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My earliest memories of my father, Shamsur Rahman Faruqi, are about his looks and unusual habits. His hair was a mass of curls that he liked to tug when he deliberated, which was often. I was quite captivated by his habit of wrapping a thick, tightly curled lock of hair around his finger, almost straightening it out, then letting go, all the while he was talking or reading a book. Father tamed his hair by plastering it with mustard oil. Every morning, summer or winter, he would bathe with cold water, then oil his wet hair and comb it back. It was glossy and slick for a while, but bounced back to its natural curly state as soon as it was dry enough. I can’t remember how old I was most likely five or six years as I watched droplets fly from a wide-toothed comb when father brushed his wet hair. His comb was special. No one told me that it was special, but I supposed it was.

Uttar pradeshNorth west frontierShamsur rahman faruqiDepartment of englishUniversity of allahabadஉத்தர் பிரதேஷ்வடக்கு மேற்கு எல்லைதுறை ஆஃப் ஆங்கிலம்பல்கலைக்கழகம் ஆஃப் அலகாபாத்