I grew up seeing a family. A family headed by a retired typist. It was the first time I ever saw a typewriter in my life- in their house. A diverse family that is!
Six children- three of each gender. The eldest son- a rigid service man of the customs in his 50s, an avid smoker and the manager of the family. The second son- a gambling man with serious drug addiction problems and a jobless life. Second sons are always the neglected ones if not abhorred as I could feel the tension and energy change in the room anytime he entered. The third one is a daughter- apparently the only capable hands that would take care of the family when the men are gone from the house. The next daughter is a working woman in NGOs- providing alongside her eldest brother. The youngest one is also an earner for the family- however, her passion lay more in her personal freedom of affairs than in their collective life- that kept tilting towards the latter case with years because of situational demands. The youngest son was a handicap- probably the reason why a Pakistan-era family this big stopped taking any more children.
The only member ignored yet is the head woman of the family- I grew up calling her ‘Dadi/Dadu’ in the absence of my own actual grandma who lives away from Chittagong. She was no less. Probably the only person in the family who was the most naive. I’m using the verb “was” ’cause she has breathed her last today. Last time I saw her, she couldn’t even open her eyes to call me “Dadu”. Her true Dhakaiya accent of speaking will always ring in my ears and keep calling me by my name nevertheless. Her smiles that were ever-present everytime we showed up in her abode will probably not have erased from my mind, ever, in my sane life.
Tragically, this is the 5th death I’ve seen from the same family of 8. Most of this family have passed away in front of my eyes as I’ve aged. This is the first janajah of the 5 that I have missed today.
They are survived by the three daughters now- all well past their 30s and still unmarried. I’ll never understand God’s ways but the test He inflicted upon this particular family- its very interesting. And for a weak hearted individual like me- really devastating. I can only imagine the horror in the daughter’s thoughts, who I call “Aunties”. They’re still asking for God’s help. They never lost their beliefs or their faiths with their losses. They accepted it and are living with it for 17 years as every once in a while there prints one less member in their family photo.
I pray, no other family should have to go through what they’ve undergone. And I pray, I be grateful enough for my family and the blessings I’ve been granted therein.
Innalillahi wa inna Ilaihi radiun.
An Escapist 