When Uncle Jameel finally opened his eyes after 30 years in a coma, the room froze.

The beeping monitors echoed softly as his nephew, Bilal, stared in disbelief.

“Uncle… can you hear me?”

Jameel blinked at the light, groggy and confused. “Yeah… but where am I? And who are you?”

“You’re in the hospital. You’ve been asleep since the 1990s. I am Bilal, your nephew.”

He frowned. “Wait. What year is it now?”

“2025.”

Jameel’s eyes widened. “You mean to tell me… I missed the 2000s? All of them?”

Bilal laughed through tears and spoke emotionally, “You did. But you’re back now.”

For a few seconds, there was nothing but quiet relief. Then Jameel grinned weakly. They hugged. It was a heartfelt, emotional moment, a moment 30 years in the making. And then the madness began.

A week after returning home, Bilal decided to show his uncle how much technology had advanced. He switched on his LED TV, grabbed his PlayStation controller and started playing a game.

“Uncle, check this out. It’s called Tekken 8. You can fight anyone in high definition,” Bilal explained.

Jameel squinted at the screen, where a muscle-bound fighter punched a giant bear. He was confused, “What… in the world is going on here?”

Bilal laughed. “That’s Kuma. He’s a bear character.”

“A bear? Fighting a human? And look, a man wearing a tiger’s head! Is this some kind of zoo?”

Bilal tried to explain, “That tiger head is King. It’s just fantasy.”

“In my time, we had Sonic and Streets of Rage! Games with sense!”

Before Bilal could react, Jameel grabbed a cricket bat from the corner and smashed the PlayStation with a single swing.

“Uncle!” he shouted.

“Just saved your soul!” Then, with one more strike, he shattered the LED TV.

Jameel stood proudly amid the debris. “Now that’s justice. No bears. No tiger-man. Just silence!”

Bilal was dumbfounded. “That was a Rs200,000 setup, Uncle!”

Uncle calmly dusted off his shirt, “Then congratulations. You’re now free.”

He went to the storeroom, came back with a dusty Sega console and connected it to a bulky old cathode-ray TV. He smiled as the screen flickered on.

“Now this is a television. Big. Heavy. Real. Not some wafer hanging on a wall,” he declared.

Soon Sonic the Hedgehog filled the room and Jameel leaned back, satisfied. “That’s what gaming used to feel like — pure joy. A wholesome, cuddly hedgehog with style.”

The next morning, Bilal was leaving for university when Jameel appeared, wearing a black leather jacket, shades and a serious expression.

“Hold on. You’re not going alone.”

“Uncle, it’s just university.”

“I said hold on,” Uncle Jameel said as he pulled out a pair of keys and pointed outside. A massive black heavy bike gleamed in the driveway.

Bilal stared at it in disbelief, “You’re joking!”

“Do I look like a joker? I got this model back in the days when I had a beautiful, lush crop on my head. Those were my glory days. Now it’s time for your first official escort.” Five minutes later, they were speeding through traffic like a movie chase.

“Uncle, slow down! You’re going to get us killed!”

“Relax, I watched CHiPs! I know what I’m doing!”

Uncle Jameel even started doing a one-wheel.

“Uncle! What are you doing? You’re breaking traffic rules!”

Moments later, they were stopped by the police and scolded. An officer called Uncle Jameel a man-child. Bilal hid his face in embarrassment.

That evening, Bilal sat studying when a click-snap, click-snap noise filled the air. He looked up. Jameel was sitting on the couch, flipping a silver flip phone open and shut repeatedly, grinning every time it snapped.

“Uncle, can you please stop doing that?”

Jameel didn’t even look up as he declared, “This is art. Phones today just beep. This one performs.” Snap.

“You’re addicted to the sound.”

“No,” Jameel said proudly. “I’m addicted to style.” Snap.

A few days later, Jameel entered the living room wearing shiny white 90s sneakers.

“Originals,” he announced. “Back when shoes were stylish.” Every step made a squeaky sound.

“Uncle,” Bilal said, “why do they squeak and sound like mice when you walk?”

“That’s style, not squeaking,” shot back Uncle Jameel. Then, out of nowhere, Jameel started moonwalking across the marble floor, perfectly in sync with the squeaks. “Squeak, squeak, squeak! Hee-hee!” He spun, pointed his finger and shouted, “That’s how it’s done!”

Bilal was half laughing, half mortified, “Please don’t do that again.”

Jameel flipped his phone open, the “Smooth Criminal” ringtone playing faintly.

“Legends don’t walk,” he said, putting on his shades. “They moonwalk.”

And just like that, he moonwalked out of the room while the song faded behind him.

Later that night, Bilal was watching Jujutsu Kaisen on his tablet. Uncle Jameel came into the room and stopped mid-walk. Confused, he asked, “What is this?”

“Anime?”

He started laughing. “You call this anime? You kids watch random boys fighting curses with glowing hands, while I had Dragon Ball and Slam Dunk! Real stories. Real emotion!”

Bilal then said, “What about movies? I think they’ll impress you.” Bilal showed Uncle Jameel the movie Avatar.

Uncle Jameel was mortified. His face filled with horror and disgust. “A whole movie about blue monkeys?”

He took the tablet, played Rambo: First Blood, skipped to the explosions and gunfire, then turned to Bilal.

“This is called entertainment. A hotshot protagonist and unfiltered explosions — the full package!”

That night, Bilal walked into the living room. The old CRT TV glowed softly, showing nothing but static white and grey noise on the screen. Uncle Jameel sat in front of it, smiling faintly.

“Uncle, you okay?” Bilal asked.

“Yeah,” Jameel said quietly. “Just thinking. The world changed so much while I was asleep. But you know what? I’m glad some good things stayed the same.”

“Like what?” Bilal asked, sitting beside him.

“Like family. Like laughter. Like having someone who cares,” he patted the old TV and continued, “and this beauty. Still blurry, just like the old days.”

Bilal smiled. “You really love that thing, don’t you?”

“I do,” Jameel stood up, stretched and adjusted his shades. “Alright, time for sleep. Goodnight, Bilal.”

As Uncle Jameel headed toward his room, Bilal called out softly, “Welcome back, Uncle Jameel… welcome back.”

Uncle Jameel stopped, turned around and grinned, “Good to be home, kid. Good to be home.”

Published in Dawn, Young World, February 7th, 2026