by Azhar Yousuf
The loss of his beloved father, Abu Ji, in October 2025 brings cherished memories, the shock of bereavement, enduring grief, faith, and the difficult journey towards acceptance.
The pain and agony of losing someone close to us, particularly a parent, can be an overwhelming psychological and physical experience, registering in the brain much like physical trauma. Many people experience grief at some point in their lives, often unexpectedly, bringing turmoil and upheaval. In this state of intense sorrow, an individual grapples simultaneously with profound emotional suffering and physical pain.
Grief is not merely a temporary feeling or a passing emotion; it can fundamentally change our personality, outlook on life and the way we relate to others. Rather than following a neat, linear timeline, grief comes in waves. Its intensity may gradually diminish over time, but it does not necessarily disappear completely. It manifests differently in every individual, and we do not simply “move on” from the loss of a loved one. Instead, we learn to carry the weight of that loss and live with it.
Anyone who has experienced the loss of a loved one knows the overwhelming helplessness of being unable to prevent it. It is in this vulnerable state of mind that we recognise how fragile life truly is and how unexpectedly its course can change.
Abu Ji
I personally experienced the emotional agony of losing my beloved father, Dr Mohammad Yousuf Tantray, whom we lovingly called Abu Ji. He had always been a strong and supportive presence in our lives. In our family of five, his presence alone made our world feel complete. To us, he embodied love, affection and dedication, both as a father and as a husband.
Like many Kashmiri families, we often gathered around the dinner table. I fondly remember Abu Ji’s post-dinner conversations, during which he would gently guide us on morality, humility and clear thinking. His clarity of thought and intellectual humility are qualities we continue to cherish deeply.
Deeply committed to helping others, he devoted his life to teaching and community service. Rising from the position of lecturer to that of principal in the Department of Education, Government of Jammu and Kashmir, he earned widespread respect for his honesty, integrity and strong work ethic. He also served as the elected president of the J&K +2 Lecturers’ Forum for District Anantnag and remained active in community service even after retirement.
Holding a PhD in literature, he inspired all three of his children to pursue higher education and academic careers through his own intellectual passion and commitment to learning. When I joined the Department of Computer Science and Engineering at IIT Bombay in 2023, he was immensely proud. He had always believed in the value of perseverance and hard work, often reminding me, “Without hard work, nothing grows but weeds.”
Last Visit
On a weekday in early October 2025, I had an afternoon flight booked from Mumbai to Srinagar to visit my family in the Valley. An urgent morning meeting and Mumbai’s notorious traffic nearly caused me to miss my flight. I boarded at the very last moment, excited to be going home after a long time.
When I landed in Srinagar, Abu Ji, Mummy and my younger sibling were waiting to receive me, as they always did. Little did I know that this joy would be short-lived and that it would be the last time Abu Ji would receive me at the airport.
I spent about two precious weeks at home, including a cherished family trip to Pahalgam on October 13, 2025, planned by Abu Ji himself. My return flight to Mumbai was scheduled for Sunday, October 19. On the day of my departure, Abu Ji was experiencing low blood pressure, and the family felt it would be better for him to rest at home rather than accompany me to the airport. I felt a flicker of concern as I left, but nothing seemed particularly alarming. I boarded my flight and returned to Mumbai.
The News
The following day, October 20, 2025, was the eve of Diwali. Although it was a holiday at IIT Bombay, I went to my office to work on research deadlines.
Back home, Abu Ji had been taken to SKIMS, where he had been receiving treatment since 2024, because his blood pressure had still not stabilised. At 5:30 pm that evening, my phone rang with the devastating news that Abu Ji had passed away.
It came as a complete shock. It felt as though the sky had fallen on my head. With few people around because of the festival, the helplessness I experienced in that moment is something I will never forget. My heart refused to accept what had happened, and I kept clinging to the hope that a miracle might somehow bring him back.
That night, I reached Mumbai airport in a state of utter grief. The terminal was illuminated and buzzing with festive cheer, and the contrast was unbearable. While the world around me celebrated, my own world had fallen apart.
I sat with my head in my hands, tears streaming down my face, and confronted a cruel truth about life: the world carries on regardless of personal tragedy. My night of agony was someone else’s night of celebration.
The night passed in flights and layovers. When I finally landed in Srinagar the following morning, Abu Ji was not there to receive me. I reached home completely broken. As the reality of his absence unfolded before my eyes, I was left thunderstruck, numb and shattered.
Living Loss
Even now, a year later, it remains difficult to process what transpired on that October day in 2025. It constantly feels as though a part of my own body has been permanently taken away. The pain and agony of losing the dependable shoulder I could always lean on cannot be adequately captured in words.
Life can feel profoundly unfair. Yet, enduring this suffering also becomes a way of expressing our love for the person we have lost. The pain remains because the bond remains; the absence is so difficult to bear precisely because the presence meant so much.
Faith’s Consolation
In grief, faith offers a consolation that reason alone cannot provide. The Qur’an reminds us in Surah Al-Baqarah (2:155–156): “And We will surely test you with something of fear and hunger and a loss of wealth and lives and fruits, but give good tidings to the patient, who, when disaster strikes them, say, ‘Indeed we belong to Allah, and indeed to Him we will return.’”
May Allah grant Abu Ji the highest abode in Jannah and grant all those who mourn their loved ones the patience and strength to bear their loss.
(The author is a native of Kashmir who is currently working as a Research Staff Member at the Indian Institute of Science (IISc), Bengaluru. His areas of research are Signal Processing and Efficient AI/ML. The ideas are personal.)
