Remembrance
Labiq
a gift and a promise unfulfilled
Creating
a new life is not easy. Look at these facts below:
Zeba
Rahman
It
is 7 am Sunday morning -- the snow flurries are getting lighter
and lighter. I walk into my son's room and watch him sleeping
peacefully, maybe dreaming of the basketball game he will
go to see tonight. My thoughts speed across the miles to Dhaka,
to my cousin Lori and the rest of my family -- they are getting
ready to bury her 12-year-old son, Labiq. My heart cries out
for her.
This was
the first meeting with my nephew since he was a toddler--we
have missed getting to know each other due to being thrown
to different corners of the world and our visits home never
coincided.
On a bright
October afternoon, I see him standing next to his mother waiting
to welcome us to their apartment in Roosevelt Island -- a
handsome, strapping boy with expressive eyes and a shy smile
playing on his childish face. Maybe, he was filled with the
same anticipation that my son, Nader, a year and a half older,
was experiencing -- the task of getting to know each other
and finding common interests. Nader -- and I am sure Labiq
too -- has grown up listening to the innumerable stories of
our boisterous clan of cousins growing up together -- a vivid
tapestry of memories intricately woven by our experiences
and shenanigans -- a bond that still runs thick and crates
an integral part of our individualities, even if our paths
don't cross as often. The members of the newer generation,
which include my son and his cousins, are separated by the
geographical boundaries of their upbringing and where this
has expanded their vista of knowledge, it has also lead to
a decline of familial affinity. This is why I was so excited
when Lori moved to New York, hoping that Nader and Labiq would
now be able to share and build some wonderful memories together.
Unfortunately, 9/11 happened soon after their arrival and
travelling even between Canada and the States became a hassle.
Anyway,
he was finally meeting Labiq and Ruqat, his younger sister
and looking forward to spending some quality time. Labiq was
a gentle, soft-spoken boy where Ruqat was a vibrant little
spitfire. His initial reticence was belied by affection and
a genuine pleasure to have us as his guests and during the
next few days we were to experience the intense intelligence
that this young person possessed. He was an amazing paradox
of normal childlike qualities with the astute tenacity of
a sage -- time and time again, my husband was astonished by
the depth and length of his knowledge -- he was particularly
keen on history and probably knew the ins and outs of the
World Wars. By the same token, we would glimpse at the fun-loving,
impish little boy who was interested in the Yankees winning
the World Series, going to his evening soccer games and giggling
at the pranks of Hrithik Roshan in "Koi Mil Gya!"
He accompanied us to the Museums.
Central
Park, Ground Zero and the days that he could not accompany
us on our sojourns, would eagerly return from school hoping
that we would be there. We were delighted in seeing his natural
impetuosity which knew no boundaries -- if we were confused
about certain Subway directions, he would go right up and
ask the ticket agent without any hesitation and whilst on
the trains, he would peek to see what a co-passenger was reading,
even if it were the local newspaper.
That visit
came to an end. But we went back again the same year for Christmas
break -- I would like to think that along with the magnetic
pull of New York City and Shikta's home cooked meals, Labiq's
endearing charm beckoned us. In his sensitivity, he was akin
to a gentle breeze that filled you with a warmth and a promise
of wonderful things to come. His intellectual and spiritual
intensity far outweighed his tender years and one could only
marvel as to how this quality would metamorphose into an outstanding
individual. And, it did not seem odd at all that he had expressed
his desire to his mother to emulate the lifestyles of Gandhi
and Mandela when he grew up! Even as young as he was, Labiq
was a source of constant support to his mother and, I am sure,
her pride.
Lori said
to me, in one of her lucid grief-stricken moments, that she
would write a book on her son. I will encourage her to do
so. To all of us who were privileged to know him and mourn
him today, it will be a celebration of all the wonder that
was Labiq, of all the promise that remains unfulfilled and
of his short life that was forever lost in the stark beauty
of Cape Town. To Lori and Raj, it will be a catharsis of their
pain in losing a child.
The flurries
have now turned to wet snow, like white rain. I sip my morning
coffee while watching my usual weekend morning show,"
Touched by an Angel" -- and, this time, I know I surely
was touched by one!
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