Zameer: No Man's Land

6.

The morning happened with me searching. For something I had no idea about. I was in the puddle of considering my existence, giving it a specific name and choosing as to what exactly was I supposed to be.
Baaji always said that pehchan Mazhabi nhi hoti {identity is not religious} but how am I to survive in this real world not knowing where do I exactly belong. There is a specific and ginormous significance of religion and such things in our life, in our world and it cannot be ignored however we try to. It cannot be escaped.

My life had become like the arid foliage of maple which seems the most beautiful thing but once you hold it, it will fall apart.

I was crying and crying until I decided to not. I wasn't supposed to. I got up with the help of the wall and wiped my face. I still had to do what I decided the very midnight, to know him. I understood one thing that knowing him wasn't just knowing him but somehow...myself too. I was that interconnected to him unfortunately.
If I were to be the beautiful carpet knitted by my family...he was my soul yarn I was engulfed in. This was not an ordinary grandpa-grandkid relation, he made it more by being my friend, guardian, guidance and teacher for so long.

It is extraordinarily exhausting and demanding to love a person unconditionally, who you loath for almost everything. I was in that exhausting position.

I turned to my left and seeing the epitome of Islam, of the un-searched and un-reached pulchritudinous of a woman...the Hijaab girl who now, I got to know, to be my grandmother. She was standing still like always, her Hijaab and it's fluency going nonchalant and seducing every eye with an art. She reflected the whole Islam and trust me I had no idea what it is already.
A weird thought came in my mind and I ran to my room hurriedly and opening my closet, took out a black shawl I used to wrap in my face in winters while going outside to prevent the chilled breeze of Delhi. Taking the shawl, I came downstairs and ran into the study and shut the door closed. I heard my mother calling me but I sheerly ignored her for I knew what was brimming in her mind and what she wanted to do. Mothers keep trying to save their child no matter if their child wants to be saved or not. I wasn't drowning, rather diving and she was scared of my death.

I stood in front of the Hijaab girl and waving the shawl in the air and twisting my arms, took it right above my head and put it down like we do while taking the veil. I remembered when I was ten, I playfully took Amma's dupatta and wore it like a veil and kept blushing and dancing in the whole house like a newly married bride and everybody kept laughing and pulling my cheeks for it. I looked exactly same. A hindu bride. My hands didn't tremble, as I enclosed the shawl right beneath my chin, covering the periphery of my face completely. With twisting and turning the shawl from this side and that side, I made myself a half Hijaab/ Nakaab and hiding every strand of my hair and just leaving the face open, stood still. My faded reflection was visible in Hijaab girl's potrait and I could see Islam reflecting in me also. Tears strolled down my eyes although I didn't know if Islam was just about hijaab or more than that, but as far my knowledge reached....I was there. It scared me, abandoned me, or I don't know what but I couldn't understand my tears.

The door opened as in the hurry I forgot to latch it, my mother was standing there along with Maaji and Baba. I can surely say they must have skipped their breathes when they saw me.

"Is this me?" I said with my quivering faint voice.

"Aiza...listen to...." Baba tried to say but was interrupted.

"Utaro isko" {"take it off"} amma said in her most rebellious yet really low-volumed voice.

"I'm trying amma....I really am..."