Tribute to a mother: Alys Faiz
By Moneeza Hashmi
THE last Eid was the first time she did not join us for the traditional family breakfast. Even though it was in the next room, she had not felt up to it, and preferred to eat her few spoonfuls of porridge next door.
It was also the first time in 56 years and six months that she looked at me with no sign of recognition despite my insistence on telling her who I was.
It was also the first time that I saw her without her bearings, slightly confused, trying to grapple with the haze in her head, trying to make sense of the chaos she must have been feeling. I gave up after a few attempts and came home with an overwhelming sense of sadness that day.
This was not the same woman who had ruled my childhood with an iron discipline and taught me all the rules of honesty, hard work and dedication by simply following them herself. This was not the same woman of whom we were all mortally afraid should we dare to break any ground rules laid down by her.
She was tough, determined and strong. Bringing up two daughters with a husband who was in solitary confinement — jailed on false charges with a possible death sentence — could not have been the way she planned to spend her youth. Bicycling to work and back in the blazing hot afternoons of June could also not have been what she bargained for when she gave up her religion, her family and her culture to be with the man she loved.
Spending long hours outside courtrooms, leading processions, arguing with lawyers and fighting for her husband’s freedom were again probably not a part of her agenda as a young, upright, tall, attractive woman when she landed in the subcontinent to visit her sister way back in 1939.
I can still see her crying inconsolably when she heard her mother was dead in England and she had been denied a passport to visit her. I can see her red eyes when she came home without my father because his release orders from jail had yet again been revoked. I can see her shouting angrily at the policemen who came to take my father forcibly away in the middle of the night screaming at them “Show me your warrant!”. Memories of strength, memories of struggle, memories of resolution, memories of determination are all I have left.
Someone once said to me: “It must have been difficult for her to have lived in the shadow of such a great man”. What many people do not understand is that she was a part of that man and they were both a part of me. And now they are both gone. And the road ahead looks very silent, very empty and very dark.
God rest their souls in peace. — Ameen.
The writer is the daughter of Alys and Faiz Ahmed Faiz.

