Experimented Narration

As narrated by one my guy friend who supposedly likes staying away from girls -
 
I was late for office and was standing at the fuel station awaiting my turn. Standing ahead of me was what looked like a female figure. Yes, it’s her that I have to tell you about. Right now even if I try to visualize her I don’t really remember what she was wearing or how she looked. All I remember is standing behind a black Activa whose rider was a girl who wore a big helmet. There were two people ahead of her in the queue. I looked at my watch and wished this girl would disappear. I hate standing behind girls in any queue. They take a lot of time at most of such places. Three guys in a row would take lesser time for withdrawing cash from an ATM machine than a single girl would take.
 
While I was cursing this girl for standing ahead of me, I noticed she had an Accenture parking sticker. It didn’t excite me or anything because you know like you and me almost every tenth person in Bangalore works for Accenture. When her turn came, she was done in about 40 seconds and I stood there surprised by her swiftness. The guy behind me honked and I moved forward. She had intrigued me so I decided to follow her. She hadn't gone far and it was not difficult to catch up. I stayed right behind her until the Accenture main gate, parking and elevator. Something about her kept me interested all this while. It was her swiftness and ease. It took her seconds to identify the perfect parking spot, get rid of her helmet and walk towards the elevator.  I parked a few blocks away from her and ran towards the elevator. I had to see her face. When the elevator door opened she walked in along with me and other two people. I saw her, she had an average appearance. Not that it mattered or anything, as I was hardly looking for any possible infatuations. I was simply intrigued and I wanted to know her. I noticed what floor button she pushed and waited. I also peeked at her access card and made a note her name in my mind. I didn't know what to do next. You know I have never tried to follow or stalk a girl before. I wished her phone, wallet or keys fall down and she forgets them there and then I call her and give it to her and she promises me a coffee in return. But nothing of that sort happened. The elevator door opened  at 4th floor and she walked out with the same grace. I pretended to look at my phone because I thought she looked back for a moment. Did she know that I was following her?
 
By this time I was feeling very weird. You know me; I am not one of those guys who go drooling over girls. I keep my distance from girls, I mean apart from a few like you who are my friends. Now please don’t give me that 'you are such a sexist' look. I have nothing against girls. I just can’t understand their species, they seem different creatures to me. I find them complicated and over emotional. Also they are weak and we need to do all the hefty stuff for them. OK, I think that's a little harsh but trust me it’s not that I don’t like girls. I like you, I like Simi. Actually I am not sure about Simi. Sometimes she just makes a lot of fuss about things. Like she freaks out when her manager asks her to work on Saturday. I mean its ok, everyone has to extend at times but when she is asked to do that she keeps cribbing about it all day. You also do it sometimes, I mean you don’t crib and all but you try to prove yourself right all the time and when someone doesn’t agree with you, you don’t give up. You keep trying until you convince them. You know sometimes people don’t really agree with you. They just say it because they want you to stop. But then if I tell you all this you won’t be upset with me. That’s what I like about you.
 
Okay so about the girl. Her name on the card was Meenakshi Madhav. I searched for her on the people profile and found details about her team, her technical domain and other uninteresting stuff like that. Next, I searched her on Facebook using filters like Accenture, Bangalore etc. For someone who is new to stalking I was doing pretty good cause I found her profile. I saw her public posts, pictures etc. Again I was at the same stage not knowing what to do next. It gave very little information about her. Then I got busy with work and forgot about her. During the bed time thoughts session I tried to analyze about her with things I already knew. She rode to office on her Activa. That meant she either belonged to Bangalore or married. Yes I am pretty sure of that because if she was like Simi who is single and an outsider, she would have blown up all her salary in buying those over expensive shoes and bags from the mall. Such girls would shell out two hundred rupees to the rickshaw Anna on weekends but would never invest in buying something as sensible as a two wheeler. Or may be Meenakshi has a husband who got her that Activa or she's probably living here with her family and the same Activa is being used by her mom, her sisters and her father occasionally when he doesn’t want to take out the big car. How could I find out which of these was true.
 
I almost forgot about her in the following weeks with the increasing workload. I saw her couple of times in the cafeteria. On one of these occasions she was wearing an off white cotton saree for some ethnic day celebration. She looked prettier than usual. Don’t mistake this for me getting attracted to her or anything. I had the least of any such intentions. Also at this point, I had been beginning to think that she should be married. You know she wore those long earing. Girls usually start dressing like that once they get married. It’s like they want to show everyone that they look different than earlier. I personally think they look gaudier. Not you of course, you look just the same. Nobody would know you are married. Do you do it deliberately by any chance? Also, Meenakshi even though she wears those long earing she doesn’t look gaudy, I think they suit her well. What! Don’t look at me like that; it’s not that I have fallen for her or anything. Come on, every guy has an eye for beauty.
 
Two days back when I was leaving for home I saw her in the parking. I started riding behind the black Activa and the big helmet. I stayed behind her following her lane admiring the way she was careful and quick at the same time in that terrible Bangalore traffic. She took a turn in one of the less crowded roads of HAL and I knew I had to be careful now or she would notice me. She took another left to an almost empty lane. I stopped there and waited to check which turn she would take. But she stopped right before the cut in front of a big gate. She killed the engine of her Activa but she wasn't going inside. Unsure of what to do next, I carefully moved a little forward in her direction when I saw a big car coming outside of the gate. A middle aged lady who looked like her mom came out from the car and gave her the house keys. On the driver seat was probably her father. 'She lives with her family' I almost yelled in my mind.
 
Yesterday, I gathered up the courage and sent her a friend request on Facebook. Let’s see what happens next. But just to make myself clear, you don’t get any wrong ideas. I am not into her or anything of that sort. Okay you are probably getting late that's all I had to tell you. Oh and by the way if you want to see her come to the cafeteria tomorrow between 4 to 4.45 pm. She comes for tea between that time every day.
 

Life in full circles

                                                                                      
*The circle of thought*

For those, like me who think a lot -- What is simple is obvious, but in our need to be different from others, we like complex things or complicating things. After a while the complexities in our mind entangle within themselves and we need to unravel them to maintain our sanity. It is then that we reach a point where we tend to move backward - from where it all started. In this reverse journey we realize the joy of simplicity. This rewarding experience of discovering that all the complexities in your mind can be solved by thinking simple thoughts is only for those, like me who take the efforts of complicating things.
 

*The circle of living*

If life is a journey, then there has to be a destination. If there is a destination then it has to be definite. If we reach that destination, the journey of life has to end. Wouldn't that mean death? If a journey ends at it's destination, does life end at death? Is death the only way that life ends or does it end even when we stop living it?
 

*The circle of optimism*

Hope is a beautiful word. We see dreams and desire things that we might not deserve. Yet we take risks and indulge in winning them. Soon we realize that failure is just as far as our threshold of giving up. This failure breaks us down, but we survive with the hope of living again. Heartbroken, we try to put back the remaining pieces together. Deep down inside we know, we will need them again someday. It is this anticipation of the unknown future that helps us conquer the past disappointment. Before we know we are back in the game. And then we see a dream again. Hope is indeed a beautiful word.
 

Imaginations Alive

Imaginations of an insanely romantic heart-


Ye mausam ye raat chup hai
Ye hothon ki baat chup hai
Khamoshi sunane lagi hai daastan
Nazar ban gayi hai, dil ki zubaan.

Sitting at an arms distance from you on a four feet bench, I felt tongue tied. You talked about random things for a while to overcome the awkwardness. Overwhelmed by your presence around me I was delving deep into the joy of the moment. No matter how intensely, I wanted to convey my feelings , I just could not speak out. Just about when it was time for me to leave, you quit your endeavors and relaxed. I looked at you and you looked into my eyes. Your gaze focused on my eyes as if it were searching for a sign . You sight reached the point where your eyes penetrated my soul. It was then that I saw something shining in them. It was my reflection. My eyes smiled as I knew my feelings had found a carrier. It was love in the air.



Har mulaaqaat ka anjaam judai kyun hai
Ab toh har waqt yahi baat satati hai humein

It was the third time that my phone rang. We sat on a different bench this time. I knew I was horribly late and I would have to make up a zillion stories explaining myself later. I cursed the technology for making me so easily reachable to people when the only person that I wanted to be with was in my reach. 'You were saying something' I said disconnecting the call ( astonished at my own courage). You seemed happy at my action and continued telling me about how you felt about the institution of marriage. I was nodding in agreement and imagining how blissful our marriage could be. Life could be as beautiful and blessed like the past two hours that I had been spending with you.'Do you know how beautiful you are' you said as you caught me staring into void occupied with my futuristic optimism. 'What!' I said, though I had heard it good enough. 'You are very beautiful' you repeated looking straight into my eyes. At that, my cheeks turned red and knees went weak. I felt like I was floating in the air engulfed between the dark pink clouds. My trembling hand wanted to hold yours to find the strength. But before the courage to do that could reach my frail hand, the network transmissions reached me. My phone rang again! With you, time flew.

Diary pages

As random as they can be, I am flooded by your memories every day. I hear the crass sound of wood polishing on warm Sunday afternoons. I remember those two wooden armchairs in the main hall of Ahmed Manzil. You would rub them off with sand paper to polish them. I remember the smell of those brown discarded papers and the dust fallen around the chairs. Smell of polish connects me to yet another memory - shoe polishing. Under the wooden table, they were fashionably placed, like the display on a shop. Black, brown and white shoe polish tins, three polish brushes and a dusting cloth. Two of those brush to be used with black and brown polishes and one with scarce hair to wipe them off after polish. This one gave a graceful shine to the shoes, you would insist, as we all would sit down preparing for school next day. Shoe polishing would be a dedicated affair on Sunday nights which was accompanied by ironing school uniforms.
 
Sunday was undoubtedly my favorite day of the week. It started for us from Saturday evenings, when the five of us were allowed to sleep together on the ground floor in the main hall. I remember the rugs being laid and the beds being made for Saturday night. All geared up, our main attraction would be the movie that was shown on Doordarshan at night. You would sleep early which was evident when you snored and we kids giggled quietly till 12.30 until the movie would get over. I never remember getting up before 9 next Sunday. I would sleep until pappa came down and woke me up. He would be upset- why do you let the kids sleep till so late. Ammi would meekly try to protest saying we are kids and you would just smile from behind the newspaper. I have memories of waking up to see you sitting on the edge of your bed, dressed in a Tshirt and white pants, your sports shoes still on after the jog and the Sunday Times copy in your hand. I remember having the 4 pm tea and rusks with all doors and windows closed creating the ambience while watching the daily soap 'Kahin kisi roz'.
 
Ramzan would be the most special month of the year. It reminds me of the keema samosas and rooh afza sherbat.'10 minute baki haiiinnn' you would announce as we all sat surrounding the dashtar khan with delicacies served before us. Mummy, Ammi, Chachi, baji would be rushing in and out of the kitchen with plates of hot bhajiya. I remember standing on my toes in the balcony on the second floor outside chachi's kitchen to peek a view of the eidgah ground. It was an exquisite sight to watch hundreds of men bowing down in unison for the eid namaz. As soon as the namaz was over we would rush down to the ground floor and wait for you. Even before the eid hug was complete your hand rushed to your pocket for Eidi.
 
I have another uncomfortable memory of trying to learn 'tasdi'. When I made every possible excuse to avoid the Maulana, you had said firmly 'Unless you learn tasdi you will never be able to progress from siparah to Quran'. Months later, I had finally managed to grasp it and finish the Quran. I also remember the summer vacations when you woke us up early and took us along with you for morning jogs. This would be a total 10 km walk up to the fort. I still remember those four dictionaries kept under the table that you would encourage me to use whenever I asked you for the meaning of a word.

I visualize you sitting down on a mat, bent on the wooden desk box, writing furiously. The wooden desk box would be full of stationery-  pens, foolscap paper bunches, stamp pad, inland letters, postal stamps, paper pins, postcards, royal blue ink pot, a wooden ruler and some of your pension rule books, all of which was out of bound for us. But when we grew up, I remember you would call me and ask me to read one of the letters you had written to some minister about a social issue. I would feel privileged.
 
Your room still reminisces of your memories. Nobody has touched a thing there just the way you liked it. T-shirts are lined up on the hangers. The books are lying lifeless on the corner of the table. Your prayer rug has been untouched. The white mosquito net has been half undone, the way you had left it. A torch and a woolen cap are tucked down under sides of your pillow and the folded blanket lies neatly on your bed. There is also a letter, the last one written by you still lying there on the table. A blue sealed envelope addressed to the chief minister. I lie down on your bed for a while and capture this picture. In a parallel universe, you read this and smile.
 
 

Trying ouT

Just checking if I can still write poetry :) An earnest attempt!

Following the tune of heart

We made a beautiful start

Time was running out of hand

Laughing, fighting, loving

A lifetime passed away

And here we are at distant land

As fortune had its way

Life plays a game with us

They call it hide and seek

When we have found a little happiness

We’re deceived by greed

Cause love is insatiable

It keeps asking for more

The overflowing abundance of affection

That once you had shown

Somewhere I wish I could store

I would open up that treasure

When you are not near

So many smiles lighting up my day

So many memories coming up my way

A lump in my throat, a silent tear

And though we stay miles apart

Somehow you have become my prayer’s part

And that is where you reside

Let the destiny decide

How long would you stay in this heart!


PS: This poem is a pure work of fiction; any resemblance to living or dead is purely coincidental. The gloomy and sentimental touch was inevitable, I somehow cannot write poetry without that.

In a fix

   

It was a bad start of the week for me. Monday morning, I gave up on a long standing debate, agreeing that I was wrong, and everyone else was right. The match was fixed or to put it in my colleague's words the entire ICC tournament, IPL, world cup 2011 or any other cricket match after 2000 had been fixed. This debate had started as a discussion few months when someone in the office had sent out an email with title “IPL schedule 2013”. And since then, every day when we all sat in the office cafeteria having tea, the common topics were cricket, BCCI, IPL, MSD and fixing! What followed was a series heated discussions over how much the game has changed in the past decade. These were a bunch of guys passionate about the game cherishing its past glory and condemning the current sad state of affairs that it had got into. I was way behind in the knowledge that they had for the game, but that did not discourage me in defending my point any less, that “not all matches are fixed.”

My obsession for cricket started from a young age and had reached its par during the International Cricket World Cup 1999. I have vivid memories of this tournament which was held in summer of 99. While team India could barely make it to super six (acquiring the last position), it was team South Africa that I had set my eyes on. Not only was I fascinated by the way they played; I felt a strange kind of connection with their players or one player for that matter. Having enormous admiration for Lance Klusener, he was my hero. And in the semifinal match against Australia, when he took that run (that he could never finish) and ran half way through the pitch (with 2 deliveries left in hand), I actually cried like a baby and my sisters laughed. Bill lawry's voice was announcing hysterically, "Donald did not go, Klusener came - what a disapponting end for South Africa". It was that day that I learnt, and instantly dreaded, the concept of 'net rate' that led Australia to the finals despite of the tie that the match had ended on.

I had spent the next 2 days mourning on the loss of my favorite team and player and cursing Alan Donald for not reacting faster. Having no interest left in who wins the finals, my only consolation was when my sister called out and said “Look, Klusener won the man of the series award!”

The following year, in 2000 Cricket fans were disappointed with a revelation that hit the news. Hansie Cronje, the South African captain was charged for 'match fixing'. “What is match fixing?” I had asked my grandfather when I read the news headline on the last page of a Times of India copy that he was reading. He turned the newspaper over, read the news and looked at me, “He had taken money to lose the match”, he explained. “But he would get money even when he wins, right?” I asked. To which he had made a long face and said “Not as much as he's getting paid for not winning it. They have corrupted the game,” he declared “There's no point in watching these matches now.”

I can still recall the disappointment that I had felt. I was 11 year old struggling to understand what exactly was corruption and how could it affect a game that I loved so much.

I don’t have a lot of memories associated with cricket after that. Years later, I got fascinated and involved in the game again because of a 6 feet 2 inches tall guy who had hit a 119 meters Six to Brett Lee's delivery. His name was Yuvraj Singh :). It was in the same 20-20 tournament that he had hit those 6 sixes in an over. In the years to follow team India had acquired some real good players and a captain who had his head in his place, Mahendra Singh Dhoni (MSD). What I really admired about MSD was his composure on the field and the consistency with which he maintained it. Being mere spectators of the game, and not understanding the detailed technicalities of it, you could still count on MSD that he would get through somehow, no matter what the situation. But my open appreciation for MSD often clashed with skeptical remarks from his critics who claim that MSD is just one lucky guy who was came in time when team India was already at its best. And every time I hear this remark, I remember that dialogue from movie Chak De India 'Achhe players ki hi kismet achhi hoti hai' (Good players earn good fortune).

In a very recent incident, they talked about Dhoni's assets and his shares in a sport company questioning his involvement in the fixing scams and his integrity. The hide and seek game between scams and celebrity being so common these days, the average public react to it for one day and forget it the next day. But this was about cricket. In a country like India where cricket is being followed like a religion, Sachin is addressed as god and an India-Pakistan match is considered like a festival!

Despite all the rational logics, human brain sees and perceives only what it likes. And I liked cricket- to the point where I had shut my brains to avoid the cynics and their remarks that every match was fixed.

But unfortunately I had an eye opening moment. In the recent ICC finals against England, MSD gave Ishant Sharma to bowl the 18th over (with the risk of overlooking his pathetic economic rate) and like a prodigal son who had returned back home to make daddy proud, he took those two major wickets. It doesn’t take a brain with folds as many as Einstein’s, to realize the fact; the one fact that stared right into my eye— it was scripted.

And if at that moment my brain would have had any counter arguments, I would have laughed at myself for supporting a baseless assumption for so long.

Things that make me happy

Since my last post I had been trying to finish another post which was about those 3 people I have come across in my life, who never lie. But somehow it got too serious and is still waiting for a decent conclusion. I believe that you should never finish something with a half heart if you feel strongly about it, so I parked it for the right time to finish. And while I was waiting for the necessary inspiration to finish that post, I came across a random blog which inspired me to write this one. So here goes this one on a lighter note about a simple entity, happiness. 'So are you happy'. Again, is this a question, a sarcastic enquiry, a genuine concern or just a conversation starter, it is one of those typical questions people dont want to answer. The time of the day that i spend alone i keep asking myself the question that I dread others asking me 'Are you happy'! So the other day when i read this random blog about someone making a list of things that make them happy, I felt this was a brilliant idea to redirect my thinking time to something better. And the question in my mind changed from 'Am I happy' to 'what makes me happy', and it made me happy to figure out that a lot of things make me happy :). So here goes the list:

-- 1 Food: I live to eat and not the other way round! I might look lean but i drool on food like that working bee in the bee hive game. Most of the times i do not finish everything on my plate.Nevertheless, my taste buds yearn for delicacies from those chicken shreds in the kathi roll to the last sip of coke sucked from between the chilled ice making noises that make heads turn. Unsure if it would taste as good as it looks, but I buy that green jelly from adigas cause I love its color. My tongue goes like a pendulum thinking about the Rasrang's misal from my home town and the vada pav that khanna used to get from somewhere near Juhu beach. My craving for tender coconut ice cream from natural's always wins against my vulnerability to throat infection due to cold. The urge goes from my olfactory senses to my mind and hypnotizes me to stand in the queue of the popcorn counter, even if that means i miss the beginning of a movie. Its the sweet love of very vanilla latte that makes me go 6 kms for a cup of coffee at Gloria jeans. Well, food, my first love! May be i should write a different post altogether for my love of food. Moving on..

-- 2 Family: They never give up on you. My family is the most fortunate thing I got. I was born lucky coz i was born in this household :) They have brought me up in the best possible way. From a rebel refusing to follow the codes of society to a groomed settled woman they have done a great job in making me!

-- 3 Music: Yes the taste has changed, developed, modified and groomed. The passion for music has been passed on through the genes from my dad. So my love for Mohammad Rafi, Kishore kumar,
Mukesh would never fade. The melody of 'Ye ratein ye mausam nadi ka kinara' has been etched in my heart. I still remember, I was nine when i memorized my first favorite song 'wo jab yaad aye' (from a sixties, black n white movie, parasmani ) by listening to it repeatedly over my grandfather's tape recorder. Even today music lifts my spirit like the dying king who comes to life after hearing the nightingale sing. Every time I hear a new well composed melody with the perfect matching lyrics, my heart leaps with joy with praise for the artists on making something so beautiful. The peace and joy that music brings always feels like home. Hats off to the artists that include Javed Ali, Rahman sir, Falak Shabbir and Pritam from wherever he copies his music (nakal ke liye bhi akal chahiye :D )

-- 4 Friendships: Its difficult to name them and write down how much my friends have a part in my happiness. I feel proud of having a bunch of mates, who have lent me their support, affection, attention, time and money when needed :D. Blessed to have them all.

-- 5 Tea: With just the right blend of taste and company. Life's bliss!

--6 Technology: With around 64 apps downloaded on my phone, I still spend time making an extensive search on the android play store every week to check if there's something new that has hit the charts. Technology makes life magical.

-- 7 Mirror: Well, this one is a weak spot I am not proud of. But almost everyone who knows me knows my weakness for getting stuck in front of the mirror every now and then. I have been caught staring at the mirror at the most weird places including those aligned above the vegetables in big bazar to the reflecting doors in the office elevators.

-- 8 Sisters: For being such great companions. Arshi for sticking to me like fevicol all these years (ye deewar toot ti kyu nahi :D) and for giving me another home in Kondhwa. Oh, how I look forward to coming to those lanes again! Api, for never being happy with my small achievements, always making me outperform to make her happy. And others S,A,S,M,S who are not related to me through blood, but have been through my thick and thin like family.

-- 9 Zaki and Jazaa: My cute little adorable nephew and niece (my chotu and choti :)). You have filled our homes with newer joys. Finally someone younger than me in the family. I dont mind being called aunty by kids as cute as you two (Like I have an option :P).

-- 10 Money (in my bank account (Mind you, the content in the brackets sometimes holds highest importance)) :D . This one may sound a little materialistic, but money (in my bank acc, there you go again :)) thrills me.

-- 11 WWW: The internet for being so resourceful, always!

-- 12 Book/Books: Growing up reading 'little women' over and over again, my love for good books has never outgrown. I read and reread 'Prodigal daughter' which makes me smile at every page and then there is 'Thousand splendid suns' and I end up weeping every time!

-- 13 Movies: This one's mixed like oxygen in my blood. I doubt if you grew up in India if you do not find Bollywood or cricket exciting or you havent watched Sholay or worse if Sachin's retirement doesnt affect you :D

--14 Car Drives: Not driving cars, but sitting besides where I can pop my head out of the window like a happy doggie yearning for fresh air and enjoying music is bliss

-- Scrolling up now, I am dreading at the size of this post. This is it. The list could have included talking, gossiping, shopping like any other girl would like :). But I better stop coz I got a better list to make. People who make me happy :) Stay tuned!

Love lost

I don’t know if this is something that should be published. But I know that I need to spill this out for once. I know that I need to rest my mind in peace. Not sure how successful this attempt would be, but writing for me has always been a refuge in tough times. Lately I had been a little less thankful and little more ungrateful about things. Unexpected incidents happening in my life had made me questionable of the destiny planned for me. Not that my faith in almighty had faded, cause my daily prayers always comforted me and felt like a connection with my maker. But the world seemed like a field where I had lately been losing a lot. Little did I know what lay ahead would change the meaning of loss for me forever. That day which seemed like a usual Friday in office turned out to be a day I wish had never come until I was alive. My grandfather had been hospitalized a day before due to pain in his back left. Improper diagnosis of a heart failure was what the doctor announced to justify why his soul left his body and they could not save him.
I got this news on a phone call when I was in office. My father called me up and said Abba is no more. In one single moment my entire world came down to pieces. For a moment I felt lifeless, too numb to understand and accept the shock. When I think about the feeling now I shudder. It was like I was drowning in a well and there was darkness everywhere. I collapsed on the stairs to support my body. I did not know for how long I sat on those deserted staircase until someone tapped my shoulder and asked me something. I felt too weak to speak or stand. When I think about that time now, I thank God for all the strength and patience that He gave me at that moment without which I could not have managed to survive the shock. But strange are His ways. I could not see my Abba for the last time. No matter how much I curse Bangalore traffic due to which we missed the flight, I think this was also a part of His plan. That was the last flight to Pune that night and we only managed to reach next day. May be He only wanted me to see the best of Abba!
No matter how hard I try I cannot do justice in describing what Abba meant to me and all of us. Some emotions are too deep to be described. He had been etched in our memories in such a way that even when I went home to meet him by taking off from work, I would hug him and cry. He had colored our childhood with such beautiful times that I still dream of those days we all spent in his loving care. Both my parents being working, it was our grandparents that always took care of us in early years. Growing up in a joint family was the most fortunate thing that happened to us. When we were kids Abba would take us to school on his cycle. In the evening he was our Arabic teacher and we all sat together and recited Quran. Then he would read out incidents from religious books teaching us the path of life. In summer vacations he would wake us up early and took us out for the morning walk to the fort. Every year during Muharram he would take us for the majlis and while coming back got us sweets on the way. He made sure that his grand kids got the best upbringing. We lived in a cramped locality with no playground space. Abba vacated his hall in such a way that we could play cricket there. We filled his wooden cupboard with our sports equipment. Being kids we loved to write on the walls. He got a door painted black and got us a box of chalks. I remember one day he got home with two test tubes along with the holder when we told him we don’t get to do experiments on our own in school. Abba had got the first computer in our house for Api when she joined engineering college. Like a pillar of strength, he encouraged his daughter in laws to study. He facilitated the house hold with every necessity to make sure that the entire family progressed. In the later years every time he saw me his face would gleam with joy and pride. He was so pleased with the slightest of our achievements that he would never fall short of words for praising us. Two years back on his birthday when he turned eighty, I had written him a letter telling him how much he meant to me. He treasured that like the report card of a school boy who had just fared an A+ grade in the exam would treasure. He wept after reading it and called me up saying that he was glad he had succeeded in making us what he wanted us to be. A philanthropist by nature, people from all over the city came to him with their pension issues. He helped innumerable people with their issues by writing appeals, getting them printed, fighting for their rights. People only blessed  him in return. It was these blessings that made his life so content. After 25 years of retirement, the postal department called him to felicitate him for the noble work he had been continued doing after getting retired.
It’s still difficult for me to accept he is not between us. I spoke to him the day before he left us. His cheerful voice and constant encouragement is still ringing in my mind. He left with me regrets of not being there for him in his last time. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him, how fortunate I feel for being born in his family and sharing his name. There was so much in my heart has been left unconveyed. I have lived a lifetime with him and in one single second I was left alone. The hand on my head, the pat on my back, and the love in my heart all was lost. Nothing can fill his void in my life.
Death is like a blow. We never know when it would strike and end it all. We get so busy in our trivial issues that we miss to notice the ocean of blessings that the almighty has bestowed us with. We fail to understand that God blesses us with love in so many forms. We complicate things, misunderstand people, run behind the world, hold grudges and in the end make our own lives miserable. Life is too short to stay away from your loved ones. People who love you are God’s way of telling you how much He cares.  My people are my wealth, Abba would say. And no doubt he has taken his wealth along with him. Until I breathe my last I would miss you Abba.