Bridge and my Baba

Every Saturday readers were used to seeing the column "bridge notes by K.M.Shariff" at this space, but with the sad demise of my father last week, the column too has come to an end. It is moving to think that how eagerly he would wait for his column to be printed and check if there had been any slip ups.
Although he had spent his entire life writing, each freshly published column would make him happy, and often he would ask any of his children with excitement, "Did you see my column today?"
"Yes Baba, we did." we would say.
Unlike him none of his five children ever took interest in the game. The only thing we know is; there is a heart, spade, diamond and club. Every week, he would prepare the hand and sit at his office, typing the column himself. Although Baba had learned basic computing quite well, he felt relieved when Amjad, his obedient assistant, helped him with typing.
If there would be any interruption in electricity or problem with the telephone line he would be upset as this meant delay in sending the article. After emailing his column, and making sure that it has reached the office of Business Recorder, by calling the concerned person, he would be relaxed and often took his much needed rest.
Even when he was away from Karachi, he would be thinking about how to send his column. Whenever, he went to the Bangalore, India, he made sure to mingle with the bridge players at the Bangalore Club or any other such place to gather sufficient material for the column.
For the last couple of years he was having some problems with his left eye, but even then he did not let it become an excuse to stop writing. With the other stationary, there was the addition of a magnifying glass to help him read the fine print. I have seen him sitting till late night working at his computer, getting jittery with its unknown functions, but he would never give up so easily. But there had been times when he had to miss the column due to ill health or some other problems and this made him feel pretty bad.
Baba had always been an ardent bridge player. I don't know when exactly he developed his love for bridge, believed to an intellectual's game, but what I have seen is that was the only game he played with passion. Although, he was good at chess, and also taught me the game, but his obsession with bridge was quite overwhelming. He loved throwing bridge parties at home.
In recent months his health had deteriorated and he was hardly socialising, but the only thing which he did not let go was this game. On Saturdays he would go to Karachi Gymkhana to enjoy the game with his bridge buddies.
He was keen on reading more and more about the game and had a vast collection of books on it, which he was very proud of. It was a usual sight to see him looking for a book, misplaced in his thinker's clutter. After he would give up, he would call me out to carry on the search. Nothing gave him much pleasure than finding a lost book. This had helped me remember by heart the names of some at the books and their authors.
Though it is nothing to feel proud of, yet I took pride in boasting of that in front of Baba. His hundreds of books on bridge were like a treasure to him. At his bedside, other than Diwan-e-Ghalib, there was often a book on bridge as well. I wonder what would happen to his collection. Perhaps, we can give them away to the library of Karachi Gymkhana, of which he was a member and also its bridge secretary.
I had often asked him to teach me that game as well, since I wanted to follow him, but I think I was not too keen in my yearning to learn the game. Many times he had said you must first read about the game before you actually sit at the bridge table. But that never happened, and I don't think it will ever; The King of hearts is no more there.