It is the morning of 21st Nov. 1972, and we are in New York. We landed here on the 2nd of September, to join my husband. My children are excited but my heart is heavy with the burden of leaving my dear parents who are not in the best of health. This is the beginning of a new chapter in our lives and I am resolved on making it a success. After 16 years of a tumultuous marriage, my husband has surprised me by inviting my parents to visit us for the first time. The children are excited that they will have their Baba Jan and Naani with them, for the two older ones have practically been raised by them. Our residence is in Forest Hills, a lovely area. What ever is in the house with the exception of our beds is inherited from the Weinribs, the original owners. My friend and neighbor, an Irish blue eyed lady offers to drive me to Fortunoff to purchase a tea set, for I know that my Abba Ji loves to have his tea in a fine cup., and he would not enjoy it in a mug. The morning chores completed, my husband and children dispatched to work and school I sit down to relax and have my tea. The phone rings and it is Maureen. Ready Khalida? Pops is in the car? I will be out in a minute, Maureen. I get into my coat, check the stove and lock the front door. Good Morning, Pops. I greet Maureens Dad, a perfect gentleman and still working in Brokerage at the age of 90. Good Morning, dear, and he tips his cap. Maureen enters the car apologizing for being late. Like her father she is a lady to her core. We drop Pops at his office and we chat excitedly about my parents visit. Maureen seems to be as excited as I am. We buy a lovely tea set, have coffee and cake and return. It is freezing cold with a foot of snow, and I decide to buy a ladder to paint the kitchen walls which look ugly in a dark brown paint. I am 39 and strong and I carry the ladder home from the hardware store on Metropolitan Avenue. My heart bubbling with joy I enter from the back yard of my house. My oldest, 14 year old son Omar walks out crying like a child. I freeze. Mama, Baba Jaan died! My head is spinning and I let out a scream. My daughter Sonia and my son Binny are in a state of shock. My heart is breaking, and my vision blurred. I go to the phone and call my brother, who speaks to me in a broken voice. I ask for my Ammi, and she says, Khalida, your Abba Ji has left me. He did not keep his promise of burying me with his own hands. How will I live without him. She is in a state of shock. Theirs was an exemplary partnership, each giving to the other and loving each other. I phone my husband at work, and he is home within an hour. His behavior with my father has been atrocious, insulting to his face, writing deplorably mean letters, and bad mouthing him. My fathers response -- A silence. It is about 9 pm. The children are watching T.V. in our bedroom, and remembering their Baba Jaan, for he was a very kind, loving and doting grandfather. My husband who is extremely uncomfortable with our grief, orders Omar to shut the T.V. and leave the room. Omar does not respond. He orders him again. Omar who is struggling with his grief cries and says, You killed Baba Jaan. You always hurt him and he would get Angina. His father who is already feeling the guilt jumps up from his bed, furious, his eyes red and bulging in an attempt to hit him. Grief stricken I come between him and my son and get the blow. Get him out of the house. I never want to see him again. he shouts. I beg him to stop, but he is out of his wits. You can also leave with him! The young ones are scared and clinging to me, and Omar looks defiantly as his father. He has lost the most precious person in his life, his friend, his teacher. I put the children to bed and taking two blankets that my dear father sent us I go downstairs, and lie down holding Omars trembling young body in my arms, and comforting him. He keeps whispering, Abba Killed Baba Jaan. We are freezing from cold and grief. My heart is like a piece of ice in my chest. I keep comforting him and after a while sleep takes over. I lie awake, my heart bleeding with grief; what will my Ammi do without my Abba Ji? She has never imagined living a day without him. She was so dependent on him, and I could not be with her in this, the most tragic and sad time of her life. Where will I take Omar? I know no one. I have no money. Where will we go? My heart seems to be numb and my body limp. Oh Allah, please help me! I pray. It is time for our morning Namaz, and still dark outside. I see my Abba Ji dressed in his white shalwaar kameez, walk through the closed door. I am wide awake. He bends down and touches Omar and says, I entrust him to you, Khalida. Promise, you will not let any harm come to him. Be brave. I speak, Abba Ji! He smiles and goes out through the closed door. To this day I wonder whether I kept my promise or I failed? He is always there in spirit. He was always my tower and power of strength. Dear Abba Ji, I hope you and dear Ammi who joined you sixteen years later are together enjoying the peace and beauty of Jannat. Farewell my dear Parents. Such a long night,
Posted on: Thu, 21 Nov 2013 11:24:30 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015