Youngest of eight children I was always the baby of the family. I was very secure during my formative years because of the tremendous love and support my parents gave me. I always idolized my father but my mother was my main anchor in life. Her tremendous encouragement and faith in me was the driving force behind everything that I did. I could talk about everything with her and therefore it was with great pride that I went and presented her my appointment letter. The look in her eyes betrayed her emotions; she held me close and said

I was always fond of singing. While studying at Quaid-e-Azam University in Islamabad, I organized fund raising concerts. I still remember trying to sell the tickets of my concerts. I use to tell the people that there is an excellent singer who will perform at this concert. I am sure they all were surprised at seeing me on the stage. However it never bothered me, as the money that I collected from those concerts was used to help the needy students studying in my university. When I joined as a teacher in Aitcheson, I could not get over my love for singing and it was here that I composed my song “Billo Day Ghar” which was a total success. My popularity as a singer grew, but I always looked for approval from my mother. No success was complete till my mother approved. I was really my mother’s boy.

I had always been very close to her and in my subconscious I was always scared about losing her. At home I always slept in my mother’s room. She was always a very quiet sleeper. I remember that whenever she went to sleep I would closely watch her breathing movements to assure myself that she was alive and once reassured I would go to sleep. I can never forget that fateful day, I was in my mother’s room, she was sitting and talking to me. She was looking very frail and weak and had not been feeling well for the past few days. She said “I think I shall rest for a little while”. She lay down on her bed. The phone rang, it was for me, I was busy on the phone for a few minutes. As I put down the telephone, I looked at my mother she had gone off to sleep. Out of sheer habit I watched her closely for the breathing movements. She was looking so peaceful.

I kept on looking and to my horror I saw that she was not breathing. I rushed to her, held my ears close to her heart, I thought her heart was beating, but it was my own heart, which I was beating loudly. I panicked and tried to resuscitate her with what little knowledge of Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation that I had. But to no avail. I did not scream or shout, I was in a state of shock, I started praying and after an eternity got up to tell the rest of my family that my mother had gone to sleep forever. She was no more The Woman who gave me life, and nurtured me now had left me all alone.

I was lonely, I was depressed and for the next six months I took no interest in my work.

It took six long months to collect my thoughts. Time was the best healer. I threw myself in a hectic schedule; however I could not stop thinking about my mother. I had always wanted to help the ailing humanity but was unable to find a way until I conceived the idea of constructing a hospital. My mother was always at the back of my mind and when I learnt that in Pakistan, we lose a mother every 20 minutes because of complications due to pregnancy. I thought what could be a better tribute to all mothers than to help save the mothers for their children so that their life could be as blessed as mine, therefore the Sughra Shafi Medical Complex at Narowal was conceived.