Everything Will Be Alright

Even before stepping completely out the main gate, the mixing of the chilled breeze and humid air gave the feeling of purgatory for a few moments before adhering to the heat outside. Engineer Hakeem Hashmi was being swept away by a ravenous mob of the taxi drivers, porters, beggars, and rest of the inhabitants of the marble floor at the airport. All of them offering their services at an inflated price levering for bargaining or a higher take. Engineer Hakeem looked behind to check on his family; his daughters Sahra and Hasrat were directly behind him. While Hasrat was pushing the trolley, Sahra being the eldest of the two was carrying her youngest brother in one hand and helping push the trolley with the other. Behind them was his eldest, Shaan accompanied by his mother pushing the second trolley.

The porters and the ravished children were eager to feel the weight of expatriates’ riches on top of their head in the hopes of getting some baksheesh, if not for their great care and effort, then for not stealing or damaging it. Shaan was trying as best as he could to stop their advances. But it was the sweeping hand of his father, like that of a cart vendor who would swerve his shredded rag from left to right to left to ward off undesired nuisances. The taxi drivers were too trying to get their hands on the luggage. Engineer Hakeem turned around to the group of taxi drivers, and even before he could amplify his thoughts through his vocal chords, one of them yelled, “Seven, seven hundred, for seven hundred rupees, I shall take you anywhere in this beautiful city, Seth.”

“Have the oil wells of the world been taken over by America, have they finally gone dry, or has inflation reached a new peak…” Engineer Hashmi retorted.

Interrupted before he could finish his thoughts on the figure, another one yelled, “Six hundred Rupees.”

To which Engineer Hakeem replied, “You People haven’t even bothered to inquire as to where’s my destination. I want to go near Jinnah’s Mausoleum, how much?”

The taxi drivers started yelling “550” “500” “475” “450”, as if they were at an auction and fiercely betting at a rare piece of artifact, only here the price was going down rather than up. At which point a young man, no more than twenty-seven years of age said, “Three-fifty would be my final offer and anyone who offers less than that, I would not trust with my luggage.”
“Three-thirty and we have a deal,” countered Engineer Hashmi as he shook the young man’s hand to seal the deal.

The winds gusted against the car, all at once wanting to escape in the car but were incapacitated by the limited space. Shaan felt the perspiration accumulated on his body and shirt drying, as the humid air swirled but left the feeling of stickiness. Engineer Hakeem sat in the front passenger seat watching the road and the side mirrors as if he were driving, always pointing toward the particular turn or direction to be taken. He wasn’t always sure of his commanding suggestions not that it mattered to the driver, who wasn’t paying any particular attention nor did he mind the influx of a customer on his professional capabilities. It was more to give the impression to the driver not to deviate from the task at hand, to anything sinister.

“So! Where are you coming from Sir?” inquired the driver not really interested in the answer, and knowing exactly what flight landed around their time of exit.

“I’m guessing Dubai, England or America.”

“Well you have managed to cover three continents in your guesses, but it’s ‘none of the above’ that I would pick from the options. Canada, we are coming from there.”

“Canada or America it’s the same thing, just another state as they say, right Sir?”

“How would you know, you haven’t been there.”

“Yes for a matter of fact I have been.”

“Did you get deported?”

“Ha, funny you should say that. I guess driving a taxi can only stipulate the obvious. No and yes, I mean to say I was never ported Sir.”

“That sounds very irregular and illogical.”

“That’s because it is, Sir. I was there giving interviews or you can say visiting these different places all over the country, Sir.”

“Intriguing, so are you an IT or computer specialist?”

“Worse, a doctor.”

“Oh yes! Now I see. What happened didn’t get any offers?”

“Quite the opposite, I did manage to get an offer not a very prestigious or even good hospital. Just that their budget restrictions and my desperation matched and hooked.”

“So what was the problem? Money.”

“Not at the time, rather as luck would have it the U.S. embassy would refuse to issue a work visa to me.”

“But why did they refuse? The hospital agreed to sponsor you.”

“Who knows, who cares, it’s been a long time since then.”

“Why aren’t you working in a hospital here instead of driving a taxi, Beta?”

Well to spare your time from the nit and grit, lets just say that here’s where the money problem kicked in. Not to be melodramatic, I spent all my fathers savings and plus had borrowed some from the neighborhood banker Seth Jabbaruddin Tywerwala.”

“But still you could manage to find a decent paying position in you own profession in this day and age, when things are improving and flourishing in the country. Haven’t you heard the President say that it’s a ‘Shining Pakistan.”
“It must be the fumes in the air from the diesel and CNG that’s been blocking the reflection from reaching me.”

“What?”

“Nothing Sir. The mausoleum is here. Where from here? Unless you want to pay your respects to the Quiad.”

“No, no, we paid our respect at the airport. Just keep going straight, I’ll tell you where to turn.”

The streets and alleys looked as though some one had taken a picture and it got frozen in time. But when concentrated more closely, the blemishes and cracks in the picture seemed more evident. The picture had seem to grown old and tired, with its past shadow stretched and thinning. After unloading the luggage, Shaan along with his siblings glanced around to see if they recognized anyone from the sparse beings roaming the streets in the scorching sun of midday. Even the dogs couldn’t be bothered to give their twenty-one barks welcome to the returning vacationers. Engineer Hashmi counted and inspected every piece of luggage and shook his head in satisfaction.

When done Engineer Hakeem walked towards the young driver and asked, “How much was it?” sounding rhetorical.

The driver having learned from experience acts humble and replied, “Whatever you deem, Sir?”

Engineer Hashmi took a single note from his clipped bunch and handed the thousand Rupees bill to the driver. The driver took the money and took out his bunch, slowly starts counting to give back the change, waiting to hear something.

“That won’t be necessary,” answered Engineer Hakeem to the driver’s expectations.

The happy driver folded the bill along with his bunch and securely placed it in his inner stitched pocket. As he entered the taxi to leave, Engineer Hashmi pads him on the back, “Beta Sorry, but I never asked what’s your name?”

“Call me Murad, Sir.”

For a brief moment they exchanged looks. Engineer Hakeem wanting to do more, but his rationale not withstanding this notion. Murad knowing reality relieved him of his heartache.

“Don’t worry sir, everything will be alright. It’s all tiptop and first class. The sun has yet to set.” Saying this and waving his hand he rode away to search for his next passenger to help get to a destination.

Shaan just having been witness to his father’s philanthropic act went to him and expressed his concerns.

“Dad what did you just do? I hope you realize that you just got taken for a ride. The man does this for a living.”

To this inquisition by his young and growing son, Engineer Hakeem Hashmi simply replied, “Yes he does, but does it with painful truth.”