Today is May, 20th 2014, I am away from home on an assignment in the heart of the Dixieland, Atlanta, enjoying the warmth of Atlanta climate and the warmth of the Southern hospitality, both rare commodities in Chicago. Today is also the 49th anniversary of my fathers death. On May 20th 1965, he died in the infamous Pakistan International Airline crash in the desert of Cairo, Egypt. He was also on an assignment through his work. I never knew my father well, partially because he was a quiet person, but mostly of his obsession with his work as a newspaper journalist. Then, I was just a teenager, confused, happy at one moment and sad the next, trying to understand the world. It is at that moment my whole world came down crashing. At 9 am that morning, the radio announced the crash and read my fathers name among the many more influential journalists, who were also on the plane. Right now, at this moment, as I sit in my hotel room, tired of watching CNN, I am gazing at the imperfections in the sealing of this commercially made hotel, I am also going 49 years back and trying to understand the imperfections in God, who is supposed to be so loving and merciful. Yet, in his sadistic wisdom, he snatched away a young mans whole world. That was the time I was at the threshold of becoming a man from a boy and I needed my father, a friend a guide most. I have tried hard to understand why this happened to me but no answers. Folks I am sorry to bore you with my babbling and gibberish but I am sad, heartbroken and crying as even after 50 years, my quest for finding answers is still in vein.
Posted on: Wed, 21 May 2014 01:02:05 +0000
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