As I stand holding a stick in my hand, I am reminded of the quiet, enduring role canes have played throughout my life. To hold a stick is to hold one of humanity’s oldest companions. Long before metal was forged or stone was knapped into refined tools, the humble branch was our species’ very first technology.
Nearly half a million years ago, our ancient ancestors relied on fire-hardened wooden sticks to dig for sustenance, defend against predators, and navigate rugged terrain. Over millennia, as societies evolved, this primitive tool transformed into the shepherd’s staff, the traveler’s emblem, the royal scepter, and eventually, the classic gentleman’s walking cane—a timeless symbol of dignity, authority, and age-old wisdom.
For me, however, the stick was first an instrument of schoolyard discipline and fear. Growing up, I was no stranger to the sharp sting of a cane, courtesy of my teachers. One particular incident that still makes me shudder occurred when Molvi Noor u Din, my Class 7 teacher at Islamia High School, reprimanded me for being late to attend Namaz Zohar at Jama Masjid. The memory of being caned and fainting for hours still lingers in my mind.
As I grew older, my encounters with sticks continued in different forms. During my college days at S. P. College in 1964, my friend Saleem and I were stopped by an Assistant Sub-Inspector from the Khotibagh police station for cycling double-seat. The officer, in his dirty uniform and matching turban, wielded a cane threateningly and insisted on taking us in. Although I managed to escape the blow, Saleem was not so lucky.
Fortunately, my father’s friend, the late Mr. G. M. Hafiz—who was serving as an Inspector at the station—intervened and reprimanded the ASI, saving us from further trouble. He kindly entertained us inside the station with hot tea and ginger biscuits, specially brought from Lal Sheikh and Sons, the famous bakers of that era. That warm gesture not only soothed our frayed nerves but also left an indelible impression on us.
Yet, it is not just the haunting memories of youth that make me reach for a stick today. In modern-day Srinagar, with the rising population of stray dogs, carrying a stick has become an essential precaution for early morning walkers like me. Just as it protected ancient humans from wild beasts, it remains a reliable line of defense today. I recall a close encounter on the Kashmir University campus when a pack of dogs suddenly ambushed me; thankfully, my umbrella saved me that morning, prompting me to promptly order a sturdy stick for future protection.
Most recently, however, my relationship with the stick took on its most vital meaning yet. Two years ago, a severe bout of vertigo suddenly struck, threatening to strip away my sense of stability and independence. The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet, making even simple movements an ordeal. Recovering from that ordeal was a long, patient journey. Reaching for my stick once again became my salvation—a true lifeline that restored my equilibrium, allowing me to handle my balance both while traveling and within the quiet comfort of my home.
Now, in this seasoned chapter of life, the stick has come full circle. For the elderly, it is far more than a defense against stray animals or a simple walking aid; it is a confidence booster, a balance maintainer, and a silent, reliable partner for every step forward.
As I look back on my journey while resting my hand upon it, I realize this stick connects me to an ancient human legacy. It stands as a quiet testament to the discipline of my youth, the warmth of old friendships, the physical resilience regained after illness, and the enduring balance of a life well-lived.
(The author is a former civil servant from the administrative service. Email: [email protected])
