Every 30th September, I revisit the memories. I remember the man who taught me the meaning of sincerity, sacrifice, and silent strength. I remember the prayers he whispered, the dreams he nurtured for me, the dignity he carried. And I remember that while he may no longer walk beside me, he walks within me.
Fida Hussain bhat
Love is not bound by time. It neither begins nor ends—it simply exists, eternal and unyielding. For most of us, this timeless love begins with our parents. They do not merely give us birth; they initiate a bond that is very strong and transcends mortality. Their love begins with our first breath, but it does not end with their last. When they pass, their love remains—etched into our memories, our values, our very being.
On 30th September 2013, this bond breached physically but did not end. My life changed irreversibly as my dad passed away on this day and eternalised our love and liberated it from the mortal circumferences. Not only did that day mark the death of my father, and the birth of a new identity—an orphan, it also freed me from the restrictions of loving him when he was not beside. I was in my teens then, too young to fully grasp the magnitude of the loss. It is only with age and maturity that one begins to comprehend the true value of a parent, especially a father. And as the years passed, I came to understand that losing a father in your teenage years is not just a personal tragedy—it is a spiritual and emotional catastrophe.
In the early years, the pain was muted by confusion. I did not yet know what I had lost. But as I grew older, I began to feel the absence more acutely. The love I had for my father matured in his absence, and love that matures without presence becomes something deeper, more entrenched. It burns within you, like a fire that consumes but also illuminates. It transforms your life into a living flame of sacrifice, longing, and memory.
These twelve years have altered almost everything. From architecture to relationships, from life to livelihood, from priorities to preferences—everything has shifted. But one thing remains unchanged: the love I carry for my father. It is a love that has grown stronger with time, not weaker. It is a love that sustains me in a world full of covers and camouflages.
Imam Ali once said, “The father is the backbone of the child.” This truth resonates deeply with me. A father is not just a provider—he is a pillar. He makes us feel special, supports our aspirations, and helps us realise our dreams. He works tirelessly so that we may live without worry. As long as our fathers are alive, we are shielded from the harshness of the world. But when they die, the universe seems to collapse. It is as if the spine has been broken, and we are left unsteady, unable to stand to confront the world and its harsh nature.
I lost my father at a time when I was not even fully conscious of what loss meant. I did not realise then that I had lost the only person whose love was truly unconditional. Parents sacrifice their entire lives to build ours. They are the architects of our emotional and moral foundations. And when one of them is gone, especially the father, the scaffolding of our lives begins to tremble.
My father was the second name of glory and honour for me. His sincerity still sustains me. In a world that often values appearances over authenticity, his integrity remains my guiding light. He was not just a man of words—he was a man of prayers. He would always pray for my success, just as my mother continues to do. And a father’s prayer, as Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) said, is like the prayer of a prophet for his nation. It carries weight. It carries grace.
Imam Ali also said, “He who has a virtuous father, his roots are strong.” My father was virtuous, and because of him, I feel rooted even in his absence. He is the door to my dignity, the source of my strength. His love was not loud, but it was lasting. It was not flamboyant, but it was foundational.
Relationships, as Hazrat Ali beautifully puts it, are more in need of affection than affection needs a relationship. My bond with my father was built on deep affection. It was a relationship that did not require constant validation—it simply was. And that is why his absence feels so profound. Because the love did not die with him. It stayed. It grew. It matured.
Every 30th September, I revisit the memories. I remember the man who taught me the meaning of sincerity, sacrifice, and silent strength. I remember the prayers he whispered, the dreams he nurtured for me, the dignity he carried. And I remember that while he may no longer walk beside me, he walks within me.
In a world that often forgets the quiet heroes, I choose to remember mine. My father was not just a parent—he was a presence. And even in his absence, he remains the most powerful presence in my life.
As I mark his twelfth death anniversary, I do so not with despair, but with reverence. Because love, as I have come to understand, does not end. It begins—and then it stays. Forever.
The writer is a columnist
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