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.