The Motherland’s Fugitives
The conversation was becoming uncomfortable at too many levels and I felt a threat to my existence. I got up from the sofa, and I went into my cabin. In the past four and a half years, it was my place. The place where I found what I had not in my life — peace. I looked at an image in front of me, it was the mission statement that I had before starting my residency at this place. I remember, when I was small, merely 10, my mother took me to a dentist. She was a kind lady. The only remarkable memory of all that visit was seeing a huge book on her table. On the front cover of the book, it was written something with a letter “P.” I kept staring at it, until she intervened in my thought process, and said “It is Prosthodontics.” Prosthodontics is from the Hindi word Parosi (neighbour). I remembered it and it was on my 16th birthday (when I was in matriculation) I found out more about it. Since then, the dream of becoming a dentist and studying prosthodontics overwhelmed me. Many people came to persuade me to stop thinking of becoming a dentist. But, I was adamant. Finally, I got into Karachi Dental College. I remember the first day of my college, when everyone was mentioning “could not get into Medical College so got into Dental one,” as their reason for opting for BDS. When my turn came, I narrated the whole story and became the only one in my batch who came into BDS of his own choice. After remembering all the good days of my BDS journey, I looked at the cabin again. The toxic environment of this place was ruining my peace and passion. At night, when regrets and hope overwhelm humans, I was searching for a sign. A sign, strong enough, to change the trajectory of my life. All of a sudden, while scrolling through Facebook, a picture came on my timeline. Cliffs of Moher, Ireland. And so, my journey of leaving this disgusting place and moving to Ireland started.
I remember I heard someone on Twitter who migrated to Ireland. She was a dental student from Pakhtunkhwa. I got some information from her and some from Google. The next step was to join a Facebook group. After a week’s research, I came to know that this Fall was my last one in Pakistan. The Dental Council of my beloved “Ireland” had a condition. The students who had cleared BDS in the English language did not need to pass an English Language Test (IELTS, etc.). But, I prepared for that. The next step was to appear in part 1 of the test. It was going to be held in April 2014 in Dublin. The beauty of Dublin almost made me forget about my test. It consisted of three written papers and a bench test. The written papers were from the Health, Disease, and Society themes. For my bench test, I was a bit nervous. But, the urge to leave Pakistan and move to Ireland kept me alive, and it helped to clear my test. Two months later, I had to appear in part 2. It consisted of written papers, OSCE, and clinical vivas. It was a tough one. But, again the urge to leave my motherland kept me alive. Long story short, after months, I uploaded a photo on my Facebook with the caption “From North Nazimabad to Galway.” To add further effects, I was standing in front of my new hospital “Bon Secours Hospital,” where I was going to work in the Department of Restorative Dentistry.
I uploaded the same photo on my WhatsApp and Twitter. Soon every social platform was flooded with messages of congratulations, etc. Then I looked out of my window, and from there, I could get a view of Galway City Council. I kept checking my message to my supervisor until he saw that. After that, I felt like I had conquered the world. He was the same supervisor whom I had mentioned at the start of this story. As time passed, my relatives back home pressured me to get married. But, to think of Pakistan, would make me vomit. I hated that land and the people. If only I could remove the label from myself.
In the summer of 2022, my wife, Fiona, told me about the devastating situation in Pakistan after the floods. It was estimated that nearly 1/3rd of the country was inundated. She told me to call back home. While looking at my daughter, Carla, I nodded. I came to Ireland, nearly forgot about my background, married an Irish woman, and even gave my daughter an Irish name. But, a strange sense of guilt was not gone. It was not there in the first place, but with every passing day, it surged. Guilt that came after abandoning my culture or my identity. Anyway, I got up from my bean bag and got my phone. I glared at it for a few moments, and then, I abandoned my idea of calling my brother. I do not want to go there nor I wanted Carla to know about it. At conferences, parties, etc. many had questioned me about my Muslim Identity or name. And every time, I gave them a stern answer, “I am less of a practising Muslim”, I do not know what “Muslim thing” I was holding onto to label myself “Half Muslim.” The second was a kind of a blessing in disguise. My name. Farhad. I don’t know why my father named me Farhad. But, it was a blessing in disguise as it was a Persian name and helped me to mould a theory that though widely Muslim men are named Farhad, it has nothing to do with Islam or Pakistan. When I met Fiona, I tried my best to hide my Pakistani things behind and drank Alcohol with her. It was for the first time, but it was essential to maintain my liberal aura. I never tasted pork. Because it gives me an odour of rotten corpses. In the river of guilt that often deluged me, there was a small portion of how I faked several things in front of Fiona. But, after getting Irish nationality, all that did not matter.
For me, the most despicable thing was my Pakistani ancestry. Many times Fiona asked me about all those things, my childhood, my parents, etc., and every time I had to craft a new story and while curating a new story I had to maintain the details of the previous ones so it would appear coherent and would not present any distortion. Because Fiona had a sharp memory and remembered every detail. I met her in Cork. There, she was a maxillofacial surgeon. We met several times. In all of my existence, she was interested in the Muslim part of me. I never prayed in my life except for the Eid prayers. Which, I did not know what they used to say and what they used to do. I had liberal views and presented those ideas to her. For me, it was my actions that mattered the most and science was above all the thoughts. After listening to all these things, Fiona was happy to see a liberal and open-minded Farhad instead of a Muslim one. As a part of a healthy and wholesome couple’s routine, we used to go to Church every Sunday and she accompanied me to the Muslim Community Center for every Eid prayer. After marriage, we opened a small dental clinic in the neighbourhood. It was Fiona’s paternal uncle’s property. He did not have any children, so he gave it to her. After renovating it for a month, Liam’s Dental Clinic was all set to go. It was named after the same uncle. We recruited other dentists and surgeons and started it. When it came time to name our newly-born daughter, I went for an Irish name. Because, for me, giving her a Pakistani name was equivalent to bequeathing her hell in this temporary world.
That evening, we had to attend a community party in our neighbourhood of Dartfield. There another man took up the discussion of floods in Pakistan. You took this opportunity and presented your views on Pakistan. All you have faced in your life. From your childhood to Ireland, you told them traumatising stories of Pakistan and how they deserved to be punished like this. From the decline in social values to civil-military tensions, you presented every aspect of a Pakistani community followed by solid reasons to hate the place. A woman along with her husband thanked you for telling her all this because they were planning to tour that country. While giving your thought-provoking, insightful talk, you knew one man would agree with you.”What do you say, Farhad? You are also from there. You know more stories about it. Ah, I forgot the place, I guess something like from the dilapidated Karachi.” I left the place after you highlighted me.”
But, all this hatred towards the motherland was not curing my guilt. Every time I went to sleep, it came from the bottom of my bed, would get on me from the lower part of my body, and soon I would be covered with it. Once I changed my bed’s location. But it did not stop. In my sleep, I saw Frere Hall, which was my favourite place in Karachi, Empress Market. I.I. Chundrigar road, etc. I woke up from my sleep, and I started thinking about my brother in Karachi, my sisters, cousins, etc. It continued for a month. Fiona advised me to go to a therapist. But, the therapist did not have a cure for my illness. It was not an illness in the first place. I booked a ticket to Karachi and landed there as an Irish citizen. Fiona and Carla were in Galway. My mother-in-law came from Pollboy for them while I was away. It was near the Cliffs of Moher from where it all started.
I went to our old, ancestral house. My brother had migrated to Lahore. The neighbour, Anees, told me. Then, I booked a bus to Lahore. He was working as an assistant professor at a private university. I met him in his office. I had nothing to say at that moment. I asked about my parent’s health. They all were living in Abbottabad with my sister. I looked at my tea. We both did not say anything to each other. For, Dr. Waqar, who was sitting in the same room, we were not saying anything to each other. But, in all this silence, Shah Nawaz, had told me a lot. I left his place when two students entered the room. While leaving his room, I saw a picture of Minar e Pakistan on the front wall. So, after getting Pakistan on the front wall. So, after getting into the Greater Iqbal Park, I stood for a long time in front of the Minar. All the way, I had my face out of the bus. Some people thought of me as a person who was seeing people for the first time. Like someone who got out of the prison after spending a lot of time there. And why should I not behave like that? I looked at Asfandyar. He was sitting beside me. His body structure implied that he was listening to me. I went to Abbottabad, and I met my parents there. I showed them pictures of Carla, Fiona, and our clinic. At night, we video-called them. The next day, I found out how to offer prayer. The Arabic words were difficult to master, but I did my best. I enjoyed a lot. On my return, I decided to open a foundation by the name of Carla Farhad. The foundation would pay for the education-related expenses of under-privileged students. I also went to your city. It was beautiful there.
When I returned home, Fiona presented me with a glass of alcohol, which I did not accept. She understood what I meant. Man has been travelling since the advent of civilization. From one place to another, from one country to another, he took his culture and traditions along with him, they got mixed with the new places and gave rise to new traditions. It is how the world works. “Asfandyar, you have left Pakistan, but Pakistan is still there in your heart.” A person should not hate those things which are associated with him. Because if does so, nothing remains behind. You will not get anything from hating your religion or country except isolation. Therefore, remember your country, cherish it, and live with it. It does not matter if you are there or not. It is a matter that is decided by God. But what is decided by you? To uphold your religion and country and to feel pride in it. We got up from the bench in the beautiful Cappagh Park. He got what I meant.
Asfandyar called me at night. He wanted to discuss something related to that day. He was remorseful for the act of saying bad things to his country. He wanted to apologise to me too. I told him my story of how a motherland’s fugitive, who used to loathe his country, but now, everything has changed. Above all, I was content that I prevented another Farhad by taking him out of his “existential crisis in a new country.” While he walked silently with me, reflecting on his life decisions, I pushed him and said, “Stick to your religion and country, abandoning them is like abandoning yourself in a herd.”
