What happened?

It’s 7.45am, class begins at 8am. I get off the bus and begin my daily walk to the college which was ten to fifteen minutes’ from where I got dropped off. I started walking briskly with a bit of jogging, mindful of not being drenched by the summer heat in the month of May in Karachi.

My mind wandered to think about Mr. Shah who does not allow late comers enter the class even if it’s just a minute!

Suppressing my fear, I say to myself, ‘but he likes me and our small group, because we really wanted to study, we are rarely absent, did our homework, engaged in class, were never a bother besides the odd jokes and war of words as a result of teenage, adolescent, puberty, who had studied in an all-boys school for ten year, and now in a co-ed environment’. Sensational!

Whatever!

We were a group of religious fraternity, Muslims, Hindus and Christians, proud citizens of the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. We still cherish our sorority beyond religious borders.

While I was halfway through my walk, I remembered that I didn’t stop to give a small amount in alms to the poor woman with a child in her lap, who sat on the very edge of the pavement next to the bus stop. I used to give her something daily, whatever two-five rupees. Even fifty paisas if I hadn’t enough. I guess she was an Afghan lady because Pakistan and specially the city of Karachi was full of Afghan refugees who had crossed the borders choosing to be alive. Why was this my illusion? I could only see her eyes as she always wore a burqa. Do not know!

Captivated by the fear of missing the class and it will become my first absence, even when I am actually not, I will miss a lecture on the topic I studied last night, oblivious of my surroundings i kept walking when suddenly i realised the street was extremely quiet than normal, there were no thelley-wallahs (sellers using hand-carts) selling all sorts of stuff before the major shops in the market pull their shutters up.

I wondered whether I was in the right place or was I even supposed to be here at this time, knowing very well how fast Karachi can transform into a dead city because of political tension and street wars between different political party workers, or a strike called in the wee hours which I wasn’t aware off, terrorism or something else and once the episode is over the lights return to the city with a bang as if nothing had happened. Even the small Pathan road-side hotel on the way was closed, no one serving chai (tea), parathas (layers of cooked dough) oil sucked by the old piece of newspaper and chana - puris (chick-peas curry with moderate version of paratha). What’s going on!

As I was reaching closer to my college, I saw other students carrying either a notebook or a full bag (of books, I assume) hurrying towards the college building. At a distance, I saw a mob but just a few yards before that I saw an army jeep and two police vans. Thankfully I wasn't in the front of the other students. Being a Karachiite, we wished, we would rather encounter a dacoit or a mugger than the local police. But thankfully there were army men around, so the police were under check. We can trust an army man, anytime. Maybe the police in Karachi have improvised with time! God knows.

The police stopped the other students who were before me and started asking them questions et cetera, when I reached closer to them, they were already done with the questioning and were advising the students to go back home until things normalised. I was just a bystander at that point and listened to the instructions. Little did we know or understood at that moment what had happened, until later in the afternoon. No wonder my mind was working overtime.

Walking back, my speed was slower as I was in no hurry, as a tortoise or a very old person walking after years of heavy lifting of work, commitments, upbringing of children (who may have gone far away), life spent in providing for family or taking care of old parents, being a husband, being a wife, being a mother, being a father, being an employee, being a brother, being a sister, being a friend, being someone but actually no one. A tired walk!

I had not seen my friends, I hadn’t seen my teachers, I hadn’t entered my class and college, I didn’t attend the lecture I prepared for, I didn’t see that beggar woman. I didn’t see the hustle and bustle! A day in life wasted.

In the afternoon when i was lounging around the house with no purpose, i found out that everything in the city had been shut down as a result of the adventures of two political parties who had fought a pitched battle last evening and a few of their young workers got killed or were injured. A life, in each of them, wasted for no reason. Families of the workers who got killed, trashed their dreams of a good life. Lives wasted.

We didn’t have cell phones in those days and had to wait until we returned either to our college or if we lived in near vicinity we would meet up with our friends in the afternoon or evening.

It took three days for normalcy to return in the city and it came with a bang. People talked about the event (times have changed, a death is an event). Lives in a normal gear i.e. the daily grind is better than having no purpose to get up each morning.

I was happy and eager to go to the college and live a life. As usual I got off the bus and searched for the beggar (poor) woman, but I couldn’t find her at her usual spot.

Day went by at the college enjoying the company of friends, ogling the opposite sex, enjoying our classes and the extra attention received from our teachers as they were enjoying teaching to a curious few.

On way back, I again looked for the woman as it was the same route to catch the bus back home, but I didn’t find her. Why was I missing her?

In all honesty, poor or rich or manageable are just words to help define. My connection with her was only through her eyes, which could speak without uttering a word. Salaam, gratitude and thank you. Three words which are wonderful and all one needs, if one imagines!

Days became weeks and weeks turned into months and months into a year and then four. I completed my college education and moved to University but until the last time I visited that bus stop, whether for college or to perform any other errand in that vicinity, I kept searching for that woman, who was she? What happened to her? Where did she go? What happened to her child? Imagining about her today, the child must have grown up. She must have grown old. She may have died. Was she the character ‘Zameen’ from the novel ‘The Wasted Vigil’ by Nadeem Aslam.

Sometimes when I reminisce, I ask, who were those who got killed? What happened to their families? What happened to that street? What happened to that hotel where we had our chai? Was this a plot from the ‘The Party Worker’ by Omar Shahid Hamid.

What happened to me? What happened to…?

No surprise, the world changes around us in a split second, a minute, an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year or many years, and we adapt or are sucked in by evolution.

Copyright: Kirtan Varasia (2020)