My mother was sliding the photos she took of me while practicing asanas. The first frame that followed the asana pictures was the photo below.
"Who is that?" Her voice was thirteen degrees of threat.
"Ahmed’s baba," I said, snatching the phone away from her.
My mother frowned. "That is all very well, but what is he doing in your phone?"
I took a gigantic breath. I had one chance to say it and had to say everything in one breath; because her suspicion was heading somewhere dangerous.
"Because his Baba passed away seven years ago today. Because I knew Ahmed seven years ago, too. Ahmed is the eldest of seven boys. He barely finished being a teenager when he was propelled to be an older and bigger man. His Baba's passing was Ahmed's inspiration and - for so many times when I could not be bothered, Ahmed too was my inspiration. That is why I keep them close; I am one of their صدقة جارية. I only hope I could honor and make good of that memory too."
My mother said some things after that. And I said some things after that too. But the thing that stuck, the verses that I want to remember and canonize was that above. That kindness immortalizes a man when passed on by his good sons.
