RELATION

“RELATION"

My father called him Rahimchacha,
An old, simple man, nothing to hide,
Just like my own grandpa’-
He was my dada, my friend, philosopher and guide.

We celebrated Id, muhharam, holi, diwali
With same happiness, with same enthusiasm,
I was not taught to differentiate
That “I am a Hindu and he is a Mohammedan”.

Dada taught me to swim, told me stories, sang filmy songs-
When roamed through the village by taking me on his back.
I taught him alphabets and handwritings-
Our selfless relation never followed any pre-planned track.

He lived in Mollapara, near by local masque,
With his family, niece and nephew,
It was little away from our house, and
The old rail yard cordoned the area from our view.
.
Suddenly what happened, I don’t know, I swear!
Deadly cry, fire balls, mass killing, blood shaded roads and ponds,
Spent many sleepless time behind closed door
Helplessly, silently, keeping lives in our hands.

“How is my dada? Where is he now?” none gave me reply,
No communication, no sound, except bomb, shootings and police siren.
“It was a riot, honey,” mother told with crying eyes.
I lost my faith on religion; I could not see my dada again.

Time got normalized, we started schooling again,
We prayed altogether, Me, Dipti, Sonu, Rajen sir
But somebody, something we missed with tears
We heartily missed the presence of Naaz, Fatima, Abdul sir.