I won’t stand at your grave with white flowers and mourn,
Attend your funeral
Or accept you’re really gone, as long as it takes to sink in
I grew up in a country where Hindus and Muslims
Are more animus than belief
You told me, children to the same father, we’re all the same
You weren’t an educated man, toiled in a factory for wage
Yet finest of open minds
Is how you’ll live, footprints on sand, of a young me.
I might have made fun of you, but in laughter when you said
Men and women – are all there to race
Is the true learning I’ll live with.
Who are you to me? Not a father, brother, uncle, friend
Beyond name or stars you live today
Complete or forsake me – you’ve done both today
I came to know yesterday morning that he passed away. Being a Muslim, he had substantially great learning of Hindu scriptures and had a surprisingly simple explanation of everything. As a young boy, I learnt the true meaning of harmony from him. He was a man of perfectly sound health. Ever since I heard the news, I am just not able to accept it. My beloved uncle, please have my respect, may your simple words illuminate where there is darkness.