Last Sunday, Darwish's phone came early in the morning. Darwish said,
"Qalandar is celebrating stepmother's day today." He excused himself
from going on picnics. But they don't stop coming to the picnic. You don't know
what you are thinking. Let me clear your misunderstanding. We four senior
citizens are not friends. We are not red bridle horses either. We often suffer
from joint pain. All of us are suffering from small and big heart problems.
Reduces visibility. Hearing loss. Some things are understandable. Some things
are not understood. They leave home intending to go south and know the north.
Sometimes a coat is a shirt and a shirt is a coat. But the four friends do not
stop going on Sunday picnic. We have filled the voids of life with the
obligatory picnic. From the time of college, we had organized a program to
celebrate Sunday picnics and color rallies. They were following their program.
Then we were friends around forty. During four years of college, we dropped
from forty to thirty and then from thirty to twenty. While studying in the
university, the number of friends we used to go on picnics reduced from twenty
to ten. After graduating from college, most friends' parents got married.
Friends started giving children to the nation. Some friends opened a grocery
store and sat down. Some friends started selling wholesale and retail
vegetables. Some friends became clerks somewhere and policemen somewhere.
Those who went to the police made great progress, and as soon as they
saw them, they got excited. Your enlarged mouth indicates your comfort and
prosperity. By the time the rest of the picnic friends graduated from
university with their degrees, our number had dwindled to ten. During the
picnic, we friends mostly thought about our dwindling numbers. There was a time
when about forty of us friends used to go out on Sunday picnics. Then our
number decreased from forty to thirty. It didn't take long for us to drop from
thirty friends to twenty. Our head froze when we were reduced to ten friends.
Ten of us friends have been absent during the ups and downs of jobs and life.
They stayed away from each other. After becoming a senior citizen, we are left
with four friends: Darwish, Qalandar, Sufi and me. During the picnic, we
inevitably talk about our absence.
Where do we come from? Where do you go? After moving from here, we
friends meet again in unknown worlds or not. From here, the friends who left
before us await the arrival of the remaining friends in the unknown, unknown,
mysterious world? What happens after we pass away? After our death? All these
things have been told to you so that you do not think of us as a horse with a
red rein. All are funny things to say and hear, some unseen old man may have
been suffering from ring relays before setting off on his eternal journey. Not
all old people are moody and colorful. When we are leaving for the eternal
journey to our friendslet's see . That too, one after the other, then we see
the lamp of life flickering, sometimes extinguishing, sometimes burning,
extinguishing the remaining life. Mother suffers the pain of our coming into
this world, we suffer the pain of leaving this world. We four friends, Darwish,
Qalandar, Sufi and I, Badhe and Kharos consider ourselves as spoils for each
other. Last Sunday on a picnic. Qalandar's apology for leaving was shocking. In
years of support, Qalandar had never talked about celebrating stepmother's day.
We knew that Qalandar had grown up under the shadow of a stepmother. After the
death of Qalandar's mother, his father married his stepmother who had three
children. The stepmother gave birth to three more children.
Suddenly, the stepmother gave the responsibility of raising six children
to Qalandar. The stepmother became a snorer, decorated the sixteen and became a
butterfly. As soon as he saw it, Qalandar started taking care of the kitchen
along with taking care of six children, making breakfast, lunch and dinner was
included in Qalandar's duties. He used to make tea for his stepmother several
times a day. At a small alley, the stepmother used to beat Qalandar profusely,
sometimes with a beed stick, sometimes with a barbed stick and sometimes with
an old trouser belt. The belt belonged to Majid, Qalandar's father. If ever the
stepmother would break Qalandar's rib in a fit of rage, then Qalandar would
tell his friends that while crossing the road, the donkey got injured under the
car. I said to Dervish, "Isn't Qalandar ashamed of celebrating
stepmother's day like this?" Darvish said. Next Sunday is Stepfather's
Day.The last Sunday has been set as the day of the stepmother. Next Sunday is
Stepfather's Day.The last Sunday has been set as the day of the stepmother.
Next Sunday is Stepfather's Day.
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