Sunday, October 24, 2004
Three days on ...
Were Badar and I friends? I am not sure.
He was a semester junior to me, and probably did not even know my name for the whole time I was there. I knew his because a few of my friends had taken a few courses with him in the past, and when he had got engaged, it was news. Not many in our friends were engaged at that time.
He knew my face, and I his. We were introduced sometime in 2002,about four years after we had passed out. Salman, his wife, Osman, and Faisal are all from the 18th batch, as is Badar's wife, and as was Badar. Osman was the last to get married, and when finally he had, he had stopped over in Dubai for a short while on his way to Qatar. Faisal had used the opportunity to manage a get together of all PCBA walas. That is when we had actually exchanged any greetings. We had met a couple of times in his brother's office after that, when I had gone there on business. We had spoken over the phone a few times. I am not sure that constitutes a friendship. We were acquainted. We knew each other. He knew my story, and I his.
Today is the third day since I found out about his slaying. It still disturbs me no end. News of death, killing and mayhem are an everyday matter in our world. The pictures of maimed Iraqi and Palestinian children, of scores of mutilated Iraqi bodies lying in the aftermath of US attacks on residential areas, and before that similar pictures everyday of Afghanis have been in the papers everyday for over three years now. Pictures of my people, children of my nation killed by the enemy without mercy. Yet, they saddened me a little less with every passing day, as I got used to seeing them. One would have thought one's sensibility to violent death would have been blunted over three years.
No. Nothing prepares you for the news of the violent death of someone you knew - whether or not you were close to the person.
Three days, I have gone about my life as usual. It makes me feel guilty. I stifle my jokes, and feel guilty I could think of any at all. I switch off the music in the car guiltily as I am reminded of the tragedy. Every now and then a BMW 3 series whizzes past me, and I am reminded of the tragedy. I stood for namaz, and my mind was flooded with the thoughts and images of what might have had transpired. I go about my life as usual - almost. A strange melancholy pervades everything.
I spoke to his brother yesterday, and to his wife. I have never been this tongue tied in my entire life. I really did not know what I could or should have said that would have consoled them. There are legal complications with Immigration and Police authorities, and the body has still not been released to the family. It is still in the morgue awaiting its burrial. I just found out today that it was actually Ejaz who had gone with Badar's wife to the police to lodge a complaint about him gone missing. I also found out that they were childhood friends, that Badar and his family were responsible for helping Ejaz get into UAE, that Ejaz is the same fat and bespectacled guy who used to be sitting in a corner of Badar's brother's office. How terrible it gets. How morbid it becomes.
I cannot help but think about myself. What if my Riba-infested existance came to an abrupt end? Would I be forgiven for the thousands and thousands of transgressions I have logged into my record over the years?
A shudder follows another at the very thought. Death is frightening, but its the after-life that petrifies me. The one thing that this tragedy has underlined for me is that after-life could begin anytime. .. and I am not prepared at all.
Istaghfirullahi min kulli zanbin wa atoobu ilaih.
¶ 10/24/2004 01:35:00 PM
He was a semester junior to me, and probably did not even know my name for the whole time I was there. I knew his because a few of my friends had taken a few courses with him in the past, and when he had got engaged, it was news. Not many in our friends were engaged at that time.
He knew my face, and I his. We were introduced sometime in 2002,about four years after we had passed out. Salman, his wife, Osman, and Faisal are all from the 18th batch, as is Badar's wife, and as was Badar. Osman was the last to get married, and when finally he had, he had stopped over in Dubai for a short while on his way to Qatar. Faisal had used the opportunity to manage a get together of all PCBA walas. That is when we had actually exchanged any greetings. We had met a couple of times in his brother's office after that, when I had gone there on business. We had spoken over the phone a few times. I am not sure that constitutes a friendship. We were acquainted. We knew each other. He knew my story, and I his.
Today is the third day since I found out about his slaying. It still disturbs me no end. News of death, killing and mayhem are an everyday matter in our world. The pictures of maimed Iraqi and Palestinian children, of scores of mutilated Iraqi bodies lying in the aftermath of US attacks on residential areas, and before that similar pictures everyday of Afghanis have been in the papers everyday for over three years now. Pictures of my people, children of my nation killed by the enemy without mercy. Yet, they saddened me a little less with every passing day, as I got used to seeing them. One would have thought one's sensibility to violent death would have been blunted over three years.
No. Nothing prepares you for the news of the violent death of someone you knew - whether or not you were close to the person.
Three days, I have gone about my life as usual. It makes me feel guilty. I stifle my jokes, and feel guilty I could think of any at all. I switch off the music in the car guiltily as I am reminded of the tragedy. Every now and then a BMW 3 series whizzes past me, and I am reminded of the tragedy. I stood for namaz, and my mind was flooded with the thoughts and images of what might have had transpired. I go about my life as usual - almost. A strange melancholy pervades everything.
I spoke to his brother yesterday, and to his wife. I have never been this tongue tied in my entire life. I really did not know what I could or should have said that would have consoled them. There are legal complications with Immigration and Police authorities, and the body has still not been released to the family. It is still in the morgue awaiting its burrial. I just found out today that it was actually Ejaz who had gone with Badar's wife to the police to lodge a complaint about him gone missing. I also found out that they were childhood friends, that Badar and his family were responsible for helping Ejaz get into UAE, that Ejaz is the same fat and bespectacled guy who used to be sitting in a corner of Badar's brother's office. How terrible it gets. How morbid it becomes.
I cannot help but think about myself. What if my Riba-infested existance came to an abrupt end? Would I be forgiven for the thousands and thousands of transgressions I have logged into my record over the years?
A shudder follows another at the very thought. Death is frightening, but its the after-life that petrifies me. The one thing that this tragedy has underlined for me is that after-life could begin anytime. .. and I am not prepared at all.
Istaghfirullahi min kulli zanbin wa atoobu ilaih.
¶ 10/24/2004 01:35:00 PM
