| Diary of a Neurotic | ||||||
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September 01, 2003 Last night’s effects were evident as I stared myself in the mirror barely managing to open my swelled up eyes. Like every weekend I contemplated going to class but gave in since it was the last one this semester. I was early as usual and had a wide variety of seats to choose from but I settled for the usual one defeated by habit. A few minutes later Dr. Asma walked in her face looked similar to mine, black clothes reflecting her gloomy mood. If you saw Dr. Asma you would never be able to tell she was married with 2 kids, one of them approaching her teenage. After a few conversations with her she quickly became the object of my fascination as a clowned juggler with her heavily lined, wide twinkling eyes, lips appearing larger than life thanks to a dark pink out line and a huge permanent smile. To me she was in perfect harmony juggling all the precious dreams and objects of her life, husband, kids, in-laws, job and a master’s degree. Every week she unfolded the events of her near perfect life, a paki version of Kuch Kuch Hota Hay love story minus Rani Mukharji, her wealthy and influential in-laws and running a private hospital. Mesmerized by the flawless performance of this juggler I listened to her with the admiration of a 5 year old. After the first half of the class, Doctor Sahab as we called her tapped me on the shoulder asking me if I slept well last night. I considered telling her how my dad beat up my dog with a hanger because he peed on his bed; how the poor thing was so clueless at this sudden anger he didn’t even bark or run, how he had a fever the whole night. But I was too tired and really didn’t expect her to be much of a comfort so I pointed at the book I’m reading this week and lied how it kept me hypnotized till early morning. I asked her how things were with her expecting to forget all my little worries and hear her fairy tales. I didn’t need much probing, the juggler had lost its rhythm and as the perfect possessions of her life came crashing down she was screaming out at the misfortune. The affluent house hold and its constant need to be tip-top needed ordering the servants and reduced her capabilities to a mere organizer or a SUPERVISOR maid. The huge flocks of educated and loving in-laws and their frequent visits. Millions of questions ‘why’ ‘how’ ‘where’ day in and day out from her little kids. A husband who complained that she had everything in life and the Masters was just an added nuisance. All of this left her exhausted, cranky and reduced to a lowly house wife incapable of utilizing her potential. I hesitated or maybe dreaded the answer when I asked her what role her husband played in the stressful schedule. True to the nature of every MAN, his role was just sitting all day in an air-conditioned office, playing with his little gadgets, the laptop and mobile, in front of the TV at home and full of sarcasm to his wife in the bed room, taunting her as she struggles with power point slides and reports. I knew exactly how Dr. Sahab felt, but I didn’t know if she would believe it coming from some one who is 10 years younger and still unmarried. I knew because the typical married life scared the shit out of me too and I had seen her situation happening too many times. As a single tear rolled off my clown faced juggler whom I admired the whole semester I wondered if it was appropriate to hug her but it was impossible to do so in these odd chairs. I didn’t get to tell her that women like her were an inspiration or how I looked forward to our talks every week or even to squeeze her hand and say it’ll be okay. Areeba screamed that she was thirsty our code for going out for a smoke disguised by a perfectly acceptable reason to go out of the campus. And as I walked out of the class I looked back at Dr.Sahab and sent her a silent prayer and peace. (1:06 AM) ~`~
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