Mani and I: Memoirs of a Banarasi Karachiite

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Many books have been written by people who migrated from Pakistan to India during the partition, but few by persons who migrated to Pakistan. Asif Siddiqi now tries to bridge this gap. The pangs of migration, the innocence of adolescence, the journey to England for further education, the cushy life and grand luxury of the hotel world, culminating in the creation of a microfinancing network that has helped thousands of the poor, are all delightfully described in a light- hearted vein.

Asif Siddiqi was born in 1948 in Ghazipur, a small town near Banaras, India. His family moved to Hyderabad Sind, Pakistan in 1949. He is a fellow of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England and Wales and has been responsible for developing microfinance in the Pakistani banking sector. He lives in Karachi with his wife, Mani, and two children.

I always thought that memoirs could only be written by special people. The Hillary Clintons, the Mahatma Gandhis and the Paul McCartneys.

But one day I asked myself, if ordinary mortals like me also decided to write the tales of their ordinary lives, would they be shot at dawn?

The answer I gave myself was an emphatic 'no'. On the contrary, it is quite possible that readers may actually want to read how people like themselves, the normal, average people live their lives.

I was quite encouraged after reading Ruby Wax's How Do You Want Me and Fay Weldon's Auto-da-fe. Both written with a lot of feeling, but in a simple every day language.

But the main inspiration came from Pran Nevile's Lahore: A Sentimental Journey. With the greatest of restrained emotions, he says that Lahore, where his folks had been living and dying for centuries, where he grew up and went to school, suddenly became a foreign land.

Only a person made of stone would not be moved on hearing that silent cry. In fact, apart from Pran Nevile, there are a number of writers who were forced to leave their homes after Partition and have found the courage to narrate their experiences. Khushwant Singh and Kuldip Nayar come readily to my mind.

But I do not recall any account of life on this side of the border, written by a someone who migrated to Pakistan from India. And there are millions of muhajirs here of all hues, both in Punjab and Sind.

So here I am, with the stories of two lives, one ordinary and the other a little extraordinary.

The fact that my folks came from Ghazipur and Banaras and Mani's from Kapurthala is purely coincidental.

When I married her, I hadn't a clue that she was an East Punjaban and would insist on writing Marni without an 'r'.

Before signing off, I would like to express my gratitude to the persons who supported me in my endeavour. My dear friend Bodie, my editors Jehanara Wasi and Sherna Wadia and my publisher Ashok Butani. Namita Gokhale so graciously introduced me to Jehanara Wasi.