Today 37 years ago, 4th September, 1977, he left me to figure out the big, bad World on my own!
I am still working on that...
I was playing in the Maidan ( which was a Mangoe, Guva Orchard till he chopped it off) when some frnds came running and informed me.
" Badhsha, Tumahre Chaccha Ko Ghar Le Aaye Hain"
I ran home only to find Mahollah women breaking bangles of my mother. She was only 41 then. I did not know what does that means to be a widow at the age of 41...
That too I had to figure out myself..
I remember when he went to Fategrah hospital and got himself admitted there. His brothers in Mumbai wanted him to be treated at a Mumbai hospital. He refused.
Now I know why did not get treatment at a Mumbai hospital. He was ready to go and wanted to be die and be buried in the family Qabrastan outside our house.
I figured out that too...
What I have not been able to figure out is the complexities or simplicity of a father - son relationship. What it means to be a son? What it means to be a father? How relationship works out and what direction it takes? How do they communicate? Do they use words or assume things out?
I dunno. Yet!
When they carried off his body for Namaz e Janaza, I could not give it a Kandha. I was too young then. I remember walking behind everyone not knowing what to do. No one ever told me anything about his death. Not a word. No one tried to reach me then, or thereafter.
I had to figure out the death part myself. Alone!
When they buried him, I was standing by the lone Guava tree he did not chop off for some reasons. I was quiet and watching the whole thing unfold like a dream. I remember every detail of his face even now.
Later that night I wud go and sit by his grave and cry.
Alone. Still do!
A father is a must in a man's life I would conclude later! A father must try to stay alive till his kids are settled in life. I would figure out later.
When teenage years hit me and I take interest in opposite sex, I would crave to have children first so that I can settle them in my life time. Leaving young children behind to negotiate a cruel, selfish world is not fatherly!
Years later I wud take my in-house girl frnd on her honeymoon, to his grave, his house, his city. She wud just follow me like a true frnd without complaints.
I am yet to figure out why I did that.
I have some of his letter that he wrote to mother. I read them often to know if he had any expectations from me. I was his last child - always a special one in a father's life. I find nothing. No expectations. I guess I was too young for him to think along those lines.
In those letters he calls me ' Shahid Miya'. I enjoy reading that.
" Shahid Miyan, poora din Kahaniyan padhte rehte hain" he writes to mom. He forgets to add that I was a topper in class and had secured a double promotion from 3rd grade to 5th.
So, here I am. Close enough to an age in which he died, yet I feel like 12, as I write these lines...
Nawab Shaddan Miya, sleeps at the feet of his mother under a Tamarind tree he himself had planted as a child. No better place to be buried than by the feet of ones mother.
However, I do wish he had more time. I miss not "communicating" with him. I miss not knowing what he wanted in life. What was his unfulfilled dreams? What kind of a life he lived? Who has hurt him along the way? Who were his frnds and enemies? Things like that
I know I would never be able to figure these out, no matter how many more yeas I live...
