Posted:
Hello guys! I'm here with one of my unexpected and unplanned midnight writing adventures.
I was re-watcthing Humsfar for the 100000th time and what has always bothered me is a lack of Ashar POV, something I have often voiced on the DTs as well. (so there might be some repetition😆)
Here goes my rant! 😆
I was re-watcthing Humsfar for the 100000th time and what has always bothered me is a lack of Ashar POV, something I have often voiced on the DTs as well. (so there might be some repetition😆)
Here goes my rant! 😆
(not proofread, goodnight🥱)
It had been six months since Khirad had left. Three months since Ashar had recovered from his nervous breakdown. And a lifetime since he had smiled.
After that fateful night, life had stopped for Ashar. As he had seen the mist unexpected events turn out in front of his eyes, all his suppressed anxieties and insecurities had taken a front seat. It was suffocating, and made no sense. He wanted to get out, go to some wonderland where all this never happened and life would just resume the blissful normalcy. And so he had, ran away to the beach, shunning away everyone, shunning away Khirad.
He loved her. He admired her. But it was no fairytale, he was no prince charming, and Ashar did have his share of jealousy and concerns. Khizar's behaviour had bothered him since day one, but he had felt to petty in sharing this with his wife. So he had hidden his jealousy with undue anger. Ashar knew Khirad loved him, and wouldn't think of cheating on him. But all logic was thrown out of the window when Ashar saw his wife in someone else's arms. The loose foundation of their marriage, the daunting age gap, and the blasphemous words of his mother and Khizar echoed in his mind, drowning Khirad's desperate pleas.
As Ashar had sat on the beach, in a heavy scent of sand and salt, tears ran down his cheeks. More than hurt, there was fear. What if what he saw and heard was true? What if Khirad had actually fallen out of love with him? What if she wished to leave him, and go with Khizar? The thought made him shudder. He loved her too much to bear the loss. The fear made him stay at the beach for the entire night. His thoughts were punctuated by blur images of all the happy moments he had shared with his beautiful wife, but every time the images of the evening came running back to him and overshadowed all the memories.
By the crack of the dawn, the tears had dried up. Fear was replaced with desperation and frustration. He needed to see Khirad, demand answers from her. He wanted to hear it from her that none of this was true and she loves him, and no one else. He needed to hold Khirad, feel his arms around her. She couldn't go, she was his life.
But when Ashar had rushed back home, he was met with the shock of his life. His Mummy informed him that Khirad had left, and would contact him for a divorce. What followed was inexplicable pain, a hollowness Ashar couldn't fathom. His entire being had come to a sudden end, and he couldn't remember what life was like before Khirad.
The next six months were a blur. He had ignored her calls, he didn't think he had the strength to hear her rejection, to hear her say that she wanted a divorce. When he once did pick up her call, her voice drowned out the words she was saying. All Ashar heard was a voice he yearned forevery morning, and when he was finally privy to it, his body felt like ice. It ached for her, and all the immunity he had built around threatened to evaporate. He shouted on her, desperately holding on to whatever was left of him, and slammed down the phone before he lost his control and begged her to come back.
Weirdly, Ashar felt no anger. All that he seethed was to make himself believe that he was fine, that the thought of Khirad didn't make his insides ache and fingers go numb. It made him deny the fact that such was the magic of her love and if she shows up today, Ashar would take her back in a heartbeat. He shouted and cursed and smoked and gave himself to work, only to never feel himself so weak and vulnerable.
But what Ashar could not discard, no matter how much ever he tried, was Khirad's memories. He found them to be pure and scared, untouched by the fallacy that had plagues thier love. He didn't hate that Khirad, he still dear loved her. That Khirad was his, the woman he knew to be innocent, caring, giving and a child, a woman he loved and would always love. That Khirad had a truth Ashar could not refute. At one time, her presence had dictated his life. Now, his life revolved around her absence.
The first thing Ashar would think of as his eyes cringed against the sunlight in the morning, was of his early riser wife. She drew the curtains every morning, and then come sit next to Ashar and ruffle his hair. Ashar lays in his bed for a few moments now, remembering the touch of her hand the strawberry scent of her soap.
As he would maneuver around his morning routine, little things of Khirad here and there made him feel like they were getting ready together as usual, would chat over breakfast, and he would theb drop her off to the university. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe. Smell of oak had replaced Khirad's scent. He would run his hands along a random kurta, sometimes eliciting a memory. A green one was what she wore in the night, and Ashar used to love playing with its collar. A light pink bundled in a corner was one of her favourites. He would sometimes smile looking at her yellow, Zarday ki Daig suit. His favourite, however, was the black and golden one which had made it difficult for him to take his eyes off her at their first outing.
Ashar had fallen in the habit of skipping breakfast, and having his lunch and dinner at the office canteen. Meals at home were particularly difficult, as Khirad always cooked for him. Biryani, haleem, almond chicken, Thai prawns, bhindi- these were his favourite dishes that he had now grown an aversion to. Her empty seat at the dining table, and the void that was once filled by the aroma of her food, killed Ashar's appetite.
On coming back, Ashar always retired in the couch with a novel or his laptop. This was where Khirad usually studied. Her books were still stacked on the side table. They would spend their evenings with Khirad sitting with her books, and Ashar by her leg or leaning on to her on the couch itself with his files. It was his favourite time of the day. Nowadays, Ashar would work there and fall asleep on the couch. The bed was too large and empty for him. Sometimes he would open one of Khirad's books, run his fingers over her handwriting, and then keep it back.
None of this pained him. It had all become a part of his routine, as if he was living with a a ghost of Khirad that she had left behind for him.
Gardening was Ashar's getaway. Those few hours of the day, he would feel at peace, and would almost imagine life to be normal, that Khirad would just call him from the balcony to come have tea with her.
There was some days which would get worse. Some mornings where his back ached, and the room around him felt like a cage. Her clothes reminded him of times when he had felt that this was the best thing in his life, and tears stung his eyes as he would stare at the idlily hanging pieces of garments. Hunger would often evade him. Nights often kept him up. But such too had become sorts of routine, and now he just stayed up, contemplating absolutely nothing. Even sadness had exhausted, and now, it was all just empty.
His wedding ring was right where it had been, something which his mother and friends had often pinned out. But Ashar hadn't even considered removing it. It reminded him, that at one point of time, even if that time seems like a lifetime ago, Ashar had spent days which seemed like an answer to a prayer. It reminded him of a love he shared, that was true and pure when it existed. It reminded of the woman he thanked his stars for, the one he loved and knew. In a sense, Khirad was dead for her. The Khirad who had left could not be the same he knew to be his wife, because his Khirad loved him more than he could put in words. And Ashar Hussain could never come to hate that Khirad, for she was his humsfar.
~Ashar and Khirad's love was young, still blossoming. They say that love and trust are by-products, but no. Love is selfish,one which a person experiences and cherishes. They were in love. But trust? That takes years to build. It is selfless, it is the next step after love, where you can blindly handover yourself to the other person.
I'm not defending Ashar here, but simply saying that he was no prince charming. He was a simple man in love who had trust issues, and who was cheated by his mother. I don't intend to sympathise with him, and he is certainly at fault for what happened with Khirad. But my heart goes out to him, as he was wronged by the two women he considered so important. He never succeeded in hating Khirad, that is why desperately asking her to come back with no answers. That just goes on to show how lonely a life he must be leading without her, and that he believed that she wasn't wrong, something he was too weak and blind to see.~
There, I have vented it out. Bye.
Love,
Arushi.
It had been six months since Khirad had left. Three months since Ashar had recovered from his nervous breakdown. And a lifetime since he had smiled.
After that fateful night, life had stopped for Ashar. As he had seen the mist unexpected events turn out in front of his eyes, all his suppressed anxieties and insecurities had taken a front seat. It was suffocating, and made no sense. He wanted to get out, go to some wonderland where all this never happened and life would just resume the blissful normalcy. And so he had, ran away to the beach, shunning away everyone, shunning away Khirad.
He loved her. He admired her. But it was no fairytale, he was no prince charming, and Ashar did have his share of jealousy and concerns. Khizar's behaviour had bothered him since day one, but he had felt to petty in sharing this with his wife. So he had hidden his jealousy with undue anger. Ashar knew Khirad loved him, and wouldn't think of cheating on him. But all logic was thrown out of the window when Ashar saw his wife in someone else's arms. The loose foundation of their marriage, the daunting age gap, and the blasphemous words of his mother and Khizar echoed in his mind, drowning Khirad's desperate pleas.
As Ashar had sat on the beach, in a heavy scent of sand and salt, tears ran down his cheeks. More than hurt, there was fear. What if what he saw and heard was true? What if Khirad had actually fallen out of love with him? What if she wished to leave him, and go with Khizar? The thought made him shudder. He loved her too much to bear the loss. The fear made him stay at the beach for the entire night. His thoughts were punctuated by blur images of all the happy moments he had shared with his beautiful wife, but every time the images of the evening came running back to him and overshadowed all the memories.
By the crack of the dawn, the tears had dried up. Fear was replaced with desperation and frustration. He needed to see Khirad, demand answers from her. He wanted to hear it from her that none of this was true and she loves him, and no one else. He needed to hold Khirad, feel his arms around her. She couldn't go, she was his life.
But when Ashar had rushed back home, he was met with the shock of his life. His Mummy informed him that Khirad had left, and would contact him for a divorce. What followed was inexplicable pain, a hollowness Ashar couldn't fathom. His entire being had come to a sudden end, and he couldn't remember what life was like before Khirad.
The next six months were a blur. He had ignored her calls, he didn't think he had the strength to hear her rejection, to hear her say that she wanted a divorce. When he once did pick up her call, her voice drowned out the words she was saying. All Ashar heard was a voice he yearned forevery morning, and when he was finally privy to it, his body felt like ice. It ached for her, and all the immunity he had built around threatened to evaporate. He shouted on her, desperately holding on to whatever was left of him, and slammed down the phone before he lost his control and begged her to come back.
Weirdly, Ashar felt no anger. All that he seethed was to make himself believe that he was fine, that the thought of Khirad didn't make his insides ache and fingers go numb. It made him deny the fact that such was the magic of her love and if she shows up today, Ashar would take her back in a heartbeat. He shouted and cursed and smoked and gave himself to work, only to never feel himself so weak and vulnerable.
But what Ashar could not discard, no matter how much ever he tried, was Khirad's memories. He found them to be pure and scared, untouched by the fallacy that had plagues thier love. He didn't hate that Khirad, he still dear loved her. That Khirad was his, the woman he knew to be innocent, caring, giving and a child, a woman he loved and would always love. That Khirad had a truth Ashar could not refute. At one time, her presence had dictated his life. Now, his life revolved around her absence.
The first thing Ashar would think of as his eyes cringed against the sunlight in the morning, was of his early riser wife. She drew the curtains every morning, and then come sit next to Ashar and ruffle his hair. Ashar lays in his bed for a few moments now, remembering the touch of her hand the strawberry scent of her soap.
As he would maneuver around his morning routine, little things of Khirad here and there made him feel like they were getting ready together as usual, would chat over breakfast, and he would theb drop her off to the university. Her clothes still hung in the wardrobe. Smell of oak had replaced Khirad's scent. He would run his hands along a random kurta, sometimes eliciting a memory. A green one was what she wore in the night, and Ashar used to love playing with its collar. A light pink bundled in a corner was one of her favourites. He would sometimes smile looking at her yellow, Zarday ki Daig suit. His favourite, however, was the black and golden one which had made it difficult for him to take his eyes off her at their first outing.
Ashar had fallen in the habit of skipping breakfast, and having his lunch and dinner at the office canteen. Meals at home were particularly difficult, as Khirad always cooked for him. Biryani, haleem, almond chicken, Thai prawns, bhindi- these were his favourite dishes that he had now grown an aversion to. Her empty seat at the dining table, and the void that was once filled by the aroma of her food, killed Ashar's appetite.
On coming back, Ashar always retired in the couch with a novel or his laptop. This was where Khirad usually studied. Her books were still stacked on the side table. They would spend their evenings with Khirad sitting with her books, and Ashar by her leg or leaning on to her on the couch itself with his files. It was his favourite time of the day. Nowadays, Ashar would work there and fall asleep on the couch. The bed was too large and empty for him. Sometimes he would open one of Khirad's books, run his fingers over her handwriting, and then keep it back.
None of this pained him. It had all become a part of his routine, as if he was living with a a ghost of Khirad that she had left behind for him.
Gardening was Ashar's getaway. Those few hours of the day, he would feel at peace, and would almost imagine life to be normal, that Khirad would just call him from the balcony to come have tea with her.
There was some days which would get worse. Some mornings where his back ached, and the room around him felt like a cage. Her clothes reminded him of times when he had felt that this was the best thing in his life, and tears stung his eyes as he would stare at the idlily hanging pieces of garments. Hunger would often evade him. Nights often kept him up. But such too had become sorts of routine, and now he just stayed up, contemplating absolutely nothing. Even sadness had exhausted, and now, it was all just empty.
His wedding ring was right where it had been, something which his mother and friends had often pinned out. But Ashar hadn't even considered removing it. It reminded him, that at one point of time, even if that time seems like a lifetime ago, Ashar had spent days which seemed like an answer to a prayer. It reminded him of a love he shared, that was true and pure when it existed. It reminded of the woman he thanked his stars for, the one he loved and knew. In a sense, Khirad was dead for her. The Khirad who had left could not be the same he knew to be his wife, because his Khirad loved him more than he could put in words. And Ashar Hussain could never come to hate that Khirad, for she was his humsfar.
~Ashar and Khirad's love was young, still blossoming. They say that love and trust are by-products, but no. Love is selfish,one which a person experiences and cherishes. They were in love. But trust? That takes years to build. It is selfless, it is the next step after love, where you can blindly handover yourself to the other person.
I'm not defending Ashar here, but simply saying that he was no prince charming. He was a simple man in love who had trust issues, and who was cheated by his mother. I don't intend to sympathise with him, and he is certainly at fault for what happened with Khirad. But my heart goes out to him, as he was wronged by the two women he considered so important. He never succeeded in hating Khirad, that is why desperately asking her to come back with no answers. That just goes on to show how lonely a life he must be leading without her, and that he believed that she wasn't wrong, something he was too weak and blind to see.~
There, I have vented it out. Bye.
Love,
Arushi.
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