STORY

Dreams have a strange way of coming true

I remember watching, ‘Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs’ for literally the hundredth time, when I was seven-years-old. And, suddenly, during that hundredth time, I decided that I wanted to be Doc, the leader of the seven dwarfs. One, I loved his glasses and always wanted to wear glasses myself - a dream which came true in a year and very soon turned into a nightmare, which I still live in. And two, the way Doc mixed up his words was so funny and adorable. Also at that time, red happened to be my favourite colour (because that was my house colour and your house colour has to be your favourite colour. Yeah, seven-year old girls are weird.) 

This dream stayed with me for at least two years. And whenever our teacher or anyone else would ask us what we wanted to be when we grew up, my peers would say pilot or an army officer or a teacher or a president.

And I would go, ‘When I grow up, I want to be Doc.’

‘You mean a doctor?’ The teacher would ask

‘No! Doc, the leader of the seven dwarfs.’

Needless to say the adults tried to convince me to be something else, but I was a stubborn little dwarf and would walk away from them singing, ‘Heigh-Ho’ at the top of my voice. It was only at the age of nine when ‘Cinderella’ became my favourite movie, I decided maybe being Doc wasn’t all that cool. Maybe, I should reconsider my future career. And when I became the ‘Fairy Godmother’ in the school play, the moment I helped Cinderella become a beautiful princess, I realised that to be a Fairy Godmother is my true calling.

‘Bippity Boppity Boo’ became the sound track of my life for the next thirteen months – except the few short weeks after they showed us  “The Little Mermaid” at school. I was so inspired by Sebastian’s ‘Under the sea’ that I momentarily forgot about how the fairy godmother could turn pumpkins into pretty carriages.  But then, I saw what a real lobster looked like and never again did I want to go on adventure with Arial.

Alas! Even the awesomeness of the fairy godmother wasn’t as enthralling as the wise words of Grandmother Willow.

On the third day of fifth grade when we had our first history class, I fell in love with something new. But this time it wasn’t a person or a magical power. No, this time it was the lessons each new chapter taught me. I fell in love with the justice of Asoka, I was impressed by the wit of Alexander, and I was taken aback by the pity of Qutab-ud-Din Abbik. I realised that Razia Sultana was far more cooler than Mulan could ever be. I felt awestruck by the Dehli Sultanate. Ghaznavi became my new idol, not Musafa. I felt sorry for Muhammad bin Qasim and not Bambi. The Mongols became the symbol of inhumanity and not Scar. The Mughal era was my vision of sophistication and not London when Pocahantas visited it.

 It was at that time I decided I would be an Historian! I basically called myself the next Ibn Khaldun. I was very serious about it, too. I knew dozens of strange historical facts and would quite easily relate any situation with the past. But then came the seventh grade, and soon we started a new chapter, ‘Byzantine Empire’. I wasn’t able to understand anything. I could not believe this was my favourite subject. ‘Never in a million years  I will be a historian,’ I fumed.

For the whole year, I lived without a dream. I just wanted seventh grade to be over.  Eighth grade was no better since I couldn’t decide what I wanted to be. Sure, I had five years to make the decision, but everyone around me knew what they wanted to be. 

Then, one day as I was watching Nat Geo I finally realised what I wanted to be: a Physical Therapist though I had no idea what it was. I watched the entire one-hour documentary about a man who helped various people through seemingly simple exercises. The way he treated each case excited me. As soon as the show ended, I rushed to the computer and googled ‘physical therapy’. The more I read, the more I knew that this is what I was meant to do. But, I was just 14 , and had five strenuous years of Matric and FSC to go through. Additionally, I had to consider the fact that physical therapy wasn’t well-known.

Whenever, I would tell someone I wanted to be a physical therapist, I would be asked two questions: who is a physical therapist and what do they do? Somehow, the way these two questions were asked reminded me of Mr. Weasley inquiring about the function of a rubber duck. Excluding the enthusiasm, of course. After getting the answer they would go, ‘So, this physical therapy – is it in Pakistan?’

The years went by; some days the passion to be a Physical Therapist was at its peak, other days it was low. And then I found myself sitting in my first class of Doctor of Physical Therapy. How did I get there? I had no idea. One day I was crying over not scoring good marks in my second year and realising I was a failure. The next day,  my parents had persuaded me to appear in university entrance exam. You see I had given up in myself and forgotten my dream, my parents hadn’t, and somehow they convinced me to try for the last time. I had zero hope and no enthusiasm that day. To my surprise, I cleared the test and was the second person to be called for the interview. 15 minutes later, I was leaving the Principal’s office with my acceptance letter.

Now, that I am half-way through my studies, I realise that all my dreams are coming true. In three years’ time, I will be called ‘Doc’. And if I study hard and help a physically challenged child walk, I will be his or her ‘Fairy Godmother’. And if I take out the time to just hear out my future patients, I might even be able to play the role of ‘Grandmother Willow’. And about history, I am realising that from the smallest bone to the largest muscle everything has a history, I just need to be curious enough to find it. I now see the truth in Luna Lovegood’s statement: ‘Lost things have a strange way of coming back to us.’