Blind to Bounds

Within days of having got married I had realized, a planner like me, had signed up for a different kind of life with a partner who enjoyed risk-taking and adventures. A life like I wanted, of planning ahead, for next 5-10 years was not his cup of tea. He had conveniently left the longterm planning to me, “Yeh lambi planning tum karo.”
We had common interest to travel, but not the same way or form. ‘Traveling by air, staying in a hotel and sightseeing standard tourist spots, museums and castles ‘ was not his idea of travel.
Fasih wanted to see the world by road.
Our very first trip was soon after our wedding was in Feb 1990 to Simla. Papa insisted we take a flight, as being a Pakistani, it was safer, but Fasih had read about the Kalka Simla train and insisted to ride on it.
We made various unique road trips in past 30 years. None of them were from any travel guides.
One of the trips along Nile I have already mentioned elsewhere.
Another, one of the weirdest plans we made was to travel by road from KL to Bangkok in 2000. Yes, from Malaysia to Thailand. We took a beautiful train from KL to Penang and then crossed the Malay-Thai border by taxi. As we were checking out of Malaysia, the Malay Customs asked us, “Pakistani?”
Fasih replied, “Yes.”
The customs officer took him to a senior officer as kids and I sat for almost an hour dreading what happened. He returned laughing with the officer. The Malay authorities had informed him that we can cross to Thailand, but will not be allowed back to Malaysia on return because Pakistanis were not allowed road entry to Malaysia from Thailand. So they ensured we knew it. Fasih had already done his homework and he showed them the air ticket he had from Bangkok via KL to Jeddah.
The road trip within Thailand from border to Hatyai, a small town in Southern Thailand on a Tuktuk was very scary. It took us 2 hours. I had the horrible fear that we will be kidnapped for ransom. But much to our surprise, it was a very simple town, with simple and hospitable people. Being predominantly a Muslim city, we found halal restaurants everywhere. And the best Thai food we ever had was in Hatyai. Thai authorities again did not aloow a ‘Pakistani’ to travel Southern Thailand by road, and we had to take local flight from HatYai to Bangkok.
Our Malaysia stay coincided with Eid Al Fitr and witnessing Eid in KL was a unique experience in itself. They call it “Hari Raya”.
We went early in the morning to central mosque in KL for Eid prayers. Fasih and Ismail sat in the first row. An hour or so later, they saw the President Mahathir Mohammed with few people walk up to the front row for prayers. Fasih & Ismail went up to him, shook hands, introduced himself as a Pakistani tourist, and stood with him for prayers. After the prayers President Mahathir Mohamed invited us for a communal Eid lunch at Putrajaya, his official residence. We met him there too, in the afternoon. Almost half of KL had lunch with him in his residence. Apparently this was his last year before retirement and hence he had an open lunch invitation for all his countrymen.
Fasih often joked, “we haven’t met any of our own Presidents ever, but we met President Mahathir Mohammed twice the same day.”

Road trips in Pakistan were also Fasihs dream that could only be partly fulfilled. We lately travelled upto Chinese border at Khunjerab in June 2019.
There were so many road trips on our bucket list, including one across Japan. Fasih’s father had been to Japan in 1964 for a year for a research on TB then. He was so fascinated that he would narrate his stories of Japan with a twinkle in his eyes all these years, until he lived till 2014. Fasih and his siblings grew up in an awe for Japan. Our next trip would have been a trip train trip from Tokyo to Hiroshima is the sometime in 2020/21.
Now that Fatima is located in Manila for some years, Vietnam, Laos, Koreas and Singapore had been added on his to-go list in the coming years. He would often message in our family group chat, “I want to visit Rahma every few months. Damn this pandemic.”
This wretched pandemic took away this wandering soul to the final journey too early, too fast. I can only hope he gets his kind of road trips up there as well.
Sigh !

Fasih’s love for plants esp herbs….

I learned the art of appreciating fresh picked herbs from Fasih. This probably runs in the family.
Ismail isnt too keen on mutton and whenever I made any mutton dish he wouldnt eat. One day I made Aloo Gosht and Fasih told me to garnish it with lots of hara dhaniya that was growing in our kitchen herbs pot.
To my utter surprise Ismail ate without any fuss. When he finished I asked him, “But you dont eat mutton?”
His response was, “But this had fresh hara dhaniya in it.” 😍

Here is what Fatima, our daughter writes about the green thumb she got from her father:

Of all the nice plants I have, the one plant that really reminds me of my father is the humble mint plant (the podina). At Papa’s roof garden, he grew tomatoes, chilis, pomegranates, desi basil, mint and coriander – among so many other flowering plants and cacti. Of the 3 years I spent in Karachi, I never saw him buying his herbs. Rather for his daily green tea, he would walk to his garden, pick out some of his mint leaves and put it in his tea for himself or me. The last time he took care of me was in my first trimester when Abdullah was away here in Manila and I had all the usual vomiting and nausea. I stayed with Papa a few days and even commuted to work from there. Every night after dinner, he would make me his classic green tea, Tapal’s lemon green tea with a few sprigs of his home grown mint and a plate of nuts, dried figs and fresh jasmine (for the scent) and left them on my table while I played with our dog Elmo outside.
In the beginning, it hurt more to see that plant and left a hard knot in my throat, but now every time I see its stem going strong and smell the fresh scent, I think if Papa’s watching, he is probably pretty proud of this plant. I haven’t gotten the strength yet to make that tea again, but I guess some day that day will come too. 🌿 ☕️
https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10158837671548615&set=a.10151673088468615&type=3&theater

This wretched pandemic has tested us in every possible way ! It has destroyed my beautiful family.

I still cannot understand how are some people taking this pandemic lightly and continue to take lightly. Are they overly blessed? Or simply too lucky?
In the first few days of the pandemic, I apologized publically on social media, when I realized this is not a flu and needs to be fretted, not taken as a joke or a conspiracy.

It began as a blessing in disguise though, as Fasih who had come for a spring break for 2 weeks, ended up staying for 11 weeks. It was a close family time in lockdown, and we made the best of it with long drives, board games, movie nights, cooking times and giving cold cream feet massages to each other, and even doing nothing all day. As I was working from home and closely following and raising awareness on TV and social media on increased spike in domestic violence in the lockdown, Fasih remarked, “Who are these fools being abusive in this time that enables plenty of free time for closeness and family bonding?” As I spoke on TV program until Maghreb, Fasih fried pakoras for Iftar in Ramazan. We couldnt have had a more beautiful 11 weeks together.

In this very 11 weeks we began hearing of distant friends of friends having family members get COVID, in hospital, on ventilator etc. And we felt, now the numbers are beginnign to turn into names and faces,
Then we came to know of a common friend’s parents pass away in a week’s gap in UK and her entire family was down with COVID, but rest survived.
Fasih’s friend in Ireland got diagnosed with malignancy and we were shaken, and he spent evenings talking to him.
The same time, it was Italy reeling with COVID disaster and I have a cousin, his entire family locked down in Rome, Milan. It was scary. We kept praying for their well being.
Then we heard of a Taj Consultant Clinic’s Plastic Surgeon was on ventilator in UK. This time the pandemic had hit closest to us. Fasih and I had a detailed conversation on how dangerous it is for doctors,
Fasih told me, “We Pulmonologists, along with ER & Intensivists are in the foremost frontlines.”
A chill ran through my spine, and begged him, “Dont go to Pakistan now”, but he laughed it off saying, “Yes we have to be careful and prepared, but this does not mean we have to go into hiding.”
Finally he flew to Lahore, and then drove to Karachi to reach back his clinic.
Pandemic kept spreading. So did my fears. I repeat I still dont get how people continue to take it easy.
Then I heard the news of a cousin a few years older in Jaipur losing his life suddenly in May.
Soon after Eid, Fasih’s younger brother fell sick. After a week of negative tests, he tested positive and was admitted in ICU. Fasih was shaken. He was very disturbed and worried on his X-ray picture.
And then came the fateful June. A close friend of Fasih Dr. Mahmood a GP in Makkah passed away withing 4 hours of admission. And it was Fasih who broke the news to his wife and other family members. He was very visibly shaken by this loss. And then came the news of a second cousin, another surgeon on ventilator in Riyadh, for which the extended family sent money via Fasih.
And then even closer, my first cousin in Delhi my age, passed away to COVID.
As if this was not enough of a jolt for all of us, Fasih went in line following others, on 26 June. It just took him 5 days.
I still wonder how am I still thinking, eating, sleeping and even living.
I know I am not alone. There are families where father-son, father-daughter, brothers, husband-wife have gone in the line of service as doctors.
I am extremely paranoid, and scared for every other loved one. This wretched pandemic aint over yet.
And again I still wonder, how are there people who are taking it lightly and still not being affected even a fraction of the way we have been.
Never ever in my life, did I ever feel I was the most unfortunate person alive.
Are we just very unlucky or are they just too lucky?
Its mindboggling.
Link: https://www.facebook.com/quraishi.ilmana/posts/3515266068485936

Today marks 6th Friday since Fasih’s departure from this world. He will forever live in our lives, hearts, memories and in spirit with us.
He is blessed with family, friends and well wishers all over the world who miss him dearly and pray for the best place for him in Jannah. May he live happily in the hereafter. ❤

A great way to carry on with the memories and legacy of Dr Fasih would be to be kind, compassionate and empathetic to those around us.
Please pray Fatihah for his remembrance.

Love remains there around us, always…maybe not in the physical form, but in so many beautiful memories, common interests, shared projects, etc.

A beautiful story below. Do stop by to read.

“At 40, Franz Kafka (1883-1924), who never married and had no children, walked through the park in Berlin when he met a girl who was crying because she had lost her favourite doll. She and Kafka searched for the doll unsuccessfully.
Kafka told her to meet him there the next day and they would come back to look for her.
The next day, when they had not yet found the doll, Kafka gave the girl a letter “written” by the doll saying “please don’t cry. I took a trip to see the world. I will write to you about my adventures.”
Thus began a story which continued until the end of Kafka’s life.
During their meetings, Kafka read the letters of the doll carefully written with adventures and conversations that the girl found adorable.
Finally, Kafka brought back the doll (he bought one) that had returned to Berlin.
“It doesn’t look like my doll at all,” said the girl.
Kafka handed her another letter in which the doll wrote: “my travels have changed me.” the little girl hugged the new doll and brought her happy home.
A year later Kafka died.
Many years later, the now-adult girl found a letter inside the doll. In the tiny letter signed by Kafka it was written:
“Everything you love will probably be lost, but in the end, love will return in another way.” “

#kafka #thedoll

Link: https://www.facebook.com/quraishi.ilmana/posts/3512349752110901

Hold your hearts: This could be too emotional to handle for some.

On recommendation from my counselor on bereavement I was reading a few printouts given to me and one was on “How to make sense after losing a loving partner suddenly.”
It was a painful read. I actually felt a heartache behind my sternum as I read through.
It was like having a hard conversation with oneself.
At one point it said, “Death of a partner means death of your dreams.”
It elaborated the death of those plans of growing old, living a retired life together, caring for each other when old age makes both frail and unwell.

Ofcourse, only the very lucky, very rare partners die together. Its always one before the other. The unlucky one is left behind to make do with the memories only. But when your partner disappears in the prime of their life, with no health issues, no valid reason, and which could have been easily avoided, the pain is beyond any adjectives. However, when it is a reality, it has to be endured too. And as Fasih, being brave, always told of difficult situations in a matter-of-fact-way, “Jab hai muskil tou hai.”

It made me recollect a few verses, I had scribbled for us growing old way back in 2012. It made the ache behind my sternum even more intense. I went searching for it on the FB, that I have posted.

OLD LOVE :
When eyes twinkle between wrinkles,
When faces glow and smiles flow,
When hands hold and passions unfold,
When hearts ignite and souls unite.
Is this what you call old love?
25+some years old, is old enough. Us in next 25 years. Syed

I continued reading after finding this pic as the therapist had said, “dont give up in the middle. Read them till the end.”
She was right. The end was a bit therapeutic as it recommended journaling ones memories at the height of emotions. This is a way to heal and yet not be fearful that healing will mean forgetting the person or not being in love with the person you called your partner. “One can still grow old with the partner’s memories. All is not dead.”

Though, this talks of growing old in love, but I want to dedicate this post to some brilliant people I know who lost their partners in the prime of their ages, when kids were still young. And yet, they became both the mother and father for their children, and their love kept growing as they grew older with the memories of their partner.
I wish I had met Parshu‘s Dad who lost his beautiful partner when in his prime, in his 40s with Parshu only 8 yrs old. And spent rest 50 years rearing his children, only to be united with his beloved around the time we lost Fasih.

Some days are not too bad. A little message or call from someone makes a difference. Some days are way worse than others. And nothing seems to uplift ones spirits. And it seems nothing in this world, nothing at all short of Fasih’s return will matter. Yesterday on first day of Eid seemed that day.

I am not superstitious. But some dreams have been very symbolic. And working in wierd ways.

Like the one 2 weeks ago in which Fasih asked me on a long drive, “Do you want to drive ? I want to enjoy the scenes.”
This convinced me I have to be at the drivers seat now.

Yesterday I visited Fasih’s phupo who is so shaken, she told me it’s not the same world after Bobby. I couldnt agree more.
I came home feeling guilty I had gone out meeting people.

Deep asleep later at night, I saw Fasih happily flying a kite in his typical tshirt and bermudas. I have never seen him flying kites ever. Dont know if he even knew how to fly one.
I was interrupted and woken by Sonu, our cat mewing on my head to open the bathroom door. He has to go at night to drink water from the mug that is kept filled all the time on bathroom flooor for him. Fasih and Ismail often complained to me, “Why do you keep the the bathroom door closed when you know Sonu has to come and go at his will.”

Then talking to Fatima she told how phupo (Fasih’s sister) has taken Elmo with her and she plays with him and says it reminds her of how her brother played with Elmo and comforts her. And also visits home everyday to feed the Greys.

Such weird unrelated stories. But they seemed to be somewhat comforting. Don’t understand why.
Then I saw this film shared by a friend.
This film made my day.

I still dont understand why are all these trivial stories giving peace. But one thing is sure. I haven’t ever been a pet-lover like Fasih, Fatima or Ismail or others in his family. I need to get there and be closer to these pets. That will make him happy up there. ❤
Link here: https://www.facebook.com/quraishi.ilmana/posts/3503339006345309

Do watch this a minute and a half film. It’s very moving and shows the limit of love for ones pets.

Today is fifth Friday and first Eid after Fasih.

This post is about fragility of our lives.

In May 2018, I was in my office in Mississauga, Canada when I recieved a call from Jibran Nasir. He introduced me to Maria Aleem Junejo and said she was trying for a medical visa for her husband Aleem for India, and if there is any way she could be helped. He created a separate whatsapp group, and I began to chat with her.

I found Maria a very educated and strong willed person, who would do everything to help her husband Aleem get health and a new lease of life. Her husband had a lung condition for which the only permanent solution was a Heart-Lung Transplant. The wife was trying her level best to explore options for H-L Transplant including going to US or India. “Money is not a problem”, she said.

My next natural step was to refer Aleem & Maria to Fasih’s Pulmonology Clinic at Taj Consultants Clinics in Karachi. I knew Fasih had done some research paper on cases similar to his lung condition, years ago.
Fasih called them to his clinic. They kept visiting him off and on. Fasih had told me and to them as well, “His lung complication can best be managed supportively to prevent complications till he is able to recieve a HL transplant.”

We tried our best for Indian medical.visa, knowing that was not difficult. I contacted the Consulate, wrote to the Indian Foreign Minister then, Madame Sushma Swaraj ( who had previously responded persoanlly to few of my emails with great affection) and a few insiders. But this time I did not get any reply. I even followed requests to Madam Sushma Swaraj on twitter and there was no response, once again.
I then wrote to a very trusted journalist friend in Delhi. He explored and found out why I was not getting the response. He told me, “Ilmana there is little we can do for him. H-L transplant is a rare procedure that happens in some Indian hospitals and there is already a long queue for patients because it can only happen when there is massive fatal accident of a young person, whose entire Heart-Lung system needs to be taken almost immediately after death and transplanted to the recipient. There are already many patients waiting in line for years. It is not possible to jump through line, nor is it fair. Also being a very critical procedure, it is prioritized for Indian nationals only.”
This was a fair argument.

My next natural outrage was at Pakistani healthcare system. And how broken it was and how the country could make nuclear weapons but cannot have tertiary care centre for Heart Lung Transplant. How many young lives are lost, only if H-L.Transplant could be used to help save lives. Ofc as usual I tagged PM Imran Khan and President Dr. Arif Alvi, Asad Omer, Ali Zaidi and others from Naya Pakistan, on several social media posts on FB and Twitter. My hope was at least these new ‘clean’ Pakistani politicians would care to bring this facility of Heart Lung Transplant to Pakistanis within Pakistan too. There was already no hope from other politicians anyways. If Pakistanis can get bombs and F-16s why not Heart Lung transpant too. But then why would they listen to a rant from a nobody like me.

I may have expected and gotten response from Sushma Swaraj, but there is no tradition of responding to ‘nobodies’ from the ‘powerfuls’ in Pakistan. ( BTW, not once have I been responded by anyone, in person or on social media on Syed Fasihuddin‘s demise in Pakistan, as a patriotic Pakistan, CEO of Taj Consultants Clinics, who invested everything and returned to Karachi with a dream to establish quality healthcare, died serving on the frontlines in the very city he loved to serve.
A busy Pakistani American, Dr. Faheem Younus, the famous & leading pulmonologist from US could find time and relevance to condole in a message, but none from those in power in Pakistan at municipal, provincial or federal level. Such is the Raisat e Madina.They love and value economy, the VVIPs, personal friends but not other ordinary citizens including doctors. The only person for which PMIK has tweeted was”my friend” from Aitchitosn and VC from Nishtar who passed away from COVID. Ofcourse doctors dying on the frontlines who are not VVIPs or their classfellows, are like disposible gloves. So what if they are patriotic, humanity loving sincere proffessionals. Anyways, thats a discussion reserved for another day).

I know very well this Aleem’s wife Maria left no stone unturned. She kept reaching out to everyone who could possibly help in some hope to give a new lease of life to her ailing husband. She created a page Hope for Aleem, and kept helping others in need too through this page.
When Fasih was in Canada in May, he was giving advice to someone on phone about their health issues. After he put the phone down he told me, it was Maria.

This gentleman lost his battle against his ailment, on July 28, 2020.
I messaged a condolence note to her and mentioning about Fasih. And her reply was,
“NOOOOOOO. I dont know about Dr. Fasih’s death. He was a great human being who helped him a LOT.”

.
Madam Sushma Swaraj suddenly passed way on 6 Aug 2019.
Fasih, his pulmonologist went away himself a month before the person for who he worried for his terminal lung condition..
The point of this post is obvious. All our lives our fragile. Extremely fragile. Yet some of us, especially our people in power live as if they are the bosses on Earth, invincible and indispensible.

Samaan saw baras ka, pal ki khaber nahin hai.
(We plan for 100 years, but cannot gaurantee our life the next minute).

A very Eid Mubarak to you all ‘nobodies’ !

What an empty and lonely day today, without Syed Fasihuddin !

First:
It was the day of Arafah in Makkah. Every year 25-30 million muslim pilgrims converge on Makkah for Hajj from all over the world. And a city of 3 million, gets overwhelmed with 30 million plus pilgrims. And with that, there is pressure on medical services. For doctors and other healthcare workers, it is made mandatory to work in Hajj season for one month with 12 hours per day shifts, with no weekends.
For straight 25 years from 1990 to 2015, for 25 Hajj seasons, Fasih was the on duty Consultant Pulmonologist for the main Al Zahir Hospital in Makkah. Each year, like other doctors on duty, he would travel with critical patients in ambulance to enable them perform the day of Arafah. It is mandated by the Saudi authorities that if a pilgrim comes for Hajj from other parts of the world, no matter how sick they may get, they will be provided free healthcare, and free service to take them for the mandatory bits of Hajj including the stay of Arafah. A few times, the doctors including Fasih donned the ihram themselves, to perform the ‘flying Hajj’ as they called with their patients.
Dozens of ambulances, with Consultants assigned to the group would carry the critically ill patients to Arafah and bring them back to the hospital at the end of the day. Every year, Fasih would be one of the lead Pulmonologists in the team, with many locums coming from other cities in KSA. All these years, he managed hundreds of thousands of patients with pneumonias, chest infections, Asthmas, Allergies, LRTIs, URTIs etc in the hospital wards. It was in these wards, sometimes he even bumped into his teachers, old neighbors, relatives, childhood friends as Hajis who he had not met in years. Many many Hajis who travelled from different parts of the world carried his phone numbers given by friends and relatives and he helped whoever asked him for any help, on phone, in person or inservice as their doctor. It is in all these years that he even came to face the SARS & MERS pandemics in Makkah. And hence gleefully told his colleagues in Karachi in 2020, “COVID is my third Corona pandemic.”

In the last year, in 2015 when he was winding up to return to Karachi, he requested the hospital director to give him leave so he can perfrom complete Hajj himself, which he did.

Fasih, the foodie was excited he would be home after 25 years to celebrate Baqr Eids in rest of his years, to enjoy chops, grill, and pulaos, bihari kababs, hunter-beefs all his favourite delicacies. He had the opportunity to not just celebrate but hosted Eid/bbq parties on his favorite terrace in past 5 years.
It’s gutwrenching as a family, to even imagine all the Hajj, Eid and rest of the life going on without Fasih. Ofcourse, life goes on, as it always has, after every departure.

Second:
Today was my appoinment for Holter ECG monitoring for palpitations(my PATs), which is btw nothing serious. I sat in the hospital, waiting for my turn. I kept looking at my messenger, and there was no message coming from Fasih, wishing good luck or checking in how it went. Kids kept inquiring, but it wasnt the same. 😦
Checking in to each other on any appointment, meetings, or other events personal or for Taj, were our daily norm. Probaby we have to get used to feeling Fasih’s presence in spirits and that he is checking-in looking directly down from up above, and not through messenger messages. Habits need to be re-set. 😦

Day of Arafah Mubarak all those who are performing Hajj this year.

Today’s post is about giving space in a matrimonial relationship. And let the other person be who they are.

Honestly I learned this from an example from my father, as an advice from my oldest Mamujan and ofcourse practically from Fasih.

I don’t think I was a bearer of a ‘big heart’ in my chest, until I learned from Fasih through his.

My Papa and Ammi were contrasts when it came to faith. But Papa respected her being too religious, while Ammi always insisted Papa keep rozas, pray 5 times a day. And would fear for his hereafter. Papa did not like it and would resist. But as Ammi grew older, she probably gave up. And much to her surprise one day after 30 years of their marriage, Papa asked her, “Meraj Begum Hajj pe chalna hai?” Ammi was blown away.

When Mamujan came to Delhi for my shaadi, from Jaipur, he told me he wanted to have a private conversation with me. And so he did beginning with, “Beta, your husband may not be like what you like him to be. Ager woh tum se itni muhabbat kerta hai tou apne ghar waalon se bhi karega. Usko rokna mut. Dont be a mean wife. Give them their due space with your husband.”
Mamujan was the most brilliant farsighted man in our Nanihaal. And a very successful.barrister and a politician. He knew the art of putting across the message in the most effective and emotive manner. His went on, “Dekho apne bhai-behnon aur Ma Baap se muhabbat karna koi jurm nahin hota hai, aur ager woh kerta hai, tou woh tumhare kehne se chhorega bhi nahin. Lekin tum meanness dikhaogi like possessive spouse, tou woh tumhare beghair unse muhabbat karega aur unka khayal karega. Yeh mayn iss liye keh raha huun kyunke tum wahan akeli hogi aur uski poori family. If his family is nice to you, be nice to them too. Conflicts start when there is tug of war in relationships.”
He told me he gave the same advice to his kids too.

Fasih let me be me. He loved my parents without any reservations. He was extremely friendly with my brothers. In fact these boys when together ganged up against me. He even respected my cousins and friends from India. Some of them have beautiful.memories of him hosting them in Taj.

For both of us, his friends became my friends, and my friends became his, with no fuss.

I saw my husband as a very committed son and a very close sibling especially to his sister especially.
When in KSA for 20 years, he got a good 45 days vacations every year. He split them into 2. He would take 2 vacations. One alone for 15 days just to spend time with his father. And another a month, when all of us as a family travelled to Karachi and then to India and some other destination at times.
He would come back from his single vacation and tell me, “This time I took Papa to Gawader and we had bbq fish on a local stall by the sea side.” Or “I saw these cases with Papa.”
His father would take pride to tell his patients, “Mera beta bahut acha chest physician hai. Ayega tou tumhara case discuss karoonga.” Fasih would narrate all these lovey stories on his return. Fasih terribly regretted how his father could not be there when he inaugurated Taj.

I loved and respected his close relationship with his sister too. They were best friends since their college days as she was a year senior to him in Medical college. It is perhaps this reason that now her two kids Alina and Ahmed, and my two children Fatima and Ismail call each other siblings and not cousins. Both of her kids live here in Toronto and how much has Alina been a support to Ismail is beyond words. Fatima often calls me and tells me she is so mindful of how phupo has also had a huge loss in her Papa’s departure.

He was a caring brother to his other siblings and even his cousins, uncles and aunts, and even to the living senior friends of his deceased parents.
Fasih was a popular doctor among his colleagues too. But he had been so generous to me, that I never felt insecure with any of his family, friends or colleagues.
I taught exactly the same thing to my daughter Fatima too.

It is so heartening to see now my brothers having connected more with my husbands sister and respect her and see her as an extension of their “Bobby bhai”.

Fasih was a binder in his family. Even in his going, one sees, all of us left behind learning from him and binding together.

As I was talking to Fasih’s sister a few days ago, we talked of how Fasih’s goodness with everyone he touched and his kindness is what people are remembering him for. And not which brand of car or what model of iPhone or how many branded watches he left behind.

So the bottomline lesson for all of us is…to just value relationships of ones family and close friends. Rest is immaterial.
https://www.facebook.com/quraishi.ilmana/posts/3490744764271400