Father of the Bride

Chapter 13: Fragile Lives

Squaring her red-violet chiffon kameez over her knees, Mahnoor found the kameez an inch short. It was her best kameez intricately designed with gold zari thread work like a heavy gold necklace on the neckline and floral leaf work on the sleeves. Unfortunately, after long 20 minutes in the dryer on high temperature, her favourite kameez had shrunk, now pinching her under the armpits and moulded around her rounded chest. She draped her violet shawl over her bosoms to conceal the rounded shape wondering why she was wearing it at 2 a.m. in the hospital reception. Of course-she straightened her back-she only wore it at home, but had no time to change due to the emergency.

Why am I worried about trivial things? Kara is on the razor edge of life and death and I'm wondering about the length of kameez?

A ginger haired two year old girl in a blue dress played on the feint tiles a game of invisible hopscotch. Her hair bounced around her when she jumped from one tile to another oblivious of the pain her mother was in crouched over huddled with pain.
"I've been waiting 2 hours!" Yelled an irate patient with a heavy Jamaican accent to the receptionist who sat behind a shield of glass. The receptionist pointed at the notice.

'Abuse and profanity against staff will not be tolerated.'

The thick and heavy smell of disinfectant bought with it a torrid plume of traumatic memories and Mahnoor didn't want to visit the past. It was a lonely time when Basharat stood by her hospital bed at five in the morning training her to lie to the doctor that she tripped and fell down the stairs and injured her leg. Suddenly a sharp pain shot through her left knee dragging her memories into her short kameez and on her lap. She kicked her leg forward and backward. Her knee never fully recovered from the horrific fall. Over the years she strengthened her muscles with exercise and the pain eased, but it was never the same. It wasn't the knee that devastated her; it was something precious. When she rubbed her eyes, she saw a tiny round, peaceful face wrapped in a thick white blanket. She smelt of muted joy. Mahnoor blinked back her tears. This wasn't time to think about her empty lap.

"I can't get my head around it." Ayaaz bowed his head in his hands, his leg bouncing nervously. "She was the toughest chick." Mahnoor held his head and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

It had been 45 minutes since they arrived at the accident and emergency and they sat in silence. Not a word spoken between them waiting for Amirah. The flashing blue lights, the loud siren and Kara's life on the balance unsettled mother and son. Ayaaz leaned over his knees holding his head in his hands. Kara could have died today; the shock froze him. It wasn't a game. It was real lives. Real people.

"Kara wasn't into University boys. Now I know why." He stared at the television screen vacantly trying to make sense of the melange of her life. She had an online persona that was parallel to her real life. Two different people. Two magnificent differences. He believed her artificial colourful life. In fact, she wasn't happy. She was lonely and clutched to those around her.
"She always said she wanted an established man. She'd arrive with new shoes, bags, clothes. She was raking in the money-she even paid off her student loan. How did she do it?"
The enigma that was her life deepened. What else what she hiding? Who was she? Did he really know Kara behind the facade?
"But uncle Khizar? He sat back mired in confusion. "He's just so-"
"Old?" Mahnoor completed his sentence.
"He's Amirah's dad. That's just-" He shrugged his shoulders unable to imagine Kara romantically aligned with Khziar. "-weird. I don't blame Amirah for losing the plot."
"I can see why young impressionable girl would be besotted by a man with money, apartment and high powered job." Mahnoor admitted. It troubled Mahnoor deeply that Kara resorted to suicide, she could have died tonight. Mahnoor looked at Ayaaz. She reached out and held his arm terrified that it could happen to her son.
"Beta, if you ever feel burdened or pressured, you must know you can talk to me."
Ayyaz looked into his mother narrow eyes gripped in fear. He could read between the lines, and knew what she wanted to say.
"Don't worry mum. I wouldn't do that."
"But that's what everyone says." She inched near determined to make him understand. "Suicide is not the way out."
"I know mum, suicide is haraam (forbidden). The moluvi (priest) always told us at mosque." He pulled back.
"It's not just that." She leaned close. "It's not the way out. It destroys your loved ones. They're left dealing with the consequences. You must always reach out. I would hate to think you're suffering in sielnce" She whispered.