5 years later…

At 11 pm that night, a phone call came from the hospital. On the other side of the call, my brother calmly let me know that the doctor requested the family to come to the hospital as soon as possible. "Abbu has only one more hour," he said. For a second, I thought my brother was confused, misinformed and had no idea what he was talking about. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs, cursing the doctors, throwing books like a mad-woman and regretting. Regretting decisions taken, regretting not visiting him enough at the hospital, regretting not talking to him over the phone, regretting not hugging him more, regretting not taking more pictures with him, regretting not being nice to him sometimes, regretting not being there at the hospital at the time of his death.

We lost our father, Mohammad Nurul Karim, 5 years ago on June 15, 2011. He retired after more than 32 years of service at the Kingdom of Saudia Arabia. As an English lecturer he worked with the Ministry of Education back at the Kingdom. His last job before retiring was at the King Faisal University based in Dhahran. He loved teaching and interacting with younger people, which is why he had joined the Atish Dipankar University in Dhaka and taught English for a few semesters. He died at the Heart Foundation, Mirpur, after a surgery which had gone all wrong. A good many years of his life were spent working away from his birthplace. However, his heart was always in Chittagong. He rests next to his parents in Uttar Madarsha, Hathazari, Chittagong – his birthplace.

A no-nonsense person, he was a hardworking person who accomplished a lot in his life as a teacher and a lecturer. Passionate about music, books, poetry and theatre, Abbu was full of stories of his young Dhaka University days where he worked part time at the Shilpalaka. He also had stories from his Radio Betaar days, where he conducted World Music and read the English news. He was, of course, a typical dad, with his 'dad jokes', 'dad' theories and the recurrent 'when I was your age…' statement that many kids are used to hearing!

Growing up in the Middle East, for me and my siblings, Abbu's stories of Chittagong and Dhaka were something out of a fairy tale book. I would dream of rickshaw rides, the halls of Dhaka University where Abbu and his friends would have feasts every month in the dining room, the rivers in Chittagong where Abbu and his cousins would fish and swim and of course the theatre arenas, the book stores in New Market and the faluda that one still gets in Chittagong.

It has been 5 years since he left, but he lives within all of us - my mother and my three other siblings. We practice what he has taught us – humility, patience, working hard to achieve goals and also to be in touch with old friends and family members. Family and good friends always came first for my father. We are now closer to most of my father's friends than we were earlier.

I believe that Abbu still cringes when I come home late and actually hear his voice on the phone asking me to come home soon. He still watches my late night shows and goes 'tsk tsk'' when I mispronounce a Bangla word or talk too fast on live television. There are times when I ask myself, what Abbu would have done, in times of trials and tribulations.

And this is exactly how we have taught ourselves to smile when we think of our deceased parent, of our beloveds who have left us to be with the Almighty.