An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

By Ibraar Hussain

I was raised in your arms; the youngest of your children, and you left the world in mine, leaving an emptiness I cannot comprehend.

Above: One of the last portraits I took of my dad, in his bedroom.
27th March 2021
Sony A900 Minolta 50mm f1.4 @ f3.2

Corporal (Naik) Hussain, Rajputana Rifles, 4th Para Battalion. Delhi, British India 1945 He was just awarded his wings for passing the Parachute Jump training. After partition he joined the Baluch Regiment in Quetta and Lahore.

 

Dad watching TV, with that thoughtful look and the distinctive protruding bottom lip when deep in thought or concentration. Contax G2 45mm Planar T* f2.8 Ilford HP5+ @ 3200 asa
Dad after sharing a joke with me.
Olympus OM2n Zuiko 50mm Ilford HP5+ @ 3200
Dad looking over
Contax G2 45mm Planar T* f2.8 Fuji Neopan Across 100

I took many many photos of my father over the decades and documented his life on VHS Tape and Smartphone Video, I miss him every day.

It was my father who introduced me to photography, the top photos was shot with a camera he had at the time, though I’ve no idea which, I can’t ask him now.
He did have a Yashica Minister in the 60ies and a Yashica SLR in the 70ies and 80ies. Naturally, my interests in photography, boxing, the outdoors, philosophy, wristwatches, bicycles and motorbikes were acquired from my dad’s influence, I guess he made me who I am today.

So a little tribute to him, and to Fathers everywhere who have crossed the River Styx and are no longer with us, until we meet again.

Dad, 31st of December 1928 Vil. Dandi Nazam, District Gujrat, British India – 27th of December 2021 Leytonstone, London England.

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About The Author

By Ibraar Hussain
Ibraar aka Ibbs formerly from London, but now a long way from home in the Suffolk border in East Anglia England. https://www.instagram.com/memento_fotografic
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Comments

Bob Janes on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Lovely. Many thanks for sparking some personal memories. There are distinct parallels between our fathers - mine was born in March of 1928 and died in December of 2022 - at an age he never expected to reach, as his father had died aged 58 and his grandfather at 49. Our fathers were born over 4000 miles apart, but died within 6 miles of each other and seem to have shared similar interests. Theirs was an amazing generation of men, but I think they should have smiled more in photographs...
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thank you Bob. That is pretty amazing, and what a small world it seems at times. Theirs was an amazing generation. Dad kept most things to himself until his later years when he started opening up to me. There are still so many things I’d want to ask him.

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Walter Reumkens on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

The article lives up to its title, and the photos are brilliant too. It seems you didn’t learn how to skydive from your father, though. You can be happy and proud, Ibraar. My father never spoke to me much; he was a soldier in the Second World War and came home with injuries that prevented him from pursuing his dream career. Perhaps it was because of his unhappy marriage; I don’t know. He didn’t even tell me when I was looking after him and he fell asleep forever beside me in our double bed one night. A very loving article.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thank you Walter. My dad didn’t speak much to my other siblings, my eldest brother is well into his 70ies, but he was my father’s second son - the eldest having died aged about 4. This along with horrors experienced during the partition of idea haunted him until his last days. I think your father may have had similar experiences. Ah, I like the way you put the final part - I wish I’d have know your father, what stories and wisdom he must’ve had to share but was unable to

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jem on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Sorry for your loss. Extraordinary portraits mate, nice work.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thanks Jem!

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Charles Young on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Ibraar: Thank you for sharing your story. The photos are very thoughtful.
Chuck
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thank you Chuck!

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Art Meripol on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

These are wonderful and immediately bring similar memories of my father. I photographed him as much as I could in his later years and love some of those photos for the memories they bring back of him. I miss him every day. He was willing to let me photograph and was completely at ease. My mother never liked the camera and would not let me photograph her. My Dad documented the family with his small Bell and Howell 8mm movie camera. I was often tasked with holding a metal bar with a couple of hot flood lights on it for him. I don’t think that influenced me to be a photographer. But maybe? Fathers and sons, a timeless story and your photos are timeless.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thank you my friend, for sharing your precious memories My mother also doesn’t like being photographed much, when she does she still poses too much, whereas dad was completely at ease and relaxed. And yes, fathers and sons. I was never close to my brothers, but my dad more than made up for it Thanks again.

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Bill Brown on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

My Dad has been gone 29 years now. Our relationship was mixed over the years. He had grown up during the Great Depression and aspiring to be an artist was not something I should do if I wanted to provide for a wife and family some day. Thankfully, he eventually embraced my pursuit of art and was proud of my accomplishments. He would be blown away to see what I'm doing digitally. I shot several favorites of my Dad but the one of him holding an invention that he got patented, that's a favorite. My father-in-law will be 95 this October. We are very close. I have many wonderful shots of him. He has been like a second Dad to me. His age is taking a toll. I will miss him greatly but until that time I will cherish each moment with him.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thank you my friend, for sharing those memories and thoughts. Yes, I think we should cherish every moment. I have some regrets, wishing I’d have spent more time with him, but I think he’s happy with me - he often visits me in dreams and is always warm and looking good! My favourite pictures of my dad (and Mum) are black and white prints I hand printed, mounted and framed - I don’t have them scanned yet.

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Gary Smith on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Great tribute to your dad! Mine passed over the River Styx at age 62, so now I have out lived him by 10 years. He encouraged my interest in photography by borrowing a camera for me from one of his coworkers some 56 years ago. I guess we were both lucky!
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Ah Gary, he was still young, but they live on in our hearts and memories.

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Tony Warren on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

A truly moving story of your close relationship with your father Ibbs. I imagine all our fathers have an influence on us in many different ways. Your experience has been a very close one with a very courageous, serious individual who still had an impish side to judge by your excellent portraits.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 07/06/2026

Thank you Tony! Yes, hehe!! He was impish, he’d love a laugh and joke and had always been a ladies man. Had his old school charm! Mum couldn’t keep him under control!

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Jeffery Luhn on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Those wonderful shots are a great tribute to your father. Thanks for sharing them. The one of him with his lower lip out is like an impersonation of my dad. I chuckled when I saw it. He did that expression when he was deep in thought, or when he was unhappy with the cards he was holding. He also used it as a fake out in poker. I also liked the following one. Very personal image.
My dad always expected me to join the family business. Retail toy stores. I did not waiver from my studies in photography and music. I can't say he ever encouraged me in my choice, like my mother did, but he didn't stand in my way.
I learned so much from my dad. Honesty, integrity, compassion, gusto, humor, and love of family.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Thanks Jeffrey - funnily enough, that was also his playing cards expression; when stumped! And thanks for sharing your memories, my dad wanted me to go to drama school and act - he enrolled me when I was a teenager but I didn’t keep it up. I’ve always been lazy and found it difficult to maintain an interest in anything I was half hearted about. I regret it now that I’m in my 50ies and wished I could get some parts in the theatre, but can’t! Thanks again

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David Pauley on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Hi Ibraar,

Super moving article and photos, very much appreciated. My Dad also nurtured my interest in photography, buying me my first camera at age 11, though sadly he began slipping into dementia in his early 60s and has been gone for 33 years. I'm thrilled that you were able to have an adult relationship with your father and his love for you in these photos is palpable. Whatever scars he may have carried from Partition (one can scarcely imagine) in these frames he feels so present and kind. The two final photos to me are magisterial: the gentle interplay of light and shadow. A look that feels so natural but as we all know can elude us (or me at least) about 95% of the time. I hope you've printed them.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Thank you my friend! He was 18 when he witnessed and was unable to stop the Kamoke Massacre https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1947_Kamoke_train_massacre

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David Pauley replied:

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

What a horror to live through at such a tender age, or any age. My brother in law had a close friend, a Sikh, from the Indian army who was hauled off a train and murdered during the wave of reprisals for Indira Gandhi's assasination in 1984. I wish I could say that sectarian violence went out with the 20th century but obviously and sadly that is very far from the case...

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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Ah David, it’s a terrible world, or rather men have and will always do the most terrible things, people like our fathers are the lucky ones, I doubt they miss us or this world at all,

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Danilo Leonardi on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

That’s a deeply moving piece, Ibraar. The last photograph, with your dad looking over, really stayed with me. Your article also brought back reflections of my own family, and the way photography often becomes a way of holding on to moments that we may only understand more fully later. Looking at photographs like these, we sometimes realise how much of our fathers remains with us, for example, in the way they have shaped how we see the world, how we move through time, and even how we understand ourselves, apart from our memories, of course. A beautiful tribute to your father, and to the bond you shared.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Thank you Danilo!

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Adrian Cullen on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

What a beautiful set of portraits. Thank you for sharing such a personal story.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 08/06/2026

Thank you Adrian

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Ed on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 11/06/2026

Hi Ibraar - what a moving piece. Thank you for sharing your memories of your father and the superb portraits of him. I've really appreciated this article.

All the best. Ed
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 11/06/2026

Thank you Ed, you’re welcome my friend, means a lot

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Geoff Chaplin on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 11/06/2026

It brought a tear to my eyes - I understand and share your loss. My biggest regret is never having thanked my parents properly for what they did for me and how they put up with an arrogant selfish brat.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 11/06/2026

Thank you Geoff Im glad the article has evoked some of your own memories I too have many regrets - I was a very difficult little shit Thankfully I have my mum so whatever I do and say and act - is to make her happy as possible in her twilight years

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Ibraar Hussain on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 11/06/2026

The main title photo in colour was the last snapshot portrait I took of Dad.
Those same eyes - he looked at me one last time with so much love and longing in them - on his deathbed as if to bid me adieu - and then he sailed off
Shot that with a Sony A900 and Minolta 50mm f1.4
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Omar Tibi on An Ode to my Dad, and to all Fathers everywhere.

Comment posted: 17/07/2026

Ibraar my friend, I somehow missed this and I apologize for it. This is truly weighty and sentimental, may your father rest in peace, reading it and seeing your father's various faces touched me deeply. Of course, each photo is striking and excellent, I definitely can learn from you about portraiture!

I think we can relate closely - both my wife and I recently lost our fathers too, and just as per your quote up top, it truly leaves an unfathomable emptiness. Something my wife pointed out to me once, was that at least we are blessed to have such fathers, that we miss them this deeply, it is a sign of the deep love we've shared with them.

Much prayers and many good wishes to you and your family, my friend.
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Ibraar Hussain replied:

Comment posted: 17/07/2026

Thank you my friend, I’m glad you saw the post and could relate to it And everything you say is very touching, my thoughts and prayers go out to you and your wife, but they live on in our hearts and we shall meet again God willing

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