HAPPY FATHER'S DAY..... And Dad, Thank You For Everything

By Huma Sheikh

Alas, the road-cruise we had scrambled on together with smiles on our faces had snatched him away forever. I was terrified at the thought that I am no more among the lucky daughters. My father, G N Sheikh, a renowned singer of Kashmir, was killed brutally -- after being suspectedly kidnapped while traveling on the train to Delhi


As the clock chimed 12 in the night, another soft set of notes from an invisible guitar wafted out. The serene influence of the lyrics-free sound had such a powerful impact that it slipped me into deep slumber. I felt as if I were falling to endless tunes of an enchanting harmony. For once, I took it for the regular morning alarm, which is otherwise a ''villainous tone', forcing me to stir up from bed. Typically, it should have distracted me from my sound sleep, mercilessly chopping off a sweet dream in its infancy. This time around, however, that wasn't to be the case. For, I had changed the alarm tone into my favorite guitar tune to happily get the day going.
But then, the sound dropped steadily and eventually died out in a minute. I couldn't press my finger on its button. Restlessness overcame me, forcing me to have a look at it. Lazily with eyes half-opened, I found out it was still dark. Well, it's my cell phone, and I reached out my hand to grab it. As I skimmed through the phone screen, a brief written piece popped up: 'one message received'. I was angry with myself. Because, apart from alarm tone, the guitar tone happened to be my message tone also -- so I presumed it could be one of those pesky 'ring tone' messages or something on new schemes our mobile phone providers often bother us with. I was settling down to be greeted at this point in time, I presume it was going to be something very 'useless', and in fact it only turned out to be rather grimmer for me.
''Today is Fathers' Day. Make this Day special for your dad. Make the most of it and dedicate a wonderful song to your dad,'' read the message. Just a quick read through, and I was completely dead, completely blank. The air-conditioned room, which seemed cozy a moment ago on a hot June night, suddenly gave me a cold sweat. The what little consciousness I had acquired died down in a jiffy -- completely. ''It is June 15: Father's Day. But, how can I make the Father's Day special for my dad who no more exists," I shuddered, ruefully.
So, what do I do to be with him, if only for this day? Is there a way out? How at all would I get some supernatural power to spend some quality time with him? As all these questions emerged in strings from the bottom of my heart, I sped back to the memories of that dreadful July 13-14 night. I took me to the haunting scene when I was crying helplessly to get a glimpse of my father who had disappeared mysteriously in the summer of 2003. Not even in the worst nightmare had I imagined that my father would vanish one day, never to come back again. That my loving father I was talking to just a few hours ago was to soon fade away from real sight? It was only he, who had hand-fed me at dinner --as if I were a small child --, on the train and shared his last moments of life with me. Without knowing it was to be so.
Alas, the road-cruise we had scrambled on together with smiles on our faces had snatched him away forever. I was terrified at the thought that I am no more among the lucky daughters. My father, G N Sheikh, a renowned singer of Kashmir, was killed brutally -- after being suspectedly kidnapped while traveling on the train to Delhi. So, the Dad's Day message has no significance in my life. That was a terrible thought. A moment later, I decided to do something to get rid of it. I got up and logged on my account -- the page opened up to another shock: This time in a riposte on my message: ''don't miss out sending a collection of beautiful cards to your dad on this Father's Day. Be the first one to wish your dad through these invaluable cards.'' The email inadvertently transported me back to the horror and invited unwanted thoughts again.
On July 13 in 2003, both my father and I took off on a trip to Delhi. My father was very adventurous and loved to explore things. So we booked a taxi for Jammu from Srinagar to stop by in Udhampur to pick up one of my dad's friends. The road cruise began merrily as we had planned to take breaks at several places during the course and make the most of it. As we were through some miles I loved how the scenery that started changed slowly -- all of it beautiful, picturesque landscape. My father gave me a precise description of almost everything we passed behind -- it was an unforgettable experience, I really loved it.
We stopped at a roadside 'dhaba' nearby Banihal, which is famous for Kashmiri tea. As is the case, dhabas would have its kitchen blending with the sitting room for visitors; I had the opportunity to watch the tea-maker preparing 'nunchai', the traditional salty tea of Kashmir. Dipped in butter with a dash of wheat powder alongside nans, his 'nunchai' didn't translate into a salty tea but it gave a lasting relief and refreshed us besides satiating our taste buds — unlike the one every household in Kashmir makes. At Udhampur, we had a nice lunch at dad's friend's place. We spent some wonderful moments with his family even though only for a short span of time before uncle accompanied us for the rest of the journey.
I was feeling a little upset because I terribly missed my mom and brother and sister. But dad was at his best at cracking up people — his forte of course. He was a great mimic and would often imitate people, act like them, make their voices and sometimes surprise others on phone by impersonating voice of his other friends with his incredible borrowing of others' styles. My father had a great sense of humor too. He started making voice of my mom, brother and sister and also acted like I do. I burst into laughter and couldn't control when he shared with me some of the funniest moments of his life ''My friend was very thin and I used to pester him a lot. On his marriage, I surprised him when I stuffed his wedding dress and told him if doesn't wear it, he would horrify his in-laws with his zero-size.
Guests would be terrified to see him in the wedding dress and all of them would run away. But, when he seemed to lose all his confidence, my friends told him I was joking. He looked okay only when I assured him all that I said was a joke.'' Our next stop was Jammu, which is only a three-hour drive from Udhampur. Another friend of dad had insisted us to drop by for dinner before pushing off for another overnight journey to Delhi. As we reached his house, we had some time to settle down and take little rest after the day's road voyage, but dad's friends and me alike were amazed to see daddy in such an unbelievable hurry, which sort of seemed the manifestation of some hysterical concern about missing our train. He insisted on leaving for the station long before the departure and all of us had eventually our dinner packed for us to have it on the train.
That kind of behavior was unbecoming of him. For his timing was perfect—he was never late or arrived before time at work or otherwise. Very punctual. That day, however, we had about two hours before the train finally scrambled at 9.30 in the night. During those few hours until our dinner at 11 pm -- which turned out to be my father's final moments with me -- I found in him a completely different person. He was never so philosophical, never so good as a preacher and never so very concerned about me. He made me sit up on the berth to talk with him; though I was a little reluctant and drowsiness had taken a toll me as if in an indication of an impending grief ahead of the tragedy.
"Look Huma, you have to be brave to confront adversities courageously and lend your voice to curiosity by voicing your concerns. Since you will be studying alone in Delhi, you have to be strong and bold. All the rest follows,'' he said. I wondered what prompted dad to start his 'preaching speech' at such an odd hour although I had similar sessions from him earlier as well. But the sullenness in his voice made it all the more different for me and it gave an impression that we would be apart forever, as if he was going far away never to come back again. He was in no mood to wind up his talk: '' You must take a cue from your father — I was only 16 years old when I ventured on an inter-state trip on my own, without my family's support, unlike you. Also in life, we should face adverse situations bravely as they are part of our lives.''
My father said that as I was also going to be in the media now (dad was working in All India Radio), I must learn to explore answers about various things that intrigued me. "One should always keep one's mind open to know about different things.'' He said: ''You can transform weakness into triumph on the anvil of sheer will power in your professional and personal life.'' The session happened to be my last conversation with dad. At dinner, which we had a little while ago, he spoon-fed me as one would deal with a toddler. And then all three of us drifted off to sleep. Dad bade me good night. That was the last time I saw him.
When I got up again in the night, my father had disappeared. He didn't even come again not even for his last rituals, which were performed in absentia. Neither police nor any judiciary found him ever. But his last speech has a lasting influence on me. So much so that every time I think of it, I feel I am born anew. "It is not only a rebirth but also a transformation, as I have become an entirely different human being now,'' I would think. His last words have helped me strengthen the confidence of my family and me alike to move ahead in life courageously.
And what better could be an honor to celebrate the Father's Day than doing what he wanted me to: '' One should face adverse situations bravely as they are part of our lives and transform weakness into triumph on the anvil of sheer will power.'' Thank you so much dad for giving us such a wonderful fatherhood—thank you for everything you have done for us. I got back to sleep again. Later, in the morning, I did purchase some cards -- to gift to the people I am quite close with. That, I thought, was the ideal way I can commemorate the Father's Day.