Dear Nazia,
This is not an elegy for you. I am just trying to make
peace with the President of the Immortals here. It was unimaginable that I
would mourn your death so soon. A death which ruthlessly pulled you down into
that deep water, drowning all your dreams, hopes and happiness. I still gape at
this cruelty. Your sudden departure into the oblivion. It numbs me that such a
horrid moment waited you there in the form of that blue stream. From all the
moments you spent with me I gathered that you had enough mettle to survive such
opposing currents. But ‘nature’ can be real sporty, tossing with lives, it
destroys the ones who refuse to be defeated.
I know when you have plunged into that water you somehow
wanted to save your child, even by losing your own life. I never experienced what really
are the pure instincts of a mother. But I have known you as a devoted mother
for your child. I have seen you beaming with pride and joy for doing so much
for your daughter’s delight. You built stories for her and sang tunes that
brought her a world of immense pleasure and knowledge. May be the Gods don’t
like such ideals to thrive and shine so long in the world below. So they snatch
you away and watch our sorrow with warrants for the divine act such as; it will
anyway happen, it has to happen, for all of us it will happen, only that it happened
so early here. But too sudden, too unbearable, at times too far from comprehension.
One would prefer an Aristotelian catharsis only on
stage. But never with the real people out there, with such traumatic reversal
of events. The good characters need to suffer and fall only in the wild
imagination of a mortal author. I know my friend, that how you embraced authors
and their words with much zest, and basked in the twists and turns of wonderful
plots. Never would for yourself have wanted such irrevocable ending for your
own story. No one would have wanted it even as a nightmare. And here I
struggle to believe it as a bad dream, but haunted forever by the cold truth
that you can be here only as a memory. A butterfly who is pitilessly thrown
into a chill winter even before it could feast enough on its counted flowers in
this yard.
Rest in peace my friend. I have only love and prayers for you.
