A long winding road

Bhurgri (also spelled Bhurgari) is essentially a Baloch tribe that settled in Sindh a couple of centuries ago. Today, the community reflects a Baloch-Sindhi identity, with most members speaking Sindhi. You won’t find many Bhurgris in Islamabad, but the one I know is a remarkable individual -- a broadcaster, journalist, scriptwriter, traveler and teacher.

Haider Bhurgri has now added ‘author’ to his list of accomplishments with the publication of his autobiography. I’ve known him for many years as a vibrant member of the Sindhi community in Islamabad, always welcoming friends regardless of caste, colour, creed, or community. His only expectations are profound yet straightforward: you must be a lively conversationalist, a believer in democracy, enthusiastic about learning, forward-thinking and -- above all -- a decent human being. He has little patience for silent spectators, admirers of autocracy, or those disinterested in personal growth.

My esteemed friend Naseer Memon deserves credit for introducing me to many liberal and secular Sindhis in Islamabad, Haider Bhurgri among them. Both Haider and Naseer have generously helped me improve my Sindhi. Whenever I find myself puzzled by a difficult passage in a Sindhi book, a call to either one quickly resolves the issue. They’ve spent not just hours but entire days patiently guiding me through the intricacies of the language and its nuances.

It is with this context that I approach Haider Bhurgri’s autobiography, titled ‘Long Winding Road’, recently published by Amerta Publications, Hyderabad. Spanning nearly 450 pages, the book takes readers on a journey through time -- from the 1960s to the 2020s. Now in his eighties, Haider’s memory remains remarkably sharp, and he does not shy away from recounting even the more colourful aspects of his life -- whether in the bars and nightclubs of old Karachi or during his travels abroad. He cherishes the memories of his time spent with colleagues and friends in Islamabad over the past five decades and before that in Karachi.

Born in a village near Mirpurkhas, Haider spent his formative years in Hyderabad, eventually moving to Karachi, where he joined the Central News Organization at Radio Pakistan. In 1973, he was transferred to Islamabad, which was still a dull and dreary city. A major turning point came when he joined the newly established People’s Open University (POU), marking his transition from a broadcaster to an academic. He recounts in detail how the university -- originally envisioned by Zulfikar Ali Bhutto as a premier centre for distance learning -- gradually succumbed to Islamization under General Ziaul Haq’s regime.

Zia’s anti-people policies were evident even in the renaming of the university -- from People’s Open University to Allama Iqbal Open University, with the word ‘People’s’ deliberately removed. At this rebranded institution, Haider’s career evolved further -- as editor, producer and writer of educational programmes. He also travelled abroad on scholarships, majoring in media studies and enhancing his expertise in educational technology at Ohio State University. His narrative of these experiences is both compelling and richly layered, unfolding page by page, decade by decade.

Through his memoir, Haider Bhurgri emerges as a curious observer, always exploring the world around him. His inquisitiveness dates back to childhood. He writes about people with a blend of admiration and critique, though he more often emphasises their virtues than their flaws. He introduces readers to key figures in his life, while devoting relatively little space to his personal or family matters.

Those who shaped his personality receive due attention, while his co-travellers reappear throughout the book’s pages. Core values like intellectual honesty, openness, and a zest for life run consistently through the narrative. His anecdotes are engaging and laced with humour, and his reflections are insightful. Haider is a natural storyteller who narrates his life with flair and humility. Unlike many in their twilight years, his outlook remains hopeful and uplifting.

Even in retirement, Haider continues to be a respected figure in Islamabad. He always enjoyed soirees and intellectual gatherings, although age and health have recently limited his participation. Nevertheless, his wide-ranging interests continue to leave a lasting impression on everyone he meets -- often after just a single conversation. In many ways, Haider has grown alongside Islamabad, which in the 1970s was still in its formative years, searching for its own identity.

The events Haider witnessed are rendered vividly and intimately, as though unfolding before your eyes. He faced life’s challenges with dignity and resilience, and I’ve seen him encourage and guide younger generations with dedication. He has always been approachable, generous with his time and unfailingly humble -- traits I deeply admire.

The book is more of a stream-of-consciousness account than a strictly linear or conventional autobiography. As a Karachiite, I particularly appreciated his nostalgic depiction of the city during the 1960s and 70s: “The image of Karachi is etched in my memory—a different city with its smooth roads, clean cafes, and the Native Jetty Bridge… Karachi had strong infrastructure then. Some of it was built by the British, but much was donated by Christians, Hindus, and Parsis… Eduljee Dinshaw Dispensary, NJV and Mama Parsi Schools, Katrik Hall, D J Science College, St Joseph’s Convent, Karachi Grammar School, Mohatta Palace, Khalikdina Hall, Denso Hall—all were built by individuals and trusts.”

Sadly, that diverse and philanthropic spirit which once defined Karachi has largely vanished. Although some charitable organisations still exist, most are now focused on sectarian or religious agendas rather than inclusive public welfare. Few institutions remain that are open to all and free from ideological biases.

On page 23, Haider reflects: “It was an important city and attracted many visitors from the Middle East and other countries. Scores of foreigners were seen roaming around on Elphi Street. Many sailors too visited busy areas of the city. It had great attraction since it had several drinking bars, striptease cabarets and a racecourse twice weekly.”

Haider’s reflections go beyond the personal; he also delves into the political and social developments of his time. He critiques the Ayub Khan regime, its rigged indirect elections and the unjust defeat of Fatima Jinnah. He recounts the 1971 crisis, highlighting the failures of General Yahya Khan, which led to the surrender, and the birth of Bangladesh.

He notes, with insight, that during the 1971 military operation, many in Karachi, including colleagues at Radio Pakistan, opposed transferring power to the Awami League, despite its clear electoral victory. They supported military action over democratic transition, and advocated a hardline stance against Sheikh Mujibur Rahman.

“Bengali seniors and colleagues were tense and restless. In East Pakistan, the people were very angry; the gulf was widening. Meanwhile, all institutions in East Pakistan had declared allegiance to Mujib. The people in West Pakistan were absolutely unaware—and indifferent. The army was adamant in its approach to crush the Awami League. Meanwhile, the Bengal Regiment, East Pakistan Rifles and Rangers, and the East Pakistan judiciary quietly allied themselves with the Awami League.” (p27)

He recalls that many in Karachi were even pleased that power wasn't transferred to the Awami League. They taunted him for his dissenting views: “BBC and other Western sources revealed that Bengali forces had organized semi-civilian and East Pakistan army outfits called Mukti Bahini (liberation fighters). Its fighters were trained by the Indian army to prepare for the Pakistani army’s expected crackdown. The president finally ordered military action on 26 March 1971. That same night, Mujib was arrested and brought to Mianwali jail in West Pakistan.” (p29)

A booklover and cinephile, Haider fondly remembers the old bookshops he frequented in Islamabad, Karachi and other cities. He reminisces with romantic affection about the voluptuous heroines and stoic heroes of Hollywood’s golden age, and the sentimental performances of Indian film stars -- lanky male leads and emotionally expressive female characters.

While the book is occasionally repetitive and would have benefited from tighter editing, it remains well worth reading for all the right reasons.

The writer holds a PhD from the University of Birmingham, UK. He tweets/posts @NaazirMahmood and can be reached at:mnazir1964@yahoo.co.uk