The story of a Pakistani girl born in a desi middle class household. Being part of the society that believes Fair is Lovely, Madiha has a hard time settling with her brown skin and ordinary looks.
All her mother wants, like every other desi mother...
"I'm so sorry..." Rania murmured upon her shoulder squeezing Madiha in a tight hug.
"Bhoolnaanihumeyn.. Anaakabhidubara mil ne.." Maida smiled softly as she took Madiha in her warm embrace. .......
Soft nods and gentle whispers were the farewell for the couple at the Lahore airport. A stark contrast to the highly vocal and enthusiastic welcome they had received.
But such is life, full of excitement one moment and the next an exact opposite. Mere mortals of Dust can but go with the flow, for challenging divine orders are above the capabilities of even those of Light and Fire.
Time starts running since the moment a child takes their first breath out of their mother's womb. Its a fact that is both known and accepted.. and yet to accept it, takes the entire human will. Every last ounce of patience, till tears of pain bleed through crystal orbs and heart wrenching wails escape the throat. Its a product of that acceptance more than the pain of the loss. Its the cries of the soul that come upon human lips and burn through mortal ears like searing hot lava.
Death. For some a beautiful friend, a lost lover they were yearning for, but most others see it as an enemy. An end to beloved life.
So Powerful in its essence that the name sends shivers down the nape of blurry eyed mourners, and as they weep for their loss they have a prayer on their lips; a request, a plea.
They all pray for an extension in their time.
...........................
.
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"Abu!"
Her aunts pained cries were the first thing Madiha registered stepping inside the Nawab house near noon. Tears she had tried hard to hold back now rolled down her cheeks dripping from the chin to the cold floor.
Daniyal gave her fingers a soft reassuring squeeze before slipping away meeting the men and she proceeded to enter the room full of weeping women and her ever silent grandfather.
Soft pats and fingers swept her arm or shoulder and she nodded in the direction of the familiar faces before falling to her knees beside her aunts. Wrapping her arms around Bano's petite frame she lay her head on her shoulder who let go of the iron bed her father lay in, pulling her niece tighter to herself.
