Mummy, I am sorry!
On Friday evening my son, Arif told me that he, by chance, met Muzamil Jaleel at SMHS Hospital Srinagar and came to know that his (Muzamil’s) mother was admitted there.
Arif, Bunty to Mummy, as we used to call Muzamil’s mother, visited her, she recognized him, complained that I hadn’t shown up for ages and told him to say me hello.
While in school Arif would visit Muzamil’s place almost every day to take tuition from Mussavir, Muzamil’s younger brother. On off days, he would have breakfast as well as lunch there and on working days, evening tea and sometimes early dinner.
They may have not been in touch for years but there had been some spiritual connection between them. Why should my son have visited SMHS Hospital on the same day when Mummy was hospitalized there and why should he have met Muzamil in that crowded hospital? Why should he have been once again in the lap of Mummy after so many years? It says something which I am not able to understand and then explain!
Friday night we spoke about her. We spoke about the family. We spoke about our association, which got disconnected due to multiple reasons.
And in the morning, when I saw a tweet from Sajad Lone about passing away of Mummy, the only thought that come to my mind was, “my son had more strong spiritual connection with Mummy than me,” though I know I loved her the ultimate.
Also Read: Why do mothers die?
I decided to launch Kashmir Images as Weekly in 1996 December. Had no money to rent an office, and had just little bit of money to pay the printing prices for at least six months.
BUT HAD A BIG, BIG, BIG Asset at hand.
Muzamil had convinced some Mass Communication pass outs from Kashmir University to join me. They were ready to take up this suicidal mission. I am not mentioning their names because some of them may not be comfortable as things have changed a lot since then.
The question was wherefrom to run it. Me, Muzamil and some other friends were discussing the issue at Muzamil’s place at Jawahar Nagar.
Mummy listens to our conversations, comes in and drops an “all loving bomb”…
“I will spare one room, do it from here,” she just said it and me and Muzamil were —- Waw!
That is how Kashmir Images was born. The noble lady who died was not the mother of Muzamil and his brothers and sisters alone, she mothered Kashmir Images. She brought me out from nothingness to something. And regrettably I haven’t met her for so many years.
I am an unfortunate child. My father died when I was just 13 not knowing what life and death means. My mother died, and I was busy running my newspaper and wasn’t with her when she breathed her last. Mummy (Muzamil’s mother) died and I was nowhere.
A few months back, I wrote a piece about the death of the mother of my colleague, Raouf Rasool and now I am writing about Mummy. Why mothers die if paradise is under their feet?
Bashir Manzar is Editor Kashmir Images
He can be reached at [email protected]
