They develop their flight feathers but the parents are
unaware that their little birds will one day leave the nest to have a flight of
their own. Nature persuades it and parents somehow fall in line with it
preparing for the parting that often accompanies with their flying. But this
wasn't the feeling when I was waiting at Jeddah airport, 17 years back, on a
wintry morning, seeing my wife Huma come out of the terminal and handing over a
9 month old Kaleem from her arms to mine. Those moments froze in time as I have
no words to describe them, and even as I recollect them now, I am still without
words to express that feeling. She had given a life into my arms, which is a
part of me. He grew in my arms rather rapidly and I aged with this
becoming a habit. He witnessed my good and bad times. He never knew this as
a toddler but his affectionate smile would make me forget my worries. In his
playful antics I would forget my desperation of bad days. As
he grew there came good times in my life. But I always related to him as
the one who had unknowingly shared my loneliness. Love of him came as a
back-up plan of God for me.
I was and still am wary of intimate attachments but never realized that I had invested a large part of my energy and hope in him. He grew rapidly beyond my fathoming of the fact that he had starting developing the much needed pinfeathers required for his growth. For me it was time to get back to myself; I just asked myself - doesn't it just seem like yesterday that Huma had given him in my arms ? When and how 17 years escaped my imagination? The question will remain unanswered. Like so many things over which I have no control, even with this, as a reluctant parent I am left with the difficult and only task of mentally preparing myself to leave him to his destiny with the hope that his flight feathers are strong enough to enable a safe flight. With my own questions, doubts and values, I leave him into the wilderness of the dark where he has to make his own light.
I wonder how would the day be when I will see him off at the airport as an adult and return home without him but with his memories. I may return back to my home without him and still find him in the empty, unoccupied spaces of the house; his empty desk; the empty hangers in the closet; his drawer without his wallet and watch. I may miss his dirty linen from the basket. He may take all his possessions with him but still shall leave those marks of the ball on the walls of the house that he made while playfully hitting against it; his pressing of my shoulders after a tiring day; the smell of his favorite pizza that would upset my stomach; the anger when he asked my mobile to play games on it will turn into a bitter memory; the fight for the TV remote control with his younger siblings; his favorite TV programs which now no one will watch. I will eventually learn to live with all this with the only one person for whom the parting will be more difficult - his mother.
I was and still am wary of intimate attachments but never realized that I had invested a large part of my energy and hope in him. He grew rapidly beyond my fathoming of the fact that he had starting developing the much needed pinfeathers required for his growth. For me it was time to get back to myself; I just asked myself - doesn't it just seem like yesterday that Huma had given him in my arms ? When and how 17 years escaped my imagination? The question will remain unanswered. Like so many things over which I have no control, even with this, as a reluctant parent I am left with the difficult and only task of mentally preparing myself to leave him to his destiny with the hope that his flight feathers are strong enough to enable a safe flight. With my own questions, doubts and values, I leave him into the wilderness of the dark where he has to make his own light.
I wonder how would the day be when I will see him off at the airport as an adult and return home without him but with his memories. I may return back to my home without him and still find him in the empty, unoccupied spaces of the house; his empty desk; the empty hangers in the closet; his drawer without his wallet and watch. I may miss his dirty linen from the basket. He may take all his possessions with him but still shall leave those marks of the ball on the walls of the house that he made while playfully hitting against it; his pressing of my shoulders after a tiring day; the smell of his favorite pizza that would upset my stomach; the anger when he asked my mobile to play games on it will turn into a bitter memory; the fight for the TV remote control with his younger siblings; his favorite TV programs which now no one will watch. I will eventually learn to live with all this with the only one person for whom the parting will be more difficult - his mother.
I leave the rest to time and make peace with
my own longing with this very true poem by Kahlil Gibran, as this now resonates
in every moment of my parenthood:
"Your children are
not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable."
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
so He loves also the bow that is stable."
