Some people in the Mohalla had noticed it and Imam Deen was one of them. He had seen how dull eyes lit up when Jaleelah baji’s handsome Islamabadi cousin stepped out of Makan Taintees...
STORY
There were eyes in the walls of Srinagar and those eyes scuttled into Chinkral sometimes. They had started skulking behind trees and lounging on rickety chairs in the Mohalla’s dhabas a lot more these days, since the writer sahib’s arrival.
Some people in the Mohalla had noticed it and Imam Deen was one of them. He had seen how dull eyes lit up when Jaleelah baji’s handsome Islamabadi cousin stepped out of Makan Taintees, usually for his evening jog. The boy was followed by the eyes of the men in frustratingly plain clothes that one never can describe, men with frustratingly plain faces that looked like everyone and anyone Imam Deen had ever met.
Sometimes, he felt like he ought to tell the residents of Makan Taintees that they had military eyes on them. Then he remembered Doctor sahib, fat, hulking, mukhbir doctor sahib who didn’t deserve a daughter like Jaleelah and a wife like Begum Naureen. He remembered the jeeps that arrived regularly at his doorsteps, the crates of rifles that nobody tried to disguise when they were carried out of the Doctor sahib’s cellar in the nights and loaded into cars with black windows.
Upon remembering this, Imam Deen’s mouth would fill with a bitter taste that was probably what battery acid tasted like and he would decide to put off informing the residents of Makan Taintees about the new eyes in the Mohalla to another day.
********
“Bss. (Enough!)” Yusuf announced. She looked up from her book.
“Kiya bss? (What’s enough?)”
“Bss, I’m done trying to not have fun.”
It was the seventh day of the curfew that refused to let life return to normal in Srinagar - a collective viral flu that had been forced upon the city’s residents.
“Acha?” she closed her book. “What are you going to do? A firework show?”
“I will do one, if you ask for it.” he told her. They were sitting on the porch swing that was a terrace swing, the slightly warmer than usual evening air forcing them to fan at their faces lazily and change places every once in a while, so each could get a turn sitting in the cooler part of the swing that was closer to the plants.
“Don’t act like you’re in love.” She answered, just a bit snappishly.
“I’m not acting.” He glanced at her, then away.
“It’s my turn in the shade.” She said in response.
They exchanged places mechanically.
“We should go to Anchar Lake for a picnic.”
“Abba has gout, Amma has chores and Srinagar has curfew.”
“Nobody’s asking to take Abba and we can help Amma finish her chores.”
“I’ll finish the chores.” A mischievous smile. “You take Amma.”
“My shoe can stay at home and do the chores.” He pulled the closed book out of her hands. “We are going to Anchar Lake for a picnic.”
“It’s a dried, global-warmed little pond. Don’t call it a lake.” She took the book back.
He leaned back against the iron seat and said. “Everywhere is a dried, global-warmed little pond. The only good place on this Earth is your terrace swing.”
“Then let’s stay here.”
“But I need to see you in another setting.” He told her. “With the backdrop of a lake.”
“You act like a painter sometimes.”
“You make me want to paint.”
“Sudharna mtt. (Will you never reform!)” She opened her book and started reading aloud. “Yun kabhi lagta hei inn mein dushmani hei deir ki/Iss zameen pr zeist ke asaar jitni deir ki.”
He wrapped a curly lock of black hair around his forefinger, closing his eyes, letting her finish the piece.
“Inn ko Jannat sey zameen pr jiss gharhi phenka gaya/Ek saza thi sath innkey ye sada ki dushmani.”
“It looks, sometimes, like their enmity is too old for their own good/Older than the signs of life on this Earth/When they walked out of heaven, exiled, together/They were given it as a punishment, this eternal enmity.” He translated it in a single breath and she huffed.
“You suck at translations.”
“I’m just giving you a working model.” He smiled. “What’s the title of the poem?”
“Mard aur Aurat. (Man and Woman)”
“Yun kabhi lagta hei inn mein dushmani hei deir ki
Iss zameen pr zeist ke asaar jitni deir ki.
Inn ko Jannat sey
zameen pr jiss gharhi phenka gaya
Ek saza thi sath innkey ye sada ki dushmani.”
To be continued ...
