8/11/2019 In loving memory of Grandpops
1/2
July 12th
, 2014, an ordinary day for most, probably a birthday for some
and for others yet, it might be a
somber mark upon the calendar. For me, it was the day I lost a
big part of my childhood. The day I lost
the man whom I thought was invincible. The day I realized that
death is the ultimate sinkhole. My
Granddad passed away that day, time of death - 9:41 a.m. Its
been 39 days since. Yes, I have been
counting. Its not easy to move on. Believe me, Ive tried.
It was an ordinary Saturday morning, cheerful even. Things went
on as usual. I took the cars out,
Grandpop helping me. He smiled, we talked, cracked a couple of
our jokes, and he left for his daily walk.
When the call came, they told us, he fainted on the road. I was
so flustered that I forgot to wear my
shoes. My first thoughtOh Allah! Please dont let him die! Please
dont take him yet
We reached the spot, barely 10 seconds from home, only to find
him sitting, barely conscious on the
sidewalk crowded by people. I think that was the exact moment I
went into emotional shocklike it was
all happening to someone else. Frantically I was calling out
papa, papa my voice shaking, almost
close to tears. His eyelids were open, cheeks hollowed out; the
front of his shirt wet with the remains of
what was his morning tea.
We took him to the hospital. A Good Samaritan helped us get him
into and out of the car. But in all the
confusion, we never thanked him. We got pops to the hospital, my
job was done. I was escorted back
home and was told to wait till all the other members of the
family got there. Before getting back to the
hospital, I remember my uncle told me these very wordsBe
prepared for the worst, Beta.
Strange thing is, I didnt feel anything when the news came.
Everyone was crying, wailing, moaning. I
just didnt feel anything. Ive thought of death many times
before. How would I feel if one of them
passed away, would I cry? But not a single tear drop fell from
my eyes then. Not a single shard of pain in
my heart. I was too hollow.
My parents started calling family, friends and neighbours. I
felt angered. Why should anyone be privy to
our grief? My grief. No one would understand the loss. He wasnt
any one elses papa. He was mine. And
I didnt want to share my time with anyone else. Itwas the
atmosphere was extreme soberness. And yet
I thought everyone was mocking him. NO ONE UNDERSTOOD. NO ONE
WAS FEELING ENOUGH PAIN. NO
ONE KNEW HIM ENOUGH TO BE SITTING THERE.
A great man shrouded in white, lying on the deewan that we do
not use anymore; that was what papa
was reduced to. A man, who filled everyones day with joy. He
would walk into the room, and literally
the room would be brighter. He had a sherfor every occasion,
some his own compositions, some that he
learnt in his school days. Pappa had a way of teaching ethics
and values without being preachy. He
would wave us goodbye every morning when we left, and was always
there to welcome us back with a
smile. Broken window? Pappa could fix it. Fused bulb? Its gonna
be alright. Telephone trouble? Call
papa. Need immediate advice? Pappa! Bad day? Talk to Pappa.
Pappa taught me my letters. Names of colours, animals, means of
transport. When my parents were
busy with their jobs, papa would make sure we had our meals. He
stood in the mile long queue so I
8/11/2019 In loving memory of Grandpops
2/2
could get my Driving license. His attention wasnt exclusively
for family. Everyone around town knew
him. He was the Gregarious, social soul whom everyone wanted to
talk to. A kind word for everyoneI
miss him.
That day, people came, people went. There were so many people,
they spilled out into the garden and
onto the road. It was drizzling. When finally the mayyat (thats
what they called papanow) was
leaving, and I saw his face for the last time, did the tears
start flowing. That big gaping chasm in my
heart and finally started paining. It hurt like hell. A pain so
intense, it was almost physical.
Relatives patted my back saying Its okay, Itll be alright.
Family was too deep in pain to offer words of
consolation. I sucked up the emotion. Forced myself to not think
about it. Concentrating on getting the
family back on track.
The three weeks after that, were possibly my worst days. I was
desperately trying not to feel lonely. I
wanted to talk to my family, but they needed time. I didnt want
to talk to friends for fear of seemingneedy and helpless. I didnt
want to show them that I needed them. Thinking that it would seem
like I
was pining for attention.
But then, friends are sometimes so much better at understanding
you than family. I didnt know, that
you cared about me so much. That my well being mattered to you.
Those daily calls, constant messages
saying youre there if I needed someone to talk to. They helped
me recover. Put my mind away from
things, even if only for a while. I cant thank you enough,
knowing it would be a small compensation for
your immense love.
Islam has prohibited mourning for the dead for more than three
days. I now understand that, it is such a
boon. If you mourned for them, you would drive yourself insane.
However, there is no limit to
remembering them, and praying for them. That way, you can honour
their memory, and be at peace
with yourself.
Pappas death is a big loss. But life has returned to normal. The
sun still rises and it still sets. People still
get wasted. We still run behind the money we earn, the petty and
elusive fame and status quo. In these
39 days, Ive seen a marriage happen, an engagement broken, my
sister admitted into medical college. A
lot of things have happened. And a lot more will happen. But
Pappa wont be a part of it.
When something needs to be fixed, I still think Call Pappa, for
a split second before realizing. When I
leave home in the mornings, I still am halfway through shouting
Khudahafiz Pappa before I quickly
amend it saying Khudahafiz nani. I still make an extra cup for
the evening chai. Every time I realize that
Pappa is no more, it still hits me with the force of an oncoming
train.
The world hasnt stopped moving. But I still miss him.
