50 Years Ago

It was the 19th of September 1963 when Abi died.

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He was loved immensely by me. Hardly a day has passed when I do not think of him. I think of him when I read a book or even read a great sentence. I think of him when I listen to Eastern Classical Music; Operas; Symphonies; Qavvaalis. I think of him when someone asks for a piece of the shajraa: how quickly he would bring out his Sheaffer's and draw it out on his pad. I think of him every time I wish I should have heard family stories more often from him. I think of him when I hear a great shayr. I think of him each time I open his Ghazals, Nazms, Stories. I even think of him when I joke, often.

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It's impossible for me to talk about his day of death.

Far too tortuous.

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Here is the poem he read out to me after I arrived

from a long and weary trip at sea the day before he died.

It was written 4 days before his death.

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I wish I could write like that.

I try.

But it never works out.

Read the following if you want to know more about my Abi,
our family, and a few old friends.

11.04.1900

My paternal family history - 1

Aalamé Khayaal
My paternal family history - 2

Huzoor Abba

Uncanny Tale (1)

Uncanny Tale (2)