As I celebrate Eid, I feel a sense of loss and pain indescribable, narrates Syed Aijaz Kashani

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By Fast Kashmir on 15/06/2018.

It is the first Eid I am celebrating without you dad

Srinagar, June 15: They say time heals every wound. But it doesn’t heal when they are of your own blood. Dear father, it is the first Eid I am celebrating without you. Days have turned into months, yet the spaces that you left behind are as dark as the pall of gloom that descended some 3 months ago. Every corner in your house makes me feel your presence. It seems as if you are yet to wake up to have a date with death, just beside me in my room,yep!that abode of sleep from where you woke up to sleep for ever. Life is going on, but your death is hard to believe. Your remembrances haunt me every moment. I remember you when people praise their wards and there is none to make noise about this empty vessel. Small stints at success, since you left have gone unnoticed and unrecognized. There is nobody to pat my back. This recluse son of yours can’t narrate his marksmanship, for the audience is not as encouraging as you.
My acquaintances though remember you for your naivety I can’t forget you for your shrewdness to foresee what those mindful people can’t see in this money -minded world. I curse myself for trying to tutor you to come to terms with this world where even sympathies are bargained. While you would greet every passerby from the maddening crowd as if you knew him for years. I feel bankrupt in paying respects to people in the same manner as I can’t match your benevolence. On the eve of Eid it is hard to escape your memory for there is none to keep entertaining us till the mother finishes her Eid prayers. This Eid how can I be rest assured that the purifying dues have been paid in advance. And who would there would be to tease me, if I remembered paying dues before prayers. Nobody would accompany me in watching my Eid bulletin and there would be none to assemble the relatives to play my audience. I am still running that mad race which may keep my pocket loaded but can’t bring my Eidi back. The Eidi you gave me low on count and high on blessings. Who would be after me to visit our near and dear ones to pay your respects? At home my mother would try her best but won’t be as hospitable as you to our guests. I brood over those reasons you came up with, while hosting the strangers at home.