“Some Voices Never Die” A tribute to Sir Yaseen Irfan Mohtisham

By: Shaimaa Peshimam

“Hazaaron saal nargis apni be-nuri pe roti hai
Badi mushkil se hota hai chaman mein dida-var paida.”
— Allama Iqbal

I was woken up to the news “Students and Colleagues Mourn the Passing of 43-Year-Old Mohtesham Academy Founder and Renowned Educator Yaseen Mohtesham”, and since then, sleep hasn’t visited me. Not even for a blink. I’m still in denial. Still unable to wrap my head around the fact that you’re gone, Sir. They say some losses come like lightning – unexpected, loud, and terrifying – but this. this was a silence so deafening that it shook Bhatkal.
Late Thursday night, the voice that always reached our hearts with wisdom, warmth, wit, and unmatched clarity was shut forever. Sir Yaseen Irfan Mohtesham… even writing these words out feels otherworldly. You were not just a teacher; you were an experience, a force, a spark of life that touched us all in a way words can barely hold.
I can still very clearly remember the day I walked into your class. A normal Tuesday morning in August 2021. I had no idea at the time, but that day would turn out to be one of the highest points of change in my life. It was my parents who encouraged me to attend your sessions they had faith in you even before I did. And they were right. The moment you spoke in class during the initial lecture, with this tremendous mix of humility and laughter, I knew that I was in for something life-changing. Your course wasn’t like the others it wasn’t somber but strong. It wasn’t difficult, yet it was fiercely disciplined. It wasn’t melodramatic, yet it was authentic. Authentic in the most beautiful sense.
I was nervous at first. A man teacher, a new group. But you broke that. You changed me. Gradually, unaware, I became more vocal, more confident. And I wasn’t even aware of it until my family told me “You’re getting back to being the old you again.” The one who never had an issue speaking out, who felt comfortable in school, who felt heard.
You did not merely teach us. You touched us. You saw each student individually, not as a roll number, but as a human being with issues, talent, and ambition. You never made anyone feel lesser. Even when we were messing up, you corrected us with a smile, a soft “beta,” and a laugh that erased the blushes. You were never the kind of teacher who commanded respect. You earned it. Every single day.
And now, to see your janazah… to see the sea of people who cared for you it said everything your words once said. Two janazah salah in two masjids, SubhanAllah. What a beautiful sign of acceptance. You died on a Thursday night, and your funeral was performed during Jummah the most auspicious moments of the week. How many of us would hope for such a conclusion? Ma Sha Allah, Allah surely blessed you.
May God ease every tribulation in your grave. Fill it with noor as your smile had filled our hearts. Reward every intention you ever had, every dream you were working on, every life you had touched including ours. Give your family the strength that even we, your students, are finding difficult to find. If our hearts are so burdened, I can only begin to imagine your wife and children, your siblings. Ya Allah, grant patience to them. Wrap them in Your mercy.
Sir, you were exploring the heights that you had always dreamed of. Your reels, your talks, your interactions all spoke of a man on a mission. A man who loved his students so much, believed in his people so much, and was so close to initiating a revolution about how we understand education and religion. You were not just a mentor, but a bridge between worlds Deen and Duniya, past and present, knowledge and heart.
You kept us in stitches and encouraged us all at the same time. Your dialects, your stories about your university days they were far more than funny stories, they were lessons. Small peepholes into your world which encouraged us to take our own path.
You told us your hopes, of what you wanted to do in Bhatkal… and now you’ve left them with us maybe undone, but never forsaken. Because those dreams are now our responsibility to uphold.
Bhatkal has seen the loss of great souls first Marhoom Moulana Abdul Bari Fakarde Nadwi, then Marhoom Moulana Iqbal Mulla Nadwi… and now you. Each one a pillar. Each one a heart. And now that you’re gone too, there’s a void that words can’t describe. A silence in our streets, in our institutions, in our hearts. The kind of silence that echoes forever.
How do we move beyond someone like you? A teacher, a mentor, a brother, a friend. Someone who never required flattery, but lived a legacy so formidable, it will endure for generations. Someone who understood that to teach wasn’t just to talk, but to touch and you touched every heart that came in contact with you.
To our very own Yaseen Sir the man who someday imagined doing something, and did, even in a span of years thank you. Thank you for believing in us when we didn’t yet believe in ourselves. Thank you for loving us with love that never hinged upon transaction. Thank you for being exactly what this generation needed honest, hopeful, and humane.
The world doesn’t seem quite the same any more. The halls of our institutions grow cold. The screens once aglow with your message are dark. But we will carry your voice, your laughter, your flame not merely in memory, but in action. You’ve taught us more than mere facts. You’ve taught us courage.
Ya Allah, please forgive all the khidmah Sir performed. Multiply every reward. Forgive his sins. Shield him from the trial of the grave and the Day of Judgement. Let him rest with the righteous, in gardens below which rivers flow. And when it’s our turn to leave this world, let us meet him again smiling, as usual.
Ameen.