Free Tunnel Vision by Shandana Minhas

s whose nephew had worked with my father in the provincial government. They had both been inducted into the government at the same time, part of an ‘ unofficial ’ quota to demonstrate to the vocal opposition that Punjabis were not, actually, the centre of the known universe. They had both given up fairly lucrative private employment to ‘ do their bit ’ . ‘ Earn their bit more profitably, ’ as Baray Mamu was fond of saying. It had been a hot topic of conversation at our table at one time, with complex explanations of socio-cultural etiquette and the reciprocal expectations of a family connection, however faint it might be. The nephew and his family were not invited to dinner after all. Ammi sulked for days, saying Abba was rejecting a possible catalyst for progress, until Abba took to spending all his waking time with us and ignoring his wife altogether, at which point Ammi decided forgiveness was the Islamic thing to do.You have to love modern Muslim thought; Islam is a complete way of life, whenever it ’ s convenient for you to inhabit it.
    Anyway, according to Abba ’ s co-worker, Abba had not shown up for work that day.
    â€˜ Then something must have happened to him when he left home this morning. ’ Ammi ’ s anger was returning to the root of anxiety from which it had sprung. ‘ He might have had an accident. ’
    â€˜ He always carries identification Ammi, someone would have contacted us by now. ’
    â€˜ Not if they stole his wallet. You know how this city is. Dacoits, cutthroats, pickpockets. If they saw an injured man they would rob him rather than help him. ’
    â€˜ Let ’ s not jump to conclusions, ’ Mamu interjected, ‘ Jahan, you have to be calm right now so we can figure out what to do. ’
    But Ammi had the bit firmly between her teeth now. ‘ Especially if it was planned.You know they are getting people like us right now.They ’ re mowing us down in plain sight. ’
    â€˜ Jahan, if something like that had happened, we would have known about it by now. It would be on the news. ’
    â€˜ When has Karachi ever been on the news? Huh? When? It ’ s all the president this, or prime minister that. Seventy-five people can die in Karachi in one day and that Shaista Zaid will still pretend nothing happened. The only information they give about Karachi in the Khabarnama is the humidity level. ’
    â€˜ He ’ s a government employee Jahan. They take care of their own. ’
    â€˜ Take care of their own! You yourself have said to me it ’ s the government who ’ s behind those butchers! ’
    Adil was looking like he was about to burst into tears. At seventeen, I ’ d had a couple of years to ease into the atmosphere of persecution and mistrust that permeated the code of business of so many of our community. Adil was ten. The only thing he knew about ‘ our ’ people was that they liked to wear pajamas. His father was missing, and his mother was suddenly wailing about butchers.
    â€˜ Adil, do you want to watch Airwolf with me? ’ I hated that show; even if that pilot had a certain squinty look working for him, he was too white for my taste. Like something uncooked.Adil nodded mutely. Stringfellow Hawk would know what to do if his father disappeared.
    Hand in hand, we retreated to the small TV lounge. He fell right into the ridiculous plot. Terrorists. Bad guys. Pretty women. A helicopter gunship that lived in a mountain, it was all so unreal. I preferred McGyver myself. Over the clatter of Airwolf ’ s guns, I could hear high-pitched dialogue exploding from Ammi ’ s lips like the rounds of an assault rifle.
    â€˜ What about the Pathans then? It must have been that crowd on the hill, you know they ’ ve wanted this property for years. Just last year they smashed our windshield and threatened to kidnap our children if we didn ’ t sell. It must have been them.