No by Munira Zoomkawala (guest writer)

It didn’t happen Hasan.

There was no 6 am phone call on the 12th of January.

We didn’t tell Amu, who became numb with shock.

We didn’t jump into the car and make our way to the hospital; our sobs turning into moans of bewilderment.

I didn’t see your mother walk out of the gate, turn around and see me running towards her, as if she was sleepwalking. I didn’t see her stunned face crumple in disbelief I didn’t catch her as her knees buckled.

The four of us didn’t huddle on the dewy road outside the hospital, crying, watched by curious bystanders.

I didn’t get in the ambulance with your shrouded body; stroking your covered hands and face, trying to memorize the feel of you.

I didn’t stare at my sister in anguished silence as she looked into my eyes uncomprehendingly, desperately, saying ‘maaro dikro* …maaro DIKRO!”

I didn’t hear Lumyah crying out, “But he’s only thirteen.”

You didn’t just die in your sleep Hasan, my boy.

Your parents didn’t tuck you into your blanket and spend an uneasy, sleepless night in their own.

Your father didn’t ruffle your hair in the morning and realize something was very wrong.

Your mother didn’t scream all the way to the hospital as she floored the accelerator on your car.

We didn’t just bury you Hasan.

You can’t be gone my dear jaan.

We can’t ever know what didn’t happen.

*maaro dikro = my son (in Gujarati)

for Hasan

[from Narrative Medicine]

CREDITS:

About the Author: Munira Zoomkawala is a born and bred Karachiite, currently co-existing with a husband, an offspring and two cats. She shares her musings, pictures and chronicles on a number of blogs and Instagram and has a good time building a community of likers and commenters. Prefers the company of dogs, cats, ducks and the occasional African Gray. Appreciates makers of good tea and Khao Suey. Finds joy in the mundane. Looks for meaning in coincidence. Believes in magic. She blogs at Munira’s Bubble.

About the Reviewer: Dr. Taha Sabri, AKU MBBS Class of 2014, has eclectic interests in poetry and the performing arts. He is also actively involved in founding and leading social initiatives. 

Editorial Note: This is from a series collected as part of the Narrative Medicine Workshop at AKU on January 20^th, 2016. The editorial work was performed by The Writers’ Guild, an interest group at AKU, with the purpose to promote love of reflective reading and writing, within and outside of  AKU.

DISCLAIMER: Copyright belongs to the author. This blog cannot be held responsible for events bearing overt resemblance to any actual occurrences.