Daily Times

“Every soul shall have a taste of death,” Al-Quran 3:185. Being Muslim, that is our belief that we shall return to Allah. I would like to share mine and lots of other people’s common situation on this Eid which is that of facing a big loss of losing my father to tuberculosis.

On this Eid, I feel a sense of loss and extreme pain. The time settles each wound. But it doesn’t rectify when they are of your own blood. Dear father, it is the first Eid I am celebrating without you. Times have turned into months, yet the chairs that you left behind are as dark as the pall of sadness that sloped few months ago. Every curve in your house makes me feel your existence. It looks as if you are yet to wake up to have a date with death, just beside me in my room! That abode of sleep from where you woke up to sleep for ever. Life is going on, but your death is hard to believe. Your remembrances haunt me every moment. I remember you when people praise their zones and there is none to make noise about this empty vessel. Small stints at success, since you left have gone unnoticed and unrecognized. There is nobody to pat my back. This recluse son of yours can’t narrate his marksmanship, for the audience is not as encouraging as you.

My acquaintances though remember you for your naivety; I cannot forget you for your shrewdness to foresee what those mind full people can’t see in this money-minded world. I curse myself for trying to tutor you to come to terms with this world where even sympathies are bargained. While you would greet every passerby from the maddening crowd as if you knew him for years. I feel bankrupt in paying respects to people in the same manner as I can’t match your benevolence. On the eve of Eid, it’s hard to escape your memory for there’s none to keep entertaining us until my mother finishes her Eid prayers. On this Eid, how can I be rest assured that the purifying dues have been paid in advance? And who would be there to tease me, if I remembered paying dues before prayers. Nobody would accompany me in watching my Eid bulletin and there would be none to assemble the relatives. I am still running that mad race which may keep my pocket loaded but can’t bring my Eidi back. The Eidi you gave me low on count and high on blessings. At home, my mother would try her best but won’t be as hospitable as you towards our guests. I can’t help but be nostalgic when people familiar to your demeanours give me a cold stare, maybe linking my “mind your own business” boldness to your “please all” protocols. Lost as I may seem to be in my routine work, can’t forget what I owe you. I don’t care a fig if people fail to register the sense of deprival in me, for I’m possessive about my memories of the person who gave me all that I possess in life. I’ve a dream of making his dream come true. For that I must keep going and this Eid along with its rich memories reinforces my resolve to bring that all for my family, which my father laboured all his life and ended up without seeing himself through. I believe therefore you are, somewhere around watching me, I want to have your blessings as my Eidi. Send them so that on this day, I’m not found short of all that matters for those who know what parting of their dear ones means. Dear father! Your loss! Oh! A big difference to me!

The writer can be reached at fayyazashfaq@yahoo.com