Don’t Trust Boys
Chapter 29 of “Hold On”: Islamabad-Peshawar Motorway 2016
(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 an extremely hot weekend, Hira set off for Peshawar, driving her own car. Traveling on the motorway from Islamabad to Peshawar, she remembered her previous journeys using public transport, which often involved changing multiple paratransit means. Simultaneously, she thought about the thousands of people still relying on rudimentary public transport, many of whom couldn’t afford air-conditioned buses in the scorching 47-degree Celsius heat. The traffic on the road (M1) was usually sparse, and made her comfortable driving on this road. She turned the knob on the radio and an old favorite crackled on. Atif Aslam’s voice filled the air in the small car, “Abb to aadat si hai mujhko aiseay jeenay main” (I am used to living like this).
As the sun came down, Hira entered the muddy, narrow streets of Chamkani, where sewage water flowed openly. A few children around eight years old were playing in the street and started chasing Hira’s car as she drove by. Hira parked the car outside her house, where her father was waiting at the door having heard the car’s engine even before it turned into the street. He instructed Hira to park in the street and expressed concern that the children might cause damage. He finally decided to keep an eye on the car from outside. Hira’s father’s face, which was speckled with lines, broke into a wide smile, as he looked proudly at his daughter driving the car. He recalled the days he used to drop her off at Lady Griffith School and later, giving her a ride on his motorbike to university in both sunshine and rain.
Hira wore a yellow shirt with white trousers that she had bought from Khadi a few days ago. The shirt was embroidered with lilac flowers around the hemline and sleeves. After paying at the cash register, Hira marvelled at how easily she had bought something that had caught her eye. Her younger self could never imagine this. Her hair was tightly braided. Upon entering her home, she let her braid loose and set her white shawl aside. She always wore a white shawl while in Peshawar, though she was comfortable with a simple dupatta in Islamabad. Hira’s face glowed with happiness upon reaching home.
Hira’s mother, Nosheen, sat inside her room and came out to greet her. She hugged Hira, who felt a deep sense of satisfaction, knowing she had finally won her mother’s love with a decent job and financial support for the family. Her brothers could now attend better schools and wear better clothes and shoes. After completing a recent project in San Francisco, Hira’s salary increased to Rs 200,000 per month. The InfoTech company she worked for was receiving many data science and computer vision projects, and Hira was now able to handle these projects independently alongside her team members.
Hira could see that her mother was going through a phase she had observed since childhood. As a child, she could never understand what was happening to her mother and why she was often irritable or quiet. Now, she recognized the pattern. Nosheen would tie her dupatta around her head tightly and either remain silent or scold the children for minor things. She would also be harsh with her husband, Aftab. Hira now suspected that her mother might have chronic, untreated depression, which had already taken a great toll on the family. Hira had decided to try and talk to her mother about the issue.
A few weeks ago, Hira had mentioned the idea of seeing a psychiatrist to her mother. The suggestion caught Nosheen by surprise and made her unhappy and resentful. She responded, “Just because you have a good job, you cannot label your parents as dimaghi (mentally sick)”. Whatever Hira said further was also met with similar disdain.
Hira avoided further conversation on the topic and pondered how she could convince her mother to seek help.
Hira’s youngest brother brought her a glass of water, as she was tired after three hours of driving. In the evening, when the family gathered for dinner, Nosheen had cooked desi chicken for Hira. The chicken wasn’t enough for everyone, so there was also daal served. As a child, Hira had noticed that Nosheen would always give the meat pieces to the boys and only the curry to the girls. Now, her mother was placing meat on Hira’s plate herself. This made her sad, happy, and a mixture of other emotions at the same time.
During dinner, Hira suggested that they should move to a different location, as Chamkani was not suitable for them anymore. They could now afford a better home in Peshawar Cantt. It was extremely difficult for them to travel to Peshawar city and educational institutions from Chamkani. The Peshawar BRT project had recently started, and GT road was clogged with traffic at all times. Making this move would bring peace and order to the lives of everyone in the house. Hira’s mother was pleased with the idea and mentioned that it would be an excellent opportunity to start looking for suitable marriage proposals for Hira. She said, “Your dad’s boss, who is a very senior officer in the government, has asked to meet you to consider you for his son who is preparing for the CSS exam.”
Hira replied, “Mom, let’s focus on finding a new home right now. One day, I’ll tell you more about someone I’ve been talking to and would like to marry. He’s a classmate of mine, but I haven’t told you about him yet.” Nosheen glanced at Aftab and said, “I told you this would happen in universities, but you never listened.” Aftab replied, “Nosheen, what’s wrong with that? We can ask Hira to tell us more about him, and if the boy and his family are good, we can consider him.”
Hira had expected a more severe response from her parents, but their reaction was mellower than expected. Encouraged, Hira then shared about Ahmad and his family. Aftab inquired whether Ahmad’s family would be interested in visiting them to discuss a potential marriage. Hira affirmed that they would, but both she and Ahmad were currently focusing on their careers and would wait before taking that step.
Meanwhile, Nosheen cautioned Hira, “Don’t trust boys.” They can seem nice, but it doesn’t take long for them to use women. I’ve heard of educated men who just exploit women friends and then don’t marry them.” Aftab asked Nosheen to remain quiet. Nosheen tightened her dupatta around her head and retreated to her room. Hira stared down at her plate. It felt like a knot in her chest had loosened. She had her father’s support, even if her mother was still reticent. But something had shifted in their relationship now. Her mother had become more accepting of her and her thoughts and ideas. Hira was sure she could convince her. If only she could do something for her treatment.
