Hammid Khan, Hammo
(February 2008)
Hammo Khan – one of a kind
A sad and short email that flew through cyber space all the way from Houston from my friend, the good Doctor Jehangir Khan, now living a retired life with his progeny scattered all over the USA, informed me that his brother Hamid Khan, or Hammo as everyone called him died of unknown causes in a Rawalpindi hospital just this week. Although Hammo was more the generation of my elder brother, he was simply loved by anyone who came into contact with him.
This was the legendary Khan family of Beriwala Chowk in Sialkot where the clan flourished and played a class of cricket that drew people like iron filings to a magnet when the Khans descended into Sialkot’s hallowed Connolly Park. Their brand of cricket was flamboyant like their personalities – there was no shortage of talent, an in-born ability to turn any game around and do it with panache. Hammo, Khalo, Jhango, Boola were all natural cricketers as were their uncles and cousins chiefly Maj. Aftab and the evergreen Hameed Khan, who lived to play chess and deliver unplayable off breaks that pitched well outside the off stump and took away your leg stump in a trice. Legend has it that when news of the eldest Khan’s passing away reached Hameed Khan, who was as always, busy planning a complicated chess move, he, without taking his eyes off the board asked, ‘LBW?’ and continued the game. When Khan Sahib was playing chess, everything had to be on hold. Of the Khans and their exploits, my brother Khalid Hasan has written most eloquently over many years and one cannot match his knowledge or insight, but it is some Hammo stories that I want to share today with many who may never have met him.
What I most remember about Hammo were his eyes, because they were always twinkling, almost as if another mischief was afoot. When he smiled, which was all the time, his face lit up and when he laughed which was even more often, the room would resonate. Hammo was full of life and seemed to love every single moment of it. Never amongst those who made vulgar amounts of money, he was – or at least always seemed to be – very much at home with himself. A sunny, happy, carefree character which only a city of unique characters like Sialkot was then, could have produced. It is therefore difficult to think of him six feet under, but if he is indeed there or up there, you can almost be sure that there will be peals of laughter and the latest Hammo-joke doing the rounds with the angels in splits.
Hammo, like all the Khans, was a formidable cricketer. He had the build and he had the looks of a true cricketer. Tall and strong, he could walk into a cricket ground and you knew he meant business. Leading his college cricket team to play a friendly match versus a team of Ahmedi boys in Rabwah, Hammo began to get complaints from the lads that the ala carte cuisine served up by the hosts wasn’t up to scratch. The boys hadn’t complained at first out of politeness but by the second day of the three day match they had been fed nothing but cabbage for breakfast, lunch and dinner. ‘Gobi gosht, Gobi anday, Gobi bujya.’ Everyone was breaking wind ferociously. Hammo was not very amused but the hosts were cordial and friendly and Hammo didn’t want to sound ungracious.
On the final day, having won the fixture, Hammo was accosted by the Rabwah PRO. As the team, stomachs bloated prepared to pack and board a train to Sialkot, the caring host asked how they were intending to travel. The reply was classic Hammo. ‘Once the boys have packed their kits,’ he said in utter seriousness to the PRO, ‘we’ll take off in the general direction of Gujranwala, fork right at Hafizabad and flying low over Sambrial along the road land at Sialkot – oh in about 45 minutes.’ The team rolled around in fits – easy enough given their sizes, tears streaming down their faces and the host was puzzled as to what was so funny.
Once the college days were over, Hammo took up work and had a job in the Pakistan Ordnance Factory in Wah. When Jhango asked him how it was going, he replied with a deadpan face ‘I can tell you I am playing dangerously these days with hand grenades in my palm and gun powder and the like all around me.’ And when his son decided to join the army, Hammo in mock serious tones would inform anyone listening in with the priceless line, ‘Oye watch your tongue. You are speaking to the father of the future President of Pakistan.’ I am not sure if it was Hammo who said this, but when a Lahore team were struggling against a Sialkot side, thanks to the wicket having been profusely watered by Shafi the grounds man who never wanted Sialkot to ever lose if it could be helped the coir matting kept slipping off because the long spikes couldn’t hold it firmly. The constant interruptions were annoying and a voice from the boundary line suggested they hammer in Agha Saadat who was fielding at mid off and was thin and spiky.
Hammo was very sceptical about all the amazing people who were regularly popping out of the woodwork to claim gold medals for their role in the freedom movement for the creation of Pakistan. Hammo, like most of us, was convinced that the majority of them were fake, their ages suggesting that they couldn’t have been more than one or two years old at the time of Partition or if they were the right age, had no verifiable record that they had indeed played a significant role in 1946-1947. When one such list was published in the press, Hammo read it and tossed the paper into the bin. ‘I should have been given a medal too for the important role I played in the freedom movement,’ he told the audience. When someone asked why, Hammo replied, ‘Because I was playing the big drum in the music band that played on the streets of Sialkot when Mr. Jinnah visited here!’
A few years ago, Hammo and Khalo were both in Lahore and with Jhango and Khalo’s exquisite looking wife we called ‘Bhabi’ we had a few memorable evenings. I have never seen anyone play the harmonium so deftly and with such panache as Khalo. His fingers flew over the keys and he was able to make this accompanying instrument sing and swing like something created by the gods. On the ground next to Khalo sat Hammo with a ‘dholki’ carelessly placed across his legs and the rhythms flowed from it in an unstoppable stream. The brothers launched into a rousing and memorable version of ‘Barsat Mein’ from the Raj Kapoor-Nargis hit and their performance was breathtaking. All evening the three brothers played and sang – Jhango very good on the tables and of course when Bhabi sang, it was another golden moment.
Khalo passed away just a few years back and now Hammo is gone. It saddens me and it will sadden those who were lucky to be in their sunny company. The Beriwala Khans were a class apart and it is fitting that I should close on a question I once asked my friend Jhango, why he chose to marry Rukhsana his cousin and a regular tomboy all those years back in Sialkot. ‘Yar,’ said Jhango, ‘she played the perfect cover drive when she was batting.’