The Rukhsati of a Son

 Shared by Dr. Syed Ehtisham

‘Congratulation s,’

I said to my wife.   ‘You have finally managed to produce an export quality child.’  This was almost six years ago; we had just received the news that my son, Ahmed, had been offered a place at Aga Khan Medical University. My wife was over the moon, busy phoning our relatives and friends, Karachi and abroad, to share the good news. Good news is always shared knowing some people will genuinely feel not-so-good after hearing it. Fanning the feelings of those who are jealous is so satisfying for most women; my wife being no exception to this weakness. Watching her talking animatedly, I sat coolly, calculating the inflated telephone bills I would be expected to pay at the end of the month. Train of thought followed me to wonder how I was going to meet the additional expenses and tuition fees of Aga Khan Medical University.     AKU, as it is affectionately referred to as, is an expensive set up. I remember, a few years ago, I saw a patient who had initially been under treatment at AKU. I asked him why he had left a good hospital like Aga Khan to come to my mediocre clinic. He replied,  ‘Doctor Saheb, three days in AKU was enough for me. It is so expensive, I don’t think even Aga Khan himself could afford treatment there.’  There was no point sharing my financial worries with my wife. I knew her usual, ‘Who told you to have so many kids,’ answer only too well. At times like these, a verse by Mairaj Faizabadi haunts me:

مجھ کو تھکنے نھیں دیتا یہ ضرورت کا پھاڑ

میرے بچے مجھے بوڑھا نھیں ھونے دیتے

‘What do you mean by export quality?’ My wife interrupted my thoughts.  ‘I mean, after five years he will be so well educated and well groomed, he will be sought after by the whole world,’ I said gloomily.  ‘All my children are export quality material,’ she announced proudly, ‘and mind you, the credit does not go to you. You hardly took any part in their upbringing&# 39;.  This was also one of her favorite lines. Needless to say, any faults in them would have been attributed to me. There was no point in arguing with her, because I knew I would end up losing. More than 25 years of marriage had taught me the virtues of being silent at the right moments; this being one of them. But the fact was, that I was feeling a bit down at the time. It was dawning on me that for the next five years I will be preparing my son to leave us and settle in a foreign country.    The dilemma every upper middle-class educated family is facing these days, in Pakistan, is what to do with their next generation. The safest solution for them at present, it seems, is to settle them abroad. USA, UK, Canada, Australia and New Zealand are the favored destinations. Anywhere in the world, except Pakistan, is equally acceptable. One does not need to be of extra intelligence to know the reason for this obscure behavior. Pakistan is not new to crises, but the type of uncertainties facing us today is beyond any comparison. Political instability, rampant terrorism, widespread nepotism, unrepentant corruption, blatant lawlessness and absence of security have never been so obvious and inexplicable as they are nowadays. These maladies are increasing day by day with no end in sight. Desperately, we look to our leaders for a way out, but as always our hopes are quashed, as they turn out to be pathetic lesser mortals than us. Even their association with the human race is questionable at times.   As an old pediatrician friend of mine, Dr Abbas Ghani used to say,

 پاکستان میں تو جس کی دم اٹھاو،مادہ نکلتی ھے

In this polluted atmosphere, only the corrupt can survive and prosper. It is but natural that we want our children to escape this imbroglio; send them to any place where there is a semblance of normalcy; where at least some values and principles for a decent living are being practiced. It is painful to nurture a child for twenty five years, rear him into a bright young man and then send him to a foreign land to serve an alien culture and society. In due course, he might excel there, to be the brightest of the bright. But then, what good is that for his country or people?

 جنگل میں مور ناچا،کس نے دیکھا    

After his admission, time passed quite quickly. It was almost three years ago, when one day my wife suddenly disclosed,     ‘You know Ahmed has to go to USA soon, for his electives.’    ‘What is an elective?’ I asked.  Everyone at the dinner table, including my seven year old daughter, gave me a look suggesting there is something seriously lacking in my general knowledge. One of the children explained what ‘electives’ were.    ‘Why can’t he do his elective here’, I asked.  Again everybody looked at me as if I am dim.  ’If you do your electives in USA, it improves your chances of getting a job there,’ my son replied.  I was trying to figure out the finances involved in this endeavor, when he dropped the next bombshell,  ’After the electives I’l take my Step One exam next year. I have to sit for two more examinations after that. The exam fee is roughly 1400 dollars for each.’    ‘And where will you be going for your electives?’ I asked, still reeling from the financial shock I just received.  ‘San Diego,’ he replied.    ‘Where is San Diego?’ I asked.    I have never been to USA; therefore, I did not know the geography of the land.  ’I have been accepted to do an elective in a hospital there dealing with AIDS patient. It’ll be a very good learning experience.’ My son replied, without bothering to explain the location of San Diego to me.    ‘If you happen to know, San Diego has one of the largest gay communities in USA,’ my younger son chipped in, making sure that I remain uncomfortable and sleepless for the next few weeks.  One elective and three examinations later, it was time for my son to go for his interviews to USA again. His itinerary looked as if he was going on a sight-seeing trip across USA, travelling from the East to the West Coast. I agreed to send him alone. Travelling is fairly safe in America, I was told. I remembered a time when my son wanted to go to Peshawar for a few days, to visit one of his class mates hailing from there. I did not give him permission to go, for security reasons. I felt bad at that time for not allowing him to go to a city in his own country. After all, had I not gone on an all-Pakistan tour at age 18 with my cronies? Retrospectively, it turned out to be the right decision. One of the questions the American immigration officer asked, after grilling him for two hours was, ’Have you ever been to Peshawar?’  Finally, the day arrived when I was at the airport to see him off for the final time. He was going to join his residency programme in the US. From now onwards he will only be a visitor, coming to us for brief blissful periods on his holidays. I was so happy for him. But then why did I feel a lump in my throat as I hugged him, bidding him farewell? I had the same feeling when my daughter was leaving our house, at her Rukhsati, to live with her husband. Suddenly it dawned on me. It was the Rukhsati of my son…

ھم سادہ ھی ایسے تھے کی یوں ھی پذیرای

 جس بار خزاں آی سمجھے کے بھار آی

Shahab