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Six foot tall, he had the presence of a film star. Later, when General Yahya Khan declared martial law and became President, my father was appointed Governor of the State Bank of Pakistan. Then, in 1967, he was appointed Managing Director After he left the army, during Field Marshal Ayub's presidency, he had initiated and developed the first Investment Corporation of Pakistan (ICP). He was a captain in the army and aide to the governor of West Pakistan at the time they met. He had met my mother after her divorce from the Nawab of Tank's eldest son. My father is a Pathan, descended from the family of Ahmed Shah Durrani of Afghanistan. We were lavished with comforts and privileges and travelled the world. We were a model family, the sort of offspring who are pointed out as examples of decorum to other, naughtier, children.
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Our home was impeccable and always orderly, as though waiting to be photographed. Regardless of my growing, deep-rooted, internal complexes, my childhood must have appeared extremely comfortable to an outsider. I never remember my mother hugging or kissing me when I was little. My surroundings seemed hostile to the way I looked, and very early I withdrew into an isolated, 'condemned-by-nature' cell. It seemed evident by my mother's attitude that she regarded me as ugly and was embarrassed to present me to friends and relatives. And yet there I was, arriving in the world in 1953 with a dark skin. She was a light-skinned beauty - and proud of it her family was fair-skinned and considered itself to be superior by that fact. Only over time would I come to understand what a shock I was to my mother. The beautiful women of the family, who wore exotic Eastern dress, nevertheless spoke and behaved in an Anglicized way and were thus considered, by the 'natives', to be 'advanced' or 'fast'. They strove for sartorial elegance with their classic, tailored clothes, played polo, learned all the latest dances, went on shikar (hunting expeditions) and threw lavish parties. The Hayat men pursued the pastimes of the idle rich. In my mother's childhood home, the British way of life was slavishly aped. Before partition her father, Nawab Sir Liaqat Hayat Khan, had been prime minister of Patiala State and her uncle, Sir Sikander Hayat Khan, governor of a then undivided Punjab. Politics of the princely states that were scattered throughout India prior to independence. My mother's Anglicized family had been actively involved in the The Hayats had fought alongside the Moors in Spain, and claimed that the family's renowned good looks were the result of intermarriages with Spanish women. As a result of loyal service to the Crown, British colonial masters had given vast tracts of lands to the family. She came from the Hayat family of the Khattar tribe, which had settled in Wah, on the northern edge of the Punjab near the border with the Northwest Frontier Province. I should know, for she is my mother, Samina.
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Yet the painting does not do full justice to the subject. She has a tiny waist even after six children, and her face remains soft and innocent, masking her dominant personality. Her translucent, ivory complexion is complemented by enormous almond-shaped brown eyes with heavy lids and long lashes. Every feature is exquisite, as if an artist hallucinated and then painted an imaginary ideal. Mustafa took this deference in his stride.Ī painting hangs on the wall of my home in Lahore, depicting a breathtakingly beautiful woman draped in an emerald green sari.