June 2020
Omar
June 15: Relaxing lockdown, SOPs' violation led to increase in Covid-19 cases: Punjab health official (Dawn News)
Violations of standard operating procedures (SOPs) for the novel coronavirus before and during Eid holidays have changed the trend of cases in the federal capital.
Due to the increasing cases, the total number of patients in the capital has surpassed the figure of 8,000 and two sub-sectors of G-9 have been sealed. Moreover, some more areas may be locked down in coming days as they also meet the requirements of declaring them hotspots.
Naeem Uncle had mentioned on the phone that parts of Karachi would be going in lockdown too. It would be part of a 'smart lockdown' strategy the government had adopted to focus on high COVID prevalence sections of the city, sparing the economies of other areas. Whether we would be a part of that lockdown or not, was still unknown.
"Any news about the BiPap machine?" Ami asked as we both sat at the breakfast table, and I was already on my second cup of coffee.
"No, but Naeem Uncle said to give him till noon."
Silence descended on the table after that. Partly, because I wasn't sure what to say anymore or even how to feel.
Last night unfolded in ways I never anticipated. Somehow, I transitioned from staunchly vowing to keep Madi's name out of this house to articulating the multitude of reasons why I was unequivocally and entirely in love with her. And that she was an indispensable part of my life, a commitment I could never compromise on.
Maybe, it was the fact that I craved her presence in those challenging times. Or perhaps, even as an adult I was still my parents' child. Whatever it was, and despite my attempts to downplay the significance of their approval, their endorsement of our relationship had suddenly seemed important.
After finishing a quick breakfast, I was about to get up from the table when Ami reached out and placed her hand over mine. "Omar," the tenderness in her voice still felt like a dream.
Yet, everything was real. My parents had seemed to change their mind about Madi and I, and it wasn't just a superficial, spur-of-the-moment acceptance. Abu had apologized through wet eyes last night, while Ami nodded in the corner. And right then, my mother was asking me for something I never thought she would.
"Would Madiha be awake right now?" she asked me.
"Yes. Why?"
Ami smiled, warmth permeating her ageing eyes, "If its ok with you, I'd like to talk to her."
Something told me Madi wouldn't mind talking to her either.
*******
While waiting for Madi's response to my text, the doorbell rang. A man in his 60s, dressed in crisp khaki pants and a blue collared shirt, stood before me, holding a BiPap machine.
I immediately recognized him. He bore more wrinkles than in the past, and his receding hairline indicated the passage of years since our last encounter. Yet, the kindness in his dark brown eyes remained unchanged. It brought back memories of the gentleness he had shown when Sehr and I were children, eagerly anticipating visits to Abu's factory and the delightful moments when he shared his hidden stash of candy with us.
"Assalama Alaikum. Aap Omar hain?" the man questioned. Clearly, I had changed considerably since the last time I met him. (Are you Omar?)
"Ji. Naeem Uncle, mein Omar houn." (Yes, I am)
"Kaisay hain ab Khan sahab?" he asked immediately. (How is Mr. Khan?)
"Saans leine mein kaafi mushkil ho rahi hai," I told him more details in layman terms as best as I could, though the creases in his forehead only deepened further. I pushed the door wide open. "Aap please undhar aaein." (He's having a lot of difficulty breathing)(Please come inside)
"Nahi beta, buss yeh BiPap drop karne aaya tha. Bari mushkiloun se mila hai. Ab Allah se dua hai kai Khan sahaab jaldi theek ho jayein." (No, son. I just came by to drop off this BiPap. I found it with a lot of difficulty. I just pray to Allah that Mr. Khan gets better soon)
His hesitancy about coming inside made sense. Why would he enter the house of his tormentor? What didn't make sense to me was the worried look on his face when he asked about Abu's health, or the genuine sympathy in his words.
"Uncle mein aap se eik baat pooch sakta houn?" I called out after him when he turned out to leave. (Could I ask you something?)
"Of course, beta."
"Abu ne aap ke saath itna bura saluk kiya hai, aap phir bhi un ka itna khyaal kyun rakh rahe hain?" (Abu dealt with you so poorly. Yet, why are you taking such good care of him?)
A gentle smile spread on his face, so reminiscent of his niece. "Beta, meray Allah ne hukum diya hai kai agar kissi ki madad kar sako tou karo, chahe woh dushman ho ya dost. Aur Khan sahab ke tou phir bhi meray uper bohat ehsaan hain. Buss, pichle kuch saaloun mein woh bhatak gaye the..." he shrugged and looked away from me.
(My Allah has ordered to help people whenever we can, whether they are our enemies or friends. I am actually quite indebted to Mr. Khan. Unfortunately, he seems to have gone astray in the last few years)
"Aap ka bohat baraa dil hai. Bilkul Madiha ki tarha," I couldn't help remarking. (You have a really big heart. Just like Madiha)
His smile widened, "Hum ghareeboun ki jaib beshak choti or khaali hoti hai, leikin dil kabhi chota nahi hota kyun ke hum sirf Allah pe bharosa karte hain." (Us poor people may have small and empty pockets, but we always have bi hearts because we only rely on Allah)
In that brief conversation, that man had gained more respect from me than anyone else. He called himself poor, but in all honesty he was wealthier than any of us when it came to the richness of his heart. Its true what they say - genuine wealth lies not in material possessions, but in the depth of one's spirit and imaan in something greater than oneself.
As soon as I entered Abu's room, he asked me how I managed to get a hold of the BiPap machine.
"Naeem Uncle came by. He works for a medical equipment company now." I didn't hesitate to add, "after you kicked him out of Surgilab."
Abu's last words to me, just before I placed the BiPap mask on his face were, "I was wrong, Omar. I should have listened to you and not that useless Shadab. Naeem had always been such a loyal employee." He held my hand and pleaded, "You have to fix this."
I had already vowed to do just that.
*******
"Sorry my phone died, is Uncle ok?" Madi's worried voice came through the phone.
"Yes, yes. He is getting better."
It had only been a couple of hours since I had put him on the BiPap machine but even in that short time we had been able to decrease his oxygen requirement slightly and this latest blood oxygen and carbon-di-oxide levels had improved. It was too early tell, and perhaps naïvely optimistic of me, but for the first time in the last 48 hours things had looked less bleak.
"Oh I am so glad to hear that Omar. I've been praying for Uncle, I just hope he fully recovers now," she replied. Of course, she had been praying. Perhaps, it was the same prayers that had changed my parents hearts too.
"InshaAllah. But listen, Ami wants to talk to you."
"To me? Why, what did I do?"
"You stole her son's heart," I chuckled. "But its your choice Madi. I would understand if you didn't want to talk to her. How much my family is involved in our life, is your decision more than it is mine."
There was silence on her end till she spoke again in a hushed, deliberate voice, "It is hard to forget what they said about my family, but you are going to be my husband. And your family will always be a part of you. So I want to try and have a relationship with them too."
I smiled imagining her sitting up and squaring her shoulders like she always did when she was ready to stand her ground, "Omar, I'd like to talk to your mother too."
Her words, accompanied by the soft melody of her voice, sent shivers down my spine. "I have no idea what I did to deserve you, but right now, I love and respect you more than you could ever imagine."
"Omar!" she exclaimed, and laughed. "Stop making my heart race with that flirty voice of yours. I am nervous enough as it is."
How I wished I could embrace her, kiss her temple, and breathe in her essence, but that would have to wait for a few more weeks. Instead, I set out to find Ami.
*******
Their initial conversation with the phone on speaker, was polite. Ami congratulated Madi on graduating residency as well as becoming a chief resident. Madi asked how Ami was holding up with Abu's illness and told her she was praying for his quick recovery. On the face of it, not an unexpected exchange between a mother and her future daughter-in-law.
That is until Ami ventured into the murky, painful past.
"Madiha beti, I also just wanted to say that I am very happy that Omar is marrying such a lovely girl like you. And...uh, I hope that we get to meet you one day."
Lovely girl? That was a far cry from what my mom had said about her a few months ago. A simple 'we hope to meet you', was never going to be enough. My facial expression and Madi's silence must have given away what we were both thinking. Ami seemed to have noticed and nodded, choosing her next words carefully.
"I need to apologize to you. It was extremely unfair and wrong of us to do what we did." My mother glanced at me. "We thought we were doing the right thing for Omar by hiring a private investigator, and going through your family's background. But listening to Omar speak about you made me realize ke Allah ne tou tum dono ki jori aasman per hi bana di thi." (Allah paired you up in heaven)
She gently patted my cheek while still talking to Madi, "Mein tumhari Ami se bhi baat karoun gi but I hope that you can find it in your heart to forgive us." (I will talk to your mother as well)
Not a sound came from Madi until this moment. I briefly worried that despite Ami's attempted apology, she might still be deeply upset. If that were the case, I would have fully supported her right to feel that way.
However, I had underestimated Madi's resilience. A woman with a heart of pure gold, she consistently sought the positive in every situation. Now was no different. Yet, she wasn't someone to compromise her self-respect or her parents' dignity either. That became all the more evident as she responded to Ami.
"Aunty, I won't lie. The way you treated me and my family, including Naeem Taya has been humiliating. My parents have worked day and night to give us the best life they possibly could," she started in that confident voice I had come to expect from her.
But her voice caught when she said, "I am not lesser than any other girl you could have chosen for Omar. I may not be the richest, or the prettiest, or even sophisticated enough for your taste, but Aunty, I am loyal, and faithful and will always stand by your son."
My heart was so full of emotion, I could barely hold my tears back when she said, "I know that I make him happy, more than anyone else ever could. And he loves me, just as much as I love him."
I could picture the tears falling down her cheeks as she continued, in her hoarse, but bold and unapologetic voice, which literally made my chest hurt with the admiration I had for this woman. "If you knew me, you'd see how perfect Omar and I are for each other. Aunty, I may not be who you had pictured for your son, but I am proud of who my parents have raised me to be. So I am going to ask you to please...please, accept me for who I am, because your son has. I just want to spend my life with him in peace."
Her voice was almost a whisper when she added, "We deserve to be respected for the choice we have made."
Silence hung in the air. The only sounds were Madi's sniffling and Ami's quiet sobs, while I grappled with my own emotions.
Madi was something else - a rare blend of compassion, courage, and benevolence. I had once told her that having her as a senior resident was a privilege. Today, I could unequivocally declare that loving her and being loved by her was a far greater privilege.
When Ami finally spoke, there was no room left to doubt her acceptance of us. "I couldn't have found a better wife for Omar even if I tried. I'm so sorry that you both have endured so much because of our greed and selfishness."
Madi replied almost immediately, "It's ok Aunty, we are humans after all. It's in our nature to make mistakes. Like my father says, sometimes it's best to learn from the past and then let it go."
"Your father seems like a very wise man," my mom smiled at the phone. "I know Omar's Abu would really like to talk to him as well, as soon as he feels better."
"I am sure Abu would like that too."
The call ended. It was close to midnight for Madi, but as Ami and I sat together in the living room in silence, the air suddenly felt lighter. With the past acknowledged and atoned for, the future seemed bright. Yet, there was an important lesson for me to learn.
"Thank you for accepting her, Ami. But I can't help thinking that if Abu had not gotten sick, you would still have been arrogantly stuck on the differences between her and I"
Ami's shoulders slumped and she nodded slowly, "Tum theek keh rahe ho beta. Shayed iss hi liye kehte hai ke Khuda ki laathi bay awaaz hoti hai."(You are right son. Maybe this is why they say that God's stick is silent**)
** I did a literal translation here, but really what the term 'Khuda ki laathi bay awaaz hoti hai' means is what goes around comes around and you never know when that might happen.
I just prayed that the lessons learnt in the last few days were etched in her heart and mind forever, not just a temporary awakening of her conscience.
*******
I spent the next 6 hours at Abu's bedside, adjusting the settings on the BiPAP machine to make him more comfortable, and positioning the mask so it would not irritate his skin and/or leak air. The male nurse, Iskandar, whom we had hired was a young man, just a couple of years out of nursing school, but sharp as a whip. So when I felt that Abu was getting more comfortable breathing, and my eyelids felt so heavy I could barely keep them open, I trusted Iskandar enough to take a nap for a couple of hours.
However, what was intended as a short respite turned into a four-hour sleep. Upon waking, I discovered that soon after I fell asleep Abu started feeling bloated by the air being pushed in through the BiPap machine.
"Why didn't anyone wake me up?" I asked, hurriedly scanning my father's sleeping form.
"We didn't have to, I called Madi," Ami replied.
Brows furrowed in confusion, I had to ask, "How?" No one had her number other than me, on my password protected phone.
Turns out, no one had her number except me and the private investigator my parents had hired. How ironic? I thought.
What wasn't ironic or unexpected was that after Ami called her, my sweet and intelligent Madi connected with Abu on video chat, assisted the nurse in adjusting the BiPAP machine settings and positioning of his adjustable bed, and followed up every hour to make sure he was still comfortable. All from the other side of the globe.
No wonder Ami couldn't stop singing Madi's praises. And when Abu woke up a couple of hours later, he insisted he wanted to talk to her father.
"Now please," my father whispered to me through his mask, as soon as I leaned into him to listen to his lungs.
"Abu, it's ok. You can do it later, nobody is going anywhere. Get better first," I tried to tell him.
But he shook his head stubbornly, "No! There may not be a later...call Madiha beti's parents now. I need to fix my mistake before it is too late."
The man was no less headstrong that his future daughter-in-law. And so, late evening that day in Karachi and early morning in Chicago, Madi and I connected on WhatsApp while our parents held a zoom meeting.
"Can you believe what is happening?" she asked.
"No, I can't, but you know that this is all because of you, right? My parents never stood a chance against the formidable force of nature that you are, Dr Madiha Ahmed," I grinned at my phone.
She chuckled in response, "Mine couldn't resist your patient humbleness, Dr Omar Khan."
We stayed with each other on the phone while our Madi's parents reminisced about their time in Karachi. Turned out that in their youth, both our fathers used to hang out at the same eateries on Burns Road - a famous food street where the food was cheap, the taste unbeatable and the crowd abundant.
"You probably saw each other too, but had not idea you'd be connected in the future," Ami pointed out.
"We probably did," I heard Ahmed Uncle laugh.
Madi's cheerful voice came over my own phone, "Did you know you'd be marrying Naeem Taya's niece when he was hand out his secret stash of candy?"
"No, no I didn't."
When I had first arrived in Karachi just about a week ago, I wouldn't have dared to entertain the thought of bringing Madi to this city or to my parents' house. Now, though, as I sat contemplating the smiling faces of my parents and, listened to the excited voices of my in-laws, I couldn't help but wonder if my dream of a regular married life, with a loving wife and welcoming in-laws, would indeed come true.
"Jaisay hi yeh pandemic khatam hota hai, Fariha aap aur Ahmed bhai please Karachi aiyah ga, aur InshaAllah hum bhi Chicago ka chakr lagaien gai," my mother was telling my in-laws now. (As soon as this pandemic is over, please do come to Karachi, and we will InshaAllah make a trip to Chicago as well)
They had been engrossed in conversation for 20 minutes, prompting me to intervene as Abu needed to resume using the BiPAP. Ami, however, relocated the laptop to a different spot in the room and extended another apology to Madi's parents. She assured them that the issue with Naeem Uncle would be addressed, and his name would be cleared. I overheard my father-in-law expressing his contentment that his daughter had found such a genuine man.
Abu squeezed my hand and whispered through the mask I had just secured onto his face, "I am so proud of you, my son. You're a better man than I ever was."
I stood still, reciprocating with a slight smile.
There was a time in my life when I yearned to hear those words from my father. Then came a period when I had given up hope of ever hearing them. Yet, here I stood in front of him witnessing such heartfelt words it cast away any doubt I had ever had about myself.
And it was all because of this stubborn senior resident, who was everything from shy, and introverted, to valiant and persevering. Qualities that had completely taken over my heart and mind.
See, I told myself then, the world was conspiring - not against me and Madi, but to bring us together.
However, as I would find out just a couple of days later, I had spoken too soon. The 'world' hadn't yet stopped conspiring. Just 5 days before my return flight, that I prayed everyday was not cancelled or delayed, my sister sent me a somewhat ominous message.
Sehr: Be near your phone in an hour. Maliha and I need to talk to you.
Me: Oh jeez. What now?
She never replied till the two were on a video conference call with me on WhatsApp. "How do you two even know each other?" I asked them.
"Madi and I are friends and she introduced me to her sister. Keep up, dude," my sister retorted immediately, making me roll my eyes at her.
"Fine, but what are you two conspiring about?"
"Actually Omar bhai, we are here to help you and Madi," Maliha spoke up.
Suddenly, that feeling of doomsday was back again, "Help? Why do we need help? What happened now?"
"Well..." Maliha sucked in a breath. "It seems that when your parents spoke to ours, they may have dropped a hint that they would like to be involved in your and Madi's wedding. And I overheard Mama and Abu saying yesterday that you and Madi will only get married once, and there's no point in rushing things, especially now that your parents are also on-board. So they were planning to call Aunty and Uncle to suggest that your wedding day be moved to the winter. That way, hopefully the pandemic will be over and both sides of the family can get together in either Karachi or Chicago and have a real wedding, instead of just a small backyard gathering."
Somewhere in the middle of that rambling speech, I had stopped listening. All my brain kept repeating was, ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!!
How was it, that even when things worked out for Madi and I, somehow we still ended up not being able to get married when we wanted to? Of course, I swore like a bloody sailor only in my head. I had enough self control to not say that out loud in front of Maliha, even though I had a good mind to text Sehr in all caps right then.
All I asked Maliha was, "Does Madi know about this?"
"No, she doesn't -" she replied, before my sister cut in.
"And she doesn't need to know yet, because we have a plan that we wanted to run by you. I know how desperate the two of you are to be with each other," Sehr said while giggles escaped her, which made Maliha giggle as well.
I ignore them acting like little school girls, while thinking about the prospect of staying away from Madi for another 6 months. It would be utter and total torture. Especially, when our hearts had been set on being husband and wife as soon as I landed in Chicago. Hadn't we waited long enough?
"Yoohooo, stop acting like someone died," Sehr's shrill voice cut through the haze of despair. "I said, we have a plan."
"What plan?" I reluctantly asked.
They took another 10 minutes to talk over each other excitedly as they laid out everything they had been discussing and why they were convinced that was our best course of action.
All I could say was:
"That is your plan. How will we ever pull it off?"
*******
How do you pull off a wedding in the middle of a pandemic? You'll find out soon!
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