A hundred good days: Celebrating and recollecting life with my father

Last year, the news of the passing of Shibly Aziz took many by surprise. Many knew him as a public figure: a distinguished lawyer, a leader of the Muslim community, an Attorney General. I knew him simply as my father.

He was educated at Royal College, the University of Peradeniya, and the University of London. My father was appointed as a Crown Counsel in the Attorney-General’s Department in 1969 and worked his way up to being Attorney-General in 1995, patiently, with dignity and respect. His father was a lawyer, his grandfather was a merchant in the Deep South. It still amazes me that he was able to come so far in two generations, and it is a testament to the wonderful supportive nature of his extended family, who have always loved and admired him throughout his life.

He was a man of deep integrity, of values and principles, that he held dear. At the same time, he was tolerant and a pragmatist. He would never judge someone because they had different beliefs to him. Rather, he was content to make his case and agree to disagree amicably if common ground couldn’t be found-a quality that is much in need in this day and age.

But he was human. In his younger days, he had a terrific temper-sometimes he would fly into a rage and perform his famous trick of clearing all the plates off the dinner table in one fell swoop. My brother and I learned to eat really fast just in case we were going to lose our dinner too soon. Over the years, the tempestuousness of his youth mellowed into the calm, almost Zen-like approach he took to life where his anger calmed down and he became the genial, benevolent figure many knew. Much of this came from his deep and abiding faith and practice of his religion.

His faith was quiet and deep-it was not the kind that tries to impose itself on others. His was a moderate Islam, tolerant of other faiths, and progressive in its thinking. His devotion to his community was long- standing-the Ahadiya schools which were started by his father flourished and blossomed under his guidance, and have helped hundreds of thousands of children across the country get access to better education.

After leaving the Attorney General’s Department, he entered private practice where one of his sacred traditions became the afternoon nap. He would go to courts in the morning, come back and have lunch, and then have a nap until it was time to start his meetings in the afternoon and into the evening. To this day, my idea of success isn’t making a lot of money-it’s having enough freedom and independence to be able to take a nap in the middle of the workday.

That devotion to self-care, by the way, extended to our family vacations: whenever we went away on holiday, we knew we were doing it properly when we had achieved two naps a day; one after breakfast and one after lunch. He lived life well. He loved going to the sea to swim and taught my brother and me to swim in it every weekend when we lived in Wellawatte.

He loved his food, and nothing made him happier than a good Sri Lankan rice and curry. He loved cracking jokes and had a few favourite ones: ‘everything in moderation, even moderation’ he would say as he reached for a second helping of lunch.

He loved music, especially jazz and rock and roll — it may surprise many to know that he was a drummer in a rock band in his university days, and still liked to play on a drum kit in our house, while my mother gamely tried to accompany him on the piano. I say gamely, because he unfortunately only knew one beat.

He loved to travel, and he and my mother instilled a deep love of it in me: we were privileged to travel around the world as a family, and it gave me a deep sense of curiosity about this amazing world we live in, and a fearlessness to be able to go anywhere and do anything that I hope to pass onto my own son.

He loved being a grandfather, first to my brother’s sons Aiden and Tahir, and then to my own son, Nuri. In fact, as we navigated the difficult adoption process of Nuri, it gave me huge comfort to know that my son’s first father figure, was my own father. Nothing made him happier than hanging out with his grandkids, taking them to movies, or just knocking about town. He was a devoted and loving grandpa.

He was the very definition of a patriot: someone who put his country first before himself. And if doing so meant giving up the thing he had worked for, for over 30 years because of his principles and integrity, then he didn’t hesitate. I know his resignation as Attorney General after just over a year surprised many: but for him, it was a simple decision. If he couldn’t act with integrity and decency in exercising the power of that role then it was not for him. He was a public servant with the emphasis on ‘servant’ — he understood that the responsibility of a leader is to be of service to the people that he represents and not the other way around — something I think many of our current leaders deserve reminding.

He helped hundreds of people in his life but he never told us about any of them. In fact, one of the things we would love to hear is stories of people that he helped.

He was a gentleman in both senses of the word — a man of honour, and also a man of great gentleness. He took care in his relationships with people to make sure they always felt valued, no matter what their background or views or status. His humility was a lesson to us all, that achievement doesn’t necessarily need to be tied to ego; that humbleness and grace he had applied to everyone of every socio-economic class and background and religion and race.

He loved his country, his community, his family and his faith.

I can think of no better role model to have in my life than him.

A while ago I read this article which said that by the time a child graduates from high school he or she has already spent 90% of the time that they’re ever going to spend with his parents. This is especially true, if like me, you left home at an early age and moved to another country. This struck me deeply. We were lucky to see my parents a lot of the time, when they visited us wherever we lived, or when we went to Sri Lanka. But I realized last year when my dad had a heart attack again, how precious the time we had left was.

So in the last year of his life, I flew to Sri Lanka for no other reason than to just be with him. We went on a boys’ weekend down South, where all we did was eat, sleep and yes, have two naps a day… and have long conversations into the night.

In retrospect, I am so glad that I did that and was able to see him in good spirits…and be there for him when his health started failing rapidly after that. He had five heart attacks and a brain tumour in three months. He was 75 years old and he had lived a good life. It was time for him to go. We were lucky that his illness didn’t drag on for years, and that his decline was mercifully swift. Lucky that he passed away peacefully in his sleep in the early hours of the morning, with his son (my brother Dr. Aadhil Aziz, who did a heroic job looking after him in his decline) close by his side.

It was, as the Romans say, a good death.

I realized that if you have parents who are older, and you don’t live in the same place as they do, then you have perhaps one hundred good days left to spend with each other. So if you take anything from this, it is this: use those one hundred days wisely. Make sure you use those days to enjoy each other’s company, to spend time travelling, or eating, or whatever it is that makes you happy.

Time is more important than money. Experiences are more important than things. And therefore time spent on experiences doing things you love, with the people you love, are the most important of all.

One hundred good days. That’s all most of us have.

Make sure you use them well.