I was barely 4 years old in 1993 when a blue jeans and a white shirt drenched in blood came home. Papa, widely known as Er. Iqbal Ahmad among his colleagues, friends and acquaintances, had met an accident, a horrible one. It took him more than six months to get up from bed and walk. He used support but never lost hope. I was too young to understand things back then. He survived! He lived…he moved on. Papa and me, November 2013, Riyad h , Saudi Arabia. More of a second life it was. Since then, I have never seen him giving up. I remember my first day at school. I was writing my entrance exam and all the while, Papa was waiting there itself, out in the corridor. I didn’t realize his presence then. Time passed.. I grew up, finished my education. He still taught me, taught me a lot, a lot.. through his words and actions. He taught me from his past experiences. He taught me from his every day events. He lived the cleanest life anyone could have. I realize all this after he i