And so it was that Syeda Begum returned to her father’s house in Kucha Chabakswaran, inside Mochi Gate, a widow at the age of 21 years with a little son aged one. The year was 1921, a century from today. It was the beginning of a long lonely journey of a brave woman spent mourning the loss of her husband.

In these columns we talk about people, place, things and faces. A lot of our readers are increasingly writing in for me to narrate stories of ‘Lahori characters’ as most label them. This is a most welcome sign. For me the people - poor or rich alike - matter most. They are our real history. So once a month we will dwell on one person – a true Lahori ‘character’ - starting with Syeda Begum, the woman who held her head high till the end of her 83 years.

Syeda Bibi was no VIP, just a brave lonely woman whose life has lessons for us all. Born in 1898 in Kucha Chabakswaran inside Mochi Gate, to Maulvi Ahmed Chishti, the son of Maulvi Noor Ahmed Chishti, the famous author of ‘Tehkiqat-e-Chishti’ and ‘Yadgaar-e-Chishti’, a highly respected family of Lahore. It was claimed that they were the direct descendants of Hazrat Moinuddin Chishti of Ajmer. Syeda Bibi shrugged off such compliments with the comment: “That does not make me special”.

Her education started off at home and she learnt Arabic, Persian, Urdu, English and of all things Mathematics and Logic. She reeled off the classics at a speed that made her respectable in the family. For its age and time it was an excellent education. Once she reached the age of 17 she was married off to the son of Sheikh Shamsuddin, whose uncle was General Sheikh Ghias of the army of Ranjit Singh and an expert artillery officer. That family belonged to a village near Amritsar.

Sheikh Shamsuddin himself had set up an arms manufacturing unit in Amritsar and lived in Mohallah Loharan inside Hatti Darwaza, Amritsar. To Haveli Loharan she moved in 1917 as the wife of Sheikh Abdul Rahim the Zaildar of Ferozepur.

The year was 1921 on a cold February morning Zaildar Abdul Rahim’s horse panicked after a dog suddenly shot out of a ‘nullah’. The Zaildar fell on his head and died instantly. Syeda Begum was a widow now and her mother insisted that she move back to Lahore so that her only son could be well looked after. Back in Kocha Chabakswaran she became Syeda Chishti and started off teaching all the children of the mohallah and nearby lanes. She was strict and much later as Dawn’s late Editor Zafar Iqbal Mirza, better known as ZIM, a neighbour, described: “Oh, she was so strict and also very kind and fed us with the finest foods”, he used to say. Even at that age her cooking was legendary in the entire area.

Soon a marriage proposal came from one of Lahore’s leading families. She rejected it with the comment: “They are looking for a cook, not a second wife”. It then so happened that her sister also came to live with them after her husband married for a second time. Already the youngest was unmarried and decided never to marry. So three sisters started off teaching a lot of students of Mochi Gate area. Her fame as a teacher spread soon as her son and nephews were growing up.

Then out of the blue an offer came for Syeda Chishti to join the famous Victoria School as a culinary teacher. It seems her cooking skills came in handy and her fame spread to every part of the old walled city. Every day she would be carried to school in a ‘dooli’ by two domestic employees making sure ‘purdah’ was observed. Soon in the houses of old Lahore the advice to females was: “Try to cook like Syeda Bibi”.

Her salary was now sufficient to support her son and sisters and she gained in confidence and fame. Many a marriage match came her way, but she refused with the comment: “One in a lifetime is enough”. When her famous grandfather died followed by her mother, it was time for her to move on. Her son by then had joined Government College and after his Masters had joined All-India Radio.

Syeda Chishti moved to Hattha Thanaydar in Misri Shah to live with her brother. After a few years she moved to Model Town to live with the wife of another brother in J-Block, who lived alone as her brother had moved to England never to return. So a widow, a virtual widow and her son lived together.

Then suddenly as if by magic Syeda Chishti was offered the vice principal’s post in the prestigious MacLagan School. She was one of the most popular teachers of her times. Most of the elite ladies of Lahore were her pupils. Once a week she would visit her ancestral home in Kucha Chabakswaran, and her neighbours would have a small celebration. Such was the culture and life of old Lahore where neighbours operated as one big family.

But then World War-II had started and her only son left for England to join the BBC as a war correspondent. Syeda Chishti would pray for her son’s safety. She was a lonely women who sought happiness in her mohallah and in the safety of her son. When WW-II ended her son returned in the late 1950s with an English wife and four children, Syeda Bibi’s life picked up as she moved in with her son.

Whenever her grandchildren asked about her husband she would make them sit and would show them that she had sweets. To get them they had to first listen to a poem written in Punjabi about her husband’s death. It started: “Abdul Rahim khooray tay charaya, tay mera dushman kutta ayya” (Abdul Rahim mounted his horse and my enemy dog appeared). Along with the poem she would uncontrollably weep. It became a ritual every time she collected her pension. Her only grief till the very end was her lost husband.

The old ‘Dadde Amma’ took over the family cooking and it resulted in all their neighbours on Rattigan Road turning up for surprise dinners. Students from the nearby GC Hostel – her grandson’s friends – would turn up and the English wife would say: “Dadi Amma, they all look hungry poor boys”. The delighted boys never returned disappointed.

One day her son scolded her for not putting enough salt in the food. “You are old now so stop cooking, we have a cook who does nothing”. There was deadly silence in the house. The English wife simply refused to talk to her husband. The children were in shock. Their adorable grandmother pleaded that her son did not mean what he said. But the English wife and her children did not buy it. For three days silence reigned and ended only when he apologised. Naturally, a feast followed.

Then in 1971 suddenly her son - by now a famous journalist - passed away. Syeda Bibi went into silence. Her English Bahu started working and looked after her and the eight children. She made sure the family remained a happy united unit. Then in 1982 Syeda Chishti passed away and was buried in Miani Sahib Graveyard. Thus ended a life well lived within the gruelling circumstances of her life. You might be thinking just what was so special about Syeda Chishti?

The fact is she represents the spirit of Lahore and its people, always progressive in outlook and loaded with common sense and an amazing sense of humour. Her untouchable self-respect is what Syeda Chishti and others like her are all about. That is what a true spirit of a Lahori, be it a woman or a man.

Published in Dawn, November 30th, 2020