The air conditioning in the bedroom Dada has provided dad and I to freshen up in is blowing wildly, dad having set it on the highest level possible in an attempt to cool us down before we practically melt not just because of the heat from the scorching sun outside but the sheer amount of people milling about.
Dada's house is heaving to say the least. Numerous members of the extended family along side some friends too are all wanting to pay their respects to us and mum whilst some (far too many in my book) even plan to travel with us to mum's little village to bid their final farewells.
As miserable as it sounds, it is quite nice to hide away in our room. A cocoon for dad and I to get away from it all as my sister finds similar solace in another one of the many bedrooms in Dada's house and Tanny manages to escape from it all albeit fleetingly, by dashing home to get a weekend bag packed.
As I dry myself off in the en suite having had a refreshing ice cold shower and am getting myself sorted for the next leg of our trip, there is a knock at the door.
I peer out and see dad look at the door but instead of answering it, he sits down in a heap on a chair in the furthest corner of the room. I can tell he is already sick to death with people constantly wanting to see us although we have said a million times that we don't have time for idle chit-chat as we needed to be on the road within the next hour.
He puts his forehead in his hands in dismay and his shoulders shake; it's all getting on top of him now. I want to go up to him and say few words of comfort but I find the words just aren't coming out and my mouth is arid. The hollowness inside me needs filling or else it will consume me and seems without realising it, all my strength and focus is being re-routed there hence unlike normal, the gift of the gab I do not have!
I silently drift passed dad like a spectre, to see who is at the door as I pull my t-shirt over my head - there is so much sadness looming in this room and not all of it because of losing mum; in fact, my sister could not bear to be there so has been given my cousin Neema's room further along the landing outside.
I open the door and am surprised to see ol'Action Man standing an inch away from it. I say hi as Dada smiles warmly and gently putting a hand on my shoulder asks if I have eaten anything and if everything was alright in the room provided.
"Of course it is Dada - please don't worry about a thing. We have 10 of your maids and butlers scurrying around for us so you don't have to, remember?" I say trying to hide my feelings and diffuse the morbidity in the air.
But my attempts at masquerading my tenderness takes Dada off guard a little; I only know this as I notice his smile shift slightly and hear his voice shake as he speaks, "You and Asif were always so alike! Always trying to stay strong and positive against all the odds, eh?"
I look up at Dada and then away as my head is filled with thoughts of Asif.
I was one of his son's, one of Asif's, favourite cousins and the amount of chaos we caused when we were together was incredible - all under Asif's influence of course!He was crazy but in a good way; the Fresh Prince of Bel Air I am certain was based on the stylings of the guy!
Almost 6 foot which is unheard of for Bangladeshis and bright white to match with a physique rivalling Muhammed Ali in his hey day, Asif was the sort that never shied away from trying new things. Any extreme sports, foreign languages, martial art - you name it, he'd have a go at it if not ultimately excel in it. Nothing was beyond him not even the most unattainable woman - he wanted someone, he got her!
He had a brilliant attitude to life whilst not being pompous - get on with everyone but stay closer to those you loved and never be afraid to tell someone no matter who it is, that they were talking utter shite when they were!!!
Everyone loved him for who he was as there was no pretentiousness or falsehood; what you saw was what you got and in that respect, he was so much like mum.
Yet...the last time I had made any effort to come and see Asif was 10 years ago. 10 years ago at his funeral. He was only 24 at the time and keeping a long and yet another tragic story very brief, he drowned.
I remember when it happened perfectly as that was the first time I had ever lost anyone I was close to...I mean, really close to. We got the news on a Friday having had another normal day at work but by the Monday mum, dad, my sister and I had flown over from England to be with Dada and the rest of the family in Bangladesh to mourn Asif's death. I don't know if it was denial though or just wishful thinking, but the whole time I shed a tear I still remember desperately looking around half expecting the git to jump out suddenly and say something daft to us as our jaws fell to the floor like "Fooled ya suckaaaaZZZ!" but alas, this wasn't to be.
It was...is...such a loss as Asif was an incredible guy and for all intents and purposes, one of my key icons in life in spite of all the miles between us. I always aspired to be him but quite frankly, no one would ever be able to come close not even someone who knew him as well as I did, except for mum.
Ironic then that they were now both gone.
As I think about Asif, I think about the pain Dada, his wife Dadi, not to mention their daughter Neema, feel everyday. How they probably have to keep their guard up daily to stop their spirit from breaking with thoughts of what Asif would be doing today had he been alive.
I turn back to look at Dada and he sees the melancholy in my face, "Cherishing the memories of someone you have loved but lost can only be equal measure of blessing and curse..." Dada says, "...I know he is loving having you around as I do seeing you here." I find myself wanting to look away again as a tear trickles down my cheek.
Dada says nothing but coughs to clear his throat and pinches the top of his nose as he pushes his glasses and his own tears upwards, and gently nudges me back into the room and sits down on the edge of what once was Asif's bed.
Dad has been watching us but says nothing and merely gestures at me to sit down as he suspects Dada has come to see us for something more important than to check whether we have been fed and dressed.
I promptly take a seat on the arm of dad's chair and Dada begins changing his tone to a more managerial one and begins, "Right Khans...enough pleasantries. This is serious. we have a 12 hour road trip, plenty of family politics to avoid, 1 4x4, 2 carriers and 1 ambulance..." he pulls out his gold plated fountain pen and a leather bound pocket diary with a list of everyone in the convoy and looking over his glasses smirks and asks, "All I need to know is who wants the job of telling folk who is travelling with whom?"
"Don't think we don't see what you're doing Dada. Leaving it to us to decide who travels with whom so if there is the usual family row you can point the finger at us huh? Crafty!" I jest.
Dada and dad begin to laugh as I swiftly rise to the challenge and lift the diary and pen out of Dada's hands and as I somewhat vindictively start putting together all those family members who I know mum always thought were annoying into one vehicle, I feel Asif and mum looking over my shoulder and snickering with me.
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