Overcoming the anxiety of the unknown
Apprehensively, I packed my bags. What should I take for ‘Aapa’ (the elder sister of my friend from Lahore)? Would she like a Phulkari? Will her kids like me? How do I greet her when I meet her? Do I say hello? Do I say aslaam walaikum? Should I hug her?
As my flight landed in Dubai, I nervously waited at the airport. I was going to meet ‘Aapa’, her husband and the kids for the first time and live in their house for the next few days. From what I had heard from my friend, her ‘aapa’ was a kind-hearted, maternal figure. She loved make-up, shoes and cooking.
She was so eagerly looking forward to my visit that she had stocked the house with all my favorite food items!
However, there was a part of me that was taut and distressed. What if we talk about serious issues? What if they wanted to know the status of allegedly growing intolerance in India? Frankly, like the majority of youth of my age I have never been interested in politics.
But little did I know that the five days in Dubai would be etched on my memory forever. All my misgivings were put to rest. They welcomed a stranger from a different country, into their home, with open arms. They wanted to know about me, my likes and dislikes, my family, my pets, my studies. They didn’t care about what country I came from or which God I addressed my prayers to.
From playing fidget spinner tricks with the kids, to trying all of ‘Aapa’s’ lipsticks, I was made to feel at home from the second I stepped into their house.
Nazia ‘Baaji’ (the kids’ nanny) made sumptuous breakfast for us every morning, complete with a towering glass of lassi. Usman Bhai (Aapa’s husband) made sure that my friend and I went to the best and safest places in Dubai, including the famous gurdwara. The kids endearingly called me ‘masi’.
The days went by speedily, before I even knew, it was time to go back home. I remember standing at the airport with my overflowing luggage, clutching ‘Aapa’s’ hand tightly. I didn’t want to come back home. As tears welled up in my eyes, I hugged her thrice and thanked her for everything. After all, goodbyes are never easy. But I knew, we were going to meet again. With Mister and Mississipi’s song ‘We only part to meet again’, playing in my head and the boarding pass in my hand, I walked towards the airport gate.
Sitting at the airport lounge, I was replaying all the beautiful memories in my head, when I was suddenly jolted out of my reverie by a disturbing thought. I wondered why I was so nervous before meeting ‘Aapa’, a beautiful, god-loving woman. Why was I afraid of being questioned about the activities happening in my country? Why did I feel responsible?
And then it dawned upon me, I had never stood up for something in my whole life. Sharing articles about things I disliked, on my social media profiles, and ranting about it to a disinterested friend-list, was my only input. All this while, I went to sleep at night, peacefully, while gruesome acts were reported in papers, every single day. I carried out my usual routine because, well, it wasn’t happening to me. I wasn’t the boy who got attacked for taking his cow to another city for treatment, I wasn’t that woman who had acid thrown on her face, I was safe. Wasn’t I?
I had lived in oblivion my whole life. The pesky acne scar on my forehead was the greater issue at hand, not the real world ordeals, outside the realm of my life’s imaginary bubble. The thought of one unknown conversation, with ‘Aapa’, had scared me out of my wits; how was I planning to meet my maker, one day?