By: Bashir Ahmad Dar
A few days back, I was casually scrolling through my phone, flicking my fingers across the screen as posts of all kinds flashed by. Someone had shared a joke I read it and smiled to myself. Someone had posted a wrestling match, but I didn’t let it play on my mobile screen because I am once told by one of my friends that wrestling matches are just an arrangement of sorts and are staged performances designed to deceive and extract money. The grand setup is nothing but a show, meant to dazzle and distract us. Another man had posted a condolence message for a friend, expressing heartfelt sympathy and politely excusing himself from attending the bereaved family in person. He cited a previously fixed, non-flexible schedule and ended his note with warm words: asking the grieving friend to convey his salaam to the mother and hugs to the children. It appeared from the posts that he had been close childhood friend of the grieving man.
I don’t know what exactly made me stop at that post. But I did. I read it and then read it again. There was something powerful about the way it was written. The writer seemed to be a master of words. He knew exactly what to say, and how. Every sentence was crafted with care. Every word carried weight, often layered with meaning. Synonyms were placed so precisely, it was like watching a skilled artist at work.
For the first few minutes, I was lost in admiration and amazed at the writer’s talent and the hidden depth in his lines. Then I moved to the comments section, intending to copy someone’s comment “Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un” and paste it as my own. But just as I was about to do so, a different thought struck me.
I asked myself, “Would someone who has just lost his greatest pillar of strength, his father, really be online, reading condolence comments and likes and replies on a Facebook post?” I doubted it.
To satisfy my curiosity, I tapped on the profile of the bereaved friend, opened the message option in Messenger and was astonished. He had not been active on Facebook for over two months.
Now, a different thought struck me.
What was the point of posting condolences on Facebook when the bereaved friend wasn’t even active there? Would the angels read it and inform him that his childhood friend had expressed sorrow over his father’s passing through a neatly written post? Would the angels of grief carry the excuse that his friend couldn’t attend the funeral because of a non-flexible schedule? Would they?
The answer was crystal clear: a resounding no.A big no.
So then, what was the condolence note really for?
Probably, it was written to play it safe for the future. So that someday, if needed, he could say, “I did express my sorrow… I would have come, had my schedule allowed.” A neatly preserved proof of sympathy, just in case if needed. A public token of grief, perhaps more performative than personal.
Very tactfully, he had advised his friend to stay strong like a rock. He urged him to care for his mother, to remain the pillar of the family, and not to forget his married sisters, reminding him that he was now like a second father to them. His words were carefully chosen, almost poetic in their delivery.
Quoting Rumi, he had written, “The ocean cares for each wave until it reaches the shore. You are given more help than you will ever know.”
The message was clear. He was hinting at divine help. Help that comes unseen, perhaps through angels, perhaps through fate. He was offering a meaningless digital comfort to the grieving friend.Even though I admired the poetic grace of his words but some painful question lingered in my mind— Where was the human help? Where was the friend who should’ve shown up at the door, sat silently beside the grieving mother, patted the head of crying sister, or simply stood still at the funeral in quiet solidarity with the family?
Words can be balm. Yes, they can be balm of Gilead but only when they are backed by presence, by action, by a hand on the shoulder or atleast a shared silence. Beautiful language, no matter how comforting, cannot fill the void left by absence. A digital condolence may reach hundreds but not necessarily to the one who truly need it. In the end, it is not about the words that we post but the steps we take that matter the most.
The writer is a teacher. darbadhir1234321@gmail.com
