Goodbye Uncle Samad: May you rest in peace!

Lt. Col (retd.) Samad Mir was one of the many ‘uncles’ that used to throng our home during the late sixties to mid-seventies, a time when my late father was actively involved in Pakistan’s boxing arena. In the evenings, following a rigorous training at the Railway Stadium, Lahore, a number of charges under the tutelage of my late father, who coached Pakistan Railways team, would throng our humble yet spacious abode. For us kids all of these young, and some not very young, athletes were ‘uncles’ as we served them with ‘nimoo pani’ and other condiments during their post-training assembly at our house.

As I pen these lines a number of names come to mind: there was ‘monchon walay uncle’ a super-heavy-weight boxer with huge moustaches (never knew his real name); Uncle Richard Clement who went on to win a bronze medal in 1974 Asian Games; uncle Wasim, Uncle Waheed Mir (elder brother of Col. Samad Mir) and of course Uncle Samad Mir.

My first recollection of Uncle Samad Mir in our house on Up-Cott lane in the Railway Colony near Garhi Shahu Bridge, is as vivid as the day I met him for the first time. He as tall, dark, and had a crew-cut; a trade-mark that he would carry throughout his life. No one could tell that he hailed from a Kashmiri family; unlike his ilk uncle Samad was darker and looked more like a Makrani than a Kashmiri. He was the youngest of the lot and had an aura about him as if he knew that he was destined for bigger and better things in life than most of the plebeian that he was rubbing shoulders with.

Col. Samad being the youngest of all the uncles was our favorite and therefore the brief time we spent with him is still nestled in the folds of my memory. I remember a sand-bag (punching bag) used to hang from our ‘jaman’ tree in our lawn. Uncle Samad would ask myself and my brother to put on the punching gloves and taught us the basics of the boxing: one, one-two. We saw uncle Samad box in a number of bouts and no matter who the opponent was, he would just breeze through the rounds with utmost ease and grace and we never saw him loose a single bout. But then, the life went on, uncle Samad became a big name in boxing and moved on. And that was the last I remember of him before I caught up with him in July 2003; after a gap of almost thirty three years.

With the exception of grey hair and a cigarette in his mouth, uncle Samad hardly looked any different. He still wore the same crew cut that was his trademark in his early days. He looked as young, if not younger, and remarkably fit for a man of his age. He spoke like a true champion and soldier that he was. A brief discussion ensure following the exchange of the pleasantries. Following are the excerpts of our conversation:

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Born to Abdullah and Sakina Mir, Samad Mir, the youngest among five brothers, was a darling of his family, especially of his mother, whom he considered his first and only true love. At the age of 10, Samad, under the tutelage of his elder brother Majeed Mir, found himself in the ring at the Griffin Institute, Lahore searching for his first win as an amateur boxer. That was the beginning of his illustrious career that would span over 17 years. He was declared the best boxer in his inaugural appearance in the Griffin Challenge Belt.

Griffin would witness the maestro getting into the habit of winning for the next 10 years. In the sixties, school level boxing was dominated by the Don Bosco High School, Lahore. To Don Basco misfortune, Samad ended up in Islamia High School and was subsequently nominated captain of the Islamia High School, Khazana Gate, in 1963. Islamia High School was never known for its boxing prowess, however, that year it won the Inter-Schools Boxing Championship, ending Don Bosco’s dominance in the sport.

Samad was proud to mention that the headmaster, Sultan Mahmood, out of sheer excitement, declared the next day off in honor of the winning team.

From Islamia High School, Samad moved on to Islamia College, Railway Road, Lahore. However, his habit of winning stayed with him. He won the Inter-Collegiate Championships for three consecutive years and was picked up for Pakistan Olympics in Dhaka, where he was declared the best boxer of the tournament.

By then Samad had established himself as a champion pugilist and it was no surprise that he was selected to represent Pakistan in the 1968 Mexico Olympics. It was a small boxing contingent comprising of two boxers, Siddique Kamrani of Karachi being the other. Chief Petty Officer of the navy, Abdul Khaliq, was the reserve player.

To their misfortune, the young men would see their dream to represent Pakistan in the Olympics come to an abrupt end, just two weeks prior to their scheduled departure, thanks to a tug-of-war between the then Pakistan Boxing Federation chief and the Education Ministry, that governed sporting activities in the country in those days.

The Federation’s chief was denied permission to accompany the team by the Ministry of Education and out of spite the Federation Chief declared that none of the boxers selected for the tour were fit enough and the PBF would, therefore, not send their contingent to Mexico. “It was the darkest moment of my boxing career” remarked Samad sadly.

But Samad remained focused on bigger and better things. By then he had his life figured out. He knew what he wanted out of life: to be a champion boxer, a career in the army and martyrdom. He even had, with the approval of his mother, selected the names of his children to be, 10 years prior to his marriage.

Except for Shahadat (martyrdom), that he longed for, he managed to achieve everything that he had set out to!

In 1970, he was declared the best boxer in the National Games in Karachi, and from there he was picked to represent Pakistan in the Asian Boxing Championship, to be held the same year.

It was in that tournament that Samad created history and made Pakistan proud of its son. Pakistan had, prior to 1970, never won a medal in the first eight weight categories. Competition in those categories was tougher compared to the middle, light heavy and heavyweight categories: the traditional medal earning categories for Pakistani boxers. No one expected a medal in the lighter weight categories, but Samad proved everyone wrong.

He became the first Pakistani boxer to win a gold medal. And, to top it off, he was declared the “Most Scientific Boxer” of Asia; an honor never bestowed upon any Pakistani boxer to date.

Following his unbelievable performance in the championship, he found himself representing Pakistan in the 9th Commonwealth Games the same year. The tournament would elevate his status from being a promising young boxer to the amateur boxing world’s favorite son.

He was pitched against two of the best fighters participating in the tournament: an Olympian by the name of Philip from Kenya and Steve, who had recently won the Best African Boxer’s title. His first fight was with Steve. The Scottish press dubbed their encounter as “The Clash of the Continents”. BBC aired their individual sparring sessions three days in a row before the scheduled bout. Such was the hype built around the bout that both the Queen and her husband witnessed the fight in person.

About 20 seconds before the end of the second round, Samad fractured his right hand. However, that did not stop him from defeating Steve comprehensively. A 5-0 decision in his favor meant that he would be meeting Bryan Kendall of New Zealand in the next round. Steve and Samad’s bout was declared the best fight of the tournament.

Samad came out the next day all charged up, knowing well that he had only one effective hand to play out three rounds. The opponent knew it and so did the spectators, the referee and judges as well.

The result was no surprise; Kendal was no match to Samad, with or without the help of his right hand. The decision was 5-0 in Samad’s favor. However, his quest for a gold medal ended there. His courage and determination could not help slow down the swelling of his hand and he found it difficult to put on the glove even without the protective bandage. He had no choice but to forfeit the next game and end up with a bronze medal.

Regarding his desires of becoming a boxer, a soldier and a martyr, he said: I inherited it from my father; he was a much respected amateur wrestler in Amritsar, was active in the Pakistan movement and was appointed the Salar for the city at the time of partition to oversee the arrangements for safe passage for Muslims travelling to Pakistan. “I wanted to be a sportsman like my father and opted to box. I wanted to protect my father’s Pakistan so I became a soldier and I wanted to lay down my life for my country so I yearned for Shahadat.”

He remained active in boxing even after joining Pakistan Army and had the honor of being the first Commissioned Officer to represent Pakistan Army in National Games. He was declared best boxer for three consecutive years and finally in 1975 he hung up his gloves and took upon the role of a mentor and a coach. He proudly told me that as much 107 medal were won in the international arena by his protégés and similar numbers if not more in the national events.
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I met uncle Samad a week later, when I visited his house to return the photographs I had borrowed for the article that I wrote on him. It was almost dinner time, and he insisted that my wife and I must taste beef ‘payay’ (feet) that was a specialty in their household, despite the fact that neither of us fancied beef feet, we both had a bowl each! The last time I talked to him was on the phone, on August 14th, 2003 when he finally received the Presidential Pride of Performance award for which he had been nominated four times but was never considered. He thanked me for highlighting the issue. That was the last we spoke. The rigmaroles of life took me in different direction and it was only recently that I read about his sad demise in a newspaper. It is rather unfortunate that the rigors of modern-day life deprive one to stay in touch with people who really matter!

His parting response to my query in July 2003 was: “[I am] Suffering peacefully”. As I recall the ever smiling uncle Samad, all I can say, “Rest peacefully, Uncle Samad”