Eternal: Chapter 1 – 4

Saba lay awake in her room hoping that her dad might knock and tell her that everything was okay. She could hear him arguing with her mother but it didn’t last long. Soon, the house was silent and her room echoed with time ticking away. The fluorescent stars on her ceiling reminded her to hold onto herself in times when she couldn’t see the light.

Her mind kept running in circles over the events of the evening. She had stopped journaling a long time ago for she had been caught too many times and her thoughts were better safe inside her rather than put on display for a shame game on a Sunday evening at the dinner table. What did she do this time? This question kept surfacing again and again which was another reason why she had been awake at two in the morning.

---

Mornings were now a thing Saba dreaded. Instead of imbuing her with encouragement to chase her dreams, they leeched her of ambition and self-worth. She was hardly getting enough sleep. The prospect of wasting a scholarship kept her wide awake at night and the fear of losing it made her restless. She had worked hard and it had finally paid off. But the final boss battle was something she had never thought about: her family standing in her way

‘Dad, did you, um, talk to mum?’ Saba asked her father two days later as she sat down to eat breakfast.
‘What’s out there that you can’t study here?’ her father asked.

‘Of all the people,’ she said and her voice started to break into a cough as her father looked at her. ‘I thought you would be happy for me.’

‘I am! I just can’t explain how much proud I feel for having a daughter like you,’ her father beamed as the sun eclipsed his face into the background.

‘A daughter you wouldn’t trust to be responsible on her own,’ she said in a low voice, still looking down at her bowl of cereal.

‘I trust you, Saba.’

‘But not enough to let me take the scholarship?’

‘It’s not about that! This is a tough decision -‘

‘About my future, baba! And I have worked all these years for it.’

‘We want what’s best for you, beyta’ her father tried to explain.

‘And getting a free education isn’t in my best interests?’ Saba looked at her father with eyes that were turning a light shade of red.
‘Girls are not supposed to go out and live on their own. You don’t know how twisted this world is,’ her mother chimed in as if taking to a wall. She then glided towards the stove, ignoring her presence and continue to cook an egg while she hummed on a tune from Waheed Murad’s film.

‘I gotta go,’ Saba said as she left the table without taking the need to explain the day’s schedule to her mother. Exhausted, she left the house with a polite ‘I’ll be back by sunset.’
She had no energy left to try and win the battle on her own. She wasn’t the enemy here. It was the entire patriarchal society and like most Pakistani parents, hers couldn’t see the fault in their judgement either.

---

Three days later
Today was just like any other day, except that Saba was woken up by her brother.
‘Baji, hurry, they’re all waiting for you!’
Startled by the loud murmur of the voices downstairs, she dashed into the bathroom, splashed water onto her face and hurried downstairs. She walked into the living room, a green dupatta thrown over her head and found it occupied by her parents and a guest that made her smile bashfully.
‘There she is, the future of anthropology!’ Professor Ahmad, said as he raised her hand to pat Saba’s head.

Professor Ahmad was the Chair of the Department of Applied Sciences and her mentor. He had also been her thesis supervisor last term and she would often call him her surrogate father.
‘What a surprise, sir!’ Saba bowed a bit and went to sit beside her mother and father.
‘Had a good sleep?’ Her dad asked as he handed her a teacup.
‘Ji, baba,’ she said softly feeling the air around her getting thicker.
‘I couldn’t sleep at all if you ask me,’ Saba’s mother said. ‘How could a mother sleep knowing that her daughter wants to go and live alone in another country!’
Saba caught a glance of her father with his eyebrows raised in a here-we-go-again manner.
‘Students, live in hostels all the time, bhabi,’ Professor Ahmad said.
‘Not girls from eastern families. All sorts of things happen at hostels these days, the news is full of that stuff. I wouldn’t put my daughter through that mess.’
Professor Ahmed gave Saba a defeated look and turned towards her father.
‘Well, in the end, you are her parents. And of course, you’d want the best for your daughter.
‘I, on the other hand, would request you as a friend, to send her for the year and see if things work out. She’s a gifted one in both arts and sciences. A girl with brains like her will always be an asset to her family.’
‘She’s turning twenty-four and she needs to get married, not another degree. People talk all the time and I feel ashamed to use academics as an excuse!’ her mother replied.
The rest of the things that were said after that moment held no meaning to Saba. She had excused herself from the scene explaining how urgent it was to attend a meeting at the office that she was running late from. Of course, the meeting only ever happened inside her own head. She couldn’t understand why her family was unable to see beyond the horizons of their inbred beliefs.
Her mother and father were highly educated individuals. Both of them were her role models in pursuit of her goals. Her father has pushed her to excel. Her mother had always told her that she was the best daughter anyone could have hoped for. Why would all of their love and pride end at a thing as petty as marriage?
Every time her mother brought up the subject of matrimony, Saba felt more isolated from her than ever. Constant comparisons of other girls in her family over how good their married life was pushing her to the edge every day and she struggled to maintain control of her temper in front of her parents and siblings.
Too often, she would pen up a poem or doodle on the blank spaces of the telephone diary. Sometimes, she would paint a picture or sketch a friend’s face as an attempt to get back at the society that was trying to steal her dreams. But it wasn’t enough.
People talk all the time!
Indeed they do, reassured the thoughts inside her head. In fact, that is the only thing they ever do.
The fear of words flowing from a man’s mouth about their reputation had ruined countless lives. Lives of talented people that more so often, happen to have breasts. The same thought had stopped girls in their tracks from pursuing their ambition, clipped their wings and forced them into invisible chains of slavery, just to feed the male ego.
But she had decided she was not going to be another victim. . .

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. . . [4/4]

-> Next ‘Chapter 2’

Eternal: Paperback

Eternal: Chapter 1 – 3

‘Congratulations!’

It was the first word Saba heard when she entered the supervisor’s office. The first word that would be the cause of her nightmares for the next few days.

‘Thank you, sir,’ Saba said pulling out a chair and sitting in front of Mr. Razzaq.

‘I haven’t submitted the draft yet, so I really don’t understand the cause, unless,’ she paused to sip more tea from the styrofoam cup.

‘Unless that was sarcasm,’ she continued, munching on the last piece of samosa.

‘I’ve never liked the kind of tea you’re drinking.’ Mr. Razzaq pointed at the cup in her hand with the tea bag thread dangling on the side. ‘The taste isn’t good, and the cheap disposable container just ruins the experience.’

Saba smiled at the man’s attempt to appease her aesthetics. Ever since she joined the editorial board of her university’s newsroom, news of her being a published author spread like wildfire. It wasn’t long before the faculty members started asking her to host the Annual Literary Festival at the campus. Mr. Razzaq had first met her after she had just finished reciting a poem.

‘I write poetry too,’ he had said trying to praise her for her eloquence and Saba had asked him to share some of his writings with her. He probably would have, had they existed in the first place.

Knobbly, gnome-like, the supervisor was just one of the few people Saba did not like in the university. She could list a million things that were better than trying to have a conversation with him. A lot of students taking up research in the department suckered up to him in hopes of getting a good placement, or a recommendation but people pleasing was just the kind of thing she abhorred.

‘It’s a pity you won’t let me have a kettle in my office,’ Saba tried to be polite but failed miserably.

‘I suppose I should. Now that you’ve earned the privilege,’ Mr. Razzaq turned towards the printer and picked up a paper from the tray.

‘I wonder what I did to upset you this time,’ she said looking at the clock anxiously. 5:20 P.M. It was almost sunset and she did not want to hear another lecture about how girls should be inside their houses before Maghrib.

Twenty minutes to go before dad starts acting like Liam Neeson from Taken.

‘Here it is,’ Mr. Razzaq said as he handed the paper to Saba.

‘Here’s what,’ she retorted and her forced smile turned into a gasp.

‘Well?’

‘Are you sure it’s for me?’ She looked at the supervisor, waiting for him to clear any signs of confusion.

‘It’s yours. An offer for a fellowship paid in full.’

---

 

The news had not been a source of joy and pride for her. Instead, it had caused chaos in her house. She was called twice by her mother on her way from the university and a cold stare by her father upon entering the threshold.

‘How many times do we need to tell you that you need to be at home before dark,’ said her mother as Saba wiped her freshly washed face and covered her head with a dupatta. She remained quiet as she hastily unrolled the prayer mat for the dusk prayer.

Joining her family at the dinner table, Saba broke the news.

‘Guess what happened today,’ she sang the last word.

‘You topped another exam,’ her brother, Shahzeb, said in a dry voice without looking away from the TV screen.

‘Or she got a star from one of her teachers,’ teased her little sister, handing her a chapati.

Ignoring the remarks, she yearned for her parent’s attention.

‘Mom, dad, you’d want to listen to what I have to say,’ she said as her mother sat beside her and her father switched off the television ignoring the wincing of Shahzeb.

‘I’m listening,’ her father smiled.

‘I got a scholarship to Germany!’ Saba’s voice rose a few decibels.

‘You’re kidding,’ her father smiled, taking off his spectacles and wiping the sweat of his brow.

‘Here’s the letter,’ Saba perched from her chair to hand her father a small piece of paper.

‘She’s not going anywhere,’ her mother snatched it midway. She rose from the table with a foul look on her face as though her worst nightmare had come true and stomped out of the dining hall.

‘Mom…’ Saba called after her but was stopped by her dad who reassured her that he would take care of the situation.

‘Eat up. I’ll go talk to your mother,’ said her father in a low voice before walking out of the room.

---

… to be continued [3/4]

 <- Read Previous

The Undying Heart

There’s a rhythm to the sound of your name
That leaves me spellbound
I’ve got new blood flowing in my veins
But my heart flutters at your sight
And every time I close my eyes
I’m wrapped in your warm embrace
As the traffic flows beneath my feet

I feel like Lazarus
And death is an old comrade
I’ve woken up in this strange land
Where the names that sound like you
Are never the same
Where your thoughts keep me safe
From this broken world
And the moon reminds me
of your undying love
Where the scent of your skin
is the only perfume I wear
And the light in your eyes
drives away my fears

I promised you before
And in this new life again
My heart belongs to you, my love
In sickness, in suffering, in health and pain
My loyalty towards you will forever remain

© 2018

Eternal: Chapter One – 1

2nd December 2016

10: 55 am

First ring. Second ring.

‘Yes, dear.’

‘Salaam, chachu, can you please let me know if there’s a flight from Islamabad to Germany?’

‘Stay on the line…’

‘… In the evening?’

Two minutes later

‘There is one at 11 AM, every day. You’ve missed that already.’

‘Not morning, I need one in the evening.’

‘What’s in the evening?’

‘Just a matter of convenience,’ I imitate a friendly cough.

‘Daylight not good enough for you?’

‘My friend wants to go, so he wanted one in the evening.’

My uncle mumbles something in his mouth as I hear keyboard presses in the background. The background is filled with the usual office noises: typing, clicking, someone yelling about the toner being empty, a phone starts ringing. someone’s asking for chai when my Uncle speaks again.

‘There is one today.’

‘How about next week?’

‘Not until next month. All seats are  booked for the next three weeks.’

‘Why?’ I wail, extending the vowel.

‘Cause it’s holiday season, dumbass. There are three flights from Islamabad every day. But they’re either early morning or late at night.’

‘Both of these times aren’t suitable.’

‘Mister, you are starting to piss me off. Why is it so important that your friend wants to fly in the evening?

‘I don’t know,’ I hope my uncle doesn’t follow up with his inquiry, ‘Can you book the one that leaves today?

‘I’ll call you back in a minute.’

Crap.

Ring once.

‘Did you get it?’

‘There’s one in the evening, today, and then the next month.’

‘Don’t fool me, Haris! I’ve got the airline schedule in front of me.’

‘I’m not! Check for availability, they’re all booked!’

‘I can’t put it till next month. The deadline’s in a week’

‘I’ve asked my uncle to get one for the evening.’

‘How? There are no seats left!’

‘Let’s just wait for his response.’’

11:15 am

Incoming call alert.

‘Hold on, please.’ I switch to the other call. ‘Yes, Chachu?’

‘You have one hour and thirty minutes before the booking closes.’

‘Should I send you her email address?’

‘Her? Wait a minute!’

‘Long story, I’ll explain,’ I speak as the first drop of sweat appears on my forehead.

‘Why would I need her email?’

‘To send her the ticket?’

‘I haven’t bought the ticket because the system is not letting me.’

‘But, you said there are seats available for today!’

‘There are, but we’re too late to secure one. Your friend needs to reach the airport and get to the Emirates help desk. Once there, ask for Mr Farjad. Mention my name and he’ll handle the rest.’

I scribble everything down on my tiny notetaking diary.

‘Give me a minute,’ I say before I switch to Saba’s call.

‘How soon can you leave?’

‘How soon are we talking about?’

I glance at the clock in front of me.

‘Right now kinda soon?’

‘What!’ Her voice sounded weird with all the static that has been going on recently.

I explain everything to her finally gasping for air as I finish the entire story.

‘Please, can you do it now?’

‘Are you for real?’ she says. I hear sounds of paper and drawers on the other side until she finally speaks again. ‘So I’ll go get ready then…’

‘Stay on the line!’

‘Haris!’

‘How would I get to know if you made it to the airport?’

‘How am I going to make it if you won’t get off the phone!’

‘Okay, alright! I’m sorry. Just let me know when you get the ticket.’

‘I owe you, Haris!’

‘Not at all,’ I reply when all I wanted to say was, ‘I love you, be safe.’

---

. . . to be continued [1/4]

<- Read the prologue

Eternal: Prologue

 

If you’d look at me right now, you’d see an old man sitting in an armchair. Look around and you’d see that my room is quite minimalistic. My armchair faces the balcony which is visible through large glass doors that slide into an ornate wooden frame. This is my favourite place in the house. I often fall asleep sitting here, by accident of course.

My desk is the next most interesting thing that you’d find in this room. It has an old laptop, a notepad, and three photo frames. One for each of the people that hold a place in my heart. She’s in one of them with her mother. I check the notifications on my phone hoping to have one from her.

I called her today but someone from the office said that she had an important meeting. I often wonder about this small word important. We human beings are fickle to the core. We use words without measuring the weight of their impact. For example, this word ‘important’ is thrown into a conversation so effortlessly as a means to evade unpleasant situations or people that the recurrence of this behaviour has made the word lose its actual meanings.

I make a mental note of calling her in a while. People need to be reminded that they are loved.  My eyes dart towards the sky and I see the moon shining like a bright orb, slightly illuminating the faint outline of Margala hills. The moon makes me want to sit a little while longer. Sometimes, I feel, as if the moon keeps a watch over me, just like an old friend. A friend that is always there but you never really meet because, well, life happens.

Selenophile – that’s the word used for people who love the moon. My gaze lingers over the horizon, on the tiny blips of light that move along dimly lit roads and vanish at the base of the mountains. At this point, my thoughts linger back to you.

Do you ever wonder what death feels like?

I often think about it when I go to bed. It’s one of the recurring thoughts that visit you at forty. Today was like every day, just another day without you. I wonder if I’ll ever hear your voice again.

Will I ever see you again?

Will I ever get to hold your hand? I really wish I could.

Do you even think about me?

Miss me as much as I miss you?

Do you even remember me?

I close my eyes and I see waves. Somewhere in my mind, a slow humming starts as I walk along the beach. The clock seems to move slower than usual. I hear the kettle whistling on the stove but the ocean seems to hold my attention for now. The humming has grown into sounds of laughter mingling with the sound of the sea crashing against the shore.

I recognize the slow hum of the rhythm. It makes me smile and I recline further into my armchair. The air feels warmer than before, like a fuzzy sweater hugging to your skin on a cold winter morning. I hear your voice but I can’t see you. The childish melody of the synth resonates in my mind.

I’m climbing down the escalators, my backpack straddled against my waist like an overweight rock. My heart is racing. A gust of evening wind strikes my face and chills me to the bone. The phone in my hand could beep any second. I wait near the ticketing booth, looking at the road beneath my feet evident through a mesh of trailer steel painted yellow.

The sun sets on the outskirts of the city and my phone beeps.

I’m just around the corner, waiting at the signal.

If you could look at my face you’d realize I am scared beyond my wits. Am I having second thoughts? I’m scared of first impressions. Here I am, standing moments away from the person who holds my heart, in flesh and blood. It wasn’t imaginary even though it seemed like a fairy tale. This time, it wasn’t crossing a thousand miles over electromagnetic waves. Instead, a few hundred kilometres between two cities was enough for a lifetime. My gaze frantically searches for you through the bustling crowd in front of me, behind me and all around me. I am scared, alone in a city that I know nothing about and this giant platform of the Metro Bus Station is the only thing that is keeping me standing above the ground.

Then I turn. It’s just a glimpse. A glimpse of your eyes, the slight curve of your mouth and then there was nothing. Nothing except a feeling of warmth and peace creeping over me, filling my senses with a strange calmness, and the smell of strawberry and marshmallows, and of warm sweaters and cosy socks.

They say that the mind regresses to its happiest memories in the last moments of our lives. We go through a summarized version of it skimming through every defeat and victory, every loss and achievement. Every single person that you’ve met in your life cross your mind like a film reel on fast forward. Only the lucky few have a face or two where the reel stops for eternity.

---

 

Next Post: On the necessity of marriage

This is Why I Need You

The post is another excerpt from my new book, Eternal. I wrote this part with immense difficulty as it is really close to my heart and my memory does no justice to my feelings.

Play this beautiful track by Jesse Ruben before you begin reading.

---

I could never understand my father. As cryptic as ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics, the man I love so much was finally beginning to make sense. The tattered pages in my hand serve as my guide; my compass in search of the North Star. I slow down descending the ramp and halting at a junction of traffic lights. Infront of me was Kulsum International Hospital, reflecting the entire road from it’s all glass front panel.

Twenty years and nothing has changed.

But things had changed, and I was going to realize that sooner than ever. I continued forward, taking the road ahead, frequently checking my GPS until I came across the signboard that read ‘Ayub National Park’.

A few minutes later, I was sitting in one of the cute benches as I stared at the almost empty lawns at three in the afternoon. Of course, no one in their right minds would visit a park this early. Women, at this time, are either fixing lunch, washing the dishes, or sending their kids off to tuition centres so they’d get some time to nap before the evening grind.

I flipped to the last few pages of dad’s journal. His writing was still beautiful, blue ink fading into cursive letters sunk in pages turned to gold by time. And I begin reading where I left last night…

– – –

I had gone over it in my head countless times but when the moment came, I wasn’t ready, I just wasn’t. We only had a few hours and the sun was racing against the horizon. Too soon, it was dusk and the moon was shining like a white orb on a starless night. I worried if I was stealing time from his family, but I was afraid of never seeing him again, something that was inevitable, something that I never wanted to happen. We sat down in the parking lot as I built up the courage inside me and looked at him. He was waiting for an answer.

“Where should we go next?”

I hesitated for a moment.

“Home,” I said. “I don’t want to keep Pops waiting.”

I tried to be polite and smiled. The Uber came a little too soon and before we knew, we were halfway towards our destination.

“Hey, here’s a song for you,” I said as I handed him my earphones.

I knew it was going to be awkward but at the same time, I had to clear out all doubts and perhaps, apologize for the things I couldn’t do right. The driver was constantly peeping through the rear-view mirror prohibiting my hand to reach out and hold his.

Cause you make the darkness less dark, you make the edge less sharp, you make the winter feel warmer…

I turn my head away making an innocent gesture as the scarf around my neck absorbed the waterfall in my eyes. I was known to be a person who could never shut up and here I was – dumbstruck, at a loss of words, moments away from seeing the love of my life most probably for the last time – completely frozen in time.

You are the who, love is the what, and this is the why…

I turned around and caught a glimpse of him wiping the corner of his eye, his head tilted at an angle, facing the road slipping away from sight.

“Is that it?” he said in a soft voice that rose above the air settling like cobwebs and thick dust on an old tombstone. 

“Yeah,” I said clearing out my throat.

“I like upbeat songs, mostly,” he said smiling. It was his way of subtly letting me know he got the message but was unable to voice it for whatever the reason.

– – –

I slow down into a narrow alley and park beside a row of houses. This diary was finally at its destination. Walking towards the lane, I stopped halfway beneath an archway covered by morning glories hung like tiny bells swaying gently in the summer breeze. I look around.

For a moment, it feels like I have travelled back in time. My dad stood on this very pavement that my car is occupying right now. I can see him trying hard to stop himself from breaking down as he whispers something in Ali’s ears. Who knew it would take me twenty years to find this place.

The place where everything ended before it finally began.

---

Eternal will be available on 22nd July 2018.

No Rocket Science

“Before you grow up, you must fall in love 3 times.

Once you must fall in love with your best friend, ruining your friendship forever. This will teach you who your true friends are, and the fine line between friendship and more.

Then Once you must fall in love with someone you believe to be perfect. You will learn that no one is perfect and that you should never be treated as any less than you deserve.

And once again you must fall in love with someone that is exactly like you. This will teach you about who you are, and who you want to be.

And when you’re through with all that, you learn that the people who care about you the most are the ones that you hurt, and the ones that hurt you are the ones that you needed the most.

But most of all, you learn that love is only a concept and is not something that can be defined, it is different to each person that experiences it. And you will learn to respect each and every person on this earth, knowing that everyone only wants to be loved.”

Fading February

Would you believe if I tell you that you mean the world to me and that every morning when I wake up I think of you and with the first beep of my cell phone I wish it was your text. Throughout the day I remember you and the tiny little similarities between you and the world all around me. When I sleep I hope to dream of you and even when I don’t I recall of the memories. What little bit of them I have of you. To be honest, I don’t know where and why life put us on this road, what has been done is written in stone now. And with time you are finally fading out, slipping from my grasp like grains of sand and I am worn out and tired protecting the souvenirs of your memories. Sum it all up you complete my world like you used to seven years back. And although things may appear different to the world its still the same and in each of the spaces of my words your absence is defeaning, destructive, debilitating; lethal. Let me say it now after all this time. I love you and I will forever miss you.

 

 Translation:

Amidst the dark veil of the night

He traced with his fingers

an ‘I love you’

on the palm of my hand

I wonder what kind of ink it was

invisible, unseen, unerasable …

Tell me your dreams

They say when people fall asleep, empty cities come to life. They whisper things that make the heart of their people, and the trees rustle in the night wind singing of all the love in the land. The sea crashes against the shore in solidarity with unrequited hearts and sometimes the clouds rain in a desperate attempt to reach out those who stay up all night sewing their hearts back together. But it is the love between the moon and the stars, the sun and the wax wings; the sky and the skyscrapers; between continents impossibly apart and tiny islands that drown with the love of the ocean that is worth talking about. It is #love that is #eternal.