It's not often I'd write anything from my personal life but I guess I wrote this because I've been missing my dad alot today..
Baba in Sierra Leonne 2004
29th June 2004.
8:55pm.
And I was thinking about how I'd celebrate my birthday on the next day (30th June). The gifts. The people to invite. I was especially excited about the fact that Baba would call me.
The clock strikes 9:00pm.
Grandpa: Silence! Let me watch the Headlines.
Helicopter crash in Sierra Leonne which included 14 Pakistani officers.
A dream. I remember confusion. Some shouting. Crying. Blackout. Phones ringing. People coming. My uncle letting me play games on his brand new cellphone which he never let anybody touch. Some more crying. People talking about Baba.
I knew what had happened and yet I showed no emotion. I didn't let a single tear fall. I dunno why. Perhaps I was in shock. Perhaps I was nine and too young to understand. I don't know still.
But it would be two days later that my aunt would find me behind a curtain crying, my head between my knees.
I went to a room. Saw my six year old sister lying on the bed, half asleep.
"Why are all the people crying?", she asked.
"Baba's helicopter crashed.", I said.
She stared.
"Yeah but he came out of the wreckage hand in hand with Uncle Imran and Mudassir (two people we knew from a dinner party)", I lied.
"Oh", she said. Then turned over to go to sleep.
2002, Our computer's desktop background was a picture of me and Baba.
"Look at you two.", said my Grandma when she saw the picture, "You both look so alike. The only thing you don't have is your father's moustache."
That was when I opened MS paint and painted a moustache on my face too. It looked ridiculous. It only ruined the photo but I made it the desktop background.
Mom didn't like what I did to it. But when Baba saw it, he laughed.
"Which one of the two is Baba and which one is you?", he'd joke.
2001, I was scared. Alone in the room. Dark, except for the green nightlight.
Baba came in the room and saw me awake.
"Why are you still awake Buddy?", he asked, I could see his brilliant white teeth even in the dark.
"I'm afraid a robber would come and kill me.", I breathed.
Baba laughed.
"Oh you Scooby Doo.", he said, "Nothing will come here when I'm around. I'll punch the robber."
Then he'd lie beside me till I went to sleep.
Funeral day. The guy in the army uniforms marched. One of them marched and came to me. In his hand was a Pakistani flag, neatly folded, and on top of that was my father's uniform and his cap.
He held it before me silently. I understood and took the stuff from his arms. I picked up the cap and wore it on my head.
Flash! Flash!
I saw myself on GEO, wearing my dad;s hat. I saw myself on the cover of a magazine, wearing the hat.
I wasn't excited to see myself on tv nor on the magazine.
"Hey look at our hands.", I said excitedly, holding Baba's right hand parallel to mine. Palm upwards, "Look at the lines. They are so identical."
"That's because you are the son of your great Baba.", he said.
I was watching a cartoon. It was about a time machine. I thought about buying one as soon as it was made. So I could go back in time. Back to the time when he was alive. And spend all my time with him again.
He would sing his favourite song, Hotel California, wherever he went. In the car. In the park. Even after coming from the mosque.
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here
He would also sing a Banosi dialect song which I wouldn't understand.
Janwarhi le lo mazigar de na (*Don't know what this means*)
Razaii che khpal kali ta zu na mazegar de (Come lets go to the village, It's not evening yet)
And his deep, friendly voice still ring in my ears. I can still remember the friendly face. The neatly trimmed moustache, the pearly white teeth and the rare mole in his eye.
Baba is still around me. I can feel him in the room. In the air around me. In my heart. In my soul.
Love you Baba...
Love you still....
29th June 2004.
8:55pm.
And I was thinking about how I'd celebrate my birthday on the next day (30th June). The gifts. The people to invite. I was especially excited about the fact that Baba would call me.
The clock strikes 9:00pm.
Grandpa: Silence! Let me watch the Headlines.
Helicopter crash in Sierra Leonne which included 14 Pakistani officers.
A dream. I remember confusion. Some shouting. Crying. Blackout. Phones ringing. People coming. My uncle letting me play games on his brand new cellphone which he never let anybody touch. Some more crying. People talking about Baba.
I knew what had happened and yet I showed no emotion. I didn't let a single tear fall. I dunno why. Perhaps I was in shock. Perhaps I was nine and too young to understand. I don't know still.
But it would be two days later that my aunt would find me behind a curtain crying, my head between my knees.
I went to a room. Saw my six year old sister lying on the bed, half asleep.
"Why are all the people crying?", she asked.
"Baba's helicopter crashed.", I said.
She stared.
"Yeah but he came out of the wreckage hand in hand with Uncle Imran and Mudassir (two people we knew from a dinner party)", I lied.
"Oh", she said. Then turned over to go to sleep.
2002, Our computer's desktop background was a picture of me and Baba.
"Look at you two.", said my Grandma when she saw the picture, "You both look so alike. The only thing you don't have is your father's moustache."
That was when I opened MS paint and painted a moustache on my face too. It looked ridiculous. It only ruined the photo but I made it the desktop background.
Mom didn't like what I did to it. But when Baba saw it, he laughed.
"Which one of the two is Baba and which one is you?", he'd joke.
2001, I was scared. Alone in the room. Dark, except for the green nightlight.
Baba came in the room and saw me awake.
"Why are you still awake Buddy?", he asked, I could see his brilliant white teeth even in the dark.
"I'm afraid a robber would come and kill me.", I breathed.
Baba laughed.
"Oh you Scooby Doo.", he said, "Nothing will come here when I'm around. I'll punch the robber."
Then he'd lie beside me till I went to sleep.
Funeral day. The guy in the army uniforms marched. One of them marched and came to me. In his hand was a Pakistani flag, neatly folded, and on top of that was my father's uniform and his cap.
He held it before me silently. I understood and took the stuff from his arms. I picked up the cap and wore it on my head.
Flash! Flash!
I saw myself on GEO, wearing my dad;s hat. I saw myself on the cover of a magazine, wearing the hat.
I wasn't excited to see myself on tv nor on the magazine.
"Hey look at our hands.", I said excitedly, holding Baba's right hand parallel to mine. Palm upwards, "Look at the lines. They are so identical."
"That's because you are the son of your great Baba.", he said.
I was watching a cartoon. It was about a time machine. I thought about buying one as soon as it was made. So I could go back in time. Back to the time when he was alive. And spend all my time with him again.
He would sing his favourite song, Hotel California, wherever he went. In the car. In the park. Even after coming from the mosque.
Welcome to the Hotel California
Such a lovely place (Such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Plenty of room at the Hotel California
Any time of year (Any time of year)
You can find it here
He would also sing a Banosi dialect song which I wouldn't understand.
Janwarhi le lo mazigar de na (*Don't know what this means*)
Razaii che khpal kali ta zu na mazegar de (Come lets go to the village, It's not evening yet)
And his deep, friendly voice still ring in my ears. I can still remember the friendly face. The neatly trimmed moustache, the pearly white teeth and the rare mole in his eye.
Baba is still around me. I can feel him in the room. In the air around me. In my heart. In my soul.
Love you Baba...
Love you still....
