After being frozen in time in a terrible traffic jam in front of Regent Plaza for at least fifteen minutes, I jumped down the bus and started pacing my way up to Jinnah probably for the twentieth time. Hafsa stood waiting for me outside the ward. We strutted to the new place of our dwelling for a while, after the lovely E.N.T experience. We watched our steps down the spiral stair-case and ended up being in Ward 8 where the officer told us to go where the Casualty is to find what we were looking for.
It wasn't much of the direction that had led us to the labor room but only the fight outside it that had pulled us in, revealing only accidentally that we were where we wanted to be. I peeped in to find a doctor walking our way, she told us we needed to change into our O.T slippers. The lack of which deprived us of the possible experience and pointed toward the exit. Although, we did go in to find the place refuting our conjectures about it.
"Karachi University mein bomb blast howa hai!" Someone had hissed in a worried tone as we walked past the two formerly fighting men finally paying attention to the woman in pain. Phone calls were made with the exact co-ordinates of where one stood being briefed to nervous family members at home. Then, we walked into Forensic Medicine.
I then met a man so pungent. So absinthian. So severe. So successful. So hated. So heartbreaking. So understandable. So obvious. I might get ostracized for teaming with him as not many fancy him for he has a crude, boorish touch to how he deals with things but one reason for that obviously is our narrow perception. The difficulty in showing agreeableness to a strong man who knows exactly what he is doing only without refinement and with exaggerated emotions is that it gets crusted with sympathy. You want others to get him.
The adversity in approaching such a man is lack of confidence, dearth of alignment of thoughts at my end, scarcity of words to utter when he showers his disappointments despite all the glory, when he feels victorious but defeated.
When you see him fail to have the crowd grasp his point. When you see him struggle so hard to put his message across by making intimidation the prosthesis. When you see him take himself to a level of vulnerability unimaginable, you become equally susceptible to showing your frustration. I tried keeping the lava restricted to the glass of my eyes while another man walked down for what ever reason after serving the country for so many years and encountering sheer deterioration. And the malfeasance on my part that I can assure him of is the lack of a promise, the lack of a promise to be equally strong.
It wasn't much of the direction that had led us to the labor room but only the fight outside it that had pulled us in, revealing only accidentally that we were where we wanted to be. I peeped in to find a doctor walking our way, she told us we needed to change into our O.T slippers. The lack of which deprived us of the possible experience and pointed toward the exit. Although, we did go in to find the place refuting our conjectures about it.
"Karachi University mein bomb blast howa hai!" Someone had hissed in a worried tone as we walked past the two formerly fighting men finally paying attention to the woman in pain. Phone calls were made with the exact co-ordinates of where one stood being briefed to nervous family members at home. Then, we walked into Forensic Medicine.
I then met a man so pungent. So absinthian. So severe. So successful. So hated. So heartbreaking. So understandable. So obvious. I might get ostracized for teaming with him as not many fancy him for he has a crude, boorish touch to how he deals with things but one reason for that obviously is our narrow perception. The difficulty in showing agreeableness to a strong man who knows exactly what he is doing only without refinement and with exaggerated emotions is that it gets crusted with sympathy. You want others to get him.
The adversity in approaching such a man is lack of confidence, dearth of alignment of thoughts at my end, scarcity of words to utter when he showers his disappointments despite all the glory, when he feels victorious but defeated.
When you see him fail to have the crowd grasp his point. When you see him struggle so hard to put his message across by making intimidation the prosthesis. When you see him take himself to a level of vulnerability unimaginable, you become equally susceptible to showing your frustration. I tried keeping the lava restricted to the glass of my eyes while another man walked down for what ever reason after serving the country for so many years and encountering sheer deterioration. And the malfeasance on my part that I can assure him of is the lack of a promise, the lack of a promise to be equally strong.
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