Love...(Short Story)

Neha came out of the kitchen angrily. She had taken her bath sometime back. Her hair was still wet and the sindoor in her head still fresh. She was wearing the yellow and green salwaar kameez bought by Rohan last diwali. But she was not wearing the dupatta which she thrown on the sofa in the living room, it always bothered her during cooking. Neha was looking very pretty indeed and the angry expression on her face made her look more endearing.

She was angry because Rohan had slammed the door on his way out. He did it often nowadays. When her eyes fell on the dining table in the living room she saw he had not even finished his breakfast. They were having a light argument while he was having breakfast and she was cooking for the lunch boxes. Nowadays all the arguments happened like this, both of them in different rooms. And topics for arguments had been aplenty lately. Today it was about going to a wedding reception of one of Neha’s second cousins.

“But it would look bad if you don’t come.” Neha had tried to persuade Rohan.

“I told you I have work.” Was Rohan’s standard reply.

“You always do,” Neha complained, “we never go anywhere together anymore.”

And the slam of the door had cut short the argument. It had also decided who won the round. Neha would have to go to the reception alone, and make up excuses for Rohan’s absence. Life was not like this three years ago when they were a newlywed couple. Neha remembered those days through the unshed tears which had gathered in her eyes and threated to moist her cheeks. They had finally married after dating for two whole years and were still very much in love. The daily routine of married life had not taken away the sweetness of their love marriage yet. Rohan listened to whatever Neha said, did whatever she asked him to do. He was always home before the daily soap at 7 pm and they sometimes got wild and dirty on the living room sofa before dinner. A smile peeped on her face for a moment when she remembered the day when they were trying to get into action on the dining table and Rohan had sprained his back in the process. He had to be bed ridden for a week after that. And they had told doctor Khanna that it happened while we was trying to fetch a heavy carton from the top of the cupboard.

The lastest hindi movie dance number blaring out from her mobile as a ringtone caught her attention. Her sister Sneha screamed the moment she answered the call.

“Didi, why did you take so long to answer the call?”

“Uh! Oh! I was a little busy in the kitchen.” Neha replied.

“Has Rohan jeeju left for work?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am going to the beauty parlor in the afternoon to get ready for the reception in the
evening. Do you want to come along?” Sneha asked.

“Uh? No no. You go ahead. I don’t know if I would be able to leave early from office.”

“What? You are not coming for the reception?” Sneha was shocked.

“Off course I am. Unlike some people I can take out time for family.” Neha couldn’t stop before she had exclaimed the ill placed sarcastic remark. “I just can’t tell about the beauty parlor.” She completed.

“Ok.” Sneha disconnected the call, half confused about what her sister had just said.

Neha kept the phone on the dining table and went into the kitchen. She had momentarily forgotten her anger over Rohan’s departure due to being interrupted by the call. But she was fuming again when she realised she was preparing lunch box for Rohan and he had already left. She turned off the gas stove and walked to the living room. She didn’t need lunch box today. She would leave a bit early for the reception and hence she would use the lunch time to finish as much work as she could. She picked up her dupatta and her purse, checked that all the lights and ceiling fans were off and walked to the door. She was in a sour mood as she locked the house and pulled the lock hard to check that it was secured properly.

Neha walked angrily to the bus stop. Cursing under her breath all the way, swearing at a pebble she stumbled over, walking hastily, bumping into a couple of passers by. She felt that her morning was ruined by Rohan. She hated him; hated him so much. She decided that she would not call him the entire day and go directly to her mother’s place from office. There she would get dressed and go to the reception with her parents and sister. She would reach home late from the reception and Rohan would probably be asleep by then. She had decided she would not talk to him until he comes and apologizes to her. She felt like never talking to him. ‘Would it not be great if I never have to talk to him? Never see him again?” she thought.
Her bus arrived at the stop and she got into it. Luckily she got a seat near the window. No sooner had she settled into her seat her mobile rang again. This time it was her mother.

“Neha beta, Rohan is coming for the reception na?”

“No mummy, Rohan has an important meeting today evening.” Neha replied.

“But beta, Ashwin is such a close cousin. And Ram Uncle has done so much for our family. Remember Ashwin had worked so hard for your wedding preparations...”

“Mummy, I am coming. Don’t ask me about Rohan. Why don’t you call him and ask.” Neha could not hide her anger.

“Beta have you two...”

Neha cut the phone before her mother could finish the sentence, switched it off and out it in her purse. She started looking out of the window. She felt tears in her eyes, but did not wipe them off. Finally one rolled onto her cheek. She started thinking whether she should have listened to her father. Her father had a knack for knowing people inside out in the first meeting.
“Rohan is a good guy Neha. Smart, good looking, well educated and from a good family.” He had told her when she introduced him to her family as her boyfriend. “But he looks very ambitious to me. I doubt whether he will be a good husband. He lacks the balance a good family man should have.”

“But papa, I love him,” Neha said snubbing his warning, “and I know he values me more than anything else. He will never let me feel ignored.”

“It’s your life beta. I will not force my opinions on you. If your decision is to marry him you have our blessings.”

It seemed now that her father was right. It began an year after their wedding. Rohan took up the job as an Assistant Vice President in a multinational bank. It was a big leap from being a manager in a locally owned bank. They had celebrated by going to a movie and having dinner at ‘Little Italy’, Neha’s favourite Italian restaurant. It was also followed by a night of passionate love making. She still remembered that night. She held Rohan tightly to her bosom after they both were exhausted and sweaty. She was so happy for him. But somehow she felt she was about to lose him. She did not realize it then but now she knew, that strange feeling in the bed after the love making was fear of losing him. It was like Rohan was marrying another woman.
Now a days they did’nt make love often. Rohan was always tired when he came back from the office. And weekends were spent quarrelling over petty issues.

“You mean like not at all?” Her friend and colleague Anju had asked her, astonished when she told it to her.

“Not like never. Well sometimes. But very rarely.” Neha had told her.

“When was the last time you did it?” Anju’s curiosity was hard to satisfy.

“Last month. Rohan was on leave to fill in his tax returns. Strangely we didn’t fight that day. And after dinner we both felt like it. Actually longing for it.” Neha said.

Anju giggled.

“Rohan wanted to, last Friday. But it was wrong time of the month for me.”

“Awww...”Anju said in a manner of condolence. “But see, it’s not always Rohan who stays away from you.”

“Shut up.” Neha said annoyed, “like I could help it. And this only happens like once in a blue moon. You know I feel like the spark is missing from our marriage. We no longer feel attracted to each other. Rohan definitely does not.”

“Do you think Rohan is having an affair?” Anju regretted saying it the moment these words came out of her mouth. “No no. I didn’t mean that. Rohan is not that types.”

But the seed of suspicion was sown. For the next one month Neha had regularly checked Rohan’s cell phone, whenever he had his bath in the morning or when he went to the bathroom before bed. She read his messages, checked his call history and always listened keenly whenever he was talking on the phone. She never mentioned anything to him. Even after one month of constant vigil she had not found anything suspicious. Either Rohan was very good at hiding his affair or he didn’t have one. She desperately hoped it was latter. Neha also sometimes felt pangs of guilt for doubting Rohan and checking his cell phone. She tried to make up for it by cooking Rohan’s favourite dishes and being nice to him. But Rohan was always too busy to notice. This broke her heart further.

“Madam, this is the last stop.” The bus conductor was telling her.

“Uh!? Oh yes I was leaving.” She got up wiping her tears with the sleeve of her kurta, gathered her purse and alighted the bus hastily.

She walked absent minded towards her office. Anju’s words came back to her mind.
“If Akhilesh treats me like this I will leave him that day. What do these guys think? We must not allow our husbands to take us for granted.” Anju had said animatedly.

“Wish it was so simple.” Neha had said.

“Why not? We ourselves held us back. We must know our worth and be ready to take tough decisions to put some sense in these guys.” Anju retorted.

‘Did she really mean it?’ Neha thought. Suddenly she felt sick in the stomach, like she wanted to throw up. She hailed and auto rickshaw and got into it.

“Bhaiyya go to Saki Naka,” first she told the autorickshaw driver to take to her mother’s place. Then suddenly she changed her mind and asked hime to take her home. “Sorry bhaiyya there’s a change in the plan. Go to Lokhandwala.”

Once home she hurriedly opened the lock and went to her bedroom. She just flung herself on the bed and cried. She.did not weep. She cried, loudly, tears running over her cheeks. She cried to let the frustration of so many months out. She cried over her decision. She had reached a decision. She did not want to continue a relationship like this. She got up after half and hour. Wiped her tears and fetched a suitcase from under the bed. She opened the lid and lay it on the bed. Then going to the wardrobe she pulled all ther clothes from the drawers and hangers and stuffed them in the suitcase. She did not care to pack them, she just stuffed them inside. Even the kanjivaram saree that she had worn on her wedding day and theRupees 18000 sarara Rohan had gifted her on their first anniversary went in the same way. She shut the suitcase after most of her clothes were in it. Next she got a shopping bag from the wardrobe and put her jewellery, cosmetics and creams and toileteries in it. She packed some important documents she had in her purse. Then she kept her suitcase by the bed and kept the shopping bag and purse on it and sat on the edge of the bed.

Everything was packed she was ready to go. She thought of writing a note for Rohan. Telling him he had lost her, telling him not to come trying to convince her to come back. But she did not move. She wanted to sit there for a while. On her bed, where she had spent so many loving and passionate moments with Rohan. She wanted to soak in the memories that were in that house. Something fixed her to the bed. She couldn’t move. She sat and sat, even without realizing that she missed lunch. She remembered days when Rohan used to cook breakfast for her, days when they fought hard and then ended up in making love. She remembered the day when Rohan had his tooth extracted, how scared he looked. That day she wanted to take him and hide him in her embrace and protect him from all the world.

Suddenly she heard a noise of someone opening the door, she looked up to see Rohan enter the room. Instinctively she looked at the watch on the bedside table, 10:00 PM, she had missed the reception. She had sat on the corner of the bed the whole day. She again looked up at Rohan, his eyes wandered to the suitcase beside the bed. He looked back at her, their eyes met. His questioning eyes had a pleading look in them. She quickly got up and embraced him tightly and started crying. He put her arms around her back after a few moments, she could feel his hands trembling. Then he held her tightly. She knew he was scared now. A ray of hope. She knew maybe he was drifting away from her, but it was in her hand whether to let go or gently guide him back to her. She decided not to let go.

Fear....(Short Story)

Shehnaz banged violently on the door. She was nineteen year old pretty young girl of slim built. Her childish face bordered by black curly hair and her youthful bosom made her look innocent and lascivious at the same time. But now all she looked was afraid. Her clothes were torn at places and her face was covered with grime through which sweat and tears had drawn streaks. She desperately banged the door again and hoped it opened soon. Her pursuers could be there any moment.

Only a week ago she was a simple teenager living a normal middle class life with her parents and two siblings in the low income Muslim neighbourhood of Nagpada in Mumbai. Her father Afzal worked in a grocery store and her mother Rubina took up odd tailoring jobs. The tik-tik-tik of the sewing machine was one of her favourite sounds while growing up and she used to spend hours sitting on the floor watching her mother guide the fabric under the needle, sewing, altering, patching. Then one day everything changed. On 6th December 1992 Babri Masjid was demolished in Ayodhya, and a thousand miles away Mumbai was thrown into a hell storm of riots. The Hindus and Muslims burned homes, killed people and rioted on the streets. The badmashes (vagabonds) and gundas (ruffians) from the city took the opportunity to loot the shops and rape innocent girls. Everyone lived in constant fear. Then one day in early January rioters came to her locality.

Her brother had wanted to be a cricketer and play for the national team. She had once seen him play when her father had taken all of them to his school match; she thought he played pretty well. When India was playing, the three siblings used to go to Ibrahim uncle’s place to watch the match. Ibrahim uncle’s flat was the only one with a TV set in the entire Rashid Ali Building. All the kids in the building gathered in his flat whenever there was a cricket match. Though he allowed kids from the building sit in his flat for hours watching cricket, he was far from a jolly old man whom all the kids would adore. He was a bitter man, grumbling about almost everything in life. After seeing good days as a bank clerk he had retired to emptiness, lost his wife years ago to cancer and his only son had got into bad company and left home to pursue a criminal career. Life had really been harsh on him. Maybe he had not been like this always, Shehnaz had wondered. He kept bickering about old age, about kids ruining his Sundays for cricket matches, about non-functioning Government and about how Muslims were ill treated in the country.

“These Hindu bureaucrats would never let you play for the national side.” Ibrahim uncle had told Shehnaz’s brother Rahim.

Shehnaz and her siblings had been brought up in a very tolerant environment by their parents. Her father had insisted on sending them to a cosmopolitan school in Byculla though it was costlier than the Muslim school in Nagpada and caused a considerable strain on their feeble family budget. All the siblings had Hindu and Christian friends. And Rahim or Shehnaz were not going to fall prey to Ibrahim uncle’s rantings. Once her father had even asked Ibrahim uncle to refrain from saying such instiguous things in front of young children of the building, especially in front of his children. The request actually had looked like a warning. But Shehnaz had hoped that this would not make Ibrahim uncle change his mind about allowing children to watch TV in his flat.

“The atmosphere is not good I tell you,” Ibrahim uncle had warned her father, “I have heard that the Hindus are stocking up kerosene and petrol and also hiding talwars (swords) in their homes.”

“Ibrahimbhai you can’t live with such mistrust.” Her father had reasoned, “ The Hindus are nice people. Many Hindus come regularly to the grocery shop and are very amicable to me. Even Rubina gets a lot of tailoring work from the Hindus.”

“See you have sold yourself to these Hindus. The day you turn your back to them they will stab you in your back.” Ibrahim uncle was unconvinced.

Her father had let it be as he thought it worthless to argue any further. But now it seemed Ibrahim uncle was right. The mob that entered her locality set buildings on fire and smoked the occupants out to be butchered on the streets in broad daylight.

“If the mob comes up the stairs and breaks into our house we will be cornered and have nowhere to escape. Then Allah knows what our fate will be.” Shehnaz’s father had declared. “We have to make an attempt to escape.”

“ There is lot of confusion in the streets,” he said, “if we can escape unnoticed to the side alley and make it to the main road we can escape this mob and make our way to Byculla railway station. Maybe we can go to aunt Bano’s place in Kurla. I heard its safer there.”

“I had told you,” her mother reciprocated; face contorted with fear and anger, “we should have moved to Kurla last week itself but you won’t listen. Ya Allah how do we escape now with a young daughter in the tow. Our honour is at stake with our lives.”
They sneaked out of their house into the street holding each others hands and treaded unnoticed for a while till Lakhan saw them. Lakhan was a loafer who loitered in the streets of their mohalla. He always had a bad eye on her. He whistled whenever she passed him on her way to college or back and made lewd remarks. Once he had held her by elbow and with a sneer whispered in her ear that soon he would make love to her on the street while everyone watched from their balconies. She had run home in tears.

“Hey look that Muslim family is escaping.” Lakhan cried out to his looting peers, “and that’s my prey. Come on lads get her for me and I will share her with you all after I am done.”

There was a loud cheer in the group and they all ran after her family. Suddenly her brother Rahim let go her hand and ran towards the pursuers. He was determined to protect his sister, his family’s honour. She watched in horror as he was run through with a sword and fell writhing to the ground. Her father went to help him but before he could reach Rahim he was hit in the head with an iron rod. The pursuers continued towards them and her mother realizing the danger dragged her further along with her sister. While running Shehnaz realized the pursuers were after her and that her mother and sister would be in danger as long as she was with them. She felt guilty that her brother and father had died trying to protect her honour. She devised a plan. She told her mother that they all should run into the small alley a little ahead to their right and head for the main road, but the moment her mother and sister dived into the alley she jerked her hand free and ran straight and left to the road that led towards the mosque. As expected her pursuers ignored her mother and her sister and ran after her. Now she had to run with all the strength she had if she did not want to fall prey to those hungry wolves and be torn to pieces. She navigated through narrow lanes and in between the houses and managed to put some distance between herself and her hunters. But she now felt her strength giving away, she had to find a place for hiding soon or she would collapse on the road and carried away by the goons to her doom. That was when she saw a green painted house with an urdu inscription on the doorway. She ran up to it and started banging hysterically.

For long there was no response then a curtain rustled in one window to the left of the door and again everything went silent. Then suddenly the door opened, a hand grabbed her and pulled her inside. Before she turned around the door was shut and bolted. She saw scantily built Muslim lad of about 11-12 standing in front of her wearing an oversized kurta (vest) and his prayer cap. He was panting and his eyes showed alarm. She looked around in the house. It was a spartan house with one big room used as living room and bedroom and a small side room in which a kerosene stove was kept for cooking and a few utensils. A khaat (a cot made of wood and jute rope) was leaning against the far wall. As far as she could see she did not see anyone else in the house.

“Who are you?” The boy asked shaking.

“I am Shehnaz. I was being pursued by a few rascals.”

“Then why have you come here? They will come here after you and they will kill me too.” He said and started crying in whimpers.

Suddenly Shehnaz found a new strength in herself, maybe because of the roof on her head and bolted door that gave her a sense of protection or maybe by seeing this feeble lad break down helplessly.

“Shhh...” She said holding him and drawing him close to her. She held his head to her bossom and patted him. “Shh.... Don’t cry. They will all be gone soon. Allah would rescue us. What is your name?”

“Jamal.” The boy replied as he moved away from her. He went to the khaat and placed it on the floor beckoning her to sit on it.

“Where are your family members Jamaal?” She asked in a very motherly tone. Somehow Jamaal evoked the image of her late brother Rahim in her mind. Though this feeble, feminine Jamal was nothing like athletic and short tempered Rahim. Her eyes moistened again at the thought of her brother but she fought back the tears.

“My abba and ammi had gone to the grocery shop in the back lane when there was an explosion there.” Jamal said in trembling voice, “someone had hurled a grenade. Then suddenly they came. Forty or fifty of them, with talwars and daggers and sticks in their hands.”

Jamal’s eyes were animated with fear as he relived his moments of horror. “I was playing with my friends nearby. I saw my abbu and ammi shredded to pieces by that explosion. I was rooted to the ground unable to move. The cries of ‘maaro’ (kill) and ‘kaato’ (cut down) of the rioters brought me to senses. Ashfaq was nearest to them. I saw on rioter hit him in the head with a stout laathi (staff). As he was falling down another rioter caught him and cut his head off. We all ran for our lives. I was lucky I made it to home. I have been hiding here since.”
With this he resumed his sobbing. Shehnaz moved towards him again and held him in embrace. The events of past few hours passing before her eyes. Her brother, her father killed in front of her eyes. Her thoughts drifted to her mother and sister. Where were they? Had they reached safety? Or Had they fallen into hands of those inhuman predators? She looked at Jamal. He looked tired due constant sobbing. She felt tired too. Here they were, two strangers comforting each other.
Suddenly there was a loud banging on the door. They both jumped in fright. Jamal was right. She had brought those scoundrels to his doorstep. She would be responsible for one more deat.

“Jamal. Jamal open the door. Suleiman.” Someone called from outside.
Jamal got up and ran to the door. The moment he opened the door a group of 5-6 Muslim youths came in led by a man in his late forties.

“Hamid chacha.” Jamal exclaimed.

“Jamal. Where are your parents?”

“They...they were in the grocery shop when the grenade exploded.” Jamal barely finished his sentence amidst tears and burst crying.

Hamid chacha held him close and said “Ya Allah. Don’t worry Jamal we are here. You are safe inside. Don’t come out. We will be keeping watch ou....” suddenly Hamid chacha’s glance fell on Shehnaz. He looked at Jamal inquisitively. Jamal did not reply.

“Chachajaan I am Shehnaz.” She introduced herself. “I stay in the back lane, in Rashid Ali Building. We were escaping the mob when my father and brother were killed. I got separated from my mother and sister. The mob was after me. I came here seeking refuge. Jamal took me in.

“Very good my son. Very good. I am proud of you.” He said to Jamal, “in your own adversity and such great misfortune you have shown courage to help a stranger. Allah is great.”

“Come here my child,” Hamid chacha beckoned Shenaz. As she went near him he took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead and said, “I am sorry for your loss. Don’t be afraid. You two are safe here. We have volunteers outside who will patrol the neighbourhood. I had spoken to Sub-Inspector Waghmare from Byculla police station. He said he will be sending a police patrol very soon. All this would be over soon. In two three days you can go home, find your mother and sister.”
Hamid chacha went away with his followers advising Jamal to lock the door properly. Shehnaz and Jamal sat huddled inside. Listening intently. Each of them immersed in their own worlds, nurturing their own grief, yet aware of the slightest noise from outside. Many time there came a loud yelling noise which made their heart leap. Sometimes there were shattering screams. Once Shehnaz thought she heard shots being fired. For two days they sat there on the floor. Sometimes dozing off to be woken u by loud noise outside or horrifying nightmares caused by their traumatic experiences. Jamal often woke up screaming and Shehnaz held his head tightly to her bosom and calmed him down. They were two afraid to even look outside the window. Once Shehnaz dreamed of her brother Rahim. He was wearing his cricket dress, all with pads and gloves. He waved at her, then suddenly came running to her, held her by hand and dragged her on the cricket ground. The stadium was empty. He smiled again mischievously and then ran away towards the pavilion disappearing when he had gone halfway. She found herself standing alone in an empty stadium. She woke up sweating to find that Jamal was not beside her. She looked around but could not see him. She got up frantically and cried out “Jamal.” She ran to the makeshift kitchen in the side room to find him standing there.

“What are you doing here? I was so scared.” She said panting.

“I was hungry. There are no fruits either.” He said guiltily. Tears streaming from his eyes. He walked out to the main room and towards the door. He made gesture to open it but changed his mind. As Jamal turned from the door he saw Shehnaz by the stove. He went to the makeshift kitchen and sat on the floor watching her silently as she sifted through the provisions and fetched some flour. She started making rotis (flatbreads) on the rusty iron pan. Everything was silent. The roaring noise of the stove echoed in Jamal’s head. His eyes wandered from the blue flame of the stove to Shenaz’s face. A single tear rolled out of her eye onto her cheek and glinted in the light from the stove.