HOW????

Whose death is more painful? That of an old person, who has been a source of comfort and support to so many people, achieved such a lot, and made a mark, if not on earth, then on the hearts of certain people who held him/her beloved? Or that of the person at the peak of his youth, with so much yet to accomplish, so much potential, so much vigour, so many dreams yet to fulfill? Or that of the tiny sweet child, still so utterly dependant, the joy of his parents’ eyes, the innocent who knew nothing yet of the world? As I typed the last sentence, the full impact of it hit me for maybe the first time since I heard of it. I can’t see the screen properly at the moment…the innocent…the joy… How? How could Shahbano’s baby brother die? That little cherub that came with her to school on her last day before she left Pakistan for Zimbabwe? The cutest little two-year-old I had ever seen in my life, with those full drooping cheeks and that childish confusion in his eyes at the sight of all those girls making such a fuss of him… The one who Niqabi took into the bathroom and amused him with the mirror there…He loved Shahbano so much! He wanted to clamber into her arms after every second, if I remember correctly. It seems so unreal…it always seems so unreal when anyone dies, but that tiny kid! I can’t stop thinking abt it; when I read ‘Angels and Demons’ today, all I could think was: ‘Where was his guardian angel? Why didn’t somebody have some sign, some instinct of what was going to happen? Why was he near the swimming pool in the first place? Why couldn’t this all be just a bad joke or a bad dream?’