Chapter 12: Again Ph.D. Again Coursework Again Comprehensive Exam

In the summer of 2006, my ex-roommate Daud, returns from the United States. It is said that Quaidian once Quaidian forever. Quaidians have so many associations with the university that when they come from abroad, they definitely visit the university, to have lunch at Majeed huts and meet with friends. Daud motivates me to apply to his university. He is a Ph.D. student at University at Albany, State University of New York. He says that there is strong group of Information Physics in his department, and so I must apply. Since I have published two papers, this will increase my chances to get admission. My papers are also on entropy. Entropy is what is studied in information physics.

My first paper is published in Concept of Physics, an open dialogue journal that publishes eccentric papers. The journal even publishes papers rejected by the referee(s). In the paper, I model a universe that consists in the form of clusters, such as the cluster of galaxies which are then the clusters of stars and the stars are the cluster of subatomic particles. An anonymous referee does not recommend the paper for publication, but the editor finds it interesting because I make a connection of the Laws of Thermodynamics with the notion of spacetime. The second paper – which is the extension of the first paper – is immediately published in Entropy, a reputable journal.

My work is not digested by a string theorist, Dr. Fahim Hussain. He says that it is wrong. My advisor also comes under pressure and asks me to pick a mainstream research topic.

I gather material for the application package to apply for Spring 2007. Since I have not done TOEFL, I provide two letters – one from Peshawar University and one from QAU – stating that medium of instruction is English. I also need three letters of recommendation. I arrange two letters but one professor refuse to give me letter. He, who is a MIT graduate, says since I got a C grade in his course, he cannot give me letter. I say to him that I have two publications also. He says that publications mean nothing to him. Anyway, I arrange one letter from a professor in Peshawar University and send the application package.

On December 29, 2006, Daud calls me that I got admission. He says that the department secretory has sent me an email to accept the offer immediately otherwise the offer will go to someone else. At the time, I’m sitting with Abdur and his buddy Gohar in the hujra. In excitement, I run home to give the good news to Ayisha. She is reciting Quran in the dim light of lantern. Loadsheding is very common in tribal areas. In winter, the power is off for more than 36 hours in 48 hours. She hugs me and says she was praying for us.

Next day I check my email in a net-café in Peshawar as there is no internet in Jamrud. The email is dated three days earlier. Because of the Eid-ul-Adha holidays, I didn’t check my mails. This time Eid has overlapped with New Year. I accept the offer. The sender has also asked me to provide my current mailing address to send me the I-20 form and the TA-award letter. In Jamrud, mailman does not distribute mails in streets but only in Jamrud bazaar. One needs care of (c/o) of ‘say, a shop in the bazaar. For this important package I provide the Islamabad address.

**

I receive the package one week later, on January 6. The I-20 form – the most important document. I have heard many in QAU proudly saying they receive the I-20. This means the US visa is sure. I have very little time now. The Office of International Student Services (OISS) has also emailed me that the orientation and the mandatory meeting with international students are on January 17.

Next day, after taking lunch at huts, I head to Peshawar. Although the US embassy is in Islamabad, I need to submit the passport in a courier service in Peshawar. As I travel halfway, I receive a call by Hamood, Aziz’s younger brother. He at once says that Hafiz is dead. “What.” I say. I do not ask details; passengers are sitting around. Many thoughts come to mind. It cannot be natural. He used to go to a gangster’s place. Maybe, he or his men have killed him.

As I get off the coaster in Peshawar bus terminal, I go straight to the restroom to change my jeans. It would not be appropriate to go home in that outfit. I have a pair of shalwar-qameez in the bag; I have brought it for laundry. When I get it off the bag, it is wrinkled being squeezed in the bag. It is difficult to change here. The toilet is very small, floor is wet and there is no hook to hang the bag.

I take a taxi from there as public transport would delay me. On reaching Karkhano Market, I get a local taxi for Jamrud and go to Teddi bazaar; I know everyone would be there. As I get there, I see people gathered in the graveyard. It is a big cemetery. Once it was small, now spread over the area taking the place of the bus station next to it.

The deceased has just been placed in the tomb. I’ve missed the funeral. I do not demand if there is any way to see his face. My father-in-law takes the bag from me, and I sit on one side. Everyone is taking part in the burial process. It is virtuous to take the shovel from one another. After that mullana addresses the sermon.

I only weep when all disperse, and we get home. I sit on a stool in mother’s room and sob. Manan died, then Hafiz’s mother, then my father, then Hafiz’s father; I didn’t cry but now I do, when I lost my best friend. “Why is so quiet here? Why is there no noise? No one is mourning. I don’t see anyone is weeping. Because he had no one.”

Pashmina, my sister, says, “No, no, people just dispersed. He had a very big funeral. People came from all over the province.”

I then go Aziz’s room, where Hafiz’s widow is sitting with other women. She is in silence. I hug her and give her support. I can imagine how devastated she is. I don’t know how our family would adjust her. Hafiz has no brothers. He only has a sister.

Beside the widow, Hafiz left two daughters and a one-year-old son. He was a heavy drinker and used drugs. This morning a worker found him dead on his bed. His new apartment was under construction in our house in New Abbadi.

While people are still coming for condolence, I make a quick a trip to Saddar bazaar to submit my passport in SpeedEx, which handles visa application. The person there asks me for supporting documents. I show him the I-20 form and the TA-award letter. He gives me the visa application which consists of two or three forms.

I fill out the forms when get home. I don’t understand how to write the street, city and state in different boxes. The address says the university is on 1400 Washington Avenue, Albany, New York. I am assuming it is at the border of Washington, DC; and New York. I fill out the forms anyway.

The visa interview is in the embassy in Islamabad. You cannot go directly to the US embassy, after 9/11, this road is closed for public. The embassies shuttle bus runs from Convention Center nearby. You have to be there very early to reach on time because there are long lines of people. My interview runs smoothly. The consular officer keeps my passport. She says it will be returned to me in SpeedEx office in Peshawar. It is said if they keep your passport, it means you will get the visa.

Next week SpeedEx returns me the passport with a five years multiple visa stamped on it.

**

The spring semester has already started. I must reach as soon as possible. I cannot do anything with the Ph.D. at QAU but to quit it. I make a quick trip to Islamabad to fetch my personals.

The flight is on February 6, 2007. My anxiety increases as the date approaches. Generally, I do not have fear of flight, though I do have of airports. It started in 2002, when I had been to ICTP, Italy. That was my first ever flight. I had to change several connected flights: from Islamabad to Karachi, then Dubai, then Milan and then Trieste. I had never seen an airport or its process from the inside, though seen off many friends from Islamabad. A long line of passengers would enter on the departing gate, and another line leave through the arrival one. From the inside it looked to me like a black box. Back then I asked Daud who had been to ICTP. He guided me that first I would pass through security screening, then to proceed to check-in, then through the immigration process, then boarding. Everything went alright but when I was in the waiting room for boarding, the flight was delayed for about half an hour. The airport was hit by dusty whirling winds. As I reached Karachi, first I smoked a cigarette outside, then entered through another gate. After security screening, I noticed a long line of people. I also stood in the line. As I reached to the beginning of the line, the officer noticed that I didn’t have the boarding pass and so asked me to get it from the check-in area. I ran back but by the check-in was closed. I was in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, I had a friend named Tufail Shah in Karachi. I called him. He gave me his address and so I stayed with him for the night. Next day I flew back to Islamabad. There was no other way but to talk to my agent to reschedule my ticket. I arrived in Trieste with two days delay.

**

I have very short time – less than a week. I also need to buy warm wears. Daud has told me that the weather is very cold in Albany. I do my shopping in one day from Saddar bazaar and City Tower.

It’s good, my flight is from Peshawar. I can stay at home for the night. If I had a flight from Islamabad, I had to leave one day prior. Next morning, our driver lives me drops at the airport. Ayisha also comes with us. Mother sees me off at the gate. She kisses me on the nick saying it might be her last time to see me. I’m also at verge of crying. When leaving, someone also splashes water behind us. It means drive safe.

**

In the plane, I take a deep breathe and say to myself that one chapter of my life is completed. I’m not nervous as I was when going to ICTP. This flight is going to Dubai, from where I’ll catch another connected flight to JFK.

Next morning, I arrive at JFK. After passing through the security clearance, I get out of the airport to smoke. I only have cigarettes. The lighter was taken from at the airport in Peshawar. I look here and there to borrow a lighter from someone. I see a bus driver, who is also smoking. I borrow a matchbox from him. As I light the cigarette and take two puffs, I get frozen. I’m only wearing a light red color hoodie. Daud told me to wear warm jacket but I could imagine. All my belonging is in my luggage, which I’ll get in Albany. My next to Albany. The cigarette falls from my frozen mouth. I light another cigarette and keep puffing.

The flight to Albany is different. There is no refreshment other than some peanuts. I laugh to myself when in the end the airhost carries a trash bag. What we have eaten to give you anything back.

**

My apartment is by Washington Avenue, which leads to the university. Now I understand – what I thought while filling out the visa application in Peshawar – that the university is not at the border of Washington, DC; and New York, but it is a street name. I had several misconceptions. I thought that in America skyscrapers are everywhere. Tall buildings are only in the downtown areas. I also did another mistak in the visa application. I wrote New York as the city which is actually Albany. My surprises do not end. Albany is not just here but there are 28 cities named Albany in the United States. I learn that one student, while coming here, ended up in Albany, Georgia. Several other cities’ names are also repeated. I had not seen this type of pattern in Pakistan. There is one and only one Peshawar and one Lahore. I know one other place named Lahore but that is called Chota Lahore – little Lahore – which is a village in Swabi, Khyber Pakhthoonkhwa. Not only this but streets are also named after cities. In our Albany – which is the capital of New York state – there is also Albany Street. In fact, this street is in Schenectady, another city near Albany.

**

Houses are mostly wooden. Apartment inside are airtight. If you cook anything, especially spicy food, the smell traps and sticks to your clothes. Your friend can tell what you have cooked lately. In Jamrud, I heard from my elders that foreigners stink. It is the opposite here. Our clothes stink more. People are health conscious. I see people jogging in the freezing temperature. Daud, who is now my roommate again, says that they want to stay away from doctor because most people do not have insurance. I also get inspiration and start jogging in the evening on Western Avenue, earbuds in my ears – listening to FM radio. Two days later, my ears start to explode from continuous music.

Classes have already started. I’m two weeks late. On my second day, our professor of Statistical Physics gives a quiz. He asks me if I wish I can take the test another time as I miss the classes; however, I take the quiz. To his surprise, I pass the test in A grade. For me the material was not new. I have already learned Statistical Mechanics in Pakistan. If you know the partition function, you have solved the problem halfway because most thermodynamic variables, such as energy, entropy, pressure, involve the derivatives of this function.

On the morning of April 16, 2007, a twenty-three-year-old Seung-Hui Cho kills 32 people in two separate incidents at the Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University campus in Blacksburg, Virginia. First, he kills two students in a dorm room and then another 30 people in four classrooms. He also takes his own life. He carried a 9mm handgun and a .22-caliber gun. Cho, who was majoring in English, was a South Korean-born American Citizen and had a history of anxiety disorder. This is the deadliest massacre in the US history at the time.

It concerns me. I also have a history of mental illness and know gun use. Not just me, everyone in tribal areas knows how to use a gun. Since childhood, we were trained how to deal with guns. We cleaned our weapons yearly. The easiest one was the 8mm rifle. It had one or two parts to remove. The important part was to clean the barrel with a long rope. Sometimes we would need two people; one was holding the gun, the other one was pulling out the rope. Kalashnikov had several parts, but the formula was simple, to put it together in the reverse order. What part was removed first, it had to go back in the last. Our elders told us never aim a gun at someone even if it was empty. Satan could load it. One day, my sister-in-law – Hafiz’s mother – was cleaning a Kalashnikov. She was sitting in front of me in another cot in the veranda. She had already removed the magazine and just in case pressed on the trigger and a fire took place. I was narrowly escaped being shot. The bullet penetrated a pillar nearby.

More recently I developed some suicidal thoughts. At night, as I close my eyes to go to sleep, long knives penetrate in my body. The deeper they go, the better I sleep. So, on May 3, I see a psychiatrist in the Health Center on campus. He notices that my mood is stable and prescribes the same medicine – Tegretol and Seroquel – I was taking previously. My Pakistani psychiatrist changed my medicine several times. First, he put me on Lithium; then Lamictal; then Tegretol and Seroquel. Though I’m taking the same medicine, the US version is more effective. I feel more fresher when I get up in the morning.

In the end of the spring semester, I obtain Ayisha’s I-20 form and send it to her. In the same time, I also study for the comprehensive exam which is in August. Ayisha gets the visa in June and arrives in July. Now we are living in a one-bed room apartment. One month later, I also pass the comprehensive exam.