Suggested Reading Time: 7–8 Minutes
Epigraph
“O soul at peace, return to your Lord, well-pleased and
pleasing. So enter among My servants, and enter My Paradise.” — Qur’an 89:27–30
“Our Lord! Forgive me, my parents, and the believers on
the Day when the reckoning is established.” — Qur’an 14:41
18th May 2022
Today, it has been four years since my dear Ammi passed
away.
This happened before my eyes. She was lying in her room,
upon her bed. With three long breaths, the fourth one was cut short. My mother
was received by the angel of death. She remained blessed with a full life that
extended into her mid‑eighties.
I stayed with her throughout most of my life, except for a
few years when I left for education and greener pastures. Yet perhaps the most
beautiful part of my life with her remains the bond she shared with my three
children. Ammi was at her happiest with them. She thrived on exchanging humour,
playful acts, and endless anecdotes with her grandchildren.
Ammi was a disciplinarian and a pre‑partition alumna of
Pindi Convent. One incident from my childhood remains etched permanently in my
memory. Back in 1975, when I was in Class 7, I returned home from school and
became absorbed in outdoor play, ignoring Ammi’s repeated calls for lunch. Eventually,
when I finally appeared and asked for food, she calmly replied: “The lunch is there, but you shall not
have it.”
I can safely say that from that very day onward, I have
never delayed my meals.
Lawrence College and a Mother’s Determination
In 1976, Ammi placed me in boarding school at Lawrence
College, Murree, when I entered Class 8. My academic performance at the time
was not particularly impressive, and so Ammi regularly undertook a difficult
journey from Jhelum along with my younger brother, Arif.
She would leave early in the morning on a private, non‑air‑conditioned
bus to Rawalpindi, then walk quite a distance to another stop from where she
boarded a Murree‑bound bus to Bansra Gali. From there, she walked nearly two
kilometers uphill to the college gate, followed by another considerable
downward walk toward the Senior School.
This was the rudimentary version of what today would be
called a parent‑teacher meeting.
My Ammi walked that entire route repeatedly.
After meeting my teachers in the staff room, I would
accompany her back to Bansra Gali, waving goodbye with tears in my eyes as she
departed for Jhelum with Arif.
Years later, while I was studying engineering at university
in Lahore, she would teasingly ask me with twinkling eyes: “Do I need to come and meet your
university professor as well?”
East Pakistan, Marriage, and the Loss of Asif
My mother married my father in the spring of 1957 and moved
with him to East Pakistan — present‑day Bangladesh — where my father worked as
an engineer for the British Steamer Company.
That was the beginning of a completely new chapter in her
life.
Their first child, my eldest brother Asif, was born there.
My father, being a young engineer at the time, lived aboard a steamer, and my
mother lived there with him.
Tragically, Asif passed away from dehydration at only eight
months old in 1958.
Neither my father nor my mother ever forgot him.
How could they?
The memory of Asif remained permanently etched within their
hearts till their very last days.
My Children and Their Dadi
I married a lovely, gentle woman, Hureen, and we continued
living with our parents throughout. My parents thoroughly enjoyed the company
of our children.
At times, my eldest son Waleed’s endless antics would
exhaust his mother, who would naturally wish to discipline him. Waleed,
however, would instantly rush into my parents’ room and hide between Dada and
Dadi. My parents would protect him and reassure Hureen: “We will take care of the matter.”
When Waleed was admitted to Cadet College Hasanabdal in
2005, my Ammi travelled with us to settle him into his dormitory. She prepared
his bed and cupboard exactly the way she had done for me nearly three decades
earlier at Lawrence College.
My middle son, Khalid, loved listening to Winnie the Pooh
before bedtime while drinking his nightly milk. His Dadi faithfully read the
stories to him every evening. Since Khalid adored pets, Dadi ensured he always
had one around — a pigeon, a parrot, a hen, a rabbit, a Labrador.
Later, when Khalid too entered boarding school, Dadi
repeated the same ritual of helping him settle into his dormitory.
My youngest son, Ahmed, once remarked to his mother:
“Whenever I leave for school, I always see Dadi giving two
biscuits to Dada with his tea.”
The next day, when my wife narrated this to Ammi, she
smilingly replied to Ahmed:
“Whenever I give biscuits to Dada, you somehow seem to be
passing by our room!”
It took Ahmed some time to fully appreciate the humour
behind that response.
After My Father’s Passing
My father passed away early in the morning on 29th April
2012.
After his passing, Ammi would sometimes call me “Zafar”
while I sat beside her in the evening.
And why not?
She had never, even for a moment, allowed herself to
emotionally detach from her husband.
At times she would quietly confide in me that she wished to
be with Zafar again.
And why should she not?
God created the very first human pair upon earth as husband
and wife. This bond remains among the deepest and most foundational of all
human relationships.
During those years, my youngest son, Ahmed, began sleeping in
Ammi’s room. He became a great source of comfort and strength for her.
After Fajr prayer, Ammi would recite the Qur’an and switch
on the room light, while Ahmed would repeatedly switch it off, complaining that
his sleep was being disturbed. Ammi thoroughly enjoyed this playful battle.
In the mornings, while seated upon her bedside sofa, she
would gently tickle Ahmed’s feet with her walking stick to wake him up for
school.
My children kept their grandmother emotionally engaged till
the very end. All three of them frequently spent time in her room doing their
activities around her.
Her Final Years
Gradually, Ammi began fading away.
I could see the brightness in her eyes slowly dimming, and I
realized the inevitable was approaching.
My wife cared for her devotedly. Whenever she accompanied
Ammi to the hospital, doctors would often ask whether she was her daughter. My
wife knew every detail of her medicines, treatment, and medical condition.
Ammi lovingly referred to her as:
“My Florence Nightingale.”
During her later years, Ammi wrote her memoirs titled Anwar
Nama. Her name was Anwar.
As her memory weakened, my elder brother Jamshed Bhai helped
her recollect and organize her memories while typing them onto a laptop.
The concluding lines of her memoirs, dedicated to my father,
borrowed from a famous Indian song:
“Zindagi aur kuch bhi nahin; teri meri kahani hai.”
Roughly translated:
“Life, in the end, is nothing but the story of you and me.”
Death and the Hereafter
One thing about death is that it does not end a person’s
existence.
It is a gateway to eternity.
A life promised by Allah to those servants who remain
conscious of fulfilling the rights of God and fellow human beings.
The Qur’an says:
“I always thought that one day I shall have to face my
reckoning.” — Qur’an 69:20
Ammi’s life reflected this awareness.
Her actions remained in harmony with her words. She never
neglected her prayers or fasting, and she consistently cared for the poor and
needy.
The Qur’an beautifully describes such people:
“…they used to feed the poor, the orphan and the captive
even though they themselves were in need of it.” — Qur’an 76:8
My parents once helped free an elderly couple who worked in
our home from the crushing burden of debt. They had become trapped in an
endless cycle of compound interest.
My father personally met the lender and paid both the
principal and the accumulated interest.
The Qur’an says: “Charity
is only… for the freeing of necks.”
— Qur’an 9:60
May Allah
free the necks of my parents in the Hereafter, as they did so for this elderly
couple in debt. Ameen
What Parents Leave Behind
My parents continued striving till their very last days to
instill goodness within me.
The Qur’an says: “A
human being shall only receive in the Hereafter what he has earned in this
world.” — Qur’an 53:39
I testify that whatever iota of goodness exists within me is
the lifelong endeavour of my dear father and mother.
Whatever evil remains within me is from my own self.
May Allah reward our parents in the Hereafter for every
goodness we exhibit in this life, for much of it is the direct consequence of
their sacrifice, labour, prayers, discipline, and love.
Ameen.
Prayer
Allahummaghfir lahuma warhamhuma. Allahumma adkhilhuma al‑jannata
ma‘a al‑abrar.
“O Allah, forgive my mother and father and shower them
with Your mercy. O Allah, admit them into Paradise among the righteous.”
Ameen.
The Qur’an says:
“Those whose souls are taken by the angels while they are
pure — the angels will say: ‘Peace be upon you. Enter Paradise for what you
used to do.’” — Qur’an
16:32
May the angels have greeted my Ammi with these words.
Ameen.
And may the final divine call awaiting her be:
“O soul at peace, return to your Lord, well‑pleased and
pleasing. So enter among My servants, and enter My Paradise.” — Qur’an 89:27–30
“They don’t make ’em like her anymore.”
Aamir Yazdani
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