“THANK GOD, I have returned to my civilized world, from that uncivilized world.” These were the very first words that my dear and departed wife uttered — departed for Pakistan from the United States of America after a period of more than four months — while coming out of the exit of the International Lounge.
My wife had left for the US, after obtaining her delayed visa. As soon as the visa materialized, my wife packed her bags and a few pots filled with local herbs and oils, which were to be administrated to young Noffel, my grandson, during his infancy.
I do admit that initially I had enjoyed my newfound freedom; it was the first time in my life during our thirty-four years of blissful, or blisterful, marriage that we parted from each other, for such a long period of time. And not with tears but with smiles.
I was all alone in the house and could do whatever my heart desired, could watch the navels of half-clad Indian damsels on television with glee; invite all those friends whom my wife despised; order the housemaid to prepare all those foods which my wife had forbidden me to gobble; parathas, fried eggs and toasts roasted in desi ghee etc. But the real freedom was to chat freely on phone with all my male and female friends with immunity. My wife has an uncanny sense of immediately being aware that, this husband of mine is not talking to any female fan or acquaintance, but on the other side there is somebody who is taking undue interest in him. So much so, that if I am conversing with a male friend and in due course use the expression, “darling”, she will immediately look at me and growl, “And who is this darling of yours you were talking to on phone?”
“Oh, come on Muna, it is an old college fellow and a male for heavens sake,” I would try to explain.
“Then why were you calling him darling, repeatedly?”
“It was just a manner of speech like sweetheart and beautiful etc.”
“You never call me a darling, sweetheart or beautiful,” she would say sarcastically and how sarcastic she can get, only I know.
So initially I did enjoy her absence. But with the passage of time I had my fill of all unwanted friends and amorous phone calls and the food prepared by the housemaid became monotonous. I could not read or write at ease because the doorbell kept ringing; the milkman got on my nerves. Even the Indian navel-shakes started looking like routine exercises. And then there was this influx of relatives who came in hordes to inquire about my mental state in my wife’s absence. They were sympathetic and looked at me mournfully as if, God forbid, I had become a widower and showered me with food gifts and books like Marne ke baad mot ka manzar.
The refrigerator could not be shut properly because of the vast quantity of food stacked in it, donated naturally by my well wishers. But trying to consume it I put on an extra five kilos on my already bulging bulge. I really started missing my wife for the first time in my wedded life!
Before I proceed any further, I shouldinform you that my wife has a very different notion of our culture. For instance she would always declare very proudly that thank God we still adhere to our Rajput traditions and have not followed in the footsteps of those Arabs whose moral values are very dubious. Naturally I would be shocked by her statement and ask her to kindly elaborate.
“Don’t you remember when a cousin of mine was in Libya with her family where her husband held an important post in an oil company? Well she had three very pretty daughters in their teens and you know people started approaching her and offering her money for them, most of them wanted them as their second or third wife. When my cousin refused these offers, the locals were shocked; it is the local custom and there is no harm if your daughter is chosen to be the third or fourth wife, the more the merrier. Finally my cousin and her husband had to leave the place. There are many Pakistani families in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf states who have had to face the same problem. Can we follow this tradition? I will murder the first person who makes such a shameful offer for my daughter. We’d rather stick to our old Rajput tradition of marrying our daughters, giving them their share of dowry and advise them to stick with their husband for the rest of their lives no matter what.”
Besides these strange notions she also believes that Pakistan is the very best country in the world. Once returning from Saudi Arabia, where she lived with our diplomat son for a few months, she remarked as soon as she stepped out of the airport, “Oh, this is beautiful, children playing in the streets, girls walking around and people laughing heartily; Saudi Arabia is so glum that nobody laughs, you don’t see any children playing or girls smiling. Even their potatoes and plums are tasteless.”
I was sure that after spending more than four months in the land of opportunity, the great Americas, she would have been reformed. But that was not to be. So, her very first comment after emerging from Lahore’s airport was, “Thank God, I am back in my civilized world from that uncivilized world.”
As soon as we reached home I took her to task. “What a sacrilegious comment Muna, don’t tell me you did not like even America and you still consider Pakistan the best country in the world.”
“I liked America because my son and daughter are there; but it is not a civilized and a happy society.”
“How come?”
“Once you gave me a book by Maxim Gorky, City of the Yellow Devil which he had penned after a brief visit to New York. Gorky says the Americans in their pursuit of the Yellow Devil i.e. gold, have abandoned all sorts of human emotions and have turned into robots, running day and night after dollars, earning them and then spending them on such consumer goods and pleasures which one can do without very easily. He felt that every morning millions of people stream out of their abodes and there is this huge money tree shadowing the whole city. Its branches blossoming with dollar notes and the whole day this mass of humanity jumps and strives to snatch the maximum dollars from this tree. They come back with their pockets full and the very same evening they spend all that money in bars, restaurants and superstores in pursuit of what they think is happiness and go back home empty handed. The next day the same vicious process starts all over again.”
“Remember Gorky was a communist and ideologically opposed to capitalism?”
“Maybe, but no one has depicted New York any better.”
“How was your visit to the 9/11 site?”
“I felt sorry for the innocent people killed there, it was a senseless act, I also felt sorry for the thousands of Iraqi and Afghan civilians who were killed in another equally senseless act.”
“What about the great Statue of Liberty?”
“I thought it was all white but it turned out to be greenish in colour.”
“And the Empire State Building?”
“You had to pay $10 to go to the top, so I refrained.”
“Begum their health services, are one of the best in the world.”
“You know when I arrived in Orlando, our grandson was a month-old, strictly under the doctor’s supervision and he cried day and night. The first thing I did was to give him a massage with desi sarson ka tel and then bathed him daily. I also gave him a small dose of pure honey and the child was up and kicking in a few days. When the doctor found out that he was being fed honey, he was shocked and he forbade us to feed him anymore, took a lot of tests to find out the negative effects of honey on the child and in the end found none. For this he charged a hefty bill. That is there health service.”
“In short you did not like America.”
“I loved America,” she beamed. “I was surprised that the average American has almost the same moral values as us. I did not see any immoral acts being performed everywhere as we are led to believe by the American movies. In Orlando, Anni’s neighbours are much friendlier and helpful than in Pakistan. They shower you with gifts and food parcels every other day. When Anni was expecting the whole neighbourhood inquired about the forthcoming baby and her health continuously. I did not face any colour prejudice at all. Much is reported about the mistreatment of Muslims on the airports but I did not encounter any problem. The immigration people were extra nice to me, although everywhere I shouted at the top of my voice that I am a Pakistani. If a child wants to cross a road jam-packed with traffic, every vehicle stops at once like he is a prince. I liked their variety of food, which is of very high standards and very cheap also. Oh, yes I loved America.”
“So you would like to go back again?”
She pondered for a while and then smiled, “Yes, I would, but presently I would like to enjoy my civilized world first and then I will think about it. You know Pakistan is still the best country in the world.”
“THANK GOD, I have returned to my civilized world, from that uncivilized world.” These were the very first words that my dear and departed wife uttered — departed for Pakistan from the United States of America after a period of more than four months — while coming out of the exit of the International Lounge.
