„our fathers“ is a graceful piece of writing memory, entangled with today, heart crushing and forcing the reader to ruminate. A vivid image, jaunty.
„Our fathers“ is, inherently, encompassing the story of all our fathers, mine too.
Our fathers loved laughing and shadows, and books, and moon and … Before they got killed by the power.
My father Taher Badakhshi, disappeared in 1979, in a late summer afternoom, when they came to our house to take him.
A gaze, a sigh and …
Yours sincerely
Harun
PS
Sohrab Sepehri writes in his poem „the voice of water‘s footstep“ about our fathers
My father behind two migrations of swallows, behind two snowfalls, My father behind twice sleeping in the veranda, My father behind times has died. My father died when the sky was blue, My mother jumped from sleep unaware, my sister became beautiful.
My father died when the policemen were all poets. The grocer asked me, “How many melons do you want?” I asked him, “How much is a happy heart?”
My father used to paint. He used to make tars, played the tar too. He also had a nice handwriting.
Our garden stood on the side of the shadow of wisdom. Our garden was the interweaving place of feeling and plants, Our garden was the meeting point of a glance, a cage and a mirror . Our garden was perhaps, an arc of the green circle of happiness.
The unripe fruit of God on that day, I used to chew in sleep.
In original Persian
پدرم پشت دو بار آمدن چلچله ها ،
پشت دو برف، پدرم پشت دو خوابیدن در مهتابی ، پدرم پشت زمان ها مرده است. پدرم وقتی مرد. آسمان آبی بود، مادرم بی خبر از خواب پرید، خواهرم زیبا شد. پدرم وقتی مرد ، پاسبان ها همه شاعر بودند. مرد بقال از من پرسید : چند من خربزه می خواهی ؟
من از او پرسیدم : دل خوش سیری چند؟
پدرم نقاشی می كرد. تار هم می ساخت، تار هم می زد. خط خوبی هم داشت.
باغ ما در طرف سایه دانایی بود. باغ ما جای گره خوردن احساس و گیاه، باغ ما نقطه برخورد نگاه و قفس و آینه بود. باغ ما شاید ، قوسی از دایره سبز سعادت بود.
I loved this poem so much growing up, a classmate once read it to us as part of an assignment to share their favorite poem, and it has stayed with me ever since. Such a beautiful work of art.
Fatima, this is a beautiful tribute. I love the framing of "the fathers" – and how you've gathered everyone you've encountered into that fold. That's rare. Most people wouldn't use that term so broadly, let alone apply it to themselves. But you did, and that reflects something deeper: that we are all part of one family and one story.
Those you gathered into the fold are not just remembered but carried forward in how you see the world. United, not separated – and much needed.
I realise that this is not the appropriate forum for a general conversation, but I’m still so delighted that Substack offers readers a direct connection to authors that I can’t help but use it!
I recently finished your new novel The Hour of the Wolf because I found the premise intriguing, and I loved the reference to the Bergman film. Your experiences echoed a number of mine, and I love the connection to animals you describe. (My giant tabby cat son sits by my feet as I write this)
I wanted to know more about you, as of course as a South Asian I knew your name but little else. So I dived into Songs of Blood and Sword, and could not put it down. To be honest, all I could think as I was reading it was Game of Thrones.
As a Bangladeshi born person, Pakistan was always the bogeyman, and the instinct was always to look away from it. Reading your book gave me a really valuable reminder- that judging a people by their government is wrong and unfair, even if they are enmeshed with it. It was riveting, heartbreaking and enlightening. I learnt so much about this country I’ve always feared- about its horrors but also the beauty and the bravery of its people. And if we ever meet in person, I hope you will allow me to give you a giant hug for all that you have been through. That you have the courage and will to continue to fight for the vulnerable is remarkable.
I’m now reading The Runaways. Your imaginative voice and compassion shine through it, and again it’s weirdly captivating - I can’t put it down and I’m not sure why. It’s also so witty and insightful. I feel like I have met all of these characters at different times in my life.
So thank you for all that you’ve shared with the world- I’m sure it hasn’t been easy. But people are reading, watching, learning and admiring in strange corners of the internet on the other side of the planet. I just wanted you to know that. ❤️❤️❤️
This is so warm. So human. So full of compassion n feelings! After reading this ...I got my flashback answer " what makes us human"...this does. Thankyou Fatima...by the way when is your next live?
Thank you for sharing this story. I, too, am writing a story about my Grandfather who was born in Syria..and brought to the US by English missionaries. This story inspired me to finish mine. Many blessings.
This is so beautifully written Fatima. I appreciate your vulnerability here. Grief is something we learn from a young age that is apart of life, but until we don't personally experience it we never know what it feels like. That is why I feel like it is so vital to cherish every single moment with your loved ones, because tomorrow is never guaranteed. Sometimes it is so incredibly hard to accept that fact especially in our current state of the world.
Small notes of flavour from life. Missing what you know you won’t be able to experience again. Memories of beautiful times still bring joy and will bring you joy but will make you cry sometimes.
State of the world: Some tragedies you can just raise voice for others you can live. You can’t raise your voice always but you can feel it. A lesson I wish lesser people have to learn.
Dear madam,
„our fathers“ is a graceful piece of writing memory, entangled with today, heart crushing and forcing the reader to ruminate. A vivid image, jaunty.
„Our fathers“ is, inherently, encompassing the story of all our fathers, mine too.
Our fathers loved laughing and shadows, and books, and moon and … Before they got killed by the power.
My father Taher Badakhshi, disappeared in 1979, in a late summer afternoom, when they came to our house to take him.
A gaze, a sigh and …
Yours sincerely
Harun
PS
Sohrab Sepehri writes in his poem „the voice of water‘s footstep“ about our fathers
My father behind two migrations of swallows, behind two snowfalls, My father behind twice sleeping in the veranda, My father behind times has died. My father died when the sky was blue, My mother jumped from sleep unaware, my sister became beautiful.
My father died when the policemen were all poets. The grocer asked me, “How many melons do you want?” I asked him, “How much is a happy heart?”
My father used to paint. He used to make tars, played the tar too. He also had a nice handwriting.
Our garden stood on the side of the shadow of wisdom. Our garden was the interweaving place of feeling and plants, Our garden was the meeting point of a glance, a cage and a mirror . Our garden was perhaps, an arc of the green circle of happiness.
The unripe fruit of God on that day, I used to chew in sleep.
In original Persian
پدرم پشت دو بار آمدن چلچله ها ،
پشت دو برف، پدرم پشت دو خوابیدن در مهتابی ، پدرم پشت زمان ها مرده است. پدرم وقتی مرد. آسمان آبی بود، مادرم بی خبر از خواب پرید، خواهرم زیبا شد. پدرم وقتی مرد ، پاسبان ها همه شاعر بودند. مرد بقال از من پرسید : چند من خربزه می خواهی ؟
من از او پرسیدم : دل خوش سیری چند؟
پدرم نقاشی می كرد. تار هم می ساخت، تار هم می زد. خط خوبی هم داشت.
باغ ما در طرف سایه دانایی بود. باغ ما جای گره خوردن احساس و گیاه، باغ ما نقطه برخورد نگاه و قفس و آینه بود. باغ ما شاید ، قوسی از دایره سبز سعادت بود.
ميوه كال خدا را آن روز ، مي جويدم در خواب.
I loved this poem so much growing up, a classmate once read it to us as part of an assignment to share their favorite poem, and it has stayed with me ever since. Such a beautiful work of art.
Fatima, this is a beautiful tribute. I love the framing of "the fathers" – and how you've gathered everyone you've encountered into that fold. That's rare. Most people wouldn't use that term so broadly, let alone apply it to themselves. But you did, and that reflects something deeper: that we are all part of one family and one story.
Those you gathered into the fold are not just remembered but carried forward in how you see the world. United, not separated – and much needed.
my condolences, generous of you to share with us his memory
I realise that this is not the appropriate forum for a general conversation, but I’m still so delighted that Substack offers readers a direct connection to authors that I can’t help but use it!
I recently finished your new novel The Hour of the Wolf because I found the premise intriguing, and I loved the reference to the Bergman film. Your experiences echoed a number of mine, and I love the connection to animals you describe. (My giant tabby cat son sits by my feet as I write this)
I wanted to know more about you, as of course as a South Asian I knew your name but little else. So I dived into Songs of Blood and Sword, and could not put it down. To be honest, all I could think as I was reading it was Game of Thrones.
As a Bangladeshi born person, Pakistan was always the bogeyman, and the instinct was always to look away from it. Reading your book gave me a really valuable reminder- that judging a people by their government is wrong and unfair, even if they are enmeshed with it. It was riveting, heartbreaking and enlightening. I learnt so much about this country I’ve always feared- about its horrors but also the beauty and the bravery of its people. And if we ever meet in person, I hope you will allow me to give you a giant hug for all that you have been through. That you have the courage and will to continue to fight for the vulnerable is remarkable.
I’m now reading The Runaways. Your imaginative voice and compassion shine through it, and again it’s weirdly captivating - I can’t put it down and I’m not sure why. It’s also so witty and insightful. I feel like I have met all of these characters at different times in my life.
So thank you for all that you’ve shared with the world- I’m sure it hasn’t been easy. But people are reading, watching, learning and admiring in strange corners of the internet on the other side of the planet. I just wanted you to know that. ❤️❤️❤️
Loved reading this!
♥️♥️
Sending condolences. 💖
This is so warm. So human. So full of compassion n feelings! After reading this ...I got my flashback answer " what makes us human"...this does. Thankyou Fatima...by the way when is your next live?
❤️🩹 Sending love and condolences to you.
Thank you for sharing this story. I, too, am writing a story about my Grandfather who was born in Syria..and brought to the US by English missionaries. This story inspired me to finish mine. Many blessings.
This is so beautifully written Fatima. I appreciate your vulnerability here. Grief is something we learn from a young age that is apart of life, but until we don't personally experience it we never know what it feels like. That is why I feel like it is so vital to cherish every single moment with your loved ones, because tomorrow is never guaranteed. Sometimes it is so incredibly hard to accept that fact especially in our current state of the world.
Small notes of flavour from life. Missing what you know you won’t be able to experience again. Memories of beautiful times still bring joy and will bring you joy but will make you cry sometimes.
State of the world: Some tragedies you can just raise voice for others you can live. You can’t raise your voice always but you can feel it. A lesson I wish lesser people have to learn.
❤️💔
This is heart wrenching and yet beautifully written. Thank you.