The first time I stepped foot outside of home, to be on my own, was when I left for Medical College. My Mom and Dad drove me to Jammu, helped me with paperwork, helped me set up a new bank account, and dropped me off at the hostel where they asked me to spend a night while they stayed a mile away to get me acclimatized to my new life for the next 4 and a half years. For the most part, I was excited.
Gradually I started getting homesick. Mainly because of some mean people who thought it was mandatory to show freshers their 'place'. After the abuse hit its peak and I broke down in my bathroom, crying to my Dad over the phone, it was over. My Dad, my rock, and my shelter had told me that nothing would harm me and I believed him. As long as I had him by my side, no one could do anything to me. With that confidence, my life in Medical School truly began. I stopped entertaining stupid demands from seniors. One time someone was upset that I would never talk about my dating life, I politely asked them to get out of my room and that it was none of their business. For someone who has been a people pleaser all her life, it seemed like quite a feat. I learned that standing up to bullies, shuts them down.
After I left home at the age of 18 to go to medical college, I don't think I was ever fully home. Going home was a series of goodbyes. And with every goodbye, there was a new ritual I got used to.
First I would hug my brother if he was around, kiss him on the cheek and get a kiss back. Then ask grandma and take her blessings. She would find some fault with my clothing or the way I tied my hair or didn't tie it, and blow prayers at me "Gas khodayas karmakh hawaal, khoda karnaye kamyaab t'e kaamran, khoda deenay thad t'e bad' kursi" (Go, I send you in the protection of God, may you be blessed with great success and high status). She would be unable to see me off till the gate outside due to her bad knees.
After that I would go and kiss my grandfather, my Daddy. He would insist on coming outside no matter how cold it was, no matter if his knees or back hurt. He would tell me that God knows how much time he has left but he will pray that we meet again. It would always break my heart. I would think "No way! I will never lose you, Daddy, I don't think I would be able to take it". I would say a quick bye to the helper.
I would hug and kiss my mom multiple times, and she would say prayers for me. I would joke with her about her lack of tears and she would laugh saying she can never cry when the situation demands it.
She and Daddy would wave at me till the car was out of sight.
At the airport, Papa would carry my luggage and I would keep telling him he will hurt his back but he would never listen, he still doesn't listen. He stands there and watches me go till I am inside the airport. I look back multiple times to see if he has left, but he never leaves. He keeps waving and sending flying kisses whenever I turn around.
I had never imagined a life where the people I love the most would not be in this world anymore. It was simply incomprehensible. When Mom got sick, I just had this faith that Allah would not take her away from me. My mind had blocked whatever medicine I knew. I was a layperson who believed in miracles. If she didn't deserve a miracle, then who did? Till the very end when she stopped recognizing me and my brother, I had this feeling that she would wake up, that the cells that had gone rogue and were eating her up from inside would stop. That she would miraculously get cured. It did not happen.
I stayed up most of the night, by her side in a chair, sobbing. Wishing she would say my name just once. When we tried to pull allnighters in medical college, my friend would succumb to her sleep and say "Neend to suli par b aati hai" (You could be in the gallows, about to be hung and still fall asleep)
And she was right. Despite the agony in my heart, I did fall asleep, only to be woken up by my panic-stricken grandmother who had been holding her daughter's hand. I saw her breathing her last breaths, my mother, my heart. Don't go, don't go, don't leave me here but all I could say was Papa, please come.
Soon the cries died down. And then a deafening silence. A void, a gaping hole, a vacuum, a sense of turmoil, an unacceptance, that refuses to leave me, and I, refuse to let it go. I refuse to accept it. I refuse that everything that happens happens for the best. I refuse that good things happen to good people. I refuse to believe in miracles. I refuse to believe in karma.
When I left home after it became a house, there was no one to walk me to the gate. No waves. No kisses, no hugs. On the way to the airport, soon after you leave our house, there's a graveyard to the left. When you walk in, the sign says “Shehr-e-Khamosh”, a quiet city- the final resting place. Even if there is a faster way of getting to the airport, we need to pass by the graveyard. That's one good bye. Then we drive to my uncle's place to say goodbye to my grandparents. They don't live with us anymore. My grandfather is now too weak to walk me to the gate but he showers me with love and prayers. Grandmother had gone mute. She would stare blankly into space. I would kiss her hand and leave. And then there's my Dad, waiting till I vanish.
The next time I went home, a year or so later, my grandmother was in the same graveyard now. I would drive to Uncle's place to meet Daddy. Sometimes you don't even know this is the last time the person you love so dearly has hugged you and looked at you affectionately. I am going to come back Daddy, I am going to come back in my vacation and spend time with you, listen to your complaints and stories. I am going to make that creme caramel that you love so much. But the next time I went home, it was one less good bye. One less prayer, one less person to shower me with love. So much of my heart now lives in Shehr-e-Khamosh.
There are so many blessings we don’t even count. They unfortunately weigh on us when we have lost them. Everyone is hurting, everyone is hiding something in their heart that no one else knows about. Then why do we not forgive? Why do we hold grudges? Why do we judge? Why don’t we look at the fleeting nature of life and decide to live and let live in peace? Why do we wait for someone to die to tell them in our prayers how much we love them? Why is life so complicated? Or why have we complicated it so much?
You cannot change the world around you, but you can choose to change your perception. You can choose communication over holding a silent grudge, you can choose learning to mind your business over making someone’s life hell, you can choose acceptance over judgment - the acceptance that you cannot understand every person and that’s ok, you can choose peace for yourself, you can choose to disconnect mentally from the toxicity there is or just cut it out. You can choose to be kind no matter how much you are hurting. No one owes you anything, the world doesn’t, even if you are good. We can try to be good anyway. It’s not going to be easy , but the hope is - it’s going to be worth it.
