From A Daughter To A Father

Dear Abbu,

I am sitting in bed, blankets around me, writing this to you while you are probably sleeping in a not so similar bed, miles away in a hospital. Where should I start from ? What should I tell you first ?

Let me start from your eldest son. He has grown up. He is not that little kid anymore who used to walk in the house with a towel around his waist. (Who am I kidding, he still does.) He was the one you called at the time of your accident. He saw you while getting taken care of at the hospital. You were reciting the Kalma loudly and you waved at him. He took care of everything. He spent the night at the hospital, alone while you were in surgery. He tried telling Abdullah but it did not work out. I cannot even imagine what he went through during those hours.

Amma was the strongest of us all. You know her and her endless Wazeefas. She had full faith that you will be okay. She kept asking me, Sumaica, he is going to be okay ? Right ? And I keep saying, YES ! She has barely eaten since the day you had your accident. I keep telling her to eat something and she keeps saying that it does not matter.

Your middle son is still in Pakistan, away from all of us, studying and giving his exams. We made the decision to call him when we saw you. But than Huzaifa said it was better to not disturb him. He himself said that I would never come back if I left now. So right now, he is studying hard and praying even harder for your fast recovery. He is among the best of people, Muftis and Ulmas, who are all praying for your health. What more can we ask for ?

Your son by relation instead of blood. People address him as your son because no one can guess that he is actually the son in law. Because he has been there, day and night like you were his own father. He has been by our sides since day 1 being the best that he is.

Now let us talk about the last one. Moawiz is 8. Yet his strength is higher than all of us. He has not seen you since Day 1. Not once has he been stubborn about seeing you or made a fuss on coming to the hospital. He gave his exams like a trooper. And now he sits in the waiting room every time we visit you. He misses his Abbu Jee. Because Abbu, he sleeps with you. He fights with you. He does everything with you. Like Amma says, he is a younger Sumaica.

Abbu Jee, I am very thankful for who you are. For the religious person you have been all your life. Every time we come to the hospital, there are at least ten people outside those dreary grey doors, waiting their turn to go inside the ICU and pray for you. You are an incredible human being. I thought Amma was social. I never knew how amazing you were. People we have never met, never known about, are calling from all over the world to ask how you are. Abbu Taya even went as far as to ask a favour from someone to get somethings done.

I love you. Because you are kind, humble, fun, cool and amazing. You are an amazing artist who took pictures 20 years ago, that people take today. You are that person who gives something to every security guard, sweeper, car washer etc. You say dude to sound hip and annoy your kids. You are someone who I look up to every day of my life. You are someone who has raised me with good values and good manners. You are someone who has never forced me into anything. You make me a better person. You inspire me to be a better person. To be a better Muslim. You are my Abbu.

You are that person I want to call “Old Grandpa” when you do not admit being old. You are that person I want to enjoy endless meaningless, laughter filled chats with. I want to go out for dinners and admit that I like hanging out with my old, uncool parents.

You are love. You are that person who even strangers pray for.

I hope that you read this when you are well enough. And bask in the glory of being called all those things. I love you as much as a daughter can ever love a father.

Yours always,



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