Satire
Looking for someone special to share your life with? Just follow these simple tips!
It is indeed an uphill task all the way for many young gals trying to catch hold of the right 'g' these days -'guy' and 'grades', I mean! These girls really ought to concentrate on the second 'g', and wait for a while before embarking on a quest for the first one, if you ask me - there's so much to do in life before settling down!
Sigh. I can see my advice is falling on deaf ears, so here are a few tips that might at least help in making a sensible choice:
Tip #1. Do not spare a thought for the back-bencher in your Chemistry class whose stare is fixed on the beaker or Petri dish your teacher is holding. For one thing, he's not interested in the chemistry that you expect to arise between the two of you, though he may pledge so! Secondly, he'd turn out to be an awful bore bothering you in the kitchen with his weird ideas about how a different pot - bigger, smaller, wider, deeper - would help you cook better. He'd be terribly hard to please no matter what you do for him. What will you do with someone that fussy? Drop him like a hot potato while you still have a choice!
Tip #2. Are you considering the guy in your Biology class? Does his 'biology' impress you when he pushes that lock of mousse-applied hair off his forehead with his well-manicured hand, and smiles that drop-dead georgeous smile while tilting his head to fix his hypnotic gaze on you? Hmmm... I think he's too much of a narcissist to give you the attention you crave for your own beautiful curls and to-die-for smile! Do you really want to be always finding your cosmetic jars and bottles empty at the last minute, or struggling to win a smile contest with tough competition right at home? Surely not!
Tip #3. The born philosopher - though he may not be in your Philosophy class - is the one who stares into space as he talks about his big ideas for future. His hair is always messy and his clothes crumpled because he claims not to care much for such trivialities. He's one to watch out for, I tell you! He actually never listens to his Mom who would be just so glad to finally hand him over to you to teach him some manners! Trust me, you can't have him driving you crazy picking up after him while he runs around taking care of more important things like counting the stars, can you? Let his Mom deal with him...you don't want that responsibility!
Tip #4.. Okay, so the guy from the Gender Studies Department has caught your eye? I would rethink my options if I were you. He sure gives some fine fiery speeches advocating every girl's right to equality....but, Honey, all this slick-talk is only for the benefit of the one foolish enough to believe him! He's probably trying to appease his own conscience, or only making those speeches to ensnare you. In truth, as soon as you have solemnised the vows, he expects you to turn into quite the domesticated creature you abhor!!! And how do I know? Just drop by his home when he least expects you. You'll find him ordering about his little sister into running errands for him and driving his mother crazy telling her how lucky she is to have a son like him to carry on the family name! Move on, girl...there are definitely better possibilities to explore!
Tip #5. The Math class genius? Gosh no! Never ever, ever try to hook up with him! He will be forever calculating the pennies you spend and will know exactly how many seconds you spent extra talking to the fellow shopper when you should have shown more respect for time and money. You can forget about all the trips you've planned to the hair stylist or the beautician - he will be multiplying the number of hair cut with the amount of rupees you pay. He will also tell you without hesitation that you look no different now than when you went in for a makeover a good four hours ago, since you still have the same fuzzy head for numbers because of the huge sum you paid to your stylist! Sigh. Let him count his pennies alone.
Tip #6. The Psychology class sensitive soul? Hmm...I do admire his gentle mannerism, but there's always a danger he might become a little intrusive. If you're the motivated and career-oriented type, you could get into serious trouble. He would be constantly forcing you to embark on guilt-trips by asking you to take out some time for his birthday when you might have an important project on adjustment of frogs to a new habitat to work on. You wouldn't naturally want to spoil your work momentum either when he happens to fall down the stairs and break his leg. He will be definitely offended if you ask his mother to come and help clean up the mess ...er...I mean, take care of him...while you attend the seminar on gender-role stereotyping. Be wise now, and avoid the later heartache, dear.
Tip #7. The language class enthusiast you tend to connect with? Nooo! For Heaven's sake, girl, if there's one thing a gal must have an upper hand with it should be the ability to confuse the Significant Other into silence! Surely, the best of fights leave men nodding in agreement just because they can't make sense of it anymore! Why do you want to do away with that advantage? If he has the stamina to keep talking till the end, how can you ever have your way? That would be the ultimate disaster!
Oh, don't look so dejected, gals! I'm not saying no man is worth the trouble, but what's the big rush anyway? You have to take charge of your own life before you embark on such an important journey, you know. Let those Eager Specimens know that you're determined to take care of more important issues first and will bestow them with your attention at your own convenience!
Now... chin up, smile wide and get busy carving your future. Good Luck!
Published Feb, 09; You Magazine of The News.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Monday, March 29, 2010
Still Looking!
Satire
“I promise to learn…if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off!”
“No, no, no!” I had stormed out yesterday leaving my Mum baffled and Shabbi Auntie angry, when she brought in yet another rishta-seeking brigade. Can you blame me? Who do these women think they are, bringing along all the Maamis, Chachiis, Khalas and Phuphiis to approve of me? Approve of me - they’re not even bothered whether I would approve of them!!!
The chubby, eternally smiling khala said to me: “What glowing complexion she has!” And the thin Phupphi with heavy specs had piped in, “A lovely addition to the house she would be!”
What does one say to that? Except…maybe…as I did: “Glowing? So you can keep me in the dark and not be bothered with the hide-and-seek that electricity plays these days?" Not on your life!
“Oh, what a nice sense of humour she has!” Chachi’s turn.
Grrrrrr…
To top it all, the guy asked me but one question I could’ve done without: “Do you cook aloo-paratha?”
I was so touched by his highly intellectual concern that I could’ve happily wrung his thick aloo-filled neck that very moment! Did he really not realize he’d be taking on a whole lot more on his plate than just aloo-paratha by consenting to marry me? Poor thing!
I smiled and replied reassuringly, “I promise to learn if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off. Deal?”
Mum didn’t speak to me for two days after their hasty departure. Not fair, I tell you. She thinks I’m out and about to ruin the remotest chance of my ever getting married, by the way. She’s not all that wrong, I have to admit! I can think of a hundred and one reasons why I don’t want to be making aloo-paratha to please an idiot for the rest of my life! And why is it so hard for everyone to accept that a gal does not have to get married these days? Who’s going to take care of her, you ask? Why, who else but she herself! It might not be entirely ridiculous to assume that she actually has the capacity to take charge of her own life!
This morning, I’m told, another rishta-seeking party is coming…some ‘foreign-settled’ guy. Mummy has already warned me to keep my unruly tongue in check. Sure, I say. Hmm… Oh, do I hear the bell? Goodness… could it be them already? Mummy’s calling…I’d better go.
“Salaam Auntie.” I hug old Shabbi Auntie - she’s so soft and warm that I can’t help liking her despite her irritating favourite past-time! She introduces us all. Hmm…now, why is the dude staring at me like that? After his stay in Walayat, I should think he’d be used to the female of the species! Humph - minus five for rudeness.
He looks up as I approach with cold drinks. He winks. Oh my God, he actually winked at me…right in front of my Mum!!! Whatever happened to cultural sensitivity??? As he leans forward to pick up the glass, the tray tilts ever so slightly - entirely of its own volition, of course - and the contents spill neatly onto his lap.
“What the …!” he jumps up.
I feign embarrassment. “Oh…I’m so sorry…what have I done…” I stand there wringing my hands, just like I saw the heroine do in a soap recently on TV. She seemed to get away with just about anything twisting her dainty hands and biting her shiny red lips.
Alas, I’m not so lucky… he’s not even listening to my sincere apologies! Mum’s all red and blue and every other colour imaginable…and she’s apologizing too! How embarrassing…Mum, stop!!!
“It’s alright Auntie…just an accident…I’m sure she will learn to be a proper wife in no time!” Croaks the Fresh Prince, looking me up and down.
I hate him. Utterly, completely, absolutely.
Mum looks up sharply. “My daughter is perfect just the way she is. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
My, oh my! I never saw her like that before…icy chill in her voice, fire in her eyes!
They’re stepping out of the door! Good riddance.
Mission accomplished! And now I can go off to work with a relaxed mind. Hopefully, the boss will not have noticed my turning up late today as Mina would’ve covered for me anyway. I can’t wait to relate the whole story to Mina.
As expected, she’s doubling up on the sofa giggling like a school girl! Three cheers for your Mum, she says. Hmmm…and for me? I smile, celebrating my small victory.
Sabina joins in – not again, puhleez - with her sob stories…yeah, yeah…husband did this, husband did that. Why doesn’t she do something about that awful huzz-band of hers?!! No point in whining about it uselessly, is there?
Ramis walks in. He’s attracted to women-woe-tales like bees to honey. I can’t stand it so I yell at Sabina to stop, and at Ramis to find something better to do with his time! What’s this? Her eyes are turning into pools of overflowing lava…oh my God…I just have to get out of here! Ramis offers to take me home as my ‘ride’ isn’t free yet…which is my other colleague, Lamia. Why is he doing me a favour after I yelled at him? I wonder. Whatever…I need the ride!
In the car, he says, “Why are you always rude to Sabina?”
I bite an angry retort and ask him instead why he encourages her to throw her sad-tales around?
“She needs to unburden.” He replies matter-of-factly. Like hell! I mutter under my breath.
“You should encourage her to take a stand, if you really want to help her.” I speak through clenched teeth.
He turns around and looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
“What?’ I glare.
“You’re a strong woman…or one without experience to reflect on.” He shrugs.
“That’s how I’d feel in any case!” I snort.
Two days later, Ramis is standing at my doorstep – with his Mum.
"Hi, Auntie!” I beam at her and hug her warmly…and stick my tongue out at him over her shoulder. He laughs.
Auntie and Mummy are talking animatedly. Funny how they seem to get along so well given it’s their first meeting!
“So what’s the idea?” I turn to him.
“Meaning?” Mr. Innocent raises one eyebrow.
“You didn’t bother turning up the last time I practically begged you?”
“I suddenly found my manners.” Tongue in cheek.
“And the moon is made of green cheese.” I nod, understandingly.
“You have such a lovely daughter…Ramis talks so much about her” Auntie looks at me adoringly.
Ramis, you’re so dead! I glare at him, but he conveniently busies himself with staring into space. Such an important activity!
”Has Ramis told you about his lady love, Auntie?” I ask sweetly.
“Huh?” Auntie turns to stare at Ramis.
He looks up with a start. I smile…sweet revenge.
“She’s a married woman, but don’t you worry…she’ll soon get a divorce. Ramis is so nice and supportive listening to all her sad tales, you know.”
Ramis’s threatening look actually has the opposite effect – like, he doesn’t know me? – and I describe in more detail just how supportive he is!As expected, Auntie suddenly remembers some urgent errand back home and gets up to leave. Ramis? Oh, he’s not too pleased, I can tell – teach him not to pre-suppose me on any issue in future!
At this point, however, I can no longer control the burst of laughter that is swelling up in my throat.
He turns and mouths silently: I’ll get you for this. I flutter my non-existent eyelashes…and offer my hand. Truce?
Mummy is looking at me through narrowed slits… hands on hips… she knows exactly what I’m up to… oh my… I better runnnnnnnnn!!!
Speaking from secret location - my closet - addressing all who can hear me: I’m not completely anti-marriage, okay? I just hate it that no one seems interested in me – the person. Not one of the rista-seeking Aunties or their sons asked my opinion on anything even remotely appealing to sense and sensibility! Is that fair? I just know God didn’t give me a head to think with for nothing! I have the same dreams any man has (well, almost!). I do so want an adoring guy but why can’t I aspire to find one who supports my aspirations and won’t feel insecure because I can use my brains? Is that too much to ask?
Surely there’s someone out there for me… I’m still looking!!!!
Published in You magazine of The News, June, 08.
“I promise to learn…if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off!”
“No, no, no!” I had stormed out yesterday leaving my Mum baffled and Shabbi Auntie angry, when she brought in yet another rishta-seeking brigade. Can you blame me? Who do these women think they are, bringing along all the Maamis, Chachiis, Khalas and Phuphiis to approve of me? Approve of me - they’re not even bothered whether I would approve of them!!!
The chubby, eternally smiling khala said to me: “What glowing complexion she has!” And the thin Phupphi with heavy specs had piped in, “A lovely addition to the house she would be!”
What does one say to that? Except…maybe…as I did: “Glowing? So you can keep me in the dark and not be bothered with the hide-and-seek that electricity plays these days?" Not on your life!
“Oh, what a nice sense of humour she has!” Chachi’s turn.
Grrrrrr…
To top it all, the guy asked me but one question I could’ve done without: “Do you cook aloo-paratha?”
I was so touched by his highly intellectual concern that I could’ve happily wrung his thick aloo-filled neck that very moment! Did he really not realize he’d be taking on a whole lot more on his plate than just aloo-paratha by consenting to marry me? Poor thing!
I smiled and replied reassuringly, “I promise to learn if you agree to polish my shoes whenever the maid takes the day off. Deal?”
Mum didn’t speak to me for two days after their hasty departure. Not fair, I tell you. She thinks I’m out and about to ruin the remotest chance of my ever getting married, by the way. She’s not all that wrong, I have to admit! I can think of a hundred and one reasons why I don’t want to be making aloo-paratha to please an idiot for the rest of my life! And why is it so hard for everyone to accept that a gal does not have to get married these days? Who’s going to take care of her, you ask? Why, who else but she herself! It might not be entirely ridiculous to assume that she actually has the capacity to take charge of her own life!
This morning, I’m told, another rishta-seeking party is coming…some ‘foreign-settled’ guy. Mummy has already warned me to keep my unruly tongue in check. Sure, I say. Hmm… Oh, do I hear the bell? Goodness… could it be them already? Mummy’s calling…I’d better go.
“Salaam Auntie.” I hug old Shabbi Auntie - she’s so soft and warm that I can’t help liking her despite her irritating favourite past-time! She introduces us all. Hmm…now, why is the dude staring at me like that? After his stay in Walayat, I should think he’d be used to the female of the species! Humph - minus five for rudeness.
He looks up as I approach with cold drinks. He winks. Oh my God, he actually winked at me…right in front of my Mum!!! Whatever happened to cultural sensitivity??? As he leans forward to pick up the glass, the tray tilts ever so slightly - entirely of its own volition, of course - and the contents spill neatly onto his lap.
“What the …!” he jumps up.
I feign embarrassment. “Oh…I’m so sorry…what have I done…” I stand there wringing my hands, just like I saw the heroine do in a soap recently on TV. She seemed to get away with just about anything twisting her dainty hands and biting her shiny red lips.
Alas, I’m not so lucky… he’s not even listening to my sincere apologies! Mum’s all red and blue and every other colour imaginable…and she’s apologizing too! How embarrassing…Mum, stop!!!
“It’s alright Auntie…just an accident…I’m sure she will learn to be a proper wife in no time!” Croaks the Fresh Prince, looking me up and down.
I hate him. Utterly, completely, absolutely.
Mum looks up sharply. “My daughter is perfect just the way she is. I think it’s time for you to leave.”
My, oh my! I never saw her like that before…icy chill in her voice, fire in her eyes!
They’re stepping out of the door! Good riddance.
Mission accomplished! And now I can go off to work with a relaxed mind. Hopefully, the boss will not have noticed my turning up late today as Mina would’ve covered for me anyway. I can’t wait to relate the whole story to Mina.
As expected, she’s doubling up on the sofa giggling like a school girl! Three cheers for your Mum, she says. Hmmm…and for me? I smile, celebrating my small victory.
Sabina joins in – not again, puhleez - with her sob stories…yeah, yeah…husband did this, husband did that. Why doesn’t she do something about that awful huzz-band of hers?!! No point in whining about it uselessly, is there?
Ramis walks in. He’s attracted to women-woe-tales like bees to honey. I can’t stand it so I yell at Sabina to stop, and at Ramis to find something better to do with his time! What’s this? Her eyes are turning into pools of overflowing lava…oh my God…I just have to get out of here! Ramis offers to take me home as my ‘ride’ isn’t free yet…which is my other colleague, Lamia. Why is he doing me a favour after I yelled at him? I wonder. Whatever…I need the ride!
In the car, he says, “Why are you always rude to Sabina?”
I bite an angry retort and ask him instead why he encourages her to throw her sad-tales around?
“She needs to unburden.” He replies matter-of-factly. Like hell! I mutter under my breath.
“You should encourage her to take a stand, if you really want to help her.” I speak through clenched teeth.
He turns around and looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time.
“What?’ I glare.
“You’re a strong woman…or one without experience to reflect on.” He shrugs.
“That’s how I’d feel in any case!” I snort.
Two days later, Ramis is standing at my doorstep – with his Mum.
"Hi, Auntie!” I beam at her and hug her warmly…and stick my tongue out at him over her shoulder. He laughs.
Auntie and Mummy are talking animatedly. Funny how they seem to get along so well given it’s their first meeting!
“So what’s the idea?” I turn to him.
“Meaning?” Mr. Innocent raises one eyebrow.
“You didn’t bother turning up the last time I practically begged you?”
“I suddenly found my manners.” Tongue in cheek.
“And the moon is made of green cheese.” I nod, understandingly.
“You have such a lovely daughter…Ramis talks so much about her” Auntie looks at me adoringly.
Ramis, you’re so dead! I glare at him, but he conveniently busies himself with staring into space. Such an important activity!
”Has Ramis told you about his lady love, Auntie?” I ask sweetly.
“Huh?” Auntie turns to stare at Ramis.
He looks up with a start. I smile…sweet revenge.
“She’s a married woman, but don’t you worry…she’ll soon get a divorce. Ramis is so nice and supportive listening to all her sad tales, you know.”
Ramis’s threatening look actually has the opposite effect – like, he doesn’t know me? – and I describe in more detail just how supportive he is!As expected, Auntie suddenly remembers some urgent errand back home and gets up to leave. Ramis? Oh, he’s not too pleased, I can tell – teach him not to pre-suppose me on any issue in future!
At this point, however, I can no longer control the burst of laughter that is swelling up in my throat.
He turns and mouths silently: I’ll get you for this. I flutter my non-existent eyelashes…and offer my hand. Truce?
Mummy is looking at me through narrowed slits… hands on hips… she knows exactly what I’m up to… oh my… I better runnnnnnnnn!!!
Speaking from secret location - my closet - addressing all who can hear me: I’m not completely anti-marriage, okay? I just hate it that no one seems interested in me – the person. Not one of the rista-seeking Aunties or their sons asked my opinion on anything even remotely appealing to sense and sensibility! Is that fair? I just know God didn’t give me a head to think with for nothing! I have the same dreams any man has (well, almost!). I do so want an adoring guy but why can’t I aspire to find one who supports my aspirations and won’t feel insecure because I can use my brains? Is that too much to ask?
Surely there’s someone out there for me… I’m still looking!!!!
Published in You magazine of The News, June, 08.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
White
A short story
I have been sitting here for over an hour. She hasn’t looked up once. She hasn’t acknowledged my presence. She doesn’t recognize me. She can’t.
It is not easy to come to terms with. That real is not real anymore. That my world is not hers anymore. That she is not mine. Anymore.
A lone tear escapes her eye, and burns a trail down my cheek.
I’m tired. Of trying to make a sense of it all. And getting nowhere. Why, I wonder, does it have to be me? Or her? Or anyone at all?
This story is being edited. Watch this space!
I have been sitting here for over an hour. She hasn’t looked up once. She hasn’t acknowledged my presence. She doesn’t recognize me. She can’t.
It is not easy to come to terms with. That real is not real anymore. That my world is not hers anymore. That she is not mine. Anymore.
A lone tear escapes her eye, and burns a trail down my cheek.
I’m tired. Of trying to make a sense of it all. And getting nowhere. Why, I wonder, does it have to be me? Or her? Or anyone at all?
This story is being edited. Watch this space!
The Other Woman
His heartbeat quickened as he took in her slender form through the glass door. She crossed the space leading to his office with confident strides. She had the look of a woman who knew what she wanted.
It was difficult not to like her. He couldn’t put his finger on it but in an odd kind of way, she’d stirred strange feelings in his heart within minutes of their first meeting at his office, a month ago.
She was also a weighty client and, though intelligent and articulate enough otherwise, supported an awful business sense that required his advice and intervention often.
‘As the Bank Manager, it was his job to help out every client,’ he tried to reason with himself, suppressing a chuckle, ‘especially damsels in distress!’ Then, he expelled his breath slowly and deliberately, ‘What am I getting myself into?’
“Good day, Ms Sharmeen.” He got up as she entered. She smiled and extended her hand, “ Mr. Raza.”
This story is being edited...watch this space!
It was difficult not to like her. He couldn’t put his finger on it but in an odd kind of way, she’d stirred strange feelings in his heart within minutes of their first meeting at his office, a month ago.
She was also a weighty client and, though intelligent and articulate enough otherwise, supported an awful business sense that required his advice and intervention often.
‘As the Bank Manager, it was his job to help out every client,’ he tried to reason with himself, suppressing a chuckle, ‘especially damsels in distress!’ Then, he expelled his breath slowly and deliberately, ‘What am I getting myself into?’
“Good day, Ms Sharmeen.” He got up as she entered. She smiled and extended her hand, “ Mr. Raza.”
*****
This story is being edited...watch this space!
The Landlady
A short story
I tried to gulp the hot tea down in a hurry and sputtered, spilling some over my shirt. Darn! I reached for the tissue box. Then, glancing at the time, I cursed my alarm clock for not sounding at the set time yet again. I knew I would be late for work and didn’t have the gall to face Mr. Yunas.
Mr. Yunas, who? My boss, of course. Yeah, I knew he would never pass the opportunity of giving me a long, boring lecture on punctuality and commitment …and, oh, ‘sense of responsibility’! No matter how hard I tried to avoid him, he always managed to find time to give me that disapproving look whenever I turned up late - which was not that infrequent, mind you. Then he would start droning in that dull monotone that made me want to punch his nose! Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that … why, I needed the job!
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and shake off my gloomy thoughts. I can handle it, I told myself, and pulled out a burnt toast from the toaster. The light thump-thump of the measured steps of my landlady, as she carried out her morning rituals in the small room she occupied above my modest abode, was beginning to irritate me. I tried to ignore it and went on with my ritual of having a breakfast that would’ve shamed a faqir! Well, I’d never been one to confuse necessities with luxuries - burnt toast and scalding tea worked just fine for me!
Wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, I took another sip of what was left in the cup. My thoughts drifted to the old widow upstairs, Mrs. Viqar-un-nisa Rahimdad. She was quite a character. She liked to be called by her full name, but I just called her Auntie to soften her image and bring her to my level from the high pedestal she liked to occupy when dealing with tenants. Unfortunately for her, I was just not willing to be pushed around anymore...
This story is being edited...watch this space!
I tried to gulp the hot tea down in a hurry and sputtered, spilling some over my shirt. Darn! I reached for the tissue box. Then, glancing at the time, I cursed my alarm clock for not sounding at the set time yet again. I knew I would be late for work and didn’t have the gall to face Mr. Yunas.
Mr. Yunas, who? My boss, of course. Yeah, I knew he would never pass the opportunity of giving me a long, boring lecture on punctuality and commitment …and, oh, ‘sense of responsibility’! No matter how hard I tried to avoid him, he always managed to find time to give me that disapproving look whenever I turned up late - which was not that infrequent, mind you. Then he would start droning in that dull monotone that made me want to punch his nose! Unfortunately, I couldn’t do that … why, I needed the job!
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves and shake off my gloomy thoughts. I can handle it, I told myself, and pulled out a burnt toast from the toaster. The light thump-thump of the measured steps of my landlady, as she carried out her morning rituals in the small room she occupied above my modest abode, was beginning to irritate me. I tried to ignore it and went on with my ritual of having a breakfast that would’ve shamed a faqir! Well, I’d never been one to confuse necessities with luxuries - burnt toast and scalding tea worked just fine for me!
Wiping the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, I took another sip of what was left in the cup. My thoughts drifted to the old widow upstairs, Mrs. Viqar-un-nisa Rahimdad. She was quite a character. She liked to be called by her full name, but I just called her Auntie to soften her image and bring her to my level from the high pedestal she liked to occupy when dealing with tenants. Unfortunately for her, I was just not willing to be pushed around anymore...
This story is being edited...watch this space!
The Tree
A short story
Murad Ali lay huddled on his charpoy, cursing the cold weather. The winter chill was at its peak in the small village bordering the forest. Murad’s small hut barely held itself together, and the icy winds twirled their way carelessly through it. Despairingly, he looked at the children.
‘They’d probably freeze to death, by the time I manage to fetch some firewood.” He sighed.
Zainab and Rahim clung to their mother, desperate for some warmth. Miriam’s life revolved around looking after the two, who had arrived unceremoniously in the first two years of her married life. Housework occupied the remaining hours, and Murad…well…he lived in a world of his own.
It stopped snowing as quietly as it had started.
Murad sat up, and found himself looking into Miriam’s questioning eyes.
‘How pale she looks’. He sighed, feeling sorry for her…for himself. He missed Resham…the beautiful, bewitching Resham…
‘No, no, I mustn’t think about her now…’ he shook his head.
‘Baba, I’m cold!” wailed two-year-old Rahim.
Murad took off his kumbal. “Here, take this…I’ll get some firewood.”
He laboured to the nearest tree in the forest, raised his axe…and froze.
‘Isn’t this the tree where I saw Resham for the first time?’ he muttered to himself.
How beautiful she had looked, her long silken hair falling over her delicate frame. He had stood in a trance. Then, as if aware of his presence, she had turned…those captivating eyes grown huge with fear. In a flurry of movement, she had disappeared; leaving him feeling oddly enriched.
He remembered how for weeks afterwards he had left behind a neat pile of firewood for her every time he went to collect his own. He had found out that since her brother’s death in the cruel Afghan war, she’d had to work with her ailing father to make ends meet. Murad had decided to send Ammah as soon as he got the job with the furniture factory. Ammah wanted him to marry his cousin, Miriam…but he’d bring her around to it. After all, it was his life.
But luck was not on his side. Resham caught the eye of the rich building contractor before Murad had a chance to send Ammah.
‘Was she happy with him?’ he wondered, coming back to the present. ‘I couldn’t have provided her what she deserved, anyway…and her rosy cheeks would’ve paled within no time…like Miriam’s."
“Miriam…oh my God!” He blinked, as Mariam’s frail mage flashed in front of his eyes.
Suddenly, the tree appeared to diminish in value. He brought down the axe with a force that surprised him, gathered the firewood in frenzy, and staggered back home…
As he got near, he saw Miriam standing in the doorway, little Zainab in her arms.
‘Had he taken too long…and Zainab had succumbed to his daydreaming? ’ He stared in horror.
“Oh my God…I killed my baby!” he sobbed, falling to his knees.
Miriam’s eyes registered surprise.
“No, Murad…she’s fine!” She ran up to him. “Abba brought some firewood while you were gone. What took you so long? I was getting worried. Come inside…quick!”
Murad stared, uncomprehendingly. Then he understood. How often he had blamed her for his misfortunes…secretly comparing her with Resham too, but she had never complained.She just stood by his side through thick and thin.
Suddenly, everything fell into place…Resham’s alluring beauty started to fade and merge into Miriam’s reassuring smile. He stood up and smiled.
Slowly, the divide between dream and reality widened…and the sun began filtering its way through the clouds…
Published in You magazine, The News.
Dec, 05
Murad Ali lay huddled on his charpoy, cursing the cold weather. The winter chill was at its peak in the small village bordering the forest. Murad’s small hut barely held itself together, and the icy winds twirled their way carelessly through it. Despairingly, he looked at the children.
‘They’d probably freeze to death, by the time I manage to fetch some firewood.” He sighed.
Zainab and Rahim clung to their mother, desperate for some warmth. Miriam’s life revolved around looking after the two, who had arrived unceremoniously in the first two years of her married life. Housework occupied the remaining hours, and Murad…well…he lived in a world of his own.
It stopped snowing as quietly as it had started.
Murad sat up, and found himself looking into Miriam’s questioning eyes.
‘How pale she looks’. He sighed, feeling sorry for her…for himself. He missed Resham…the beautiful, bewitching Resham…
‘No, no, I mustn’t think about her now…’ he shook his head.
‘Baba, I’m cold!” wailed two-year-old Rahim.
Murad took off his kumbal. “Here, take this…I’ll get some firewood.”
He laboured to the nearest tree in the forest, raised his axe…and froze.
‘Isn’t this the tree where I saw Resham for the first time?’ he muttered to himself.
How beautiful she had looked, her long silken hair falling over her delicate frame. He had stood in a trance. Then, as if aware of his presence, she had turned…those captivating eyes grown huge with fear. In a flurry of movement, she had disappeared; leaving him feeling oddly enriched.
He remembered how for weeks afterwards he had left behind a neat pile of firewood for her every time he went to collect his own. He had found out that since her brother’s death in the cruel Afghan war, she’d had to work with her ailing father to make ends meet. Murad had decided to send Ammah as soon as he got the job with the furniture factory. Ammah wanted him to marry his cousin, Miriam…but he’d bring her around to it. After all, it was his life.
But luck was not on his side. Resham caught the eye of the rich building contractor before Murad had a chance to send Ammah.
‘Was she happy with him?’ he wondered, coming back to the present. ‘I couldn’t have provided her what she deserved, anyway…and her rosy cheeks would’ve paled within no time…like Miriam’s."
“Miriam…oh my God!” He blinked, as Mariam’s frail mage flashed in front of his eyes.
Suddenly, the tree appeared to diminish in value. He brought down the axe with a force that surprised him, gathered the firewood in frenzy, and staggered back home…
As he got near, he saw Miriam standing in the doorway, little Zainab in her arms.
‘Had he taken too long…and Zainab had succumbed to his daydreaming? ’ He stared in horror.
“Oh my God…I killed my baby!” he sobbed, falling to his knees.
Miriam’s eyes registered surprise.
“No, Murad…she’s fine!” She ran up to him. “Abba brought some firewood while you were gone. What took you so long? I was getting worried. Come inside…quick!”
Murad stared, uncomprehendingly. Then he understood. How often he had blamed her for his misfortunes…secretly comparing her with Resham too, but she had never complained.She just stood by his side through thick and thin.
Suddenly, everything fell into place…Resham’s alluring beauty started to fade and merge into Miriam’s reassuring smile. He stood up and smiled.
Slowly, the divide between dream and reality widened…and the sun began filtering its way through the clouds…
Published in You magazine, The News.
Dec, 05
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