ON THE DAY OF EID

 ON THE DAY OF EID

A faint sadness has remained in me since I was 18,

When my elsdest sister, Shammus, a gorgeous presence,

Tall, lanky, happy, generous, loving, the eye of my father

Died suddenly-on an operation table of anasthesia for a minor surgery.

My father was heart broken for the rest of his days.

He could never get over it.

He missed her every day, her elegance, her care for the family,

her absence haunted him. He developed a deep hidden sadness

which lasted his remaining life.

That very sadness has awakened in me like a thunderous storm

disturbing all the occeans.

As a young woman I always watched and observed, 

my father's hidden and not so hidden sadness.

I always felt that sorrow in his expression, his being, his voice,

his brow...

His laughter has changed. He always tried to hide it...

I tried to remain pleasant and cheerful, not to disturb his permanent despair.

But I had been quiet observant since a very young age.I used to see and Imagine

what was not noticeable by others. My brother Arshad and myself, we didn't discuss it

amongst ourselves- we had such pain and we couldn't share it, it was too immense.

But both of us observed our parents sorrow keenly.

Arshad and myself had the same kind of nature and closeness.

All of us, the whole family, we were gentle, humble and generous, 

though we had many reasons to be arrogant and proud but we were extra decent

and our generosity of spirit absorbed more of everything which included tremendous

loss of a loved one at a very early young age.

Arshad and myself shared that sorrow and pain without ever expressing it to each other.

We were quite young for that early first death of a young  sister of ours, she was only 25 years old.

We shared it in our glances in our father and mother's eyes- in our sister's empty bed, in her missing

 laughter and in her ever present style even when she was permanently gone...

In her hand knit cardigans, which we wore in cold winter walks on tree lined roads,

which became silent sharing our silent walks.

We used to silently walk, silently thinking of our dear siter who left us so young, so beautiful,

so full of life, vigor, ambition and dreams.

Yes, Arshad and me shared it silently and profusely.

We had the same humble demeanor and in our humbleness we shared the pain profusely.

The loss, the injustice of it all, the sudden shock together.

That was our strength.  Yes, that was our strength. we were in the same house hold togetehr.

The same court yard, the same flowers, the same smells,

Now, Arshad, my silent strength of a marvellous sibling is not there...and there is no one to understand 

the depth of the double loss, a fresh, devastating loss of another sibling, my beautiful and precious,

brother, my best friend in life...my Arshad...

We were born of the same body, same love, in the same household, same ambition, same laughter...

All gone...all gone in an instant. In a fraction of a second...

No one is there to really understand what has happened so suddenly, so shockingly, so unexpected, so

 unexpected.

Inside of the depth of my soul, a wound is born, a wound of deep purple and burgundy color and Arshad

 is not there to stich it up. It will be ever fresh and bleeding....

It's Eid today and he just died....

We used to wish each other happy Eid, happy new year, happy birthday...we never missed it...

This is the fist Eid after he is gone...

Gone for ever...

It's Eid today

People are celebrating.

I am hurting.

I am at Sant Ombroeus, a very fine cafe...

From where I always called him...

we both loved great cafe's...

I am hurting...

I am crying bitterly...

People are watching...

But they behave that they are not...

In our culture, back home, people will ask, "Are you ok?"

But not here...

And Arshad is not here to comfort me.

I shared everything with him when we grew older...

He is not here to share the sadness of his loss, the deep sorrow of his absence,

every minute, every day, every moment...no one is here...

He is not here to say to me, "HAPPY EID PK."

He used to call me Pk, The initials of my very long name.

Do I dare say, "HAPPY EID ARSHAD?"

MY HEART IS COMPLETELY SHATTERED ON THIS DAY OF EID AND EVERY DAY TO COME.