By maryum arif...........
A TALE OF EVERY SECOND KARACHIITES
It’s getting
late; I wonder why Baba hasn’t come home yet. I ask Ami if he’s called she says
no. My mother’s face doesn’t betray any anxiety, but i see her stealing glances
at clock every five minutes. I pick up the phone, and dial his number but no
response.
Many thoughts rush through my head; he’s probably busy. But; my brain reels; why didn’t he just reject the call then? Perhaps he didn’t hear the phone or maybe he just forgot to put it off silent, but deep down I know he never puts his phone on silent, not even during meeting.
I wait a few seconds, convincing myself that it’s been a few minutes, and I try again. This time it doesn’t ring at all, his phone’s off. No longer convincing myself that everything’s all right this time, I immediately enter panic mode.
Why is his phone off? I bite my lower lip, and start picking my nails, a childhood habit that crops up whenever I’m feeling particularly anxious.
Surely, his battery must have died, he’s been out all day and it’s completely possible. I gave up all pretence and tell my mother his phone’s off.
I run to the TV, take the remote from my brother ignore his angry retort and turn to a news channel, no reports of bombs or any such incident not in Karachi anyway. I distractedly notice that the red strip at the bottom is showing something about an attack in Quetta, but I selfishly turn the TV off.
I have more important things to worry about right now as I have no idea where my father is.
I get off the couch and pace back and forth, holding my cell phone in my hand. Dialing and redialing his number. My mouth feels dry.
It’s really getting late now, why hasn’t he come back? What could have happened to him? Why isn’t anyone answering the door bell? I run to the door, and fumble with the lock for a second before it opens, revealing my father, all 5 feet 10 inches of him.
I yell over my shoulder that he’s home hugged and ask where he’s been and why his phone’s off. He sighs and tells me he got MUGGED an hour ago.
It is a testament of the irony of living a Karachi life that I sigh with relief. In Karachi, where crimes are measured according to the relativity of their danger, a mugging is really not so bad.
Many thoughts rush through my head; he’s probably busy. But; my brain reels; why didn’t he just reject the call then? Perhaps he didn’t hear the phone or maybe he just forgot to put it off silent, but deep down I know he never puts his phone on silent, not even during meeting.
I wait a few seconds, convincing myself that it’s been a few minutes, and I try again. This time it doesn’t ring at all, his phone’s off. No longer convincing myself that everything’s all right this time, I immediately enter panic mode.
Why is his phone off? I bite my lower lip, and start picking my nails, a childhood habit that crops up whenever I’m feeling particularly anxious.
Surely, his battery must have died, he’s been out all day and it’s completely possible. I gave up all pretence and tell my mother his phone’s off.
I run to the TV, take the remote from my brother ignore his angry retort and turn to a news channel, no reports of bombs or any such incident not in Karachi anyway. I distractedly notice that the red strip at the bottom is showing something about an attack in Quetta, but I selfishly turn the TV off.
I have more important things to worry about right now as I have no idea where my father is.
I get off the couch and pace back and forth, holding my cell phone in my hand. Dialing and redialing his number. My mouth feels dry.
It’s really getting late now, why hasn’t he come back? What could have happened to him? Why isn’t anyone answering the door bell? I run to the door, and fumble with the lock for a second before it opens, revealing my father, all 5 feet 10 inches of him.
I yell over my shoulder that he’s home hugged and ask where he’s been and why his phone’s off. He sighs and tells me he got MUGGED an hour ago.
It is a testament of the irony of living a Karachi life that I sigh with relief. In Karachi, where crimes are measured according to the relativity of their danger, a mugging is really not so bad.
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