NON-FICTION
6 April 2017 Blog
Jackfruit . . . or the fruit of passion?
Neelima Islam
If it were 16 years ago, I could clobber anyone showing a dislike for jackfruit. I remember hating people who used to say, ‘Oh, it is such a smelly, sticky fruit’, or ‘How can jackfruit be someone’s favourite?’ Well, it was mine absolute favourite. I could eat the whole fruit in one sitting. This fruit was my passion since I was a toddler…..and who sowed the seeds of passion for this fruit in my heart? It was my dear father. He had so many points in favour of this fruit that a child, particularly so attached to her father, would naturally be convinced that this was the best fruit in this whole wide world.
The month of June had great significance in my life for two reasons: month of fruits [especially the jackfruit] and the month of Father’s Day. June had once upon a time been a festive month for us in the family. The first jackfruit to be brought in the family would be ‘ceremoniously’ eaten like a formal inauguration, and my father would only eat if his children were with him. And I had to follow the tradition even after getting married and living far away.
I was always ready to receive the telephone call from him anytime in June ‘Mamma, when are you coming? I will bring the jackfruit when the time is convenient for you’. This went on for ages……until1996, when things just changed, never to be the same again. I still remember receiving his call that year on 17 June. It was Father’s Day…….my sister and I had already made plans to visit and wish him. So we went to Uttara for a celebration of Father’s Day and the ‘happy eating of jackfruit’. My mother filled the table with seasonal fruits and of course the king of fruits was the main attraction! My father opened the massive fruit but noticed that the bulbs were not soft, the form that I always preferred. Everybody was happy and I tried my best to ‘act’ happy because it was raining outside and I didn’t want my father to go out to buy another one just for me.
All went well with the fruits session and we sat in the living room for the usual ‘adda’. Suddenly I realised my father was not with us. He knew I did not enjoy as much, so he went out in the rain, came back with another jackfruit, ensuring it had the right bulbs. He was drenched in rain and the sight brought tears to my eyes. I helped him change and then for his satisfaction ate some from the new one. After dinner, we left him and came home late that night.
My land phone was out of order for the next two days and I was unable to communicate with my parents. On 20 June, my mother called early in the morning to say my father had been suffering from high fever since the last couple of days. I rushed to Uttara and was very sad to see my father in bed. My mother told me he had not eaten anything and asked me to make him eat a bit of porridge. Then I called my sister who at that time lived in Savar. Both my sister and her husband, Shaheed Col Mujib, advised me to take him to CMH. They made all the arrangements for his check-up and admission. My father was unwilling to go to the hospital and kept on begging me, ‘You just stay with me and I’ll be ok’. But we literally dragged him to the hospital and, as per doctor’s advice, got him admitted. He had other complications which aggravated due to high fever but he repeatedly pleaded to be taken home – till he was in his senses for a week. In the early hours of 30 June, he left us forever, proving all my prayers, appeals and my tears futile. My husband and my younger brother were there when the attending doctors declared him dead. I had just come home after the whole day in the hospital with my mother to take some rest and go back, an act that I will regret till the last day of my life.
I used to sit outside the ICU all those nine days praying for his recovery, but why did I leave when I should have been with him? He was the man who taught me what difference the warmth of a hug can make. There are few words and fewer acts that can convey more emotion, more truth than a hug as they are the most simple, most perfect ways to ease despair, to share joy, to demonstrate empathy, or to show love. And he left silently without a hug from me. My father was my world. He died in the month of Father’s Day June. He died when I was not beside him. He was only 63! I still feel I have lost a large part of me that I will never regain. The loss of a father is cripplingly heart wrenching. It is unimaginable hurt and pain, a pain that I do not feel will ever go away. There isn’t a day that I don’t think of my father with the same fondness. I was and am still ‘the self-admitted daddy’s girl’.
I just can’t resist writing about that wonder man who remains an important part of my life and the architect of the person I have grown to be. He made me feel safe, loved, accepted, happy and brave. During my teenage years, my father and I did experience the typical strains but we never really drifted apart from each other, the ever-lasting melody of a father-daughter relationship was always there. He had that aura in him – always had a crowd around him when he went out and the vivaciousness with which he lived his life was palpable. People craved his attention and compassion and the man knew no such thing as ‘hate’. He was wiser than anyone I have ever known and knew more about life than anyone I have ever met. His words will guide me for the rest of my life.
His favourite quote was from John Bunyan’s:
“I am content with what I have
Little be it or much
And, Lord, contentment still I crave
Because Thou savest such”
The most indispensable attribute that my father inculcated in me was a ‘healthy self-esteem’. I am convinced that a healthy self-esteem is even more important than good food and comfortable shelter. With a positive self-image I have been fortunate indeed to handle constructive self-criticism, using all of life’s experiences as stepping stones to growth rather than seeing them as stumbling blocks. As I ponder over the wonder of the pastoral years and the stunning gift of the little wisdom I have inherited, I give my father the entire credit. He was my mentor, my guiding star. He built the fibre of conviction into the sapling of his daughter. If I have done anything good in life, I lay it at his feet.
If I am ever asked about my feelings of the loss, I instantly say: ‘You should always look for opportunities to spend as much time with those that you love as you possibly can. Appreciate all they mean to you and never ever stop showing them how much you love them because there is no promise of tomorrow’. I still regret not saying those words more frequently to my father, not giving him the last hug and telling him how much he meant to me. I have now learnt the importance of telling people that I love them, I am fond of them and not let them wonder how I feel.
With the passing away of my father, my craze for the jackfruit also bid me farewell, never to come back. Strange as it may sound, I just can’t imagine eating that fruit again that very fruit that had been my passion until 30 June 1996. However, the compassion, the guidance, the assurances and unconditional love that my father had for me remain my life-long companion. I still miss him, my dreams of him are still vivid despite the fact that he passed away sixteen years ago. When I wake up, I can feel the part of my shoulder where he touched me I find the comfort and assurance I need. Since my father’s death, I have made significant accomplishments in my life but deep inside I know I will never be the same. There are days when the hurt and loneliness feel like they did at the time of my father’s death. I lost my best friend, my hero. May his soul rest in eternal peace.
Neelima Islam is a poet, a freelance writer and a music enthusiast.
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