Syed Nissar H Gilani
I. The Arrival of the Bull
On the 3rd of September 2026, I will enter my 80th year. As the current year draws to a close, I watch the world prepare for the New Year with a level of fanfare and joy that was entirely foreign to my childhood. Today, friends exchange digital messages filled with elegant quotes—sentiments I never heard as a young boy.
I am seen with my parents Picture taken in 1953. Fused with AI generated picture.
In those days, the new year was heralded by a conversation between my mother and Khaliq Matta, our seasoned firewood dealer. My mother would ask with great sincerity, “Khaliq Joo, in what form is the New Year arriving?”
Khaliq Joo would lean in seriously and reply, “This year, the New Year has arrived on a Bull.”
“Tuba, Tuba!” my mother would cry, “May Allah save us! Bulls are naughty—especially the “Bainul Dand.” He would explain how the year’s temperament changed depending on whether it arrived as a Rabbit, a Cat, a Dog, a monkey or a Pigeon. As an innocent child, I would wait for months for these predictions to manifest, never realizing then that I was witnessing the tail end of an ancient world of folklore.
II. The Slow Warmth of the Kangri
Our lives then were governed by the seasons and the slow heat of the hearth. I remember my mother and grandmother insisting I eat a roasted potato or an egg early in the morning. They would tuck them deep into the embers of a Kangri, which turned them a perfect, smoky brown. It was a treat indeed. Today, we place those same items in a microwave; within moments, they are on the plate. They are efficient, but the soul of the taste is missing.
Our mothers washed clothes by hand, only rarely handing heavy apparel to the ‘Doub’ (washer man). Now, washing machines and dishwashers have replaced the rhythmic scrubbing at the outdoor tap. In those days, families dried vegetables to survive the harsh winters, living on ‘Hoku Suin’. I remember eating” Gogji a ra” (dried turnip), imagining the soft texture was a piece of mutton. Today, name any vegetable and it is on the supermarket shelf, regardless of the season.
Fruit was a distant dream for most. If a neighbor saw you carrying oranges, they would ask if someone was ‘Bemar’ (sick). Now, modular kitchens have replaced the firewood “Choola,” and we buy “Libas” liberally from garment stores. We have traded the rhythmic grinding of the “Gretta” for the whir of the mixer-grinder.
III. The Prophecies of Mothers
My mother used to tell me, “A time will come when people will talk to each other on phones and see each other’s faces.” Back then, it sounded like a fairy tale—unrealistic and unbelievable. Yet, today, it is a mundane reality.
It makes me wonder: what is next? Perhaps sky-scooters and sky-cars, or excursions to the Moon and space cruising. I imagine a future where we meet aliens and exchange pleasantries, making them comfortable in our home-stays. We might show them our intricate Kani-woven shawls or entertain them with the romantic poetry of Rasool Mir: “Aa masta sharab Ashiq tchu bangey, kungi hawatey paan.”
But human nature, I fear, remains the same. Even in that high-tech future, someone will surely try to dupe those aliens digitally, fooling them into buying an Amritsari shawl disguised as a Kanihama. And in a medical emergency, we might direct them to ultra-modern hospitals where Robot Medicos will treat them—only to present a bill so huge that only angels could pay it.
IV. Progress or Illusion?
What a sea change I have witnessed. We can now predict floods and storms through gadgets more accurately than Khaliq ‘Matta’ ever could. But are we truly progressing?
Technology has made life easier, yet our mindsets have not always followed. We see expensive cars giving a false impression of lavish lifestyles, while newspaper columns are full of debt defaults. Our young generation struggles with addictions, suicides, and divorces that were unheard of in my childhood. Beneath the surface of our modern success, there is a hollow taste. We have the world at our fingertips, yet we still crave the simple delight of a fresh morning “ Masaala”
My generation has been lucky to witness both the myths and the realities of life. As the “Bull” of the old world fades and the “Robot” of the new world arrives, let us hope the New Year brings much-needed cheer to our lives.
Happy New Year.
The writer is former Assistant Commissioner of Revenue Department, can be reached at (nisargilani57748@gmail.com
