May 6, 2011

Karachi inspires a strange sort of lethargy. I have to force myself to get out of bed, to have a shower, to change out of my nightclothes, to get out of the house. I have to force myself to meet people, to talk, to laugh a little. It takes an unbelievable amount of strength to - while I'm here - pretend that it's all okay, and that life is as it should be. Because it's not, and it probably never will be. And every morning I wake up in this city is a reminder of how things have changed, and will never be the same again.

Perhaps the worst part about being here is unrelenting attack of memories. Every brick of this house, every wall, every scrap of random cloth has a story to tell. I take a towel out of the cupboard and I suddenly remember - despite myself - how I bought it from Sunday bazaar one day because it matched with my newly renovated bathroom. The bathroom my father had pretty-fied in response to my never-ending whining. I remember how I'd lock myself up with a bubble-bath and a book, and then had to face scolding from a family who never quite understood how I could spend so much time reading a book in the bathtub. I miss the scoldings. I miss the deep voice calling me up two minutes after my 11 o'clock curfew asking me where I am and why I'm not at home yet. I miss the booming presence, the comforting arms, the hug that would make me feel safe no-matter-what.


Annie said...

a baba-less world is a sad, sad place.... *sigh*

Anonymous said...

Sending lots of prayers and hugs your way!


Shafeenaaz said...

Hugs and peace to you.

Furree Katt said...

hi. i've waited a very long time for this moment:



jehanzeb said...

im here and always will be... *hugs*

Anonymous said...

i think you miss your dad a LOT. i have not lost my dad so i cannot even comprehend the pain.
but also, due to this, may be every man you meet is an utter looser, because he never does and never will have all those qualities that your dad had.
you are not being fair to yourself, to life.