Syed Majid Gilani
Not every lesson comes from books or speeches. Some arrive softly, without any intention. Mine came yesterday at the main gate of our beloved home. There, under the afternoon sun, stood my elder son, a young boy, Arshad Gilani, water pipe in one hand and soft cloth in the other, gently wiping the brass name plate fixed to the gate. This name plate carries the name of his grandfather, Syed Iftikhar Gilani, my own father, who left this world when he was still very young. Arshad has never seen his grandfather, but he knows his stories, his values and his name. The sunlight was falling across the letters of the name plate, and the water drops were shining like small pearls as they slid down. Arshad was working with slow, careful movements, as though he were touching something sacred.
I went closer and asked softly, “Dear Arshad, why are you doing this?” He looked up without stopping his work and replied in a simple voice, “Papa, the name plate had gathered dust, and it hurts to see dust on Dadaji’s name.” These words went straight into my heart. Here was my son, who had never seen his grandfather, feeling pain over a small layer of dust on his name. It was not just an act of cleaning. It was an act of love, of duty and of connection.
In that moment my mind opened to a beautiful picture. I saw my father, Arshad’s Dadaji, in the gardens of heaven. He was smiling with awe and love at his grandson. His hands were raised in prayer, and I could almost hear him saying, “May you always live with respect, love and happiness . May your heart remain clean just as you cleaned my name today.” This image stayed in my mind while Arshad kept wiping the letters one by one. Each stroke of his cloth felt like a prayer. Each drop of water felt like a blessing. It was not only about cleaning a name plate. It was about keeping alive the honour of a family, the memory of a man and the unseen ties that bind us to our roots.
Arshad’s respect for his grandfather shows how blood and genetic ties carry their own love and warmth. They flow silently through our veins and build our true identity. When you respect your identity, you are not only honouring a name, you are also protecting your own being. By clearing the name plate of his grandfather, Arshad was in fact polishing his own soul.
I thought of my father. He had left this world when even I was very young. Life was hard and memories sometimes faded like old photographs. But at that moment, watching Arshad bent over the name plate, I felt my father’s presence close to me — not as a memory but as a living spirit rejoicing in heaven. I realised once again how values travel quietly from one generation to the next. They do not need speeches. They pass silently through love, respect and example. Without ever meeting his grandfather, Arshad had inherited the respect I hold for my father.
When Arshad finally stood up, water dripping from the pipe, the brass name plate shone like gold in the sunlight. It was not just a name; it was a bridge of love between three generations — my father, myself and my son. I placed my hand softly on Arshad’s shoulder. No words came out, but my heart was full. Inside me I said a prayer — for my father’s soul in heaven and for my son’s bright and noble future on earth.
This small act by Arshad reminded me of a truth many people forget. We are all living links in a long chain of love and duty. Our identity is not built only by wealth or titles but by the respect we show to those who came before us. When we honour our elders, we do not lose ourselves. We become stronger and more whole. In cleaning the name plate of his grandfather, Arshad not only honoured the past but also protected the dignity of his own future. In respecting his roots, he safeguarded his own being. This is the lesson I want to share.
(The author is a government officer and freelancer. He can be reached at [email protected])
