My horoscopes have not been portending good things at all. For weeks now my tarot readings and crystals have been telling me that some cataclysmic change/disaster is about to strike me, but that it is necessary and I should be happy about it as a “life lesson.” I hate life lessons. They are invariably painful and have long-lasting PTSD ramifications that leave you bewildered and not so much “wiser” and “deeply bitter”. The last few weeks in Lahore have been going quite well; there were no major breakdowns in my house, the car was functioning, even the UPS was happily chirping away in the heat as if on a beach vacay.
Then Sunday came. Very late on that night, while the city was fast asleep and I was sprawled on my duvet comatose on my laptop, I was violently wrenched awake by what sounded like a troll trying to enter my bedroom using dynamite. Caught in the twilight between sleep and consciousness, I legitimately believed that I was either being haunted by vengeful ghosts, or else aliens were trying to get into the place. The sound was so deep, so loud, and so unprecedented that I continued to believe this for several minutes after waking, by which time I had run into my lounge and hidden behind a sofa.
I woke up the next morning in a terribly good mood, which is always a warning, I find
Several minutes passed, and I gingerly stuck my head out from behind a table to scope out the scene, but all I could hear was a howling wind thrashing my plants against the window panes. I calmed myself, and realised that there was a storm outside and that what I had heard was probably just a tree branch falling down or maybe a paper bag hitting the window with force. My pulse was racing and I was fear-sweating, but I was mollified enough to fall asleep again without incident.
I woke up the next morning in a terribly good mood, which is always a warning, I find. The day was overcast and the air was cool. How marvelous a storm in Lahore can be! I thought giddily while sauntering into the kitchen. My kitchen window overlooks a wall which I have had covered with bamboos, and I often stand at the window while mixing my coffee and check my morning horoscope.
How the author experienced a recent heavy storm in Lahore
“If you can, try to get out into greenery today, Sag. Maybe a park, or a garden. You’ll suddenly find your world expanded and your mind quiet as the vastness of possibilities unfolds before you.”
Too true, I thought, taking my first sip of coffee. That’s when I looked out and noticed an expanse of green outside my window. Lovely. But something felt off. What was it? The kitchen did look brighter than usual, that was certain. But why is this morning so different? Is it something to do with the empty plot? Why is there more sun than usual? It took me several minutes to figure out that I shouldn’t be able to see a vast empty plot from outside my kitchen window and the bottom of a bridge beyond. I shouldn’t be able to see that at all. In a surreal haze, I walked out of my kitchen, out the front door and outside to see my garden looking like it had been struck by a bomb. The tall boundary wall, all 65 feet of it, had fallen down onto my house, bringing down with it trees and air-conditioning units. I stared, open-mouthed, at the vast expanse of No Wall in front of me, a whole side of my home completely and depressingly exposed to the world outside. A small chunk of wall was still standing up when, with the comedic timing that is never funny in reality, it fell to the ground as I stared at it. It looked like a scene from Syria.
I was too shocked to speak. My mouth was dry, my pulse was racing again. Everywhere I looked there were bricks, chunks of cement, branches of bamboos, broken lights and the shattered remnants of crushed dreams. Eventually I must have made some kind of sounds, because my caretaker came out of his room rubbing the sleep from his eyes until he too saw the carnage, and stood beside me in horrified silence. A quick inventory of the damage told me the wall had cost me two A/C units, all my plants, all my garden lights, cut the internet cables, severed my gas lines, blown a phase of the household electric grid and shattered three windows. None of this shocked me as much as the fact that thieves - somehow knowing that the house was vulnerable before I did at 7 am - had already snuck in and stolen a car battery, a can of diesel and a roll of garden cloth that was kept outside. That really hurt, to be honest. It was like someone robbing a person in an earthquake of their wallet before covering them with some more rubble.
I pride myself for being somewhat resourceful in a crisis, and I went into auto-pilot mode, arranging plumbers to look at the damage in pipes and calling contractors for estimates in how to rebuild the wall. Donald Trump is right: walls are not cheap and if I could, I too would totally want someone else to pay for it in its entirety. I won’t scandalize you with the exact amount that it is taking me to literally fortify my home again, but suffice it to say I will be changing my holiday plans drastically.
I live in a fairly secluded little street, and up till now I didn’t know how many thieves were just waiting to rob me blind. It feels such a violation, and if you can believe it, a little worse than the fact that a large portion of my house collapsed from a gust of wind that nobody else seemed to have felt. Last night I asked my caretaker to sleep next to the wall (or lack thereof) with a fan, because the gap had only been covered with tarp. The weather being nice, he did so happily and even called reinforcements. This morning he told me that thieves struck again, stealing what was left of the gas pipes and some outdoor fixtures. He and I are not on good terms right now.
I am grateful that nothing irreparable was damaged, that no lives were lost and that everyone is safe. I truly am. I know that things could have been far worse.
But now I stand in the rubble of my home, clutching a mound of trampled flowers and like Scarlet from Gone with the Wind I make a promise: As God as my witness, I shall build a wall so big and so nasty-looking it’ll make both the Nights Watch from Game of Thrones and Donald Trump look like open-border policy enthusiasts. After two weeks back, the city has already made me vengeful, and vengeance shall be mine. #buildthewall
