Could that be possible? A certain lie about you which actually might define you into a whole different person, has been living inside you and no one suspects it...ever. I'm noone. I feel noone.
I got up from the shock and found myself in my bed tucked in properly. I found Baba walking to and fro outside the room, the gate was open of course. I rubbed my eyes and tried to get up when his eyes fell on me and he rushed in calling my name.
"You okay?? Don't get up... stay laid..." He said pushing me back in the duvet gently.
"I'm fine baba....let me get up....." I said softly again trying to come out of it but he pushed me back again saying I needn't come out. Huffing in dismay I stopped trying. About time when my mother arrived with a little bowl in her hand, I was sure having lukewarm mustard oil she was to apply on my limbs and make me wear socks. It's called the MOTHER'S REMEDY. Whatever happens, she does this, baaji used to sometime sarcastically comment on her or even on maaji when he used to have headaches and asked them to bring their oil for it cures everything as they believe it does.
"I'm not gonna wear any socks amma please....im absolutely fine now." I said whining from inside like a helpless, weaponless warrior trying to fight back smartly.
"Tum ab ek shabd nhi bologi....ye ghar pehle bhi museum tha or ab....ab to nark lagta hai mujhe. Kismat kharab thi jo tumhare baap se shadi ho gyi or is ghar me aa gyi....mujhe to kha hi gye ab meri beti ko bhi....huh! Baaji ke liye sari izzat chali jati hai meri...jab bhi....."
{"You won't say a word now, this house was a museum before and now....now it has become the hell. It was my ill fate that I got married to your father and came in this house...they ate me but now my child....huh! All the respect I've had for Baaji just drains away.... whenever..."}
"BASSS....bhot ho gaya. Kuch bhi bolte jari ho, nazar nhi aara beti bimar padi hai...yahan tumhari ranjishen khatm nhi ho rahi"
{"ENOUGH!!! it's too much. You keep talking...can't you see your girl is ill...and your grudges won't end neither ready to end"}
"Chillao...mujhpar hi to zor chalta hai tumhara. Kasam se Ashfaq, meri beti in sab chakkaron me padi to tumhare baap ki aatma ko chain nhi hoga...dekh lena tum...maa hun mai or apne bachhe ke liye kuch bhi karungi..."
{"Yell....go on, im the only one you can control. I swear Ashfaq, if my girl gets into all this stuff...I won't let your dad's soul have peace. I'm a mother...and I'll do anything for my child"}
"Apna muh band kar lo madhvi warna....."
{Shut up your mouth madhvi... otherwise..."}
"Warna kya....bolo na...maroge mujhe...?"
{"Otherwise what...go on....you will beat me up?"}
"ENOUGH YOU TWO. What is wrong with you amma and baba. You guys are fighting worse than cats and dogs. Amma...you shouldn't say anything like such for baaji...and baba...amma is stressed you know that.....you guys keep fighting like kids and....I don't like it. At all. So please, cut it out."
They fell silent for a minute and kept looking at me, I felt they felt embarassed for fighting like such in front of me. They loved me like their possession and I could see the concern in my mother's eyes for me and so has baba but he had more depth...more layers in his features than just concern for me. He was tensed about more stuffs.
It was past midnight when I finally got the chance to sneak out of my bed and go through stuffs of baaji. I needed to know more.
Many years ago when baaji left his calligraphy, or in his words, khattati, a part of him left us. I was a kid when I observed those things and told him to do so without analysing but then I wasn't that young to not understand baaji wasn't him anymore. He used to laugh, used to eat, used to joke around, used to play with me, used to teach Jhamru...but he stopped going to the Urdu Bazaar or the Jama Masjid at evenings, he stopped painting those curvy mysterious non-understandable words in beautiful colors, he stopped listening to old ghazal(s), he even stopped sitting on his couch and staring at the woman covered in the lot of black clothe.
YOU ARE READING
Zameer: No Man's Land
Narrativa generale"मेरी जुबान उर्दू है और ईमान हिंदू! और मेरा ज़मीर? मेरा ज़मीर किसी सरहद से बंधा नहीं है " Time doesn't fly, it evolves throughout every second. A situation, a life, a luck, a chance... everything evolves along with the time. This is a story of thr...
