Zubi’s Birthday Amidst Memories and Hope

Zubi’s Birthday Amidst Memories and Hope

BY:Ubai

Masarat Baji had been on her feet since early morning, busy with her never-ending household chores. Schools and colleges had finally reopened after the long closure due to the pandemic, but with restrictions: children would attend one day and rest the next. This strategy, as the government announced, was to avoid overcrowding.

Her daughter, Zubaria, had a holiday that day, while her cousins, Umaima and Musfira, had gone to school. Zubaria—affectionately called Zubi—was a chubby, round-faced girl with a charming presence. She had an enormous love for food, and each passing day she grew plumper, almost like a soft round “gol gappa.” In contrast, her cousins Umaima and Musfira were slim, agile, and quick on their feet. All three girls were bright students, but Zubi stood out for her pampered personality.

Zubi was her parents’ only child, and since her father worked abroad, her mother left no stone unturned in fulfilling her wishes. The family lived with her uncles, Saem and Jamshed, which made the house lively with children and relatives.

That morning, when Masarat entered Zubi’s room after finishing her chores, she found her daughter sprawled on the bed, snoring softly.

“Wake up, my dear! How long will you keep sleeping? Tomorrow is November 5th—your birthday! We must go to the market for shopping. You need clothes and a few other things,” Masarat urged.

Half-awake, Zubi stretched and yawned widely. “Mumma, first make me some hot tea and something to eat. Then we’ll go shopping.”

Before Masarat could answer, her mother—Zubi’s grandmother—interrupted with her usual sarcasm.

“Oh, this girl will empty the whole market! In our times, we never had such silly birthday functions. These are just new, wasteful trends—fancy lights, music, and unnecessary expenses.” She shook her head dramatically, her tone half-amused and half-critical.

Everyone was used to the grandmother’s playful interference. Zubi, instead of being annoyed, wrapped her arms around her. “Dearest Nanu, times have changed. We must move with the world. In our house, all kids celebrate birthdays now.”

Her grandmother sighed but smiled. “You are right, child. And truly, it has been so long since we gathered together. This cursed coronavirus swallowed all our joys. If your birthday brings the family together again, it’s a blessing.”

With that, preparations began. That evening, Zubi’s uncle drove her and her mother to the market. The shops were crowded, but many displayed the same old prints and fabrics. Shopkeepers explained that during the six months of factory shutdowns, no new stock was produced. “Factories have just reopened,” one seller reassured them. “Soon fresh designs will arrive.”

Despite the limited options, Zubi managed to pick an elegant red frock for herself, along with matching shoes and accessories. She also bought two suits for her beloved grandmother. Excitement sparkled in her eyes as she imagined the big day ahead.

That night, however, sleep eluded her. For all the joy, a shadow of sadness lingered in her heart. Her father had not been home for years. He was supposed to return in April 2020, but the pandemic grounded flights. Since then, only video calls connected them. He would lovingly ask about her studies, her health, and tease her about growing chubbier. Yet nothing replaced his physical presence.

Finally, the morning of November 5th arrived. Zubi woke up early, performed the Fajr prayer with her mother and grandmother, and recited verses from the Quran. Her mother and grandmother placed their hands tenderly on her head, showering her with heartfelt prayers. Tears welled in Zubi’s eyes as she hugged them tightly.

By evening, the house was transformed. Uncle Saem had decorated it with glowing fairy lights, colorful balloons, and shimmering ribbons. The hall looked festive and bright. Soon, relatives began to arrive—her elder uncle and aunt with their children Hamad, Hamna, Hadia, and Linta, followed by her aunt with her mischievous kids, Anas and Anaya.

The house filled with laughter and noise. Children ran around, shouting and playing. In the center of the hall, a grand table held Zubi’s favorite chocolate cake, topped with vibrant candles.

Dressed in her red frock with delicate fairy wings, Zubi stood beside her mother like a little princess. Her grandmother, watching from the window, couldn’t resist joining in when she saw the enchanting scene.

As the candles were lit and everyone clapped, Zubi cut the cake with a glowing smile. Just then, naughty Anas pushed little Linta’s face straight into the cake. Her cheeks and nose were smeared with cream, and she looked hilariously funny. The room erupted with laughter. Thankfully, Uncle Saem had been thoughtful enough to bring a second cake. Masarat quickly brought it out from the fridge and served the guests.

The evening was filled with joy, chatter, and warm memories. For Zubi, it wasn’t just a birthday—it was a reminder of togetherness after months of isolation, a symbol of resilience after the bleak days of the pandemic.

As the guests departed the next morning, Zubi held onto the memory of her grandmother’s prayers, her mother’s love, and the laughter of her cousins. Yet deep inside, she whispered a silent wish: “Next year, may Baba be here to hold my hand when I cut the cake.”