from Greek philosopher Epicurus (341BC-270BC) who has said that "It is possible to provide security against other ills, but as far as death is concerned, we men live in a city without walls".
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