By Noorain Fatima Ansari
Two decades have slipped through the hourglass since the world grew a little quieter on the 27th of April, 2006.
Today marks twenty years without my Dadu, Maulana Mustafa Ansari, a man who was a scholar to the world, but a sanctuary to me.
I was only in the fourth grade when he left. They say memories begin to drift like mist over the Dal Lake as we approach the milestone of thirty, the edges softening like old photographs left in the sun.
But the heart has its own way of keeping time.
I still feel the specific, heavy chill of those Kashmiri winters, where the power cuts would plunge the house into darkness, leaving us with nothing but the amber glow of a single candle.
In that flickering light, Dadu was our fire.
He didn’t just recite tales, he created a world where my brother and I felt safe from the shadows.
To our society, he was an Aalim, a writer of deep intellect. But to me, he was the playful conspirator who became a child just to meet me where I was.
He taught me that true wisdom isn’t just found in books, but in the lightness of a grandfather’s laugh.
I still remember our last outings in Bangalore, the rhythm of the swings and the sharp, bright taste of cucumbers topped with red chili.
I can still see his wink, that silent, rebellious pact we shared when the adults scolded us.
He was my shield, a man who chose to be small when I was small, always coming to my rescue.
Dadu had battled cancer with the strength of a titan, yet his departure felt like a sudden sunset.
At ten years old, I understood the silence in the room, but I couldn’t yet grasp the depth of the void he would leave behind.
Now, twenty years later, I realize that even a “brief” time with a soul like his is enough to last a lifetime.
I feel that loss today with a matured ache.
I wish there had been more time. I wish I could sit with the man I am now and talk to the scholar he was.
But looking back through the mist of two decades, I realize the time we did have was painted in the brightest colours.
He is in a better place now, surely at peace. As for me, I still carry the candlelight of his memory.
It has been twenty years, but the warmth of his stories still keeps the winter at bay.
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