For some reason, I didn’t think it would be that hard to say goodbye to people here in Hyderabad.
It’s my last break at home, so I’ve known that this time when I leave I’ll be saying a proper goodbye, and not just the usual “see you next time”. Still, my sentiments on goodbyes have changed a lot over the years. I used to cry my guts out at every graduation and anytime my close friends left (something which, anyone familiar with the MK or TCK life would know, is quite often). I can remember one time, in particular, when one of my closest friends left the school for the States, and we both wept over each other, hugging and saying our final words…but the final words and final moment together were repeated over and over again because of some confusion in our transportation. This wet, soggy goodbye was drawn out for over an hour, and after we finally parted, I was so emotionally spent that I felt like I’d been through the Holocaust. Over the years I guess I got tired of bawling my eyes out all the time, and I stopped. People leaving didn’t make me cry anymore, unless they were someone really close to my heart, and in that case I would either cry after they left or briefly with them before quickly saying goodbye, so as not to prolong the torture.
More recently my goodbyes have again become extremely painful and I’ve started to cry more.
Now during my last days at home, I haven’t yet faced any painful goodbyes. I’ve met with neighbours and people that I’ve known growing up and said goodbye to them, and it just doesn’t affect me much; I think because their lives have already changed while I’ve been living in Murree, and I feel like we moved on from each other long ago when I first left for boarding.
My feelings took me by surprise today. Auntie Shanti is our house helper here, who has watched me grow since I was a toddler, crawling on the floor and drinking chai out of a saucer. She was our nanny, our Auntie in place of absent relatives, and later on our friend. Auntie Shanti taught me how to cook real Sindhi food, and make chai, and to say one of my first phrases, one that I took great pleasure in declaring to the whole family at the correct time (as Auntie’s messenger), ‘Chai tiar ahey’—the chai is ready! Auntie Shanti has helped me go to the bathroom, wiped my tears when I’ve cried, scolded me for sucking my thumb, slept in my room when the world outside was going nuts over Benezir Bhutto’s death,and secretlygiven me treats in the kitchen. She has loved me and treated me like one of her own daughters, and I’ve felt that growing up.
I said goodbye to her today, and as I hugged her, all the little memories, as seemingly insignificant as they may be, came briefly back to me. It was a little bit like parting from my own mum, something that moved me deep down inside. I feel sorry for all those who haven’t had Auntie Shanti in their lives, and I thank God for the blessing He’s given me of having had her in mine.
Along the Way 