the office

I'm sitting across the desk from his fancy curved monitor. we'd met at that fancy crypto guys dinner, but I had emailed him a few weeks before about something else, and serendipitously apparently my face had been displayed on the CS building as esteemed alumni (they didn't tell ME that), so all three layers on in-yun leading to some sort of culmination to that meeting.

i'm waiting for my colleague to join me. in my mind she's much richer, and therefore much more succesful. I love that she's single, flitting from one european country to the next, thin, had her 40th in thailand and rented a yacht with the best booze and food i've ever had in my life. i haven't had such a nice weekend in my life. she lives in one of those insane estates only people here have, in a separate area designated only for her.

she finally comes, sits and we start discussing. The attention he's giving my words is flattering. the way he's looking at me, I have to try hard to ignore it. and as she's talking, I'm suddenly seeing her through his eyes - no real academic accomplishments, a nepo baby doing a minor role in her family business. Run of the mill. he sees me, my grades, my awards, my work, and is more impressed, and it takes his kind brown eyes for me to see this.

its shocking how easy the conversation is. we want to introduce a course which will give university credit. he wants me to teach it. she is dying to teach it, but he kind of dismisses her and asks me directly. I look over at her, and say let's discuss. I'm cautious, I know how much most of my undergrad profs knew. the caliber of faculty in this place is nuts, they're doing cutting edge research, know about the latest shit and there is no way in hell my non-PHD ass is going to ever achieve that level of mastery. she's talking, but really wasn't ever a good student and studied in some tier 2 local university so really wouldn't know either.  his warm enthusiasm wins the day and it gets pushed through.

somewhere in this process i have a dream. I'm teaching in that university classroom. I am way underqualified. for some reason he is there. there is some coffee, a request for advice. I go into that office with the curved monitor, and since its safe in my dream (i know even then its a dream), there are no cameras, no ethics, no students, no wife of his probably, no staff, no real room even in this shadow realm. I know i could end it, wake myself up, pull myself out, but I allow it for the briefest of moments, acknowledging the outside conscious world where Z broke me - tore me apart limb from limb with his beatings and his lies and his mental torture - and how i am whole again like some pottery kitsungi-d together with lines of gold glueing back the pieces of my spirit - and that for that one briefest of moments in my dream I can allow his kind brown eyes to come real close, hold my face, and allow a man kiss me again.   

Superman

Who is he? A manifestation of white savior complex - a white colonizer rescuing brown shalwar kameezed people. Horrified right wingers disturbed that brown terrorists portrayed as victims. brown ppl angry at being type cast yet again.

Who is he? a manifestation of an age old primal story - big strong good man rescues the girl. So good looking. So nuanced. So flawed and human. So broad shouldered. A fantasy. Because we don't get rescued, we all have to rescue ourselves, and we try to taste the fantasy for a runtime of 2 brief hours, hoping the caramel-salt popcorn mixture overrides the bitter ashes of adulthood in our mouths.

Who is he? A good role model for boys. Better than some stupid race car driver who likes fast cars. Better than some stupid stoic beefcake who doesn't feel, who is cold, who murders, yet also does some cute scenes with little girls as a nice foil to his machismo. He loves. His girlfriend. His dog. His robots. His parents - adopted or otherwise. He is respectful. And introspective. And lives his life trying to do good.

Who is he? A manifestation of manipulation, the very architects of the hateful broken world they commentate on.

Mikaeel

From deep within my dreams, I wake. My eyes are still closed, but as long as I can remember, I always wake up, exactly at fajr. Always. My earliest memories are from when I was 5, and still believed that a jinn kept me company. He was my age, and we played together into the night. While his friends were frightening, he was nice.

But I am 30 now, and pregnant, and my eyelids feel like rocks. My feet, swollen from the babymoon plane ride back to Lahore. My consciousness submerging again, when I feel a presence at my bedside. My friend Ns mother, calling me "Wake up, it's fajr. Time to pray. It's Ns mom, N..."

Eyes still closed, I say "ugh go away I don't like N that much" I hiss, too tired to care about being jostled by imaginary voices. I feel her recoil in shock, and - oh there's a man next to her - she tells him, let's go.

I feel bad - "I'm sorry!" I manage to yell out as they flit away. "I do love N!" she turns and hears me, and I feel a little less guilty. 

---

Well bollocks I'm fully awake now, might as well open my eyes. I turn on the lamp, and decide I might as well pray. I drag my swollen feet to the bathroom for wuzu, and then say my 2 sunnat and 2 farz. I can't sit too long for the dua, my legs are already numb with the baby pressing into my spine now. My first thought it for N and her mom. Terminal pancreatic cancer, discovered 2 months ago. N has been going nuts importing every single cure from every corner of the planet - from ayurvedic medicines from the far east, to a root from East Africa, to manuka honey from Australia. Allopathic medicine had given up hope from the moment it was diagnosed.

But for the first time in two month, the words praying for a miraculous recovery don't come. "Whatever happens, let it be for the best Allah mian, let Ns mom not be in pain anymore, and help N and her family find peace with this"

I finish up and go sit on the bed, but before I close the lamp I impulsively pick up the BlackBerry and message - "Love you, said a prayer for aunty, thinking of you guys" I hesitate - will I wake her up - but I decide to send it anyway.

Within one second, my phone lights up. It's N, and she's howling "She's gone! She's gone. It just happened a little while ago and you messaged! How did you know!"     

I don't think I was supposed to see that man. I don't think anyone living is supposed to.

------

I'm standing in a porch on a sunny day. It's not my house, maybe an old house I don't remember, or somewhere I'm going to be in the future. I'm holding a baby in my arms. I'm only 23, it's March, and I know this is a dream and I'm asleep at home in my bed in Karachi. 

I'm barefoot, and the baby's fat chubby cheek is pressed in my mine. i love it. i walk out on to the car porch, and I see my grandmother standing at the gate. But she has my face. How odd. She looks at the baby in my arms, and gives the most beautiful smile, full of light and love. I step from the car porch towards the gate, I want to show the baby to ama. 

Ama looks alarmed as I almost step into the hot sunlight. the baking heat, the ground like fire, and it's only March in Karachi, but it feels like May in Lahore. Maybe ama is worried about the baby being in the sun? I stop at the edge of the porch roof shadow, in the shade, and she walks up and looks at me, and we're both crying and smiling as I hold the baby in my arms.

ammmbbaaaaa a muffled distorted slow-mo type voice comes through like a loudspeaker. I'm in bed now, more asleep than awake, and my eyes are still closed and I can't control them enough to open as yet, and i know it must be fajr, but I'm about to go back down. Is that the azaan i hear? a muffled ammmmbbbaaaaaaa droning in my background. Aba? My father? So strange I think as sleep takes over.

When I stumble out of bed to go to work, no one is there. I pull out my Nokia and turn it on, and pour some tea and butter my toast while it boots up. I'm halfway through my toast when the phone finally turns on and sure enough there are several tell tale beeps. SMS is too expensive, so I know it's not my brokeass friends. It's my father - Ama passed last night. Take the next flight out to us, soyem is today. I've told the driver to be there to take you to the airport.