"So what do you think of Holden's roommate?" I saw him holding "Catcher
in the Rye" when I entered our mini library, he wasn't reading it, the
book was closed and he was lost somewhere.
"That, I will tell you later. I've actually been waiting for you, I wanted to show you something", he took out a folded sheet from the cover. "I was doing the dusting an hour ago when 'Raja Gidh' fell down and this fell out of it", he handed me the sheet and I opened it with lazy curiosity of old hands glad to see an old acquaintance but too old to be excited. The paper was old and torn from places but the printing on it was still intact. It was some Urdu poem, I started reading it. It felt very familiar but I couldn't quite pin the poet. I read the last line and suddenly I remembered it was written by me, and then the name and date in the foot note confirmed that. The lazy old man got excited.
"You must be in your early twenties when you wrote it dad, I guessed that from the date. It's beautiful. Who did you write it for, it has such a deep feeling of loss, emptiness and meaninglessness in it?".
I nodded and took a moment to feel proud at his understanding of Urdu poetry. Most boys his age were memorizing poetry explanations for their exams. Then I remembered his question and smiled. He must be thinking I wrote it for some girl I lost. In a way he was right.
"I wrote it for your mom". I enjoyed his confusion, waited for him to respond.
"But... she is right here, probably listening to another book in the other room"
"I wrote it after one of our breakups, we had quite a lot of them. We were young and emotional and little problems felt like things that can never be resolved. Every time I lost her, it felt like I would never see her again. It must be one of those times when I wrote it. She came back every time for me, kept us together whenever we were falling apart. Everyone else was getting over their exes in a week and using dating apps to find new people but not her, not me. We were old school by the standards of that time, we got over our issues eventually and made it work. We brought each other back whenever one of us was losing hope. Your mother is my standard for love, care, forgiveness and loyalty. No one could have done it better than her". I saw his eyes becoming wet, he was way too sensitive and way too mature for his years. I knew he understood what I said and what I couldn't say.
"You should read it to her, she will be happy, might even laugh at you", he laughed. I folded the paper and went looking for her, to test my son's idea.
"That, I will tell you later. I've actually been waiting for you, I wanted to show you something", he took out a folded sheet from the cover. "I was doing the dusting an hour ago when 'Raja Gidh' fell down and this fell out of it", he handed me the sheet and I opened it with lazy curiosity of old hands glad to see an old acquaintance but too old to be excited. The paper was old and torn from places but the printing on it was still intact. It was some Urdu poem, I started reading it. It felt very familiar but I couldn't quite pin the poet. I read the last line and suddenly I remembered it was written by me, and then the name and date in the foot note confirmed that. The lazy old man got excited.
"You must be in your early twenties when you wrote it dad, I guessed that from the date. It's beautiful. Who did you write it for, it has such a deep feeling of loss, emptiness and meaninglessness in it?".
I nodded and took a moment to feel proud at his understanding of Urdu poetry. Most boys his age were memorizing poetry explanations for their exams. Then I remembered his question and smiled. He must be thinking I wrote it for some girl I lost. In a way he was right.
"I wrote it for your mom". I enjoyed his confusion, waited for him to respond.
"But... she is right here, probably listening to another book in the other room"
"I wrote it after one of our breakups, we had quite a lot of them. We were young and emotional and little problems felt like things that can never be resolved. Every time I lost her, it felt like I would never see her again. It must be one of those times when I wrote it. She came back every time for me, kept us together whenever we were falling apart. Everyone else was getting over their exes in a week and using dating apps to find new people but not her, not me. We were old school by the standards of that time, we got over our issues eventually and made it work. We brought each other back whenever one of us was losing hope. Your mother is my standard for love, care, forgiveness and loyalty. No one could have done it better than her". I saw his eyes becoming wet, he was way too sensitive and way too mature for his years. I knew he understood what I said and what I couldn't say.
"You should read it to her, she will be happy, might even laugh at you", he laughed. I folded the paper and went looking for her, to test my son's idea.
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