A Nostalgia story: The Wilted autumn flowers never see the spring. The unsolved mystry

“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.

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 died

After 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:

 The End