These days, social media and TikTok are filled with criticism and mockery of the Sharif family. One clip shows Uncle Shahbaz saying, “We are the children of a poor man,” while another features his granddaughter proudly declaring that she is the granddaughter of a millionaire. To me, both statements are true.
I never met Mian Mohammad Sharif personally, but I knew him through his sons—Nawaz and Shahbaz—both of whom were my classmates at Sacred Heart Cathedral School, Regal Chowk, Lahore. They always sat together on the twin-seat bench, and when those were taken, they’d sit with me at the three-seat bench, which was my favorite. They were humble, respectful to their teachers, and kind to classmates, though their closest bond was with each other—a sign of a good upbringing.
Their school bags were always neat, uniforms tidy, and they wrote beautifully in both Urdu and English. Their father, Mian Sharif, personally tutored them in addition to the school’s teaching. That discipline, cleanliness, and humility reflected his values.
But Mian Mohammad Sharif was more than a father—he was a silent patriot. In the early days of Pakistan’s independence, during the 1948 war over Kashmir, Pakistan faced a severe shortage of arms since most depots were left in India. Mian Sharif of Lahore and Muhammad Din of Gujranwala, both running cast iron foundries, stepped in. They molded grenades and supplied them to the Pakistan Army at a critical time.
Later, when General Ayub Khan became President and reviewed past army operations, an investigation revealed this unbilled yet vital arms supply. It was then that Mian Sharif came to light. In recognition, ventures like Batala Steel and others were granted to him, paving the way for the Sharif family’s rise in wealth. The family moved to St. Anthony’s area on Lawrence Road, joined Aitchison College, and became known as a family of means.
Despite this success, I remember how Nawaz Sharif remained generous. Many of our classmates who fell on hard times approached him for help—and he never turned them away.
Let us not forget that part of the Kashmir we hold today is due, in no small part, to Mian Sharif’s silent service. He never sought recognition, never claimed a medal, never boasted about his contribution. I still recall Nawaz singing Tahira Syed’s “Abhi to main jawan hoon” in our tenth-grade classroom—a fond memory of simpler times.
Mian Mohammad Sharif was once a common man, later a millionaire—but always a silent Mujahid. May Allah bless his soul and grant us more such selfless patriots.