ETCHED IN FORBEARANCE (A MINI SERIES)

EPISODE 06: "LETTERS OF YESTERDAY"

I was amazed as well as a little shocked. My eyes moved towards the fenestrated dustbin where the rest of the broken lilies rested. How could she take out her anger on them? How could she take out her anger on me?

There, lying right outside the bin, was my perfumed note. Crippled and crushed by a powerful hand and then thrown away without even taking a precise shot. It lay there telling me a horrifying story that I didn't want to hear.

Have you ever tried pouring water in a glass until it is full? But you don't stop there. You keep on filling it and the water overlfows from the glass. Can you see that glass? Can you imagine it? Yes, that glass is me.

I have had enough of this. I am that glass and the anger is now spilling out of me. I feel disrespected. I feel betrayed. I feel used. I feel tormented. You can pick a fight with me once and I won't say anything to you. You attack me twice and I still might forgive you. Thrice is the limit to my patience. Even if I would draw a thick line with my nose to dictate my love to her she would find a way to pick a point.

Hira has crossed the limit and now I won't forgive her ever. I have given her a lot of space, I have given her a large interval to make her things right. What have I done to deserve this? All I wanted was a little love in response to my utmost dedication to her all my life. She has left me no room to even doubt her. This is so clear all of a sudden and I am telling you I am not making a rash decision or out of a blue judgement. I am done with her petty little acts. She has been meddling with my feelings and now it has reached the end of the line. It is the end to all my suffering. It is the end to all my love. It is the end to this story.

I want to be transported from this unbearable moment to a place where no one would know me. I want to be invisible from the whole world because I trust no one and won't ever have faith in happiness. A void that was being filled anew with hope had been drained empty again, leaving only a broken heart and a vast expanse of sadness.

I always believed that things happened for a reason but now at this very moment I can't find a light at the end of the tunnel. I need to breath, I need to fill my lungs with fresh air. This house is eating me up and the noise just makes my head hurt. With a trembling hand, I twisted the door knob and walked out of the house to clear my mind from the cloudiness inside. I will finish this; once and for all.

I am holding onto something that used to be there, hoping it will come back; but knowing it won't. They say never to have regrets, but with all the mistakes I have made; it's hard not to because I am the writer of my life. I wrote with a pen whose mistakes can't be erased. Lying crippled in a dark alley somewhere in the outskirts of Bronx, the cold wind irritated my bloody nostrils as I inhaled my very last breath. As the stabbing pain in my right leg was getting numb; I could sense it was my time to go. My whole life flashed in front of my eyes. I could see my mother feeding me biryani with her own hand, the time my father brought me the brand new BMX, the night my elder sister Sarah slipped me quietly inside the house because I was past my curfew, the day I bought Safa the designer dress she was eyeing in the shopping mall, the time shoaib and I had spent in the dorm together, the snowy day when I saw Hira eating gola ganda in white suit and red shawl and the black day when she tied knots with Shoaib. The cursed day when I had to lower his body to the grave. The blessed evening when Elif came to the world. The moment she called me Abu and the worst hour; when my life shattered into tiny brittle smithereens. My mistakes grew up into gigantic monsters staring at me with their red eyes. I was guilty. I was corrupt.

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The gift was hiding were it should be. I had wrapped it myself, making the corners in perfect triangles tucking them neatly. He would be surprised I was sure of it. As the doorbell rang, I rushed towards the door but I couldn't move because my stupid dupatta was caught in a nail poking from the table edge. I tried to free it without tearing but with the constant ringing of the doorbell I jerked it out with utter force that resulted in a big hole. I cursed myself for ruining it but then I just ignored it for the time being, saying that there is a great deal to be dealt with. It's just a tiny hole.

I opened the door and found two soldiers in front of me. One was Major Atta and I wasn't familiar with the other. I asked them about him but they said nothing instead the shoved a green box in my hands. This box was a lot bigger than mine. I asked them to stay for tea but they said their good byes and I was left in a state of bewilderment.

My hands were all sweaty and shivering with fear when I picked up the telephone receiver from its cradle. With a shaky finger, I turned the wheel and dialed the number.

"Hello, Assalam-o-Alikum. Who is this?"

I stammered "Iii It's me Papa. Sorry I am calling so late". Even though I know Karachi never sleeps early.

"Here, talk to your mother", he never chats longer than this.

"Ami!!" I take a look at the box again. It's been lying there open since it was handed to me. A tear rolls down my eye, even though I had cried for a straight day. I couldn't gather up the courage to tell her. I just couldn't make myself ready. I had planned it all but I just couldn't tell her that I was now a widower with a child.

I was restricted to my old room in my parents' house. What was happening outside the four walls was all foreign to me. I was captive to my own thoughts and memories. Ami came to supply me food every 3 times. She was so busy in gathering the condolences that she barely had the time to inquire about the victim and I wouldn't blame her for that.

Yes I ate the food. Yes I did because I wanted a healthy baby, a sign of what I had lost. I forced myself to look for prosperity and luck but all I could see was darkness riddled with his memories. I sit at the end of my bed counting the days of freedom on the blue calendar hanging in front of me. There used to be a poster of the vital signs band here. Funny how times change so quickly. I cling to the only ray of light I have; my baby. I want him to have his father's eyes. The eyes I had fallen in love with.

You know I miss him, I miss him. I miss his touch. I miss his hair. I miss his smell. I miss his presence. I miss his security. I miss his books. I miss his anger. I miss his laziness. I miss his commands. I miss his strong tea. I miss his lame jokes. I miss his white lilies.

TO BE CONTINUED