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He Paid My Student Fees

I do not want to give my name because the family do not know this. When I was a student at Birmingham University my family ran out of money in my second year and I did not know what I would do. Farrukh Karimov heard about it through someone at the mosque and paid my fees directly to the university without telling anyone. He refused any repayment. He said I should pay it forward when I could. I am a doctor now. I have paid it forward twice. I am so sorry for your loss.

Anonymous · 8 Jun 2026

The Textiles

Baba's eye for fabric was extraordinary. He could feel a bolt of cloth between his fingers for two seconds and tell you the thread count, the country of origin, and whether it had been treated. Shopkeepers used to call him not to buy but to ask his opinion. He thought that was funny. He never charged for the advice. "Knowledge is not a product," he would say.

Dilnoza Karimova · 8 Jun 2026

What He Said at Malika's Funeral

When Malika died, we were all so worried about Farrukh. He stood at her graveside and he did not weep — he held himself very still. Afterwards, when I asked him how he was, he said, "She is home before me. I have only to catch up." That was all. He never stopped loving her. In those last years you would sometimes find him sitting in her armchair, quite quietly, not doing anything. Just sitting.

Fatima Nazarova · 8 Jun 2026

Forty Years at the Mosque

Brother Farrukh was part of this mosque before I arrived, and I have been coming here for twenty-two years. He was not on any committee, never sought any title. He would arrive early and leave late. He fixed things when they were broken. He quietly settled disputes between younger men who did not know yet how to back down with dignity. That is a skill that cannot be taught — only earned. We did not know until after his death how much he had given. That is very much his character.

Khalid Rahman · 8 Jun 2026

His Voice at Fajr

I grew up hearing Baba recite Qur'an in the mornings. He would wake before anyone else, make wudu quietly so as not to disturb us, and then you would hear him — not loudly, but carrying through the walls — reciting Surah Yasin. I did not always appreciate it as a child. Now I would give anything to hear it again. That sound was safety. That sound was home.

Dilnoza Karimova · 8 Jun 2026

Plov on Fridays

Every Friday without fail, Baba would cook plov. Not a quick version — the proper way, the Uzbek way, with cotton-seed oil and the lamb cooked low for hours. The whole house smelled of cumin and saffron from noon onwards. Friends, neighbours, anyone who happened to be passing — he would not hear of them not staying. The table was never big enough. He would eat last, standing in the kitchen, making sure everyone else had what they needed before he sat down.

Rustam Karimov · 8 Jun 2026

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