Kohinoor of the Dada family

Majyd Aziz

The Dada family has been rightly named as the Wal-Marts of Pakistan by Prof Iqbal Ismail in his book Footprints in the Sand. This Memon family was admired as royalty in Bantva and the paterfamilias of the clan, Hussain Kassam Dada, was the largest commodities trader in pre-partition India. After migrating to Karachi in 1947, he oversaw his huge business with the help of his sons. In fact, most of the multinationals that came to invest in Pakistan usually had one or two of the family as sponsoring Directors.

Aisha was Hussain’s first grandchild, eldest daughter of Haji Adam, and my paternal grandmother. I am the eldest of the fifth generation of the Dada family (I am 62, and on the Dada family tree, my “generation” still has many more years to complete). This lady was a very simple, pious, thrifty person. There was never a hint of arrogance or braggadocio, attributes that Dada progeny were perceived and even felt by those who came into contact with them. She was destined to be a devoted wife, a possessive mother, a loving mother-in-law, and a doting grandmother. The elders got her wedded to Omer Haji Muhammad, a scion of the Balagamwala family and someone who had an aristocratic lifestyle, who was erudite, and whose heart would melt behind a façade of strong temperament.

Aisha had given birth to three boys but destiny placed her in a position where she lost her eldest and youngest children, when they were very young, and then spent her whole life being the Guardian Angel to her surviving son, Abdul Aziz Haji Omer.

She saw her eight grandchildren grow and ensured that they were under her watchful eyes. She was our nanny, religious teacher, and the source of advice. Although uneducated nor an expert in psychology, her boudoir was the place where many relatives, mostly women, came for advise, guidance, monetary assistance, and parental affection. She always provided financial support quietly and those who were beneficiaries of her largesse used to leave her bungalow with no remorse or dejection. She would at times take one of her grand-daughters in the car to a poor relative and would instruct the driver to park the car far away and would walk towards the relative’s house. She did not want to show off that she came in her car to help them and would always sit on the floor with them. At times, she would go in a bus, just to demonstrate that she was an ordinary person, and not the wife and daughter of rich tycoons. Till her last days, she never missed Tahajud prayers and even had this habit of picking up her plate after eating and washing it herself.

Aisha performed Haj three times. In 1949, in 1953, and her last Haj was in 1965 with me and my mother. It was really a miracle for us to get the P-Form approved by State Bank of Pakistan on the morning of the last Haj flight and before the afternoon was over, we were on our way to Jeddah. On 7 Muharram, I was in my first floor hotel room in Makkah with my mother when I heard her shouting from the road, “Majyd, Ka’abo khuli vio aai, jaldi Haram Sharif bhug.” (Majyd, the Ka’aba is open, run fast to the Haram Sharif). I only 15 years old ran and managed to get inside the Holy edifice. On Ashur’a day, three days later, there was an action replay. Again she came running, yelled, and again I ran and again managed to get into the Holy Ka’aba. More importantly, I was also one of the lucky ones to get on the roof of the Holy Ka’aba and I waved to her when I saw her in the Mata’af. I would have never got this unique honor of being in the Holy Ka’aba had it not been for her who obviously ran from the Haram Sharif to convey the news twice.

She would also hold her great-grandchildren in her lap while their hairs were cut for the first time during their Aqiqa. She was always given this honor and there would be a twinkle in her marble-blue eyes whenever she held her great-grandchildren. She never discriminated against any one of them nor would she scold them. For her, they were the source of strength in her last decade. She was fortunate to see and hold twenty of her twenty-two great-grandchildren. She was very much in love with my youngest sister Hafsa and would even make it a point to drop her off to school.

Aisha lived for others. Even if her siblings (all strong-headed) were at times at loggerheads with one another, she would never take sides but always tried to conciliate and even make sure that she would be punctual at family functions. The only time she felt resentment was when her brother, Siddiq Dada, married an Englishwoman. She never accepted her new sister-in-law and till the end she was solidly behind her Bhabi Zubaida.

Aisha was taken sick in November 1988, and rushed to Aga Khan Hospital. As fate would have it, this prestigious hospital did not have a spare ventilator. I remember running from hospital to hospital and finally was able to get her into OMI Hospital thanks to then Sindh Governor. The next day, she left for her Heavenly Abode. Sadly, nine years later, on Eid ul Azha, this scenario was repeated and my father also died in exactly the same manner. Aisha was nearly eighty when she died. She was never called Dadi but Hajiani Ma (I used to call her by this title when I was just few years old). This formidable devotee of Ghaus al Azam, this very religious woman, this downright honest and sincere lady, was truly the Kohinoor of the Dada Family.