EULOGY

IKHLAQ-UL-REHMAN MIR

In loving memory of my Baba!

Life throws, at times, unpleasant surprises at us. Life feels bitter when someone close to us leaves us without saying a final goodbye.  Death is inevitable.  Life dances on the tones of death. Death dreads. Death stares at everyone.   It spares none.  There is no way to foretell when grief will take your breath away, send you scurrying to the places where no one can see the big fat tears trickling down your cheeks.  My life has not been same since Baba left us. We are shattered. We miss his radiant eyes that evinced a million tales or the curated words that conveyed so much beyond what was spoken.  Sun shines, clouds cover sky, moon moves, everything is routine but my world has turned turtle.

Baba, a free and a fearless soul, took a hurried flight to heavens. He was full of life. But cruel clutches of life consumed him. He was an Institution unto himself- a gentleman of the tribe.Mohammad Hamza Mir was born in Kalmoona, a decrepit village in frontier district of Kupwara. He lost his father at 10, faced countless challenges but didn’t give up. He completed his matriculation in early 1960’s and served in Sheep and Animal Husbandry department. Baba tried his level best to contribute to society is whatever way possible. He was a religious figure, greatly revered. He was a one-man army; he used to write letters in times when there was no source of communication. People would bank upon him and reach out to him to solve their domestic disputes. He was disciplined, creative and a man of method. He taught us to learn, lead, respect everyone and harm none. He got me admitted to school. My first school bag was gifted by him. He was sweet and strict.

He used to get up early for pre-dawn (Tahajjud) prayers. But on August 13, 2023, that fateful night, he chose eternal sleep. He was a poet. He loved painting his thoughts in words. He wrote in his mother tongue but never got published. He left a great legacy behind. He sacrificed his desires for people. He burned midnight oil to update himself about the latest happenings around. His contributions will always be counted. He was once in a millennium soul. Today, when I pray, I feel him around, calling my name. I struggle hard to hold warm tears but…. I crave for his single glimpse. I know he can’t be back but his memories are the hope against the hope. We lost a jewel. Being his laadla, I feel his demise has created a huge void in my life.

He was a compassionate man with high-spirits.  He lived 80 years and lived a full life. Listening, caring, inspiring, sharing, encouraging and always loving, he was there for me- in both elation and distress. He always taught me to love, to be humble, and to help people in whatever way possible. He was once in a millennium soul. When we submitted him to soil, I recalled John Didion, “Certain losses don’t get past you but you incorporate them into who you are. It is always a part of you.”

A compassionate, benevolent, selfless and a high-spirited man he was. He was popularly known as “Dervish” for being so involved with the hereafter affairs. His needs were limited. I fail to describe his magnetic persona. Baba was a hope and a guardian for the needy. He was a pillar of support for orphans, a friend of the downtrodden. He was a true feminist. He always stood for the right of women, as given by Islam.

He taught me to show humility and always keep shoes and ego outside whenever I enter any space. I never knew that my Baba would leave me so early.  He had a desire to see me as a groom but life takes unexpected U-turns as I mentioned in the beginning of this tribute. His wish remained unfulfilled. Death be not proud- is what he taught me all his life.

The Author is the Doctoral Candidate (JRF) in the subject of Media studies at Institute of Kashmir Studies, University of Kashmir