I’ve been really mad at the world this week. Like, really really really mad. People around me have become so pretentious and it makes me want to stick a toothbrush down my throat and purge myself of their superficiality. Yes, that’s right. I desire to gag myself, not to become skinnier, but to essentially pass myself out. Why has Zara C. Churri decided to PMS on a public platform, you ask? And that too like the super OTT (over-the-top) high-strung females that Tina Fey likes to invent in her sleep? (No offense Tina Fey, your name is literally a synonym for the word ‘empowered’ in all its glory and gross awesomeness). Well, I’ll tell you. Everybody wants to complain about how a trans woman was mistreated at a hospital when they literally have no freaking idea that public hospitals in Pakistan are basically poop for everyone who is not super well-connected.
Now, please don’t get me wrong. I am totally pro-trans. In fact, I know trans. I have had first-hand intellectual encounters with a ton of trans men who transitioned while I was studying at an all-girls college in the US. Oh, in case you’re not familiar, when females transition, it is proper to refer to them using male pronouns (hence, trans men) or plural pronouns like ‘they’ and ‘them’ (but not ‘it’ - please, not it). Anyway, I’m really not trying to move the conversation away from the fact that trans people are severely mistreated in Pakistan, except by the few aunties who believe that ‘khusras’ will either curse them or bring them good luck (two extremes - both awful and highly trans-phobic). No, my beef is more with the fact that people have decided to take offense at the one thing that is an experience shared across gender identities in her social class - that she was operated on outside a toilet.
I watched a doctor's sweat drip upon the scattered intestines of an old man
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“Oh my god! I am so excited!” I squealed, checking myself out in my brand new lab coat. It had been my life-long desire to watch an amputation first hand and Sanam, my ‘super-doctor’ BFF, had just managed to sneak me inside Sir Ganga Ram Hospital for my birthday. Oh yes, not only was Sanam married into one of the richest families in Lahore, but she was also a hardworking gynecologist-in-training who was doing her house job at a government hospital. I was beyond psyched. Now, I had heard of the horrors of public hospitals before, but the recent season of American Horror Story had given me newfound courage, and I was ready to see it all happen first-hand. The tour started with us checking out the lavatory where Sanam had performed her first delivery (and her second, and her third, consecutively), and ended with us realising that a sleazy PA had been stalking us the whole time - ew! Nonetheless, the highlight was definitely our visit to the Operation Theatre Room. Glorious it lay in semi-darkness, a near exact replica of the room where Melisandre revived Jon Snow in the current season of Game of Thrones. Four beds were laid out side-by-side in this non-air-conditioned space - different bodies on each bed. I had gone in to watch a minor amputation, and ended up witnessing a tummy tuck and open-heart surgery all at the same time. Perhaps I underestimated my capacity to digest gore on such a personal level - as I watched a doctor’s sweat drip upon the scattered intestines of an old man, I wondered if perhaps my revolution against The One Percent had been too hasty. This was TMTH (too much to handle).
The author feels Jon Snow was reincarnated in far more sanitary conditions than those in Pakistani public hospitals
***
Being poor in Pakistan sucks. Yes, being poor and trans sucks more, but being poor is bad enough as it is. Like, I know I’m a part of this, but don’t we all have separate dishes for our servants? How upset would we be if one of our maids peed in our bathrooms? Most people would call that discrimination, you know. In my head, it’s all murky territory. Hiring servants isn’t bad, I’m told. It’s a great way for people who would otherwise have been shunned to find jobs and support their families. But err - how much can you do in Rs. 15,000 a month? Seriously. No wonder being poor is automatically associated with being dirty or unkempt - you probably can’t afford to be otherwise. Oops! Double whammy. Anyway, we can be really nice to our domestic servants, as some of us are, but at the end of the day, we will forbid them to use our bathrooms. Ugh great! Now I feel like throwing up on myself because I’m preaching about something I totally can’t change/won’t change/don’t know how to change. My education is always at war with my desi habits.
Patients awaiting treatment at a Pakistani hospital
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Whipping out a joint from behind the Sun Visor of her new Corolla, Madam Faiza ‘shooed’ away the beggars that had gathered by her window. “I don’t pay beggars” she said, “especially handicapped ones. It makes them think that begging is okay, and it promotes the idea that handicapping children at a young age will bring in more money. Someone has to suffer for the greater good.” She then took a long slow drag and rolled down her window. “If they become persistent, I just hand them a cigarette” she added, doing just that. “It makes everyone feel better about the situation.”
