How These Days Passed - 6

How These Days Passed - 6

Thursday, July 24, 2008 at 4:04am
Looks like things started to move a bit lately. The last few days passed quite fast. There are two things I'm talking about. One is the bike lane for Asif and the other one is Asif's bird.

Let me talk about the bike lane first. I'll talk about the birds some other time. Ever since Asif's accident, I've started a campaign to get a bike lane on Queens Boulevard. I always expressed my worries about riding his bike all over the city, but Asif always assured me, saying, "Don't worry Ma, there are bike lanes everywhere and I always carry a bike route map." I didn't know much about bike lanes but stopped expressing my worries. I thought, may be the bike lanes will keep my baby safe, there isn't much to worry. But after Asif's accident, when I went to visit the accident spon on Q.B., for the first time I noticed that there isn't any bike lane on the seven lane wide Q.B. I was bewildered. Why? Aren't there supposed to be bike lanes to keep bikers safe on the streets? From that day on, I told myself, I've to do whatever in my power to get a bike lane on this street in honor of Asif. I strongly feel that if there was a bike lane on Q.B., Asif might still be with us. Now that he is gone, I can't just let him go for nothing. I have to get a bike lane on this road to keep other bikers safe. I was and still am confident, a bike lane would prevent deaths of other bikers.

In the beginning, I had no idea how to get my wish implemented. Several of Asif's friends visited us after his accident. I started to talk to them about my desire to get a bike lane on Q.B., They gave me various ideas. Miguel told me his father knows some politicians, he would ask his father to introduce me to one of the councilmembers. Which he did. A few weeks after Asif's accident, his father made an appointment for me to see Councilman Monserrate. Asif's another friend Asaf told me I should talk to the councilman from our district as well. He gave me the name of Councilman Gennaro and insisted that I should go and see him in person. Which I did, but I didn't get to talk to him. instead I had to talk to Rasheida, one of his staff, who is really nice. Everybody promised to do something, but for a long time nothing happened. I haven't heard from Councilmembers Monserrate or Gennaro's offices. I got very impatient and frustrated.

Meanwhile, I kept writing e-mails to lot of different people, including the Mayor, Commissioner of Transportation, Oprah Winfrey. Who knows who will be able to help me. All I need is someone to help me bring this issue in lime light. After seeing the printout of my e-mails, Moumita commented, "People don't really pay attention to e-mail, you should send out letters by regular mail." I value her opinion and thought of doing so but couldn't bring myself up to it yet. I kept getting all the junk mail from Oprah's website but no reference or response to my e-mail. The mayor's office still hasn't responded to my mail. Perhaps they're a bit upset, because I demanded that the Mayor should do something about the safety for the bikers since he is the one who is urging people to ride their bikes to avoid pollution and congestion in the city. Shouldn't he be making sure that the bikers don't get killed on the streets by reckless drivers, especially the truck drivers? Though, I've received a response from the DOT. They expressed their condolences and wrote me how many miles of bike lanes have been installed in NYC. It didn't ease my mind. Shouldn't they have installed bike lanes on all the streets? How do they expect bikers to travel around if there is no safety for them? Do they think bikers will only ride back and forth on the bike lanes? Don't the bikers have any business of going to other streets? Perhaps they think bikers are unsafe on some streets and safe on other streets. That's why they've installed bike lanes on some streets, but not all the streets. I have seen some one lane streets have bike lane painted on one side, but how come the seven lane street doesn't have any bike lane painted on it? I didn't feel like responding their e-mail. Finally, someone from the DOT Commissioner's office called to inquire if I've received their e-mail. I told her the truth. She told me to check my mail box, the Commissioner will be sending me a letter by regular mail. Of course, I check my mail box regularly. Is the Commissioner sending me something valuable? Is that why she is making sure it doesn't get lost? I don't know what will be in the mail, but it better be something valuable. I felt little irritated by this meaningless call but kept myself quite. Atleast I've got a phone response to my e-mail, which is a good sign. We're inching toward our goal of having a bike lane on Queens Boulevard.

On Friday, I got a call from Caroline, the director of the Transportation Alternatives. She mentioned that Councilman Gennaro agreed to sit for a press conference on the 27th of this month. Obviously, this is a good sign too. I've been trying so hard to get the elected officials on my side about the bike lane, finally, it's working. Slowly though. I felt somewhat upbeat. On Tuesday, Jennifer came to video tape an interview for the Transportation Alternatives' website. Caroline called me. She and I, we kept missing each others call. I talked to her briefly on Tuesday. She told me someone from Mr. Gennaro's office called her about a press event on Sunday, July 27th. I was somewhat surprised that no one called me yet. Today, Caroline called again and feinally we had a chance for a long discussion. She told me this is a very good news. The elected officials will be at the event. She didn't know the exact time. I decided to call Rasheida , she has been very nice to me, and I know she is trying to do something about the bike lane. Finally, I talked to Rasheda and Shams at Mr. Gennaro's office. They confirmed the time and also mentioned that they're inviting all the other councilmembers around Queens Boulevard to attend and speak at the press event. They are Councilmembers Hiram Monserrate, John Liu, Helen Sears and Eric Goia. I felt very good. Finally, things started to move. This press event including so many elected official is a positive step toward my campaign for a bike lane on Q.B. in Asif's honor.

On many Thursdays after Asif's accident I went to the spot at 3pm, same time of the accident. I stood in the middle of the road. Watched the oncoming cars, trucks, buses and bicycles. When I visit the semetary, I can't find Asif there, but whenever I stand on Q.B. at his accident spot, I could see him there. This is the place where my baby breathed last. I can see his happy face, leaning forward, his legs are moving fast pedaling his bike. Gliding like a seagull. I can see him approaching me from Grand Avenue. He is very much alive on Q.B., this Q.B. should have something permanent to honor my baby. A bike lane in his honor. He always was nice to others, helped others when he was around. Now that he is gone, his spirit will help others through this bike lane. I'm sure this bike lane will save many lives. Isn't that what Asif loved to do?
To be cont'd....

How These Days Pass-5

How These Days Pass-5

Saturday, July 19, 2008 at 1:06amThings slowed down a little bit. I want to do so many things for Asif and in such a short time, but people are not doing it at the same pace with me. It's like you walk in such a rush on a muddy road and your shoes get stuck in the mud. You go ahead but your shoes don't. I'm talking about all the things that I want to do for Asif. I don't know when I'll get everything done. Things are moving very slowly.Yesterday on my way from Queens College, I stopped at Asif's house, where he stayed for a few months. It's right around the corner from Queens College. I slowed down my car in front of the house as usual. This house brings back memories of Asif. It was his wish to have his own apartment. He wanted some space and privacy from the family. He gave me an excuse that he wanted to go back to college and the house is close to college. I remember the first day I dropped Asif off with all his stuff, along with some old furniture from the house. Then from time to time I visited him, or picked him up, dropped him off, dropped off food or juice for him. Finally, one day I picked him up with all his stuff minus the old furniture. We were definitely missing him and told him any time he wanted to move back he was welcome. One day he said he wanted to move back in. I was happy and came to pick him up. For whatever reason he decided to move back with us, I'm grateful to have him back. He spent his last seven months with us.I saw a girl walking into the house and I honked. She stopped, I stopped the car in the middle of the road and came out of the car to talk to her. Asked her if she lives there and if she knew Asif. Then I asked if Mike was in. She said yes. I told her to let Mike know Asif's mom is outside. She told me to come in. I said I would rather wait outside in my car. I parked my car in the corner, near Asif's room. Mike's dog Bella was in the yard. Asif loved Bella, so does Nafees. I put Asif's music on, put the volume up. Bella stretched her ears and looked alert. Seemed like she recognized Asif's voice. Tears started to stream down my cheecks. My baby was here, now his voice is blaring through the car stero, "Take it slow..."Mike came out, I wiped off my tears, lowered the volume and talked to him for some time. We talked about Asif the whole time. Mike wanted to have Asif's bike. He said he would paint it white and put it up on the roof where he used to hang out with Asif. He showed me the place on the roof which is right around the corner. They spent a lot of time there, looked at the view and did poetry together. Now that Asif is gone, Mike wants to put the bike up at the same spot where Asif used to sit. It seems good to talk to Asif's friends. They are a part of Asif.

The other day when I came out of the Transportation Alternatives' monthly meeting, I bumped onto Asaf and Jenny on the street. Hugged them and talked to them for a little while. Asaf went to Queens College with Asif and they were very good friends. After Asif's accident, Asaf called for the address of the cemetary. I suggested for him to come at the house. He came along with some more friends. He told me he went to the precinct to find out how the accident happened. We all went together to the cemetary, they paid their respect to Asif. Asaf informed me that at 3pm he and his friends planned to go to the accident site on Queens Boulevard to hold a memorial for Asif. I told them I'll meet them there. At 3pm many of Asif's friends showed up, they brought flowers, cards. Gave everyone a flower and a card to write some thing. They tied and taped everything on a nearby pole. In the cold freezing March afternoon, they all stood around the pole for a long time and shared their memories of Asif. It was very touching for me to see how much they love Asif and how many good things they have to share about him.

Asif is fortunate to have some good friends. My little baby, he grew up to be a good man and now he is a good soul. I feel he is still around me. I just can't and don't think that he will not come back anymore. At the hospital, I didn't want to see his lifeless body, I thought it would be disfigured. We were crying on our own way in that small windowless family room. I couldn't help thinking we were so alone in our grief. But then people kept pouring in. The news of Asif's accident spread like forest fire. My cellphone kept ringing non stop. People kept coming in from everywhere. The small room had no place for all the people, they spilled in the hallway, in the emergency room. They all had seen Asif except for us. Everybody kept insisting us to go and see him.

Reluctantly, I went. He was still in the E.R., on a bed. There were people around his bed. Everybody made room for us. My baby was in the bed. A tube was still in his mouth. His eyes were closed, there was not a scratch on his face. There was no sign of pain on his face. Outside nothing changed, everything looked the same. I touched his face with my both hands, His body temperature was going down. His skin felt cold. I remember repeatedly kissing his face. Touching his thick black wavy hair. Calling his name. He didn't respond to my touch or call. I don't remember what did I say or do. But, I finally realized my baby will not respond to me anymore. The unreal thing is real. My baby left me for real at this prime time of his life. But again I felt this is not my Asif. This is not the Asif I know. He is never so quiet, so lifeless. This is the body, the frame, the outer shell, not my Asif.
To be cont'd...

How These Days Pass-4

How These Days Pass - 4

Saturday, June 28, 2008 at 9:50pm
These days are passing slowly, each day seems same like the previous one. Everyday, every moment I'm thinking about Asif, doing things for him. Last few days were very busy with Asif's memorial tribute and bicycle rally. Both the events were back to back. I wanted to keep them at least a week apart, so that I would be able to devote more time to each event, but the Ghost Bike Project planned it differently.

When my baby was around me I was too busy with my study and work. Now that he is gone, I have all the time in the world for him. In reality I stopped doing everything else, except for my job. I don't do much cooking, my baby loved to eat. Everytime I cooked something for him, he had such nice things to say! He always appreciated my cooking. Now, that he is gone, who is going to eat my cooking? I wish I could retire from everything and mourn Asif the whole time. Sometimes I think that you have to be rich or well off to mourn your loved ones. I have to go to work everyday. I don't have the luxury to stay home and mourn my baby. All my life I have been struggling and balancing my time with my study, work, family, writing and other things. I just wish I didn't have to do all these things, but relax so that I could spend more time with my children.

When I was in Bangladedsh, life was different and very relaxing. I always worked 9-5, wrote regularly for the newspapers, did weekly radio talks, took courses in various things, did gardening, but when still I had plenty of time. I didn't have to worry about my groceries, cooking, cleaning, washing or any household chores. My dinner was always ready at the dining table. My afternoon tea was served in the porch as soon as I came home from work. I had plenty of time to write for the newspapers and spend with Moumita. I played with her a lot, read many books to her. But after I came to the United States, my life changed. After I came home from work, every minute of my life went after doing household chores, laundry, grocery, cooking, cleaning, etc. I did my duties as a mother. I took Moumita and Asif to everywhere, doctors, school, Bangla school, movies, parks, museums, zoos, shopping, and many more. Still I managed to squeeze time to write for the newspapers.

Life was very busy, I had to run on dot of the clock, a big rush.Especially after Nafees was born, my life became even busier. At the time of Nafees' birth Asif was 14 years old, Moumita was 16. Nafees was born prematurely and had to spend a long time in the hospital. Went through a few surgeries. When he came home, he needed a lot of medical care and attention. We were all so perplexed with this change in life. I started to work in the evenings, so I could be with Nafees during the home. I didn't realize it meant I was distancing myself from my two growingup kids. When they came home from school, I left for work. When I came home they were in bed. Weekends were even busier. Whatever time I found, I spent it after taking care of Nafees. We all lived under the same roof but we were in our own world. In a couple of years Asif started his high school. Moumita started her college. Then we moved back to New York. Moumita stayed in Dallas, Asif came with us. He went to high school in New York. But it was difficult for him to go to 3 different high schools. Now when I look back, I feel bad. Asif must have had a very difficult time in adjusting with all these kids in 2 different high schools in two entirely different settings. He went to Wallkill High School in Upstate NY for his 11th grade, which was entirely sub-urban, and Hillcrest High School in Jamaica, Queens for 12th grade, which was completely urban. He never complained.

My baby never said no to anything or any decision we made. He suffered inside but didn't let us know it. I wish I could change things, I wish I could make life easier and happier for him. I wish he had told me more about his feelings. I wish I had more time and peace of mind so I could spend more time with my children. Why life is so harsh to all of us? Why don't we cherish every moment that we are together? Why didn't I realize it before? Why did Asif have to leave so soon? Why? Why did I have to see Asif's lifeless body? At first I didn't want to see it. When the doctor told us in the family room what happened, everything came to a halt. I kept saying, "No, it can't happen. No, it's not true. It can't be true. No. No. No." The nurse asked me if I needed anything. I needed my son, my baby. She got me some water. I tried to control myself in front of them but as soon as they left the small room, I kept hitting the wall with my fists and head and screamed our loud. All I could say was, "No, No, No."

I don't remember anything else. Bachchu was crying. My cellphone was ringing. Calls were coming in. Bachchu was answering the phone, talking and crying. Moumita still wasn't there. When we called her we didn't know Asif actually left us. We were hoping he was clinging to his life, but never dreamt of this. After getting numerous messages on her voice mail, she called back to find out what happened. At first Bachchu didn't want to tell her about Asif's condition, but finally told her. There was nobody to comfort us. I felt so lonely. We were so lonely in our troublesome moment. I couldn't comfort Bachchu. Bachchu didn't have to comfort me. I was in disbelief. How could it be true? There must be some sort of mistake, misunderstanding. My baby left the house for work in the morning. We talked. I promised to make a few phone calls for him when he returned from work. We made plans for dinner the next day. We had so much to talk. We talked last night. We talked this morning. We were going to talk more tonight.

He was so full of life. Now how could he be gone just like that? I kept saying, "It's impossible, it can't be true, it can't be true. My baby!" When the doctor asked us if we wanted to see Asif, I shook my head vehemently, "No. No way." I didn't want to see him like that. Who knew how badly he was hurt! All I heard was a truck hit him. His heart stopped right there. When he was brought into the hospital, which was only less than 2 blocks away from the accident spot, the doctors couldn't find his heart beat. I didn't have the nerve to ask where did the truck hit him or how badly he was hurt. Where was he hurt?I could guess he was in a bad shape.

I thought of Adeeb. His mom is my Dolly phupu (aunty), but he was of same age as Asif. They went to same school, same class and was very friendly. Three years ago, Adeeb died in a car accident. Asif gave him his last bath. Adeeb's untimely death shook Asif very much, but that's a different story. At that moment, in the small closed family room at the emergency room of St. John's Hospital, all I could think was Adeeb's face was partially crushed. We could see only half of his face. God knows what condition was Asif in. I didn't want to see his mangled or disfigured face. I could see his handsome, smiling, and loving face. I wanted to cherish that picture, I didn't want to ruin that picture. I couldn't and wouldn't see his crushed body or face. I just couldn't face it. I don't remember if I cried or shed any tears. Were there tears pouring out of my eyes or was it fire? I don't remember anything. All I could remember is I was angry. Very angry. Why, why did it happen? How come the truck driver didn't see him? The doctor and nurse kept asking me if I wanted to see him, all I could say was, "No, No, No."
To be cont'd.....

How These Days Pass-3

How these days pass-3

Tuesday, June 10, 2008 at 8:04pm

The days are passing by very slowly. I want to do so many things for Asif but I can't do that. The memorial is approaching fast, we're all working together to make it memoriable for Asif and his friends. Some of Asif's friends have taken various responisbilities and working very hard to finish them on time. Asif was loved by so many people which is unbelievable. They are doing their share of work to make things right for Asif and I'm doing my share. Today, I've sent out an e-mail to several people about the bicycle rally to remember Asif and demand for a bike lane on Queens Boulevard. The Ghost Bike Project has arranged for this bicycle rally. They put up a flyer on www.ghostbikes.org/new-york-city/asif-rahman. They urged bicyclists from all over the city to meet at different points of Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens, then proceed towards Queens Boulevard and 55th Road and meet there at 7pm. I'm encouraging everybody to attend this rally. I want a safer road in our city. I don't want anybody to lose their loved one's to reckless drivers.

It's heartbreaking when you are waiting for your loved one to come home and find out he won't come home anymore. Asif was on his way home after a hard day of work. He never came home. His life was cut short by a reckless truck driver. I still wait for him and say 'hi ma'. Asif will not come home anymore. Will not call me anymore...My heart aches when I think about these reckless drivers who hit a bicyclist/pedestrian on the street, shatter his life and dreams and still keep driving on our roads. I can't imagine how could a driver hit a pedestrian or bicyclist unless that person is insane, drunk, sick, his vehicle has mechanical troubles or visibility is zero. In any case, these drivers are not safe for our roads, for our children and they don't deserve the right to drive any vehicle ever. Also, I can't help noticing that the bicyclists hardly get any justice by the press or by the police. Bicyclists are not considered 'aristocrats'. Newspapers, while reporting a death of a bicyclist, label them as 'messengers'. They are totally inconsiderate of the biker's personal life, achievements and family. I was shocked to I read my son's accident report in the newspapers. This news was biased and one sided, based on the police report which was based on the killer driver's account of the accident.I wish I could do something to change these things. But my power is limited and I can only ask for the cooperation and support from various people and different groups. I believe it's important to make our roads safer for the bikers, make sure they go home safely to their loved ones. Especially, at this time of global warming, traffic congestion in our city and high gasoline prices, people are adopting bicycles more than cars. Even Mayor Bloomberg is encouraging people to ride bicycles and in recent years bicycle sales went up high. Unless we have safer roads (with bike lanes), people will not feel safe to ride their bikes. Everytime, I expressed my concern about riding his bike around the city, Asif laughed it out and said, "Ma, there are bike lanes everywhere, and I carry a bike map with me all the time. " Ironically, there is no bike lane on Queens Boulevard, where Asif was hit by the freight liner. The arterial road Queens Boulevard, which is also known as the Boulevard of Death, has no safe haven for the bikers. If there was a bike lane on this road, may be it could prevent the tragic death of my beloved son.

Still I can see clearly when the police came to our home. I was screaming and jumping up and down in my living room, demanding to know what happened to my son, the cops won't tell me. They asked me if there was anybody else in the house. I told them, "Yes, my husband and my mother." They told me, "You have to call them, we can't tell you anything." I told them, " My husband is doing dialysis and my mother is sleeping. I can't call them. You've to tell me what happened to my son." They insisted on calling somebody else and having them by my side. I burst opened the bedroom door. Hearing all the commotion, Bachchu was already getting ready to come to the livingroom. I cried out loud and told him, "The cops are here. Something happend to Asif. Stop your dialysis and come out quickly." Bachchu came out of the bedroom. So came the bombshell. They didn't have to tell me. I knew when I heard Asif's name. They didn't tell us the real situation, only told us, Asif was hit and his condition is bad. He was in St. John's Hospital. They gave me their card and the doctor's name.

I grabbed my jacket and car keys which were right by the door. Remembered to wake my mother up, told her what I knew and left her with Nafees to worry about Asif. I ran out of the door. They were both crying. Bachchu put on a jacket and followed me. We got into the car. My mind was racing but the car was moving relatively slowly. It's the evening rush hour. Everybody is going home. I wished I could fly over the traffic and be at the hospital. I didn't know what to expect. But I kept praying while driving the car, Asif must be alive. May be he is clinging to his life but he will be okay. Bachchu was frantically trying to reach Moumita who was at work in Manhattan. But she was not answering the phone, Bachchu left messages for her. After driving for a few blocks I told Bachchu to call Tinku and Ashraf Bhai. They are good friends of us, also their son Kapot is a good friend of Asif. If we need any help at the hospital, they can help us, atleast they can share our pain. Bachchu called and told them to meet us at the hospital. Finally we hit the Queens Boulevard. After driving for some more, we reached the hospital. I looked for a parking spot. After parking the car, I raced ror the hospital. I was annoyed, my son's life is in danger, why did it take so long for me to get to the hospital?

When I reached the emergency room and told the security guard , "I'm here to see my son Asif Rahman. He was hit by a truck and brought in here. Where is he?"The guard motioned somebody to come to us. A doctor came right away. Took us to a small room inside the hospital. Which made me suspicious, why aren't they taking us to Asif?
To be cont'd....

How These Days Pass-2

How these days pass-2

Friday, June 6, 2008 at 9:42pm

I try to keep myself as much busy as possible. I think about Asif every waking moment. When I'm at work, I could think and talk about Asif every now and then. But as soon as I exit the school building, the thought of Asif occupies my mind entirely. Every breath I take, Asif is with me. I've been busy planning and organizing Asif's memorial. We had several prayers for Asif, some at the mosque, some at our home. Many people attended those prayer meetings including some of Asif's friends. But that's only a fraction of his friends. In his short life he befriended so many people which is unbelievable. Many of them came to see and pay their respect to me in small groups at different times. Some of them did spoken word poetry with him, some went to Queens College with him, some went to high school with him, some are from Upstate NY where we stayed for a year, some are his childhood friends, some are from the college newspaper that he worked, some are from Trader Joe's which was his second job, some are from PS9, some are from PS244 where he worked, and many more. Wherever Asif went, whoever he talked to, people just fell in love with him. His courteous, polite, intelligent, talented and spiritual manner made people love and respect him at the same time.

For some reason, early this year I though of celebrating Asif and Moumita's birthday with their friends. I expressed my plan to Moumita about her birthday in November but didn't tell anything to Asif. I wanted to give him a surprise birthday party.

After his tragic accident, when his friends from various groups came to see, I felt an urge to get them all together. They needed to express their love and grief for Asif. What can be the best way to do that than a memorial?I decided to invite all his friends at a memorial on his birthday. At first Bachchu didn't think it was a good idea. Later on, seeing my determination he decided to go with me. Moumita liked the idea from the beginning. Now, we are all doing our share of the memorial. I've been in contact with several of Asif's friends. They have been expressing themselves on Asif's myspace page. Knowing that his myspace page will be deleted after a few months, and we'll lose all his works, I've created another myspace page in his name, copied all his videos in that account. This www.myspace.com/asifrahman page is mainly for Asif's friends, so that they can pay their tribute for him. Also, for my friends and family member all around the world, I've created a facebook profile so that they can learn more about Asif and share their feelings for him. All these things kept my busy.

I wanted to publish a book of Asif's poems at the memorial. I started to compile all his poems that he typed up in the family computer. I spent several restless days and nights in doing that. I had no idea that he wrote so many poems. I have a few hundred poems, and they are all well written. There are many more in the other computer and in his notebooks. I decided not to rush and take time in publishing his book later. Asif was so humble, he never boasted or mentioned a word about his singing or writing. We knew he liked to write poems. At family parties, we insisted that he read or recite a poem of his. He did. But we had no idea that he wrote so many poems. I'll just get a print out of all his poems so that his friends can view them at the memorial. He left so many memories, so many things, which is amazing. It's hard to beleive that he is not here with us.It was a nightmare. It still is. It can't be real. Every now and then, I think what if Nafees didn't open the door for those police officers, the bearers of bad news?

After coming home on that February 28 afternoon, I didn't get changed as usual. I was going to get the airplane ticket for my mother, who was planning to go back to Bangladesh soon. It was 4:30pm, I was in front of my computer when the door bell rang. I went out to the balcony, hollered from my 3rd floor balcony, "Who's there?"After getting no response, I went inside and sat in front of my computer. Nafees was watching television. He jumped up and ran downstairs, saying," I'll check." He came back in a few minutes and said, "Mom, there are police." Without taking my eyes off the screen, I said, "Okay, I'm coming." He responded, "They're here." I turned my head and looked up. There were two strangers in plain clothes, they were almost in the middle of my living room. They showed me their badges. I can't tell difference between a fake and real badge. Inside I got little scared, what if they are robbers. Bachchu was in the bedroom doing his dialysis and my mother was in another bedroom, asleep. I stood up and demanded, "What's the matter?" One of them asked me, "Do you know Asif Rahman?" My mind was racing. Asif was very religious about two years ago. He left the house at that time. I didn't know where he lived, what he did for living. Occasionally he came home and we spoke on the phone. Did he do something or was he involved with somebody at that time? But he is home for almost two years, working two jobs, living a normal life. They can't come for that. Did he do something wrong recently? What could it be. Is it that serious for the police to come home looking for him? Thinking all these in a few seconds, I slowly but firmly responded, "Yes, I'm his mother. What happened?"

The next question was, "Does he ride a bicycle?"I knew right away they had bad news, Asif must have gotten into an accident. I consider myself as a person of great self control and a clear head. But at that moement I didn't have any control on myself. I started to jump up and down and scream, "What happened to my son? Did he get into an accident? Is he okay? Is he alive? Tell me where he is. How is my baby?" I don't remember what else did I say. Nafees was right by me. He started to scream and cry, "Where is my brother? What happened to my brother?"
To be cont'd...

How These Days Pass-1

How These Days Pass-1

Thursday, June 5, 2008 at 11:13pm

June 5th, 2008. Today we went to visit Asif's ghost bike on Queens Blvd. I was there on the day the volunteers installed it, which is about a month ago. But Bachchu or Nafees didn't get to see it. So, we all went there tonight.The bike, along with the memorial and plaque, stood on the sidewalk as a reminder of the meaningless, senseless, heartless killing of my son Asif. A bright talented youngman, with so many dreams. I've tried to protect Asif from all the harsh words, ill-treatments or harassments all my life. I defended whenever someone treated him badly. When he was in high school in Texas, a kid bullied him. When I found out about it I was furious. I called his parents and the school authority right away. Some people might think I acted badly, but that's how I am. I wanted my babies to be happy, secure and safe. But at the end I couldn't protect him from this reckless, careless truck driver.

My baby was coming home from work. In the morning, Asif, Moumita, Nafees and I, we all used to leave the house at around the same time. Which caused problems in the morning because we have only one shower, and Asif and Moumita both would take a shower every morning. Almost every morning I had to act as a referee between Moumita and Asif, begging Asif to use the bathroom earlier. It also had a good side, we got to say hello to each other in the morning. On the morning of February 28th, by the time I woke up. Asif already took a shower, made and had his breakfast. Amidst the morning rush hour, we talked about a few things. While he was putting his shoes on I reminded him about wearing his helmet. Asked him, you are wearing your helment, right?He answered 'yes ma'. Again I told him, "Please leave at least 15 minutes earlier so that you don't have to rush on your way to work. Give yourself some extra time." Asif answered, "yeah ma, I'm leaving early." Also,I promised him that I would call the cellphone compnay after he comes home that day.But, he didn't come home that day. He won't come home ever.
To be Cont'd...