October 2019
Madiha
The crisp cool Fall air blew wisps of curled hair into my eyes as I stood at the train station waiting for the East bound train to Chicago. It was past 8 in the morning, much later than when I had left for work almost all of my residency. That's because being a senior resident had its perks. One being a research elective that came with flexible hours, and a workload that was just about manageable.
I often ended up working late at night. Research papers do not write themselves, after all. But it was always from home, in my pajamas, under my comfortable duvet.
In summary, life was good.
Well, for the most part.
Every now and then ugliness would rear its head. Like this morning when Ami suggested that we talk to a woman in our community who was the self-proclaimed queen of all rishta aunties.
***Flashback***
Abu laughed, "Isn't Moin too young to get married?"
My college going brother jumped off his seat with indignation which matched my mother's when she glared at her husband.
"Aye hai, Moin ki tou poori zindagi pari hai abhi. Mein Madi ke liye baat karna chahti houn. Maybe Shagufta can find a rishta for her before Maliha's wedding"
(Moin has all his life ahead of him. I want to talk to her about Madi)
"Absolutely not. We are not talking to Shagufta. Apni beti ko humiliation se phir nahi guzarne doun ga mein," Abu had retorted immediately.
(I will not let my daughter go through humiliation again)
"She has to get married one day, Ahmed. Why not see if we can find someone before February. Do you know the kind of things people will say when they find out that Maliha is getting married before her elder sister?"
I am not even sure where I got the courage from, maybe it was the chocolate croissant I was happily eating before the bickering between my parents. Whatever it was, I opened my mouth and regurgitated the words that came to mind.
"Why blame other people, when you say exactly what you are afraid they would?"
I picked up the chocolate croissant, and walked out of there with my head held high. Abu applauded, Ami fumed.
I didn't care.
***End***
I swallowed the last morsel of the chocolate croissant, and smiled. For once, I had refused to look at myself through the eyes of others, when all they wanted to do was bring me down. Sadly, the 'others' included my mother.
Omar
I was rotating on General Medicine this month. If I thought the ICU was grueling, this was a whole other level of torture. The patients were less sick, so they moved in and out of the hospital much more frequently. And smack in the middle of flu season, that meant being buried in paperwork up to my elbow every day on top of taking care of 25-30 patients on our service.
"When do you get time to study?" Elijah asked. He was my co-intern this month. Basically, my partner in misery.
"Who said I have any time to study?" I replied, stifling a yawn as we walked towards the resident's noon conference.
"You seem to know all the answers."
"Oh, that's just because my resident on the last rotation taught me really well."
"Who was your resident?" he asked.
"Madi," I inadvertently sighed. Luckily, we had just reached the conference room and Elijah got distracted by a page, while I noticed the two trays of chicken sandwiches and lack of veggie or fish options again.
"Ugh...I am so sorry Omar," the program secretary apologized profusely and promised to never order from that vendor again.
I gave her a polite nod, despite my hungry stomach protesting loudly, and walked into the conference room empty handed. Only to then catch sight of a woman empty-handed like me, but with a smile so bright it lit up the whole place and curls that bounced when she excitedly gestured to her friend, Kylie. I told Elijah to go ahead and sit by himself.
"I am just going to grab some tuna sandwiches from the food court. I'll be right back."
I ran out of there, with a smile on my face.
*******
November 2019
Omar
"How long are you going to avoid Ami?" Sehr, my younger sister, was FaceTime-ing me from Michigan.
I had just reached the parking lot of a mid-sized community hospital, a subsidiary of the University Hospital of Illinois, but located in the suburbs of Chicago. It was nowhere near as busy as our main Chicago ER, but as interns we were required to rotate through it as well for a community based experience.
My shift was due to start in exactly 2 minutes. As I rushed across the parking lot I thoroughly regretted accepting my sister's call.
"Honestly Sehr, if Ami would talk about anything besides marriage, I would call her everyday. But getting me married off is all she ever wants to talk about!"
"And what is wrong with that? You're not getting any younger. I am pretty sure I can see white hair on your head," she said squinting at her phone screen.
"That is just the sunlight's effect, and worry about yourself. If I am getting old so are you. You're exactly 1 year 2 days younger than me," I frowned jokingly, and then laughed as she stuck her tongue out at me.
Sehr hung up and I breathed a sigh of relief.
But she was just my sister. Sooner or later, I knew, I would have to face my mother and a topic I had long avoided and had no intention of broaching till a certain resident was ready to hear the truth.
*******
"Good morning Omar. How are you doing today?" Dr Seed, the ER attending's cheerful voice brought me out of my misery.
"Good morning Dr Seed. I am doing very well. Who would you like me to go see first?"
"Here is the chart for Mr. Ahmed Shah who was brought in by his colleagues at work for chest pain. Could you go take a look at him and let me know what you think."
"Sure thing."
I shelved my thoughts about that certain resident, marriage and all things complicated, and read through the patient chart as I walked to the exam room. Mr. Shah was a 58 year old man, in reasonable overall health. According to the nurses notes he started having chest pain about an hour ago. When it hadn't improved he was brought to the ER.
"Good morning Mr. Shah. I am Dr Khan, how are you feeling today?" I said as I entered the room and introduced myself to the distinguished looking desi gentleman dressed in a crisp light blue dress shirt and black pants.
"Good morning, Dr Khan," he answered in a heavily accented voice, "It is really not a big deal. Everyone is overreacting"
Says every desi uncle ever, I smiled to myself.
Before I could ask another question though he gave me a curious look and asked, "Are you from South Asia by any chance? Urdu bolte ho?" (Speak Urdu?)
"Ji, I am actually from Pakistan and yes I definitely speak Urdu."
"Beta, that is nice to know...meri bari beti bhi doctor hai (my daughter is also a doctor)," he said with a proud look on his face.
"Oh that's really nice to know," and then I gently tried to redirect our conversation to his symptoms. I loved desi parents as patients, but sometimes they got so engrossed in showing off their kids, it would take twice as long to get their history and do their physical exam.
Mr. Shah apparently had two parathas and spicy nihari from a local Indian restaurant for breakfast, which he cheekily told me was a second breakfast for him since his wife insisted he have oatmeal in the morning before leaving for work.
"Ab oatmeal bhi koi cheez hai khane waali?"
(Is oatmeal worth eating even?)
I couldn't argue with him there, "Mr. Shah is there any reason you are under stress these days?" I asked, trying to judge clinically if this was a stress induced mild heart attack or just heartburn.
"Oh beta," he sighed, "Do jawaan betiyon ka baap houn. Choti waali ki shaadi hai kuch mahinoun mein, aur bari ke liye rishta dhound rahein hain hum. Stress tou hoi ga na."
(I am the father of two young women. The younger one is getting married in a few months and we are looking for a proposal for the older one. Obviously, I will be stressed)
I wasn't a father, but I was a brother who had witnessed the nerve-wracking experience of my sister getting married. From hiring a private investigator to reassure themselves of Sehr's potential in-laws to spending millions on the wedding itself, stress and anxiety underlay every step my parents took.
And then there was what Madi went through.
"I understand Mr. Shah, you can never be too careful with your daughters."
I showed him his EKG strip, "But the good news is that your heart rhythm is completely normal. We are going to do some additional blood tests to make sure that there is no evidence of a heart attack, but right now my guess is that you just had bad heartburn."
"Shukr Alhamdulillah," the sweet old man said shaking my hand vigorously. He definitely didn't have a heart attack.
But I was about to get one.
I had just finished putting in the blood test orders in the computer when his phone rang. He spoke on it briefly and then called out to me, "Dr Khan could you please talk to my daughter and tell her that I am fine now. And tell her she doesn't need to come to this ER?"
"Of course," I was always happy to talk to patients' family members.
But when I took the phone from him and looked at the screen I literally felt my heart stop for a second. The picture on the caller ID was of a beautiful woman with white flowers in her curly hair and a gorgeous smile on her face.
"Madi," I whispered.
Madiha
"Madi," a hesitant, but familiar voice had spoken on the phone.
Omar?
Ami had messaged that Abu was in the ER at the community hospital near our house with chest pain. My first thought was a heart attack, even though he was not that old and in reasonable health overall. In the panic that ensued I had called my father frantically looking for more details while trying to locate my attending so I could leave work early.
Instead, he handed his physician the phone and I stopped dead in my tracks when I heard his voice.
I hadn't seen him for a while. Yet, my heart raced at the sound of his hushed voice filled with an emotion I couldn't quite comprehend. Perhaps, I didn't want to because we were just friends.
Why won't my heart understand that ground reality? I chided myself.
I didn't even know he was rotating in an ER all the way out in the suburbs. I had assumed his absence at the main hospital was due to him travelling across the country, interviewing for his surgery residency positions.
He was living his life, I was living mine.
"How is Abu?" I asked him, pushing every other thought out of my mind.
"He had some spicy and oily food for breakfast, and is complaining of chest pain under the sternum (breastbone). I did an EKG which looks normal, his cardiac enzymes are pending but his pain is already subsiding with some antacids," he replied calmly and professionally like the competent physician I knew he was.
"Would you like to talk to the attending?"
"No, I trust you. I've taught you well," I smiled.
"Yes, you have," I imagined him smiling too.
"Well, thank you for taking care of him. I really appreciate it."
"Of course, Madi. Anytime."
And that was the end of that conversation.
Shortly after, a whole family was brought in by the paramedics with exposure to carbon monoxide from a faulty gas heater. My ER team needed all hands on deck to treat them quickly. I jumped into action, so did the intern and fellow, and folks from the Pediatric ER.
Hushed voices and awkward pauses were conveniently forgotten.
The rest of the shift went by quickly. Before I knew it, it was 5 pm and time to hand over the ER's craziness to the next shift for another round of patients with the expected as well as complete and utter surprises. You never knew what would walk in through the doors of Chicago's busiest ER. But you always had to be prepared.
Though, nothing could have prepared me for what, rather who, stood outside the doors of my ER. Still dressed in his scrubs, pacing anxiously, it looked like he had come here straight from the suburban ER.
"Omar? What are you doing here? Is everything ok?" I stumbled through the questions.
He raked his fingers through his thick hair, "Uh yes."
"What brings you here then?" I looked at him curiously, trying not to worry about my father.
"Your father..." he started hesitantly, the panic started to settle in.
"...said that he and your mother were looking for a rishta for you, which is why he was stressed these days," he completed his sentence, and panic gave way to confusion, then amusement.
"That's nothing new. Certainly not the cause of his chest pain, I can assure you. They're always looking for rishtas for me. Its their favorite pastime."
His brows furrowed, "But Madi, are you ready to get married now?" he asked taking a step towards me.
Why does he care? I should have asked myself. Maybe if I had paused and really looked at the distress in his chocolate brown orbs I might have found the answer to that question too. Instead, I laughed it off, "No way. Still dying a spinster"
I had let myself believe in a happily ever after before. I had been willing to change for a man who didn't deserve me. For a brief moment, I had even felt that vulnerability Omar had once mentioned outside an elevator near the food court.
None of that appealed to me now. I was simply happy the way I was.
He took a deep breath and nodded slowly, "Ok then, friend. I'll see you around," he said and headed towards the parking garage, while I turned the corner and headed towards the train.
He was living his life, I was living mine.
*******
December 2019
Omar
"What are you doing in London anyway?" I asked Sehr.
"Ugh, don't ask," she rolled her eyes, "Your brother-in-law needed to make a business trip to China, but while we were still on our layover in London, our flight to Shanghai got cancelled. Something about a virus that is spreading there or something...so we decided to make a mini- British vacation out of it."
"Oh yeah, there is a coronavirus outbreak over there right now. Good you didn't go, seems pretty deadly. Should be over soon though, the previous coronavirus outbreaks both in Asia and Middle East were over in a few weeks," I reassured her.
"Well you know what is not going to be over, is Ami's anxiety about you living alone here," she hesitated but then added, "and there is a girl that even I think is highly suitable for you..."
Great! Here we go again.
The image of Madi, standing outside the ER, with her dark eyes sparkling against the setting sun when she scoffed and vowed to die a spinster, was still etched in my memory. I had barely managed to cage the words I was so desperate to release. But I had to. If she had laughed them off, the way she laughed off marriage itself, I was not sure I could ever get myself out of the downward spiral.
So I kept quiet. For the sake of my friend. And my sanity.
My sister hadn't stopped talking meanwhile, and I missed most of what she had said, but I did catch the last part, "Her father and Abu are business partners and they used to live in Dubai but just recently moved to Pakistan. The girl is super pretty - and wait for it," she pretended to drumroll, "she has a Masters degree and is working for an architect firm. You wanted a wife with a career. Ami found you one. You better not have a problem with her now."
I don't want just anyone with a career. I shook my head. I wanted the strong, intelligent, beautiful woman who trusted no one with her heart, not even me.
"Sehr, I can't marry anyone. Not right now."
"Oh my God. Is this still about Noor? Man, you need therapy. Seriously yaar, what is wrong with you?" she berated me.
"It's not about Noor."
She paused but then suddenly perked up, "There is someone else, isn't there? Don't lie to me, you've always been a terrible liar."
My shoulders slumped, knowing full well that there wasn't much I could ever hide from her. Our close age difference meant that we had grown up almost like twins.
"Fine. Yes, there may be. She's a resident with me, but she's not ready to get married. So please don't say anything to anyone yet," I pleaded, afraid that if my parents found out they would ignore everything and just take matters into their own hands. like they always did. At least this would placate my sister, and then maybe she could work her magic on my parents. Sehr had a bazillion more questions, some I avoided, most she managed to make me answer, truthfully.
"Give me a name."
"Madiha Omar," I sighed.
I didn't realize my faux pas till my sister looked at me with confusion, "She has the same last name as your first name?"
Oh God!
"No no, her name is Madiha Ahmed"
"Tauba hai Omar," she laughed loudly, "khyaali pulao ki recipe tou tum se leini chahiye hai."
I was still trying to hide my heated face when she sat back and grinned, "Well worry not big bro, I will start working on our parents to make Madiha Omar a reality."
*******
"Who the hell is Fatima now?" Salman yelped when I met him later that in the standing in the foyer of my hospital with baby Ayah, as both of them waited for Noor who was finishing up her physiotherapy session.
I shook my head in frustration, "The daughter of Mian Hamid, my father's industrialist friend who is moving from Dubai next week, and works as an architect herself."
"So you're going to let mummy and daddy arrange your marriage to some woman you've never met, because you can't find your own voice to tell Madi how you feel?" he scoffed, "That's just pathetic."
"She has no interest in me," I reiterated.
"She shows no interest in you, duffer. That doesn't mean its not hidden somewhere deep inside."
"I am not going to put our friendship on the line till I am sure she wants what I want."
"Then stay a forever friend."
"Maybe I will. Its none of your business," I retorted.
"It is my business. Babysitting is expensive", he smirked.
"What?"
"Nothing. Here..." he shoved Ayah's stroller in my hand, complete with a sleeping Ayah much to my surprise.
"I have to go see why Noor is taking so long, but babies are not allowed upstairs. Take care of her. I'll only be a few minutes," he jogged off before I could even react.
The first few minutes went by with me standing there stiffly, internally cursing Salman. The next were spent hesitantly looking at the sleeping bundle snuggled in the car seat. She had her mother's smooth wheatish skin and silken dark tresses. Out of the NICU, dressed in a pink and purple warm body suit with her eyes tightly shut, she looked like a literal doll. It was enough to melt a grown man who had never even held a baby before.
It was also enough to make me wonder what it might feel like to have a daughter of my own. One with curly hair, big dark brown eyes, tiny freckles and a smile that lit up the whole room.
Talk about a khyaali pulao, I scoffed at myself.
Madiha
"Maliha, just come and pick me up. We'll talk about the dresses on the way to Devon," I told my sister as I finished up the day's works got on to the elevator. With only 2 months left till her wedding, preparations were in full swing.
The fact that Hasan's family belonged to a completely different social circle than us, one made of industrialists, entrepreneurs and investment bankers, had my parents' on the edge. So everything had to be perfect, which ultimately became my headache.
The only thing that made me happy was that despite belonging to the upper echelons of society Hasan and his family were so down-to-earth you could hardly tell that their net worth ran in several hundred million. For that I gladly did whatever was asked of me; such as spend my evening on Chicago's famous desi Devon street looking for bargains on wedding dresses.
All that was quickly forgotten though, when the elevator doors opened and my gaze fell on a friend who stood gently rocking the stroller of another friend's daughter. Omar's gaze was focused on the tiny bundle in it but I couldn't take my eyes off him and the tender look on his face. Never had I seen a man so mesmerized by another little human the way he was.
And that caused a tightness in my chest I wasn't ready for.
Neither, was I ready for the thought that came to mind, he would be such an amazing father. Which was a weird thought because him becoming a father would mean him being married. Him being married when I had all but vowed never to let another man into my life, meant that he would be married to someone else.
Him being married to someone else did something I thought I had long put behind me. Jealousy, rage, possessiveness, call it what you want, filled me till I was ready to burst. It burned my soul and clouded my judgement. None of which I was ready for, just as I wasn't ready for what I would hear soon after.
"Your sweet intern is very good with babies," a mocking voice startled me.
I turned to look at Salman standing behind me, with a smirk on his face as usual. Cheeks on fire, and an inability to string a coherent sentence made matters a hundred times worse.
"Omar is mine", the words tumbled out of my mouth, much to my horror.
"I mean, he is not mine", I hissed, but a voice within me said, you want him to be. I ignored it.
"I mean he is not my sweet intern, Salman. Just quit bothering me", third time was the charm. But by then it was too late. Salman was doubling over with laughter and wiping his tears, Omar had noticed the commotion he created and looked up with amusement. His gazed landed on me, my defenses faltered.
"What is so funny?" he smiled. I wished he hadn't because he was still rocking Ayah's stroller and that vision of him was tearing me up inside.
Though nothing would compare to what came next.
"Nothing," Salman chuckled and replied to Omar, "I was just telling Madi that your parents are planning your wedding to their friends' daughter. What was her name again? Fatima?"
*******
In the last version of this book these scenes were too drawn out, so I condensed and combined them. But hopefully it gives you a sense of the evolution of Madi and Omar's feelings for each other.
How do you think Madi will react to that last sentence by Salman?
"Should be over soon" was what we all said about COVID in Dec 2019. What a pipe dream that was!
Hope you liked this chapter. Please vote and comment.