To Destiny

Destiny .... I often wonder what it means. A word that holds only seven letters but means so much more. It’s funny how a few letters enfold such deep philosophies of life and death within them. But it still remains a conundrum ... a riddle ... a question of what really is our fate? What and where are we destined to be?

Tears flowed down from her beautiful black bright eyes ... dimming the usual glow on her face. She pretended to wipe away all her pain, sorrow and sufferings that her tears reflected.

It was the same every time she was scolded, never ever uttering a single word rather just listening and nodding her head to every taunt and insult directed towards her.

She seemed to absorb every single word and let it all out in tears, for they were the only companions of her life full of doubts and misery.

Shazia, a fourteen year old bread earner who knew nothing about work or life.... a domestic worker who hardly ever had a home or a family to learn from and live with, or to know what it means to be part of a family.

She started working as a domestic helper with her cousin Nyla, after her father left her at a distant aunt’s place in Lahore.

As she walked in for an interview, I couldn’t help but feel appalled by her unhygienic appearance, dirty clothes, messy hair and a bad odour of her sweat that filled the air.... Yet there was something about her innocent face that made her appearance insignificant at that very moment. I took a deep breath... smiled and asked her to work.

Days turned into a week and weeks into months as Shazia struggled to work, rather learned to work but failed every single day.... it seemed she knew nothing for she would mess up every task assigned to her.

It had been two months since I had been observing her do her work over and over again in an uncivilized and unorganized manner in a state of complete bewilderment. My mother had tried her best to teach her how to do various chores but for some bizarre reason it seemed that she was beyond the capacity to learn or listen to what she was being told time and again.

One fine day, just as Shazia came in for work, I asked her to come straight to my room and sit next to me while I did my own work. At that moment I was working with an online publication as a social media assistant, a field quite new to me. She sat there confused and scared staring at my laptop like it was some alien tech. I finally stopped working and asked her whether she wanted to continue working or not?

Shazia stared at me in confusion.... I could see how the colour of her eyes was changing as she struggled to hold back tears.... Before I could continue with what I wanted to say.... she started crying.

Unable to understand how to control her I let out a sigh and asked her to go back to work. She got up without uttering a word, wiped away her tears and just left.

Although I started working again but somehow my mind couldn’t really concentrate and it seemed her teary eyed expression was stuck in my mind like some reel in a camera. All I could think was why her mother didn’t teach her anything... a fourteen year old village girl who was completely incompetent to dust the furniture or clean the floor? How was it possible?

I mean we often think that girls living in villages are accustomed to house chores since they tend to start working in their early years or grow up watching their mothers or grandmothers following the same routine every single day of their lives. Sure, the very thought makes me feel sad that we expect village women to be perfect as domestic workers but this is how our society is shaped unfortunately. While we go to the school to gain degrees, they learn daily chores to work their way up to get fruitful jobs.

I stopped working along with the over thinking and went downstairs, trying to figure out how to deal with a girl who just cries over everything and never really replies..... So I came up with the idea of investing my time on both these girls... trying to groom and polish them to our ways.... the ways of a city life.

This is how it all started.... I started teaching Nyla and Shazia from manners of eating, talking, walking, and working to basic ethics that may bring about a constructive change within their lives. But it wasn’t as easy as it seems... with Nyla it was better but with Shazia... well first I had to do something about her appearance to make her look more presentable.

A week had passed since I had that conversation with Shazia followed by my much motivated efforts of uplifting them. I also tried to shuffle and juggle the work for her... gave her whatever she wanted and could do, experimenting from washing dishes to dusting... anything that she could feel she could do with confidence.

It was a Saturday afternoon when I finally asked Shazia why she was the way she was... I mean it was just not normal for a girl her age to not know anything related to her work or herself. She was in the kitchen washing dishes when I asked her (making it seem like a random thought/ question). She looked at me as she turned off the tap. I stood there waiting for her to reply but instead of looking at her I only noticed how the soapy water was dripping from her hands... yet to my surprise it was her tears that made little ripples in the sink full of water.

But this time it was different... finally that afternoon she spoke and she let it all out, her tears as well as her heart!

To be continued....