Tears in the Rain

Excerpt:

"Open the door!" He bellows and keeps on banging. She moves quickly and pulls at the bolt. He barges in, knocking her down. He shoves her out of the way. He goes to the corner where she has kept his roti wrapped in the greasy cloth. She drags herself to the other side, pulling her knees against her chest.

Fixing her with his piercing gaze he gobbles his food, washing it down with large gulps of water from the earthen pot. She watches the water dribble from the corner of his mouth and disappear into his thick, wet beard...

***

This story is being re-vamped....watch this space!

Behind the Veil

Excerpt:



Her mind drifted to the morning’s events…

“Isn’t it hot in here?” Iraj had commented pointedly looking at her headscarf, as she twisted her own hair into an elegant chignon.

“Mmm...I think the air conditioning is functioning perfectly as usual.” She had replied coolly, sorting out the reference material that had arrived the same day.

“Don’t know how you can stand it, Maheen…I’d suffocate!” Jane joined in, in her usual straight-to-the-point manner.

“You don’t have to wear it if that’s how you feel.” She had replied casually.

“What’s your hair like these days, Mahi? Straight, curly, black, blonde… er…long, short…do you have hair at all?” Jane remarked curiously, drumming her delicate fingers on the table.

“Haven’t you two got any work to do today?” Ted Miller, her boss, commented lightly as he passed by.

Iraj made a face at his receding back and they burst out laughting before moving off to their sections.

Maheen was grateful for the intervention. He was a real dear, old Ted...sure valued hardwork and hard-workers.



Read more...in a little while!

To Each Her Own

A short short story

“Go back to your own hell!” He whispered in her ear.

She turned her head, sharply. Undisguised hatred in his eyes sent chills down her spine. She looked away, adjusting her scarf and pulling her coat tightly around her.

A little girl started coughing and gasping. The mother cried out.

Maheen jumped from her seat. “…trained in Emergency First-aid”, she mumbled before bracing for the Heimlich manoeuver. The smiling blue eyes of her instructor flashed through her mind, '...you might save a life someday...'

“Aa-aagh” the child coughed up the candy blocking her airway. Maheen gently put her down into the mother's waiting arms.

She looked up; tears of gratitude filling her eyes.

Maheen smiled, and turned back. A sudden round of applause burst out around her. She stopped, surprised.

She met their eyes, unflinchingly. They were Appreciative. Grateful, even.

The train stopped. The doors slid open. She got up.

“Hey!” He called out.

She turned.

He raised his hand.

She smiled and raised hers, before melting into the crowd.

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!

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!

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!

World's Apart

A short story


Raniya peered through the window as the huge airliner glided smoothly through the clouds. Her mother, Jehan Ara, sat in the adjacent seat… deeply engrossed in her reading. She unbuckled her seatbelt, and took a deep sigh, 'Here I come, Ahsan!'

Eighteen, and full of dreams, Raniya sat quietly thinking about her fiancé with a gentle smile on her lips …

She was homeward bound - or so she liked to believe. Born and brought up in Bradford, she had little knowledge of her ancestral homeland, Pakistan, but she was looking forward to making a contact with her roots at last.

“Miss, would you like a drink?” a smiling stewardess inquired politely. It took her a few seconds to make the jump back to the present.

“Oh…er…orange juice, please…thank you.” She smiled back as she took the drink from her, and looked at her wristwatch.

They had covered about an hour of the journey without her even noticing the take-off, that she normally so dreaded! As she finished her drink, she rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes. Ahsan’s smiling eyes stared back at her. Her heart skipped a beat.

This story is being edited...watch this space!

The Ring

A short story


The ring was beautiful. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. The solitaire shone with all its brilliance, and mesmerised her. She knew instantly, the ring she was to choose for her engagement would have to be the one she held in her hand.

“Oh, I love it!” she squealed with delight.

“So be it, darling.” He replied with a smile as he looked at her flushed, excited face, and took out one of his many impressive credit cards to pay for it – it wasn’t practical to carry around a lot of cash.

Mr. Rahim, standing behind the counter, looked through his thick glasses.

“An excellent choice, madam!” he beamed.

The platinum ring with a huge solitaire diamond was brought to Rahim Shah by a contact from Africa along with other classic pieces promising huge profits. It graded highly on his scale of the four c’s, but surprisingly, it had drawn a much muted response from his customers.

It would’ve been rather silly and superstitious to say so – and Rahim prided himself on his rational approach - but it seemed to lose its brilliance the moment somebody put it on!

‘Not today, though!’ He noticed. ‘Why, it practically looks alive on the girl’s hand!’

“Here you go, sir.” He placed it in an attractive box, displaying his most impressive mannerism.

“May you find immeasurable joy in your life ahead…thank you for trusting us in your precious moments.”

He saw them leave with satisfied smiles on their faces quite matching his own.


*****


This story is being edited...watch this space!

Living a Lie

A short story

Love and respect could not be forced... they had to be earned, right?

“Isn’t he a dream, Aapa?” giggled Seema, as Noor and her younger sister peeked from behind the curtain.

Noor poked her elbow into Seema’s side.

“Well, he has to match with to me, you know!” Noor replied with mock disdain, rightly aware of her captivating beauty.

As she looked up again, she found herself staring straight into Ali’s eyes. He winked. Startled, she drew in her breath sharply as she fell backwards, blushing furiously.

“Cheeky devil!” she muttered under her breath.

***

This story is under re-construction! Watch this space...

The Ladies Club

A short story

The atmosphere was charged up. Colour and glamour defined the mood in the large room occupied by women of all shapes and sizes. The ladies Club was in session and a variety programme organised for charity, was about to begin. A noisy chatter filled the room.

“Don’t know what’s the need of arranging a song and dance sequence for charity!” drawled the stiff-necked Begum Mehr, who would’ve had an equally strong argument against a solemn affair. Why, it wouldn’t do to appear very accommodating now, would it?

“These silly girls would pounce at the slightest opportunity to show off their talents! It’s next to impossible to catch their attention with anything quiet and cultured…it has to be loud and blaring! A nice lecture on the benefits of giving alms to the poor would’ve elicited a better response, in our days. Charity-wise I mean,” piped in Begum Nafisa, glaring through her thick glasses.

The rest of the Begums nodded their agreement by tsk-tsking loudly.

Zainab and Amina sat in the back row, well away from the senior Begums to avail the freedom of commenting freely.

“From what Tina told us, it’s going to be a real treat to watch…the parody of Noor Jehan’s song would be a roaring success I’m sure!” Zainab commented excitedly.

“Yeah, and Tina’s sari would stand out among the rest of the gals cat-walking the ramp today!” said Amina, surveying the splash of colour around the room.

“Ladies, ladies…may I have your attention, please?” the hawkish Mrs. Javed called over the microphone.

The chief guest was about to arrive and she wanted some semblance of order in the room. She had been singled out for this job by the Senior Begums for her very peculiar talent of making one shrivel and disappear with a mere glare - you needed someone like that to control the unusual variety of specimens gathered there...

See more...in a few days!

Guddi

A short story

The old beggar smiled sinisterly, as he sat by the roadside in the crowded market keeping a vigil over Guddi from a distance; enjoying her convincing performance.

‘A real charmer, that one!’ he chuckled, as he thought of all the time gone by since she was placed in his care, some eleven years ago.

Shabbir didn’t know where she had come from, for no one dared question Ustaad, but his wife Hamida had welcomed the beautiful, smiling baby in her embrace and named her ‘Guddi’ - doll. Her pretty frock and tiny booties had been burned immediately and replaced with the patched, multi-coloured rags the rest of the beggars wore.

Shabbir had other plans for her too for she had started showing signs of growing into a pretty young thing… Ustaad was constantly pressurizing him, but it was not time yet. “Soon…” he muttered to himself, as he watched her with an evil glint in his eyes...

Story under re-construction...watch this space!


(Published in You magazine, The News
Jan,06)

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