Menu
Musalmaa Honge !
She called to seek help for her pregnant sister and I really wasn’t feeling very enthusiastic about taking her call. I know her sister well ,I have been a part of her plastic surgery treatment spanning two years. Reshma doesn’t call me unnecessarily, unless it is to inform that she is packing Kababs and Mutton Biryani for my husband whose taste buds start doing Bhangra at the mention of Mughlai food. We are special invitees for Eid feast, pre-intimated a week before because of our busy schedules, reminded twice on the eve before and no excuses are allowed.Imraan ,her husband buys fresh meat, she hand grinds the masala and prepares the delicate meat balls. She says aroma is better retained that way unlike in the mixer grinder. Her Kofta curry is delicately balanced with regards to oil and spices , served with thin Roomali roti , salad and Biryani combo is out of the world. Reshma stuffs us so much that we cannot even utter no from our mouths and she understands it with our hand gestures. I take a customary fast next day since my herbivorous alimentary canal has to process all the meat and food.
I can say no but I can’t. My Dad never said no.
He was a vegetarian whole year except on Eid. The love his Muslim friends had for him was evident by the number of tiffins that arrived in our kitchen far outnumbering the consumption quota for a single person . The food was brought straight from the kitchen fire as tiffins stayed warm, neatly packed , covered in three bags to avoid spillage and unnecessary attention of the members with sensitive noses in a Hindu household . The fondness and aromas radiating from food heralded Eid time . Each compartment had something different to offer and tasted delicious. Dad’s face changed as he munched and appreciated the food . He would invite few select male non-vegetarian members of the house and together they ravished it all showering praises for cooks. The bones were disposed of discretely and all the vessels washed , left to dry to be returned to the respective households next day. I always wondered how the food tasted , since I was never invited . It was assumed that I had not acquired the taste for it. Instead I was offered the Sheer loaded with coconut ,dates and raisins and I enjoyed it thoroughly .
Reshma ‘s mother in law shouldered this responsibility before her for my Dad. Reshma’s father in law happens to be my father’s friend for thirty five years and I have grown up hugging him. He has hung around with my father to receive me at the railway station while I returned from college on Diwali holidays, ran a variety of errands for us multiple times ,and continued to be a part of weddings and funerals alike. He has been an extension of our family. We differ hugely in parameters of education, financial status and approach in life and many more. He has repaired our generator sets since 1985 when he was still learning to master his mechanical skills . He has stood guard at odd hours to resume our faulty power supply in a town where long power cuts are the norm. The operations theatres need continuous lights and the suction machines cannot be stopped in the midst of procedures. He would manually stand to supervise and take control till we finished and then he would dismantle the faulty dynamos, take engines for repair and service. In short if there is one man’s number I would dial first in case of a genuine emergency at any time of the day or night , it would be him .
His latest responsibility is to get my sister’s death certificate issued since he wants to spare my mother the trouble of going to the Registrar’s office. He was the first one to respond to my distress call when my father was dying in my arms and had to be rushed to the hospital .He drove the ambassador at 110km per hour and we reached the hospital in record time .He cried shamelessly along with me after he passed away and became an active participant in taking care of all the arrangements but at a distance should any of our close relatives would find his presence objectionable during these sensitive times. Stupidly enough my dad never objected to his presence in our household in his entire life and my mother doesn’t either. In fact he made sure that he was doubly available for both of us on our “ No- option” days. We have felt safe with him around always and our bond has been under the scanner of a conservative social structure a couple of times. It is an inexplicable discomfort which is more to do with him belonging to a different community than the kind of person he is. Ikraam Chacha addresses me as “Sher Beta” to cheer me up every time and I strongly identify with that label. It gives me strength and encouragement.
But that is not it, since his Abbu Shafi Mistry sahib had an excellent reputation in his craft and a dignified members of his community belonging to the ironsmiths. A handsome , fair complexioned ,short statured man with hands of steel and worked with metal molding it into window grilles, gates ,railings and sometimes farming equipment . The heat hardly did anything to his glowing complexion and his progeny carries his genes. Abba also was instrumental in installing our first boring well manually in the days when drilling machines were a rarity and it would not be an exaggeration to say that these ironsmiths have contributed to our building infrastructure of the hospital and drinking water , a well that has never ran dry in forty years. I have been a special guest on Reshma’s engagement and presented as one of the most learned ladies and a to be “sister in law” whose opinion mattered before the rings got exchanged. The memorable V.I.P. treatment as the only saree clad woman , observed closely by an entire Khaandan , I was loaded with food and gifts. In return I gave them prescriptions on small chits after free consultations since the ladies suffered from hypothyroidism, varicose veins, obesity, headaches, backaches . Noticeably as I interacted with them , they were all strikingly beautiful women despite being covered from head to toe with Dupattas, Hijabs and without the Burqas. You can hide beauty but it will escape anyway.
Reshma ‘s unexpected call in the first fortnight of lockdown shook me up. I did not feel like reaching out to her for the first time. Must have been the after effect of the heated debate on the TV the night before on the part played by the community , their behavior in spreading Corona virus and how we starting losing the race in numbers. I too like the elite refrain from discussing politics ,religion and ideologies on any platform yet the differences were being portrayed so vocally that even a normally tolerant person as I think myself to be felt agitated. I was feeling angry and over the next couple of days the 9 P.M. news kept fanning my flames of the communal divide which I had kept in check. It was time to accept our stark differences and move on . I decided to erase all the interactions from my memory and erase what did not serve me. I did not want to move ahead in 2020 with hatred and wanted to start afresh. So I started working on my delete list .
Ikram Chacha : His children, grandchildren, Reshma, his Abbu would be first on this list since they have been the closest. I am letting go of every memory of Eid during my father’s time and after him when I replaced him along with my non vegetarian husband. I too have switched to being a non-vegetarian on occasions . Though my mother has delivered Reshma thrice and handed Ikram Chacha his three grandsons we should be able to manage without him . We have an automatic bigger genset now and new boys with drilling machines do a much faster job. One can always go to Karim if one has the urge to savor Mutton biryani and Kofta and Reshma can keep waiting . His youngest grandson who becomes Bahubali at the slightest provocation when I threaten to snatch his favorite kitten “ Cheeku “ can always pay a dermatologist to treat his scabies instead of me, just that he will have to go 25 km to find one. And the practice of buying chocolates to bait him into rattling his funny poems can be done away with since we are going to be facing an economic crisis….Delete!
Ikramuddin : He has been coming for dressings for past four months over his leg for a painful ulcer existing for more than a year. I have seen the size reduce by two thirds more because of prayers than the treatment since he cannot afford the recommended surgery . He has been ironing my mother’s starched cotton sarees so that she can look smart in her attire at her medical conferences and functions. He recharges my mother’s mobile on SOS basis and we charge him meagerly his for treatment . A symbiotic relationship anyway and who needs an infection these days from him .….Delete!
Babu Bhai : Our hospital and home laundryman who has a strange method of charging us for his services twice on Meethi Eid and Bakrid. He does not want money in his salary account despite convenient banking services. He harasses us constantly when his children’s fees are unpaid or someone falls sick in his family. My mother is his back up financial savior and they bicker constantly over her lost blouses and burnt sarees. His wife’s complicated delivery is completely on us and he expects Diwali gifts from us like his holy right .
Babu has literally grown up in our Mohalla and drinks Bhang and dances shamelessly with the menfolk on Holi. I have sworn at him , threatened to terminate him but he continues to give services typical Babu style. He is the most gentle, sweetest receiver of all the abuses hurled at him and at times I wonder if I am meeting God . Babu is in the washing area of the hospital at 6 A.M. carrying our soiled linen on his head after these encounters and has no recollection of our verbal exchanges and the sugar coated replies make me lose my cool even more. Yet he ran to open the heavy shutters every time I had to park my car in the garage next to his shop specially after my dad was no more. He somehow knew that the ladies did not understand operations of heavy lock systems. We have laundry services and machines now plus I have learnt to maneuver those locks after all these years and I have new help.…Delete!
Nooruddin : The washer man from my childhood memory came riding a small horse cart to collect hospital linen and took it back to his hometown twenty kilometers away to wash it in a pond , dry and iron. No washing machine could compete with his strong , dark ,wrinkled hands of Nooruddin who scrubbed every single stain away from coarse cotton sheets, washed, bleached and put a hue of blue in them before ironing . When Nooruddin washed they smelled different . Billo his daughter in law and son Yusuf replaced him when he grew old and developed cataract and TB simultaneously .They were sent by him to help the lady doctor and found refuge in our premises under a tin shed where their entire family spent years not only servicing us but our entire neighborhood. Hard working , non-grumbling people….. Delete!
Mohammad Ali : The handsome hard working carpenter with a zest for life and card games who listened to radio at work while his chisel and saw shaped our dining tables, chairs, benches doors , drawers , chaukats and double beds . Everything called furniture has Mohammad Ali’s personal seal in our house and what has been made by him has neither required Fevicol nor a nail till date .He spent many years while our hospital was furnished and we built our house. He would let me play around with the wood shavings and I distinctly remember dropping his axe on my feet when I tried playing the carpenter myself and he rushed me off in his arms to my mother to get me a stich in time with blood dripping from my feet . How careless of him ! …Delete !
Shahzaad his nephew built me a beautiful table with a sun logo for my OPD when we extended the hospital services. He also got me crafted wooden brackets on which my altar rests . They will not be a part of my “ Happy furniture to you memories”…. Delete!
Mohammad Ali 2’nd : The bald headed , middle aged driver who chewed paan and played Rafi songs in the stereo system was single handedly responsible for my safety on roads in my school years when the roads were not called highways and expressways. My dad’s ustaad in driving lessons , who in turn taught me driving twenty three years later and since Dad was one of the safest drivers on road till date , needless to say that my manner of driving is a heritage I received from Mohammad Ali uncle in absentia .…Delete!
Samad Mistri : Another friend of my dad who had a motor vehicle service center and a spare part shop, he rescued my parents a couple of times when their vehicles broke down on roads at odd hours. He would come rushing on his bullet to get the vehicle checked , started and occasionally tow it to his service center. Dad had a transport business and our ambulance, buses, mini vans , cars all have received a makeover at his place . Good bonds develop in garages better than the Coffee day outlets where badges read “How May I serve you ? Well from the heart . Now that the Ambassadors and Fiats have got replaced with Mahindra and Honda , service sector is fancier, comfortable and just a phone call away. Samad Tauji had the audacity to pay me a visit while attending a religious conference down south in his long beard, white knee length pajama and a skull cap in a liberal Christian college which got my juniors wondering about my connections. He had become a Haji by then …Delete!
Meharbaan uncle : Our next door neighbor with whom we share a wall and a Neem tree had two wives and seventeen children . A butcher by profession he lost some children to disease, some got shot in familial rivalry and some left the hometown to survive. He too was shot dead in the same family feud like his son in the revenge cycle .Dad and Meharbaan uncle had a mutually respectable Dua-salaam relationship . His young daughters needed to be married and we have happily offered them a part of our premises in the parking and waiting area where the daughter’s dowry items were displayed while the Nikah was silently performed under the Neem tree in the adjacent verandah. His sons have been there with rolled up sleeves to protect Chacchi (my mother) as they call her , after my dad’s death . They have stood in silence witnessing a couple of high pitched scenes at hospital ,waiting for one sign from us should things get out of hand. The grandchildren play outside creating ruckus outside the labor room window. They are incorrigible …Delete !
Bundo Tai: The local village Dai who rushes with emergencies when her own oxytocin and Dua fails she entrusts those birthing women in better medical hands and switches to the role of an administrative officer .She takes care of anxious tempers and is an expert at crowd control. She has the biggest goiter I have ever seen and when I offer to remove it she says “Bibi “ ab to yeh jaan ke saath hi jayega kyon apne haath maile karti ho ! …Delete!
Aligarh : It would take a while since memories lane is houseful there. All the girls addressed as Farah , Ameena, Nusrat, Bushra, Iram, Saba and Tarannum will have to be erased. My P.U.C. years resonate with the funniest memories with this gang of girls while we were ragged together for three months . We were told strictly to adhere to the dress code of salwar-kameez, cover our heads with Dupattas , Surma in the eyes without fail, oiled plaits and no western outfits till fresher’s party. We studied , laughed ,played and cried together in that attire.
I got firsthand experience of being a minority there in silence and felt the difference. Babri Masjid demolition threw life out of gear in the gated campus with a tense situation and I felt pangs of terror then. As the riots claimed lives the teenage girls identified fast into our respective labels fearing our own roommates and together we feared the crowds that threatened to break the gates of the huge halls at night where girls were stranded for a month. The memory of riots and blood shed shake me up still and I do not cherish it anyway. …Delete !
Teachers and friends : Some excellent t teachers would need to be bid farewells too in Biochemistry or Pathology. Smart ,knowledgeable ,confident ladies in metro cities who commanded respect just by the manner in which they carried themselves. My junior resident Dr. Shabbir , hot blooded ,bearded , hardworking boy will also receive these honors ignoring the fact that it was him who taught me how to do a FAST scan. He would handle the situation while I requested security to be beefed up and called higher authorities in charge at AIIMS Trauma center when mob of attenders would be getting out of control. He was the tiger of emergency department. Next in this category is my dear friend Dr.Belal , a brilliant thoracic surgeon ,with whom I share my A.M.U alumni status. He has managed to stay connected in a professional friendship nearing a decade. We have always stayed in touch in O.T. as well, while I held the torn organs ,he took a tie around the bleeding pedicles . Our hands touched briefly while passing work registers at handing over and take over at tiring shifts after busy duties ….Delete!
Last but not the least I need to erase all the patients records at our hospital ending with sir names of Khatoon, Saifi, Khan, Bano ,Siddiqui ,Begum . Along with treatment details the bonds built over years and the mutual trust has to be rubbed off too. The respect , the relationship , the clientele of our hospital would need to be redefined in the Corona warfare . Actually I have ran out of patience trying to delete all these names from my shamelessly long list and the memory associated with each person is making a terrible noise while exiting . It has drained me mentally and emotionally and I can’t keep up with my own killer assignment. It is impossible. How will I undo the labor of love I have received from these people from different community which I have grown up seeing , observing , interacting , receiving , giving, studying ,working and now serving . The Shayarana Andaz , the Ishq in my Dil , the Ghazals that I sing, the taste that linger, the music I listen to and many more such things have made me realize that I am as much a Muslim as a Hindu because they were /are no different from me in behavior and a way of life. Blame the small town I was born in and grew up , or the place I studied , or my parents who carried Lucknow and Aligarh Tahzeeb in them and took me to Dargah where I bowed down with equal reverence that I am able to identify myself with them easily. The Muslim flavor lives in me in spirit so don’t tell me to change in 2020 because “ Marte waqt Kya Khaq Musalmaan honge” !
P.S .The list became so long that I am wishing everyone Eid a day later
