Article on Air Cdr (Shaheed) Rizwanullah Khan

[Neha]

AOA all!
read this article....
http://www.chowk.com/show_article.cgi?aid=00002066&channel=leafyglade%20inn&start=0&end=9&page=1&chapter=1

[Shoaib]

Salam,

Chowk has never really been my favourite hangout, however this was a really heart touching story ...

Will read up more on "for Air Cdre Rizwanuallah Khan Shaheed Memorial Trust" when time permits!

W'salam

[SSAAD]

Very sharp guy (amongst quite a few other star performers who died in that crash)! Great loss to the country.. :(

[Usman Shabbir]

My Urban Widowhood (and lessons learnt)
by Samina Rizwan

(as it appeared in The Friday Times and www.chowk.com in February 2004)

A year has passed since that fateful day when my two greatest wishes were granted.

I loved a man so much that I yearned to take upon myself his worries, his disappointments, any illness or grief that was to befall him. God so loved me that he granted my wish. In shahadat, He has blessed Rizwan with eternal peace and happiness and piled upon me his responsibilities as well as the pain of his loss. This burden I carry with gratitude for I had wished to pay the price for Razi’s happiness.

As I heard voices trying but failing to form sentences and as I recognized the edge and urgency in them, my heart screamed forth another wish; Please God, let my children be safe. Never before had I believed so completely in the benevolence of God for yet again He granted my wish. Although I had lost the one person I loved more than them, my children were indeed safe.

I was the agnostic, he the believer. Laughlingly he would comment “tumhari namazain bhi mein parhta hoon”. Gentle and unimposing, it was his way of guiding me to the righteous path. It took more than his loving cynicism to bring me around since now, when his God-loving presence is lost to my home; I responsibly schedule the namaz into my daily calendar and make sure 9 year old Sabine and 4 year old Bilal imbibe their father’s value system. Unlike him, I was ever ill equipped to teach the children and would happily turn the tables and learn from them. Over the past year, my children have taught me how to face adversity with dignity.

Delicate and petite, 18 year old Andaleeb proved to be a tower of strength as she took over the household and made sure it functioned while I remained oblivious to it and, smiling through her tears, assured me that her father was deeply in love with me and incredibly happy as he departed for Kohat and yes, she was sure he had forgiven me any displeasure I may have caused him during our life together; there was nothing to forgive, she said. Taimur, lately turned 17, needed reassurance like me. Crying uncontrollably he asked “Mama, was he happy with me? Was he proud?” I knew it was time for me to jettison my self-pity and come to his rescue but all I could do was hold his hand and say “so proud, so very proud”. Thereafter I witnessed a man emerge from boyhood, much too early for my aching heart. Donning his father’s blazer, Taimur stood tall and dignified alongside his uncle and grandfather as he greeted guests and accepted condolences. During those trying early days, my two teenagers followed me everywhere. With closed eyes or turned back, I could feel their concerned presence around me and whenever I started to despair, I had but to look over my shoulder to see them standing there, protective arms closing in. When, during iddat, I had to make an emergency trip to Khatmandu for business, Taimur offered to travel with me. He would see me off to work in the morning, hit the books during the day, and would be waiting in the lobby to receive me in the evening. Andaleeb and Taimur took their A levels a mere two months after their father’s passing and are now settled at University in Canada. They have not dwelt upon their loss nor expect me to indulge them following it. My children have taught me that real fortitude demands dignity and that, in the wake of heartbreak, it can become truly beautiful. From them, I have learnt the meaning of Sabr-e-Jameel.

My journey of discovery continues as I find myself rejecting the material and seeking the spiritual. I was never one to brood over the hereafter. With a husband who could be transferred cross-country at very short notice and a career that was adversely affected by such events, eternal bliss was having a home, decrepit structure and meager domestic services notwithstanding, where my husband, children and I could spend a precious year together. Despite the fact that Rizwan flew fighter aircraft throughout his adult life, we never spoke of death. This life was all I intended to deal with, one posting at a time. It took one irreversible moment of truth, when Rizwan transformed from physical to spiritual, to change this. Earlier, I debated trivialities – how ambitious should one be? how much money is enough? am I going to meet my sales target? are the little ones overdosing on cartoon network? do I need botox? Now, I contemplate profundities – will we meet again? what do the words “they live but ye know not” mean? will the experience of loss make my children better human beings? does he know I’m hurting? what would he have me do now? I am startled that issues which engrossed me for years are actually of no consequence whereas those lately discovered are not only more important but virtually unresolveable. Thus have I stumbled upon faith – the conviction of realities I cannot see or feel, for how else is one to address a conundrum? I have faith that Allah’s promise is true and that Rizwan lives, that we shall indeed meet again, that my children are special for having suffered loss, that the most beloved are put to the greatest test. Like all distressed beings, I resorted to faith when logic failed me and I have been at peace ever since. I find that external phenomena affect me less and that while I continue to exist in this world and make the best of my lot, I am delightfully free of earthly bonds and quite looking forward to moving on.

My husband’s employer, Pakistan Air Force, has been gracious and caring during the past months. Sudden and violent death is new neither to the PAF nor me. I was born into the Air Force and grew up with friends whose fathers embraced shahadat during war, became victims of air crashes during peace or went missing in action during operations. As a married woman, I have shed many a tear with friends whose fighter-flying husbands took off in their aircraft but never landed. Despite PAF’s excellent flight safety record, a minimum loss of assets – pilot and aircraft – is unavoidable. One takes it in stride and, quite frankly, doesn’t give it a second thought until it hits close to home or, as in my case, pierces the heart. Subsequently, one experiences a vista of emotions ranging from anguish to anger, despair to disillusionment, forbearance to simply falling apart. I suppose the most indigestible realization is that, now, the Air Force doesn’t know what to do with us. In a world where the family unit – pilot, wife and children – must remain wholly intact to be recognized, a severed and ravaged unit must, perforce, be discarded. There is no doubt that, monetarily, the Air Force ensures to the best of its constrained ability to provide for the affected family. Yet, for all the glorification of shaheeds and their blessed loved ones, and despite a zillion SOPs (Standard Operating Procedures) which the military establishment religiously follows, there are none on “how to treat widows and orphans of those killed in action”. It hurts that friends change into acquaintances and relationships inevitably dwindle to a mere phonecall over Eid. Yet, these are petty matters and one knows better than to expect the same courtesy and attention as when one was associated with a living being of some stature. But what of having no psychiatric or spiritual counseling for children traumatized by the loss of a parent, or of no support group for wives whose sole focus has been their duty as Mrs. Air Force and who are ill equipped to enter civil society, or of no education and employment program for women who must now earn a living? These may seem like frivolous luxuries and I suppose one could dismiss them with arguments about the average Pakistani woman and child experiencing far deeper trauma than Mrs. Air Force could possibly be faced with. But consider; the average woman does not belong to a sub-group of society where “widow maker” and “killed in action” are commonly used terms. Every year a few Air Force wives are widowed and most of them have a child or two. One would have thought that, over the past 50 years, their numbers would have warranted establishment of procedures for their rehabilitation into society, emotional as well as financial. Sadly, this is not so. I realized this after I stepped across to this side of the divide. Before then, I too was amongst those who called a shaheed’s wife “blessed” and considered a financial settlement sufficient to assuage her mental and emotional trauma. How wrong I was. I continue to be steadfastly loyal to the Pakistan Air Force, but with highest regard I must urge the PAF to pay due attention to the emotional plight of those women and children whose husbands and fathers have been killed in action and who, rightfully, should remain lifetime wards of the Pakistan Air Force. I am sure the entire effort would cost less than one flying hop between Karachi and Rawalpindi by a transport aircraft.

Fate has dealt a hand that has me counting the tiniest of blessings. As for the bigger ones, my work for example, I am even more humbly grateful. A more potent painkiller could not have been prescribed for a lonely soul in need of companionship. I have always respected my work for the confidence, self-esteem and independence it has brought me, but over the past year I have discovered in it a trusted friend who understands my loneliness, knows not to invade my privacy yet provides ample opportunity to occupy my days with activity which is beneficial for my employer, my country, my family and my own hapless self. That I have gone from being merely a conscientious worker to a workaholic who dreads the occasional free hour or two in a day is an inconvenience that my children, parents and friends patiently put up with, perhaps for the sake of my sanity. My work keeps me connected to the living world and forces my faculties to remain alert and responsive even as my heart tumbles in and out of a dark and desolate abyss. I have learnt that my work is healer, communicator, companion and, most of all, provider, and I am grateful for it.

As if advice is not being thrown at us 24x7 and a dime a dozen, I would like to advise women like myself anyway. It is presumptuous, I know, but I qualify. It is ok to grieve; we must grieve hard for those who have gone away, for they deserve our tears. But they also deserve our strength and our happiness. I advise every grieving wife to ask her departed husband a question “what would you have me do?” I can assure you that the answer will fall into your lap, clear as day. “Bring up my children well”, he will say, “and don’t worry, be happy”. Like me, you will realize that this may be your brightest chance to permanently endear yourself to the man you love, by celebrating his life instead of mourning his death and by bringing up his children as good human beings whom he would be proud of. It’s a tall order, one that you may be inclined to throw back at him in frustration, but be aware that you are equal to the challenge. This is so because you are a woman and, more importantly, a mother. You are God’s special creature, crafted in His image, bonded with pain and able to bear so much. So, for his sake, be strong and happy despite the trial by fire.

Doris Day was well before my time but I recall her song “I beg your pardon, I never promised you a rose garden, along with the sunshine, there’s gotta be a little rain sometime”. In my life, this is the deepest rain but God never promised me a rose garden and I have no quarrel with Him. I have known better companionship in a few years than most people experience in a lifetime and I am grateful for every moment of togetherness with Razi that God allowed me. As for the pain of loss, it is my most cherished possesion, so precious that were someone to offer to take it away, I would not agree to part with it. Afterall, it is Razi’s last gift to me and of all the momentous things he brought into my life – love, laughter, children – it shall be the most enduring.

http://www.rizwanscholars.org/html_files/plink21.htm

[Saeed Khan]

Photos of those who died (shaheed) in Kohat air crash (http://66.113.153.83/sargodhians/kohat.htm)

[Harisz]

good link saeed, thanks.

[Ali M]

Just in case..i woul like to pint out A/C Rizwan appeared in PAF drama "Shahpar" as OC-11 ( which he actually was during the days).So if any of you want to see him ...You can do so by watching Shahpar.

[Alam]

Another article I came across from the same author. A tribute to a mother who shared many PAF widows' grief and pride. May Allah bless her soul. The article is old, nonetheless, it provides - atleat for me - the medium to continue the exquisiteness and inexplicable association that one develops after reading Air Cmdr. Rais A Rafi's 'PAF Bomber Operations - 1965 & 1971 Wars'.

My Mother, Myself
Samina Rizwan
February 8, 2005


As an Air Force wife who saw her combat pilot husband through two wars and a highly charged flying career, my mother witnessed many fatal air crashes. Abbi, my father, landed safely day after day, night after night but many of his comrades did not, leaving behind an uncertain future for their young wives and small children. Mrs. Air Marshal Ayaz, a close friend of Ammi’s, reminded me the other day that through peace and war, whenever a tragedy occurred, Ammi was invariably the first one to arrive at the stricken household and could be found holding the young widow’s hand, hugging her recently orphaned children, looking after the fallen flyer’s aged parents until their traumatized daughter-in-law got her bearings back. Everyone who knew Ammi as a young Air Force wife recollects the strength and compassion she brought to the community of air warriors amongst whom she lived. It was, therefore, particularly poignant that the last such widow whose hand she had to hold and whose orphaned children she had to cradle was her own daughter. Through numerous personal and communal misfortunes, Ammi remained true to her Rajput spirit and a military wife’s commitment to duty. But that fateful day, as we buried her beloved shaheed, my brave and beautiful mother broke into a thousand pieces and never recovered.

Ammi died of cancer last October. In her own words, which she delivered compellingly in chaste potohari, cancer could not take away what her child had taken already - her life. The flyer’s wife eventually paid her dues, one way or the other. So, I dedicate this tribute to the air warrior’s wife – Shani and Anjum, Naseem and Ida, Ann, Mehernigar, Nayyar and Saira and Samina, Ruby, Riffat and Bilquis – and a few hundred others, widowed or thankfully not, each of who deserves acknowledgment. Most of all I dedicate this to the quintessential Air Force wife, my mother.

In September 1965, Squadron Leader Rais Ahmad Rafi commanded No. 31 Bomber Wing and lived with his wife Roohina and two children, my brother and I, at PAF Station, Mauripur. I must have been an exceptionally bright four year old because, defying biological impossibility, I remember! As the bombardiers took off every night with Abbi at their helm, a gaggle of women with all sizes of children in tow would gather in one flat, I think Uncle Bey’s, to collectively pray for a successful mission and the bombers’ safe return. Uncle Bey’s modest flat was probably unsafe but considerably more comfortable than the trenches that the women were to take shelter in when the “hooter” shrieked. I remember being loved by many mothers and playing with many brothers and sisters. Against the surreal harmony of soft sobs and loud Allah ho Akbars, a vague recollection of President Ayub Khan’s resonant voice over radio rekindles in me a child’s fear that her mother may be the one crying, and that could not be good. I remember searching Ammi’s face for signs of despair but finding none. Instead, in the wee hours of the morning, as slumber overtook exhausted children, our mothers would count the sounds of load-lightened bombers landing not far away. “Yah Allah, Aaj do kum hain” one of them would say and, stoically, those brave women would head for home to await their fate.

My mother was the original liberated female, and the Air Force contributed greatly to her evolution from a burqa-clad conservative Punjabi girl to the socially confident, investment-savvy, stylish homemaker she eventually became. As a community, the Air Force fosters learning for women and encourages their participation in wholesome family activity. With her plucky personality, Ammi took to her new surroundings like a fish to water and became one of the more popular welfare workers and hostesses of the Air Force. During my husband’s tenure at PAF Base Masroor, as I struggled with cooking classes conducted by the legendary Juma Khan, I was duly admonished by the great chef upon my disastrous attempt to raise a souffle. The rebuke - “Bibi, Aap apni Ammi ki tarah khana nahin paka sakteen; woh baat nahin hai” – was quite heartwarming. Ammi was equally popular as the Defence Attache’s wife in USA where she cooked up a storm every few weeks for international guests. Her able representation of Pakistan created much goodwill amongst the diplomatic community. Ofcourse, Ammi never totally cast off her innate propriety. In true Rajputi tradition, she would offer her lowered head to anyone she noticed moving towards her with puckered lips. Many a State Department official kissed my mother on her head and staggered away dumbstruck. Except for her resolute refusal to receive a peck on the cheek by men inspite of their brotherly intentions, Ammi was often the belle of the ball! I believe it was Ammi’s association with the Air Force that broadened her mind and expanded her heart enough to encourage her own daughters to pursue careers. The spirit of adventure that she was embued with also made her bless my daunting plan to offer higher education scholarships to needy young Pakistanis in my shaheed husband’s name. A number of children of low income families are attending the best professional colleges in the country today because Ammi chose to help me give something back to Pakistan.

The quiet courage of the women of my community has reverberated around me all of my life and I am now beginning to tell their story. Shani Auntie was in her early twenties when her husband embraced shahadat. In her college uniform, she looked as if she was yet to be married let alone be mother of two boys. It was a few years before my friend Leslie Ann Middlecoat received confirmation that her father was not missing in action anymore but had died in the line of duty. Her mother’s trip to our boarding school in Murree to break the news to Leslie must have been long and painful. Naseem Ashfaq is as charming today as the day she was left with a toddler by her side, a baby in her arms and no clear direction in life. A generation later, there is the spirited Saira from whom I subconsciously embibed the etiquette of widowhood. My mother made me aware that these are special women, simply by the way she treated me after I became one of them. Weak as she was and barely able to move, she would sit up and receive me every time I walked into her room. She had taken to kissing my hand reverently as if I were older, and bigger, than her. She would speak of happy things to me, encourage me to remain strong, tell me lies about how she was actually feeling better than she looked, and finally, unable to continue the pretense, would fall apart and cry. I understood her predicament; without Razi, she saw me un-whole. She was too used to looking after me and wanted desperately to continue but couldn’t. I did not spend much time with Ammi during her illness. Her helpless tears and desolate eyes were more than I could bear, and the realization that I was about to lose my other anchor in life terrified me. I was shocked that another human being felt my pain as intensely as I did and was determined to channel it out of me, into herself. Yet, I believe Ammi understood and did not begrudge me the detachment. Of all the people who have attempted to analyze my emotional and mental state, my mother is the only one who knew exactly what space I existed in.

In the end, cancer rapidly devoured Ammi’s insides and chemotherapy left her exhausted, virtually speechless with pain. For the first time in my life I found my mother sleeping late and I recalled the advice this veteran flyer’s wife gave me several years ago, probably more out of love for Razi than for my education. “Remember to serve him fresh juice in the morning; his sugar level must be stable as he takes off for his first sortie. Aur beta, a pilot’s wife must awaken at the crack of dawn. Subah usko duaon kay saath rukhsat karo, with a smile on your face.” Ammi knew I was not a morning person, as did Razi who laughed away my lingering daybreak lethargy and preferred a warm glass of honey water and three dates, his regular weekday breakfast. I could never match Ammi’s vigilance, but every time my fighter-flying husband left home, I followed her advice and wished him goodbye with a smile on my face and a prayer in my heart. Thankyou Ammi, for I have no regrets.

http://www.chowk.com/show_article.cgi?aid=00004718&channel=gulberg

[Ali Harris]

Just in case..i woul like to pint out A/C Rizwan appeared in PAF drama "Shahpar" as OC-11 ( which he actually was during the days).So if any of you want to see him ...You can do so by watching Shahpar.

Can Shahpar be downloaded from somewhere or does someone have it on DVD?

[ImranD]

Ali Shaib As you wish

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SHBtBQJzGI&search=pakistan

[SSAAD]

I don't know if you guys noticed, but one of the shots in the video shows the instructor using the Su-30MKI model for a tactics discussion. Look at 1:52 to be exact in the video :)

[Ali Harris]

Ali Shaib As you wish

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SHBtBQJzGI&search=pakistan

Thanks mate!! :D

[Ali Harris]

Ali Shaib As you wish

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0SHBtBQJzGI&search=pakistan

Mithoo Sahib and other members, I apologize for posting this off topic msg. After watching Shahpar, I stumbled across George Ka Pakistan. It's hilarious, and shows a side of Pakistan the media rarely portrays. I recommend everyone have a look at it. A lot of lessons, for all of us to learn.

[SyedA]

I saw it yesterday on GeoTV, animated george bush speaking in urdu, quite funny and intelligent.

[SSAAD]

I saw it yesterday on GeoTV, animated george bush speaking in urdu, quite funny and intelligent.

No Syed, I think Ali is talking about the series when an Englishman went to Pakistan to become Pakistani. Nothing to do with Dubbya!

[Zain Abbass]

You can get all the George Ka Pakistan episodes here...
http://www.pakcafe.com/MeDiAA/ShOwS/George/

Here is your George W Bush!

mms://wm.vitalstreamcdn.com/stream_geo_tv/Promo/Entertainment/bush_nahi_final2006.wmv

[TKhan]

I don't know if you guys noticed, but one of the shots in the video shows the instructor using the Su-30MKI model for a tactics discussion. Look at 1:52 to be exact in the video :)

Yes good catch. Definitely a new spin on the saying 'train like you fight and fight like you train' that even the models are replicas of the adversary down to their forward canard.

btw, there was a split second shot of a F-5 being hit by a missile in about minute 4. It seems to be from the shooting sequence in Top Gun (the alleged and non-existent Mig-28s)