Friday, August 15, 2008
The Story of a Dead Man
THE STORY OF A DEAD MAN
told by himself
THE STORY OF A DEAD MAN
(M. Naseer-ud-Din)
And who is the dead man! No other than the writer of these lines, yes, myself. How paradoxically and mysteriously unbelievable! Isn’t it?
I will narrate my story in detail shortly. Briefly, I have been a heart patient for the last quarter of a century and at one stage death took me away with her and left only 10 percent of me in my nearly dead body. It took death 36 long hours to realize that she had picked up the wrong person at the wrong time so she returned the 90 percent of me back to my dead body. No doubt this was a miracle. Since then I am up and about like any other fellow heart patients.
Before I proceed further I must pay my tributes to Dr. Shahbaz Ahmad Kureshi who “instigated” me to write my story that may be a source of inspiration for other heart patients conveying the message that you had heart attacks, all right, but that is not the end of the world and that life is still worth living and living well however adverse the circumstances may be. Now that I have written my story, it remains to be seen how does it interact with Dr. Kureshi’s expectations.
I had my first heart attack in November 1980. I felt severe pain in my chest and hands but it took me some time to accept that it was heart attack since my concept of a heart attack was that pain should be felt in the heart itself. However, I was very well looked after by the late Dr. K.A. Azeem in CGH Rawalpindi and after about four weeks he sent me home with the advice to take another six weeks bed rest and, of course, not to eat some of my favourite dishes for the rest of my life.
My last 25 years experience shows that prevention is the most stupendous aspect of the heart disease. Just imagine your pitiable condition when half a dozen people around you on the dining table are relishing such tasty dishes as mutton pulao, chicken biryani, shami and seekh kababs, omellate + paratha, mutton karahi, sri paye, nahari and hot pakoras, and poor you have been restricted to few salt-less tasteless boiled vegetables. At least once out of every 10 times you are forced to surrender to the temptation and in order to do justice with the dishes before you, you join others asking yourself “isn’t cure better than prevention”? Most probably these once-out-of-ten fast breakings was one of the factors that caused me the second severe heart attack in 1990, exactly 10 years after the first one. This was uncontrollable even by the top cardiologists of AFIC. After angiography it was declared that three veins were blocked 70 to 90 percent and that open-heart surgery was the only remedy. I was, therefore, put on Surgeon Masud-ur-Rehman Kiani’s long list of patients waiting for heart surgery. He gave me a full one year to wait for my turn. My condition was deteriorating with every passing moment and there appeared to be no hope of my survival till the end of one more year. My sons then arranged my operation in a renowned hospital in Karachi where I was CABGed in November 1990 by Surgeon Abdur Rehman within three weeks of my reporting there.
After about 30-40 hours of my operation when I came into my senses the CCU staff put me in a wheel chair and put the chair in front of a window which presented a very beautiful panoramic view: blue sky, green trees and bright sunshine. I cannot forget that moment when I inhaled a deep breath of satisfaction. I had been longing for such a soothing breath for a long time. I was then shifted to the ward. I was making amazingly speedy recovery and in about 10 days time I was allowed to go home with the same awesome instructions: not to eat this and not to eat that. Zulqarnain (Sura Al-Kahaf) built a strong metallic wall between two mountains in order to save the people living there from the atrocities of Yajooj and Majooj and said this wall would remain intact and protective only so long as Allah so wishes. More or less a similar idea crossed my mind: this operation would keep me alive only so long as Allah so wishes. It kept me alive for another 13 years.
For the last seven years I have been under periodical check-ups and medication of Dr. Shahbaz Ahmed Kureshi. In mid-2004 I developed high fever and higher blood pressure for which I was given strong anti-biotics by a doctor in Rawalpindi. The fever was gone but BP dropped to a dangerously low level, and I couldn’t sleep the whole night. Early morning I committed the greatest blunder of my life, and death also. I mixed half an ounce of table salt in a glass full of water and drank the mixture presuming that it would raise my BP. It raised and raised and raised to such heights as I had never experienced before and it also caused me acute angina pain. I was rushed to the Services Hospital, immediately admitted in CCU where Dr. Shahbaz Ahmad Kureshi took charge of me. This was my third and so far the last heart attack. It was here that I saw what a dedicated and devoted doctor he was. He visited me daily and sometimes twice a day. I also observed that it was his greatness that he heard every patient patiently with a sincere smile on his face and say a few kind words of friendly well-wishing. Still I felt that he had a special soft corner for me or most probably it was the height of his greatness that he made every patient feel the same way.
After about a week or 10 days when angina pain had subsided Dr. Kureshi shifted me to Shifa International. While I was being taken from Services Hospital to Shifa in an ambulance, lying on the streture I could see the backward passing scene through the back door glass of the ambulance. I will never be able to name my sentiments at that time: whether it was joy or sorrow or mixture of them both or just a deep sense of appreciation of the beauty of my homeland. Perhaps when seriously ill physically one becomes mentally more sensitive and takes every feeling in its magnified form from the depth of his heart. There I was angiographied by Dr. Syed Mumtaz Ali Shah while Dr. Kureshi remained throughout in the operation theatre to make sure that the operation was a success. While I was still on the operation table, the doctors proposed that since only one vein was functioning and that too partially, it was high time that I was angio-plastied. They asked me. I immediately expressed my consent. So, soon after angiography I was angio-plastied and shifted to CCU. It was evening. I passed the night in considerable uneasiness. In the morning I took my breakfast and passed the day comparatively easily. In the evening pain started in my chest and continued to become more and more acute. The CCU staff did their best to control the pain but nothing worked. At about midnight when the pain had become unbearable for me, Dr. Mumtaz Ali Shah and Dr. Kureshi were informed about my precarious condition. Both of them came to the hospital at that late hour of night. I was told that Dr. Shah had to postpone or cut short his visit to Multan for my sake. Here I discovered another good-natured dedicated doctor in Dr. Shah: so much so that in one of my subsequent visits, I could not help kissing his hand although I knew it was against all etiquettes of patienthood. They discussed the matter for about two hours and decided to take me to the operation theatre in order to verify if there was any thing wrong with the angioplasty. At 2 o’clock in the morning I was taken to the operation theatre and after subjecting me to some surgery they came to the conclusion that everything was all right with the angioplasty and that the cause of pain was something else. While I was still lying on the operation table that began one of the two most critical junctures of my illness: I began to vomit mouthfuls of blood. In this hour of utter distress I badly needed consolation. I spontaneously put my hand on Dr. Kureshi’s arm. He gently tapped my hand. His sympathetic response clicked with my desire for consolation. In his eyes I saw a sort of gloominess as if he was sharing my distress. Even thereafter so long as I remained in Shifa International he cared to visit me almost daily at 10-11 o’clock in the night after finishing his day’s work. In return I could only love him. Necessary steps were taken to stop bleeding and bottles of blood were poured in my body. After the situation was under control I was shifted to my bed in the CCU. The pain had already subsided and I fell asleep.
For the next 24 hours I continued to vomit blood off and on. It was perhaps this heavy loss of blood that brought the second most critical juncture of my life. My blood pressure dropped to zero level and my heart and lungs stopped functioning. I went into coma as if trying to die. They kept me alive on the ventilator and after about 36 hours losing all hopes of my revival and having exhausted all legal and medical justifications to continue me alive artificially, they announced that the ventilator was being detached, and gave red alert to my relatives around there to go away and make arrangements for my burial. All my relatives from far off cities came to attend my imminent burial. Scores of goats were sacrificed and Khatm-e-Quran and Khatm-e-Aayat-e-Kareema were being done. Fortunately it was seconds before the ventilator could be detached that I began to breathe with my own lungs and began to come to senses and by and by I was fully alive. I knew nothing about what had happened to me so, as my relatives came to visit me they all stared and stared at me in order to make themselves believe that I was really alive. I was surprised to see why they all were looking at me that way. My wife took a long time to make herself believe that I was alive. I was gradually on the road to recovery and was told about this temporary death a week or ten days after I returned home.
Everybody was talking about what had happened to me outside myself but nobody knew what was happening to me within myself during those 36 hours. That is another long story of the spiritual side of my long unconsciousness. I found myself in high heavens before a large gate named “Bab-ul-Amwat” .Gate way for the Dead. I knocked at the door. Two angels opened the door and asked me: “yes, Babaji what is the problem with you”. I said “I am dead and my dead body is lying in such and such hospital on such and such bed number so please let me in this Gate”. They asked my name, address etc. and after checking from a long computerized list said “sorry Babaji your name does not appear in the list of those destined to die today so you cannot enter in this Gate”. They advised me to go back to my world. I said “look gentle angels it is not so simple. I have reached here after facing so many diseases and sufferings. I can’t go back to that nasty world full of worries, diseases, corruption, murders, robberies, kidnappings, injustices etc. etc.” “All right” they said “then wait for your turn outside the gate”. I saw a long queue of the dead mostly Kashmiris, Afghans, Iraqis, Palestinians, Bosnian and Chechnian Muslims in that queue and the angels were sending them in the Gate one by one, after checking from the list. I waited and waited for 36 long hours and when the agony of waiting became unbearable for me I insisted upon the angels to please do something for me. They said: “All right let us take up your case with our Archangel.” They contacted the Archangel in their own way and said “Sir an old Babaji with a thick white beard is insisting upon out-of-turn entry. He appears to be in a very miserable condition. For orders please.” Return message: “Let me first have a look at his character roll A little later I heard the Archangel addressing me direct: “Look Barey Mian your record is all steel black because of your sins so you may have to face much much severer punishments over here than those you left behind in your world. Take my advice; go back to your world; wait for your turn and make the maximum use of this extended period by doing good deeds and tauba for forgiveness of your sins. And remember one moment of good deed or sin in your world can earn you eternal luxurious life in paradise or millions of years of punishment in hell. By the way, Barey Sahib what is your profession down there?” I said I am a retired Deputy Secretary of the Federal Government of Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Perhaps not believing me he laughed aloud and said, “Deputy Secretary! Oh no. I have yet to see another retired Deputy Secretary of your description: clad in plain kurta-shalwar, a thick white beard on the face, a thread-woven cap on the head, a tasbeeh in the right hand and a miswaak in the pocket and totally bare feet. Perhaps you left your chappals under your bed in the hospital. You know in your part of the world such a simpleton person can easily be branded as a born fundamentalist, if not a terrorist. You are dismissed Sir”.I was taken aback at these remarks and I returned immediately into my dead body lying in the hospital and started breathing through my own lungs. This was exactly the moment the doctors having given up all hopes of my survival were about to take the ventilator off me.
This last episode was the climax of my story, which in its wake left many anti-climaxes. Whether or not this is a story cooked by my sub-conscious mind wandering in high heavens during my unconsciousness, one thing is as sure as death: I believe the Archangel’s advice is enough to open the eyes of all right-thinking patients. It gives them a good amount of contentment, complacency, confidence; provides a strong motivation to correct their beliefs and deeds about life and death in the light of Qur’an and Sunnah, stronger faith in Allah, more fear of Allah than that of death; greater hope of forgiveness and salvation, greater willingness to practise the teachings of Islam; and helps them in attaining physical fitness to a reasonable extent. I wish I was one of them.
Alhamdolillah I am now a completely reconditioned person and am enjoying the remaining moments of my life.
A few words about the title of this story. After my discharge whenever I visited Dr. Mumtaz Ali Shah he would smilingly remark: “Lo the dead man is here”, because he alone knew better than anybody else that I was only moments away from death. Hence this is a STORY OF A DEAD MAN.DK-266, Service Road, Rawalpindi, Phone:+ 92 51 4840928
told by himself
THE STORY OF A DEAD MAN
(M. Naseer-ud-Din)
And who is the dead man! No other than the writer of these lines, yes, myself. How paradoxically and mysteriously unbelievable! Isn’t it?
I will narrate my story in detail shortly. Briefly, I have been a heart patient for the last quarter of a century and at one stage death took me away with her and left only 10 percent of me in my nearly dead body. It took death 36 long hours to realize that she had picked up the wrong person at the wrong time so she returned the 90 percent of me back to my dead body. No doubt this was a miracle. Since then I am up and about like any other fellow heart patients.
Before I proceed further I must pay my tributes to Dr. Shahbaz Ahmad Kureshi who “instigated” me to write my story that may be a source of inspiration for other heart patients conveying the message that you had heart attacks, all right, but that is not the end of the world and that life is still worth living and living well however adverse the circumstances may be. Now that I have written my story, it remains to be seen how does it interact with Dr. Kureshi’s expectations.
I had my first heart attack in November 1980. I felt severe pain in my chest and hands but it took me some time to accept that it was heart attack since my concept of a heart attack was that pain should be felt in the heart itself. However, I was very well looked after by the late Dr. K.A. Azeem in CGH Rawalpindi and after about four weeks he sent me home with the advice to take another six weeks bed rest and, of course, not to eat some of my favourite dishes for the rest of my life.
My last 25 years experience shows that prevention is the most stupendous aspect of the heart disease. Just imagine your pitiable condition when half a dozen people around you on the dining table are relishing such tasty dishes as mutton pulao, chicken biryani, shami and seekh kababs, omellate + paratha, mutton karahi, sri paye, nahari and hot pakoras, and poor you have been restricted to few salt-less tasteless boiled vegetables. At least once out of every 10 times you are forced to surrender to the temptation and in order to do justice with the dishes before you, you join others asking yourself “isn’t cure better than prevention”? Most probably these once-out-of-ten fast breakings was one of the factors that caused me the second severe heart attack in 1990, exactly 10 years after the first one. This was uncontrollable even by the top cardiologists of AFIC. After angiography it was declared that three veins were blocked 70 to 90 percent and that open-heart surgery was the only remedy. I was, therefore, put on Surgeon Masud-ur-Rehman Kiani’s long list of patients waiting for heart surgery. He gave me a full one year to wait for my turn. My condition was deteriorating with every passing moment and there appeared to be no hope of my survival till the end of one more year. My sons then arranged my operation in a renowned hospital in Karachi where I was CABGed in November 1990 by Surgeon Abdur Rehman within three weeks of my reporting there.
After about 30-40 hours of my operation when I came into my senses the CCU staff put me in a wheel chair and put the chair in front of a window which presented a very beautiful panoramic view: blue sky, green trees and bright sunshine. I cannot forget that moment when I inhaled a deep breath of satisfaction. I had been longing for such a soothing breath for a long time. I was then shifted to the ward. I was making amazingly speedy recovery and in about 10 days time I was allowed to go home with the same awesome instructions: not to eat this and not to eat that. Zulqarnain (Sura Al-Kahaf) built a strong metallic wall between two mountains in order to save the people living there from the atrocities of Yajooj and Majooj and said this wall would remain intact and protective only so long as Allah so wishes. More or less a similar idea crossed my mind: this operation would keep me alive only so long as Allah so wishes. It kept me alive for another 13 years.
For the last seven years I have been under periodical check-ups and medication of Dr. Shahbaz Ahmed Kureshi. In mid-2004 I developed high fever and higher blood pressure for which I was given strong anti-biotics by a doctor in Rawalpindi. The fever was gone but BP dropped to a dangerously low level, and I couldn’t sleep the whole night. Early morning I committed the greatest blunder of my life, and death also. I mixed half an ounce of table salt in a glass full of water and drank the mixture presuming that it would raise my BP. It raised and raised and raised to such heights as I had never experienced before and it also caused me acute angina pain. I was rushed to the Services Hospital, immediately admitted in CCU where Dr. Shahbaz Ahmad Kureshi took charge of me. This was my third and so far the last heart attack. It was here that I saw what a dedicated and devoted doctor he was. He visited me daily and sometimes twice a day. I also observed that it was his greatness that he heard every patient patiently with a sincere smile on his face and say a few kind words of friendly well-wishing. Still I felt that he had a special soft corner for me or most probably it was the height of his greatness that he made every patient feel the same way.
After about a week or 10 days when angina pain had subsided Dr. Kureshi shifted me to Shifa International. While I was being taken from Services Hospital to Shifa in an ambulance, lying on the streture I could see the backward passing scene through the back door glass of the ambulance. I will never be able to name my sentiments at that time: whether it was joy or sorrow or mixture of them both or just a deep sense of appreciation of the beauty of my homeland. Perhaps when seriously ill physically one becomes mentally more sensitive and takes every feeling in its magnified form from the depth of his heart. There I was angiographied by Dr. Syed Mumtaz Ali Shah while Dr. Kureshi remained throughout in the operation theatre to make sure that the operation was a success. While I was still on the operation table, the doctors proposed that since only one vein was functioning and that too partially, it was high time that I was angio-plastied. They asked me. I immediately expressed my consent. So, soon after angiography I was angio-plastied and shifted to CCU. It was evening. I passed the night in considerable uneasiness. In the morning I took my breakfast and passed the day comparatively easily. In the evening pain started in my chest and continued to become more and more acute. The CCU staff did their best to control the pain but nothing worked. At about midnight when the pain had become unbearable for me, Dr. Mumtaz Ali Shah and Dr. Kureshi were informed about my precarious condition. Both of them came to the hospital at that late hour of night. I was told that Dr. Shah had to postpone or cut short his visit to Multan for my sake. Here I discovered another good-natured dedicated doctor in Dr. Shah: so much so that in one of my subsequent visits, I could not help kissing his hand although I knew it was against all etiquettes of patienthood. They discussed the matter for about two hours and decided to take me to the operation theatre in order to verify if there was any thing wrong with the angioplasty. At 2 o’clock in the morning I was taken to the operation theatre and after subjecting me to some surgery they came to the conclusion that everything was all right with the angioplasty and that the cause of pain was something else. While I was still lying on the operation table that began one of the two most critical junctures of my illness: I began to vomit mouthfuls of blood. In this hour of utter distress I badly needed consolation. I spontaneously put my hand on Dr. Kureshi’s arm. He gently tapped my hand. His sympathetic response clicked with my desire for consolation. In his eyes I saw a sort of gloominess as if he was sharing my distress. Even thereafter so long as I remained in Shifa International he cared to visit me almost daily at 10-11 o’clock in the night after finishing his day’s work. In return I could only love him. Necessary steps were taken to stop bleeding and bottles of blood were poured in my body. After the situation was under control I was shifted to my bed in the CCU. The pain had already subsided and I fell asleep.
For the next 24 hours I continued to vomit blood off and on. It was perhaps this heavy loss of blood that brought the second most critical juncture of my life. My blood pressure dropped to zero level and my heart and lungs stopped functioning. I went into coma as if trying to die. They kept me alive on the ventilator and after about 36 hours losing all hopes of my revival and having exhausted all legal and medical justifications to continue me alive artificially, they announced that the ventilator was being detached, and gave red alert to my relatives around there to go away and make arrangements for my burial. All my relatives from far off cities came to attend my imminent burial. Scores of goats were sacrificed and Khatm-e-Quran and Khatm-e-Aayat-e-Kareema were being done. Fortunately it was seconds before the ventilator could be detached that I began to breathe with my own lungs and began to come to senses and by and by I was fully alive. I knew nothing about what had happened to me so, as my relatives came to visit me they all stared and stared at me in order to make themselves believe that I was really alive. I was surprised to see why they all were looking at me that way. My wife took a long time to make herself believe that I was alive. I was gradually on the road to recovery and was told about this temporary death a week or ten days after I returned home.
Everybody was talking about what had happened to me outside myself but nobody knew what was happening to me within myself during those 36 hours. That is another long story of the spiritual side of my long unconsciousness. I found myself in high heavens before a large gate named “Bab-ul-Amwat” .Gate way for the Dead. I knocked at the door. Two angels opened the door and asked me: “yes, Babaji what is the problem with you”. I said “I am dead and my dead body is lying in such and such hospital on such and such bed number so please let me in this Gate”. They asked my name, address etc. and after checking from a long computerized list said “sorry Babaji your name does not appear in the list of those destined to die today so you cannot enter in this Gate”. They advised me to go back to my world. I said “look gentle angels it is not so simple. I have reached here after facing so many diseases and sufferings. I can’t go back to that nasty world full of worries, diseases, corruption, murders, robberies, kidnappings, injustices etc. etc.” “All right” they said “then wait for your turn outside the gate”. I saw a long queue of the dead mostly Kashmiris, Afghans, Iraqis, Palestinians, Bosnian and Chechnian Muslims in that queue and the angels were sending them in the Gate one by one, after checking from the list. I waited and waited for 36 long hours and when the agony of waiting became unbearable for me I insisted upon the angels to please do something for me. They said: “All right let us take up your case with our Archangel.” They contacted the Archangel in their own way and said “Sir an old Babaji with a thick white beard is insisting upon out-of-turn entry. He appears to be in a very miserable condition. For orders please.” Return message: “Let me first have a look at his character roll A little later I heard the Archangel addressing me direct: “Look Barey Mian your record is all steel black because of your sins so you may have to face much much severer punishments over here than those you left behind in your world. Take my advice; go back to your world; wait for your turn and make the maximum use of this extended period by doing good deeds and tauba for forgiveness of your sins. And remember one moment of good deed or sin in your world can earn you eternal luxurious life in paradise or millions of years of punishment in hell. By the way, Barey Sahib what is your profession down there?” I said I am a retired Deputy Secretary of the Federal Government of Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Perhaps not believing me he laughed aloud and said, “Deputy Secretary! Oh no. I have yet to see another retired Deputy Secretary of your description: clad in plain kurta-shalwar, a thick white beard on the face, a thread-woven cap on the head, a tasbeeh in the right hand and a miswaak in the pocket and totally bare feet. Perhaps you left your chappals under your bed in the hospital. You know in your part of the world such a simpleton person can easily be branded as a born fundamentalist, if not a terrorist. You are dismissed Sir”.I was taken aback at these remarks and I returned immediately into my dead body lying in the hospital and started breathing through my own lungs. This was exactly the moment the doctors having given up all hopes of my survival were about to take the ventilator off me.
This last episode was the climax of my story, which in its wake left many anti-climaxes. Whether or not this is a story cooked by my sub-conscious mind wandering in high heavens during my unconsciousness, one thing is as sure as death: I believe the Archangel’s advice is enough to open the eyes of all right-thinking patients. It gives them a good amount of contentment, complacency, confidence; provides a strong motivation to correct their beliefs and deeds about life and death in the light of Qur’an and Sunnah, stronger faith in Allah, more fear of Allah than that of death; greater hope of forgiveness and salvation, greater willingness to practise the teachings of Islam; and helps them in attaining physical fitness to a reasonable extent. I wish I was one of them.
Alhamdolillah I am now a completely reconditioned person and am enjoying the remaining moments of my life.
A few words about the title of this story. After my discharge whenever I visited Dr. Mumtaz Ali Shah he would smilingly remark: “Lo the dead man is here”, because he alone knew better than anybody else that I was only moments away from death. Hence this is a STORY OF A DEAD MAN.DK-266, Service Road, Rawalpindi, Phone:+ 92 51 4840928
Islam in Europe
Pls. Have some time to look at an interesting utube video.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUhe89q-6X8&feature=related
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KUhe89q-6X8&feature=related
Thursday, August 14, 2008
How to post new post on blog
Please note: before opening blog sign in with ur gmail account or press SIGN IN on top of blog and then sign in with ur google username and password.
Once u successfully sign in, it'll give u a chance of posting ur posts.
New post will appear on top of blog.
And now u can enter text, paste photos and add videos.
Feel free to contact tazeenhasan@gmail.com for any problems
Cheers
Once u successfully sign in, it'll give u a chance of posting ur posts.
New post will appear on top of blog.
And now u can enter text, paste photos and add videos.
Feel free to contact tazeenhasan@gmail.com for any problems
Cheers
Monday, August 11, 2008
Invition to join
I have created this blog to congregate all those who belong to the family of my late grandfather Haleemuddin Shaikh. Here we can post anything we want to share, discuss the topics of mutual interests and keep ourselves in touch with each other.
The idea of this blog came out from some forwarded mails by my cousins Khalid Naseer and cdr. Abdul Hafiz Shaikh.
I invite all of u who belong to Respected Haleemuddin Shaikh's family to join the blog by intoducing yourself in a new post.
Salam and Regards Tazeen
The idea of this blog came out from some forwarded mails by my cousins Khalid Naseer and cdr. Abdul Hafiz Shaikh.
I invite all of u who belong to Respected Haleemuddin Shaikh's family to join the blog by intoducing yourself in a new post.
Salam and Regards Tazeen
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Sunday, August 10, 2008
Fawad's Son
A son is born to Fawad Shaikh last month and is named Mohammad Hasan Shaikh.
Congrats Fawad. I think he is the latest addition in our family. If u can please place his photo.
Tazeen
Congrats Fawad. I think he is the latest addition in our family. If u can please place his photo.
Tazeen
Farid chacha in Canada
These are some photographs from Abbu's visit to canada. I hope u people will enjoy. I 'll invite u to share interesting photos on this blog.
About DarulHaleem
I have created this blog to congregate all those who belong to the family of my late grandfather Haleemuddin Shaikh. Here we can post anything we want to share, discuss the topics of mutual interests and keep ourselves in touch with each other.
The idea of this blog arouse from some forwarded mails by my cousins Khalid Naseer and cdr. Abdul Hafiz Shaikh.
I will invite all of u who belong to Respected Haleemuddin Shaikh's family to join the blog.
The idea of this blog arouse from some forwarded mails by my cousins Khalid Naseer and cdr. Abdul Hafiz Shaikh.
I will invite all of u who belong to Respected Haleemuddin Shaikh's family to join the blog.
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