I lost a part of me that Friday in March. My yaar Chiragh lost his last temporal battle. "He suffered a massive stroke. The doctors tried hard to ......."I
could not hear the rest of what Nasim Bhabhi was telling me.

I found myself in the hospital ICU. Dull, colour co-ordinated, septic.
Oxygen,drips, monitors.

"........we decided to allow the doctors to remove the respirator. He was dead in a couple of hours."

I saw him re-live his life. His family, his love, his children. Zenith of successes, big and small. Nadir of despair and defeats. He considered the pros
and cons one more time and then concluded
that it was time to move his residence permanently.

"Kitna pyara lag raha hai mera bhaiyya," (1) said Talat Baji as she struggled to contain the flood of tears ready to gush forth.


In the building across the road a new family moved in. It must have been the month of Ramadaan. In the coolish lull between sehri and
school we used to play our version of one-hour cricket. "My name is
Chiragh, I would like to play with you guys." He was soon part of our team. He had a very inquiring mind. Conversation with him was not easy.
Why? How? What if....? Some of us did not appreciate his mores.

I heard of Aflatoon, Sukraat, and Aristo from him much before I heard of Plato, Socrates or Aristotle. In his way Chiragh did much to inculcate a
passion for reading, assimilating, thinking and arguing amongst us.

"Bhaiyya, kuch tou bolo,"(2) Nighat Baji pleaded with him.
I heard him reply, "Boulnaay ka waqt guzar gaya." (3) They did not hear him.


We moved. They moved. I lost touch with other friends from the neighbourhood. But Chiragh and I remained in touch.

When Tariq Bhayya left for Fairfax, Chiragh inherited his unique
Jeepster convertible. I had a Vespa then. One cloudy day we all skipped classes and went to Paradise Point. On the way back he insisted on
borrowing my Vespa. I followed him in his Jeepster. At a curve on the Mauripur Road he lost his balance and hit a tree. He
was unconscious, bleeding profusely and making strange noises. That was the first time I had seen an unconscious person.
Somehow we dragged him in his car and took him to the nearest clinic near Mereweather Tower. The doctor wanted a police report before treating
him. Another first. My first brush with bureaucracy.

Nasim Bhabhi looked intently at the inert body, then glanced at Talat and Nighat. She did not utter a word. Mist in her eyes enveloped the
whole ICU.

When I moved to Fairfax, I learned from Bhaiyya that Chiragh wanted to marry his childhood sweetheart. There were hints of family discord.
He persevered and in the end married her. As I left Fairfax for Toronto, he arrived in the States, and settled down in the Mid West.
Kids followed.Something somewhere went drastically wrong. They
were divorced last year.

One evening, in October '94 the phone rang. "Yaar come on down for a few days. Ruma is getting married. The reception is on November
25----would be a nice occassion to meet with the whole gang......Chiragh will be there too." That was the clincher.

At Ruma's reception, I met Bhaiyya, Bhabhi, Talat Baji, Colonel, Anjum, Cathy, Pervez, Andrea, Zubair, Sabiha,Ali, Nayyar,
Kamal----- too many old friends. And yes, there was Chiragh.. What
dichotomy. He was the same old Chiragh, yet he was different.
Ravages of time had made him older, sadder.

As we were taking our leaves that evening, he walked over from the other end of the hall, and hugged me. There was a warmth in his
hug that only old friends can either experience or feel. Maybe he had some premonition. That hug barely lasted a couple of seconds. But in those
few seconds images went by on my mental screen that covered an eternity. Pervez, who had known him from our Karachi days said,
"Yaar what is the matter with this guy, there are no lights on!"

That 25th of November I penned these lines:

A hug

just one warm hug

at encounter's end

anguished me.



Will I get another hug

with that warmth

ever again?



Why do I not flow

with the music

why do I feel

the coming pain?



Tum aao gay, tum ko aana hoga

tum milo gay, tum ko milna hoga

hazaroN ranjishaiN haiN, shikway HaiN

tumhaiN suna-naa hai

tum se suN-naa hai

shayad phir

yaadoN kay manoN bojh talay

aahoN kay ghubaar hatakar

phir ekbaar

tumhaiN dil se laga laiN hum.



You will--- you have to return

we will---- we have to meet

views and issues aplenty

have to be resolved

only then, perhaps

break away we can

from the shackels past

and hug each other

once more.......


With your death, my friend, something of me died too.

The only consolation is that you are at peace, finally.