You fear the worst. Then you panic. Your heart starts to race real fast. You beat your arms frantically. You forget all you know. You pull yourself under. You hold your breath. You throw your arms in every direction. You move your legs fast trying to push yourself back up. You manage to hold your breath much shorter than you normally can. Your eyes open wide as you gasp for air, but no air goes inside your lungs. All you taste and breathe in is water. The water fills your lungs. It makes your lungs heavy and drags you down even more. You try to breathe in with your mouth open and all you get is more water. You lose all hope. Blood going to your brain stops. Your vision starts to fade. You cannot think anymore. You stop beating your arms and legs. All you see is black. You stop feeling. Your heart stops. You achieve what you were trying to do; you rise to the surface and start floating. And that is how you fucking drown.
He was everywhere. Everywhere at the same time, for he was a ninja, the invisible ninja. I felt a hard blow to my face from the right. My head was turned away and as soon as I moved towards the right and extended my arms to hit my un-seeable foe I was shook by another blow, this time from the opposite side. This was tougher than I had thought. The village elders were right, the invisible ninja was not an easy match, but I was bent upon proving them wrong.
A few kicks to my stomach left me gasping for air on the floor. Another punch left my nose bleeding. I had to fight blindness with blindness. I stood up, pulled out my sword from its cover, and closed my eyes. I had to concentrate all my senses in one direction. I focused on my hearing and his presence; I held my breath and waiting for the right time, thrust the sword forward with both my hands. I heard a moan and opened my eyes to see blood dripping on the floor from thin air. I pulled my sword out and watched the invisible body fall to the ground as blood started to pool around it.
I had done it. I had defeated the invisible ninja. I looked at my hands, they started to fade away, and so did the rest of my body. The legend was true. He who defeats the invisible ninja, becomes the invisible ninja himself.
It’s not easy being 75 years old; it’s even worse being 75 and traveling on a plane. But the worst thing is to be 75, traveling on a plane and going to meet one of your best friends who is on his death bed.
It’s not easy to be living away from your homeland for 40 odd years, meeting your dear ones less than a dozen times during this period. Its not easy being in a dilemma, the indecision of heading back to your country once you retire or staying where you’ve now ended up living the major part of your life. It’s not easy when you receive a phone call one night in which you hear a very familiar voice telling you something that instead of you making you full with glee sinks your heart down.
“I cant believe my ears Harris! Is it really you? My God it’s been years since I last heard your voice. How have you been?”
“I’ve been well but I’m afraid I have some bad news, its Jamshed, he’s…he’s really sick. The doctors have given him just a few days the most.”
A long silence. I felt my heart would either stop or jump right out of my chest.
“He’s asked if you can come to visit him. The rest of us are here already; Rizwan, Qureshi, Ehtasham and I. Rehman, please come.” I heard his voice crack towards the end of the sentence and that also brought tears to my own eyes. I told him I would take the next available plane back home. Home, it’s such a relative term.
For the whole flight I had one and only one feeling; nostalgia. I couldn’t remember even a single day when I had not been around my friends when I was back in Pakistan. From kindergarten to high school we were best friends. Shared each other’s joys and sorrows. Jamshed had been there for me more than anyone. He had supported me financially when I was in need to pursue my career abroad. He had taken care of my parents when I was away. He had buried them when they passed away when I could not make it back home. I owed him more than he had done. I owed him my life. I owed the rest of the guys a significant part of my life too.
The image that kept running in my mind was of my friends gathered around Jamshed’s bed as he lay there sick, nearing his end. I felt sad, real sad. I wanted this flight to end as quickly as possible. I wanted to be there with my friends again, tell them how much I had missed them, tell them what a big mistake I had made by moving away, how my life had been so dull without them all.
Random memories ran through my mind the whole plane ride. All six of us running around on each other’s birthday parties when we were really young, playing sports when we got older, hanging out and enjoying late night smokes and chit chats on the streets even after. Those were the days. It’s not easy to keep in touch when you are worlds apart. I tried but it was not easy. Out of sight out of mind; so true.
The plane journey was the longest 30 hours of my life. I landed in Karachi at 5 am in the morning when the sun had just begun to peak from the horizon. I felt sadness in the air as I stepped out of the plane and made my way towards the exit as fast as I could. Now that I was actually back, every delay, every second that took longer in my exit from the airport made my heart break off another piece. I finally made it out the exit and right away recognized Qureshi standing among the crowd with his grown up grand children. I burst into tears, highly unlike me, as soon as I hugged him. The car ride was quiet. Noone spoke a single word. We finally reached Jamshed’s old house, a million more memories attacked my brain as I stared with wide eyes out the windows. I got out of the car as soon as it stopped and was greeted by my three other eager friends and a hundred mixed emotions. But the final straw in my haystack of sadness for the day was when I was told that Jamshed had passed away the previous evening. Rizwan handed me a piece of paper that Jamshed had left for me. I read it with tears running down my cheeks.
“My dear friend,
I missed you all these years.
Jamshed Alvi.”
I wish I would have met him even for a single minute before he passed away. May his soul rest in peace.
Just today I clicked to sign into my blog and the website prompted me by saything ‘blog suspended’ and only giving me time to shield my eyes, my monitor exploded throwing me to the ground. Im like whaa?! I quickly took out my brother’s laptop and without even waiting for windows to start up, tried signing in to wordimpress.com again. The same prompt. I quickly shielded my eyes again screaming, “NOOOOOOO!”. No explosion this time. I peaked from behind my hand to see a big HAHA screen saver floating around the screen like it had nothing better to do. Damn right it didn’t. I quickly adopted my kung-fu typing stance and wrote an e-mail to Mark Anthony. He never replied probably because he had nothing to do with the blog. Then some other guy also named Mark replied back saying, “I’m hella sorry dawg, that aint was gonna supposed to B happenin’. Ill fix-a-dix it ASAP. Peace out biatch.” I tried signing in again and a red carpet rolled out from under the PC and i walked right into my blogworld.
In short, wordpress support was very very quick in fixing the problem.
Thanks Mark.
We think in a language, in a language we are comfortable with. It’s mostly our mother tongue. We don’t even realize it that we think in a language subconsciously. But imagine a person with no language. If a newborn baby were to be put alone on an island and never taught anything, would he think? If he would, what language would it be in? Is it even possible to think without knowing a language? Would he ever speak any words or make noise when he doesn’t know what words sound like? Would he even know he could speak? And if he doesn’t have a language and we need that for thinking, will he not think at all?
Always makes me wonder.
.
The future that i dreamt was a fruitless attempt,
The present that you breed, is only to feed your greed.
The past all forgotten, hearts rusted and rotten.
All that remains, the disease of power in our veins.
(This song is the perfect soundtrack to the story Pino Forastiere-Fase -1)
She was lucky that I was there at that time. She was lucky I was there at all. When she collapsed on the floor, she was lucky I walked into the room. I called an ambulance right away without even thinking twice. She stayed at the hospital for three days. You can’t expect a terminal patient to have a life much different than this. I had seen her deteriorate in the last 4 months I had known her. From going out to dinner with me to dinner at home to total parenteral nutrition through a drip, I had seen it all. I loved her. Everyone knows that they can’t live forever, but the worst is not not knowing that you will die, the worst is knowing that you know when you are going to die. The doctors had given her maximum eight months. That was six months before I had met her. She was a strong woman. I can only imagine how much stronger she must have been before her ailment. She was definitely stronger and had more will power than Mary. I think I will miss her more.
I was new to the city. She showed me around. I helped her pack up her stuff and send it to her relatives. She refused to leave her home and go live with her sister. It wasn’t like her sister was going to leave her job and live with her. She was content that I was here to help. I used to love the paper machē barn animals she used to make. I still remember those long talks we used to have in the living room. She was so full of life, even then. Winter wasn’t the best time for anyone to be in a state she was in, but our conversations kept her warm. I loved the hot cocoa she used to make and call me over to have it with her. I didn’t know if it was for that or was it just an excuse to call me over.
She hardly ever visited my place, though I lived just down the lane. But somehow I was happier this way. I would rather visit her at her place than have her over at mine. I didn’t like staying at my place. I always just wanted to get out. It was very refreshing visiting her house; you didn’t know what to expect everytime. It was always something new. She would still sell real estate online. I loved her hair. She would still try to dance to her favorite songs but wouldn’t last long. It was a shame I didn’t know how to dance at all. But I would just sit there and enjoy her enjoying herself.
I really hated the last few days, but those are the days I will remember the most. I hardly left her side. My hand would feel numb after a few hours, but she wouldn’t let it go. There was no comfort in the hospital room aura. We had been in this situation many times before, always returning. This time it seemed it would be the last. It was heart breaking seeing her gasping for every breath. I was a strong person myself. I hardly ever cried. But I was trying very hard not to even now. It was just a matter of time. I hate winter. I hate night time. I hate both of them combined together. But what happened in both their combination is what I will hate more for ever, atleast till next time. I witnessed doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate her but it was merely a drill. Everyone knew she wasn’t going to come back. I wanted to keep holding her hand but I had to let go. I had to deprive her of her last comfort. Of one last thing that still kept her hope. I had to take it away. I sat on the chair in the corner. I sat there till they took her away. I saw her change color. She would always stay alive inside me.
Another summer, another city. I was good at hospital administration. That is what I did half of the year atleast. But it was time again. I had found what I was looking for. She was in the hospital for over a week now and was going to be discharged in the next few days to come. The doctors weren’t very optimistic. It was a pity she had lost her husband only a few weeks ago to a car accident. Im sure she was wishing she would’ve ended then and there too. But I guess it wasn’t in her interest that she was still alive, it was in mine. I filed in my resignation.
I rang the door bell. She wasn’t expecting anyone. But she looked really beautiful in her pajamas.
“Hi, I just moved down the lane a few days ago. Do you mind if I could borrow a few things from you?” I said with a big smile on my face. She smiled back and called me in.
I liked the summer breeze.
No matter how much you don’t want to but the hard fact of life (or death) is that everyone has to go. You can pray for good health all that you want but humans don’t vanish one day or die without a cause, you need a way to go. A disease, a condition , an accident. You cant run away from any of that. You cant spend your time trying to run away from all that. You have to let go of the fears and live it to the most as you await, for you know that slowly but surely death will creep upto you in one way or the other.
- “Honey come here quick! Its time for us to quit our jobs and buy a beach house and spend the rest of our days soaking up the sun! I’m the 1,23,4567th lucky person to visit this site and I just won a million dollars!”
- “Hmm…where do I check my mail again? I guess it was…www.hotmale.com…*click* OH MY GOD!”
- “Dang it! This internet thing is sure mind boggling…how in the world did they ever know I need Viagra?”
- “This nice young lady keeps mailing me to chat with her on the webcam. She’s such a darling”
- “I hate reading the news online! I can’t even take the monitor to the toilet with me!”
- “I’m old but I’m not stupid! Don’t tell me I can buy my grocery while sitting infront of this machine!”
- “Carla come quick! Do you remember the e-mail addresses of all our friends? I need to forward this awful awful e-mail to atleast 20 people or something bad will happen to me! Oh god! What did I do to deserve this?!”
