Sorry Zainab.
I am sitting where three years ago, Sibte Jafar chacha's body was taken for burial. It is a graveyard seemingly away from and tucked peacefully behind the unrest of the city.
Three years ago something changed. It is the day when I lost my uncle. Days, months and years that followed made me realize more than what that day alone could. I haven't just lost him. I lost my connection to the love for knowledge. His energy and excitement when undertaking absolutely any discussion; his ability to stir so swiftly away from shallow issues to bigger ideas of Life.
Today, few sit here. In communal suffering. We have lost him and with time I have realized I have lost so much more than who I thought he was.
There have been so many moments where the urge to call him and seek answers has caused immense sadness.
No words. Loneliness within. Silence. Void. Sorry Zainab, wish you were as lucky as me.
Wish you were here today Sibte Jafar chacha. For all the minutes and hours you stole from your schedule for my random projects and ideas. For the seriousness with which you gave me time. The seriousness with which you discussed. May you rest in peace and may we somehow just somehow yet a bit of your glimpse in us. May just somehow magically we become a little as human a you.
