"...and then I charge back in after what feels like forever with dad, people still crowded round and screaming at the top of my voice, I once again rudely ask people to make way for the doctor - uncle still unconscious at this point, being fanned with a small hand fan by Princess furiously! It was like a scene from some crazy medical drama..." I find myself saying for the hundredth time with a little too much relish, having been asked yet again by another cousin I don't really recognise, to tell them the story of what happened only a few hours previously!
Myself and my audience inclusive of my sister, Tanny, both lanky cousins and Neema along with another 6 cousins are all chatting over the breakfast table on the first floor of the three storey building within the cul-de-sac and it is about 9:00am; the younger ones cannot get enough of my dramatic story, repeatedly telling me how brave I was in taking control although there were plenty of elders there and I didn't really know anyone and to be frank, I am loving the compliments making me out to sound like some hero! Tanny and my sister however, keep smirking and rolling their eyes as they look at each other.
"Yeah well, it was either fanny around and wait for the supposed elders to do something whilst uncle potentially drops into a coma and maybe even myself having to wait for those guys to do something so the choice was pretty easy!" I jest with my cousins laughing out loud, "As it turned out, he was fine and the whole drama was for nothing after dad brought him round with some cold water on his face, a drink of water down his throat and a whisper in his ear that if he died too, there would be hell to pay when dad saw him in the next life!!! The sheer advancements in medical science eh?...Brilliant!"
It genuinely feels nice to be sitting round and chatting to folk over breakfast - with the maids constantly dipping in and out topping up any food running low or drinks half drunk - so much so that I have almost forgotten why we are there. I should be shattered having had no sleep at all having been riding this emotional rollercoaster for days now, but with all the commotion during these more respectable hours of the day, I decide Bon Jovi's classic lines of "Live when I'm alive and sleep when I'm dead" was a motto I needed to hang on to - see the day through and rest later.
However, our laughing stops when Goldie walks through the door and he announces that plans were in motion and it was almost time for the service for mum taking place in the field of the local college so all the guys needed to get washed and changed and then congregate near where the cars were parked with the girls doing the same but congregating in the living room on the ground floor for further instructions.
I am somewhat annoyed that so much responsibility is being given to Goldie but then again, there is only so many times I can ask the elders primarily consisting of Dada, dad and some other random old farts whether I can do anything and being told everything was in hand..."yep - everything was in the hands of Goldie they meant" I think to myself but refrain from actually saying out loud.
There is a big groan from all the cousins as my sister and I stand up having been reminded of our true purpose for being there and as I assure them we will have plenty of time to catch up properly after we had said a proper farewell to mum, I hug my sister and then Tanny and I wonder downstairs to find our bags.
As we approach the carrier that we had originally placed our luggage into, we are quickly directed by one of the butlers who come charging out of the main house to a large double bedded room in the ramshackled tin and wood building as if his life depended on ensuring we were not inconvenienced in any way in trying to look for our luggage.
The room has corrugated tin walls and is pretty filthy but the bedding is clean and we were not on holiday - there was a purpose for our visit so anywhere to rest our heads and dump our stuff was fine.
I spy double doors across the way from us on the other side of the room and the butler notices me spot this. "Your bags are here sir," he says to Tanny, "bed here, switches for the fan here and through these doors, is your shower room and toilet...if you or your friend need anything further, do let us know."
"What? No cable?" Tanny jokes but though I snicker, the humour is lost on the butler as he bows at us and walks backwards out of the room.
I push the doors open of the en suite as I speak to Tanny with a chuckle in my voice, "Hmph! Similar to this morning when we arrived eh? There I was cutting mum loose and saving the day whilst you got ushered off with my sister and dad getting the old VIP treatment of fancy food and drink and massive hugs as people thought you were the son...still I feel better now knowing they've given us a crap room - you obviously didn't leave as good an impression as I would have as the real son!!!..." I pause as I stick my head through the doors to the en suite and continue as my voice echoes therein, "No Cable? Mate, you should have a peek in here - there's not even a shower - just a bucket under a tap with a jug and a squatter for our intermittent loo-stops! Nice!!"
"Dude, ain't my fault you look so Bangladeshi...besides, standing in as the son of your gorgeous mother was an honour - even more so than when folk at this beach resort in Chittagong asked me if I could stand in as the son of God at their Christmas party!"
I give Tanny a confused look not sure if he is making up the Jesus comment which he can tell, "I'm serious - I stood in for Jesus dude! Feel honoured!...and believe me, after you've had a few drinks made from classic contaminated village water, you won't be concerned about whether you're shitting on a squatter or a seated crapper!!! It'll be free flow shit all the way!"
Tanny and I bellow out laughing but then I get embarrassed that I seem to be having such a great time today and calm myself down.
"Shut up dude - you're making me laugh too much - I'm bloody attending mum's final service in a few seconds!"
With that we pull ourselves together and sort ourselves out with a wash and a change before rolling out into parking area where all the men are waiting outside the white bungalow; not just immediate family but villagers from the neighbourhood as well.
As Tanny and I near them, they make way for us to walk through to get to the steps heading in where I spy Dada and dad waiting near the entrance, a large heavy looking wooden plinth lying at the bottom of the steps.
As I walk up to dad I point at the plinth, "Errr, what's that for?" I ask.
"We shall be carrying your mummy to the service on the plinth," dad says to me as I look somewhat confused.
"So we're taking her out of the coffin? I thought she did not want anyone to see her face? And besides that, I thought under Islam no one especially men are meant to see her? So isn't that like double whammy considering there are ONLY men here?" but before dad can say anything, Dada interjects, "No, we shall be carrying her to the service on the plinth in her coffin."
"Ooookkkkayyy...." I say looking at mum and her coffin (which blatantly has handles for pallbearers anyway) and back to the heavy plinth but realising any common sense ideas that I may try to express will fall on deaf ears I don't say a word.
Dada then tells all the men gathered the plan - that there are to be a total of 8 people spread either side of the plinth once the coffin has been placed on top to even out the weight, "but Brother Khan and his son are not to get involved as think it is imperative we keep security tight and they are not identified to the public and media" he continues.
Dad nods in agreement and even adds, "besides Dada as you know I am photo-sensitive so in the extreme heat I will come out in extremely bad blisters and often under such heat I even get nose bleeds so think I am better off staying in an air conditioned car until such time as you need me to make an appearance."
"Like I said, great doctor but complete hypochondriac! The last severe nose bleed dad had ever had caused by heat or even stress was over 2 years ago and as for photo-sensitivity? Heat rash anyone!!! Hardly lethal!" I think to myself hearing dad's comments, but that was the last of my issues right now.
"Dada I appreciate your concern but bearing in mind dad's condition and the way things are shaping up with the men and women being separated, I assume my sister won't be allowed at the service so whilst it may seem a security risk, I am not leaving mum's side!" I pipe up bullishly.
Dada looks at me first with a hint of anger that I have dared disagree with him but this quickly melts away, "Your mummy would want that I guess so whilst I am not best pleased...ok!"
Dada then points out who out of the family men gathered were to be the pallbearers and where they were to stand to carry mum across and then myself and a few others, bar Tanny who is far too short to reach the bottom of the coffin once it is lifted, lift mum up in her coffin on to the plinth and then away we go.
Initially it starts off fine and whilst most of the pallbearers are chanting Islamic prayers loudly - "Allah-hu-akhbar-allah-hu-akhbar" and the like - in a style reminiscent of those military songs when army personnel are in training and jogging miles, I spot one of my lanky cousins across from me.
"How far is it to the college?" I ask and he tells me it is normally about a 10 to 15 minute walk...
"Not too bad." I think to myself until we come out of the cul-de-sac and turn right to walk down the main street.
It is heaving with people - and when I say "heaving", I mean, Hollywood celebrities being mobbed without security heaving!
For every two steps forward we take we are pushed back three steps due to the sheer ferocity with which the waves of people are coming at us to pay their respects!
As mentioned previously, Bangladeshis do not grieve quietly or in private and everywhere I look there are men shedding tears and trying to stroke mum's coffin by minimum to actually muscling in to try and shove the pallbearers from under the plinth so that they can carry the weight of my mother on their shoulders.
One cheeky fucker even goes as far as shoving me several times until I ask him to fuck off and then says to me "but you are struggling under the weight and cannot seem to carry her properly because it is hurting your shoulders."
...Okay. Yes. The dick had a point. Due to the carnage that we had already experienced, in over 10minutes we had only got as far as a few hundred meters from the white bungalow and the incredible weight of the plinth along with the weight of the coffin, the lead lining inside plus mum's dead weight in the 40 degrees Celsius humid heat had clearly started taking its toll on me and is clearly visible on my face and on my clothes through massive sweat patches and a soaking brow. Add to that my shoulders were aching immensely and my legs felt like they were going to buckle BUT I'd be damned to let mum down! Besides what did he know about how much hurt I was feeling, "Hurting???! Forget my shoulders brother - my mother is dead, you have no idea the level of hurt I am feeling inside."
And with that I push on although people carrying mum with me have changed at least 10 times by the time we get to the field of the college which is jam packed with even more people.
I am bloody well hoping we do not have to wade through this wall of people but wade we do to "get to the other side of the field as that is where the Molabhi is and where Dada and your daddy will be" Goldie shouts over to me and the others carrying mum having been pushed off and away some time ago.
Only then it occurred to me that the service was being held in the field of the college and not the local mosque. Hadn't even occurred to me why that was!...until then that is.
The huge field surrounded by the college on three sides has bamboo scaffolding running almost all the way along it but there seems to be no purpose to it and people - all men of course - have filled every inch of the ground. I would estimate that there were at least 3,000 people there inclusive of security staff armed to the hilt with ammunition and around 5 vans with camera crew and journalists hanging out of them.
"What is the scaffolding for do you think Tan?" I turn to say to Tanny through massive breaths as I continue what feels like my endurance training.
"Dude, last night I over heard that they estimated at least 5,000 people in total would turn up over today's service this morning and further prayers later after which your family will be distributing food out to people. I've been to loadsa Bangladeshi funerals in my time but have heard and now seen nothing like this!!! Due to the heat your family were expecting later today, heard 'em say they'll be putting a massive marquee up to give good ol'Joe Public some much needed shade so after the service people have some shade for prayer and to eat their food!..." Tanny then chuckles slightly but subtly enough so as to not offend anyone, "...it was all sounding amazing but that's all I know as they then figured out I wasn't you, so kicked me out!!! Looking at you now though bro, first time ever I would say I'm sooooo glad I'm not you!!!"
Despite the agony I am in, Tanny's comments do make me laugh a tad but as I look around, it all does take me aback - it was incredible to see how important mum was to people...Okay, so maybe some were here for Dada alone - trying to score points with the big guy, but even if half were there for Dada which seemed unlikely, this was the third service taking place for mum so just how many people were grieving the Khan family's immense loss really was overwhelming.
Along with drops of sweat, tears get interspersed - "What a welcome mum...youd've been so chuffed."
We finally make it to the front and I spy Dada standing next to the Molabhi under a small makeshift canopy surrounded by a handful of people and a microphone on a stand and some tannoys tied securely to the bamboo structure of the tent.
Dada spots us push through the crowd and waves over at us to bring mum over to them and place her in front of them and once we have done this, Dada calls over to me asking me to stand beside him, introducing me to the Molabhi as he does who passes on his condolences on behalf of himself and the mosque as Tanny sneaks off to stand amongst folk in the front row facing us.
The Molabhi gives me a big hug having shaken my hand, which is irritating bearing in mind the sheer heat and agony I am in plus the Molabhi's massive wiry beard rubbing into my face...not nice.
As I practically push the Molabhi off me, Dada shouts over at one of the security staff nearby asking them to bring the car round which dad was sitting in as it was time for him - the eccentric financier of the whole affair and enigmatic husband - to make his appearance.
The guard disappears to sort this as the Molabhi begins to speak - saying a prayer here and a few words there about life, death and mum in general but I cannot even seem to focus as I cannot help but continually scan the crowd to see so many faces I do not even know crying genuine tears of sorrow for our loss.
Goldie then walks over and whispers something in Dada's ear and as if they are playing Chinese Whispers, Dada in turn interrupts the Molabhi mid-flow and whispers to him.
I have no idea what they are saying but in spite of all the upset I am feeling, I cheer myself up by thinking how funny it would be if like the classic game, the message the Molabhi has taken on board from Dada is something random like, "I have been told by Dada that I should also share with you how much Mrs Khan used to love "raising monkies for local parishes" when it should have been "raising monies for local charities"!" and totally inappropriately I find myself covering my mouth to disguise my laughter.
Suddenly the Molabhi passes the mic to Dada who looks at me to see if I want to say a few words but I decline - jokes aside, looking at things seriously, this was Dada and dad's platform...mum would have wanted it that way. The two men besides me who influenced her life - Dada who was like a father to mum despite their ups and downs through the years and dad, her best friend, lover and life partner since she was as young as 18!
As Dada speaks, I can see the crowds parting from the back as through a tide was rippling through but I cannot tell what it is so listen attentively for a change to what Dada is saying in the hope I can figure out what is going on...
"I would love to say so much about my beloved sister - how much she has done in her short life-time but for once, words fail me.
She was like my daughter when we were growing up with 10 years between us and our mother having died when she was so young. I put her through school, I put her through college and in some respects, I put her through hell being probably the most demanding pseudo-parent alive. Yet, she never argued back and more importantly, never let me down unlike so many others I have met through my life.
I never thought I would see the day that I would out live my son - yet despite my best efforts of always pleasing the All Mighty Allah - he was taken away from me. I never thought I would feel pain like that again yet here I am...burying my beloved sister...Asif, my dear, dear son, look after your darling Auntie Maria."
Dada breaks away from the mic, struggling to speak - it is heart-wrenching seeing such a great man in tatters but before I can put my arms around him, he looks up defiantly - as if he was not going to let his emotions get the better of him, "Anyway, I have said enough - I am merely the brother so let me pass you over to her beloved husband, Dr Khan..."
Suddenly I see the crowd part and the source of the riptide being caused amongst them appears. To my surprise it is dad walking through, escorted by a group of guards - he is soaking wet and panting for breath as he approaches the mic having battled his way through those gathered.
I look at him and smile as he walks up to Dada, the Molabhi and I...hugging each of us in turn and getting to me last before planning to grab the mic, "For someone who should have been sitting around in an air-conditioned car and been cosily driven here, you look a little worse for wear pop!" I whisper into his ear with a slight giggle in my voice.
"I saw how hard you struggled carrying your mummy baba. How against all the odds, you refused to let go. I was not going to let my photo-sensivity and nose bleeds stop me from at least walking from one side of the field to the other. I decided I had to do this to make you and your mummy proud - I know you both think I am a hypochondriac..." dad falters at his use of the present tense when referring to mum and I, so without saying another word, I tighten my hug - no matter what I thought, I knew doing this was a big deal for dad and the pride I feel for him doing what he did however small to others, was amazing.
Dad then takes hold of the mic and begins to speak.
"I know you are all probably wondering why I have brought my beloved Maria back to her home village when traditionally one's wife should be buried near her matrimonial home or husband's own home town or village but there is a reason.
It is not that I don't have money - being a Doctor for so many years and living in London, that was never an issue. It is not because she did not love England either - she lived there most of her life and I along with her beloved children and grandchildren shall continue living there.
It is because of a promise I made to her during her last days - I promised her when she got better I would take her home one last time and she in turn, made me promise never to break that oath even if she never did get better.
She wanted to return to you all - to her beloved Bangladesh - to her beloved motherland.
She wanted her spirit to walk along the reeds and swim in the pond like she did when she was a child. She wanted to wake up to the crowing of the village cockrel and hear the rustling of the palm trees when the wind blew. She wanted to feel the heat of the sun on her face and feel the energy of Bangladesh...she wanted to be here. With all of you.
We as her family were blessed to have had her during her life - but do not cry people of Bangladesh. Lift your heads up high and feel proud as we, the Khan family, hand over our beloved to you for all eternity...throughout her afterlife. So look after her. Our treasure is now yours too. May Allah bring peace and prosperity to you all."
And with that, dad moves away from the mic and turns to face me...tears stinging my reddened eyes...and we hug once again, as the silence of the crowd becomes a raptuous applause.
"Did I do alright baba?"
"Mum would have been proud of you dad - now and forever."
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