My dad’s wisdom that guides me every day
Photo: Aeysha Chaudhry
Not a day goes by that I don’t think about my dad, this week even more so as it marks six years since his passing (Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'un).
Dad was an integral part of my 30 Days Ramadan blog. When I was reading through a decade of posts to select the ones for my book, I realized he was the thread that wove through the project, because of the stories he shared with me and the ones he wrote himself. I’d love to share him with you through a few of his stories—and ask you to say a prayer for my dad, Atiqul Hasan.
The very first story in 30 Days; Stories of Gratitude, Traditions, and Wisdom takes place with Dad sitting on our family room sofa with his four young grandkids flanked on either side. He was sharing tales of growing up in Calcutta and started with the most momentous event in his life—his mother’s passing, when he was seven years old. He told the kids about his brothers and his one sister; how he had never wanted to go to England to study because he didn’t feel he could succeed; how he was content learning to play the guitar, going to the movies with friends on Sundays, and saving his pocket money to buy little treasures from the family auction house. The story ended with my father going to the station in Calcutta to catch a train to Bombay and then a ship to London to study engineering at Imperial College. The grandkids were amazed; perhaps they saw their grandfather in a new light that day, perhaps they thought about how different their own lives are. Whatever the case, they learned a bit more about where they come from, and just how far they can dream.
For the following year’s theme, 30 Gratitudes, I had asked my kids to choose one person to whom to write a gratitude letter. Zayd, nine at the time (turns 23 today mA!), chose his grandfather, Nunno. My dad adored Zayd beyond words; he called him an “all-rounder” and everything Zayd said and did made my father beam. Zayd wrote this letter:
Dear Nunno,
I wanted to tell you that I am very grateful that you are my grandpa. I love that when we just walk in the door to your house, no matter what time, you are there to give us great big hugs. As soon as I start to talk to you, you let out a laugh before I even finish my sentence. Then you laugh again when I start speaking again. My favorite thing to do with you is snap circuits or any experiment kit. Remember when we made that everlasting top? I learned a lot from you. Without your help I could not have done any of the experiments I can now. Especially snap circuits, but I still have trouble with those. By the way, your high-ceiling house is amazing for helicopters.
Love,
Zayd
You can imagine what it meant to my dad to have Zayd read this letter to him. (And for those of you who knew my dad, you know he was in tears.) I’m so grateful for this note; reading it now brings back a flood of memories of my son’s beautiful friendship with his Nunno.
Dad also wrote posts for the 30 Days blog, which are included in the book. One post is titled Khudhafiz Bapu(Goodbye father) about the day that he said goodbye to his father when he was leaving India; he didn’t know then that it would be his last goodbye. Dad wrote:
I find it very hard to find the words to thank God for everything I have been blessed with. My mom passed away when I was very young. I could not imagine what I would go through without her. My father could have married again but he did not. When I was getting ready to leave for England, my father assured me that things would continue as is, that he wouldn’t remarry, and that I should prepare myself for the long journey ahead. He had suffered a stroke just weeks before. I was so surprised that he came to the platform to say goodbye even though he was in a wheelchair. I remember so clearly the day when I said khudhafiz to my Bapu—September 17, 1955, 7:30pm. I don’t have enough words to pay gratitude to God that he made me strong enough and brave enough to face the world all by myself. …
My most favorite chapter in the 30 Days book is “Wisdoms from Our Elders”. I asked people to share a wisdom that stays with them; I got a chance to share a lesson I’ve learned from my dad’s gentle example which guides me every day:
My father loved dessert, anything sweet and delicious brought him so much pleasure; I inherited his sweet tooth. Growing up, whenever there was an office birthday or holiday party at work, dad would wrap up his share of dessert in a napkin—a piece of frosted birthday cake or homemade cookies—keep it in his briefcase and bring it home for me. (He wouldn’t take a second piece, just his share.) He'd unwrap it after dinner, with a twinkle in his eye. And then savor the moment—it tasted so much more delicious to see me enjoy every last bite.
It’s a small story that reveals my dad’s huge heart. Making someone else feel comfortable, at ease, happy, well fed, taken care of, made my dad’s day. Growing up, when my parents hosted Saturday night dinners for their NJ community of Pakistani friends, my dad would lay the table—with beautiful plates and tea sets that he had bought in various corners of the world and carefully carried through all his moves. He would garnish the delicious meal that mom prepared with sprigs of cilantro and cucumber and tomatoes artfully sliced; how a meal was presented was part of his acute sense of hospitality and artistry. He would make each guest feel cared for, at home, and spoilt. The Urdu word is khatir karna; there's no one word in English that fully captures that sense of hospitality, to my dad it came naturally.
At my mehndi (henna ceremony), Dad insisted on making his specialty, shahi tukray (bread pudding), for almost 100 guests; never mind the huge effort at a time that was already so busy, his girl was getting married. He made three massive silver trays—and beamed every time someone enjoyed a bite. People's joy at something he created, whether a dessert or a work of art, made him smile. I can picture him smiling now and laughing his hallmark laugh as I share this story.
While this isn’t a particular wisdom that Dad said, it is one of the most important lessons that I’ve learned from his example: be generous, overly generous; be kind, overly kind; spoil people, with uncommon hospitality; care for others’ comfort, before your own; share what you love most, with abandon; and smile, until your eyes sparkle.
There’s one more thing. When I was compiling the book a couple years ago and going through the comments people had posted on the blog, I came across two that I hadn’t remembered seeing before. They were from my dad—one on a post Saanya had written, and another on Zayd’s post—written in 2013. That Dad was following my blog online and thought to comment on it was heartwarming enough. That I found these comments after he passed when I am missing him so much was no accident.
He wrote to his granddaughter, My dearest, dearest Saanya beti. I too pray for your success in achieving your goals. Believe me that all your wishes will come true. You must keep your faith. Love you a lot, Nunno
To Zayd he wrote, in all caps: My dearest Zayd, you are my best friend. God has given you all the best qualities that a boy like you deserves. I pray that you keep it up. You are a rising star. Love you lots, Nunno
To find these messages from my dad addressed to my kids who are now in their 20s was a reminder to me that he is still cheering them on; it was literally, a Godsend.
I am grateful to have recorded my dad’s stories; rereading them reminds me of moments and details that I would have forgotten (especially now as hormone treatment plays havoc with my memory). I think it serves as a reminder for all of us to ask our parents and elders about their lives and experiences, about the lessons and wisdoms they want us to remember. And not to wait. What could be more precious than knowing these stories; they’re a testament to where we come from, what shapes our core values, and the legacy we hope to carry forward.
These simple, ordinary stories become all the more important when someone we love passes away; they become a lifeline, what we hold on to remember them, and how we share their lives with our children and grandchildren. There’s a saying, stories are our inheritance. Indeed. They are priceless.
What is a wisdom from an elder that guides you?It doesn’t have to be profound, just something that stays top of mind and helps you navigate life’s twists and turns. Hope you’ll write it down; I would be honoured if you’d share it with me. My next book in the 30 Days series is focused on capturing these wisdoms.
Thank you for allowing me to share a bit of my dad with you; I hope you’ll say a prayer for Dad, and for my mom,—and perhaps share a piece of cake, your piece, with someone you love.
With all my love—and blessings for these final days of Ramadan and early Eid wishes for all celebrating,
Salma
PS: If you’d like my help in capturing your stories or those of loved ones, please take a look at this page on my website and reach out; it would be my honor.
It was an honor to share my dad’s wisdom on NPR’s Morning Edition when the 30 Days book first came out. Family from around the world tuned in to listen; they called me afterwards with tears, touched that my dad’s gentle way of being was shared widely so his kindness could continue to inspire.
Hope this book full of ordinary, extraordinary stories helps you and your family share and record your own precious stories.
To order the ‘30 Days’ Book/Journal
This is newsletter #52. If you know anyone who might enjoy this newsletter, they can subscribe for free here. A few past newsletters:
“You will be someone’s ancestor”
How sharing my story is helping me heal
If the hat fits (This too has passed)
My soundtrack for proton radiation
The unexpected blessings of falling ill