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...