January 19, 2006

When the tremor struck, I woke up in the middle of the night on the bedroom floor instead of the bed, in the midst of the furniture, much of which had toppled over. The electricity was out and there was pitch darkness all around, recounts Khalid Chaudhry

If you seek to soar to heaven
Make friends with all men...
Rumi

Although the recent earthquake in Pakistan caused a tremendous amount of devastation and severely affected millions of people, it had a silver lining, too. It provided the Pakistani nation with an opportunity to exercise the compassion and philanthropy that some cynics believed did not exist any more. It also united the nation the way the war in 1965 had done.

Life is a great teacher and its lessons can even come wrapped up in natural disasters. The jolts in the north also reminded me of an earthquake of the same magnitude, that I had been through in Los Angeles on a cold Californian morning in January, 1994.

When the tremor struck, I woke up in the middle of the night on the bedroom floor instead of the bed, in the midst of the furniture, much of which had toppled over. The electricity was out, so in pitch darkness I headed for the stairs and was about to step onto where I thought the first step was, when a man suddenly appeared like an angel of mercy and called out from below: “Don’t take the stairs they have fallen.” It was a narrow escape!

The apartment belonged to a friend who would be at work most of the time. I’ d been staying there for the past couple of months. I was at home most of the time and several young children living around there became friendly with me. One of the neighbours there was an old woman who turned out to be the mother-in-law of the Iranian-American landlord. She hardly spoke any English and could sometimes be seen walking out on the street, surrounded by those children. Whenever I encountered her I greeted her in Persian, which she seemed to appreciate, thus we became nodding acquaintences.

After being turned back from the missing staircase I climbed down from the other end of the apartment building and came out on to the street a little after 4am. A multi-racial crowd of neighbours stood huddled together in the cold, braving the very intense aftershocks and waiting for the sunrise. I noticed the old lady standing close by. She was trembling uncontrollably with fear and repeaedly saying Ya Khuda, Ya Khuda. It was reassuring to hear the name of God in the same language on a scary night some 12,000 miles away from home.

The lady’s supplication affected me profoundly not only because it was familiar but also due to the fact that she was Jewish and I was a Muslim — we are automatically supposed to be enemies. Her son Samuel, who lived elsewhere in LA, happened to be there that night on one of his frequent visits.

I have always enjoyed meeting and befriending people from different races, religions and cultures. However, it was a most moving and unforgettable experience to see how people called upon the same God in times of trouble, and how the bonds of humanity could transcend all divides.

With the arrival of morning everyone dispersed. Since the gas and water supply, too, was disrupted and my friend was on an overseas visit, I moved to another location.

During this time, the apartment building that I had left was declared as unsafe for living. A few days later, when I was leaving after picking up some of my belongings from there, I saw the lady and her son apparently engaged in an argument in Persian. He was standing angrily on the street while she, looking disturbed, was standing in the balcony of her first-floor apartment.

Samuel was a few years younger than I was and by then we were on talking terms, so I inquired if everything was all right. “Look, she is scared. I am asking her to come along to my place but she says she wants to stay here,” he complained.

I was alarmed to hear that. It occurred to me that she might not want to complicate his life by her presence, or perhaps she was attached to her apartment to leave. Nevertheless it was extremely dangerous for her to remain there. Something had to be done to get her out of the place, but would she, who had not yielded to her son’s pleadings, listen to me? Communicating with her was another big problem.

Anyway, since I was also unhappy about the way Samuel had been talking to her, I decided to counsel him first: “Sam, when you and I will be her age we may behave even more nervously. Please don’t be angry with her.”

Then I turned to his mother and in all earnestness began in broken English, “Mama (her children addressed her that way), this building is too dangerous...” I tried to say this in Persian as well and urged her to shift to her son’s or daughter’s home. She listened attentively, then she smiled sweetly and said, “Thank you!” As I said goodbye and started walking towards my car they resumed their conversation, but this time the tone was conciliatory.

A couple of days later I went back to the apartment again and discovered that the old lady had moved to Samuel’s place. It brought a feeling of immense relief and joy, as if I had saved my own mother from falling into a misfortune.

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