Perspective ... Of Gratitude

Last few days have been extremely taxing in terms of emotional toll. My father has been critically unwell. Tossing between hospital & home, trying to ensure that his failing heart does not lose the spark of life, I've been reading to him ... small snippets, short stories.

Like many men his age, he has been of the generation who prides in suppressing their emotions. His expression of adoration never went beyond a pat on the head. I don't remember ever being kissed by him until only now. Therefore, keeping his comfort zone in mind, his aulaad has learnt to be adherent to a tradition of stoic love. We keep a culture of stolid, quiet, affection.

Finding him particularly exhausted this morning, I chose to read to him something personal. Something I had posted as a series of tweets earlier this year. Something I never knew I remembered, until one day...

There maybe some lack of cohesion, which I think the kind readers would forgive considering the limitation of 140 character tweets, and the emotional state of the author.

Here goes:


Due to a lot of harassment stories being shared, I've been tempted to share a personal story.
This is however, from a different perspective:

The story is of late 80's.
It's the second day of Eid. Lahore. My father, mother, pupho, my kindergarten self & infant sister in a Starlet on Mall road.
Massive traffic jam near the Governor House had trickled down to the entire Mall. Traffic wardens had given up.
In that rush an FX was stuck.
From that FX female screaming voices could be heard even over that mad traffic chaos.
The car had 6 girls inside. 4 bikes wth 10 guys surrounded it.
The guys had raided the car. The front window had been knocked down & the biker was pulling at the girl's face, pulling her out.
The scene was so grim and gross that till the time she passed away, my mother quoted that as the most disturbing thing she had witnessed live.
The rest of the gang guys were flashing themselves at the girls in the car. One was doing air firing at intervals.
The jammed traffic watched.
It was then that my dad got off the car, despite my mother's & pupho's pleas. In his signature fauji way, he went straight to the guy waving the gun at the girls & slapped. HARD.
It was so unexpected that the guy dropped the gun.
There was some physical action and long story short, the traffic warden approached. Police arrived. The driver girl had a bleeding face.
In some while, the bikers were put in a police van. Dad was a hero.
When he returned to his car after some more time and having deposited them girls with their family, my pupho was mad at him. My mother was inconsolable. 
Both asked on loop: "what if they had shot you?" "Apko apni baitiyon ka khayal nahi aya?"

"Apni hi baitiyoN ka khayal aya tha. Isi liay gaya tha" my dad replied to them both.And this is the other perspective.

When I finished reading, I saw him sobbing quietly. 
My father, now frail and weak, struggling for his breath, whispered with closed eyes, "Alhamdolillah. Thank you betay!"