Visiting My Father

Salaam

In the heart of Lahore, accentuated with the coming of Eid, the markets were busier than usual. Understanding how the streets there worked was downright puzzling. Countless markets were selling meats of all kind (fresh fish, beef, chicken, and notably goat meat). Beggars, as usual, were pleading for money. Young boys were either running errands for their families or up to no good by playing in the streets. Men were directing their mules strapped with large wagons holding vegetables, or fruits, or anything else they could sell in order to make a living. Clothing shops were being frequented by people with an appetite for bargaining while small and large hole-in-the-wall restaurants were being frequented by people with small or large appetites. There were shops selling furniture or a variety of trinkets. Shops selling equipment or gadgets. And some shops selling things I wasn't even sure of what purpose they could serve.

Meanwhile, people in cars were trying to manage narrow lanes with hundreds of people walking through them or bikes and motorcycles zooming in and out between cars and rickshaws alike. Everything you could imagine in a market multiplied by 100.

So, the markets, and the world for that matter, carried on as usual.

But in the middle of this hustle and bustle lies a graveyard. It's not as prominent as you would expect especially coming from the West. In fact, you may even walk right by it without noticing. And perhaps thats how it intended to be.

But if you were to happen across it and enter the graveyard, you'll notice on your right a small but frequently visited masjid welcoming you. Outside of the masjid the graveyard contains the bodies of at least a couple or few hundred souls. One of those souls belongs to that of my father. (May Allah rest his soul and grant him forgiveness and peace. Allah huma sali Allah Muhammad. Aameen).

The graveyard itself was simple -- again by comparison to Western standards -- but its inherent and immaculate beauty coupled by the serenity felt while walking on it's pathways was apparent. Outside were the chaotic Lahorey streets and inside was tranquility. Many graves had beautiful white marble with small plants over it. Nothing grandiose but noticeable and beautiful. Other graves had simple black signs with the name of the person who occupied its space etched in white. On the other hand, additional graves lacked such identification. And if it wasn't for the raised mound of dirt recognizing that a body was buried there, you could easily walk right over them. Nothing else to differentiate it or tell people who lays there. For such individuals, most would walk by without a second thought, though the more introspective among us would wonder who lays there and whether that person has loved ones who visit and make dua for them. Allah knows best, but I sincerely hope there are...

You may know that my father died almost two years ago.

He passed away with little to no possessions in his name, mashaAllah. After his passing, pictures of his room revealed the simplicity of his lifestyle fit for those who you usually only read or hear about. In other words, those who prefer to live simply while focusing purely on Allah and spending as many moments as they can in the masjid. Someone who didn't care much for the world. Someone who knew a secret. A secret that really isn't or shouldn't be a secret, though most people live like it is: the secret of knowing that this life is but an illusion. A temporary place in which we were instructed to live in it like a traveler.

Now think of the description I provided of the graveyard and it's environment. It's surrounded in the middle of one of Lahore's busiest streets yet inside it's calm and secluded, perhaps protected, from all the commotion. It doesn't care for the outside world. The hustle and bustle. It maintained itself on the inside with pristine and awe inspiring beauty. Similarly, my father's love for ibadat, despite living in a world that begs for attention with the same tenacity that the beggars on the market streets do for money, is equally awe inspiring.

The All Mighty, through visiting my father, had taught us this important lesson.

I would have never imagined that saying salaam to my father in person after so long would be this way. The thought is a painful one which is always followed by uncontrollable tears. The love between a father and son is unique, powerful. No matter the situation. Of course, I am reminded that Allah is the Best of Planners and on this I have absolute yakeen.

So it was only fitting that my father, who, especially in his later years, was unphased by the duniya and it's offerings, was buried in a graveyard that was uninhibited by its surroundings. I am content with this. Actually, I am more than content for where Allah has planned and allowed for my father to be buried; I am grateful.

Allah in His infinite Wisdom, Mercy and Forgiveness elevated my father in such amazing fashion. SubhanAllah. Alhamdullilah. Allahu Akbar.

May Allah accept the good deeds from my father. May Allah grant my father noor, comfort, and protection in the grave. May Allah always facilitate loved ones to continue making dua for him. May He (Swt) forgive his sins and elevate his rank in the Hereafter. Allah huma sali Allah Muhammad. Aameen.

With love to you always, Dad,
Imran