The door knocks and I open it calmly. Everytime the door trembles silently after a knock, somebody appears asking, “Adnan, are you there?” And everytime I make up my mind for a lie, but the mouth narrates, “Yes, I’m here!”
Though I hate when people interfere when I’m busy with something productive or business with video games or doing editing, but deep down, I feel genuine relaxation while becoming somebody’s hand in need. But this time, like mostly, the knock is a grow of the mind. Dàd stands up with his eyes stuck at me and, like usual, asking, “What have you done so far?” And I, with thousand of guilts and a smile on my face, nod my head to symbolize “nothing” and look towards the fan whose tails are nothing merely describing the false run-behind each others like my shamelessness. The simple look towards the fan is an excuse to disconnect eye contacts as I am totally ashamed and, without a conveyable answer to his any query, I am supposed to answer.
Whether I’m lucky or he doesn’t want to bother me more for my knowledge, he says “Let’e go”. This is a charming phrase for me. His “Let’s go” is always priceless. I spend my most fruitful moments after his “Let’s go”.
I have never been fond of Balochi language, but in my deepest corner, after his “let’s go” the Balochi language covers the best place. We merely have 30-50 minutes. But I can guarantee these moments the best of my life. Because I ride the bike and he sets back as he doesn’t know riding of a bike. And during this ride, he shares knowledge regarding Baloch culture and language, specially emphasizing on the benefits of translation.
Once on a ride, he says, “Language only improves when every type of material is translated into it.” And I’m nothing in front of him to disagree his proposed claims. He is the supreme instructor to me in regards of Balochi language and forsooth in some areas of my literary studies.
“Dàd!” I slow my bike speed to cut of all noisy disturbances caused by air collision to our and bike’s bodies. And calmly call his name to grab his attention towards my question I’m asking. He responded, “Yes, say.”
I am totally nervous of each query I ask him. This is because of my introvertive nature. I rarely get into a deep question and answer session, but that rare gets its completeness only if the front sitting person is Dàd. I know how polite he is with people he sees something really like a future of Balochi. Unfortunately, I’m the most guilty person as I haven’t gone through any of his planned goals for me yet.
“Dàd, why do you sell Balochi books so cheaply? You are working on them consistently and yet the price on the published book is so less.” My heart is beating fast at this very moment. I am shivering but I’m glad we are on a bike and bike’s engine is shivering more than me. It is like, the bike is as afraid of the question I asked as I am. But controlling my random thoughts, I wait and get an answer.
“Hahaha,” he laughs and taps his hands on my shoulder making me more relax, “I want every Baloch student to have a book in their hands which is entitled in Balochi and inside everything is written with Balochi words.”
He speaks more but I cannot go ahead without expressing my feelings, after all I’m traveling with a world too different, too helpful and too much a real Balochi Literature enthusiasm. He adds further, “English books are good to read, but without having understanding of your own language and literature, you are not a complete being.” He stops. And yes, he is truly thinking something big, something out of having been thought by ordinary people like me.
Do you know I am blessed with all types of Balochi books? Yes, you heard it correctly. Dàd has always been a support to my Balochi studies. He provides me books. You cannot believe, everytime I see a book’e cover page on his status, the very next moment when he enters the gate, my eyes catch his hands whether holding books or not. And everytime he is with a book. Not a book, indeed, with two books. One for his records and the second for me.
But Dàd, now what has remained for me after this cruel day of February that has completely put a darkness. Darkness to my doggy-like eyes when you were holding two books of same fiction and nonfiction, same prose and same poetry? The gate sounds, people enters but how could I turn my face towards it as the harsh reality of your physical departure cannot be contradicted.
Dàd, do you know, the society and your friend circles are damaged after losing you? The streets I take to the society sometimes make me feel like chanting your names in silence. Because they speak a language different than ours. The market places we traveled on bike still await in deep emotions and wants to hear more about the Baloch and Balochi Language. The market shops, who sell books, still wait for your cheap books so that they can make better profit out of your amazing and unbelievable aims of making Balochi literature accessible to everyone. As no one offers a book so cheap as you did.
How can I define our family conditions after your departure? You were a basic brick and the rooftop of the family and truly the mentor of the family. I feel the gap. It still remains unfilled after such a long year of your absence! Whatever I feel is felt more by the family. I take sometimes walks, some like 20 minutes of walks. Awaiting for your entry and words, “So you are again walking!” And to see your smile. But everytime my heart feels heavy because my wills never get completed. From gate to the Zigrana (our worship place), I walk and everytime when I reach in front of your room’s door, that is already opened at this time, I turn my face and imagine your presence, sleeping in front of the air cooler and relaxing your mind. Because later you need to do a lot of work in late night.
Alas! I fail to find you sleeping there. Every moment I i turn my face without your presence, my hopes die. My moral dies. My inner being dies and only remains a body without a soul, walking unknown to the present and traveling with your memoirs!
Dàd, do you hear me? I’m the one to whom you had a lot of expectations and I’m guilty of not completing your given tasks. If life remains, I will go for them.