“Nostalgia is the doorway back to youth.”
“Nostalgic memory is a sudden encounter
with the thingness of the thing that has been forgotten, not the continuous
desire for possessions, whether past, present, or future.”
Memories, like threads. So many years, so many days, so many thoughts, so much time. It flows together like a puzzle pieces missing here and there. I still function a mising pieceof puzzle as a person.
“Yaad-e-Mazi
Aazab Hai Ya Rab...
Cheen
Lay Mujh Say Hafiza Mera..
” The
events of the past so torment me,
Lord!! That I want taken away all of my memories”
The
most interesting piece of my life is that, every 3 to 4 year a new posting, a
new city, new friends.new stories, new memory.
Some memories keep me warm up from
inside. Some tear apart. Some memories are like bullets that kill heart, some
are like flowers scenting in whole personality.
This
is a real story, in which I was a silent observer. I was transferred to a metro city of western
Uttar Pradesh, near Delhi.Every city has a unique character, which
distinguishes one city from another.This I observed due to my transferable job.
This
unique quality of that city was reflecting in: ---that even after transfer of
officers to other places, they were unwilling to vacate their residences, from
enginears colony.After a long search, I got a rented residential portion in a
posh locality.
My
land lord was a local govt employee; living in his parental houses in city.It
was a double story building. First floor was in possesion of a Lecturer of
local degree college.My was ground floor; two roomed with kitchen facing main
road.
My story
relates with the family living in back portion of this house.They were eight
family members. I think it is better to introduce them with readers.
Abbu ji
He
was eldest member of the family.His family mebers and local people addressed
him “Abbu Ji “. I too called him by the same title. A very fair complexion,
more than six feet height, small beard with a spiritual and aristocratic out
look. Alwas wearing, white kurta, pyjama and a cap, soft spoken with
authority.unfortunatly he was a widower.
He
was chaudhary of his home town. People told me that he has farming lands and
garden in his home village.Few years back he was owner of a cottage
industry.What happened, it was closed in loss.
Now
he was in a partner ship in a profitable business. Perhaps he was only earning
member of his family.He may be in age of about 70, but very active and puntual
towards his business.
Khadim Khan
He
was elder son, living with his second wife .His first wife was died many yrs
before leaving behind her a daughter and a son. Daughter was in class 8th, son
in class 7th.With second wife a baby.Khadim was also a tall man, with ordinary
and simple personality.I never saw him doing any proper job, and always found
him roaming in mohalla.
Itrat Khan
He
was younger unmarried son. He was a mystic man, always wrapped in a rough
blanket or cotton chadar.His daily routine was to leave home in early morning and
to come back late after sun set. It was very rare for me to meet him. People
say that he liked to live in company of dervshes and spiritual men.
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Wajahat Khan
He
was fourth adult member of that family, brother in law of Abbu ji, Phupha of
Khadim Khan’s children. I never saw Wajahat Khan to do some earning work. Never
tried to know about his family.Often, he came in my room, sat there to watch
T.V serials and News.He was a gentle man never irritated me.I have all praise
for him. During spiritual month of Ramdhan,he was the man to serve me Sehri ,foods
and
tea from kitchen of Abbu ji.
Atia Khanam
Phool to do din bahar-e-jaan fiza dekhla
Gaye
Hasrat un ghunchon pe, Jo bin khile murjha
gaye.
“One meets his destiny
often in the road he takes to avoid it.”
She
was grand daughter of Abbu Ji, her father, the eldest son of Abbu Ji was no
more alive .She lived with her mother under patronage of Abbu Ji. Both mother
and daughter lived in silence. I never saw her out side house. I was known
about their presence after many moths of my living in same house.
Her
tragedy not ended here. I am pennig down this tragedy as narrated by Wajahat
Khan, who often used to sit in my room.
The three notorious words
She
was engaged to her maternal cousin. It was a family decision with mutual
consent of her cousin brother too.My eyes are wet in writting that after nikah
her ,husband her cousin brother turned her back with all dowary by siple saying
three words—Talaqu,Talaqu,Talaqu.
Wajahat
told me, she was crying, weeping and rolling on road, fainted and fainted.I
don’t know more details about their family matters .Allah knows better.
More Tragedies are ahead
My
home district was at about 4 hour drive from there.Usually I go to home on
Friday evening and back by Monday morning.I don’t remember it was a two or
three day leave, I was in my home.
Suddenly I received
a call of Abbu Ji informing me shocking news that Atia khanam has expired.
Next day I rushed back, met Abbu JI and other male members to Express my deep pain .Time heals all wounds.life was normal in mohalla.
Atia Khanam's mother diedAfter few month ,as
usual on return from Aligarh ,an other
shocking news for me.Mother of Atia Khanam died.This news acted as a bullet
for me that penetrated deep my
heart.Greived I thought ,that widowed ,weak lady could not tolerate the sudden
death of her only daughter in this world.This feeling kept me
cool down.
Few moths later, from return after a holiday, painfull news
came to me that Itrat Khan (The younger son of Abbu Ji) has expired.
Now it was becoming
very painfull for me to live
there.After few days I noticed that
Wajahat Khan ,who was close to me and on free time ,he used to come in my room
,sits and chats me ,is absent . I enquired of him .An other shocking reply that
he has gone and will not come back.
My mind ignited and blown up like a gun powder.It was difficult
for to remain stand, laid down on my bed in depression. The fact that more
agonized me was that all final rituals
of all three deaths were held in my small court yard and verandah. (It was my
habit to hand over key of entrance when ever I left the city).
The mysterios deaths all in my absence, made me half mad and a
frightend man. Life in mohalla was quite normal a deep silence. I was living in
deep depression.I decided to leave not only house, the city too.
Proceeded on medical
leave, tried for transfer.Thanks to my higher officers for transfer. Left the
city within a year.That city for others was a prised and gifted posting city.
Atia khanam is still alive in my memory,
who often asked me to hear the casset of a ghazal by Jagjeet singh to play on low
pitch:-
“Gulshan ki faqat phoolon se nahin kaaton se bhi zeenat hoti
hai,
Jeene ke liye is duniya mein gham ki bhi zaroorat hoti hai.
Karna hi padega zabt-e-alam peene hi padenge ye aansoo,
Fariyaad-o-fugaan se aey naadaan tauheen-e-mohabbat hoti hai.”
Translation:
“The beauty of a garden lies not only in its flowers, but also
in the thorns.
To live in this world,it is necessary to suffer pain as well.
This pain will have to be suffered, these tears will have to be
shed.
If you complain or make a plea, O naïve one, it will be a
disgrace to love”
After
a decade of this incident, I had been in that city for an official work. While
returning back, I thought to meet Abbu Ji.
I
went to his work place. His partners were sitting on counter.One more shock,
they told me Abbu Ji has expired years back, and they are not in touch of
Khadem Khan.
I
poured my all nostalgia over a puppy, scratching his old wounds, in a corner by
kicking. I asked jeep driver to run away fast from this city.
Moral of this Nostalgia Story
However, it is Allah who, before we are
born, decides a person's destiny, who prepares everything that happens to us,
and who determines what these events will be and what kind of life we will
have. The Qur'an tells us that everything that happens to us is the will of
Allah, and has been decided by Him before we experience it:
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