He does not think at all.

I know not
how he thinks
it to be so easy,
as if being apart
is only so natural.

I know not
how he thinks
I live through my days,
the days I
do not see him.

I think I do not live at all.

I wrote this back in 2004, when my boyfriend and I were in a never-ending long-distance relationship across countries. For him, the distance seemed rite of passage, temporary, situational (even if it went on for years) because he believed we simply were just meant to be. For me, the distance was all-consuming, the absolute negative space waiting to devour us. The good thing though, a lot of writing came out of it.

My darling girl.

I wrote this in 2020 – couldn’t bring myself to publish it then.

Today marks 4 months since I lost my much beloved dog, Lara. She gave us 11 years of pure joy and happiness. Ever so innocent, ever so good-tempered, playful and loving to the last. It is often difficult to explain to people the intensity and longevity of of my grief or the infinite ways she made my life better or the inexplicable ways in which I miss her – she was not just a dog.

She was a bundle of love.

She fell sick in June, 2020 – internal organ infection that required surgery. The vet told me she almost didn’t make it – but then my brave girl, she did. In just a few days, she was her usual playful self and her stitches healed nicely. The only thing that seemed odd was her constant butt rubbing, that turned out to be maggots, much our surprise. She’d only ever been indoors, in air conditioning – except when she had to go to the loo, that’s when the flies got to her. When we took her to the vet, Lara was an active dog. When we brought her back that evening, she was barely moving. An emergency vet home showed high fever… that didn’t really come down until she died.

That day began 4 weeks of daily visits to the vet or emergency vet house-calls late at night. Towards the end, we were putting the IV into the canola ourselves, sitting with her for hours waiting for it to finish. I remember on July 22nd, when we were bringing her home after a vet visit, my husband suggested that perhaps it was time to put her to sleep. That after six weeks of treatment and tests, she was only getting worse, that pumping her with medication was the only thing keeping her alive; that she hadn’t really eaten in days. On the way home, we stopped at a burger joint and got her a cheesy beef burger – I didn’t know at the time that that would be her last meal.

Lara, there were times when I used to worry, should anything happen to me, who would love you as much as I do. I was never going to be ready to let you go, monkey. I remember, that after the last visit to the doctor’s I came home and I cried and cried and I was ready to fight for you. But then that last night I spent laying awake with you, watching you groan in pain, that seizure I couldn’t understand and the doctors I couldn’t reach – and yet, you still came out of it and opened your eyes for me in the morning. But I knew.

That last morning when I called you to the balcony, our special evening place, you still dragged yourself over. But you looked so tired, so exhausted. Were we tormenting you or helping you? How could I decide to end your life that is so precious to me? How long do I keep pumping you with meds, poked and prodded by doctors on a daily basis, in pain just to keep you close to me? I will never forget the look in your eyes in that morning light on the balcony. A look that seemed to say I’m tired, but I can keep trying – but one that also said I’m tired, please don’t make me.

What you and I had was so special and strong and I have truly and deeply loved you. You will always be my heart.

I often wonder if Lara still flesh and fur, down there, buried too deep and perhaps not deep enough. I remember, the day after she were gone, there had never been silence so deafening reverberating off the walls, and the house had never felt so heavy and empty at the same time.

RIP Lara: Sept. 9th, 2009 – July 23rd, 2020

Musings on death and dying in Corona

We have always died.

There is natural death of old age, then there is sudden accidental death; there is slow death of terminal illness, then then there is suicide – a different kind of illness; there is the glorified, meaningful death in the form of sacrifice, then there is mere casualty – a killing; there is brain-death, then there is body death; there is the angry death brought on by drought, famine, starvation and then there is the muffled death of disease, a pandemic.

There are many ways to die, the latest in trend is with the novel Corona Virus (COVID-19).

In the case of death and dying, religion has preceded and exceeded in dialogue while science has lagged behind in understanding and conversation. Thanatology, the scientific study of death and dying, emerged relatively recently around the 1960s. Sigmund Freud explained the “phenomena of life” in Civilization and its Discontents as “Eros,” God of love and “Thanatos,” God of death – working together as two opposing forces. In the contemporary Marvel Universe, “Thanos” was conceived by writer-artist Jim Starlin as a supervillain, destroyer of all life in the universe, and brother of “Eros of Titan”. His character first made its appearance in the 1970s and has been depicted as strong and formidable, a nihilist – who worships death and falls in love with its physical embodiment, Mistress of Death.

As the modern world grapples with new images of death in the forms of supervillains such as Thanos, some religions have already defeated death through reincarnation. In Bhagavat Gita, it is written, “Death is certain for one who has been reborn, and rebirth is inevitable for one who has died. Therefore, you should not lament over the inevitable” (Ch.2, Verse 27). In Bhuddism, everything goes through a natural cycle that involves birth, growth, and death; however, death is not final. After death emerges new life through karmic conditions and a person experiences rebirth until Nirvana is reached. Christianity talks about death in terms of the “resurrection of Christ” – again, challenging the finality of death. Religions emphasize the concept of life after death – again, life. In contrast, science has offered mushy explanations, resulting in further questions, that basically explain nothing.

Time and again, death has been perceived as a destroyer, understandably because of the loss associated with it. Despite the inevitability of death, there have been conquests to find the Holy Grail, to mutate that aging gene, to become immortal. Time and again, there has been a constant losing battle against death and at most, in cases of terminal illness, science has only managed to prolong life, not defeat death. Time and again, every supervillain’s goal has been to end life and the superhero’s to save it. The fear of death has left imaginations bereft of forms of villainy – surely, there are other ways to destroy than to end life? Is it possible that religion, not science whose focus has primarily been on the care of terminally ill patients and bereavement, has actually managed to mitigate the psychological trauma of loss that death brings by making people believe that there is rebirth or another place after death?

Bhuddism, in its understanding of life and death as a cycle of karmic chain reactions, believes life to be a process of death. But why think about death when you’re alive? There is inhibiting fear of processing death while alive so that when it actually comes, it is without any emotional, psychological, cognitive or physiological preparation. Instead, it is always irrational, unfair, too soon, extremely painful, immensely petrifying.

About 60 years ago, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, an American-Swiss Psychiatrist worked with terminally ill patients and published a book, “On Death and Dying.” She outlined the 5 stages involved in the process of death in the dying patients: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance though not necessarily experienced in that order. David Kessler co-authored a book with Kubler-Ross called “Life Lessons,”* and explains that when people are at the end of their lives, they reveal their “deepest truths,” and talk about what was either regretful or meaningful to them. He says there is much to be learned “at the end of life, when it is too late to apply.”  With the arrival of sudden potential death of pandemic, a possible existential crisis emerges as individuals become entangled in fear and anxiety. Our mood exhibits significant aspects of our self. According to Jean-Paul Sartre and Martin Heidegger, fear exposes self as vulnerable and anxiety as threatened by the unpresence of anything tangible. The anxiety removes self from the comfort of what is deemed meaningful leading to a loss of “basic sense of who I am.” Moreover, according to Heidegger, “nothingness” is indicative of self that emerges from a state of anxiety when the identity was engaged in different practices that collapse causing the self to believe to be nothing**.

The thanotophobia, fear of death and dying, experienced by most is further exacerbated by this pandemic. It implies an indefinite and inexplicable loss, though which will inevitably and ultimately be experienced regardless of situation or circumstance. In an effort to understand this process, the subject of death and dying started being offered as a course in Western universities towards the end of the 20th century. There is some data that shows that with certain catastrophes, student interest in these courses have hiked – e.g. after 9/11 – implying that psychological and physical proximity may be a requirement to process death and dying, with or without fear and anxiety.

"You grieve for those who call for no grief
And yet you utter words of wisdom
And yet you utter words of wisdom.
The wise grieve neither for the dead
Or the living.
There was never a time
When you or I did not exist."
(Bhagawat Gita)

* Life Lessons: Two Experts on Death and Dying Teach Us About the Mysteries of Life and Living by Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, M.D. and David Kessler. Publisher: Scribner, 2000. 

** (https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/existentialism/#AnxNotAbs)

Note: My knowledge of both religion and philosophy is extremely limited. These are just musings on what little I remember and understand.

The rain and some off-wandering

The rain changes everything.

It is hard to explain my love-hate relationship with rain in Karachi, which feels so different from rain anywhere else in the world. It doesn’t come often and every Karachiite looks forward to (and dreads) the monsoon season. It comes as relief, yet a destroyer; it creates puddles to play in, but also floods homes; it washes away the dust otherwise blatantly visible to the naked eye, but also brings injury. I remember once discussing the appropriate amount of time taken for a shower with a Canadian friend – my 10 to his 30 minutes. He had never known what it is like to not have access to water. He was amazed I had had this problem – I was amazed he had not. In a water scarce city, seeing water fall from the sky feels almost holy.

Over the last year, my never before realized sense of adventure awoke and I started taking road trips to the outskirts of Balochistan with a group of wanderers. For someone who’s spent the better half of my childhood in Balochistan, it is only now in my thirties that I have actually found it. These are dry barren lands with little shrubbery and you have to wonder why anyone would live there. Once you get off the road, there are people residing in tiny shacks with even tinier windows. There is no electricity and no cell phone signal. On an average day, as you drive off road into the austere lands, over big boulders and rocks, small dirt passages, skirting through deep mud, and sometimes crossing Olympian pool-sized water bodies, all you feel is the sun and ubiquitous dust on your face. Your body sways violently and without control in the car as if you’re on a sinking ship caught in a storm. In spite of this, there is a sense of serenity in being away from the city of lights. Sometimes, when camping the night in the middle of dry Kherari river, attention diverted from the phone screen, you can see the Milky Way and stars shining ever so brightly in the pitch black.

My most recent off-road trip was to Sassi right after it had rained. Mounds of dry dust had been replaced by little sprouting greens. The cacti, commonly found all over the dry land, were no longer a shade of brown; the sun hiding behind the clouds and a cool breeze blowing. It was the same place I had visited many times before, but this landscape and experience was new. It took me some time to fall in love with the endless scorched grounds of Balochistan, but the love I felt for such green, especially when it’s usually so sparsely found, was without effort. I have always perceived of these harsh places I so frequently visit as struggling – to grow, to survive, to thrive and deprived of their full potential. Now, just after a little rainfall, these same acrid grounds gave a glimpse of their bountiful potential to flourish.

This journey, now made almost every other week, is not without the pains of preparations. It starts with concerns of health for the car (I refer to it as the Beast) – deemed very important to get to a destination unknown. Immense deliberation is given to bedtime and setting an alarm to get the maximum amount of sleep. Arguments ensue about Lara’s (the dog) hair infestation that would occur if she were to accompany and further arguments about shaving her for the trip and yet further arguments about how many seats should be removed to make this old dog sit comfortably. Lengthy discussions are held on the menu and how many Hobbit meals will be consumed. In reality, hours slept amount to 5; frantic activity to get to the closest select shop at the gas station for snacks and drinks; menu includes McDonald’s and then some more McDonald’s; Lara is shoved into the car with a compromised one seat removed (for now) and, of course, unshaved.

Once, for an overnight camping trip, we forgot to take our tent.

The journey to witness the glamor of Balochistan regions is also not without lethargy. The drive takes hours and landscapes after landscapes merge into each other. I normally sit with an open book in my lap, but captivated by the scenery, I never actually get around to reading anything. Thought after thought rolls out and yet, if anyone were to ask me what I think about on these drives, I wouldn’t be able to answer. It is on these trips that I realize how important is it to periodically cut myself from my every day life; work, endless whapsapp messages, netflix binges, breaking news stories, mindless chatter and instead to connect with another human being sitting next to me before resuming the same mechanical cycle.

Everything about these excursions, rain or not, is an experience to be cherished and remembered. I have witnessed a flash flood and a whole river come to life when the river itself didn’t have a clue that it was supposed to be filled with water. I have swum in rivers and dams; seen strange insects and other wildlife; sat with my feet in water watching sunsets; been a part of an otherwise unlikely community that formed simply through a collection and connection of people present in that time and space.

I have loved every minute of it because out there, every minute is truly mine.

The Social House – My First Social Experiment

A few days ago I decided I was going to start exploring St. John’s to its full extent (with my added limiting factors). Of the numerous places I’ve lived in and visited, I’ve never taken the time nor made the effort to really get to know any of those places. So my resolve affirmed I started like any normal person would: by posting on Facebook for suggestions. Then I did my own research and made a comprehensive list of all the places I wanted to visit and all the things that interested me.

Today I went to the Social House downtown to listen to some blues and jazz, and I dragged my friend A. along. Despite being from St. John’s, she’d never been to this place either so neither of us really knew what to expect. When we walked into its piano bar, the first thing I noticed were the low tables and chairs and I instantly fell in love with the place. I’m easy to please. The band was still tuning while we settled in and ordered some drinks and appetizers. I had a Luis Felipe Melbec and it was absolutely delicious. I also had poutine and it was the worst poutine I’ve ever had. I would most certainly not order any food there next time, but would highly recommend the wine.

I was filled with awe once the band started playing. People slowly started trickling in, most of them regulars and well-known to the band. It was busy, but not crowded. Looking at the people around me, I realized almost everyone looked like they had a serious day job and yet they were still able to make time to do something like this. It made me realize how lazy I am and perhaps the one reason why I don’t explore or try new things is that my initial automatic assumption is it’s probably not going to be something I’m going to enjoy. Tonight was an attempt to break that pattern and to try something new before making that assumption. And enjoy I did! There was a sign-up sheet by the door where customers could sign up to play with the band. I sat through two amazing singers and one pianist. Some of the pieces the band played were original and one of them that I particularly loved was a South African inspired rhythm.

I took a lot of pictures (like a typical tourist) and made videos for D. He loves blues and jazz and I cannot wait to bring him here. His suit style would fit right into this place. Tonight’s experience has inspired me to explore more of St. John’s and get uncomfortable to be comfortable.

These last few days I’ve also been thinking a lot about Viktor Frankl’s “Man’s search for meaning.” In one of his lectures he talked about students he’d surveyed and found that 60% of the students said their main goal in life was to make money. But that was not the top category. The top category was that 78% of these students were concerned with finding meaning and purpose in their lives. I am not particularly looking to find meaning and purpose, but I do feel that the meaning and purpose of my life would be enhanced if I could experience new things. Lately, I’ve also found inspiration to push myself because of my good friend Hajra. Talking to her always makes me feel like I can do anything and that anything is possible as long as I am adamant to not let it go. It has been a long time since I’ve been inspired like this.

It seems appropriate to quote Viktor Frankl to end this note: “If we take man as he really is we make him worse, but if we overestimate him…we promote him to what he really can be. We have to be idealistic and we end up to be realists.”

I love technology

Sometimes it’s really confusing juggling all my blessings. Between the laptop, netbook, ipad, phone, and kindle it’s hard to decide which I should use for what. So I’ve got skype on the ipad, books on the kindle, whatsapp on the phone, downloads on the netbook, and for everything else laptop is awesome.

It’s going to be one heavy carry-on.

Who’s the crate for?

I put together Lara’s crate today. Her vet said she needs to start getting used to the crate and start thinking of it as her home. Home away from home. Once I put it together, I had to sit inside it for a while to show her how much fun it was. Yay… so much fun. Then I put in all her favorite toys and she had to go inside to fetch them. She seemed very comfortable inside the crate by the time my attention waned, which really didn’t take that long.

Half an hour later I passed by the crate and saw D. sitting inside it. Lara stood outside with head tilted: “Whaaaaaaat is wrong with you freaks today?”

Countdown: 35 days.

The Countdown Begins

The idea of writing a blog emerged when my husband, D., started rampaging chat roulette to talk to Canadians. We’re moving to Canada in a few weeks so I can go to graduate school, and it seemed like a good idea to ask Canadians what Canada was like. We met this amazing girl online who had a good laugh at our ‘from’ departure and ‘to’ destination. She said if we started a blog about how we moved from Karachi to St. John’s NL, she would read it.

These are those blogs.

Whenever I tell anyone where we are going, the first reaction is to laugh. Newfoundland is like the Peshawar of Canada. And it’s freezing cold especially for someone who lives in equatorial temperatures. Their warmest days are equivalent to my Karachi winters. For the past few weeks, I have been following the weather in St. John’s. Yesterday it said, 18 C. On the university facebook page it said, ‘it’s hot and sunny today.’ Haha! In Karachi it was 37 C. Even though I lived in Pennsylvania for many years, I’m absolutely terrified of the Canadian cold. I’m told it doesn’t compare.

Yesterday, we went to get our polio vaccination now mandatory for anyone traveling internationally from Pakistan. Long story that involves one of many disease stricken problems of a third world country. For more information on this, check WHO. We thought we were being super efficient, getting things done ahead of time (usually very unlike us). When we got there, we were turned away because it was apparently too early and we were advised to come back a week or a day before departure. If we got the vaccine now, it’s possible it might not be recognized in a few weeks and we’d have to get it done again. Medically, that makes no sense since the vaccine is supposed to be valid for a year. We looked at the guy giving the vaccines as if he was insane and he looked at us as if we were his joke of the day. Vaccination has now been moved into list of things to get done last minute. We shall never make the mistake of being eager to get vaccinated again.

On this huge adventure, Lara (our dog), will hopefully accompany us or follow us. I’ll most likely have to put her in some sort of obedience school to socialize her. Pakistan is not a very animal friendly country and there are no outlets where one can socialize pets, especially with other animals. And since she is a german shepherd, who looks daunting and ready to eat you (even though she won’t), she barely gets to meet anyone. As part of her training to relocate, I’ve been trying to get her to stop barking when there’s somebody at the front door. We tried ‘Lara, quiet!’ ‘Lara, sshhhh!’ ‘Lara, shut up!’ ‘Lara, shut the f**k up!’ But what strangely worked was ‘Lara, Canada!’

Countdown: 40 days.