Swinging Quetta – 1950s/60s

In 2007, my niece suggested that a family entourage drive up to Quetta/Ziarat over a long weekend. I tried to dissuade her, suggesting instead Dubai. But she prevailed (one can’t disagree with a niece). The long weekend was a disaster. As a kid I had spent two stints in Quetta. From 1955 to 1958, my father was a doctor in CMH Quetta. From 1959 to 1960, I lived with my uncle, a civil surgeon. My stay in Quetta was unmatched for quality of life.

The St. Francis Grammar School was a preeminent institution of the province. Prominent families in Karachi and upper Sindh also sent their children there. The current Pope in the Vatican is a St. Francis. The various ‘priests’ who managed Grammar School were benevolent dictators – kind but firm. If even once you stepped out of line the punishment of choice was “benders”. The victim had to lean over a desk while his bottom was whipped by a cane. I, whenever called upon, would stuff a comic book down my shorts, to lessen the pain. The teachers were a mixed lot – Anglo Indians, Parsees and Muslims. Across the road was the St. Joseph’s convent. The boys would wait outside the gates to eyeball the girls. An occasional smile was exchanged. A gesture. Even a written note. It was much before the cell phone era. Every year the convent would host a ‘Meena Bazaar’. The boys from Grammar School would crowd the event. No untoward event was ever reported.

The main street of Quetta was called Bruce Road (now Jinnah Road). Both sides were lined with swanky shops. There were two liquor shops – Jamsat Jce & Sons and the ubiquitous Spencer & Co. The manager of Spencer was a Mr Hadi. He was very much in demand. Everyone wanted fire water. At the left end of Bruce Road was a famous tailoring establishment called ‘Perfection House’. This is where I got my school blazer. The head tailor had learned his craft in Saville Row, London. After Bruce Road, on the left was the red light area. Big signs announced “out of bounds for officers”. On the right side on the street was the famous café Stanley. A cup on ice cream would cost eight annas (half a rupee). Outside the café was the only Taxi stand in Quetta. No yellow cabs. All the taxis were American vintage cars – Plymouths, Chrysler, Desoto, Dodge etc. There was one phone in the kiosk – No 1234. In 15 minutes the taxi would arrive at your house.

In the first stint, my parents lived at 64 Henderson Road. Opposite was the famous Lourdes Hotel, owned by Mehta. Lourdes was the local watering hole. In the summer, the garden was littered with sun umbrellas. Foreigners (of all shades) and locals would drink away and for dinner enjoy ‘Sajji’ and naan/kebab. My late father and Nawab Akbar Bugti were great friends. They spent many an evening at Lourdes. Occasionally Nawab Sahib would buy me an ice cream soda and chips (not French fries). Nawab sahib was a strikingly handsome man.

The other swinging place was the Quetta club, under the Administrative control of the Army. Its ambiance was very ‘British’. The senior members had an event almost every weekend. There were dance parties. My father and his friends would don their monkey jackets and cummerbunds. For children there was the annual “Fancy Dress” party. The swimming pool of the club was always full in the summer months. Foreign women were tanning in the sun. I saw my first bikini at this pool. As a young kid, I would watch Usman Aminuddin dive from the high board. He would cleavage the water like a knife. Usman’s father was the Asst. Governor General. Usman eventually married Jahanara whose father General Latif was once GOC.

In my second stint, 1959 – 60, I lived in the civilian quarter – Anscomb Road. My uncle was the civil surgeon. I rejoined Grammar School in junior Cambridge. I was more interested in the St. Joseph’s convent than my books. On the main Lytton Road (I don’t know what it is called now) was the commissioner’s residence. Colonel Ibne Hassan was the commissioner. His wife, known to us as Aunty, would drive her own car, perhaps a Humber Hawk. The elders had a bridge group going. Taken very, very seriously. When a game was going on in the commissioner’s house, it was ‘do not disturb’. One evening my uncle was at a bridge game at the commissioner’s house. I was alone in our house. A fire broke out in the roof of our kitchen. I called my uncle on the phone. He heard me. Then he went back to the table and completed his hand. Then he stood up and said “Gentlemen, you have to excuse me, my house is on fire”. Of course a call had gone from the commissioner – a fire brigade arrived in a Jiffy. When I later asked my uncle why his response was delayed, he said “son, I was playing four spades, Doubled, Redoubled”. Tahira, Colonel Sahib’s daughter, eventually married my friend from Peshawar, Zafar Ahmed Khan who made good in the corporate sector. The Political Agent at that time was Jamil Ahmed. Jamil uncle was strikely handsome, 6′.2″ and married to a beautiful German lady, Helga. Jamil uncle became one of the great CSP officers. He passed away recently. Aunty Helga soldiers on.

Today Quetta is a dangerous place – even more so than Kabul. If you venture out on the streets, you may not return.