Bound by Roots, Drawn by Dreams
Chapter 41 of Hold On: Islamabad, Winter 2019
(N.B. I’m writing a novel, a chapter a week, here on Medium. Find out why I write here, start from Chapter 1 here, and always feel free to give me feedback in the comments. I write here for the community.)
On Sunday evening, Hira found herself reflecting everything on the events that took place on Friday and Saturday. She pondered over why so many of her peers were choosing to relocate abroad, while others were returning after spending time in other countries. Her thoughts then turned towards the contrast she observed between Pakistani individuals living in the US, who seemed to become more conservative than those living in Pakistan. Hira’s mind raced through memories of recent dinners she had attended, including the unexpected sharp comments Ahmad had made about her attire and a photo she had shared on Instagram of her and Sarmad.
The annual dinner at InfoTech was a ritual that took place in early December each year. This time, Shehryar had invited all his colleagues for dinner at the 1969 Restaurant in ShakarParhian. Shehryar had hinted at sharing future company plans and personal aspirations, and while this intrigued many in the company, Hira didn’t pay it much thought.
The night of the dinner, Hira wore a sophisticated sleeveless black dress, covering herself with a jacket for additional warmth, and also to ward off unwanted stares. Inside the restaurant, Hira felt warm, so she casually draped her coat over a chair. Sarmad arrived, wearing a red sweater; his unconventional choice of clothing had him radiating confidence. He invited Hira outside to show her the vast, lush green lawn of the restaurant. Outside, the chilly temperature caught Hira off guard, “Sarmad, it's too cold out here”.
But Sarmad assured her they would return inside shortly. They stood outside, bathed in the soft glow of yellowish lights and the expansive greenery, a testament to Islamabad’s beauty even in winter.
Gradually, Hira acclimated to the cold and suggested they walk together while waiting for Shehryar and his wife to arrive. The two strolled along the pavement by the lawn that was normally lined with tables during the warmer months, but stood unoccupied currently due to the cold. The serene atmosphere allowed Hira to relax, and she asked, “Should we take a selfie? This background is incredible.”
Sarmad agreed. The two stood side by side against a large oak tree, with Sarmad standing behind her slightly due to his height. Smiling, they were pleased with the outcome.
As they stepped back in, they saw that their boss had arrived. Shehryar was dressed casually in a simple jacket, holding his wife’s hand, who was more formally dressed for the occasion. Hira speculated that she had gotten ready at a salon, as she looked positively radiant.
During dinner, laughter and gossip filled the air, making for a pleasant evening. It was over dessert- jalebis and Kashmiri chai- that Shehryar finally disclosed his decision to move back to Canada from where he would operate his business.
“I tried my best to make things work within Pakistan, but the hassle just isn’t worth it anymore. Burdensome tax regulations and the barriers to the inflow and outflow of payments under the guise of FATF have made it impossible for any international business to be done here. I can’t put up with it anymore”, he continued, “We came back to Pakistan 10 years ago to give back to our society, but my wife has been worried about what our children will grow up listening to. The raging and futile politics within the country are enough to make any parent anxious, and we’ve decided that it’s high time we move back to a more peaceful environment for the sake of our children.”
Everyone went silent, contemplating their futures now that they assumed they would be let go from the company they had so lovingly worked for.
Shiza, Shehryar’s wife, spoke up, “Islamabad’s authorities recently sent Shehryar the final notice to close down his business for operating within a residential area. Of course, they were inclined to revoke the order if he gave them sufficient money as a bribe”. Rolling her eyes, she continued, “I had asked Sheri to live in Canada, and hire engineers in Pakistan, but he wanted to come back and do things himself. Now that he’s finally seen the light, I would offer you, young people, the same advice: move abroad; there’s nothing left for you in this country”.
Hira contemplated Shiza’s words. She understood her point of view, yet felt too deeply rooted in her connection and responsibilities in Pakistan to even consider relocating abroad. While she had faced difficulties growing up in Kohat, and working as a single woman in Islamabad, she couldn’t easily leave her family behind for the sake of her personal ambitions. However, she remained silent, like the rest of the attendees.
Shehryar proposed renting a new space in I-8, from where his team could continue to work for the next 6 months until they decided whether to leave or stay. In any case, he was going to start screening new employees in Canada in the upcoming months.
Of course, everyone conveyed their best wishes to the couple before they departed. Hira left the dinner with these thoughts swirling in her mind, mulling over potential career decisions and considering whether she should have a discussion with Shehryar regarding her future prospects. She had always wanted to collaborate with him; she respected him and also enjoyed working with him. She happened to know that he felt the same way, as he often invited her to discuss projects over coffee. She realized that they had become good friends over time, and she would like to keep working with him. These thoughts briefly occupied her mind before she focused on posting her selfie with Sarmad that they had taken earlier on Instagram, accompanied by a caption that read: “A wonderful evening with a wonderful friend”.
Later at home, Hira was reading through all the kind comments left by her friends and colleagues on her photo. It made Hira really happy, and lifted her spirits. Soon, Ahmed’s name lit up her screen, adding to her happiness. Yet, while Hira intended to share Shehryar’s decision, their conversation took an unexpected turn.
“I saw your photo on Insta. I didn’t realize you had become modern enough to wear Western dresses and take selfies with your colleagues.”
Stunned, Hira fell silent for a few moments before she said, “What do you mean Ahmad? It’s just a photo I took with Sarmad. You already know that we’re friends so what’s this about?”
“I know you’re friends with him Hira. I was just taken aback by how different you have become from the Hira I knew in Peshawar who kept her dupatta wrapped around her at all times.”
Hira felt her anger bubbling, “Do you expect me to remain the same person I was in the university? While you have moved to the US and can do whatever you feel like it, you have a problem with me posting photos with friends?” Without waiting for a response, she said curtly, “You know what, I have work tomorrow. Good night.”
She couldn’t sleep the entire night. This unprompted reaction from Ahmad left her second-guessing everything she knew about him. How could he be so insecure when he himself was living in the US and running a business venture alongside a white woman?”
The next morning, she chose to concentrate on more positive things, so she started thinking about her dinner the next day with Sana and Sanwal. They had arrived in Islamabad a few weeks ago and Hira invited them over for dinner. Sana had sent her a message, “I will take you out for dinner, as you are the student, not me”. Hira had replied in a similar playful manner, “I will go as many times as you will take me! But since this is your first dinner here, I would like to host both of you.” They had decided to meet at Street 1 Café in Kohsar market; a place Sarmad had introduced to her.
By noon, Hira had received apologetic messages from Ahmed. “Please call me. I want to talk to you.” He followed this up with, “I think our conversation took an unexpected turn. It was never my intention to criticize your choices, it was just an observation I shared.”
While Hira could sense his remorse, his messages reignited her irritation, and she made the executive decision to take some space from him. “Thanks for understanding. Will talk to you soon but not today, I think it’s best if we take some space. I’ll reach out to you later.”
At the market, Hira met Sanwal and Sana in a bustling atmosphere. People flowed in and out of restaurants, while some sat next to outdoor heaters. Hira was layered up in 2 sweaters and a scarf, as it got particularly chilly in the evenings
She was delighted to meet Sana after ages. As they settled in, Sana observed that the market looked like it was straight out of a Palo Alto street lined with roadside cafés. Hira smiled and said, “That’s because it’s built for the elite of Islamabad. Trust me, I lived in Bhara Kahu; that’s the real Pakistan. She continued, “Next time, I will take you to my most favourite place, “Bismillah Tikka” in F8. Today I brought you here in case you wanted to feel like you’re still in the US.
They had a lot of catching up to do. As Hira tucked into her steak, she listened to Sana as she brought her up to speed about everything she had missed while they were apart.
“Why did you two decide to move back? A lot of people are desperate to leave, you know.”
“Ha! I should record my response and play it over to everyone who asks me this. Trust me, this is the question that every single person has asked since we landed.”
Giggling lightly, Sana continued, “We are researchers, so we know the problems within our society. We know we can’t fix Pakistan, but we’re here to do our part. Every society has problems, and not all of them have a solution, yet people try anyways. We’ve witnessed firsthand the homelessness and healthcare struggle that plagues Americans. It’s not exactly the dreamland we pretend it is. I know there’s no competition with Pakistan, but my point is: no place is perfect. And we would rather work for our own country and give back to our own people than do the same elsewhere. Charity starts at home, after all.”
Hira nodded. This was the first time she had heard such a response to this question.
Sana spoke again, “We also wanted to live near our parents. They’re growing old and we want to spend time with them. They’re against moving abroad because their whole lives are in Pakistan, so we thought it was more feasible for us to move back instead.”
Then Sanwal spoke, “We are well aware of the problems here. We also learned a lot in the US education system and the society’s openness also taught us many lessons. But we wanted to come back. We knew what we were in for when we decided to move back. It’s a shock that’s for sure, but since we’re together it becomes easier to share the burden.” Sana smiled at Sanwal before he continued, “Besides, Sana takes immense pride in her teaching, and especially in her students who go on to do great things. Students like you, Hira. That’s a feeling that has no material comparison.”
Hira blushed at this unexpected compliment. As Sana finished off her Moroccan chicken and Sanwal cleared the last of his rice, they shared a look and said, “Ahmed talks so passionately about you. We met him a few times when our schedules aligned, and it was always really pleasant. We’re really happy for you Hira.”
Sanwal continued, “Maybe you should consider moving abroad with Ahmed, Hira. Even if you stay there a few years, you’ll be in for a good learning experience. Think about it.”
Hira replied simply, “I can’t leave my parents here, and I can either pursue my own dreams or Ahmed’s. It’s impossible to do both things.”
Sana sensed that this was a sensitive topic, and she clutched Sanwal’s hand under the table, signalling that they should change the topic.
The evening ended on a pleasant note, after they had all gone out for chai to a different restaurant. They promised to meet again soon, and going back to her car, Hira couldn’t help but think about whether or not she was making the right decision by staying back, when everyone around her was saying the same thing: leave.
