Why Homebody is Morbid

Positive people are surrounded by positivity. I am morbid because I am surrounded by morbidity. I can't shake the feeling that I am living to the backdrop of impending tragedy that will chew my to pieces and swallow me whole. This is because I hear conversations like the one recorded below. ALL.THE.TIME.

Following is a typical interchange between my mother and our neighbor as we drive to a majlis. You may imagine me sitting in front, trying not to listen but soon the dark cloud inside our corolla has oppressed me as well. In the end, I slump and begin to think that there will be no more rainbows, ever.

R: Thank you for picking me up.

A: Arey, what thank you? It’s my duty as your neighbor.

R: You’re very kind. I still drive, but at night, after my husband’s death, my children tell me it’s not safe.

A: (who’s an expert on IT’S.NOT.SAFE conversations) Of course it’s not safe. Imagine what can happen to a woman driving alone at night: tire puncture, abduction, theft at gunpoint.

R: Haan, bilkul. Bhai those things can happen during the day time as well.

A: That’s why one should keep a driver.

R: But drivers these days – did you know – my late husband’s cousin was murdered by her driver. He stabbed her and then drove over her. She had tire marks over her face.

A: Toba, Toba. REEEALLY?

R: Haan.

Silence; each widow savoring another gory story that has potential to be used for social conversation. Or to tell her daughters why it’s best they stay home all the time.

A: How’s your mother?

R: Fell in the bathroom.

A: Oh NO!

R: Yes. Poor thing, she’s ninety and she fell on her face. She looks like she’s wearing goggles.

A: Oh No!

R: Yes. Do you remember last month I fell after returning from T’s majlis.

A: I do remember! How are you now?

R: Bas, a few aches and pains. I remember saying to God, as I was in the process of falling, I remember, I said, ‘Allah spare my bones.’

A: Haan bhai. One’s health and mobility is so important. I just visited my late husband’s superior officer’s funeral. His wife, third wife, by the way, is in such bad shape. Uff, I tau shudder when I think of it.

R: Really? Third wife?

A: Haan, first one was uneducated. Don’t know much about the second one. But the third wife is not old at all. But she has Parkinson. Toba, I had heard of fingers shaking but this poor woman was shaking and twitching everywhere. Tongue also. And she wasn’t being able to say anything. She was on a wheel chair. And she’s childless. Who is going to take care of her now?

At this point, Homebody interrupts and asks them if they can talk about something less depressing.

R: Haan, bhai, we should talk about good things. At least we have our health and can walk, Allah is kind.

A: Allah is very kind indeed.

Silence. Scanning for good-things-to-talk-about. 0 search results revealed.

A: Aur batao, how is your daughter?

R: Oh she’s very good. She has been looking after me well after my husband passed away.

A: Such a good man he was. I remember he and Wasi used to be such good friends.

R: I remember. But that’s how the world runs, I suppose. The men die early and we women are left to mourn them.

A: Haan. Sometimes I miss him terribly. It’s not a good experience being alone.

R: Bhai there are so many women living alone these days. My cousin died and his wife was a dentist in the USA. Then she got severe osteoporosis. Couldn’t bend down. Had to come back here. Lives with her sister. And now she’s gone blind.

A: I think I remember you telling me. Does she have an abnormal child?

R: Not abnormal. Badtameez.

A: Acha.

Destination reached. Conversation interrupted – the rest of the gory details to be discussed on the way back home. And that is why homebody has bouts of morbidity. Not that you asked. But I decided to tell. Just because.