Heaven From Here

ten

Waiting, waiting for love

She's waiting, waiting so long

She prays to the Gods

Telling how she needs someone

Waiting For Love, P!nk

It was a Sunday morning like any other morning, Sarwar Kareem sat at the dining table with his cup of tea by his right hand and the iPad in his left. He had long since foregone buying day old Pakistani newspapers opting for getting updates at the tap of his fingers. His gold rimmed glasses were sitting precariously on the bridge of his nose and he squinted his eyes as he forced himself to pay attention to the words that were on the display on the screen.

His eyes instead of staying on the words, kept drifting to the family photos on the walls. The photos that had every one of his children from babyhood to adulthood. All except for one. Sarwar's eyes rested on the only photo of Saif on the wall, he looked sullen in that photo with his Dadi (paternal grandmother) holding up his face in an attempt to make him smile. Saif had stopped smiling when his Dadi passed away, for both Saif and Sarwar lost the maternal figures in their life.

"Aapko yaad hai na, aaj Rizuan ki nikkaah aur walima pe janaa hai? (You remember right, today we are going for Rizuaan's marriage ceremony and reception?)" came his wife's Hajirah voice from behind him. He only nodded, the only sign that he had heard and acknowledged her. He swiped his hand through his wavy grey-almost white hair and took off his glasses. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and exhaled tiredly.

The door bell rang and and Hajirah's voice rang through the hallway. As she opened the door, she could hear her speaking rapidly in Punjabi and he heard her gasping and the voices grew louder as they entered the den.

"'Slamlaikum Bhaisaab," one of Hajirah's friend's said, and he nodded his response. He picked up his tea and took a large sip as he knew the ladies would start gossiping about the function the night before. He frowned as instead of sitting at the couches, Hajirah's friends came and sat at the table with him. He made a show of switching off his iPad and removing his glasses as he stood to excuse himself of their company.

"Suno, yeh dono Saif ke bare mein kuch kehne aiyii hai (Listen, these two have come to say something about Saif)," Hajirah said to her husband, her face a mask of indifference. This is interesting, Sarwar thought, the woman who completely refuses to acknowledge Saif is willingly talking about him today. Sarwar got comfortable in his seat and nodded at the two ladies.

The women, who he could never remember their names, took turns in delivering their narrative. It looked like a well rehearsed dance between the two, as they weaved the tale of what they saw at a bus stop weeks ago to what they saw last night. The tale was presented so vividly, in so much detail, that he knew that they were doing more than merely exaggerating. What irritated him was his wife who was devouring every single detail of this story like it was her last meal on earth.

He placed his elbows on the table and watched as it became less of a narrative and more spiteful gossip. They ladies paused in their conversation, looking to him as if expecting him to say or even do something. So Sarwar said something.

"Ye baat, aaj, yaha par khatam ho gayi hai. Aap dono ne bata diya hai, aage mein jaan ta hoon mujhe kya karna hai (This topic, today, is closed. You've both already informed me, and from here I know what to do)," Sarwar said as he looked pointedly at his wife, daring her to disagree with him.