ABBA (Dad), I LOVE YOU
By
Ehtesham Arshad Nezami

We normally say that in our culture, every day is Mother’s or Father’s Day. That may be true, but what is the harm in celebrating a day especially for that purpose? Pakistan got independence on August 14, India on August 15 and the United States on July 4. In that case every day of ours should be celebrated as Independence Day. Why then we celebrate our independence on a special day? As Muslims, we fast, give Zakat and observe special prayers in the month of Ramadan to be rewarded in the hereafter. Can’t we do these good deeds the whole year? The essence of this worship in Ramadan is that, we remind ourselves and practice, in this month, what God has taught us. That’s why God has made Ramadan the most sacred months of all.

The introduction has rather become a little lengthy. This year (2019) my three kids invited me to eat out. It didn’t take me long to realize it was Father’s Day. Eating out was okay. My elder daughter works full time and the two younger ones study as well as work part time. I did not object to their hospitality. I was happy that the day, for which my wife and I were waiting, had finally arrived, when our kids would stand up on their own feet. However, after the sumptuous dinner, my three children presented me with a gift comprising of things of daily use, wrapped in a beautiful packet. The three children hugged me and my son, after placing a kiss on my forehead, whispered “Happy Father’s Day” in my ear. Tears came out of my eyes as I cried. Those were the tears of joy.

That brought memories of my father. I wished I had expressed such love to my late father. The people of my age know that during our youth the love between father and son no doubt existed, but it was not expressed. The reason was not apathy but respect. In those days, the father’s personality had a gravity and relationships were maintained from a distance. As kids, we could not question our father. In the daily matters, the decision of our father would be the last word. These were the reasons we never expressed our love for our father openly. When my kids showered their love and affection, I was overwhelmed with gratitude and thought that my father, too, would have expected this kind of expression of love. I ponder with despair and wished Father’s Day were celebrated in our childhood. I wish I would have done something for him.

My father was a self-made person. Before India was divided, he had to look after his two sisters at a very young age. He bore the expenses of their marriage, because my grandfather had died. When he migrated to East Pakistanafter the partition, he had three sons. My two sisters and I were born in Pakistan. He started from scratch and raised all the six of us. He struggled immensely for 25 years. On top of his employment in Dhaka, he worked as a farmer. He purchased land from his earnings and grew wheat and sugarcane. My mother used to dry the fresh and wet wheat by spreading them in the backyard of our house. My father used to pack them in sacks, load them on bullock carts and supply them in the market. For our education and upbringing, he purchased two homes from his earnings and rented them. Every month, after his job, he would go to collect the rent. He would spend time with laborers for the repairs of the houses. Alongside his business and job, he would take out time for religious duties as well. I had always seen him praying in congregation. He must go to the masjid for congregational prayers whether it rained or there was a storm. In bitter cold weather, he would wrap me up in warm clothes and take me to the masjid to make me accustomed to the daily prayers. He never woke me up harshly for the Fajr (pre-dawn) prayers. Rather, he would lie down beside me and press my hands and feet as well as tell me stories to wake me. He would help me do the Wudu (ablution) and take me with him to the masjid. I didn’t do as much for my children as he did for me. Still my children have given me lots of love. Why didn’t I have the courage to hug my father and whisper “I love you” to him.

In our society, I don’t know why, respect and the difference in ages have created distance between relations so much so that we keep our emotions to ourselves and never express them? My father did a lot for me. He provided me with education and never let me suffer from any grievances. He even cultivated the habit of social life in me. I remember I was a little boy then. Sardar Abdur Rab Nishter was the governor of East Pakistan. My father went to see him with a delegation of Muhajirs. He took me with him. The governor was happy to see a child. He made me sit on the table in front of him. He would talk to the delegation and at the same time entertained me with his love and affection. At another time, my father took me to General Azam Khan when he visited Dacca as the minister of settlements.

My father sent his two elder sons to Karachi before moving there from Dhaka. He sold some of his property in Dhaka and transferred the money to Karachi to buy a house for the family. So, when our family moved to Karachi, we had a house to live in. Father had to abandon other properties in Dhaka in the wake of the war and the creation of Bangladesh. The expenses of the marriage of my two sisters were met by the money he left behind. Even after death father had left enough so his children would not be dependent on anyone else.

Whenever I go to Pakistan, I visit my father’s grave and say, “Abba, I love you.”

(This article was written in Urdu. JamilUsman of New Jersey very kindly translated in English)