Fifteen years ago… I wrote a column titled, “Nah Lums Na Khushbu!” At that time, you left the country for the first time and went to the UK for higher education. The mother went into a strange depression at that time, the children whom the mothers have always seen in their home (mostly) leaving the country becomes a sadness and a shock for them.
You were also very close to them, their charm, gossiping with them. He had a hard time with your separation at this late age. If you reassure them that you will come back in two years, after obtaining higher education… “You should video call him on the phone every day!” He had said in his Punjabi style that what is the use of such a conversation and half a meeting, there is neither the touch nor the scent of children. I wrote that column based on his words.
We all were counting the period of two years, but Allah knew that this period was never going to end in two years. Even after two years, you could not separate from this country and did not come back to the country where your roots were. Even if father left this world, he could not come, such are the compulsions of foreign countries.
Of all the chains of constraints involved in obtaining permanent residency, the most important constraint of all is time, which is how long you spend in the country. That time is over and you got a few years temporary residence visa after the student. Now this temporary stay was supposed to be permanent. Well, after that, at least it happened that the mother had a few meetings with you, although the stay was for a few weeks, but it would have been a bit of a relief. Mother’s longed-for love was felt.
Then came the day when you returned with the sorrow and pain that your mother had a stroke and she had gone unconscious. At that time your passport was about to become permanent, but you took it back and forgot everything, and forgot how many more years you will have to wait again for the time when you will get a permanent residence visa and you will get British citizenship.
It was a good decision, albeit an emotional one, but you got to spend his last moments with him. Your mother passed away after two and a half months of unconsciousness and coma and what luck did you have in all that time, neither did she talk to you, nor could you sit and chat with her like you used to do before. All this time we just kept watching her and if she ever regained consciousness, she could only watch. She left us suddenly.
They may not have sensed any smell or touch, they fell into eternal sleep. Mother was a warrior who supported us all, we were all one under the shadow of our parents, their umbrella took us out of the hardships and hardships of this world without even realizing it. On that day, prayers were missed for all of us and we started to feel like children who lost their mother in a crowded fair. You know that parents go, but they split up and settle among us all.
They live within us forever through their habits and their scent. Someone’s smile is like a mother’s, someone’s speech and someone’s walk. One has the taste of mother’s food in one’s hands and one becomes a mother like mother. If one takes away the anger of father, then one’s laughter becomes like father’s. Someone walks like a father, someone talks like him, and someone looks exactly like a father.
We all have our parentage within us, we don’t learn it with effort, but it grows with us and emerges at some point. Especially when the parents are gone, we see their effects in ourselves and in our children, they keep moving around us in one form or another. On this evening of early November 2025, not once, I turned around and hugged you three times and said Allah Hafiz. Every time there is a doubt that next time you come, it might not be me.
Your seven-week stay has felt like seven days, even though you came after one and a half years. Now there are no parents in this house and no waiting for them… They used to open the gate and walk down the driveway waiting for their children. When they were informed that they had left Islamabad, their entire being would have been waiting and those three and a half hours would have been centuries long for them. He would repeatedly call and ask where we had reached at that time. Every child’s likes and dislikes were thought of and they cooked food for them as if we were going after years and those who are coming after years, how would they be waiting for them. Parents have given me their concern, the concern they had in their hearts for their children. I feel and worry about my siblings in the same way that they used to, I get worried and lose peace of mind for anyone who is in pain. Looking at the faces of these mothers, one can understand that they are in trouble, sick or in pain, and I feel their pain.
That evening, before your departure back to Britain, all the siblings had arranged to gather for dinner and from there we called you Allah Hafiz and like every day, a part of my heart went to Britain with you. I feel you as if you are a part of my being, I feel your separation and distance as my late mother used to feel. She could not express herself, but Allah has blessed me with the power of expression. He often told me that such and such a problem has happened and is increasing, so write about it… He thought that just one column from me would be late and the problem would be solved.
“Nah Lams Ni Khushbu!” was written, after reading it, he got a call, they said, “Do you think that reading this column will make any difference to him and he will run away and come back, where do those who leave come back, Abroad is a very bad place!”
He knew that no one would come back after thirty years, nor after fifteen years, even if he comes like a guest. As much as we wait for him to come, as much as our hearts ache for his absence at every opportunity… lost in the jumbles of foreign countries, in his busyness… will he also miss us as much, will he be as anxious for us, will his heart also ache for us?
