Care

July 2012

Cooking was never his forte. He fumbled to spot the ingredients lined up above the kitchen cabinet and confused the ones he needed, most of them being the basic stuff like salt and sugar. Hah! He wouldn’t dare try out any of the complicated spices or go anywhere near the heavy machinery that his wife normally used in the kitchen; with elegant ease, one might add. At that point he realized that the culinary skills his “much better” half possessed went far beyond the food she made; it was the way she waltzed through the cubicle some might call a kitchen. Not once was the sound of vessels clanking or ceramic shattering heard, not once was curry spilt, the stove was spotless, the cabinets dry, the sink was cleared then and there, and not a spoon was out of its place. The dishes that came out of that kitchen were often lauded (and occasionally criticized) but only now did he appreciate her grace within the kitchen. “Could you buy me one for table fan? For the kitchen…” Her request was often scoffed by, “But you already complain that there isn’t enough space in the kitchen! How do think you are going to adjust a fan in there?” He came up with a bunch of solutions to that problem as he poured porridge into the bowl… half naked… perspiring… tanned.

The bowl was placed on a tray (Fancy – he might say; unnecessary – she would rebuke!) along with a little cup of pickle and taken across the hall to their bedroom. The door was open, so he could see the petite figure of his beautiful wife under the blanket. The face that was normally flush with energy looked like a deflated balloon, and even in sleep, her eyes cringed and her lips parted to give a soft moan of an aching body. He quickly placed the tray on the side table and felt her forehead.

“What was the noise I heard?” she asked, referring to one of the steel plates that had fallen during her husband’s apparent process of cooking. Her voice, as tired as it could be, did not hide its irritability. She struggled to open her eyes and with some support, propped herself up. She couldn’t move her body, her legs ached at every joint, her arms couldn’t bear the lightest weight and her palm was cold as ice.

“Eat this”, picking the bowl up, he brought a spoon of porridge close to her mouth and asked.

“I don’t want it”, her mouth was tasteless and she was certain her stomach didn’t have the strength to digest it. She couldn’t bear the pain of throwing up one more time, and all those thoughts made her dizzy.

“You have to! You need some energy and you cannot have the medicines on an empty stomach”, he insisted gently. He surpassed her reluctance and fed her, slowly, one spoon after another, and in a seemingly never ending process he half emptied the bowl before she slumped with one hand raised, “No more!”

“OK, that’s fine. Let me get your medicine”, he took the tray back to the kitchen, placed it next to the sink, ignoring the inviting calls of a dozen other vessels to be washed, and got back to her with the tablet and a glass of water.

“Better?” A little hope in his voice. “Yeah”, a little truth in hers.

Ajmal and Mehrin had been married for less than a year, but there was no façade of the so-called “honeymoon” period in their relationship. There was no overt expression of love, no flowers, no poems or greeting cards, no extravagant celebrations arranged or gifts purchased and neither was there any expectation for any of that. They fought bitterly when things didn’t go their way; they fought to adjust and fought for their space! And perhaps this naked honesty brought a lot of clarity in their relationship. Without any of the superficial decoration, they both realized what their relationship meant. They acknowledged the budding friendship and the well rooted kinship that bound them, they appreciated their differences and found a way through that. And with every passing day, they cared for each other a little more. As they understood the nuances of each other’s personality, they also developed a liking for the person, an affection that would one day grow to become an inseparable bond. Not a blazing flame, but a serene pasture… That’s love…

“Could you read me the newspaper?” She asked with her eyes closed. He searched for it a while inside his head, thinking of when he had last seen the newspaper, finally realizing that he hasn’t opened the door since morning and the paper is still outside.

“Civil War… Protests… Refugee crisis… Syria burning… They have nothing else in the news”, he ran through the pages.

“Oh! Tell me what’s the situation in Damascus -”

“And why are you bothered about that may I ask?” He cut her short, “We are not going to be affected by whatever in happening in ‘Damascus’ in any manner, are we?”

“I know it will not affected us in any way”, she too would have cut him short, but there was a tad exhaustion in her voice. “I am just worried about the people there. Are they moving out of the countries? Who is taking in the refugees?”

“Well, it seems a lot of them are moving to Jordan and Turkey. Europe has a mixed stand on the issue, some countries are ready to take in the refugees while others have flatly refused.” He spoke without emotion. “Now, please don’t start worrying yourself with those refugees. Worry about yourself!”

“They too are people like us! People with families, people with jobs, children with schools and homes! What would they do now?”

“None of our business!”

“How can you be so cold?”

“Because it honestly doesn’t matter! How does it matter if any of us sitting here care or don’t? How is that going to affect them?”

“Yes, there is NOTHING we can do for those people right now, so least we can do sitting here is to care! To act as if it matters, to act as it is important! And maybe somehow, we might be of some help…”

“How is our care going to be of any help?” He took his eyes off the paper and looked at her.

“I always tell my students, that if you want to live as Human Beings, the least you need is eyes ready to care and a heart filled with prayer. We want to change the world, help those around us, and we ourselves expect help from others – That’s how Human Beings work. That’s society, that’s the world – and unless we purify ourselves, unless we are ready to care for what we see, unless we pray for those who need it… What kind of person does that make us? There is no difference… between someone who is a thousand miles away and someone who lives right next door, we end up showing the same apathy towards both! Replace that with care… the least we can do to make the world a better place!”

“Well… you seem to be in perfectly good health when you want to pick a fight…” she started a fit of coughing before he could complete that sentence. He patted her head, quickly gave her a glass of water and helped her lie down again. Her forehead was burning up, worse than before. Now, it wasn’t the heat that made Ajmal sweat!

As the day passed, Mehrin’s health deteriorated further. Within an hour of having breakfast, she vomited everything and flatly refused to have lunch. The clenching of stomach for every time she vomited, as if squeezing out the last drop of toothpaste, was so unbearable, that even drinking water was difficult. Her mouth was absolutely tasteless and by evening she began shivering as in the middle of winter. A couple of older ladies dropped in from the neighborhood to offer remedies; one of them shared lunch with Ajmal and another helped clean up too, but by seven in the evening, Mehrin’s teeth started to clatter and Ajmal rushed her to the nearest hospital where she was immediately given an injection and connected to the IV for glucose. “Let her be here for one day”, the doctor passed his judgment.

At night she opened her eyes to find her husband dozing by her bedside in the hospital. “What did the doctor say?” she croaked.

“He ran a few tests. Nothing to worry about, just a normal fever. But you will have to stay here for a day. Don’t worry, I have informed the office that I won’t be coming tomorrow.”

“Don’t do that. I think I will be alright after a good night’s sleep. And in the morning there will be people to look after me. You can go to work.” He loved his job – a borderline workaholic, and she knew it.

“Are you sure?” Of course No! But she didn’t respond. And he didn’t push her either.

In the morning he got back home to take a shower and get ready for work. There was never, and there will never be anything like the smell of your own home after a night spent away. The house certainly was in a mess, but walking back into the heart of your comfort zone felt like crawling back into your soft blanket in the middle of the night; there was no greater relief. He quickly put away a few clothes that lay astray, made his bed, took out the garbage and washed dishes to avoid the odour when he returned from work, just in time to take a bath, iron his clothes and get ready for work. Ajmal worked at an Accountant’s office which was a 15 minutes drive from home.

“How was the weekend sir?” He was greeted by his junior, Mohd. Abolla, as soon as he settled into his cabin.

“Well, not so great. My wife caught a terrible fever day before yesterday. She is in the hospital right now.”

“Oh! Hope she is better now?”

“Yeah, she was a little better in the morning. She was able to eat breakfast which I got from the hospital canteen. Let me just check on her anyway.” He picked up the phone on his desk and dialed his wife’s cell-phone. She picked it up in the first ring itself. “Hi…” she said in a croaky voice.

“How are you feeling now?”

“Much better actually. Body pain is down and the nurse said even my temperature has come down. Guess I will be alright by evening.”

A workaholic he was, but at that moment he wanted nothing more than to see his wife with his own eyes, and make sure that she was saying the truth. To keep his own hand on her forehead and ensure that her fever had come down. “Alright, you take care. I will call you.” He hung up half heartedly.

“What did she say?” Abolla enquired from his seat right across Ajmal.

“She says she is better. I hope she really is. Was in a terrible state yesterday!”

“Don’t’ worry sir, she will be alright. Sir, I have completed the statements you had asked me. Could you finalise them?” Abolla stretched his arm from his chair and passed a yellow coloured file to his boss.

“Let me see it”, he stretched his arm to grab the file and put it on the cluttered table. “Hey, do you have the newspaper with you?”

“Ahh, sure sir. There you go”, Abolla pulled the newspaper out of his back, which was intended for his lunch-break read, and passed it across with the outstretched arm. “Just the same news sir, War, protest and refugees. Nothing that concerns us!” He smiled.

“Of course!” He quickly ran through the pages and five minutes later made another phone call to his wife, giving her the latest refugee statistics and his normal speech about how it doesn’t matter. “Will read the whole thing in the afternoon and call you then”, he added, after being shouted at for being cold-hearted and apathetic.

“Sir, I am going outside to have lunch. Would you care to join me?” Abolla had started to leave for lunch.

“No, it’s alright. I am not feeling hungry.” Obviously!

“Alright! Sir, by the way, do you have change for a hundred?”

“Yeah, sure!” He pulled out his purse from his side pockets to search for change, which he was sure he had the previous night at the hospital. “Oh, sorry man. There was a beggar outside the hospital, so I gave him the change!”

“That’s no problem. And sir, any issues with the statement?”

“I haven’t checked them yet. Will let you know if anything comes up.” Obviously, he couldn’t concentrate. He fidgeted with the stationery on his table, fingers trembling restlessly, he was afraid to make another phone call – He had to see his wife in person. Impulsively, he bounced of his chair, grabbed the car keys and walked out of the office.

“Sir!” came a shout from behind as he was stepping out the door. The sixty year old peon at his office came running to catch up with him. “Sir, could I please have an extra hour of break? My son is not feeling well, and my wife is with him all alone. I just wanted to check on him, I will be back, but it could take some time…” Ajmal was always skeptical of his staff and these kind of well choreographed excuses were not uncommon with him. But the look of desperation on the old man’s face was something he could relate to.

“Sure, take your time”, after a thought he added, “Take your own time, I think we can manage over here for the day even if you don’t come back in the afternoon.”

“Thank you so much sir”, even the look of gratitude on his face was something he could connect to. As he unlocked the car, he turned around and called out to the peon who was about to cross the road, “How are going home?”

“I will walk sir, it’s barely half an hour.”

“Correct”, with sudden realization, “I know your house. It’s on the way, come I will give you a ride.” The old man did not wait to play the “No it’s alright” charade – with a wide mouthed smile, he rushed into the car, “Thank you so much sir”

At the hospital, Mehrin did seem better, but she as far from recovery. She had vomited just once that morning and her temperature was down by two degrees, but her cheeks were still sunken and she wasn’t able to move that much. He could clearly see that her body was still aching and would need another couple of days of proper care. “I’ll just see the doctor and come. Will get some lunch also on the way, did you like the canteen food?” She said it was fine. Outside the room, he changed his mind and decided to grab lunch first and meet the doctor later. He ordered Naan with meat Korma for himself and soup with mashed vegetables for his wife, which the canteen cook recommended would be easily digestible for a patient. They had lunch together, she was able to eat by herself, and discuss the current affairs. The war in Syria had got bloodier and the flux of refugees was deemed to be unmanageable by all of its neighbouring countries. There seemed to be an inflow of refugees into Aleppo too, which was so far the only safe city in Syria. And the citizens of Aleppo blindly believed that the war would never reach them.

After lunch, he met with the doctor, who too started the discussion with current affairs; but his tone was more grave. “How is any of this going to bother us Doctor?” Ajmal asked with the same naivety that almost everyone in Aleppo felt.

“I was sure about that until yesterday. But today I am heard some unsettling news… Let’s hope for the best anyway.”

Aleppo had been the centre of trade and commerce for centuries, the cradle of civilization for millennia. The buildings were beautiful, the people were apolitical and industrious, and culture was peaceful. Nobody would dare bring violence to that amazing city. It was blasphemous to even think of any of those buildings turning to rubble, the mosques, hospitals, schools, shopping centers – everyone was sure that Aleppo was the safest place on earth. Ajmal bred that ego the most!

“Your wife is getting better now. I think you can take her home now, we will discharge her.” That shocked him. His wife was in better health, but absolutely no condition to go back home. “Yes, I realise it would be better for her to stay here for a couple more days; but we are desperately short on facilities. There has been an accident and we are taking in a lot of patients today – Patients who need life support and critical care. We will have to vacate the comparatively better.” Ajmal signed some papers, paid the bills and slowly walked his wife out of the hospital.

Outside, chaos was starting to ensue! Many injured and burnt were being rushed in with gurneys, ambulances were blaring and nurses with the help of security were flying around. Ajmal helped his wife into the car and quickly drove outside the hospital premises – to see the Aleppo of his greatest nightmare. People were on the street, running hither and thither, cars, tied up with luggage and filled with people, seemed to move out of the city. As his car moved closer home, the panic became tangible! Fear was blazing in every eyes, there was confusion, desperation and helplessness. It was as if the fear, that they had dug into the deepest corners of their heart and promised to never let out, was dancing naked in front of them.

As their car reached… what was once their home… horror took their breath away! The building, that was once the temple of their joy, stood before them, crumbled and bare. There was no roof and the walls were on fire. The doors and  windows were shattered and one could see that inside the walls was nothing but dust. The furniture, the kitchen, their bed, their clothes, all of it was turned to dust, lying below a massive tower of black smoke that kissed the sky. In a distance not so far, gunshots could be heard, getting closer, louder and faster.

She placed her cold shivering hands on his, clasped them tightly, and through her gasping breath and pounding heart, she found the voice to say, “We must leave Syria Now!”