Roots Beyond Fame
The discovery of our ancestral link to Tipu Sultan, and the knowledge that our family tree bears the names of several illustrious Khans, did not, I must confess, stir in me the wonder that others might expect. What captivated me more deeply was something subtler and, to my mind, more enduring: both my grandparents—maternal and paternal—were men of cultivated minds and creative spirit. That, more than the glint of royal blood, impelled me to dig beneath the surface of lineage and peer into the loam of memory. What I unearthed, dear reader, is offered in the passages that follow.
The Sword and the Pen: A Maternal Lineage
According to records carefully preserved within our maternal family, our lineage reaches back to the year 1730, beginning with Syed Zainul Abdeen, a military commander who served under Nawab Hyder Ali, and later, from 1765 onwards, under Tipu Sultan, the Tiger of Mysore. His son, Meer Habibulla, would rise to become Tipu Sultan’s personal secretary and chief advisor on affairs of state. In time, he was entrusted with a mission of great delicacy: as ambassador to the court of King Zaman Shah Durrani, the third ruler of Afghanistan, to extend a formal invitation on behalf of His Highness, the Sultan of Mysore.
This same ancestor, my great-great-great-grandfather, now lies interred just twenty feet from Tipu Sultan himself—amidst the graves of the Sultan’s closest confidants and kin—silent testaments to a chapter of history too easily overlooked.
The Blood of Kings and Fruit Merchants
Nawab Hyder Ali was born in Bangarapet, near Kuppam, and his father, Fateh Mohammad, hailed from Kolar, a mere ten kilometres distant. Tipu Sultan bore the full name Syed al-Sharif Fateh Ali, and his father was known as Syed al-Sharif Hyder Ali Nawab. The echoes of nobility, yes, but more stirring to me is the confluence of statesmanship and simplicity in the generations that followed.
My maternal grandfather, Mr Meer Basheer Ahmed Khuraishi, was a man of Mysore—wealthy in land, yet born of a family of fruit merchants. His father was a business partner of Lala Ghulam Sarwar, father of the celebrated Dilip Kumar (born Muhammad Yusuf Khan). After the elder generation passed, my grandfather carried on the partnership with Dilip Kumar’s brother, preserving a legacy not only of trade, but of friendship.
He was a founder member of the Indian National Congress, Secretary of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry, Honorary Magistrate of Mysore, and a Board Member of Krishna Rajendra Hospital. He moved with ease and dignity among the great: the Gandhi family, the Maharajah of Mysore, the eighth Chief Minister of Karnataka D. Devaraj Urs, Basappa Danappa Jatti (fifth Vice-President of India), Sahukar Chennaiah, the Tata family, and nobility from far and wide.
His close companions included Prithviraj Kapoor, patriarch of a dynasty still beloved in Indian cinema; Ifthikar Ahmed, grandfather to Shahrukh Khan; the luminous Meena Kumari (born Mahajabeen Bano); and filmmakers like Kamal Amrohi and K. Asif, whose epics defined an era. Yet amidst all this, he remained a gardener at heart, and proudly held the Rolling Shield for Gardening for many years until his final breath.
Of Timber and Schools: A Paternal Legacy
On my father’s side, C. M. Abdul Gaffar Khan, my paternal grandfather, was a distinguished timber merchant—a man enamoured of the craftsman’s art, particularly that of cabinetmaking. He founded Metro Furnishing House in Bangalore, which for over two decades produced furniture of fine reputation. Upon his passing, my father—a solicitor of admirable clarity—took charge of the business.
But grandfather was also a man of letters and vision. He established Azad High School, the first English Medium School founded by a Muslim in Bangalore, housed on the fifth floor of the now-iconic Shoukath (named after my father) Building on Silver Jubilee Park Road, erected in 1946. It stood as the tallest building in the city then, a local marvel visited by tourists and immortalised on government-issued postcards—regrettably, none of which remain in our possession. Should anyone chance upon one, I would cherish its rediscovery.
He also authored two books—one on faith, the other on economics—both available today in the Central Library at Cubbon Park and in other public repositories of knowledge across the country.
The Sir Syed of the South
One of the most formative figures in my paternal line was Dr. Mumtaz Ahmed Khan, married to my father’s first cousin Zarin Taj. Founder of the Al-Ameen Educational Institutions, he was not merely a relative, but a part of my childhood and youth. We played, learned, and lived alongside one another. To the world, he is revered as the Sir Syed of South India, and as Baba-e-Taalim by Wikipedia; to me, he was simply “Mumtaz Uncle,” and an ever-flowing source of inspiration.
Connections of Influence
In a time before telephones could be summoned by coin or click, one had to wait—sometimes for years—for a line to be sanctioned. Over an evening meal, my father mentioned to Inder Kumar Gujral, then not yet Prime Minister, that he had applied for one. Weeks later, the telephone rang. The simplicity of that moment conceals a network of quiet influence, forged not through ambition but through authentic relationship.
My father’s world included the likes of M. N. Venkatachaliah, the 25th Chief Justice of India; Veerappa Moily; Madhavrao Scindia, with whom he wandered the palaces of Gwalior; Biren Das, the art connoisseur and owner of K. C. Das; and the inimitable Ravi Shankar, sitar maestro and cultural ambassador of India.
These names, often spoken in hushed tones by others, were to us familiar—woven into the fabric of our ordinary days.
A Woman of Grace and Conviction
Among the most radiant influences of my life is my mother, Dr. Taj Jahan Begum. My earliest memory of her work is of her quiet authority as honorary head of a 50-bed hospital in a slum of Bangalore. Her service extended to being a Board of Regents Member at the University of Agricultural Sciences for two terms; Member and Secretary of the Sarvodaya International Trust, founded by Pascal Alan Nazareth (diplomat and brother of Margaret Alva); and Founder Member of the Ford Foundation alongside L. Revannasiddaiah, former police commissioner and politician.
So respected was she that leading figures of the Muslim community—including editors, politicians, and Members of Parliament—nominated her for a seat in Parliament. Yet she declined, holding fast to her father’s counsel that politics is a cruel trade for women. I remember Anil Shastri, son of former Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri, trying to persuade her otherwise. But her resolve was steady, and she remained true to her path of service, unswayed by the corridors of power.
A Legacy Still Unfolding
Historians have, I am told, begun to chronicle both sides of my family’s long and winding tale. I have reached out to some of them, eager to retrieve these threads and weave them again into the broader mosaic. When those books find their way into my hands, I shall share with you what they disclose.
Until then, I offer you these recollections—not as vaunts, nor as sentiment—but as a humble tribute to the lineage that shaped me. These are not mere ancestors, but chapters of a book I am still learning to read. And I, in my own time, am but a footnote—grateful to have been born of such ink and parchment.
Roots Beyond Fame
The discovery of our ancestral link to Tipu Sultan, and the knowledge that our family tree bears the names of several illustrious Khans, did not, I must confess, stir in me the wonder that others might expect. What captivated me more deeply was something subtler and, to my mind, more enduring: both my grandparents—maternal and paternal—were men of cultivated minds and creative spirit. That, more than the glint of royal blood, impelled me to dig beneath the surface of lineage and peer into the loam of memory. What I unearthed, dear reader, is offered in the passages that follow.
The Sword and the Pen: A Maternal Lineage
According to records carefully preserved within our maternal family, our lineage reaches back to the year 1730, beginning with Syed Zainul Abdeen, a military commander who served under Nawab Hyder Ali, and later, from 1765 onwards, under Tipu Sultan, the Tiger of Mysore. His son, Meer Habibulla, would rise to become Tipu Sultan’s personal secretary and chief advisor on affairs of state. In time, he was entrusted with a mission of great delicacy: as ambassador to the court of King Zaman Shah Durrani, the third ruler of Afghanistan, to extend a formal invitation on behalf of His Highness, the Sultan of Mysore.
This same ancestor, my great-great-great-grandfather, now lies interred just twenty feet from Tipu Sultan himself—amidst the graves of the Sultan’s closest confidants and kin—silent testaments to a chapter of history too easily overlooked.
The Blood of Kings and Fruit Merchants
Nawab Hyder Ali was born in Bangarapet, near Kuppam, and his father, Fateh Mohammad, hailed from Kolar, a mere ten kilometres distant. Tipu Sultan bore the full name Syed al-Sharif Fateh Ali, and his father was known as Syed al-Sharif Hyder Ali Nawab. The echoes of nobility, yes, but more stirring to me is the confluence of statesmanship and simplicity in the generations that followed.
My maternal grandfather, Mr Meer Basheer Ahmed Khuraishi, was a man of Mysore—wealthy in land, yet born of a family of fruit merchants. His father was a business partner of Lala Ghulam Sarwar, father of the celebrated Dilip Kumar (born Muhammad Yusuf Khan). After the elder generation passed, my grandfather carried on the partnership with Dilip Kumar’s brother, preserving a legacy not only of trade, but of friendship.
He was a founder member of the Indian National Congress, Secretary of the Chamber of Commerce and Industry, Honorary Magistrate of Mysore, and a Board Member of Krishna Rajendra Hospital. He moved with ease and dignity among the great: the Gandhi family, the Maharajah of Mysore, the eighth Chief Minister of Karnataka D. Devaraj Urs, Basappa Danappa Jatti (fifth Vice-President of India), Sahukar Chennaiah, the Tata family, and nobility from far and wide.
His close companions included Prithviraj Kapoor, patriarch of a dynasty still beloved in Indian cinema; Ifthikar Ahmed, grandfather to Shahrukh Khan; the luminous Meena Kumari (born Mahajabeen Bano); and filmmakers like Kamal Amrohi and K. Asif, whose epics defined an era. Yet amidst all this, he remained a gardener at heart, and proudly held the Rolling Shield for Gardening for many years until his final breath.
Of Timber and Schools: A Paternal Legacy
On my father’s side, C. M. Abdul Gaffar Khan, my paternal grandfather, was a distinguished timber merchant—a man enamoured of the craftsman’s art, particularly that of cabinetmaking. He founded Metro Furnishing House in Bangalore, which for over two decades produced furniture of fine reputation. Upon his passing, my father—a solicitor of admirable clarity—took charge of the business.
But grandfather was also a man of letters and vision. He established Azad High School, the first English Medium School founded by a Muslim in Bangalore, housed on the fifth floor of the now-iconic Shoukath (named after my father) Building on Silver Jubilee Park Road, erected in 1946. It stood as the tallest building in the city then, a local marvel visited by tourists and immortalised on government-issued postcards—regrettably, none of which remain in our possession. Should anyone chance upon one, I would cherish its rediscovery.
He also authored two books—one on faith, the other on economics—both available today in the Central Library at Cubbon Park and in other public repositories of knowledge across the country.
The Sir Syed of the South
One of the most formative figures in my paternal line was Dr. Mumtaz Ahmed Khan, married to my father’s first cousin Zarin Taj. Founder of the Al-Ameen Educational Institutions, he was not merely a relative, but a part of my childhood and youth. We played, learned, and lived alongside one another. To the world, he is revered as the Sir Syed of South India, and as Baba-e-Taalim by Wikipedia; to me, he was simply “Mumtaz Uncle,” and an ever-flowing source of inspiration.
Connections of Influence
In a time before telephones could be summoned by coin or click, one had to wait—sometimes for years—for a line to be sanctioned. Over an evening meal, my father mentioned to Inder Kumar Gujral, then not yet Prime Minister, that he had applied for one. Weeks later, the telephone rang. The simplicity of that moment conceals a network of quiet influence, forged not through ambition but through authentic relationship.
My father’s world included the likes of M. N. Venkatachaliah, the 25th Chief Justice of India; Veerappa Moily; Madhavrao Scindia, with whom he wandered the palaces of Gwalior; Biren Das, the art connoisseur and owner of K. C. Das; and the inimitable Ravi Shankar, sitar maestro and cultural ambassador of India.
These names, often spoken in hushed tones by others, were to us familiar—woven into the fabric of our ordinary days.
A Woman of Grace and Conviction
Among the most radiant influences of my life is my mother, Dr. Taj Jahan Begum. My earliest memory of her work is of her quiet authority as honorary head of a 50-bed hospital in a slum of Bangalore. Her service extended to being a Board of Regents Member at the University of Agricultural Sciences for two terms; Member and Secretary of the Sarvodaya International Trust, founded by Pascal Alan Nazareth (diplomat and brother of Margaret Alva); and Founder Member of the Ford Foundation alongside L. Revannasiddaiah, former police commissioner and politician.
So respected was she that leading figures of the Muslim community—including editors, politicians, and Members of Parliament—nominated her for a seat in Parliament. Yet she declined, holding fast to her father’s counsel that politics is a cruel trade for women. I remember Anil Shastri, son of former Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri, trying to persuade her otherwise. But her resolve was steady, and she remained true to her path of service, unswayed by the corridors of power.
A Legacy Still Unfolding
Historians have, I am told, begun to chronicle both sides of my family’s long and winding tale. I have reached out to some of them, eager to retrieve these threads and weave them again into the broader mosaic. When those books find their way into my hands, I shall share with you what they disclose.
Until then, I offer you these recollections—not as vaunts, nor as sentiment—but as a humble tribute to the lineage that shaped me. These are not mere ancestors, but chapters of a book I am still learning to read. And I, in my own time, am but a footnote—grateful to have been born of such ink and parchment.