mamma, mamma!

'mamma! mamma!' a year and a half old abid would chortle with glee...he was a bundle of joy with an ever infectious smile...he would crawl or walk toward me as soon as he saw me...and i would pick him up and throw him high up in the air...and unlike other babies he would not scream or cry...instead he yell with glee...it was our hello...

'we are taking abid to the hospital,' apa said in a late night telephone call...we rushed to the hospital...abid had very high fever...i brushed his hair...whispered his name...almost heard him whisper 'mama'... in two days he was brain dead...

...he stayed at the hospital for two or three weeks...we spent night after night by his bedside...hoping, praying...watching for a sign... a tremor, a small signal... in vain...tests revealed some extreme form of meningitis...after he was brought home the parents spent no effort to find a cure for him...he was their first born...doctors, specialists, quacks, hakims even pir-fakirs as a last resort...parents!...they never give up...physically he looked so perfect...but...over the years...due to the medications he received...he started maturing before time...but by the time he was 14-15 he died a natural death...

...if i had known about euthanasia, i wonder what would i have done then?...

...will share a poem from jao beta

jao
jana hay tou jao
yaadouN maiN qaid
khaabouN ki maanind
waq’t ki lehrouN maiN
bikhar-jao
mooskurah-hatouN kay paimaanouN ka
mauj e beh'r e shauq ka
dil maiN mehfooz lamhouN ka
sheeraza bikhair dou
jana hay tou jao
......................chalay jao
kitab e dil kay safha e aakhir pey
kiya raq'm hay, maa'loom hay humaiN
kuh'r e oodaasi maiN leh'r e gham
phir ik baar hum aaghosh hogi
chund sa'atouN kay liyay
ya a’bud kay liyay
shayad....

go
leave, if you must
like fond dreams
imprisoned in memory cells
vanish with the waves,
dissolve
--the promises of smiles
ignore
--the waves from the Ocean of Love
melt away
--those moments ensconced in the heart
go, if you must
................leave.
On the last page of Book of Heart
we know what is writ large,
pensive mist will embra ce
the waves of sadness, yet again
for moments few
or forever
perhaps...