There's nothing exceptional about this place. It would be perfectly okay if you simply ignored this, as a thousand others have. These four fathers are just like any other. Like all the other, ordinary fathers that are present. The unknowns. All four of the individuals in the picture are, Syed Faizul Hussaini, Akkas Hossain Fakir, Abdur Reza Khan, Kawser Mia. All of them had a family which consisted of four members. The family that shared at least one meal together.

The city lights and life kept us so busy that we forgot to notice the wrinkles that appeared on our father's face. Suddenly, in a blink we are 16 one day. We are studying for our examinations. We make a blink and we are 24 years old, and just graduated from universities. Another blink, we will be looking for flats that are within our price range. We are reducing our spending. We are keeping track of our calorie intake. We are wondering when grownup crept into our room. We have just accepted the truth that we are no longer a child. On the one hand, we are relieved that we may legally purchase alcohol. On the other hand, we are concerned about getting a decent career after college, master's, or a thousand other things.

And suddenly, we lose our fathers. When they are gone, we realised how busy we've been, that the city's sounds and pollution were so distracting that we could not focus on the time just like sand which fell down from our palm no matter how hard we squeezed onto it. The amount of sand varied from person to person, but no one could keep it for long. The death of a loved one is one of the most terrible occasions in a person's life. Whether it is the death of a close friend or relative, it is the worst when it comes to losing a parent. It will be one of the most difficult and emotional occasions in one's life. But however, death doesn't exist according to me, because we never die; believing otherwise means we're forgetting who we really are.

Fathers have a dream, which is a pretty common dream. A desire to provide a better upbringing for their child. They virtually crossed every line of their limit in order to reach and complete this particular ambition. Every father approaches it in his own unique manner. Fathers are like that. They never want their children to go through what they did. They make sacrifices by not buying their favourite watch, clothes, or fulfilling their dreams. Instead, they invest on their child's education, food, clothing, and other necessities.

I often wonder if they ever imagined that we would remember them after they were gone. Did we all pay attention to our surroundings enough? Have you ever paid close attention to the sound of your ceiling fan? No, obviously. But why? Because you never listen to it. Sometimes follow the rhythm and try humming a melody to it. Take a moment to listen to your own voice reading this. Pay close attention to what it says and what you comprehend. Examine your cup of tea; does it still emit smoke? Keep an eye on it as it fades into infinity. Stop for a while and try to hear the bangles on your mother's wrist speak. Why? What's the point of it all? Because this is the sound of life unfolding in silent all around you. Bring out your torch and shine some light on the darkest parts of your home, your thoughts, and your emotions.

Whenever our fathers talked and reached our heart. Did we ever notice his lips kissing the brimming cup of tea? Have we ever noticed him mercilessly folding the pages of our books? Have we cared enough to lay next to him and listen to him whisper us Rumi's words in his voice? Can we all look into their eye and tell him we will remember him?

So, tell me whether we've ever been worried about losing our fathers. Would we prefer to keep them? Were we there to caress his cheek, kiss him, and tell him that we had to be with them while they were dying? Have we hugged him tightly as he took his last breath, so that they might feel our chest drop in anguish and grieve for them? Have we screamed out for aid while they were dying and we wished they could remain for a few days longer? Will we remember them when they are no longer present as the unknown? Will we remember him when we can't see him in his bed, on the dining table waiting for us, giving us breakfast, or discussing our financial problems? Do we remember them now that they are no longer with us? Or perhaps they are still the unknown, the ignored, whom we have passed by time and again. The one whose name we don't care to know. I'm not sure if the rest of the world will ever know who they are. Perhaps, we'll only get to know them when they're gone.

On the other hand, life moves on. To all the warriors fighting their own wars, especially those who go unseen, know that you will be noticed. It's also quite okay to express your emotions. It's fine if you don't fit into your father's shoes; you weren't meant to. Take life as it comes; there will be more. To all the people out there who have lost their fathers, I realise how difficult it is to speak and write about them in the past tense. It's been a long time since I've seen my father, yet I still can't bear it. The notion of your father not being there kills you every now and again. You don't always feel like telling everyone how much you miss him; instead, you want to tell your father how much you love him every morning. You'd like him to return to reality. You want this reality to alter, even if he doesn't. You don't want to say how much his arms and chest warmed you or made you feel secure, but instead you want him to be your today, tomorrow, and reason to look forward. However, as soon as you wake up, you are thrust back into reality, where he is no longer at your side, offering his hand or chest. But know this you will meet him, again, when the time is right, I know you will find him, I know he will find you. Now that they are gone, Annur Zara, daughter of Akkas Hossain Fakir, Ridwan Kawser, son of Kawser Mia, and Maisha Reza, daughter of Abdur Reza Khan, have at least one meal with me and chat about their fathers. Similarly, the four individuals undoubtedly enjoy their dinner together at least once a week and talked about us, in heavens.