I am your average girl with not so average circumstances… not according to me, I am the girl who never had a male role model. My father never owned me… he never verbally rejected me but his actions spoke for himself. I saw it when Mona or purwa was born, when he interacted with my boy cousins, when he talked to sons of his friends…. it showed. His frds who had sons showed off while my dad never seemed proud of us. Going to malls or bazaar, I frlt embarassed and weird cuz my dad never cared where we are…he nevr inte3racted with us… In car we had to be siklent cuz he got irritated cuz of nnoise. …laugh, giggle…those kinda noises usually. I got sexually harassed in malls as a kid, and my dad wouldnt know cuz he would mak sure he was at an ignorant distance. He wasnt ready to be a father… he definitely didnt want to be a father of girls.
Everytime we went to mecca, we were told to pray for a brother and I half heartedly prayed since I thought that was the solution to every fkin problem of ours. Mum wsa scared of him… we were scared of him.. atleast I was. I was petrified of him. I used to freeze everytime i saw my father. I avoided talking to him and communicating…That was my strategy of dealing with the fear. I saw mum and dad fight and amber used to take me to a separate room where we would both sit with our heads down listenin to abuse going on in the other room. Doors banging… people screaming,,,mum crying.. and then silence. After silence was the time when dad would go in drawing room and mum would go sleep. And we would just find something to do quietly. Noone bothered explaininh what had just happened.
Once or twice it happened that mum was pissed and angry and slapped me after a fight with dad and she would hug me ,later apologizing and crying again and again… and I didnt understand why.
I didnt let my dad even touch me. No hugs, no kisses. nothing. My dad never tried to understand why. Amber would, Mona would, Purwa would but I never trusted him. I didnt trust my own father. No physical contact. I didnt even go out with him alone. I wasnt comfortable ever.
And then wehn we went to pakistan for summer vaca, we were told all the past things that my dad did by people. “oh he just wants a son, he wold sell you in a second” “oh he has ruined nasreens life”" he never wanted to have girls….and watch allah will only give him daughters”…like being a daughter was a punishment.. I felt awkwad and embarassed being a daughter. Like I brought shame to my dad. thins like ” khizar whatevery you have done to my daughter, i hope you find out through yours” were said in front of us…. making me feel completely shitty.
And then there was one man who believed in me.. who trusted me..who belived inb my abilities….who thought i ws a super genius kid cuz I would read news paper to him at 4.5 years of age. I would read the poems on story book he gave me. The first thing I always wanted to do when I went to Pakistan was to take my poem book out and read all the poems….one by one… touching every line, every paper……smelling the musky smell of old and paper and closet. I would stare at the book for hours… I felt alive. I would read newspper to him…my grand dad. Him with his white hair and beard, fake teeth that he would scare me with sometimes pretending its a magic trick….and then he would casually put it in his teeth jar… His cane which he would grab any of ours neck by surprise and pull us to bug us…and we would get so embarassed…cuz who saw that one coming? He would always say “feree betee baree kameree” and I would get more proud of myself. Like finally I am someone. I would wake up in morning…or atleast try so I could go for walks wit him….He would wear his dhotee and qameez and do stretches on main door. Then he would go to the ground and walk for an hour in rounds…It was tiring and it used to get very hot and sunny. By the time we woould be back i was dripping sweat and it was as bad as ants on my back…
He would water plants….he would chill with his frds …they would laugh, joke around… and everytime he would see me around, he used to introduce with pride…this is my grand daughter..she can read newspaper…
and then he gets sick…very sick I was told..i was in grade 6. I wasnt taken to hospital cuz I had my exams. I was preparing for my arabic exams. Dad was in jeddah and mum went to see him. He wasnt well. Mum kept on updating us .. and then she called and asked to talk to an adult in the house. I gave the phone to uncle. He hung up and announced casually that dada has passed away. I had ego even then. I just hung my head low while readin my book so noone can see my tears but one tear rolled and fell on my book. I heard my aunt say ” you are crying?” and someone replied “after all it their grandpa, you still feel something” and I quietly left the room. I wanted my mom. I wanted to get out of there.. I wanted to scream and cry… I wanted to be there with my dada when he was in that bed. I wanted to be the last person he saw so he knows that I didnt abandon him at that time. I wanted him to know that I was there for him and somehow I beleived that if I was there with him, maybe he wouldnt have died.maybe he would have held on …just maybe. Maybe? My mum came in morning to take us to dadas house. We had to wear nice clothes….we took a cab to go and stopped at the house. This was the first time I had lost someone and it felt like I lost everything. My brain was numb and I kept on thinking that dada abbu is inside somehwere… I was 11 years old and I had no concept of death.
I saw my chacha with red swollen eyes… and everything was sad. Then my dada came… in a coffin. Evryone kept telling me to look at his face one last time but i was so scared. all the adults kept on forcing me so i went ahead and saw his face. His eyes were closed peacefully and he had cotton buds in his nose and his ears and he was wrapped ina white cloth inside a steel cage coffin. Till thiss day I dont and cant fget that moment. I thought my heart sank and my feet froze. I couldnt move. I wanted to throw up but that when distraction came. a few women came inside the house wailing loudly with no tears iat all. I turned and still remembe how I wanted to smack that woman in her face cuz I had never seen her and here she was wailing like she knew who he was. After wailing for a few seconds, she sropped and looked around to see if anyone appreciated her performance…..and then she went right back to wailing like a banshee. I remember running upstairs and finding my cousins there. We sat there with fingers stuffed in our ears. Too much ego to cry in front of each other. 11 year olds…. wouldnt cry. and then we heard that its time….time to take dada abbu away. and i saw panic in my cousins eyes. Panic…fear… pain. We all saw a bubnch if guys take the coffin and soon there were men everyhwere… we stood upstairs and saw it all through a window. They lifted the coffin and started walking slowly in a group away from home. A wave of panic and anxiety went through me. I almost jumped off the window and screamed “please dont take him.. please dont take him” My cosuins grabbed me and we sat there crying. Noone explained to uis what had just happened. All I knew was that the one man who was proud of me was nomore there.
I was lost. I didnt understand what and why and how… I was lost.
I came downstairs and everyone wa talking abt whats for dinner and when will it be served. Myh aunts were busy preparing and women were talking abt being hungry and I couldnt understand why? how can they eat? Do they not realize what we lost right now?
Noone explained what had just happened. Life moved on.
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