Tunnel Vision (5 page)

I felt this now after years of working, or possibly because the head injury had finally forced the lesson to sink in, but this version of reality had long been discussed anytime the women in my MBA class had a minute or two to chat or gossip. The buzz was that if you wanted to succeed in the local corporate world and you were a woman, you couldn
'
t just
‘
be
'
.Your gender had to become your best friend or your worst enemy. Either you batted your lashes and tittered helplessly at all the right people (don
'
t waste your wattage, make every smile count), or you annihilated all aspects of your femininity and assimilated into the male mainstream by epitomizing its worst aspects, that is, its crudity, machismo and ruthlessness. The only way to break that glass ceiling, and at that time this was experienced vicariously through tales of so-and-so
'
s sister
'
s adventures in retail, was to make everyone want to sleep with you or no one want to have to fight you. Bitch in heat or Alpha Male. So it was.

And so it shall be, I wanted to weep on that hospital bed, till some cosmic power hitches us to its tractor and hauls us out of the dark ages. If I had just accepted it when I was still studying, Mr Khairuddin wouldn
'
t have been such a shock to my system.

DEKH MAGAR PYAR SAY

BACK OF RICKSHAW

~

T
o say that I was naïve when I joined that travel agency is like saying that the sky is blue, or the Arabian Sea is polluted, or even that Karachi has a solid waste management crisis. Perhaps because I
'
d never stuck to any workplace long enough to learn anything other than superficial lessons, I was still labouring under the illusion that despite my being a second class citizen of Pakistan by virtue of my gender, in the workplace at least I was equal to, if not better than, my male colleagues. Mr Khairuddin changed all that. In hindsight, he probably did me a favour, but if I
'
m ever in a position where I can hurt him, I shall rip his head off and feed his eyeballs to the crows. I
'
d feed them to the vultures, but apparently they
'
re practically extinct because of some drug South Asian veterinarians continue to use on animals despite it being banned elsewhere in the world.Yet another footnote in the murky history of pharmaceutical malpractice in the Third World, but I guess that
'
s a whole different story.

It was a busy day in Airway headquarters when Mr Khairuddin strolled into my cubicle. Outside, the sun was shining, rickshaws were putt putt puttering and every once in a while a pigeon would
guttergoo
contentedly after depositing a fresh load of guano on the windowsill.

‘
So Ayesha Bibi, how do you like the work so far?
'

‘
It
'
s interesting, Sir.
'

‘
Not too difficult?
'

‘
Not at all difficult, just time-consuming.
'

‘
Yes, but then someone like you would have a lot of time.
'

‘
Someone like me?
'

‘
Well, you
'
re not married, are you?
'

‘
No. But I do have a family to go home to.
'

‘
If you had a husband, that would be a totally different thing though.
'

I wasn
'
t sure where this was going, so I just nodded and looked at my computer screen again.

‘
See, a husband likes his wife to be available all the time. When he comes home, she should be fresh.
'

The line evoked a vivid image of bananas and melons glowing in the sun. I was offended by the sexual undertones of his comment but wanted to avoid a confrontation with my boss so early on. Noncommittal, I figured, was the way to go.

‘
I wouldn
'
t know, Mr Khairuddin. Like you said, I
'
m not married.
'

‘
Hahahaha. Yes, yes.
'

He got off my desk and said,
‘
Married women aren
'
t always the only ones with men in their lives.
'

The next day the office peon brought me tea every couple of hours without being asked, to the annoyance of everyone on the floor. I made him stop, but not before he loudly requested that I tell Mr K that I
'
d insisted he did.

It didn
'
t help that I knew my options for retaliation were limited. Good old General Zia-ul-Haq. This was really all his fault.

I
'
d had my share of the leering and pinching during my daily bus commute when I was at the IBA, but this was the first time someone in authority was walking the line with me, and also the first time the game was being played on such a delicate level. I hoped I
'
d established my lack of interest.Then again, who said the woman had to be interested?

Mr Khairuddin let me stew in my disquiet for a week before swooping down to perch at the edge of my desk like a particularly grotesque species of migratory bird.

‘
And how is everything with you, Bibi?
'

‘
Going well, thanks.
'

‘
Found your way around the organization?
'

‘
Yes.
'

‘
Any technical problems you need some advice on?
'

‘
I
'
ll ask if I have any. So far none, thanks.
'

‘
The boys aren
'
t bothering you, are they?
'

This was rich,
‘
the boys
'
of which he spoke being the most emasculated collection of XY chromosomes I
'
d ever had the misfortune of being around. Mr Khairuddin wanted to ensure he was Alpha Male. I probably had more testosterone in the hair follicles on my pinky finger than every other male, barring Mr Khairuddin, who roosted on my floor.

I had actually become quite friendly with two in particular: Ahsan and Shan, and we had started taking our lunch break together at the coffee house around the corner.Was that what this was all about?

‘
The boys are all very well behaved, and I don
'
t think that problems like that occur in a workplace as professional as this one.
'

I hoped the pointed flattery would earn me a reprieve. Till the next time anyway. Show signs of weakness and they lapsed into protector mode, taking you for one of the parasites. Be aggressive in your denial and you were labelled a pit bull, with male colleagues often acting together to ensure that you were leashed.

‘
Well, of course we
'
re very professional. We are one of the best in the field.
'

‘
Yes sir.
'

‘
You let me know if you have any problems.

Ahsan and Shan had already started teasing me about Mr K
'
s desk perching. Shan had shared a story gleaned from an older colleague, that a pretty assistant sales manager was standard for Airways Travels.

‘
So don
'
t start thinking you
'
re our equal,
'
said Shan,
‘
you only got the job because you don
'
t have as much facial hair as we do.
'

When I got to work the next day I found a plush new swivel chair where my creaky one used to be. I hadn
'
t requisitioned it, even if I had had the authority to, which I didn
'
t.

‘
Ah Ayesha,
'
Mr K waved as he walked by,
‘
hope you find that one satisfactory.
'

Everyone else on the floor was studiously avoiding looking at me. With one masterly stroke, Mr K had begun to separate me from the herd I had been trying so assiduously to blend into.

I thought long and hard about what to do with my new chair. Mr Khairuddin waved me through the open door of his office before his secretary could get a word in.

‘
Would you like me to close the door?
'
He slammed it shut before I could answer. The thud reverberated through the floor. His closing the door suggested an intimacy between us that did not exist

‘
Sit, sit. Be comfortable.
'
He parked himself in his chair; arms elevated behind his head, and looked me up and down.

‘
No thank you. I have that report to submit. I
'
ll only take a moment of your time. Thank you for upgrading my chair, but I was comfortable with the old one.
'

He waved his hand towards the door.
‘
You are not like them. They
'
re beneath you. See the chair as recognition of what makes you special, why don
'
t you? You should be happy you
'
re so appreciated.
'

I bit my tongue to stop myself from telling him he was just a dirty old man and I wouldn
'
t let him even lick my (sensible) shoes. Whatever happened, I could no longer afford to not have a job. Adil was in his final year; Mamu
'
s contribution was not enough to cover his tuition and our household expenses. Ammi didn
'
t work and she could not claim a pension for a missing husband. My months being unemployed had been increasingly difficult for everyone. Mr Khairuddin didn
'
t know it yet, or maybe he recognized it from my sensible shoes, but at that point in my life I was vulnerable to all manner of infection, financial or otherwise.

*

Much like I was now.
I had drifted back to the present, to my self in the hospital. Mamu and Ammi were missing, Amna Mumani was praying and blowing over me as if mystically infused carbon dioxide was going to help me wake up. But then, we all have our crutches.What was taking mine so long? If Saad showed up, maybe his presence would be strong enough to drag me out of the unpleasant memories I was recycling.

Mr K seemed to take my silence as encouragement, aiming his body at me as he spoke.
‘
You should know.You
'
ve studied all these new management theories,
'
a slight smile indicated his contempt for them,
‘
one of the signs of a top manager is the ability to realize and nurture talent.You have it. I see it.
'

‘
My job has little to do with talent, Mr Khairuddin. It
'
s a standardized procedure that just needs hard work and focus to be effective. Please don
'
t praise me unnecessarily. I don
'
t like it.
'

‘
Most of the men out there would like it.
'

‘
It makes me uncomfortable.
'

‘
Like your new chair? You
'
re very fussy, Ayesha Bibi.
'

I left quietly. If I made a fuss, people would attribute it to female hysteria, hypersensitivity, vanity, more reasons to keep women out of decision-making circles. How arrogant of that new chit of a girl to think she was so interesting that the boss, a family man, would jeopardize his reputation for her,
haina?
I could almost hear the gossip.

And he was a family man! A wife. Two kids. Teenage boy and girl. The girl went to an all girls
'
school. The wife weighed in at over 200 pounds and was an acknowledged bully, having terrorized the female staff at Airways
'
annual Sandspit picnic the last twelve years in a row. Perhaps since the children grew further enough from her to let her see the bigger picture.

The next day an avalanche of work began pouring onto my desk. Travel requirements, difficult agents, brochure design, trivialities that could have been competently handled by staff below me, were personally referred to me by his secretary. My work hours grew longer. For the first time in years, Adil and Ammi started eating dinner without me.

One day I looked around my deserted floor, and realized I was being waited out. Shadows pooled in corners, paper in dark cubicles whispered in the breeze from an open window, and the only light at the end of the tunnel was the band visible under Mr K
'
s door.

TAKE HO GAI

'90S LINGO

~

T
hinking of that light now, I flipped again to the present. Would I see one when I died? Or would it be the reddish glow of the fires of hell reflected on the walls of the chute taking me straight down to it? Amna Mumani had finished praying and blowing Arabic flavoured air over me and was now taking a more practical approach to preserving my life. Covering all the angles, I thought, as she began questioning a nurse who had come by to check on me.
‘
Any change? What
'
s the situation? Where is the doctor? When will his rounds bring him here? Have you seen other cases like this? Do they survive? Tell me honestly, in your experience, what are her chances?
'

What were Mr K
'
s chances seemed a better question.

*

One day the band of light under the door grew to illuminate the corridor. Mr K stood framed against its radiance, a sewage puddle of a man, looking at me hunched over my desk at the other end of the floor.