My contemporaries and I reached adulthood in the shadow of the British government. This sense has become even more acute over time for the reason that we, even a generation later, remained prisoners of those memories for a long time. In the imagery of this drenched night, with tears wetting the old man’s face and regret filling his memories, I find a glimpse of the helplessness and anxiety of this generation’s Muslims who, under the burden of the memories of a paradise lost, became the chains on the feet of their and their neighbors’ future. In one of Sir Syed Ahmad Khan’s essays, A Dark and Rainy Night, an old man is remembering bygone days, rinsing old thoughts, and finds nothing but sorrow in his hands.
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