At the tender age of 15 where a kid usually develops the basic traits if his everlasting personality, my dada was away from home, washing cars, running errands and doing whatever told, whenever told just to make his living possible.
He saved up enough to get a Visa and a passport and flew to a foreign land-Brunei. My dada's first job was a dishwasher at a non halal chinese restaurant. He lived on plain rice for breakfast, lunch and dinner. For about a year, he worked in this unimaginable situation. His first rented house was a small hut in Brunei. When I say small, I mean *small*.
He worked relentlessly to feed his family back at home. Back in the village in India, my grandparents and aunts couldn't afford to have a plate for each to eat their meals on. Three young ladies sitting idle at home because they do not have the dowry to get married. It fired up my dada and he worked day and night to feed 5 mouths back home.
He married at 30 years old to a 17 year old girl. My mother followed him back to Brunei and I was born in that small hut. My dada used to go to work 6am in the morning and return at 12 at midnight.
He invested all his love in me. When there was a blackout at 2am in the morning, it was my dada who carried me to the car and turn on the air conditioning so that I can sleep peacefully.
It was my dada who sent me to the best Chinese school so that his girl learns a new language.
It was my dada who sneaked out the house while I was asleep so that I won't cry when he leaves for work.
It was my dada who paid a staggering B$500 per month for my swimming class just so that we can go on swimming dates together.
It was my dada who would wait to put the first morsel of food into my mouth before he begins eating. Even now.
It was my dada who kissed my hands after coming back home from Jumuah salah and would get up from the couch to give space for me to sit down.
I haven't done justice to the love he showed me. He showed something more than love. Something that humanity could never verbalize. My dada is not a doctor or an engineer. He doesn't speak fluent English nor does he attend posh seminars/conferences. He is that humble man who loves his family like nothing else.
Dada, this eid will be different. We are separated by 848 miles. I've never felt this far from you.
Who will call me a princess on the day of Eid? Who will recite the Takbeer in that deep voice which adds to the beauty of Takbeer? Who will I see wearing crisp ironed shirt and white veshti to Salatul Eid? Who will holdb my hands as we walk together into the Masjid? Who will give me my Eid gift with which I make mom and tambi jealous?
Dada, I miss you.
