Baba, where are you? There are so many people in the centre. Me and my friends are really scared. We are only used to seeing you, Ama and Bajis. I see a lot of people hugging and crying but I don’t know why. Someone said to me that baba is gone but you are never gone. You have been here since the day I came here five years ago. I always found you here whether it was too hot or too cold, you always came for one meal with us. I love eating with you, making you laugh and listening to you. Baba, I’m scared. I don’t know these people. Someone said they are the same people who didn’t accept me when I came to this world but today they are here. Where are you?
Baba, you knew you taught me well. You made me ready for this. Twenty years ago I lost my parents, I never knew them. I just knew that I survived the tragedy but was abandoned by my own. But I never felt like an orphan. I grew up with my other siblings who belonged to different parts of the country. But we all were one big family because we had you. You were our baba. You fed us, brought us up, made us study and trained us to be soldiers in your cause. I remember you trained me to give the final bath to the dead. I didn’t like the job but you told me you did it for almost 200,000 people. I learned from the best. I cleaned them up, all of them. You taught me that there was no difference between the dead. You were right. I couldn’t see a difference among them. Once gone, they Shia, Sunni, Christians, Hindu, Ahmadi – all looked the same to me. Tonight I have to do that one more time. It’s Eid holiday but then again when were we ever off? Tonight is a big test for me. Tonight I’m nervous, my hands are trembling and my body shivers as I held your body for your last bath. Tonight for the first time I see a difference. I see a mixture of peace and worry. You know you have left behind a legacy but there is so much you wanted to do. But I won’t disappoint you tonight, it’s my biggest test but you taught me well.
Baba, thank you for your name! You know what was the most difficult moment of my life? I lived here for the last 18 years, away from the eyes of society, in a place where I was never judged. But you know last month I applied for my NIC and they asked me to fill the form. I filled the form leaving one last section and I kept looking at the section where I was supposed to write Father’s name and I felt helpless. I was holding the paper facing the reality which lay ahead of me when Baji sensed my worry. She took the form, wrote something on it and handed it to the officer. He read it, looked at me and gave me a smile, signed it and handed me my form. Confused, I looked down and in the section it was your name. A sense of satisfaction engulfed me. Baji smiled at me and took out her ID card. It was your name on her card too. We all had a father. We weren’t fatherless. Baba, thank you for giving 35,000 of us, your name!
Baba, I know I’m just another body for you. You don’t know me. I’m not in a position to tell anyway. I have started my journey and there is no return. I wasn’t able to tell you who I was or where I belonged. But then again you never wanted to know, right? You didn’t know what was my religion, my sect, my race and my profession. I have done things in life after which nobody probably wants to touch my body but then again it never bothered you, did it? For you I was a dead body, in need of a burial place right? Let me tell you, there are thousands of us. But we weren’t born evil. Society, circumstances and our choices made us the person we became. But you knew it already, didn’t you? I knew my end but also was aware that if nothing else, I’ll at least get a place to sleep. I knew baba will accept me without asking questions and get me that piece of land which I’ll call my home. So you know from the thousands of us, thank you.
Baba, thank you! You and I go back together. You were already a young man of 21 when I was born. My birth was a bloody phase and left my people in dire need of healing. You took me in. You believed in me, in my pupil. You dreamed of a world where you could reach out to every part of mine and help us heal. I remember the time when you begged for donations for your first ambulance. I remember the conversation you had with me while sleeping on the footpath. You told me about your dreams and you made me promises. You know what? Let me tell you that you did deliver. You made my life less miserable. You saved my children, you gave shelter to my elders, you protected my daughters, you accepted the unwanted, you buried the unknown and you taught us all how to give. You preached one religion, the religion of humanity. You fulfilled the promises you made to me on that cold night of 1951.
Baba, I failed you many times but you never gave up on me. You didn’t question me, you never judged me, you always came to pick up my pieces and heal me again. Baba, tonight I’m shattered again. I’m an orphan again. I’m back again to the time where I was looking for my Messiah. I can’t imagine the day when sun rises tomorrow but let me tell you something, it has been my honour and privilege that God bestowed you upon us. It has been my honour to be known as the country of the greatest humanitarian. The country of the richest poor man! I will try to continue your mission and at the age of 67, I have absolutely no intention of slowing down. Baba, thank you!
The blogger works in social sector with special interest in story telling through visuals. He tweets @manihammad