Ashiq looked at his image on the mirror. While tightening the knot of the blue tie, he congratulated himself on his excellent taste. The contrast of blue against a white backdrop that perfectly complimented his clean shaved face was a confidence boost to today’s presentation. He picked up the CREDENCE silver watch from the dressing table and glanced at the interior – 7:47am, 11 April 08.
It was time.
He turned around and walked up to his bed. Searching under the pillows and blankets, he found his cellular phone. Its display read the same information, only a minute ahead. He browsed through his contacts and stopped at a name. Pressing the green button, he mentally counted the number of dials while waiting for a voice on the other end. The muffled groan of an elderly man barked after the 5th dial.
Ashiq listened to the groan until it spat some anger and hung up. He smirked to himself, as though he felt content with his actions.
“Abba hasn’t changed one bit,” he thought.
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Inside the closed apartment bedroom, Samia tried to cover her ears with the pillows. The beatings grew louder outside. She could hear her father’s enraged shouts drowning mother’s desperate pleas for mercy. It was a routine that followed his every ‘business’ trip abroad. He would come home, thoroughly drunk and Mum would question his devotion to the family. She knew he had spent nights at other women’s beds, drank chilled Whisky with their husbands while signing deals worth millions and not for once, had missed his family.
Then, she would get beaten up.
The grandfather clock at their living room announced 8 in the morning. It was still early for her classes, but Samia could tolerate no longer. She quickly changed into her uniform and sneaked out of the house. As she hurried to the car, the shouts and screams still echoed inside her head.
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They ate silently, almost mechanically. The occasional cluttering of spoons or water pouring down mugs were the only sounds to be heard. Sometimes, the parents would look up and make inquiries about each other’s days, and of course, Nameerah’s. There were no heated debates on politics and no parental naggings about bad grades. Everything seemed so peaceful, that it became almost uncomfortable. At the brim of technological advances where a mother could text her daughter wavelengths of love, who’d bother to bring it onto the dinner table?
They finished, cleaned the dishes and Nameerah excused herself. She locked the door to her room and opened her bag. Inside the folds of an old Physics notebook lay the reservation slip to the new restaurant in their neighbourhood. She wanted to celebrate it with them. Her final examination results were out and she swooped a glittering GPA of 3.8. So? It didn’t matter. They took it for granted. She is supposed to study hard and get good grades. If she did not do that well, it’s her future on the line. Perhaps, a few disappointed faces. But that’s all.
Indifference seems intolerable sometimes.
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Ashiq switched off the monitor and swirled the revolving chair to face his desk. The soft yellow light reflecting off the walls desperately hoped the tiny office room would feel like home. He turned the key to unlock the lower drawer and took a photo frame out of it. Three faces smiled back at him. The middle aged woman carried an expression of bliss while her arms circled around a toothy grinned kid, trying to stop him from running out of focus. The man next to her looked composed, his eyes fixed at the camera and his lips parting for a perfect plastic smile. He turned it around and read the message on the back, written in a lady’s slender fingers – “Don’t ever let me die.”
He glanced back at his mother’s blissful expression on the photo and felt a brink of familiar rage building inside him. He let her die. That plastic smile, those brown eyes – Ashiq felt they all betrayed his trust. Their trust. They would have gotten along fine – Abba and him. He didn’t need to introduce a new woman and ask him to pretend her to be ‘mother’. He chose to, the same way Ashiq chose to leave him.
He needed a coffee. Black. Extra strong. The fast food shop on the ground floor makes something similar, although not that bitter. Lightning from the brooding skies filled his room with a flick of dazzling white. He switched off the lights. It was time to leave.
The lift door opened at the ground floor to the loud noise of a growing metropolitan. Voices, honks and muffled obscenities rang in his ears. He ignored everything like he did on this day every year, and paced to the shop. The mixed aroma of old burgers, shingara and youth welcomed him. He walked up to the counter and ordered his coffee. The annoyed and busy waiter nodded and pointed at a table for two at the corner. He would have to wait a while.
Ashiq put down his leather bag on the table and sat down. He enjoyed observing people and making assumptions about their lives. The couple sitting at the nearby table, for instance, seemed like they were arguing. Perhaps something trivial. The middle-aged men at the other end seemed like old friends who’ve met after a long time. They were office executives trying to commit and balance between families, offices and lives. The group of laughing 20-ers probably studied in one of the local private universities. There were so many of them these days – Ashiq found it difficult to keep track.
The door suddenly burst open and two girls hastened inside. Rain was getting heavier outside and brought in a rush of chill to the interiors. The grey uniform of one of the girls was slightly drenched. Faces turned in their direction for a second, and returned to their respective tea and shingara. They walked to the counter, made a quick order and sat in the raised stools at the corner. At first, Ashiq thought they were friends, but later, figured they were strangers caught in the weather. The uniform took a tissue out of her bag and tried to soak water off her hair. The other looked around indifferently. Ashiq noticed the dark circles around the uniform’s eyes. School must be taking a toll on her. He folded his arms and waited patiently for the de caff.
Nameerah’s eyes caught on the man at the other end of the fast food shop. She stopped dangling her slender legs and looked at him carefully. He wasn’t very old, perhaps just above 28 and looked handsome in his white shirt-blue tie appearance. His tanned face wore a comical expression, as though he was amused by the world around him. She always noticed people like him. Their faces screamed out emotions, contrary to the indifference she was accustomed to at home. She looked at the uniformed girl sitting next to her. They had entered the shop together and were sitting next to each other, yet had not bothered to smile to one another once. She seemed absorbed in deep thoughts and Nameerah let it pass. She was well acquainted to indifference.
Samia aimed for the bin near her and threw the rolled up tissue paper. She hadn’t come here before, but had often seen this place on her way to school. On most days, her Toyota takes her home, but today, she had specifically instructed it to come home. She wanted to be alone. She looked around the faces in the shop. Laughing, bubbling, buzzing – they were all happy people. The love birds at the corner, or the group of friends at the centre – they all shared lives, uncomplicated compared to hers. Such people sickened her. She felt she didn’t belong here. Fate got her stuck with them.
Outside, the thunders roared into the skies and streets. Occasional lightning dazzled pedestrians, now trying to shelter underneath umbrellas or plastic covers. They looked irritated – rain had dared to stop their busyness. However, rain did not care. It did not stop pouring. It cast a shadow inside the warm fast food shop. Happy families were alike; it was the unhappy ones that were different from each other. No one had dared to challenge Tolstoy’s verses, just the way, no one had challenged the shadows of the rain.
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