Today was the day I had been dreading for the whole year; Eid it was to all but me.
Even in my slumber, I could feel people flooding my house like houseflies swarm around those with arms bare.
“Utho beta, aaj tou Eid hai”, exclaimed my mother, in a manner that made it seem like it was my last Eid on Earth.
I rubbed my eyes open and glanced at the clock, only to see that it had struck no more than ten O clock.
“Ammi, abhi tou sirf das bajay hain”, I stated, exasperated out of my mind.
But just then, a sudden realization made its way to the depths of my mind; the realization that I hadn’t heard his voice all day.
With him around, I never had to worry about the plights of finding a qasai. Nor did I have to think twice about anything other than the pounds of makeup I was gladly going to clog my pores with. There was nothing in this world that could fill in the void he had left behind.
And it wasn’t like I didn’t miss him every single day; the truth was far from that.
But today, as the glee-filled air ran through every nook and corner of the house, I couldn’t help but wish to be at least half as felicitous as everyone else.
It just wasn’t the same without his wholesome laugh gracing every crevice of my household.
As I groggily walked towards the door, hands clasping a piece of paper with the address of a certain Arshad jotted down on it, my eyes brimmed with bittersweet teardrops.
Once I followed the address and reached the place where blood seemed to be flowing like water, I knew instantly of the agony my dear father had to face, every single year.
The rest of the day went by like a blur. I called him and heard his spirited laugh, only to be reminded of the fact that his beautifully wrinkled face was nowhere near mine.
And so I made with myself a pledge; the pledge to never take him for granted, again, the pledge to always let him know just how much he means to me, but most importantly, I vowed to become more like him.