Dearest Nani Hazoor

By Dr. Muhammad Hafizullah

“Though I cannot move my hands, yet my eyes can still appreciate, please do not remove wine and glass in front of me,” narrated Dr Malaika in Urdu, quite effortlessly with knowing looks as if she understood the implications of the verse. It really impressed me that a person, who spent all her life outside Pakistan, spoke Japanese as a child and received education in English, could so effectively communicate in Urdu and even understood Urdu poetry. This was all due to her mother and more so due to her grandmother Dr Shafkat Munir. This unveiled another aspect of Dr Shafkat Munir’s multifaceted personality – affection for grand children and  love for Urdu poetry. During discussion with children, it transpired that she was an avid reader of Urdu prose and poetry and understood and enjoyed the nuances and delicacies of poetry.  Her ten grand children were very closely attached to her and everyone considered him or herself to be her best friend. Children would spend weeks with her and would learn besides many other things of Urdu prose and poetry. She was quite successful, as it seems, to inculcate deep appreciation of Urdu poetry, which by all standards is an achievement in itself.  Being able to understand Urdu poetry is undoubtedly a big blessing!

All relationships need investment of time and resources. To ‘take’ anything one has to ‘give’ a lot. The bond between grand parents and the kids of the kids is full of love, sincerity and sacrifice. Grand parents soaked in love are willing to offer what ever they have. Grand children spoiled by unlimited love seldom pay back in the same coin. But the following is a glowing example of how a grand child feels for a most extraordinary grand mother - this is what Dr Momina, daughter of Dr Sabeena  and Jamal wrote from Malaysia: 

My Dearest Nani Hazoor,

How I regret not writing to you often, when I knew you would have been so happy to receive a letter from me.  How I regret not calling you more often, when I knew you would have been elated just to hear my voice.  How I regret not sending you pictures of me that you had requested, when I knew you would have displayed it by your bedside so proudly.  How I regret not letting you know more often how much you meant to me.  How do I let you know now how much you meant to me.  I know you would say I know.

I never realised how blessed we were to have a grandmother like you, Nani Hazoor.   I never realised how much happiness you shared in our happiness and how worried and concerned you would be for us, and how much you prayed for our well being and success and how much you cared about us.  I never realised what it meant to have someone so far away from you, thinking, praying, caring and loving you so much, how truly fortunate we were.  I never realised how much we meant to you and how much you meant to us and to all of those whose life you touched and blessed.  Truly blessed by just knowing you, and having the honour of your love and kindness.

Nani Hazoor, going to Peshawar was always like going home, because of you and you never failed to make us feel so welcome and at home.  Since we moved around a lot, it was the one constant, stable factor in our ever-changing lives and homes.  It was where I have one of the fondest memories of growing up and of my childhood, and all thanks to you and of course Dada and Mama for sending all of us every year without fail so that we could spend precious time and create fond memories together. 

I know you wanted to go and you said Allah had blessed you with a full life and you were full of gratitude towards Allah.  The last poem that you wrote with Toni says it all, you wanted Allah to call you and you didn't want to live with the hassle after the operation and you once said nobody can understand how it feels to live like this.  I know we are selfish to want to have you longer with us, and you must feel like we should understand that this is what you had wanted, not to be mohtaj (dependent), to be walking, talking and leave this world, peacefully and respectfully in your beloved city of Peshawar.  You got all that you had wished for, and you are truly among the blessed and even more to leave us on a Friday, and we should be happy for you and you would have not wanted us to cry, you always used to get angry at us even when we cried saying goodbye to you, every time we left Peshawar.  But it was always so painful to say goodbye, Nani Hazoor and this time its unbearably painful, you have left us forever, forever leaving such a void in our lives. 

A hollow, empty feeling overcomes me knowing that you are no longer in this world, and so I try to fill that up with all the memories of you. I want to grasp hold of all the moments that I shared with you; I don't want to lose that too.  The way you used to kiss our forehead ever so gently, the way you always smelled so nice of some perfume that people always gave you, the way you talked fondly about your past in great detail, the way you walked (always upright) down the hall to the dining room, the way you laughed uncontrollably at the dangling toes, the way you slept with the dupatta over your eyes, the way you tied your fine, brown hair with bobby pins into a bun on top of your head, the way you washed your hands carefully like a surgeon, the way you proudly signed S Munir on your doctors pad titled Dr Shafkat Munir, the way you ate your banana with a knife and fork (and always a tissue in hand), the way you slowly sipped your tea like a lady in your rose teacup, the way you sat on the front verandah enjoying qawa chai on the infamous trolley, admiring your green lawn.  I can go on and on about all the memories of you, and all the precious moments that we shared together, Nani Hazoor and although you are no longer with us, your memories will forever live inside each and everyone of us.

Whenver I said goodbye to you over the phone the last few words I would say were always, love you, miss you Nani Hazoor.  Truly do love you, and miss you so much.