March 2020
Omar
March 11. Coronavirus: Over 1,000 Cases Now In U.S., And 'It's Going To Get Worse,' Fauci Says (National Public Radio)
The coronavirus outbreak has now infected more than 1,000 people in nearly 40 U.S. states — and the country's top authority on infectious diseases says things will only get worse. Dr. Anthony Fauci, director of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases, warns that the number of cases of the COVID-19 viral disease will continue to grow because containment measures and contact tracing have failed to prevent community spread of the virus.
"Is the worst yet to come, Dr. Fauci?" Rep. Carolyn Maloney, chairwoman of the House Committee on Oversight and Reform, asked Fauci on Wednesday.
"Yes, it is," Fauci replied.
"What are you reading?" I heard the sweet voice I had been waiting to hear all morning. Despite the grim signs of a viral outbreak that had confounded even the highest ranked Infectious Diseases expert in the country, I couldn't help but smile when I looked up at the senior resident approaching me in the hallway, just outside the oncology ward. Madi had been on overnight call there, and I had just finished seeing patients in the afternoon Infectious Diseases clinic.
"A report on Dr Fauci's address to some government folks. Are you heading somewhere?"
"To get some coffee."
"I'll come with you," I told her and put my phone away.
She tilted her head, questioning, "Since when have you started liking coffee?"
"I don't. I like you," I rasped.
Her cheeks instantly flushed with a rosy hue. As if her emotions painted themselves across her face, revealing the depth of her feelings, even if she never voiced them in return.
"You know, if you keep blushing like this every time I say something to you, I might have to switch my ID rotation with the oncology one."
"I don't know, Omar," she smiled, "I still keep thinking you'll decide to switch back to surgery one of these days. Which I would support you in, if that's what you wanted."
I told her the truth. "I live and breathe Medicine now, thanks to this inspiring senior resident I know. And I think I am getting pretty good at it too"
"You're good at everything you do. But are you sure about Medicine?" she asked doubtfully, and not for the first time.
"As sure as I am about making you my wife, Dr Ahmed."
She shook her head and softly laughed, the perfect melody to end one's work day. "If you're done flirting, I need to tell you something important."
Sure, her 'something important' piqued my interest but she looked so breathtakingly beautiful with her rosy cheeks and a shy smile that adorned her full lips, I found myself tucking away her loose curls.
"Abhi tou ishq ka aghaaz hoya hai Madi. Abhi se thak gai ho?"
(The journey of love has just started. Have you already gotten tired?)
She blushed a deeper crimson, and if there was anything left of my heart it completely melted away when she said, in her hushed American accented voice, "Ishq hi ki tou baat karni hai, Omar." Then she had my full attention.
(Its love I wanted to talk to you about)
"Kya baat?"
"I told my parents about you."
"And...?" I replied with eager anticipation.
"Abu remembered you from the ER when you took care of him. He said you were really polite, and he thought that you were the kindest doctor he had ever met."
I didn't know my patient, Mr. Ahmed, was Madi's father when I took care of him. And I would have treated him like any other patient had I known. Yet, I said a silent prayer of thanks to Allah that he had had a better impression of me than his daughter did, the first day I met her.
"What about Aunty?" I asked of her mother.
"I think you pretty much won her over the moment you offered to supervise the drinks and dessert table at Maliha's wedding."
"I thought that weirdo Faraz would have impressed her with his constant hovering." The image of that man as he circled around Madi and her parents like a vulture still made me want to punch him. But all that was put to rest when Madi looked at me coyly.
"Whose Faraz?"
She knew who he was. He was part of her family, after all. But I understood what she meant. He held no significance in her life, unlike me.
"Abu should be home any day too. I'll talk to my parents as soon as he lands," I promised her.
It was a promise that my sister helped me keep when her message pinged my phone soon after I reached home that evening. But the thing about promises is that they are far easier to make, than they are to keep. Especially, when the world literally shuts down as your parents shut you out of their life.
That's when promises turn into nightmares. And nightmares lead to blackholes of despair and loathing.
*******
March 11. WHO Director-General's opening remarks at the media briefing on COVID-19 (World Health Organization News Briefing)
In the past two weeks, the number of cases of COVID-19 outside China has increased 13-fold, and the number of affected countries has tripled. In the days and weeks ahead, we expect to see the number of cases, the number of deaths, and the number of affected countries climb even higher.
WHO has been assessing this outbreak around the clock and we are deeply concerned both by the alarming levels of spread and severity, and by the alarming levels of inaction. We have therefore made the assessment that COVID-19 can be characterized as a pandemic.
We cannot say this loudly enough, or clearly enough, or often enough: all countries can still change the course of this pandemic. If countries detect, test, treat, isolate, trace, and mobilize their people in the response, those with a handful of cases can prevent those cases becoming clusters, and those clusters becoming community transmission.
There's been so much attention on one word: Pandemic. Let me give you some other words that matter much more, and that are much more actionable. Prevention. Preparedness. Public health. Political leadership. And most of all, people.
We're in this together, to do the right things with calm and protect the citizens of the world. It's doable.
I skimmed the WHO news briefing from that morning while Sehr waited on FaceTime to finish. "What does all of this mean in simple terms? Are we all going to die?" she asked with a worried expression.
"Allah na kare, Sehr. There is still plenty we can do to prevent its spread. Start by limiting your interaction with others in closed spaces and wear a mask if you can," I told her some common sense measures that we had discussed in the hospital just that week.
She still looked visibly upset and while I tried to calm my usually upbeat sister, she revealed the real reason for her angst.
"I am going to be a Mamoo?" I exclaimed.
"Yes! But don't tell anyone yet. I am still very early on and we've only told Aslam's parents and ours."
"I won't but MashaAllah, I am so happy for you Sehr!" My ecstasy may have covered up the angst that I now felt too, knowing that pregnancy tends to increase the risk of infections. Pandemic or no pandemic.
We chatted a little more about precautions she specifically needed to take and what COVID meant for her husband's travels as airlines cancelled flights across the world. Our conversation was cut short by a feeling of nausea washing over her, but her parting words set in a dread that I could not escape for the rest of that evening.
"Omar, whatever happens with Ami and Abu, just remember that Naeem sahab has always been a very honorable man. I just can't believe that he could have stolen anything from Surgilab."
"Naeem sahab? Who is that?" I asked, trying to remember where I had heard that name.
"Oh, did I forget to to tell you? Sorry, blame it on my pregnancy brain. He is Madi's uncle. He used to work for Abu. He was the one who always gave us candy when we visited the factory as kids."
She covered her face like she was about to throw up, and shut the phone before I could reconcile with the bombshell she had dropped. I did remember that kind man who always greeted us with a smile, even as he hustled around the assembly lines, breaking out into a sweat, as my father barked orders at him. That was Madi's uncle?
So many questions swirled in my mind. But only one stood out. How did my parents make the connection between Madi in the US and her uncle in Pakistan?
My alarm went off. Its shrill noise was just a temporary distraction from the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was 11 pm in Chicago. And 9 am in Karachi, when my parents would just be sitting down for breakfast. The perfect opportunity to talk to them both, together.
Perfection, however, is over rated. And our ingrained biases so grossly underestimated that many would rather destroy lives than take a moment to introspect.
*******
Having no idea about the story of Madi's uncle and his right or wrongdoings in my father's company, I said a small prayer and called my mother on FaceTime.
"Assalam Alaikum Ami and Abu, how is everything going?" I greeted them like I had always done.
"Walaikum Asalaam beta. How is your internship going? Are you seeing many cases of COVID yet?" Ami asked with what I hoped was genuine concern.
At least she isn't scowling yet, I reassured myself. Yet, Abu's noticeable grunting off the screen was hard to ignore. I ignored it anyway.
"It's going well Ami. I have some great seniors here who are very supportive," I replied, Abu hmphed. I had a feeling why. I went on any way.
"We haven't seen as many cases in Chicago as they are seeing in Seattle and New York. But we are preparing for the worst."
"Beta, take care of yourself, please. You live alone. Heaven forbid if anything were to happen, Sehr wouldn't even be able to come over," she said with a look of deep concern.
"I am Ami..." I started to say. But her unexpected maternal affection was just a temporary distraction from the storm brewing behind her phone, on the other end of the world.
"Now he'll say this is why he wants to marry a thief's niece," I heard Abu say while a heavy coughing sound echoed in the background. I forgot about the coughing sound.
"Hammad..." Ami tried to intervene, but Abu had forced the elephant in the room out of hiding and onto center stage. He didn't back down. Neither did I.
"Khul ke baat karein Abu. Clearly, Sehr has already told you about Madi. So just tell me what the problem is." (Speak clearly)
Ami 's phone swung towards Abu, his angry face was prominently displayed, "Yes, Sehr told us about that gold-digging doctor that has you wrapped around her finger so tightly you've gone completely insane."
I gritted my teeth, his words meant for her felt like daggers in my own heart. "Please, just stop insulting her."
"Its not insults when its true. What do you even know about her family?"
"Her father and mother moved here from Pakistan, she and her two siblings were born here. They are honest, hardworking, and loyal. What more could you possibly want?"
The phone's camera returned to my mother. Her previous affection and concern had vanished. Her voice had taken on a more composed tone, but it was clear that she shared the same beliefs as my father.
"Omar, kuch tou socho. Her father may be hardworking but he's simply a car mechanic - even if he has a fancy title at a fancy car dealer. And Ahmed Shah's brother works in your Abu's factory."
Suddenly, Abu's face filled my phone's screen again, "Worked, Nighat begum. He worked in my factory till that lying, cheating scoundrel stole 50 lakh rupees and refused to admit it."
Abu spit out more details. Naeem Shah, Madi's father Ahmed Shah's older brother, was a floor supervisor in the Surgilab factory, having risen within ranks over the 20 years he had worked there. Abu had been charitable towards his family many times, from when his mother fell sick to the time his daughter was getting married. He was a trusted employee, despite being only educated till 10th grade.
But that trust had disappeared in an instance when 50 lakh rupees went missing from Abu's office safe. The security cameras showed Naeem sahaab walking in to Abu's office empty handed, and out again 5 mins later with a black bag. The same one that was stored in the locked safe.
"I am sure there is an explanation for what you saw, but either ways what does that have to do with Madi? She is innocent..."
"Shaadi khaandaan aur abao ajdaad dekh ke kari jaati hai, Omar." Ami was back on the phone. It was the like two were playing volleyball with my life, each with their own agenda, each worse than the one before. (Marriages are done by looking at the family and past generations)
"Did you know she is the first college graduate in her entire family? Bilkul unparh jahil family hai uski. The only reason her father made it to the US was because he got lucky and won a visa lottery. For God's sake, he used to be a lowly taxi driver in New York at one point. And you are the son of an industrialist worth billions." (She has an uneducated family)
"Imagine them showing up to the wedding on motorbikes and rickshaws. Phir khush ho ge tum?" Abu scoffed. (Will you be happy then?)
I didn't know Madi was the first college graduate. I didn't care which vehicles her family showed up in. I wasn't marrying the rest of her family. Besides, her own father was a self-made, honest man and that should have counted. Yet, all my parents seemed to notice were individuals who didn't fit the profile of those who frequented my mother's extravagant parties.
"How do you even know about her family? All I did was give Sehr her name." I tried to keep my voice even, but failed. I knew exactly where this conversation was heading. Even if I hadn't been able to see their faces, and the disdain and revulsion in their eyes when they talked about my kindhearted and generous Madi and her family, the contempt in their voice was loud and clear.
And just when I thought my parent's couldn't stoop any lower, I found out they had.
My father squared his shoulders, with arrogance, "We hired a private investigator to look into her and her family. We did the same for Sehr. You can never trust people these day."
"Sehr was having an arranged marriage with Aslam bhai. It made sense to look into his family." I tried to reason.
"Madi is different. I know her, Abu. She is beautiful inside and out." I tried to plead.
"Rang dekha hai uss ka?" Ami scoffed. (Have you looked at her color)
That was it. I was unable to contain the rage that I had struggled so hard to keep in check. It overflowed in waves of profound disappointment and defiance.
"STOP IT! Stop insulting her," I exclaimed.
"Omar..." Abu said in a menacing tone, but I had had enough of their judgmental behavior.
"NO! You both listen to me. I don't give care whether her family is not up to your standards. Or that they aren't as well educated, or what her extended family does or does not do. She has lived her whole life in the US. She probably doesn't even know most of her family in Pakistan. But I can guarantee you that her parents are sincere, genuine people who have raised an amazing daughter..."
I paused to take a breath, but didn't hold the truth back, "A daughter who I am completely and utterly in love with."
Ami smirked, "Love? Again with all this love stupidity? This is what you did with Noor. Even though I told you that girl was far too independent and her family didn't have any control over her."
"Don't bring Noor into this, and stop maligning her character for God's sake. She did what she had to do."
But my mom had clearly not gotten over her hatred for Noor either, "And why not? You humiliated our family back then, almost made Sehr's in-laws question her marriage, and now you're going to do it again by insisting on marrying someone whose family has nothing...no name, no status, no education"
"Omar, do you have any idea about the extent of our family's wealth? With all our business across the world, do you know what our bank account looks like right now?" my father asked in a serious tone.
I didn't know, and didn't care.
"I don't give a damn about our business accounts."
"Yet, you have reaped the benefit of our name and status. How do you think you got into medical school or went abroad for a PhD? Or that you are able to afford all the luxuries you have now despite your measly intern salary. It's all the money that I have been sending you," my father asserted.
"I don't need your money," I retorted defiantly. "I'm a physician; I can support myself."
I could see Abu sit up straight. I knew the battle had already been decided. He only needed to deliver the verdict now, even if each spoken word pulled me deeper into a blackhole of despair and loathing.
"Well, you will be doing just that because I'm cutting off your monthly stipend. If you want to throw your life away with a deceitful family, then go ahead. But I'm warning you, do not bring shame to this family again. Otherwise, mujh se bura koi nahi ho ga."
Abu's voice, low and bitter, signaled the end of the conversation. He hung up the phone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I couldn't care less about the stipend my father sent. Most of it remained untouched because I wasn't living the luxurious life he assumed. The more I thought about the conversation with my parents, the angrier I became. I had never witnessed this side of my family or the society I had grown up in. Perhaps I had been blind to it because it had never directly affected me. The blatant colorism, classism, and arrogance must have always been there.
There was no fundamental difference between Madi and me, except for the accident of our birthplaces, something entirely beyond our control. Yet, the world treated us in such different ways. My father was right: even though I complained about the family business, I had still reaped every possible benefit from it since the day I was born.
Meanwhile, the world had hurled every form of ugliness at Madi, and yet she had emerged with her beautiful, untarnished, and compassionate soul. Sitting in my empty living room, I thought of all the reasons why I yearned to spend my life with her. None of them seemed to matter to my family, who were blinded by their prejudices toward anyone who didn't fit their mold.
In that moment, my heart ached with the love I felt for Madi. But then, a sinking feeling overcame me.
What was I supposed to say to her?
What words could convey that every fear she had, the ones I had foolishly dismissed, were now becoming reality?
On the day when a global pandemic had officially been declared, where could we possibly go from here?
My phone pinged with a text message. I peaked at it, dreading that it was Madi, hoping that it was Sehr. It was an unknown number.
Unknown: You were never the son your father needed. Lucky for him, he has me. Enjoy living like a pauper!
What the hell...
*******
I don't have much to say about this chapter other than...Yikes 😬😬
But would love to hear your thoughts though. Where do Omar and Madi go from here? That too on the verge of a raging pandemic.
And who sent that anonymous message?
Thanks for reading! Don't forget to vote and let me know your thoughts 🙂
P.s. In case you haven't guessed already. The news clips mentioned are real clips from actual days that they were published.