The 136th death.
[Text by Ali F. Kazmi; photo by Hussain Kazmi]
It was a moonlit night of early December when Ali F. Kazmi had his overly sweetened evening tea in the same soot-covered cup and slept for good.
Although his name was Ali, he preferred to be called Allu-a slight distortion-primarily because it meant nothing. He studied social theory and taught in a government college in Jhelum, a small town on bank of River Jhelum in Pakistan, before moving to Banaras, India, to study Sanskrit and Indian mythology.
Well versed in English, Urdu, Hindi, Sindhi, Punjabi, Pashto, French, Farsi, German, Spanish and Arabic, he spent several years of his life in South India, learning Carnatic music and in Delhi, learning to play Pakhawaj. He was said to have the biggest repertoire of jokes from different parts of world.
During later part of his life, he lived in Gulmit, a hamlet near Pakistan-China border, where he set up a library but spent most of time with snow-wolves and was thought to be able to speak to them.
His epitaph reads lines from his favorite Persian poem:
I will be waiting for the day…
when every word means ‘to love’….
even if I will be no more (to see that day)
Our Self-Written Obituaries invites people to write their obituary in 200 words. The idea is to share with the world how you will like to be remembered after you are gone. (May you live a long life, of course!) Please mail me your self-obit at email@example.com.
Be well wherever you are