Tunnel Vision (18 page)

Did the other women have it better? The ones without the serial second-guesser in their heads? Did they bathe in ass
'
milk and wallow in contentment? Sleep better at night? Did they sometimes want to be like me, like I sometimes wanted to be like them? If Adil put an ad for me in the matrimonial section of the paper would it read
‘
match wanted for my sister tall fair MBA domesticated
'
or
‘
tall fair MBA masticated (but still inedible)
'
? Was my independence a charade considering I had actually been domesticated just by my mother not by a man? Is that why I wanted Saad? Did I want a new owner?

That Saad would be a supportive husband was a frequent topic of conversation between us, in purely hypothetical terms of course.

‘
My wife,
'
he had replied when I first asked if, for all his outward rhetoric, he was a closet conservative like 80 per cent of other men I knew,
‘
will be marrying the most open-minded person there is within a one-thousand mile radius.
'

‘
And how open-minded would that be exactly?
'

‘
I
'
m so open-minded I have to walk leaning forward so my brain doesn
'
t fall out of the back of my head.And I never drive by Burnes Road, because the shopkeepers chase my car yelling “Mughuz, Mughuz“.
'

‘
That is open-minded.
'

‘
I told you.
'

‘
But seriously …
'

‘
But seriously, I
'
m not one of those men who would presume to dictate to my wife, especially not since I
'
ll probably marry an intelligent, educated woman with a mind of her own.
'

‘
So you wouldn
'
t get all constipated about her working, etc?
'

‘
Hell, she should work. Everyone should, just because it helps you appreciate things you
'
d otherwise take for granted. Of course,
'
he said, catching my look of disgust at the implication that some people worked because they felt like it rather than because they had to,
‘
if she wanted to stay at home and paint her toenails, that would be fine too.
'

‘
What if she used your money to go out and pay someone else seven hundred rupees to paint her toenails for her?
'

‘
No problem. As long as they aren
'
t black.
'

‘
So your giving nature does have limits.
'

‘
Everyone has limits. Otherwise there would be nothing to push against, and what would life be without a little conflict, my little court shoe.
'

‘
Don
'
t call me your little court shoe!
'

‘
Now that
'
s a silly limit to have. Why don
'
t you save your convictions for something really important, like honour killing?
'

‘
There
'
s more than enough to cover both.
'

‘
I know,
'
Saad sighed,
‘
I wish you
'
d laugh more.
'

‘
I would if I saw more of you. You
'
re funny looking.
'

We chortled, grinned idiotically at each other, and munched masala fries in contented silence for the next few minutes. When I was with Saad, a heavy weight seemed to lift off my shoulders.

IT
'
S VERY HARD TO FIND A VIRGIN

GRAFFITI ON ZAMZAMA

~

‘A
yesha, Ayesha!
'
My mother was standing by my bed shaking my arm. The canola in my hand was dangling by a thread.

‘
Ma
'
am, stop it! Ma
'
am, stop shaking her!
'
A nurse gently took both my mother
'
s hands in her own.
‘
You mustn
'
t disturb the drip, you must not touch anything,
'
she told her.

Ammi looked bewildered,
‘
But don
'
t you think it
'
s time for her to get up?
'

‘
She needs to rest.
'

‘
Rest, rest, rest. That
'
s all she ever does. Well, I think it
'
s time she got up and let the rest of us rest. Ha ha,
'
Ammi chuckled. To the practiced ear, it was an ominous sound. The rage train was about to leave the station.

‘
Ma
'
am why don
'
t we go outside for a while? The doctor said only a minute.
'
She took her arm. Kind eyes. Ammi shook her hand off.

‘
No. I want to stay in here and talk to my daughter some more. She
'
s unconscious, so I can be the one talking for a change. She never lets anyone talk when she
'
s awake.
'

‘
You have to go outside now Ma
'
am.
'

‘
Don
'
t defend her. I know you
'
re doing it because you think she deserves it, but if you were in her place she would never have been as considerate of you. She has no consideration for anyone. Do you know her name and picture are in the paper today? A picture of her being carried to a car by a hijra? People know she
'
s my daughter. What will they say? No, she has no consideration for anyone!
'

‘
Anjum!
'
The nurse kept trying to get Ammi away from my bed with one hand, calling to someone outside over her shoulder.

‘
Oh no!
'
Ammi didn
'
t seem conscious of where she was,
‘
she
'
d be out with some boyfriend or the other. Taking their presents. Calling them at night to whisper obscenities. She thinks I don
'
t hear her but I do. Letting them drive her places.You know what kind of places, don
'
t you? No, you
'
re just a girl.Your father would know.
'

‘
Ma
'
am, please come with me.
'
Anjum turned out to be a strapping male nurse. Another one of those girl-boy names.

Till now my mother
'
s tirade had been delivered in a melodious, happy tone; she had skipped over the words like an excited child playing hopscotch on a concrete pavement. Now, her tone tightened, her voice hardened as she said,
‘
That
'
s why he liked her so much, you know.
'

‘
Who, ma
'
am?
'
Anjum asked as he pushed her firmly towards the door,
‘
why don
'
t you tell me about it outside?
'

‘
Why, her father of course! He liked he because he knew what she was. He knew others like her. I know he did. He didn
'
t know I knew but he knew them. Knew them very well. Better than a decent man ever would. He liked her because she reminded him of them, with her flirting and her revealing clothes and her whispering in his ear.
'

‘
Ammi,
'
I was weeping but she couldn
'
t see me and if she could it would have made no difference,
‘
please stop it …
'

‘
You think I don
'
t know what he whispered to you,
'
Ammi ripped herself out of the startled Anjum
'
s grip and, flinging herself on my paralysed form, began to beat on my chest,
‘
I know what he whispered, he used to whisper it to me first!
'

Both the nurses moved to grab her arms and tried to pin them to her sides but she elbowed one in the chest and stamped on the other one
'
s foot. Slivers of jet escaped from her bun and rose around her face; Medusa in her prime. The female nurse stumbled backwards, clutching her chest and gasping, then she rushed through the door and into the corridor.

‘
Slut! Lazy, good-for-nothing, worthless slut!
'

Slam! The IV tube was knocked over, the long-suffering canola in my hand ripped out of its miserable, half-justified existence.

‘
Whore! Slut! Fraud! Bitch!
'

There was a commotion at the door as several people, led by Adil, Dr Shafiq among them, tried to get in at once. Adil looked stricken at the sight of our mother looming over me, her face contorted with hate, her mouth working.

‘
It was all your fault!
'
she shrieked as her manic hands went to the tube that fed oxygen into my nose. Two orderlies grabbed her and began dragging her towards the door. She struggled, managing to push one of them off.

‘
Get her out of here,
'
Dr Shafiq snapped, pulling the fallen man to his feet and pushing him back into the fray.

‘
You,
'
he barked at Adil,
‘
get your mother out of this hospital now!
'

‘
It was all your fault!
'
I could still hear my mother screaming,
‘
he left because of you! Saad will never marry you if he knows! I
'
ll tell him! He
'
s only put you in here because it
'
s payment for services rendered. Good thing you
'
ve been sleeping with a rich man for a change!
'

The door swung shut and cut her off. The only sound in the room was the humming of the air conditioner, and the sound of my heart racing on the cardiac monitor.

‘
Mothers!
'
Dr Shafiq sighed as he put my canola back in and fixed my drip,
‘
sometimes I wish everyone was a test-tube baby.
'

A nurse came in and stood waiting for instructions.

‘
She needs an immediate X-ray,
'
he said,
‘
she might have a broken rib.
'
The nurse rushed off, a study in speed.

‘
Don
'
t you just love efficiency after the fact …
'
Dr Shafiq leaned across and straightened the sheet over me.

‘
Now I think you can hear me. I think you might have heard your mother too. I
'
m not a psychiatrist, but I can tell you your mother is a sick woman. You
'
re a smart girl. I can tell. You know she
'
s not well. I want you to try and think of things that are pleasant, full of love. Think of nothing except your future and all the things that will bring you joy in it. Focus. Find peace.
'

He kept talking, crooning almost, till my heartbeat slowed down, down, down, then began to look worried as it dropped further, jabbed the call button. More nurses flooded in, bustling and scurrying around me, I, the body in the centre of it, a little dot of trouble enveloping yet more people into its poisonous circumference.

I looked away for the last time from living colour; looked for black. I was ready.

I found black. Let everything go. There was a sound in my ears, the thunder of a thousand locomotives passing at speed. It faded.There was only my awareness of myself. I could see nothing. No Ammi, no Adil, no doctor, no father, no Omar, no Mamu, no Saad. Was this it? Too good for hell but not good enough for heaven? Condemned to God
'
s waiting room, to bide my time in silence until my number was called? It figured.

BLAME IT ON AL-QAEDA

SLOGAN ON POPULAR T-SHIRT

~

‘W
hy?
'
It began with a voice. A child
'
s voice. I thought it was my own.

‘
Why what?
'

‘
Why do you want to die?
'

‘
Because I don
'
t want to suffer anymore.
'

‘
What brings you suffering?
'

‘
Everything. Everyone.
'

‘
Your mother?
'

‘
Of course.
'

‘
Adil?
'

‘
No.
'

‘
Saad?
'

‘
No.
'

‘
Your mamu and mumani?
'

‘
No.
'

‘
Your job?
'