Making Shujaat’s dream count
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Making Shujaat’s dream count

As we remember Shujaat sir on his third death anniversary, the grief is still quite palpable among his family, friends and admirers. Such was the charming personality of the man. Yet the transition from grief to a sense of closure is natural and inevitabl

Post by on Sunday, June 13, 2021

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SUHAIL AHMAD

As we remember Shujaat sir on his third death anniversary, the grief is still quite palpable among his family, friends and admirers. Such was the charming personality of the man. Yet the transition from grief to a sense of closure is natural and inevitable. The term ‘closure’ is often used to describe the process of acceptance after the death of a loved one. For some it comes sooner than later, for others it’s a long drawn process, of course depending on the degree of emotional attachment with the deceased.

I often recall the memorable moments I spent with Shujaat sir at ‘Rising Kashmir’ along with other colleagues. There are just so many anecdotes to keep his smiling face alive in the heart and mind. Even when he was not around, the jovial newsroom atmosphere he had cultivated ensured that the tedious task of bringing out a newspaper was marked by pranks, laughter and cherished camaraderie.

These happy flashbacks are cut short with painful realization that he is no more with us. It is followed by a shudder as I recall those tense moments when I rushed to the hospital praying and hoping that he would survive the attack, after all he had survived abduction bids and a near fatal stroke in the past. The happy flashbacks are swiftly wiped out when the scenes outside the mortuary are replayed in my mind.

As I oscillate between these two extreme memories and emotions, I become conscious of this subtle transition between grief and closure. I remember reading Amy Florian’s piece on the subject of closure after death of a loved one, published by Huffpost (August 2017). She sums up the common perception about closure “being normal, getting back to your old self, no longer crying or being affected by the death”. It means “moving on with life and leaving the past behind”. However, she adds, closure doesn't mean we have completely forgotten about our loved one, but it does mean that we have returned to a new normal way of life.

At the face value we may deem this kind of closure as undesirable even uncouth yet when I first read Amy’s description of this process, it seemed all too natural and perhaps not so undesirable.

“At first, you keep hoping or wishing that it weren’t true,” she writes. This is what we all experience in such circumstances. Just as I was preparing to break the fast (it happened to be the last night of the holy month of Ramadan) I received a call from one of my friends. In a frantic tone, he asked if it was true that Shujaat had been shot dead. I was taken aback but I also remember feeling deep down that it could be a rumour or so I hoped. I just couldn’t accept that he was no more, that I will never physically see him or hear his voice again. With the hope that someone could tell me Shujaat sir survived, I called another friend only for my disbelief turn into unfathomable shock and sorrow.

Usually it takes weeks or even months for the reality to finally sink in as was the case with my experience. It begins with the acceptance of the reality. As Amy puts it, “In time, you come to know, in both your head and your heart, that your loved one has died and is not coming back. You still don’t like it, but you accept it as true.”

This acceptance of reality paves way for healing. We no longer expect our loved one to be there. We still feel the bouts of pain and loss, as is the case when I recall those ill-fated hours of 14th June 2018, but broadly speaking we accept the reality sooner or later. This healing phase may be prolonged depending on the degree of emotional attachment, marked by constant tussle between past and present. Amy again puts it quite aptly: “Sometimes you feel like you are taking three steps forward and two steps back.” That is perhaps why sometimes the close relatives of the deceased, even after many years of the tragedy, suddenly break into tears while there is no immediate plausible reason to do so. Their joyous moments are often punctuated with feelings of loss and despair.

We often counsel the bereaved persons to put it behind them and get on with life. It’s easier said than done. The memories come in the way. That’s why Amy Florian asserts “healing does not mean forgetting; it means taking the life, love, and lessons into the future with you”. Eventually we make peace with the void in our life. It becomes part of us. We begin to cherish the memories of our loved one.

Closure cannot be enforced and neither can there be a complete closure. We won’t stop missing Shujaat sir or wondering what life would be like if he was still around. On the professional side I am sure he would have continued to value the feedback of people regarding ‘Rising Kashmir’. Being a reporter at the core himself, he would have his ears to the ground. I remember how seriously he considered the feedback of readers and ensured to convey it right through the chain of editors and reporters working under him.  

The real tribute from ‘Rising Kashmir’ family would therefore be to introspect how would have Shujaat liked his dream venture shape up and cope with the myriad challenges of news industry in Kashmir. To keep his memory alive in real sense, ‘Rising Kashmir’ has to constantly strive to grow into a better and more professional newspaper, living upto the needs and expectations of people.

*****

Suhail Ahmad worked as Deputy Editor of Rising Kashmir from 2008 to 2017 and can be mailed at suhaillife@gmail.com  

 

 

 

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