Mama was a talented painter who also was blessed with the voice of an angel. She would paint her days and sing her nights away at a local restaurant in Lahore. She was a unique woman with opinions and beauty and grace, everything about her attracted my father. Even though she was utterly perfect in every way my mother had one flaw.
She was a Shia*
The minute my dad had laid eyes on her he had fallen in love. The minute Dadi had laid her eyes on her she had said 'No!' rolled her eyes and left the room. Being the obstinate and impulsive young man that he was my father decided to elope with my mother and run away from home move out to the countryside, leave the family business and work towards expanding the plantations he had inherited from his father.
He later admitted to us during one of our family dinners that he did regret cutting any sort of contact with his only family: his mother and that he was working on talking to her again.
My mom is the more rational of the two, after giving birth to Inaya she had convinced Baba to write to his mother and ask for forgiveness. She never liked Dadi because of how rude and pathetic she was but was willing to be the bigger person and go meet her to try and make things work out. To convince her to meet her grandchildren and daughter-in-law with a smile rather than a frown.
After Inaya's second birthday Dadi had finally written back with one letter that had one sentence on it to the dozens that my father had sent with apologies and pictures of our family.
The letter read:
Come and see me before the end of the month, just you and her.
Regards,
Your Mother.
My father was delighted my mother was pleased and it was settled they would drive the very next day to the airport catch a flight to Karachi. My dad had even made arrangements to take his favourite car the vintage Mercedes which he only drove when he was in a good mood going somewhere special.
My parents had called my brother when they landed updating us on their arrival informing us that they would drive to the Haweli and be back in a few days time and warning us to behave and listen to our trusted housekeeper and butler Ayesha Bi and Lal Raam.
Later on in the evening, it had started to drizzle outside in Lahore, my brothers and I were getting ready for bed, Ino was already asleep. My oldest brother Hamza had tucked me in bed and was about to go into his own room when the landline phone rang in the kitchen downstairs. The course of the next few minutes saw to it that Ayesha Bi would pick up that phone attend the call and scream for our butler, who would after calming her down walk into our room and regretfully but categorically deliver the news of our parents' car crashing and their untimely death during the journey to our Dadi's haweli.
Little did I know that their death was anything but an accident.