25th September, 2016.

25th September, 2016 was not a day in my lifetime but a lifetime in a day. I lost a precious soul for good without even getting the chance to say goodbye to her. We all know that our time in this world is limited and eventually we all will end up underneath a sheet never to wake up again. Yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know, someone we love. It is like climbing down the stairs to your bedroom thinking that there is one more stair and there is not. There are no human words to describe grief. The sharp pain in your chest at what has been loved and lost. Some things in life are known through experience only. There is a sound to heartbreak that only the broken can hear. It is not a string of letters making words and words making poems. I will grieve forever and will never get over the loss of a loved one like my madam Farida. I have learned to live with it. I will never be whole again as a part of me went with her when she died and a part of her remains with me.

Comments

  1. UnknownSeptember 25, 2021 at 10:20 AM

    Tribute to a pure soul, fantastic friend, a loving mother a sincere wife a devoted teacher a trustworthy colleague and what not. My vocabulary fails to express my feelings towards her because she was so much more than all the adjectives I can add. Love you so much. I'm sure you must be at a better place. See you soon

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

A Life Well Lived!

Image
My grandmother was born on 28th December, 1932 and lived nine decades of laughter, tears, trials and tribulations. She had been a widow since 18th June 2013 but not alone. Her family, her memories and her unbreakable spirit sustained her. The fire that once burned bright with her partner's love simmered down to a warm ember, a constant reminder of the memories they shared. Though time had softened the ache of her loss, the silence still echoed with the whispers of their laughter, their arguments, and their sweet nothings. In her quiet moments, the shadows of her past converged, a bittersweet reminder of the love that shaped her life. With a stubborn resolve, my grandmother refused to surrender to the ravages of time, her mind and spirit steadfastly defying the creeping numerals that marked her age. Though the mirror reflected a face etched with lines and wrinkles, her heart remained steadfast, beating with the vitality of a soul half her years. In her mind's eye, she was the ...
Read more

FULL CIRCLE MOMENT

Waking up today and realizing it’s the 7th instantly carried me back to the unforgettable 7th of November, 2025—a day etched in the golden margins of my life, when destiny rewrote my story at my beloved alma mater. It was the 30th of October, 2025 when my phone lit up with a call from an unknown number—one of those unexpected chapters life adds without warning. The voice on the other end introduced herself as Maleeha Kausar from the English department of ICG F-6/2, the in-charge of the Essay Writing Competition who got my contact number from my esteemed teacher Madam Mansoora, English Head of Department. She told me that ICG was celebrating Iqbal Week, and my heart instantly fluttered like a page caught in a gentle breeze when she invited me as a judge for the Inter Collegiate Essay Writing Competition. It felt as though my teachers had signed a heartfelt “recommendation note” in the margins of destiny, forwarding my name with the ink of trust. Though fully aware of my low vision,...
Read more

FROM REJECTION TO RE EJECTION

The theme REJECTED did not merely appear before my eyes — it brushed against my heart like a sudden stroke of charcoal across an untouched canvas. I know the residency speaks through visual art, yet I carry colours made of words and brushes dipped in emotion. As a literature student and a language teacher, I long to paint with sentences — to sketch silence, to shade pain, to outline hope. Rejection, after all, is the world’s rough draft, not its final masterpiece. Some people frame acceptance; I frame scars. Some display portraits; I display perspectives. I want to write a narrative where the erased lines speak louder than the bold ones, where smudges become sunsets and broken edges become borders of belonging. I cannot repaint the whole world, but perhaps I can retouch the way people look at it — one metaphor at a time, one reader at a time. Now that I have got a chance to contribute to Off-Grid Residency, I would pour ink like watercolour, letting it bleed gently into hearts, turning...
Read more