Besides the occasional bump, rumble of the engine and constant horn blowing from the driver as he tries to navigate the ever increasing traffic as we approach the bustling streets entering the last few miles outside Dhaka, silence seems to be the popular choice of conversasion as all of us contemplate life...except for Goldie who is snoring away in the corner.
As I look round our cabin, even little Princess seems to exude melancholy in her expression years beyond her age as she leans her head against Anik with a frown on her face - clearly unsure of what she should be feeling.
I want to say something but my mind draws a complete blank.
After all, how can I tell her that things will be all right when life continues to weave in and out around us mere mortals like a scaly snake through a rocky desert, no one ever knowing when it will rear its ugly head to bite us from underneath the sand.
Let's be honest - just looking back on the whole journey so far - nothing was straight forward.
There we were one minute debating how non-Muslim people may go to hell and the next, we were actually standing at hell's mouth!
Still, with Asif gone and the common custom in Bangladesh being that the eldest male takes lead, I felt I had to say something.
"Hey little one...why so sad?" I finally say, "Everyone will be fine, you'll see! Now why don't you join your uncle and go to sleep eh?" I point towards Goldie who is now slobering down his chin as he snores. Not a pretty sight!
Princess looks up at me as do the others, my voice struggling to cut through the deafening silence.
"Is everyone really going to be all right brother?" Princess says, a small glimmer of hope sparkling in her eyes.
"Life is so changeable - you really never know what you're going to get..."
I hesitate before I say anything more. Looking into her innocent eyes and at the faces of the other cousins around me, I realise that some depressing cliche of how life never works out as you plan was not what folk needed right now. So I refrain and go with a more mundane, "...but, right now I can guarantee you that if you don't try to get some rest I'll tickle you silly!" to finish my sentence.
Saying that, I suddenly lurch forward with a roar and give Princess a little tickle as she giggles and curls into a little ball and chuckling along, I slowly sit back round in my seat next to my sister who puts her arm on mine reassuring me and at the same time, congratulating me for cheering little Princess up and I smile at her through clenched lips.
It seems I am finally coming to terms with the fact that the best way to keep me from breaking down completely is by keeping the rhythm of life beating...
But my thoughts are short lived as before I know it a song comes on via the CD player and fills the cabin, the words having such an emotional resonance within myself and my sister that we both seem to shudder in our seats.
My sister jumps up and asks the driver to turn up the sound and the moment it finishes, asks for the song to be played again and the driver gladly obliges.
The cousins are all bemused at our reaction to the song so instead of asking questions, they all listen intently and after the song finishes a second time, they look over at myself and my sister who is by now, crying profusely.
Looking at her, I am overwhelmed with such aching sorrow it is bordering on ridiculous. Each of her tears normally breaks my heart but the sobbing that begins is unbearable.
The cousins and Tanny are totally confused at my sister's reaction but I know what the issue is and feel the gang need an explanation.
"The song...that song we just heard; it talks about a minor bird and how it should be set free - how beautiful it is and how it should experience life without being kept away from it...not only are the words relevant but that was your sister's nickname as she was growing up given to her by mum - Moyna Pakhee - the minor bird..."
The cousins say nothing but put their heads down and reflect on the loss we must be experiencing and how they hope never to feel that way...but inevitability is a fact of life.
As I hug my sister as she slowly comes round, both of us simultaneously look out of the window as we approach the outter limits of Dhaka and spot a huge billboard on top of a huge multi-storey building advertising a Bangladeshi soap product called Keya.
Both of us turn away from our gaze of the billboard and stare at each other; this time tears are welling up in both of our eyes as we both stutter and say "Keya - Keya Shah..."
At this point my so-called tough exterior breaks into mush as tears muscle their way through my charade of masculinity and climb down my cheeks as my sister leans into my shoulder and shakes with uncontrollable sadness.
My cousins confused yet again, are asking us who Keya Shah is but their questions fade into insignificance as I begin to drift away with my thoughts of stories mum used to tell us of when she was younger.
Eighteen years of age to be precise, mum was a bit of a political activist and so as to avoid detection used to go by the alias of Keya Shah - a combination of her favourite brand of soap combined with Shah from Kind Shah Jahan who built the Taj Mahal, the only wonder of the world according to mum.
Anyway, during one of her rallies, apparently mum fell through a glass door severely cutting up her hand and arm, although we all know that in reality our crazy radicalist probably did that trying to punch someone's lights out; and with blood dripping from her arm as her mates whisked her off to the nearest hospital, a newly qualified dashing young doctor came to her aid and took care of her injuries as well as tried picking her up as he stitched her up!!
So put off was mum by the cheekiness of this rogue, what did she do?
Despite fancying the pants off him, she maintained her name was "Keya Shah" and left good old Doctor Charming looking for the right girl to fit the name; "a little like Cinderella with her Glass Slipper but at least then, the Prince only has one village to contend with and plus, that was a fictional tale!" I think to myself as my thoughts continue, flashing back to my sister and I on our knees looking up at mum as she told the tale - knowing the ending but never getting bored of how mum told it.
"I fancied him so much but you know, in those days I was far too pre-occupied with politics, studies and doing girly things than wanting to date anyone...and even then, you know how it is in England? Well, it was not like that in those days and definitely not in Bangladesh! In those days, even dating with an escort present wasn't allowed so really if anything got serious - and that means perhaps seeing each other with an escort for no more than a month - I would have ended up married.
Besides, at that time the last thing I wanted to do was marry a workaholic doctor!" mum used to say laughingly whenever we quizzed her on why she decided to keep dad hanging out to dry by not giving up her real name to her saviour.
"And yet, your father sought me out...took him a few months and a lot of hunting around every college and university in Dhaka but he eventually found me. I still remember him telling me how annoyed he was that I lied to him despite his most charming tactics as he puffed smoke out of his nostrils like a crazed dragon...all I could do was snicker at the time but then I eventually gave in - combination of guilt and fancying him I guess...and well, here you are!
Everything I could have ever dreamed of and more brought to reality thanks to Keya...I owe everything to that girl - she brought together for me my righteousness, independence, the man I love and the family I never knew I always wanted! She made my deepest and most heartfelt dreams come true and whenever Maria Khan lost her way, the radical that was Keya shone brightly to guide me through."
I remember the glint in her eyes and sweet smile as she used to tell us that story...How through the sheer strength and fierce reputation created within her as Keya, dad and her became such a radical couple in those days!
They dated for almost a year - unescorted I might add - and against all odds, which included odds such as both mum and dad having proposals lined up by their families with others, got married to one another.
Families on neither side were best pleased but my dad's side were particularly distraught as they had plans of marrying dad off to some wealthy family or something which would have raised them out of misery they themselves had created by squandering all the millions of taka, which is Bangladeshi currency, my grandfather and his forefathers had earned or inherited.
Dad was the only son that any family was interested in as the remaining four brothers dad had out of his nine siblings were worthless shites who just gambled their inheritance away.
But my parents never had to suffer the consequences of their actions too much after their marriage, seeing as they went on to moving to England from Bangladesh in the great emigration in 1974/75.
Once there, the memories of mum's days as Keya encouraged her to take night classes to learn English so that she could find her own way in England as dad worked night and day in the local hospitals to make the type of money and afford the kind of gold even Dick Whittington could only dream of and the rest as they say, is history.
Don't get me wrong - they had their ups and downs though to say the least, something that probably should had been expected by dad originally when they met.
"I should have known after cleaning up all the blood when I first met her, or even after I found her and found out about her crazy radicalism, that Keya was not just an alias for your mummy but her true self - an independent free spirit who could never just be happy with becoming a mere domestic goddess," dad always used to joke.
Problems especially arose when mum followed her heart of working on her English by becoming a beautician but then broke into journalism when she felt more confident with her English. This was hard to cope with often by dad - the constant recognition and fame revolving around his wife when the rest of his male counterparts seemed to have lives that orbited around them alone!
In fact amongst other reasons, this lead to dad and mum actually separating for almost seven years with myself and my sister being sent with mum, bags packed to Bangladesh to "learn about your true heritage" as dad would put it.
Yet despite all that, they never parted ways fully and called it a day.
Whenever my sister or I asked if things were over and whether we would see dad again, mum would flat out tell us off and make it very clear to us, "Khans never quit - we never say it is over until our last breath! We are just taking a break as your daddy is so busy but we shall all be reunited again!"
And against all odds once again, reunite they did.
With us in tow, they continued building their life together and keeping our world intact.
I smile as I think about what dad used to say to me when I finally got together with my beloved wife and we started having more manly chats, "Maria Khan is the woman who has always kept this family together but I will always hold a special place for Keya Shah - that lady started it all and when I look at my family, I thank Allah for her arrival into my life and the continued strength she has maintained within this family!"
I am brought back to the land of the living as small, soft arms come over the back of our seat and Princess's cute little head rests between mine and my sister's, "Do you and sister miss this Keya Shah too?" she asks inquisitively.
"Yes...yes we do." I say to her.
"But who is she?" Princess asks.
"Who is Keya Shah? She's a beautiful maiden from a childhood fairytale mum used to tell us," I say as I dry my eyes, "Sit down and I'll tell all of you this story - how this beautiful maiden met her Doctor Charming...remember how I told you life is changeable and that you really never know what you're going to get...well, the tale of Keya Shah will show you if you trust in who you are with enough confidence, love and hope in your heart, no matter what life throws at you, no matter how unexpected, you can achieve what you want with it!"
And with that, my cousins huddle in as I begin to tell them mum's story as the city lights beam through the windows of the carrier like a lighthouse guiding ships into port through the night...and like the lights my sister beams a little too.
Even without mum there, she was clearly still guiding the way to a better life...one where dreams do come true.
