Today marks the 17th death anniversary of my dear father, Ali Aman, who left us on September 16, 2005. It was Friday. I was with him when he was taking his last breaths at BMC Booni. He was suffering from Leukemia. He was under treatment at AKUH for 2 months or so but then was returned home. We were told he was ok, but I am sure the doctors knew that he has a few days left. He might be aware himself too and that thought makes me sadder.
Today is also Friday and 16th
of September. Today he came in my dream when I was about to get up in the
morning. He was driving a green double cabin (Red Hilux double cabin was one of
his favorite vehicles when he was at AKHSP). I was sitting in the front with
him. My 5 years old son was sitting in the back seat with his little sister on
his lap whom I take from him after few moments to join us in the front seat. We
were in our village driving through mirzalandeh and my eyes opened when
we reached near home. I wish it continued and I had more time with him in the
dream. But that is the thing I had missed a lot in my life; more time with him.
My father left us when I was in
Class 10 (matric). Since middle school (class 8) I was in boarding school. Most
of my memories with Dad that I recall, go back to my kindergarten to matric
period. All of the memories of him are full of love. He loved me very much and
so did I. Whenever he used to bring office car home and then go on duty early
morning, he would give me a ride to school which used to fall in the same
direction. The first thing in his car radio he used to play was ’program hayya-alal-falah’
if it was an early departure. This was a lovely radio program which used to
start after morning prayer and kept going till dawn (5:45-7am). I think it was
one of the best radio programs on deen. Not sure if it is still being
broadcasted.
He used to be very happy on my
results announcement days. Some of the times he used to accompany me to the
school function on result declaration days. He himself didn’t go to school but
made sure that we go to schools. I remember one day we were coming back from my
school, Allama Iqbal Model School Muzhgole after results announcement. I had my
transcript in my hand with A+ grades. When we reached the village, he was
showing my transcript to his friends and neighbors and I could see his face
glowing with pride. My bad luck that I am missing that smile since 2005. He
must have been similarly proud of me during all these days except on my FSc.
second year result where I did not do very well. In my FSc-second year, I had A
grades but not A+ and did not clear the medical school exam. But I am not sure
if he wanted me to be a doctor. He never said that. I think he wanted me to be
happy and remain happy. His respect and love for education was very high.
Whenever he had an opportunity, he made me meet and visit people who were
educated. He introduced me to some of his very good friends and brothers who
have been a source of guidance and care since he left.
He was liked by many people in
the village and beyond. One day there was a football match in our shotaar
ground. I was watching it too. He was coming back home from office. His friends
saw him and called him to join them. He jumped to join them and was made a
goalkeeper for the rest of the match. I remember Mustansir lal among the
players who called him to join them. He used to go to local music programs (ishtok)
and would dance his heart out. In one of such ishtok held in Nigah house
Kamatiandeh, he also asked me to join him in the dance. I was 9 or 10 years old
that time.
He never let me do any physically
laborious job which was very common in the village. He himself did a lot of
such things. He used to plough fields, plant trees, cut stones for guest rooms,
water the fields etc. The only thing I remember doing was going with him to
plant some trees in Goluk or Gerajghair. One day I was removing some stones
from a small debris in our lawn where due to rain the boundary wall had fallen.
Father was not home. He came and saw me. He looked at me with anger (that why
am I doing that) and went inside home to scold mother for letting me do that. May
be that’s the reason that till today I am very bad in household chores and
physically laborious work. I cannot harvest wheat with sickles, cut wood for
fire, slice a chicken throat for dinner etc. The only thing that I can do in a
village life is water the fields. That too very roughly by flooding the field
with water.
I wanted to share his pictures,
but we did not use to have digital camera that time. Father loved photographs
and he had a few albums printed containing his pictures from Boroghil to GB to
Peshawar. When he passed away, my maternal uncles most probably, hid them from
us in order reduce our pain of separation. However, we have found a few albums
back and they are safe at home. Today I have only his two-three pictures with
me here at my duty station. Pictures do not matter that much. He never died for
me. He is still very much alive in my heart. I am amazed thinking that a person
who didn’t go to school for formal education knew so much about education,
life, relationships, music, savings, bravery and confidence. I think most of
the fathers are their kids’ ideal. He was my ideal and will remain so. He left us very early in his forties but his memories are going to remain alive.
