Grief

Rizwan Haider, my nana (maternal grandfather), passed away on April 20th, 2025. He had terminal cancer, and contrary to my opinion, the family decided not to tell him about it. It won’t matter, they said. He won’t be able to take it, they said. I like to believe he was much stronger than that.

I was always very close to him. He had a big role to play in my childhood. Growing up, I vividly remember spending at least a month with him every summer, along with my uncles and aunts. The nana I knew was a strong and disciplined man. He was a retired police officer known for his short temper and extreme honesty.

When my nana retired, he chose to spend significant portions of his time maintaining and managing a grand mosque that stood right in front of his house. Built in 1839, the mosque was so beat up that people misused it for nefarious activities. Not many people went there to pray. Without going into too much detail, my nana chose to spend the next 25 years of his life bringing the mosque back to its original stated purpose and grandiose. For its reconstruction, he used his own money and raised millions from donors. Thanks to his reputation as an honest police officer, people were happy to donate, knowing fully well that it would be well spent.

His efforts over 2 decades yielded outstanding results! The mosque once again became a place of worship, and perhaps one of the most stunning mosques in all of India. For his hard work and dedication, he received multiple awards from social, political, and religious organizations.

Fig. 1 The outside of Jama Masjid in Lucknow

As my mom and uncles tell me, my nana was a very strict parent with the exception of my mom, who, as his daughter, received a relatively special treatment. But when he had his own grandchildren, his attitude towards parenting changed dramatically. From a man who believed in physically punishing his kids when they did wrong, he became a gentle grandfather who wouldn’t even raise his voice to scold his grandkids. In fact, as I have been told and seen myself, he would counsel his own children against using any form of punishment with the grandkids.

My nana was a proud man. He wasn’t very well educated, but he firmly believed in providing the best education possible to his kids and grandkids. Since I earned decent grades in school, he was usually pleased with me. When I got my first job after graduation, other than my parents, I suspect he was the happiest person. Although, a thing that sometimes irritated me was his one nagging question - “How much money do you make?”. I knew why he asked. He liked to boast to anybody and everybody who was close to him by telling them how “successful” his grandchildren were. I think he equated “success” with money, not that I made a lot of money. I don’t blame him though. He grew up in a poor family and never saw much wealth. But what he lacked in monetary means, he more than compensated for by earning respect from others via his deeds. I can’t recall a time when I told him exactly how much money I made. I haven’t told anyone, for that matter, because it feels insignificant. But that never stopped my nana from finding unique and creative ways to ask me how much money I made 😊 I don’t know if he succeeded.

In March 2025, I got a phone call from my brother. He told me that my nana was very sick and had been hospitalized. A few days and several tests later, it was confirmed that he had blood cancer. Given his age, no treatment was viable other than managing his pain. He was brought home. While my mom refused to believe it, I knew my nana didn’t have much time left. I took the first flight I could from Seattle to Lucknow to spend as much quality time with him as possible. Because of jet lag, I chose to take the night shift while the family members rotated to provide him 24x7 care. It included making sure his blood pressure didn’t drop too rapidly and his blood oxygen levels remained high enough. If either fell, I was to call the doctor and nurse on duty.

I spent 10 days in India on that trip, every night spent in his room with him. Some nights, he would be more energetic and chatty than usual as well as in high spirits. Those nights, we would talk about my childhood, his stories from the days as a police officer, the mosque, my marriage, principles of Islam, and life’s general philosophies. He loved to talk! And he had a hearty laugh. One night, I even tried to convince him to get a hair cut and a shave. He agreed!

One day, he decided to gift a 50 year old Quran to my nephew, Kabir. He wanted to personally handwrite a small note for him. As I saw him write that note with his shivering hands, I broke down. I broke down thinking about how much I would miss him when he was gone. I broke down thinking how much he loved his great-grandkids. I broke down remembering all the amazing experiences we had shared. I broke down thinking how much I loved him! I broke down realizing this visit might be the last time I would see him alive.

My final visit to meet him also coincided with Eid-al-Fitr. Although he couldn’t join us, we attended the special Eid prayers at the very mosque he had devoted decades to restoring. A few days later, it was time for me to fly back to Seattle. By then, my nana had started feeling slightly better, although we knew he didn’t have much time left.

Nana with Alisha in Dubai

Nana with Kabir in Noida

Nana with mom in Amroha

Nana and me on my last visit to meet him in Lucknow

On April 20th, 2025, I got a call from my family telling me that my nana had passed away. I took the first flight out from Seattle to Delhi, followed by a long taxi ride to Amroha. I cried on the way. All I could think about was the last time I hugged him, just a few week ago in Lucknow, knowing fully well that it might be the last time. His big, hearty laughs would echo my ears. The way he spoke to me, the way he held my hand for support as we walked, the immense joy and pride he felt whenever we met is hard to put into words. It could only be felt. I truly felt loved being around him. Now that he was gone, it was difficult to imagine anyone filling that void.

Months passed after his death, and I had returned to Seattle. But grief has funny ways to creep back in. To be clear, grieving isn’t bad; it is a healing process. One night, as I lay in bed reading a book, I was overcome with goosebumps, thinking of the person I had lost and how I would never see him again in Lucknow. Nor would I receive those long voice notes from him on WhatsApp. That night, I listened for the umpteenth time to the 4 minute long voice note he had sent me on January 1st, 2024, wishing me a happy new year and expressing his profound love towards me in his own way.

As I write this post, I can feel a lump forming in my throat and emotions rising. I like to believe he is at peace and has finally met his wife who passed away almost 30 years ago, but whom he missed daily. I like to believe he is happy, looking back at all he has achieved and the immense joy and love he spread just by being himself.

I miss you, nana! ❤️

p.s. Btw, my nana got addicted to the phone in his 80s! 😂 Read more about that experience here.