…on a child’s turning 18 years old and leaving home for further studies…
Dr. Sabiha Saadat
Inspite of the heat wave, humid climate and dust storms in Eastern Saudi Arabia, there is something in the room that sends a chill down my spine. Strange! Is it like this when you miss someone? No, there is something more than this for sure. Believe me I cannot control myself. Here, I feel as if I am not the master of my self unlike in any other part of the house that we are living in.
I considered myself bold, rock-strong. Until I entered my daughter’s bedroom. After a vacation I was home, without her as she decided to stay back for her many entrance exams! But the room is there! All peach and lime green for her choice of curtains and carpets, books scattered, the dresser in a mess, abayas on the hangers and her pillows and soft toys lying gloomy on the bed. Her proud collection of Jodi Picoult, Paulo Coelho and Agatha Christie are piled neatly. Her favorite “fat dolly” is brooding and Boo-Boo, the red dog with flappy ears is depressed. The only thing shining in the room is her tiara she got on her school farewell function when she was crowned the 1st runner-up in the beauty pageant!
That suddenly reminds me of the 18 yrs that have gone!
I remember welcoming her to this world in August 1990 while Iraq occupied Kuwait at the advent of the Gulf war. I remember taking her to pre-school and waving goodbye to a sobbing girl in red pinafore on the gates of LKG-F and watching her perform fairy dance on KG-Day. I can see her taking part in the play-Much ado about nothing-and debating hard for her school and winning trophies and certificates in the science fairs. I can see her coming home wearing that tiara when she was crowned as the 1st runner up…and and and…All this is running in my mind like a virtual slide show…
But the reality is that she is not here with me now. She has gone to pursue her career and eventually will proceed in search of greener pastures. And with Allah besides her…she will succeed.
I miss her… the house is lonely, the room is bare and dull and quiet too. The bed is neat and tidy, no scattered notes or socks…but some junk is still under the bed…Ah! the scattered pages of Midnights Children. Her dresser is surrounded by pictures of her friends and Oh! Good Lord…most of those are of Enrique and Rayan of the Blue fame. And there…she has forgotten her favourite scarf in a corner…Will she forget my teachings too? I sincerely hope not.
Suddenly the door bell rings…I think she is back from school with her little brother. But he comes inside, alone, and jumps for the phone to call his “Aapee” and to give her the latest gossip from school. Oh! Is he lonely?
But she is out there in this world under the guidance of Allah Subhan Wa Taalaa. She is on a new path. Her biggest worries used to be scratched knees and loose teeth! But now broken dreams and a broken heart will; be her worst fears…I will not be there to seal her “Aiyee” with a kiss. Colored Band aids and Hershey’s kisses will not help now. I yearn to save her from tears and hurts but she has to fight her wars and win her battles! She has to shed and wipe her own tears, control her anger and console her soul, mend her heartaches and hold and grasp her dreams lest they slip away!
I do not know what to do with my mornings now. She will have to make her own “Sugar-roti” and “French-toast” now.
Was it not yesterday when she cuddled in my lap? I remember leaving her at Egyptian babysitters, her shiny curls and my vain attempts to straighten those when I would finally land up making the “Antenna” on top of her head.
I considered myself bold, and efficient bionic woman of this era, but why am I clutching “Boo-Boo” and crying?
Hopefully and Insha Allah I will recover, dry my tears, forget my agonies of present and welcome a new world. A world when she will acheive her goal and ambitions, be successful in her enterprises. And then I will sit down, relax and wait for her to come to me as a young, confident person with her head held high, who saw this world with bold and brighter out look. I want to welcome her, bold and beautiful, and make me the proudest mom I always wanted to be.(Ameen)
Here in this room, I still feel as if there is something that is playing on my nerves, tiring the resolution and enfeebling the will. I feel as if I am depleted of vital forces…I am giving way…But, just let me, for now on this gloomy, orange, dusty day in this desert, sit in the room of my lovely girl who loved her peach curtains and clutched her Fat-Dolly! Just let the tears fall as I remember…
(The author is a Kashmiri and resides in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. She can be reached at [email protected])
