Posted: June 29, 2014 in My Fiction Closet
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“Wow! What a lovely baby you are, come to my arms – you shweet cherrylike angel!” exclaimed a womanly voice.

“Nazar! Look at her! How beautiful her eyes are! Give an A’zaan (call for prayer) in her teensy ears! Hurry up! She’s a miracle from ALLAH, Our Creator! She is born in a Muslim household!” blurted the same woman to her husband, while eyeing my newborn anatomy.

This woman was one of the elder sisters of the Canadian/American mixed Pakistani lady. She was 14 years elder than the lady, which is a colossal difference. She was also very fair, wearing her traditional Pakistani dress, called the Shalwar Kameez.

“Oh, Havronya, wait. Let the baby cease her sobbing first,” advised the same lady to her elder sister.

The man, Nazar, who was Havronya’s beloved husband, advanced towards my cot while I was clutching a teddy bear in my miniature hands inside the cot. I was in constant motion, then. Call it exercising or physical play, but I really was moving about. I loved the feels. The feels of the cot  circumjacent to me, the soft babyish blanket in which I was enveloped, the fleecy pillows under me and sideways; and the furry novel teddy bears and stuffed toys. The whole lot. And, one simply cannot  omit to mention the invigorating and aromatic aura of the bouquets of flowers beside me, on an ancient wooden table.

ALLAH-O-AKBAR (Arabic: ALLAH IS GREAT),” was chanted in my tiny ears. It was an elaborated chant, consisting of the Arabic words of the A’zaan, to complete the procedure of converting me into a Muslim. It is extremely compulsory.

“Now there you go, sweet baby!” rejoiced Nazar, and kissed softly on my forehead. Nazar was a middle-heighted, middle-aged man, who was not as fair as his wife Havronya and his sister-in-law lady, Florentina. He was semi-bald, and his bald head shined like some polished leather. He had this brown skin complexion, with extreme creases on his face as if he’s too old.

My biological mother, Sofya, smiled a little while looking at me. She was anxiously criss crossing her hands – was constantly fumbling with her hands. Unknown reason, maybe. After a little while, she started combing her unkempt, dry, and hefty locks that outstretched her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Nazar rushed towards the exit door to the clinical room, for the pharmacy, to purchase some medicines.

The other two figures, I mean two sisters, sat in the corner of the room on a dusty bench fixed to the floor, and made of steel. They both sat a half inch closer, and commenced whispering something in each other’s ears.

“The baby girl is beautiful, oh, no wonder, she has those lustrous eyes and fair skin. Her fair and rosy complexion, no doubt, surpasses my very own. But Flor, you must understand, ohhhhh, she’s too damn weak, how are you on Earth going to foster her? She may expire soon,” whispered Havronya to her sister, while nudging her sister’s elbow on the side.

“I know, I know. Doesn’t she resemble as if she’s my own blood, my own daughter? And hey, don’t utter those curses, we should always remain positive,” inquired Florentina hastily.

“Of course, a good miracle, I suppose. When are you taking over it?”

“Soon, I think,” said Florentina, with a smile so broad that her gleaming teeth were visible.

“God, where has Nazar gone to?” Havronya uttered suddenly, while jolting towards the exit door.

“Pharmacy, miss,” replied the dulcet voice of Sofya, who was still playing with her tiny hands and sitting on a chair nearby to relax herself.

“Pharmacy? What? For what? I still have my very own medicines stuffed inside my cupboard at my abode!” roared Havronya.

“I think he went there to procure some injections for our Sofya, the doctor had prescribed her some,” assured Florentina.

Nazar returns, brings a plastic bag brimming with many medicines and injections, for the poor Sofya, as she’s extra weak.

Here, call the nurse to assist you,” spoke Nazar to Sofya.

Jazak’ALLAH (Arabic: May ALLAH reward you/thank you), I am very much indebted to you and your family,” spoke Sofya, with her low, meek voice.

“No worries, sister.”

I saw my mother Sofya getting injected intravenously on one of her arms and taking some pills alongwith eating some fruits from her side table. She then lied flat on stature bed of the clinic, with white and viridescent-blue covers. She glanced at me, while I playfully yelled at her and my surroundings. Afterall, I was a new born. This world was novel for me. I was naive, immature.

That was the time when she felt asleep, while those other three people laughed at me and crowded at my cot, and made me frisky by their manner of tossing and turning those fluffy and soft toys towards me. Those toys felt so new, so strange. Lifeless toy for a lively and alive baby like me. Wow. My instinct wondered, while I tried to decipher the hidden codes in those queer hues, and psychedelic textures and patterns, being thrown at me. I became cognizant, more and more, of my surroundings . . .




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