g'nite and g'luck!
last friday i was rushed to the hospital and doctors concurred that my ruptured appendix warranted immediate removal. Today, almost 10 days later, i pulled the stitches out. There is a scar on my stomach. It hurts sometimes.
The house is full of family. im glad school resumes tomorrow. mocks are looming. the o level exams are drawing closer. i hope my students do well. I've given it my all.
mariam asked me write something for a competition on social responsibility. i suggested she should do the presentation on the re-socialization of acid victims. she agreed. I wrote the essay for a batch of brownies.
I shifted nervously in my seat as the students murmured. I rose slowly and a hush cast itself over the entire class. “Hello, my name is Natasha and I’ve done my B.Sc in Neuroscience from the Government College, Lahore. I will be teaching you Human Behaviour” I said in a confident tone; an introduction that would have sufficed for any other lecturer on that floor... but I knew that this class would still be curious. There was an unanswered question, a five ton elephant in the room that was begging elaboration. “How did she get those scars on her face?” came an almost inaudible whisper.
The completion of my bachelors threw into sharp relief my age and eligibility. My parents started weighing the merits of potential suitors and after much deliberation decided on Ameen. More than anything else he had remarkable potential. His future was bright and held prospects that would be rewarding. I felt it. He wanted good things for both of us. My parents were gleaming. They ordered Mithai and distributed it to the entire Mohalla.
A few days later I answered a knock on the door. It was Furqaan, a lecherous juvenile that would eye me every chance he got. ‘My father isn’t home’ I told him. He leered and rammed the door open. I fell to the ground. There was hate in his eyes. Evil had crept into his soul and was manifesting itself before me. I was terrified. “If I can’t have you, no one can” he spewed.
It felt like molten sulphur searing my flesh. I screamed. I cried for my mother, my father. The world was on fire. Violent hazy spirals punctuated by my own deafening shouts. I staggered, I stumbled, I cried and cried. Could no one hear me?
My eyelids felt heavy. I could make out silhouettes through layers of bandages. Everything was blurry. God himself was blurry. I slept.
I woke. Indistinct chatter intermittently broke the silence. I could make out only words and phrases. Bechari... acid victim... skin grafting... but they’re never the same. I slept.
I woke. The doctor had a contorted countenance as he removed the bandage. The silence only broken by the clipping of his sheers. He finished and it returned. I thought it had returned forever.
Days turned into weeks and years. I would keep myself locked in my room. I knew outside that my parents were crying, that slowly inexorably they were turning into gaunt spectres with only gaunt thoughts to sustain them. I cut all correspondence with Ameen and resigned myself to my own convoluted existence. Two and half years in something happened.
Initially my scepticism and apathy was so thick that she could have cut through it with a kitchen knife. Initially, I felt that her sessions were some infantile temporary fancy. Some graded class assignment, an interesting subject for a term paper... but with time, consistency, compassion and endearment she made me lower my guard. She broke through. She spoke to me of the less fortunate. She spoke to me of God. She spoke to me of all things, from the very trivial to the deeply profound and in due course, colours excited me once more. I saw the hand of god in the drizzle, the chirping of birds in flight, the smile on another’s face. I felt the warmth of my parents, their undying love and compassion.
The rays of the sun filtered through the yellow glass of the Roshandan and fell on the floor. There was silence. Only the occasional yell of the milkman making his rounds so early in the morning. The world beckoned and the truth is I was scared but knew that this was the final stroke that would slay my demons. God gives us hope and most of all He gives is faith. I drew a deep breath and with a silent prayer opened the door and stepped into the world.
well, it was short notice and its been a while since ive written anything at all. mariam will probably take the pictures from depilex smile again foundation. hope she does well.
itll probably be a month before football resumes. sigh. the lake is empty. the days are empty too. no matter. i must content myself with dreams of grandeur. until we meet again, adieu.
The house is full of family. im glad school resumes tomorrow. mocks are looming. the o level exams are drawing closer. i hope my students do well. I've given it my all.
mariam asked me write something for a competition on social responsibility. i suggested she should do the presentation on the re-socialization of acid victims. she agreed. I wrote the essay for a batch of brownies.
I shifted nervously in my seat as the students murmured. I rose slowly and a hush cast itself over the entire class. “Hello, my name is Natasha and I’ve done my B.Sc in Neuroscience from the Government College, Lahore. I will be teaching you Human Behaviour” I said in a confident tone; an introduction that would have sufficed for any other lecturer on that floor... but I knew that this class would still be curious. There was an unanswered question, a five ton elephant in the room that was begging elaboration. “How did she get those scars on her face?” came an almost inaudible whisper.
The completion of my bachelors threw into sharp relief my age and eligibility. My parents started weighing the merits of potential suitors and after much deliberation decided on Ameen. More than anything else he had remarkable potential. His future was bright and held prospects that would be rewarding. I felt it. He wanted good things for both of us. My parents were gleaming. They ordered Mithai and distributed it to the entire Mohalla.
A few days later I answered a knock on the door. It was Furqaan, a lecherous juvenile that would eye me every chance he got. ‘My father isn’t home’ I told him. He leered and rammed the door open. I fell to the ground. There was hate in his eyes. Evil had crept into his soul and was manifesting itself before me. I was terrified. “If I can’t have you, no one can” he spewed.
It felt like molten sulphur searing my flesh. I screamed. I cried for my mother, my father. The world was on fire. Violent hazy spirals punctuated by my own deafening shouts. I staggered, I stumbled, I cried and cried. Could no one hear me?
My eyelids felt heavy. I could make out silhouettes through layers of bandages. Everything was blurry. God himself was blurry. I slept.
I woke. Indistinct chatter intermittently broke the silence. I could make out only words and phrases. Bechari... acid victim... skin grafting... but they’re never the same. I slept.
I woke. The doctor had a contorted countenance as he removed the bandage. The silence only broken by the clipping of his sheers. He finished and it returned. I thought it had returned forever.
Days turned into weeks and years. I would keep myself locked in my room. I knew outside that my parents were crying, that slowly inexorably they were turning into gaunt spectres with only gaunt thoughts to sustain them. I cut all correspondence with Ameen and resigned myself to my own convoluted existence. Two and half years in something happened.
Initially my scepticism and apathy was so thick that she could have cut through it with a kitchen knife. Initially, I felt that her sessions were some infantile temporary fancy. Some graded class assignment, an interesting subject for a term paper... but with time, consistency, compassion and endearment she made me lower my guard. She broke through. She spoke to me of the less fortunate. She spoke to me of God. She spoke to me of all things, from the very trivial to the deeply profound and in due course, colours excited me once more. I saw the hand of god in the drizzle, the chirping of birds in flight, the smile on another’s face. I felt the warmth of my parents, their undying love and compassion.
The rays of the sun filtered through the yellow glass of the Roshandan and fell on the floor. There was silence. Only the occasional yell of the milkman making his rounds so early in the morning. The world beckoned and the truth is I was scared but knew that this was the final stroke that would slay my demons. God gives us hope and most of all He gives is faith. I drew a deep breath and with a silent prayer opened the door and stepped into the world.
well, it was short notice and its been a while since ive written anything at all. mariam will probably take the pictures from depilex smile again foundation. hope she does well.
itll probably be a month before football resumes. sigh. the lake is empty. the days are empty too. no matter. i must content myself with dreams of grandeur. until we meet again, adieu.
posted by Azam at 10:11 PM
3 comments
