Now that we have been here, in southern California, for more than ten days, a sense of familiarity with our present environment is beginning to emerge. Our elder daughter has set a plan for what we do on a daily basis and though that ensures a constant change of scene and of experience, there is this touch of more of the same. Expecting the unexpected is very much a part of it.
One impression is that of movement, of being in a car on the busy freeways. Whether you are going out to eat, to shop, to visit someone, or to be somewhere, there usually are long distances to cover. The rush of vehicles on the wide, wide highways is a spectacle of a kind and it evokes, for me, the mystery of our lives rushing breathlessly into whichever direction and not knowing what really lies ahead.
If this seems a melancholic thought amid circumstances that are potentially happy and exciting, there is a reason it has engaged my mind. I have to report this week my meeting with an old friend and it meant so much for both of us because of the larger perspective in which it was held.
On Tuesday, my daughter drove us – my wife and I – to San Diego where my friend Mazhar Rizvi lives with his wife Marina. It was a longish journey from Long Beach in Los Angeles County, and the drive was exceptionally picturesque as we covered around one hundred miles along the Pacific coast. But in the back of my mind was a darker landscape of memory and of time long ago.
I have said that this is an account of a meeting with an old friend. How old this friendship has been is the point that I need to emphasise. Mazhar and I go back 75 years. Yes, 75 years. We were together in a class in Karachi’s Bahadur Yar Jung High School in 1950.
In fact, there were three of us who became close friends, the third being Raza Ali Abidi who became famous as a BBC Urdu broadcaster and a writer. The three of us have remained friends, constantly in touch with each other, even though the larger chunks of our lives were lived on three different continents. The big headline, I suppose, is that we are still friends – or, in other words, we are still alive and still able to share our thoughts and feelings. Both Mazhar and Raza Ali have just crossed 90 and I, obviously, cannot be far behind.
But when we speak to each other, we are always upbeat about our respective situations. With Mazhar in particular, our telephonic conversations are invariably marked by jokes and by laughter. Raza Ali is now confined to his home in London. His love affair with the Urdu language still keeps him involved on social media. What does not seem possible is for the three of us to be together in one place. Since I have continued to travel to visit our daughter’s home, Mazhar and I have been meeting over the years. Until a few years ago, he would join us for parties at my daughter’s place or we would meet in the middle of our locations, at some beach resort.
One has read a lot about the importance of relationships in maintaining our mental health and living a happy life. But when we grow old, we begin to lose our friends. I still have a few friends I made in my youth and there are some who are much younger. That they are there and we can meet to laugh and to console each other for our griefs is what makes life tolerable.
There was one episode in Mazhar’s life that I find very interesting. He was a banker in Los Angeles more than 35 years ago when a robbery occurred at his branch. A gun was pointed at his head. There were some other pressures. He was not well. One day, his doctor said: “Your body is trying to tell you something”.
How he interpreted the message was that he and Marina both decided to quit working and build a new life. They worked on a spreadsheet to draw a picture of their assets and calculated the prospects of their pensions and social security. There seemed to be enough to leave their jobs, buy a new home in San Diego and design their new lives around their interests. I remember receiving a letter from him, with a picture of their guest room: “Come and stay with us”.
What is notable is that Mazhar and Marina’s has not been a life of resignation. They have been active in their pursuits. They built a circle of friends and not having children themselves, became loving guardians of a family. They have travelled and done nine cruises. I have to concede that Mazhar is much better informed about the world – and specifically American affairs.
On Tuesday, during our long conversations, he said that when they were working on their spreadsheets, they had not accounted for living so long. But they appeared to be doing fine, with their expertise in financial affairs. However, there is no compensation for friends they have lost. I found Mazhar somewhat lonely and medically more challenged.
Is Mazhar’s life an example of what they call the American dream? He himself answers this question in the affirmative – and with passion. I could do a separate piece on his medical problems. He seems to have developed a steady relationship with doctors and hospitals. But he has taken it in stride and is thankful for the system that has looked after him.
Because he generally remains in good cheer, I was surprised to receive a call from him months ago, saying goodbye. He made the same call to Raza Ali. It alarmed both of us. Thankfully, it turned out to be a false alarm. On Tuesday, we agreed that we must meet again to recall old memories and laugh at new jokes.
The writer is a senior journalist. He can be reached at: [email protected]
