The Dad Series
Allah Dad Wahid, a name that will continue to echo for ages in the streets of Turbat. I’m not an intellectual individual to actually pen down anything about you, but the moments I saw you in Turbat cannot let me get off you unless I write it. I struggle to express meaningful words though, but that are far for expressing emotions.
To be very honest, when I put pen to paper, your words are what I draw inspiration from, Dad – particularly after learning about your selfless struggle for the Baloch as a nation. I feel fortunate to have seen you very often at Ghamshad Hotel with your friends. Whenever I went there, I felt invigorated. But now, when I visit, I feel empty. Your face was like an open book, with Baloch history written all over it.
I was deeply influenced by your presence, Dad, especially now when I realize how rare a Baloch you had been. I cherish the memory of your beautiful smile and intellectual conversations I listened to back then. Because you remained to be selfless and never worked for credit, it was hard to know your worth when alive, but your martyrdom will definitely be a source of further inspiration and guidance.
The day still refreshes the wounds when you were shot by the armed men inside the hotel. I still have that memory fresh when everyone was shocked – including me. I had gone to buy bread at night, and when I saw your blood on the floor, I was unconscious. Because I had earlier seen you in the hotel with your friends and knew you, it was very hard to digest that moment.
I didn’t eat bread or talk to anyone that night. I just went home and mourned a death I never knew would follow a series of miseries for us as a nation. You’re the only person who had such a profound impact on me, Dad – and, of course, on plenty others like me. Your departure is an unforgettable event for me. Even though you’re not physically with us, you live in our hearts for ages. Your name is etched in Balochistan’s history pages, and you’re a gift to the coming generations.
Rest In Eternal Power, Dad.