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By Naveen Qazi

56/2 Street

My side of the bed

D.H.A

23^rd - Jan- 2011

Dear Ahmed,

It’s been three days now. Do you know that up there? I don’t know how God is treating you, but after He took you away from me I hope He’s treating you good.

Words like “I’m sorry” “He was a great fellow” doesn’t make sense to me anymore, Ahmed. They don’t affect me. I watch them with a blank expression and empty eyes. How do they know what you were like? They can never know you like I do and thus, they can never know how numb I feel.

It’s stupid for them to think that they understand the agony I am in. Their pats, hugs and condolences are worthless. They don’t know what it’s like when everyone is around you but you still feel all alone. They don’t know what it’s like to try to sleep in the bed that once belonged to both of us.

Its middle of July and I’m shivering inside the double quilt. Why is it suddenly so cold, Ahmed? Can you see me right now, Ahmed?

I wish I could talk to you. I hope you would read this. I hope you would just come back, Ahmed. I miss you.

Forever yours

Maha.

56/2 Street

My side of the bed

D.H.A.

18^th -Feb- 2011

Dear Ahmed,

They say I should move on now. Move on? Who are they kidding with? Your mother stopped by yesterday, she wants me to pack all your clothes in labeled boxes. She’ll send the driver tomorrow to take them to Goodwill.

I tried to open your closet and after fifteen minutes of failed, devastating efforts, whem my tears finally ran dry – I opened it. The closet still smells of you, you know that, Ahmed? The last time you walked in before that unfortunate night, wearing Chocolate AXE – the smell still lingers.

Your blue 100% cotton shirt was the first one I touched. The juice stain where you spilled it on our first date is still there. I remember the number of times I told you to be careful with a pomegranate juice. And the endless amount of time we spent, hands soaked in surf, rubbing the stain that wouldn’t go away. The stain still smells of a mixture of pomegranate juice and surf now. 

After folding all of your shirts in a neat pile and inhaling subdued odor of your aftershave, I finally gave up.  I sobbed on the floor hugging the shirts that touched your body. I cannot imagine someone else wearing the shirt I gifted you or the shirt you thought had an itchy collar. I just can’t.

I had kept all your shirts back t where they belong, forever. I don’t have the strength of giving away something that was once yours. Your mother needs to understand that now, Ahmed.

                                                                                                                                               Love, Maha

56/2 Street

My side of the bed

D.H.A

20^th- March-2011

Ahmed,

It’s been a month now. Why isn’t the pain I feel receding? The numbness is long gone. All I feel is pain. The piercing pain that starts from the pit of my stomach which slowly seeps through my entire body and seizes it. It hurts so much, I scream and call out your name but all I get back is echoes of my own pained voice.

I think the noise is upsetting the neighbors. But they are too scared to object I guess. It’s so empty, the house is so empty without your hovering presence, Ahmed. The last time I checked the fridge even that was empty.

You went to buy the groceries Ahmed, why didn’t you come back? Why the truck did didn’t see the red light and crashed into your Corolla? Is this what even happened, Ahmed?  Because that’s what they told me, just as I lost consciousness too.

I don’t know how to live like this anymore. It’s empty, agonizing and worthless. My life has no worth, any meaning without you. Every time I close my eyes I see your face. How is that even fair? Even if I try to move on, I can’t. But then, I don’t want to, Ahmed.

Can you talk to God and ask him to call me too? Tell him your lonely, desperate wife is begging Him. He takes lives of innocent, unwilling people it won’t be a problem to take life of a willing human now, would it?

Only Yours

Maha.

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By Noorussabah Adamjee

C-202, B.Y.JHZ,

Kabul, Afghanistan,

18-Jan-2012

Dear Gul rukh,

I hope that you are well. It has been a long time since I wrote to you the last time

Well this time I have something immensely exciting to share .Gul, Baba Jaan is taking me along to Pakistan! While were sitting on the dastar khwan waiting for dinner baba received a call from Pakistan. He got a new contract .Baba told us that he will drive his truck to Pakistan. He said that he’d take Jamal along.

Baba seemed pleased with the offer therefore I requested him to take me along .Can you believe that he agreed to take me along? I am so excited that I can hardly sit still!!. Gul, mama is calling me. I’d write back to you after I return from my journey.

I am so excited!

Yours sincerely,

Parivesh

C-202, B.Y.JHZ,

Kabul, Afghanistan,

18-Feb-2012

Dear Gul rukh,

I just entered my home, I am so tired but I decided that according to the promise I made I’d write a letter for you.

Gul rukh, you know what? Karachi is not the capital of Pakistan .I discovered it during my trip. Islamabad is Pakistan’s capital since 1960’s. Our schools seriously need to update their books else, we’ll have to bear the embarrassment of not knowing the present.

So yeah, let me start off with my account, 19 - Jan -12, the day I’d never forget. I wore my best burqa, remember the brown embroidered one? . I sat next to baba Jaan in his colorful truck, my heart almost jumped out with excitement as baba started his truck. It was the best feeling. I thanked Allah from the core of my heart as I was the first, The First Girl who’d travel abroad. I felt the tinge of jealousy in my cousin’s eyes as she waved good bye to me as we drove off.

I observed every mountain, every goat, and every passer through the net of my burqa. It was unbelievably exciting. I saw Pakistani army soldiers standing at the check post on the Chaman border. They were graceful, tall, still and youthful .They were wearing a different sort of dress shirt and a trouser of khaki color. Unlike the turbans and stiff shalwar kurtas our people wear. They checked baba’s license and searched the truck. “Welcome to Pakistan!” they said in there throaty voice. Gul I am so drowsy, I will write back to you tomorrow. I Promise.

Yours sincerely,

Parivesh

C-202, B.Y.JHZ,

Kabul, Afghanistan,

18-Feb-2012

Dear Gul rukh,

See I am good at fulfilling the promises.

So yeah, Gul rukh, Pakistan is so unlike Afghanistan. It is so colorful! Let me tell you a sad thing I missed a bit of scenery as I dozed off during the journey.

Pakistan seems like a developed country to me, it has all properly built roads and schools unlike the destroyed and often bombarded structures we have. And yeah the strange thing was that they don’t have troops patrolling around. Baba stopped the truck at the ’FIVE STAR PATHAN DHABBA’ and got us some ‘chappli kebab’ they were so juicy and aromatic. They were surely better than the one mama makes. This was the first time I ate my food through my burqa. I felt like a bride. It annoyed me, but as Baba didn’t allow me to take off my burqa I had to continue taking the food while wearing my burqa.   

I am skipping the descriptions of the scenery as there is something great to come. In a few words it was amazingly beautiful. I praised Allah for his creations throughout the journey.

We reached Karachi and after getting rest in our truck baba took us to the park in Karachi so that we can stretch our feet. The girls there were so shameless they weren’t even wearing there dupattas!.  How can there parents allow them to step outside without their DUPPATTAS. I starred them with disbelieve and while doing so I missed a step and tripped over.

That is it for now, will write back to you soon. I still have loads to share.

Yours sincerely,

Parivesh