Kanza Javed, excerpt from
"Worry Doll"

No internet trick, scented candle, or incense stick worked. And the same odour, Zara noticed, came from the apartment of Nadira, who did not seem to mind it. The Rahmans continued to exist with the smell along with the sound of their rackety air-conditioning unit. This made Zara feel like her unremitted, encumbering fixation was foreign, misplaced, and almost “first world.”

Babar had once used the phrase “first world” to describe Zara’s gruelling obsession. “A first-world problem,” he had said. “It’s a very first-world problem.”

Nadira had offered her own suggestion to Zara. “If the smell bothers you too much, pretend it’s not there,” Nadira had said during their bus ride to a store a few days earlier. “Then it’ll cease to exist. The problem will disappear on its own. Trust me.”

Zara had found Nadira’s proposal preposterous, but they were new friends. New friends keep their true emotions veiled for at least some time.

Both Zara and Nadira were on a dependent-spouse visa—which meant they could not work. They just had to accompany their husbands. They just had to be there.

Nadira, who liked to be called Nitu, was Zara’s only friend in the new place. Babar’s PhD coursework and GTA teaching load would soon consume him.

Maryland was not home, but Maryland could be made home with friends and a purpose. 

 

 

 

From The Malahat Review's winter issue #217