YAADON KA DHUWAN

This story explores whether circumstances are important in whether or not two people fall in love. If a husband and wife for instance were to to meet again (with no memory of their past) would they fall in love again?

YAADON KA DHUWAN

This electronic Diary Belong To: Azra Minhas

March 3, 2013

Dear Diary

We had a few close friends over today for a lunchtime birthday bash for Rashid. All the usual suspects (Shabana & Aslam, Shilpa & Rakesh, Jessie & Adrian and Asima & Zahir) were present. Although his birthday actually fell mid-week, we decided to postpone celebrations until the Sunday. With all the good food (- people had contributed their signature recipes -) and the likeable company, a great deal of fun was had by all.

The children (Aftab and Zara) had of course made cards for their Abbaji, with a little help from me. Aftab as usual stuffed his face with samosas, and Zara complained that the food was thika'. That was her excuse for filling up on cake, biscuits and lassi. Rakesh was the keen photographer who took lots of pictures. He promised to forward copies to everyone.

That night I wished my husband happy birthday in my own special way.

March 4, 2013

Dear Diary

I received the call at home around 11 am. I remember being shocked and panicky. Rashid's manager phoned to say he had fallen, banged his head and was unconscious. He had been rushed to Glenfield Hospital. For a while I sat stunned and confused. I tried to work out what needed to be done. As much as I wanted to immediately rush to my husband's bedside, life isn't so easy when you're a mother of two and working part-time, even though it's from home. Zara aged 4 was at Happy Tots Nursery and I was due to pick her up at midday. Then my 8 year old Aftab had to be collected from school at 3.30pm. Since I had no family nearby, I phoned my friend Shabana who lives a quarter of a mile away. She's a gem. Immediately she said I should rush to the hospital and that she would see to Zara - and also Aftab, if need be. I took a deep breath, told myself my Rashid was going to be alright and took off for hospital.

During the 20 minute drive to the emergency ward, I kept silently praying Rashid would be alright. This was certainly a time for pleading for God's mercy. It wasn't easy to keep my mind from going overboard about the possible injuries he might have sustained.

The emergency ward was organised chaos. I did manage to speak to the attending doctor. I think he was called Dr Johal, a tall guy with a shaven head. My husband was suspected of having a fractured skull but until the X-ray results came through the hospital couldn't be sure of the exact extent of his injuries. The doctor explained Rashid was still unconscious and was not yet back from the X-ray unit. There was nothing I could do but wait. The doctor told me I would be permitted to see Rashid, when the X-rays had been taken and he had been placed on the ward.

While I waited I phoned Rashid's parents who were currently visiting Pakistan. On hearing the news they wanted to take the first flight back but I dissuaded them. Once we knew a little more about Rashid's condition then they could decide. My parents were next on the dial list. Mummy and Abu had retired to Jaipur where they had lived before coming to Britain. My two brothers, worked abroad. Jameel the eldest was working in Dubai as an assistant manager in a bank, while Fareed, the baby' of the family was a teacher in an international school in Singapore. I thought I would hold fire on letting them know. I put in a quick call to Shabana about my Zara. Shabana told me not to worry too much. She would pick up Aftab from school and look after the children until my return from the hospital. Lord knows how I would have coped without Shabana.

When I got to see Rashid, I kept telling myself to hold it together, to be strong. There he was poor thing, connected up to a drip, tubes connected to his nose for a steady supply of oxygen and of course his face was swollen and darkened somewhat due to bruising. His head was heavily bandaged. It was if he was in a deep sleep. I sat down by his bed. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do now that I was with him. I sat looking at him, and occasionally I stroked the back of his hand. I wondered whether he could feel that. If I spoke, would he hear me?

Half an hour later Dr Johal arrived to explain that Rashid had sustained a fractured skull. Panic seized me when I heard that. The doctor explained the injury was not so serious and could be treated. He would be in a better position to give a fuller diagnosis when Rashid regained consciousness in a day or two.

I arrived at Shabana's house around 4pm to pick up the children. On the car journey there I was going over in my head what to tell the children. In the end I opted for honesty. Abbaji was in hospital because he fell and hurt his head. He would be in hospital until he was feeling better. Shabana bless her soul, fed me and the children before she packed us off home in the evening.

I read Zara a bedtime story but she did fall asleep right away. I suppose this was a change in her routines. Normally her father told the bedtime story after giving her a bath. You know how much very young children find comfort in established routines. Aftab not unexpectedly was a little quieter than normal. Before I put out the light to his room he did ask if his father was going to be alright. I put on a brave face, gave a reassuring smile and told him, "of course". He hero worshipped his father too much for me to have said anything else.

Before going to bed and a sleepless night, I finished writing this entry for today because I needed to draw breath and express my emotions in the light of the events that are unfolding.

March 5, 2013

Dear Diary

The morning routine was different without their Abba. Zara played up because her father wasn't there. Aftab was a bit subdued but otherwise looked fine. He had things going on in his head but he wasn't ready to talk about them. Once I had dropped the children at school and nursery, I called the hospital to check on Rashid. Apparently he was still unconscious but his condition was stable. When they said I could visit him for a short period, I did just that.

In the afternoon I made the difficult decision to take the children to see their father after I had collected Aftab from school. As we sat at his bedside, Zara kept asking why Abba didn't wake up. She wanted tell him about something that happened at nursery. Aftab sat silently looking at his stricken hero. At least he was old enough to understand that his father would probably be unconscious for a couple of days, and while he was in that state his body was healing. In the end because of Zara and Aftab's reactions to seeing their father, I decided to cut the visit short. Besides, it only made me feel inadequate, sitting there unable to do anything to help my husband's recovery.

March 6, 2013

Dear Diary

I prayed hard that Allah would see me through my troubles and my husband would recover soon. Allah-Tallah if I have done wrong please punish me instead and not my husband. My children and I need him. I vowed to myself I would make this prayer every night until Rashid re-joined us in our happy home.

When the children are in bed, the house feels empty without Rashid. How I miss him!

March 7, 2013

Dear Diary

I'm definitely getting worried now. The hospital says he's still unconscious but they're not sure why he hasn't regained consciousness yet. They said they would keep me posted.

It's difficult enough living in this state of limbo without Zara constantly asking when Abba is coming home. Being a four year old she forgets what I said. Her brother being older understands a bit better but despite this it's clear he's missing his father.

March 8, 2013

Dear Diary

He's been in hospital for 5 days now. Still unconscious. The hospital phoned this afternoon to say they want to perform a second CAT scan to check if there's been any bleeding in the brain. That certainly put a scare into me. I'd forgotten how much Rashid helps around the house. He does the weekly shopping on Saturdays and takes the children with him. They enjoy the outing and spending time with their father. It also means the children are out from under my feet so that I can get on with the housekeeping chores.

I desperately miss having an adult conversation. Being with the children on my own is driving me bananas. I called Shabana and asked if I could visit for a couple of hours. Her two younger children, Sara and Naseem get on well with my two young ones. Not so much with Zahid the teenager and oldest of children. Shabana politely asked about the progress Rashid was making, then thoughtfully steered the conversation onto less serious matters. She's a smart and caring soul who wonderfully exemplified the characteristics of a good friend.

My friends Shilpa and Asima both phoned to inquire about Rashid. Obviously Shabana had alerted them to the news.

Once the children were in bed, I lay in my bed watching TV. Try as I might I couldn't concentrate on any programme. I kept going over in my head what the doctor had said about checking for bleeding in the brain or other damage. I don't think I could cope if Rashid suffered any brain damage. What did the doctor even mean by brain damage? Is he going to be paralysed? Will he be incapable of holding an intelligent conversation? What? I'm so confused and worried.

I miss my Rashid. Allah, please return him to me in good health.

March 11, 2013

Dear Diary

The routine of visiting Rashid in hospital is now well established. I visit him on my own in the mornings. In the late afternoon, I take the children to see their father for a brief visit. Clearly the children are bored' and distracted. They are children after all. Their father's condition hasn't changed. He just lies there unconscious, even though the doctor tells me the exterior injury to the skull is clearly healing well. It's the possible damage inside the brain that's worrying.

I decide it may be for the best that the children don't visit him so often. At this stage there's no telling how long he'll be unconscious.

On that matter, Dr Johal introduced me to Dr Meredith Evans, the brain specialist who was responsible for analysing the CAT scan results and would take over the care and treatment of Rashid. The scan had shown that Rashid had a small amount of bleeding in the brain but that had now ceased. The bad news, at least to my understanding, was that there were hints of some minor abnormalities in the brain. At that point my own thinking seized up and I didn't hear or understand anything much the doctor said after that. However, I do remember him saying something about there being a possibility of some memory loss.

Somehow or another I held back the dam of tears until the children had been fed their evening meal and were safely tucked up in bed. I didn't want them to see me crying. For a good 20 minutes, I cried and believe it or not I felt a little better for it.

With my newly restored calmness I Googled information from the internet about memory loss. None of what I learned was conducive to a good night's sleep. I wished that the doctor hadn't told me what he had. Sometimes ignorance is bliss.

March 12, 2013

Dear Diary

I phoned Rashid's parents in Pakistan to update them. Also I was feeling alone and in need of support. They said they would take the next flight home, and as soon as they had a date and time of arrival, they'd let me know.

I also phoned my Mummy and Abu. I hadn't spoken to them for over a week. It was so good to hear my father's reassuring voice. I knew if my Mom had been with me, I would draw so much comfort from that.

The children keep asking about their father. When I told Zara that Abba was still asleep, she wanted to know why I didn't just wake him up! When I went to collect Aftab at the end of the school day his teacher said that Aftab was reticent in participating in classroom activities and appeared withdrawn. Learning the impact his father's illness was having on him rather upset me. I partly blamed myself. I'd been so pre-occupied with visits to see Rashid, holding down my part-time job and ensuring the children are fed and clothed. I had not spent enough time talking to them and about their interests. I was too tired to do fun activities with them. A large part of that had been their father's unofficial role. To make matters worse, at this time of year the weather isn't suitable for outdoor activities like going for walks in the park, or visit to amusement parks.

After a snack at tea time, I did some craft work with Zara. She liked messing about with glue and glitter. She's fond of the colour pink like lots of girls her age. Later, I played some of the video songs that Zara liked. She enjoyed singing along with some of the songs. We introduced her to Raj Kapoor's well known song of "Mera Joota Hai Japani " about a year ago.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5wjGc1zGWBc

Given that I and my parents are of Indian origin her current favourite song with Sharukh Khan in it, is "Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani".

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AH5mPk87AY0

Because Aftab is so keen on samosas, his father has nicknamed him Samosa Boy, a bit like the Marvel Comic superheroes he's into these days. (Another example of boys copying their father's interests.) His father had always joked that the superpower Aftab possessed was his ability to devour any pile of samosas in one fell swoop!

After the song, I played a game of monopoly with Aftab. Since he cheats (because he can't bear losing a game) inevitably he wins. Afterwards we watched the film Dhoom. He likes the film partly because of the cool motorbikes in it. He started getting sleepy long before the end of the film. I promised him we'd finish watching it on another day. I tucked him up in bed. He went out like a light. Nice to know at least the children are getting some sleep.

This not knowing what's happening with Rashid is getting to me. Why is he taking so long to regain consciousness? I'm now beginning to doubt whether the doctors are telling me everything. They would only hold back information if his condition is worse than they have let on until now.

When it was time for bed, I wondered to myself, now that I had briefly cheered up the children, who was there to cheer meup.

March 13, 2013

Dear Diary

Since Rashid's accident I find many songs on the radio or CD for some unfathomable reason hit a nerve, and I find myself with tears streaming down my face. Sometimes it is a particular lyric or at other times a particular melody that sets me off. I have stopped listening to music in the car since it hampers my ability to drive with my undivided attention.

In the silence of night, I lie in bed alone, yet another night. I try my hardest to push away the feelings welling up inside me. There isn't any book that I am in the mood to read. Nor is there anything on TV to hold my attention and thereby distract me from my thoughts. Against my better judgement, I end up rifling through my CD collection. Perhaps it is better to go along with my feelings rather than try to suppress them. In one particular song Joan Baez articulates a lot of what I am feeling - the emptiness in the house where I am used to seeing Rashid and how I ache from missing him. I think at times songs through both their melody and lyrics can mimic or evoke complex emotions better than mere spoken words. I think music can both help make life bearable or celebrate it.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQCeUi0vZAk

I cried listening to the song, but I don't at all feel embarrassed about it. In fact I felt better for it afterwards. In my solitude moments tears have become constant companions these days.

March 14, 2013

Dear Diary

When I visited the hospital this morning, I was told the doctor wanted to speak to me before I saw Rashid. Dr Johal would be with me soon. Immediately my heart began hammering in my chest with worry. I was sure of something bad had happened. Dr Johal arrived not looking too serious. Did that mean there was good news?

The news was mixed. My husband had finally regained consciousness. My hopes soared. Then came the bad news. Rashid was suffering from amnesia. My hopes crashed. It took a moment for me to reach an emotional even keel.

The doctor said that Rashid did not remember his accident but that was quite normal. He remembered some things before the event but not others. The doctor would arrange for me to speak to Dr Evans the brain specialist. Meanwhile, Dr Johal warned me not to be distressed if when I spoke to Rashid he didn't recall shared experiences. Memories often return slowly I was told. I put on a brave face and went to see my husband.

I noticed how weak and pallid he looked. I beamed with happiness hoping he was as pleased to see me as I was him. He didn't smile as I came and stood by his bed. He looked a little startled and confused. Where was that smile of his? I told myself he was still very ill, possibly disorientated. "Hello, Jaan," I said as I sat down beside him. A stranger looked back at me. I asked in a cheery voice how he was feeling. He looked back at me with vacant eyes. I reached over to take a hold of his hand. He was clearly not comfortable with that and looked at me warily. I asked if he was going to say hello. For a long moment he studied my face. His answer froze my blood. "Do I know you?" My mind was numb at the implications. My own husband after 12 years of marriage didn't recognise me. My devastation was coupled with a blind panic. I found my voice again and simply said that I was Azra. When his puzzled expression persisted, I added that I was his wife. It was if the lights were on in his head, but no one was at home. He wasn't exactly sure who I was. He said there was something familiar about my appearance but he wasn't sure where or when we might have met.

How could he not recognise me? We'd spent a dozen years together. We'd been raising two children together. We were the most intimate of friends, soul mates. Suddenly not any more. I just turned and ran out of the ward.

Dr Johal tried to comfort me and explain things. He asked me to await Dr Evans who would talk me through what was happening. When I left the hospital I had more information but emotionally nothing had changed from the moment I ran away from a husband who didn't acknowledge me. I also felt bitter that despite all my prayers I did not really have my husband back intact. Jo bheji thi duaa asmaan se takra ke laut aayi sadaa.

In the parking lot, I phoned Shabana and asked if I could come over for a while.

Shabana kept emphasising the medical specialist had said the memory loss was probably temporary and most people slowly recover. I was plagued with the possibility that Rashid might never fully recover his memory. How were we to function as a married couple and family? What do I tell the children? His parent? Shabana couldn't answer those questions any more than I could. Before I left her house I decided I didn't want the children to visit their father until there was some significant improvement in his condition. I make up some excuse for the children.

By the time I collected Aftab from school, I could tell Zara was feeling poorly. This time of year, very young children were prone to colds and flu. Nurseries are a breeding ground for germs. I noted she was off her food and running a temperature. I doped her up with Calpol and hoped the infection wouldn't go into her chest. If her catarrh was bad, it would probably lead to vomiting. Looked like fun and games were ahead. I put Zara to bed. I turned on the baby monitor but probably wouldn't need it to alert me to any heavy bouts of coughing or sneezing. Because of my hospital visit I knew I wasn't going to be sleeping too well.

Around two o'clock Zara wandered into my bedroom. I checked her forehead to see if she was still running a temperature. While her body had cooled down her nose was stuffy. She said she didn't want to sleep in her own bed because it was all wet. Looked like she had wet the bed. I couldn't be bothered changing the bedsheets right there and then. I sponged her down and put her in a fresh pair of pyjamas. I took the easy option of having her sleep in my bed. I fell asleep quickly after that from the reassuring touch of her tiny body beside me.

March 15, 2013

Dear Diary

I called Shabana to ask her to drop Aftab off at school since Zara was sick. Afterwards I phoned the hospital to make an appointment to see Dr Evans the brain specialist. Now that I had had a decent sleep and had time to come to terms with the news about the amnesia, I needed the specialist to talk me through what treatments were possible and explain the prognosis.

Within minutes of finishing my call to the hospital, my father-in-law called from Multan to say they would be returning to England the day after tomorrow. I decided not to tell them about Rashid's amnesia until I spoke to them face-to-face. On top of all the other stresses I was under, I would need to collect them from the airport. That wasn't easy since their flight was coming in around 9pm - by which time both the children are usually in bed.

Spent most of the day looking after Zara who had her ups and downs. I was pleased to see Aftab when he returned home. Maybe he'd play with his sister for a little while and give me some much needed respite.

I cooked Aftab one of his favourite dishes but he pushed the food around on the plate. He complained it didn't taste the same. His reaction to the food was connected to his father's absence. I let his comment pass, although deep inside I was angry. I did the bulk of the cooking and his father did his occasional stint in the kitchen. Yet it was his father's cooking that Aftab praised.

At bedtime, I tucked Aftab in and sat with him hoping he would tell me what was troubling him. What was that business about not liking his dinner? He told me he missed his Abbaji. I gathered him up in my arms, hugged him tight and told him I missed his father too. Between sobs, Aftab complained he wanted Abba to come home now. I hugged him even tighter and whispered in his ear so did I.

Tonight I also felt guilty. Today was the first day since the accident that I hadn't visited Rashid. I felt I wasn't being a good wife, but at the moment I couldn't face him looking back at me with those vacant eyes. I felt humiliated that despite being devoted to him for 12 years, I was a nobody to my husband. If he didn't recognise being married to me, it also meant he didn't love me either. For 12 years and more, he loves me. Then one day he wakes up and he doesn't love me anymore. That is difficult to come to terms with, but also undermines the basis of who I am. It would have been easier to accept if he had gradually grown distant from me. That way I could have anticipated a time when he no longer loved me. But it wasn't like that. It was a case of wham bang, he doesn't love me anymore. I couldn't pretend I was the same Azra before I came to know him. I couldn't recapture that frame of mind, a world view where he didn't exist or know me. My identity is now tied up with being a wife and mother. He may have forgotten, but I can't. How can I?

March 16, 2013

Dear Diary

Zara was a great deal better today but I kept her at home to recover fully. When both of us returned home after dropping Aftab at school, she busied herself playing with her cuddly toys, while I set about preparing the spare room for her grandparents' visit. I gave the whole house a quick tidy up too. I needed to coax Zara into eating something at lunch time. She's been off her food.

In the afternoon, while Zara had a nap, I decided to make a call to Jaipur to speak to my parents. I shared my anxieties about the memory loss with my mother. She had a different view on the subject. Mummy asked if I would reject my husband if he had lost and arm or leg and was less than what he was before. I felt that was a poor analogy and said so. Losing a limb does not affect the personality. I was dealing with a situation where not only did my husband not know me but also could not have a meaningful conversation with me. He had no awareness of the experiences we had shared. Those shared experiences were the foundations of our relationship. I recognised Mummy believes a person is your husband no matter what. While I didn't entirely disagree with her I did find my burden difficult to bear.

Later, I launched myself into my official work. It also helped to distract me from my emotions. Even though my boss is very understanding, and I work from home via my PC, I feel bad for not devoting enough time to my paid work.

March 17, 2013

Dear Diary

I told the children their Dadaji and Dadima would be staying with us for a few days. They were very excited. But what daughter-in-law doesn't feel under scrutiny when in the presence of her in-laws?

Shabana's eldest son, Zahid, a strapping big lad of 16 came and baby-sat for me. Zara was already asleep and Aftab soon would be too. That freed me up to go collect my in-laws from the airport.

Meeting Rashid's parents at the airport was emotional for all of us. On the drive back home I filled them in on their son's condition. They received the news stoically given that he was their only child.

We talked long into the night. I felt glad they were with me. Their presence gives me strength and reassurance. God knows what they're going through. They consider Rashid a gift from Allah since they had tried for many years to start a family without success. My mother-in-law fell pregnant unexpectedly when she was 36years old. So Rashid is very special to all of us.

March 18, 2013

Dear Diary

Morning was a bit manic. The children were excited at seeing their grandparents. They in turn were just as excited at seeing the children. Somehow I managed to feed everyone breakfast and get the children to school and nursery on time.

We visited Rashid in hospital shortly after that. I was on tenterhooks. How would he react to his parents?

I let them walk on ahead of me. Rashid turned and happened to look in our direction. There was surprise on his face, followed by joy. He recognised his parents. Hope surged in my chest, as they greeted each other with lots of smiles, touching and kisses. I sat on the opposite side of the bed to his parents. He looked up at me with curiosity. He wanted to know whether I'd come to see him a few days ago. His face made clear that I was still a stranger to him. I felt shattered. My in-laws noticed it too. My mother-in-law explained gently I had most certainly come to see him a few days ago. She had added I was her bahu and his wife. Even when his father weighed in to explain he had suffered some memory loss, Rashid remained sceptical. He wanted to know how he could possibly forget whom he married. My mother-in-law saw the tears welling up in my eyes. She subtly signalled to me to quietly slip away and leave parents and son to talk.

I was determined not to be chaff blowing at the mercy of the winds of fate. I pestered the nurse until I had an opportunity to see Dr Johal. When I told him my husband had recognised his parents but not me, the doctor didn't seem at all surprised. Apparently the older memories were more easily accessible, but newer ones (and I felt he meant me) weren't. Rapidly after that, our conversation took a different turn. Rashid's wound had almost healed and he was going to be discharged from hospital to free up much needed bed space. I panicked at that because I couldn't imagine Rashid at home in his current state. The doctor explained Rashid would be moved to another facility where he would receive support and therapy to address his amnesia. Apparently Dr Evans would explain more about what to expect at the other facility. I expressed my frustration to the doctor. Surely there was something I could do to help Rashid's condition. Dr Johal suggested I keep seeing my husband despite any distress it caused me. It was important Rashid become accustomed to me. I should relate some of the experiences we had shared together. Show him photographs of the two us to jog his memory, he suggested.

In the car and at home, I explained this to my in-laws. In the evening with the children in bed, my mother-in-law comforted and reassured me. She suggested that the next time I visited Rashid I should take our wedding photo album along. They would continue to remind him he was a married man with responsibilities. We discussed the matter of the children visiting their father. I had concerns the children would be upset and confused if their father didn't recognise them. We agreed it was best the children not visit their father until he understood who they were.

Deep down I resented the fact my husband had recognised his parents but not me. The worst emotional pain to bear is that pain caused by those we love the most. Those closest to us are supposed to love us and comfort us, not be the cause of the pain. I wallowed in the emotions engendered by an old Kishore Kumar song that partly mirrored my hurt. The theme and refrain of the song spoke to me in words I could not articulate.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ARtIHBg2ve0

March 19, 2013

Dear Diary

In light of my conversation with Dr Johal and Dr Evans I decided to do some more research about amnesia and memory. The information that I found squared with what Dr Evans told me i.e. it will take time for memories to recover. Unlike the cartoons on TV it wasn't a case of a second blow on the head causing memories to return instantly.

The hospital was in touch in the afternoon, to say Rashid was being discharged from the acute hospital to the rehabilitation facility in Fulwood set amidst a rural setting located on the outskirts of the city. The hospital advised that my husband would need everyday clothes to wear during his stay at the new facility. He would be transported by ambulance around 10 am. They wanted his change of clothes before he left the hospital. I had already made the mental calculation that visiting Rashid at the new place was going to involve much more travel.

March 20, 2013

Dear Diary

When I dropped off the clothes and things for Rashid's stay at Fulwood, I remember thinking that there is no way I could've coped if he returned home now.

Today I felt totally inadequate. It's bad enough I often feel I'm not being a good wife to Rashid. Perhaps other wives would do more. But then again many of them live in extended families and have support systems while I'm coping with two young children on my own and the future is currently looking very uncertain.

Well, it's now official: I'm a bad mother. I pulled up Aftab for some misbehaviour. He dissolved into tears and stormed out of the sitting room. My mother-in-law gave me a somewhat disapproving look. I found my son holed up in his bedroom. Despite explaining to him he had been in the wrong, he was still cold and distant from me. I know that attitude usually quickly dissipates and he returns to being a caring and loving child. However his final comment to me today really stung me. He said I was mean. When I questioned him about it, he added, that I had changed. "You never used to be so mean" were his exact words. That hurt. It reminded me just how this business with his father is affecting all of us. I took a leaf out of his father's book and made light of my son's comment. "Mommy, cool cool cool - beta, fool fool fool!" I was parodying a line from a Bollywood film that his Abba used to tease him with. Predictably he responded with, "Mommy, the line is: Daddy cool cool cool - beta fool fool fool." That's so true, I told him mischievously. He suddenly realised my last comment could mean both he was right as well as the film dialogue. That started him giggling. That meant we were back on an even keel again.

During the day I don't really have much time to think deeply about matters. I visit Rashid, try doing some of my paid work, ensure the household chores are completed and the children are looked after. That's why it is late in the evening that I find myself wrestling with my thoughts and feelings.

For the first time in my life I am forced to face the philosophical conundrum of what makes us who we are. The only answer I can come up with is it's down to our experiences. Rashid is the sum total of all he's experienced. Where he went to school, who his friends were, all the things he'd done or - even all the things he hopes to do. Whether he prefers karahi gosht to tawa lamb is part of his story. The ability to know those preferences through accumulated memory is what defines him as a person. He needs to remember his favourite places to eat and the people he's eaten there with. If he is having difficulty remembering all the occasions we'd been together, the letters he wrote me, the times we'd made love, being a father to the children - then he isn't the Rashid I knew and loved. That last realisation or prospect depressed me.

March 21, 2013

Dear Diary

My in-laws and I visited Rashid at Fulwood. He was dressed in everyday casual clothes, the bandage on his head was now minimal in size and most of the bruising around his face has faded. He looked quite alright physically although it was clear he had lost weight. He warmly greeted his parents and acknowledged my presence with a fleeting smile. I felt like a relative stranger whose presence was being tolerated, rather than a person he knew well. I took a back seat in the discussions although his parents did try to draw me in on the chat. I realised my battle to win back the husband I loved was going to be a difficult one. My father-in-law, bless him, suggested it was time that Rashid and I spent some time together talking. My in-laws went off to the common room at the facility and left husband and wife to it.

There was no denying it was awkward. At first the talk was strained and stilted. He knew intellectually I was his wife, but there was no emotional component to the information. He clearly did not feel I was his wife, or behave in a way that suggested he knew much about me. At that point I pulled out the wedding album I had brought with me. I talked him through the photos. He recognised some people but not others. By the time I and my in-laws left, I felt emotionally drained.

When I'm on my own I find my mind working overtime. Today I felt vey nostalgic after looking at my wedding album and remembering details of our special day'.

We met at one of those dating dinner evenings'. (I hadn't told him I have attended several of these before without success, because I didn't want to bruise his ego.) Of all the guys I spoke to, he was the one that captured my interest the most. While I had played it cool, he wasn't shy or surreptitious about the way he eyed me up and then monopolised my attention. We had joked about the Pakistani and Indian rivalry thing given our different backgrounds. He had been adept at telling jokes that made me laugh. Without fully realising it at the time he had cleverly managed to elicit a great deal of information about me from the questions he asked. Some of his controversial comments were made to provoke a response from me. A few days after we exchanged phone numbers and email details, quite a few funny/jokey emails ended up in my inbox. Romance blossomed relatively quickly thereafter.

Once in a long while I feel a warm comforting glow inside remembering our early pre-marriage days. I recall the butterflies in my stomach before our assignations. I remember the joy of seeing his face every time we met. I learned later as his wife, he wasn't just putting on a show of being romantic until he managed to put a ring on my finger. He really did handwrite me letters, poems and send me recordings of love songs. (What d'you expect from a man steeped in Bollywood films and song?) Those were great and happy times. Every year on Valentine's Day, he makes me a collection of romantic songs. Lately he has complained that I don't listen to them often and I've become blas about the romantic gestures. I dug out a song to mirror those warm fuzzy feelings and played it loud to myself through a set of headphones. I prefer these feelings to those I've been having lately.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VOXxKDNCuM

March 22, 2013

Dear Diary

Perhaps it is her way of coping with the absence but it worries me that Zara's now stopped asking about her father. If I happen to mention her Abbaji she ignores it. Every now and then I have to remind myself she's only 4 years old. Aftab puts on a brave face when in reality he misses his father. I've tried to get him to open up to me, but for some reason he doesn't want to.

I went to investigate when I heard shouts from my son's room. Aftab was rolling around the bed and shouting in panic. He was having a nightmare. I gathered him up in my arms and tried to soothe him. I asked if he thought he could get back to sleep on his own. In the end we agreed it was best if he slept in my bed. I know I am only second best when it came to making him feel safe. I've told Rashid many times I had the impression his son only felt safe when he knew his father was in the house. Rashid had repeatedly put it down to my imagination. I reckon it's true, and a boy-and-Dad thing. This nightmare of Aftab's only reminded me that even though I was doing my best, l was still only second best in the eyes of my children. Why is it that mothers do all the hard work and father get all the glory?

March 23, 2013

Dear Diary

Today, I introduced Rashid to his children via our photo collection. The photos showed both children's journey from baby, through toddler to small person. There were also pictures of the children with both sets of grandparents to give some context. Rashid asked the occasional question. Pictures by themselves were no substitute for real people so I told him about Aftab and Zara and their personalities. Each child had their likes and dislikes, foibles etc. Of the things I told him about, I couldn't be sure how much Rashid would remember. Perhaps I was too unrealistic about how difficult this business was going to be. I persuaded Rashid to keep some of the photos of the children to remind him who he was a father to.

In the evening I discussed with my in-laws the idea of the children visiting their father. They were all for it and urged me to make it sooner rather than later. I still had my doubts.

March 24, 2013

Dear Diary

Before the visit to see their father, I sat the kids down and explained their Abbaji had trouble remembering things because of his injury. I silently prayed t it would be a positive experience for everyone concerned. It didn't quite go like that though.

Zara charged gleefully towards her father as soon as she spotted him. Even Aftab had looked happy. Zara climbing onto his lap and wrapping her arms around his neck and caught Rashid rather by surprise. He greeted them in a self-conscious manner. When Zara began telling her father about how I couldn't find Jiggy, (one of her favourite cuddly toys,) Rashid became unstuck. He didn't have a clue who Jiggy (the giraffe) was and obviously asked. I did my best to step in and smooth things over. Zara however wanted her Abba to perform the Jiggy dance. Rashid looked over at me, his eyes pleading for help. I offered to perform the Jiggy dance but Zara insisted that Abba did it best. I tried to change the subject but Zara was quite stubborn about the matter. In the end her father made Jiggy dance with lots of encouragement and advice from me. Zara however was not impressed and commented her father had done it better the last time (meaning before his accident.)

The interactions with Aftab were also stilted and I knew how desperately my son had wanted to renew the bonds with his father.

In the car on the way home, Zara asked who the man in the hospital was. When I confirmed it was her father, she refused to believe me. Aftab piped up that his father was very different from before. I explained (and prayed it would come true too) that the Abbaji they knew would return gradually over days and weeks. Aftab who has a taste for science fiction through his love of Marvel comics and sci-fi films made what I felt was an interesting observation. He said it was if Abba had been replaced by an alien duplicate. If the truth was told, I also feel that about Rashid. The honesty of a child can at times capture a genuine truth.

Later when I explained to my in-laws what had happened they thought I was reading too much into it. They explained it had been too long since the children had last seen their father. However we agreed the children should continue to visit their father to help foster his recovery.

Alone in bed I found myself once more coming back to the theme of being in love with a stranger who did not reciprocate my feelings. I pondered whether his love for me would return slowly as other memories resurfaced, or would he have to relearnto love me. I wasn't even certain that he could or would fall in love with me again. Perhaps the unique circumstances under which we met and any subsequent shared experiences determined that our love blossomed. If the circumstances were different, as they were now, surely there was no guarantee that he would fall in love with me. Perhaps it was overly romantic to think that two people were meant to be together and no matter what circumstances they met under, they would inevitably fall in love. The uncertainly of it all scares me because I don't think I could be wife to a stranger, no matter what the marriage certificate said. Then again, what alternative do I have?

March 25, 2013

Dear Diary

I took Mummy's call from Jaipur early morning before the children were awake. Mother was concerned that I hadn't been in touch and wanted to know how Rashid was faring and how I was coping. I told her the blunt truth. I felt I could share things with her that I couldn't with my mother-in-law. I told her how I felt my identity as a wife and mother had been undermined by Rashid's memory loss. Furthermore, deep down I felt rejected because he didn't love me. She reassured me things would slowly get better, especially when he returned home to a familiar environment and with more exposure to me and the children. Then she said something that was both good advice and had a resonance with me. At first I didn't understand when she told me to fight for him. Then she reminded me of the time when I first broached the subject of marrying Rashid. Mummy and Abu hadn't been keen on the match. Why couldn't I find an Indian boy, they'd wanted to know, emphasising that there were no shortage of eligible Indian Muslims. She reminded me I had fought for him then, and I should do the same now. How exactly do I do that, I wanted to know. Her answer sounded simple. Make him fall in love with you.

That conversation with Mummy got me thinking how to make him fall in love with me again. Clearly I needed to remind him of some of our assignations, the places we visited and some of the activities we shared. Then I realised there were also his store of letters and love songs that I had kept. Even the St. Valentine's Day song collections were an invaluable resource I could usefully employ.

I visited Rashid on my own so I could speak to him about how it had been between us before we wed and after, but before the children arrived on the scene. He listened attentively about how he'd wooed me. On one or two occasions he commented that he could imagine himself doing just that. That sounded encouraging. I even told him how my parents had reacted when I first mentioned I wanted to marry a Pakistani. He needed to ask me how his parents had reacted because he couldn't remember. He smiled ruefully when I said the reaction had been similar to that of my parents. Our parents drove us deeper into each other's arms, he joked. For a second I saw a glimpse of the old Rashid and I felt heartened. As I spoke to him of our early days, I felt myself re-experiencing those emotions. Momentarily forgetting myself, affectionately I reached up and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. He reflexively shrank back in surprise and embarrassment. His reaction was if someone had dowsed my head with a bucket of ice water. My reality check was followed by hurt and then disappointment that I couldn't even make such a small caring gesture towards my husband without it seeming strange to him. He also realised perhaps he had over-reacted because he quickly set about asking after the children. I told him the truth. Being the sci-fi buff, he was immediately able to tell me the emotionless alien duplicates came from the film "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers" but he didn't recall watching the film with his son. That fact stuck in my mind and if Aftab learned it, the child would feel devastated.

We talked some more. Before I left, I left him with some of the love letters he had written me and some of the songs he had selected and recorded for me. I asked him to try to recapture the feelings he had been experiencing when he made those gestures towards me.

March 26, 2013

Dear Diary

The children visited their father again. Rashid's parents visit him on alternate days. On other occasions they speak to him on their mobile phone. My love project' as I have labelled it continues.

Shilpa and Rakesh came to visit. I hadn't seen them since Rashid's birthday bash. Although ostensibly they had come to offer support, I used the opportunity for much needed distraction and caught up on news and gossip. The news that surprised and delighted me was that Shilpa was pregnant! I was so happy for her. This was going to be their first baby. I didn't say it, but their life was going to change irrevocably.

At bedtime when I was tucking Aftab in for the night, he asked when Abba would be back to his old self again. "Khuda jaane" was all I could think of as a response. Later I felt I had been a bit cruel saying that to my son. The anger and resentment that was building up in me about Rashid's situation was trying to find a way out.

March 27, 2013

Dear Diary

My visit to see hubby' was important for two reasons. The first was he would be returning home at the weekend. The second was today I felt I had to ask him something important to my self-esteem. I asked him if he found me attractive. He claimed he must have done otherwise he wouldn't have married me. I was disappointed by the reply. I reminded him he used to say I had a sexy figure. He feigned surprise at that then smirked. I wasn't prepared to let him avoid the question. I told him I thought he had nice bum, hoping he'd reciprocate and say something about my looks. He had a little laugh at my comment. I wanted honesty. Did he ever eye me up when my back was to him, I wanted to know. When he hesitated I reminded him it was ok to be honest since I was his wife. He admitted that often he did, adding in self-defence that he was only human. It may have seemed a small victory but I grabbed it with both hands. I quickly commented that I wasn't criticising him. I was flattered he was noticing my figure, I reassured him. Again I took the opportunity to remind him that it was ok to eye me up since we were married. Of course I didn't tell him I had noticed during conversations he tried hard not to look at my bust. That he found me attractive boosted my self-esteem. What woman doesn't want her husband to consider her desirable? Physical attraction was also a part of loving someone. To me, at least, it was a positive step in the direction of travel. Today I left the Fulwood facility with more hope in my heart than before.

To celebrate this watershed moment I couldn't resist putting on an upbeat song that mimicked my sentiments. If I had my old Rashid with me, I'm sure I'd have danced to the song with him, even though he has two left feet and is a lousy dancer. Apparently he hasn't learned any good moves from all the Bollywood films he's watched!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cKwd02U9wbA

March 28, 2013

Dear Diary

For once I feel hopeful and optimistic that things are improving with Rashid's condition. More and more of his memories are resurfacing but there appears to be no fathomable pattern as to which and when certain memories can be accessed. I think I will have to abandon the idea that one day suddenly all his memories will return, just as suddenly as they had disappeared. I think I'm in for the long haul of memories returning slowly and piecemeal.

My next major task is to prepare the children and myself for Rashid's return home. It's one thing visiting him for an hour or two each day - quite another having him living with us 24/7. When I broke the news to my in-laws naturally they were delighted.

I told the children their father was coming home tomorrow. They seemed excited. Aftab suggested we put up some banners to mark his Abba's return. That sounded like a good idea and I agreed to help.

Later in the evening, after they had an opportunity to discuss matters between themselves, my in-laws took me aside to tell me they would be returning to their own home in a day or two. That took me by surprise. Frankly I wanted them to stay because I felt fazed at the prospect of having to cope on my own. They hinted that they wanted Rashid and me to get to know each other all over again without anyone else to distract us. They were too polite to say it openly but they wanted us to be like a newly married couple. How I wished it could be like that. However, I knew Rashid wasn't quite ready for that yet, even though I was - I think?

March 29, 2013

Dear Diary

It was quite emotional for all concerned having Rashid return home today. The children were over the moon and tugged at their father to come see this or that they wanted to share with him. Aftab proudly pointed out how he had made the banner and put up a bit of bunting. Zara showed off the painting she had done of father's return.

Lunch time had the whole family sitting and eating together. It was for me a joy to see. I had prepared one of Rashid's favourite dishes - Achari Gobi. (He had taken a liking to it when he tasted this at the Lake Palace on Lake Pancholi during our first visit to India together.) I was delighted when he not only liked the dish but said it was vaguely familiar. When his mother pressed him to tell us where or when he had first tasted it, he managed to say that he had tasted it first in India. He then looked directly at me and a little hesitantly added that he thought he and I had been there together. I felt like celebrating this small but significant victory against his amnesia. I don't know why I hadn't tried before to utilise primal animal responses like tastes and smells to evoke memories in him. I couldn't help hoping the music I'd given to him to listen to might also evoke memories. Only time will tell I suppose.

Zara despite trying hard to stay awake eventually fell asleep by 8pm. Then it was Aftab's turn to play some computer games with his father. By 9pm, I intervened, anxious that Rashid shouldn't be overtaxed while still recovering. I gave Rashid half an hour to unwind then suggested he turn in for the night.

I showed him to our bedroom. I had laid out a pair of pyjamas for him. He disappeared into the bathroom to shower and change. When he came out he chanced upon me as I was undressing. Even though he saw nothing revealing, he was still a little surprised and self-conscious. I decided I wasn't having any of this nonsense and told him he'd better get used to it because I was his wife. Besides, I added, neither of us had been fazed about each other's nakedness before. When we finally got into bed, I asked if he minded if we talked.

I told him about his parents wanting to leave tomorrow. Did he feel safe and unpressurised without their presence, I wanted to know. While a bit disappointed he accepted their departure was part of the healing process. He was irked when I asked him whether he'd be up to driving them to Birmingham, reminding me that he was fit and healthy. Apparently his procedural memory (skills like riding a bike, swimming, driving etc.) had not been affected by the injury. I suggested that perhaps one of our friends could baby-sit for us while we drove his parents back.

We also spoke about the Easter holidays which were upon us, having begun on the Friday. With the end of term, the children would be free from school for 2 weeks. They would need to be kept occupied or entertained. Since he wouldn't yet be fit to return to work, I suggested the family spend lots of quality time together, revisiting familiar haunts, and participating in much enjoyed pursuits.

When it was time for lights out, Rashid deliberately moved away and turned his back to me. I asked him why he had decided to lie so far from me. In embarrassment he explained that he if didn't, he wasn't sure he could resist the temptation. I laughed at what I thought was strange remark for a husband to make to his wife and also because I was pleased his libido was intact. When he wanted to know why I thought his comment funny, I got serious for a moment. I told him that despite his amnesia, we already knew each other better than most Asian couples did on their wedding night. He couldn't argue with that but mischievously asked if by that I meant what he thought I did. I pretended to be scandalised by his suggestion and accused him of being badtameez. However that didn't stop me from snuggling up to him. What I didn't tell him was I had missed the consoling warmth of his body against mine. (Body contact is not always about sex.) His touch had always comforted me in a way I couldn't explain. Despite telling him numerous times that I found his touch calmed me and soothed away many of my daily troubles, he always put it down to my imagination.

March 30, 2013

Dear Diary

There are no long lie-ins when you have young children. We were awakened by Zara climbing onto the bed and trying to bounce up and down on her father's body, demanding pancakes. When Rashid looked at me questioningly I told him pancakes were his department. She liked them thick and spongy, the way Abba made them. Rashid gave a wan smile. I left the two of them to it while I wandered off into the bathroom to shower.

I decided that perhaps parathas for breakfast might be appreciated by Aftab and the grown-ups.

When breakfast was out of the way, I put in a call to Shilpa to ask if she and Rakesh could look after the children. She readily agreed saying it would be good training' for when she became a mother. I agreed to drop them off after lunch.

It was a bit of an emotional goodbye when we dropped my in-laws off at their home in Birmingham. I was genuinely sorry they hadn't stayed longer. I valued their wisdom and experience of being married happily for so long. The journey home gave me some quality time with Rashid and we discussed the practical matters of his work and whether he could fit back into the job. In the light of the amnesia would his boss require to re-evaluate his suitability to perform his current role? How long could he remain on sick-leave before it affected his salary? Rashid had always been useless when it came to money matters.

During mealtime Aftab turned to his Abba and asked how come he never hugged or kissed Mommy any more. (We had decided early on in our marriage that our children should see such public demonstrations of affection as something normal and natural.) "Good question, beta!" was my comment, enjoying watching Rashid squirm a little. However my husband turned the tables on me and had some fun at my expense. He blamed me, saying that he had begged for a kiss but uncaring Mommy had resolutely refused. Amidst all the laughter, my cries of jhooth, were to no avail. We had to kiss and make up in front of our son. I wasn't going to complain! It was good to see again that rakish side to my Rashid's personality.

Once the children were in bed, I deliberately chose a romantic Bollywood film (Kismet Konnection) for Rashid and me to watch together. I knew the film had one of my favourite songs in it. I was serious about taking my mother's advice about re-igniting my husband's love for me.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u58dPU5ym9k

Sleeping next to him without expressing my desire for him hasn't been easy for me. I realise now it might have been more sensible for us to initially sleep separately. To be honest, a part of me wants to jump his bones' but something tells me, for him it wouldn't be making love' but more a case of satisfying his lust. Am I being foolish and unrealistically romantic to want him to love me as well as lust after me? I suspect my mother would say I'd become too westernised!

March 31, 2013

Dear Diary

Lots of fun with the children today.

Aftab twisted his Abbaji's arm to cook his favourite paneer dish. My only objection to Rashid cooking is that although he washes the dishes, he never cleans the cooker after use. It annoys the hell out of me!

After the meal we all watched a family film together. When Zara fell asleep during the film, I carried her upstairs. Father and son finished watching the film while I busied myself with other things.

When Rashid came into the bedroom, I sat him down because while he might not admit it, it was clear there was considerable sexual tension between us. To be frank before the accident, we had a healthy love life and we could talk about such matters without too much embarrassment. I wanted him to understand that I was not brushing aside his recent amorous advances because they were unwelcome, but I needed context to make it real and natural for me. When he claimed he didn't quite understand my meaning, I reminded him of a song from one of the St Valentine compilations. I wanted him to take the woman's point of view in the video a little more seriously.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=30tnmyzgRSI

After listening to the song, he said I was being unrealistic and reminded me that a few days earlier I was the one who had said we knew each other better than many Asian couples did on their wedding night. The whole matter ended up in an unnecessary argument - the first argument since his accident. Was I overthinking this matter? Anyway, as a result of the argument we slept with our backs to each other, and with as much space between us as possible. I hated it.

April 1, 2013

Dear Diary

I left Rashid to take the children swimming. Aftab is a confident swimmer but Zara still needs encouragement as well as help changing and showering afterwards. That left me some breathing space away from the children for the first time in almost a month. Spending quality time with the children was also helping Rashid recover some of his memories.

I thought about what happened the night before and the unnecessary argument. I have to ask myself if I'm being too precious about the matter. If Rashid made the moves' on me, would I refuse? He is my husband and I do love him so why am I hesitating? I also know he's not the type to press matters if I refuse him. Many married women don't even have that option. But dammit, I want it to be like it used to be with him. Is that wrong? I want to know he's doing it because he loves me and not because I'm just a warm sexy body. Not that I can discuss it with my mother, but I wonder what she would say in a situation like this. I think I can guess her answer would involve mention of duty and a woman's role etc. That however is a different generation's thinking - not mine.

April 2, 2013

Dear Diary

I farmed out the children to our friends Asima and Zahir. (Trying to spread the load.) Rashid and I went out for a meal at one of our favourite restaurants. I'm hoping that by repeating these sorts of experiences and the sexy outfit I wore might rekindle some of his memories. I read somewhere that fragrances were capable of reviving memories and I deliberately bought a fragrance I used when I first got to know Rashid. See if that stirs a few memories of how it used to be between us.

April 6, 2013

Dear Diary

The children have been off school for a week now. It's surprising how easily we fall back into familiar family routines.

Rashid's memories continue to re-emerge steadily. He tells me his lost memories are a bit like smoke in that you know it's there but when you try to grasp it, it's insubstantial and you come away with nothing. Yaadon ka dhuwan. I'm doing everything I can to render that smoke more substantial. Each day he comes a little closer to his former self. Although it's difficult to put a figure on it I'd say I have 90% of the old Rashid back. Could I settle for that, I wonder. In a casual conversation with him most people would say he's back to normal. However, those who know him well would say he still doesn't relate to certain incidents or lacks details about them.

Tonight as Rashid was drifting off to sleep, I snuggled up to him. I kissed him, and it wasn't one of those chaste kisses the children occasionally see. He was both pleased and surprised, asking if I had changed my mind. I climbed over and sat on his midriff. In a faux stern voice I told him what was about to happen was for me and my needs, not his. He joked that there would be no complaints from him. Even in the dark, I swear I could see him grinning from ear to ear.

April 10, 2013

Dear Diary

A few more days before the children are back at school/nursery. The children are happy, Rashid is too. With all the time I've been spending with him and jogging his memory every so often he's getting back to normal.

April 14, 2013

Dear Diary

It's just the two of us now that the children are back at school/nursery. It's not often we get time together like this because Rashid is usually working apart from the days he takes for leave. We decided to make the best of this opportunity to talk and spend time together. A year into our marriage I realised I drew comfort from knowing he was in the house even though he was busy with some activity while I was in a different room occupied with my own work. Why did it not quite feel like that for me yet?

When Aftab got home he was complaining of a sore throat. His father put him to bed early with a dose of Calpol since he was running a bit of a temperature. We'd decide in the morning whether he was well enough to attend school.

April 18, 2013

Dear Diary

Everything is going swimmingly well. Rashid has been in touch with his boss on the matter of agreeing a date to return to the office.

I know that an anniversary is looming. It's like a heavy weight on my heart. I've never had to bear that grief alone before. Rashid has always been my rock, the person who shares my pain and sees me through dark days. It seems so incongruent that despite Rashid being to all intent and purposes, normal, he has no inkling of our loss. I keep hoping he'll remember - if not this year, at least in subsequent ones. God please don't let me have to cope with it on my own.

April 21, 2013

Dear Diary

Several times today Rashid commented I was not my cheery self. I had put on a brave face for the children's sake but apparently it didn't fool Rashid. Besides, the children are too young to understand what I am going through. Dealing with the practicalities of life somehow got me through the day.

When we got into bed, Rashid insisted on talking about what was troubling me. Even when I reminded him today was an important anniversary he looked at me blankly. He knew it wasn't our engagement or wedding anniversary nor a birthday. When he failed to recall the event, I buried my face in his chest and sobbed. The loss was bad enough to bear but now there was also his loss of memory about the event to contend with too. Khuda yeh sazzah kyon?

Haltingly I told him how two years ago I had been five months pregnant when I had a nasty fall and suffered a miscarriage. In stunned silence he listened as I reminded him we'd already decided if it was a girl, she would have been called Surya, and if a boy Javaid. The hospital confirmed our hoped for third child had been a girl. While he hugged me he kept apologising for not remembering. It was never my intention to make him feel guilty about it. For an instant I even thought I had made a mistake in laying this grief upon him. I know we're supposed to spare our partner pain but I needed him to share this burden with me. Besides, Surya had been his child too. He had come to know Zara and Aftab but he also needed to remember our little Surya.

By sort of explanation I told him how both of our mothers had suffered similar tragedies. Miscarriages were commonplace even a generation ago because of one cause or another. Nature could be cruel in weeding out sickly embryos and new-borns. Both our mothers stoically carried on with their lives. They had assured me that I would too.

When I lifted my head from his chest to look up at Rashid I noticed the tears silently rolling down his cheeks. Self-consciously he wiped them away with the back of his hand. Then he commented that what made the loss worse was there was no grave for us to visit or mark Surya's passing. That perceptive insight informed me God had returned my Rashid to me.

April 23, 2013

Dear Diary

Rashid had obviously been thinking about Surya because he asked if we should have another baby. A part of me was pleased he had brought up the subject. It was of course something I had thought about deeply. The only honest answer I could give him was that I didn't want to replace Surya. She lived in a special place in my heart - there could be no substitution. I needed to know if he was disappointed. He shook his head, saying he was happy with our current family size, if I was. After a moment he looked directly at me and added he was glad he was married to me. Pleased as I was with the comment, I couldn't resist needling him to say why he was glad to be married to me. What's wrong with fishing for the occasional compliment? For the first time since his accident he said: "Azra, mein apko behad pyar karta hoon." That bold declaration was worthy of a kiss.

(The End)

This story is dedicated to the memory of my father who suffered from dementia and memory loss towards the end of his life.

The only person my father consistently recognised was my mother. He would often failed to recognise his sons and grandchildren. My indefatigable mother was his steadfast rock, his only link to reality. Although she kept her pain to herself it could not have been easy after more than 65 years of marriage for her to deal with the pale shadow of the man my father had become.