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Transitions: After a lifetime of teaching, Happy Home founder passes away
By Tooba Masood
Published: April 10, 2012
A group photo taken on the occasion of Maryam and Faruqis wedding ceremony at 2, Windsor Palace, New Dehli on April 6, 1947. Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah, his sister Fatima Jinnah, Pakistans first Prime Minister Liaquat Ali Khan and his wife Begum Raana were also there. PHOTO: COURTESY MOEEN FARUQI
KARACHI:
On Monday at 6pm, Karachi lost an educationist, a scholar and a grandmother.
Maryam Faruqi, founder of Happy Home School, passed away at National Medical Centre after suffering from pneumonia. She leaves behind five children, 10 grandchildren and three great grandchildren.
Born in Pune in 1924, Faruqi was the eldest daughter of Sir Ibrahim and Lady Hawabai Haroon Jaffer, a well-known businessman, who also launched an Urdu weekly called Muslim in 1912 and established a primary school in Haroon Hall, a building he constructed in memory of his father.
She was very close to her brother, Ahmed, who gave her the nickname Pyarijan, a name still used by her grandchildren.
Maryam received her early education at the Islamia School which is now named after her parents. After she came first in grade six, the headmistress asked her to teach Urdu to grade five. She did her matriculation at the Convent of Jesus and Mary in Pune and acquired the first merit position. She joined the Nauroji Wadia College and was awarded the Moosa Qasim Gold Medal.
She studied Persian at college and did her undergraduate in Urdu and Persian in 1945. When she achieved a first class in her BA, her brother sent her photograph to be printed in Daily Dawn, as the first Memon girl to achieve this. Her need to learn never stopped. After completing her BA, she had decided that she wanted to teach.
Her daughter, Ghazala, who is now the principal of Happy Home School System, recalls that after this photo was printed, her mother received a lot of letters from young men. My uncle took away the letters written to her by Memon boys in case she wrote back. However, he did let her keep a letter from a man who was not Memon, my father, NH Faruqi. She added that her mother wrote to Faruqi as he had beautiful penmanship, and the two soon became pen pals. She was impressed by his Urdu and education he was an income tax officer.
Maryam did not want to marry a Memon, or an uneducated man. Her brother Ahmed understood. He said that since she was educated, her husband had to be educated too. So when Faruqi sent a formal proposal of marriage to Ahmed, he went to meet him in Delhi.
Despite the opposition from the family and community, Maryam and Faruqi were married in Delhi.
After her wedding, her husband opted to move to Pakistan. Maryam worked with Mrs Qazi Issa on the National Guard Movement in preparing young women for emergencies. She also worked with the Womens Muslim League. She also enrolled for some vocational courses at Mama Parsi Girls Secondary School.
She went ahead and did a Montessori training course and loved it. She persuaded her husband that she would start a small teaching group at home not more than 20 students in 1949. According to Ghazala, her father was a little embarrassed.
He did not want his wife working from home. However, Maryam continued to put her heart and soul into the group and eventually from 20 the group expanded to 200. After many discussions, Maryam and Faruqi decided that it was time to buy a piece of land and build a school. They bought a plot on Shaheed-e-Millat Road (then Jail road) and established Happy Home School. At first, the parents did not respond in kind, they were angry that the school was nearly a mile away, in the wilderness. However as time went by, more students started to enroll and Maryam had to employ more teachers and add more rooms.
Moeen Faruqis earliest memory of his mother is her working at school. He remembers her as being very passionate about education and wanting to excel. He says it was because she was a top student herself. He claims that besides her love for education, his mother was also a very caring person always going out of the way for family and friends.
His sister, Ghazala, says that hers was a story of determination. She was from a business family, she said. Her brothers were not highly educated and since her family was Memon, they did not believe in educating a girl. My mother told me that she spent every summer crying and begging her parents to let her go back to school when it started.
Published in The Express Tribune, April 10th, 2012.
A letter from Faruqis granddaughter can be read here.
Pyarijan, Happy Home founders granddaughter writes a final letter
By Reem Faruqi
Published: April 10, 2012
ATLANTA: This is it. The moment Ive been waiting for.
I am standing in front of a petite Pakistani lady, only a little taller than I, yet with triple my spunk. And she is triple my age.
As I greet her, my mind races. She looks at me, and smiles a beatific smile. I relax. She does remember me. I smile back.
But then I notice the light of remembrance in her eyes is gone, faded like murky, roasted cumin. She smiles differently now, as if seeing me for the first time. In a regal tone of voice, she inquires politely, And you are?
My voice is mute. I try to emulate her poise, and answer simply, Reem. What I do not say: Reem, as in Reem Faruqi. I share your last name. Im the daughter of your son Zaheer. But this I do not mention. She compensates by pretending to remember me. I humour her. And so our evening progresses.
She differs from the typical elderly Pakistani lady in so many ways. For one, she married for love. Her marriage was what we call a love marriage as in unarranged. In the 1940s, this was unheard of.
Second, she was educated. Highly. After winning a scholarship, she received dozens of letters from potential suitors. She decided to write back to the quiet, polite gentleman with immaculate handwriting. Letters turned into love letters, and then they married. She arranged her marriage.
And yet Pyarijan, which means loved one in Urdu, was different. She is love in action. She defied tradition again by carving out a career for herself. But her husband didnt want her to leave home, so she complied.
An educator, she put her creativity to work. At first, by having students come to her home and innocently calling her school, Happy Home. As her house quickly overflowed with students, she leapt at better opportunities and started her school in another building. And this was just the beginning of principaldom for this educator, Pyarijan. Does it make sense now why she chose the man with the immaculate penmanship?
Today, she has founded numerous schools, still with the same title, Happy Home Schools. I know dozens of teachers who look forward to dismissing their students and heading home right after. Im one of them. She inspired me to become a teacher. At the end of her school day, she would often take a small catnap, and then return ready for her second half of the day, with even higher expectations than before.
As I sit with her, I realise that yes, her memory is fading, but the curls in her hair are anything but faded. Every night, Pyarijan will meticulously put curlers in her hair. Her high expectations for her curls are minuscule compared to those she has of her students. She has won dozens of awards, yet treats them matter-of-factly. It is her students who she lives for.
She even has high expectations of her flowers. Her garden lacks flowers at the moment, she explains apologetically. Not even a second later, she calls out for her gardener and tells him hed better have some flowers up within two weeks, otherwise hes leaving. She says all this with a twinkle in her eye. Magically, a week later, one of her trees has sprouted fragrant, pink flowers. She makes sure to point them out flowers that match her pale pink and green shalwar kameez while simultaneously complimenting the gardener and walking me to my car.
Yes, to this day, this 90 something woman, when saying good bye, will walk you to your car, and wave as you depart. Regardless of who you are, she will do this every single time.
Before embarking on my journey to Pakistan, I feel sorry for myself. I mope as I brush my teeth for five minutes, extra-long as I do when Im feeling gloomy. I fear she will not remember me. I agonize during my pregnancy and worry she may not live long enough to see my baby. When she does live long enough, I worry she will not remember her, not remember her own great granddaughter.
But I am blessed: I meet Pyarijan with her great granddaughter. Yes, my fears are confirmed in that she doesnt and will not remember me, but she loves my infants delicate features, falls in love with the simple things only babies do. Each day that she sees her, it is as if she is meeting a new baby, and to see her joy upon meeting my infant for the first time makes me appreciate the sacrifice, putting my 13-hour flight into fresh perspective. She is effortlessly happy and unknowingly encourages me to be the same. I brush my teeth for two minutes that night.
Back in America, my toddler reaches out for her favourite book, Are You My Mommy? As I read the story, I cant help feeling sorrow. The duckling asks different animals whether theyre her mommy, before finally reuniting with her mother at the end. I wish that I could read a story called, Are You My Granddaughter? to Pyarijan and have us reunite happily, with her remembering me.
I write letters to her. In Urdu. The language only she took the time to teach me. As I painstakingly write, and rewrite, I make errors that remind me of those my second graders would make. But I write my letters anyway. She sends them back like a true teacher, with corrections and suggestions. When I sign my letter, Reem, I make sure to write,
Reem Faruqi (your granddaughter).
With Love.
Pyarijan had founded the Happy Home School.
By Tooba Masood
Published: April 10, 2012
A group photo taken on the occasion of Maryam and Faruqis wedding ceremony at 2, Windsor Palace, New Dehli on April 6, 1947. Quaid-e-Azam Mohammad Ali Jinnah, his sister Fatima Jinnah, Pakistans first Prime Minister Liaquat Ali Khan and his wife Begum Raana were also there. PHOTO: COURTESY MOEEN FARUQI
KARACHI:
On Monday at 6pm, Karachi lost an educationist, a scholar and a grandmother.
Maryam Faruqi, founder of Happy Home School, passed away at National Medical Centre after suffering from pneumonia. She leaves behind five children, 10 grandchildren and three great grandchildren.
Born in Pune in 1924, Faruqi was the eldest daughter of Sir Ibrahim and Lady Hawabai Haroon Jaffer, a well-known businessman, who also launched an Urdu weekly called Muslim in 1912 and established a primary school in Haroon Hall, a building he constructed in memory of his father.
She was very close to her brother, Ahmed, who gave her the nickname Pyarijan, a name still used by her grandchildren.
Maryam received her early education at the Islamia School which is now named after her parents. After she came first in grade six, the headmistress asked her to teach Urdu to grade five. She did her matriculation at the Convent of Jesus and Mary in Pune and acquired the first merit position. She joined the Nauroji Wadia College and was awarded the Moosa Qasim Gold Medal.
She studied Persian at college and did her undergraduate in Urdu and Persian in 1945. When she achieved a first class in her BA, her brother sent her photograph to be printed in Daily Dawn, as the first Memon girl to achieve this. Her need to learn never stopped. After completing her BA, she had decided that she wanted to teach.
Her daughter, Ghazala, who is now the principal of Happy Home School System, recalls that after this photo was printed, her mother received a lot of letters from young men. My uncle took away the letters written to her by Memon boys in case she wrote back. However, he did let her keep a letter from a man who was not Memon, my father, NH Faruqi. She added that her mother wrote to Faruqi as he had beautiful penmanship, and the two soon became pen pals. She was impressed by his Urdu and education he was an income tax officer.
Maryam did not want to marry a Memon, or an uneducated man. Her brother Ahmed understood. He said that since she was educated, her husband had to be educated too. So when Faruqi sent a formal proposal of marriage to Ahmed, he went to meet him in Delhi.
Despite the opposition from the family and community, Maryam and Faruqi were married in Delhi.
After her wedding, her husband opted to move to Pakistan. Maryam worked with Mrs Qazi Issa on the National Guard Movement in preparing young women for emergencies. She also worked with the Womens Muslim League. She also enrolled for some vocational courses at Mama Parsi Girls Secondary School.
She went ahead and did a Montessori training course and loved it. She persuaded her husband that she would start a small teaching group at home not more than 20 students in 1949. According to Ghazala, her father was a little embarrassed.
He did not want his wife working from home. However, Maryam continued to put her heart and soul into the group and eventually from 20 the group expanded to 200. After many discussions, Maryam and Faruqi decided that it was time to buy a piece of land and build a school. They bought a plot on Shaheed-e-Millat Road (then Jail road) and established Happy Home School. At first, the parents did not respond in kind, they were angry that the school was nearly a mile away, in the wilderness. However as time went by, more students started to enroll and Maryam had to employ more teachers and add more rooms.
Moeen Faruqis earliest memory of his mother is her working at school. He remembers her as being very passionate about education and wanting to excel. He says it was because she was a top student herself. He claims that besides her love for education, his mother was also a very caring person always going out of the way for family and friends.
His sister, Ghazala, says that hers was a story of determination. She was from a business family, she said. Her brothers were not highly educated and since her family was Memon, they did not believe in educating a girl. My mother told me that she spent every summer crying and begging her parents to let her go back to school when it started.
Published in The Express Tribune, April 10th, 2012.
A letter from Faruqis granddaughter can be read here.
Pyarijan, Happy Home founders granddaughter writes a final letter
By Reem Faruqi
Published: April 10, 2012
ATLANTA: This is it. The moment Ive been waiting for.
I am standing in front of a petite Pakistani lady, only a little taller than I, yet with triple my spunk. And she is triple my age.
As I greet her, my mind races. She looks at me, and smiles a beatific smile. I relax. She does remember me. I smile back.
But then I notice the light of remembrance in her eyes is gone, faded like murky, roasted cumin. She smiles differently now, as if seeing me for the first time. In a regal tone of voice, she inquires politely, And you are?
My voice is mute. I try to emulate her poise, and answer simply, Reem. What I do not say: Reem, as in Reem Faruqi. I share your last name. Im the daughter of your son Zaheer. But this I do not mention. She compensates by pretending to remember me. I humour her. And so our evening progresses.
She differs from the typical elderly Pakistani lady in so many ways. For one, she married for love. Her marriage was what we call a love marriage as in unarranged. In the 1940s, this was unheard of.
Second, she was educated. Highly. After winning a scholarship, she received dozens of letters from potential suitors. She decided to write back to the quiet, polite gentleman with immaculate handwriting. Letters turned into love letters, and then they married. She arranged her marriage.
And yet Pyarijan, which means loved one in Urdu, was different. She is love in action. She defied tradition again by carving out a career for herself. But her husband didnt want her to leave home, so she complied.
An educator, she put her creativity to work. At first, by having students come to her home and innocently calling her school, Happy Home. As her house quickly overflowed with students, she leapt at better opportunities and started her school in another building. And this was just the beginning of principaldom for this educator, Pyarijan. Does it make sense now why she chose the man with the immaculate penmanship?
Today, she has founded numerous schools, still with the same title, Happy Home Schools. I know dozens of teachers who look forward to dismissing their students and heading home right after. Im one of them. She inspired me to become a teacher. At the end of her school day, she would often take a small catnap, and then return ready for her second half of the day, with even higher expectations than before.
As I sit with her, I realise that yes, her memory is fading, but the curls in her hair are anything but faded. Every night, Pyarijan will meticulously put curlers in her hair. Her high expectations for her curls are minuscule compared to those she has of her students. She has won dozens of awards, yet treats them matter-of-factly. It is her students who she lives for.
She even has high expectations of her flowers. Her garden lacks flowers at the moment, she explains apologetically. Not even a second later, she calls out for her gardener and tells him hed better have some flowers up within two weeks, otherwise hes leaving. She says all this with a twinkle in her eye. Magically, a week later, one of her trees has sprouted fragrant, pink flowers. She makes sure to point them out flowers that match her pale pink and green shalwar kameez while simultaneously complimenting the gardener and walking me to my car.
Yes, to this day, this 90 something woman, when saying good bye, will walk you to your car, and wave as you depart. Regardless of who you are, she will do this every single time.
Before embarking on my journey to Pakistan, I feel sorry for myself. I mope as I brush my teeth for five minutes, extra-long as I do when Im feeling gloomy. I fear she will not remember me. I agonize during my pregnancy and worry she may not live long enough to see my baby. When she does live long enough, I worry she will not remember her, not remember her own great granddaughter.
But I am blessed: I meet Pyarijan with her great granddaughter. Yes, my fears are confirmed in that she doesnt and will not remember me, but she loves my infants delicate features, falls in love with the simple things only babies do. Each day that she sees her, it is as if she is meeting a new baby, and to see her joy upon meeting my infant for the first time makes me appreciate the sacrifice, putting my 13-hour flight into fresh perspective. She is effortlessly happy and unknowingly encourages me to be the same. I brush my teeth for two minutes that night.
Back in America, my toddler reaches out for her favourite book, Are You My Mommy? As I read the story, I cant help feeling sorrow. The duckling asks different animals whether theyre her mommy, before finally reuniting with her mother at the end. I wish that I could read a story called, Are You My Granddaughter? to Pyarijan and have us reunite happily, with her remembering me.
I write letters to her. In Urdu. The language only she took the time to teach me. As I painstakingly write, and rewrite, I make errors that remind me of those my second graders would make. But I write my letters anyway. She sends them back like a true teacher, with corrections and suggestions. When I sign my letter, Reem, I make sure to write,
Reem Faruqi (your granddaughter).
With Love.
Pyarijan had founded the Happy Home School.
