The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER FOUR

Shifa, the girl, Wahab's cousin was not at all how I imagined how she would look. Wahab always had something to say about girls who didn't cover their bodies, however, his own cousin was standing in a place full of men in jean shorts and a loose checkered shirt. Her shirt covered half of her shorts and her hair was tied messily in a bun. It was nothing new— girls wearing that but what I found surprising was a girl related to Wahab would sport such clothing. Whenever he commented on a random girl in cafes or in public places— I had to hold back my tongue because I didn't want to cross his judgment, but it was disturbing sometimes— the things he would say regarding someone else's body or the choice of clothing. So many times, I wished to tell him that it was their choice, and no one had the right to question it. I wished to tell him that there was a line of limits and sometimes he blurred the line majorly. He commented on the blouse of saris and told me I look nice in red coloured hijab; I smiled and sipped my tea.

'Oh, sorry, I— '

She chuckled lightly, shook her head and said, 'No, no. I'm sorry for just grabbing you. I shouldn't have.'

Yes, of course, she shouldn't have. How could you just touch someone without consent? but I didn't say that, instead I smiled and stayed still. I was waiting for her to at least offer some kind of help with my bags, but she tilted her head and gestured me to follow her. I glanced one last time at the man with the hopeful look on his face as his watery eyes watched the train. I wanted to let him carry one bag, it was his work and I supposed I could give him something, anything really. But Shifa paid no mind as she walked ahead of me. I breathed in and regretted not telling her to wait and let the man carry a bag.

The surrounding was pretty much the same there as Lucknow's, cowed and loud except I felt more eyes burden me than I did back home. I brushed the worry, reasoning I was just being paranoid in a new atmosphere but then I felt it getting heavier, I was getting nervous and the fear was lurking. Shifa was not even paying attention, not like she was obliged to but if I was fetching someone, some stranger to the area, I would make sure they were okay and felt welcomed, but she was walking with her head hung low. I increased my pace to fall into her steps. She was looking at her phone.

'Oh, I informed Wahab, but you should call your parents or something.'

'Do you think I am being stared?'

She finally looked away from her phone and squinted her eyes, but she was not looking at me, her gaze passed over my head and then she nodded. Lifted her hand and pointed to my head, 'Must be the hijab, don't worry about it.'

 She went back to her phone. I had questions.

'My hijab? I am wearing it for the exact opposite'

'Precisely. As I said, don't worry about it. Some stare and some have more decency'

'I am not worried, I'm— '

'Scared? Please don't be. AIIMS, right?'

I wasn't scared nor worried— I was confused but she just made up her mind and then didn't listen. I didn't try to assert my point.

'Yes'

We were walking toward a gate with an arched ceiling, in the middle of the red-bricked wall was a silver coloured clock and by the sides of it— the paint was gray as well but most of it was peeled off and all that was showing was the red faded bricks and the gray cement. Behind the pillar I could see taxis and autos lined in a row, the drivers were standing by the gate and a few were just talking among themselves while sipping on tea from tiny foam cups. I smelled it before I saw it— the public restroom in the corner of the waiting area. I cringed and held my breath. Not for long and as I exhaled, I had to inhale more, and I felt the taste of vomit on my tongue. The strong smell made my eyes water but as my both hands were occupied, I couldn't do anything about it. My eyes shifted to Shifa and she was pinching her nose with her fingers. I had an urge to shout at her to take at least one bag so I could cover my nose too.

I took a breather once we made our exit. Shifa was amused and just grinned as I fanned my face franticly. She asked me to wait as she went to call for an auto. Taxis were nearby but she said autos were cheaper than taxis when I asked why we couldn't just go in a taxi. While she was gone, I was approached by at least a dozen drivers and some were persistent, way too persistent for my liking. They won't take a no for an answer and kept asking me where I was headed to. Couldn't they sense how lost I was? I was standing in the corner of the gate with bags and trying to detect Shifa in the crowd. My whole position screamed lost.

The first thing I saw when I looked around was old buildings. Faded paint or dust-covered walls or peeled-off paints, but the structure of them was fascinating to me. It wasn't hard to say they were probably there since the Mughal empire. Their ceilings were circular, gumband as the books stated. I had a weird obsession with the architecture of ancient times. There was always something mysterious behind the walls or the built and I often wondered how it would feel to live through that time— just once. Horses or bull carts in place of the nosy cars and especially the bazaars of the Mughal empire.

As soon as I seat on the back with Shifa, I fished out my phone and was alarmed to see five missed calls from my father and seven from Wahab. I decided to tell abbu first, and the first thing he asked me after he picked up as if I had informed Wahab.

'I would. I thought of letting you know first. Is ummi around you?'

It was always awkward talking to my father without my mother being nearby. The first time I was asked to cover my head around my father was the day I got my menstruation— at the age of 13. I was confused and refused to wear hijab in front of abbu but ummi was overly demanding and hastily tied the knots of my headscarf so tight around my neck that for a moment I had trouble with breathing, she sensed this and loosen the ends. After this, it was never the same with my father. He didn't ask me about anything that wasn't necessary like he used to before. He still asked if there was anything I needed or if I wanted something from his next trip to someplace or how I was doing with my studies or what was in the dinner but nothing about why I was wearing a scarf at home.

'Yes, a second— ', I waited and the next voice belonged to mother, 'Hello? Dukhtar Jan? are you okay? Did you eat? Don't talk to strangers and look after yourself. Was Shifa there on time? Were you on time— ?'

'Ummi. Yes, I am okay. No, I haven't eaten anything yet and yes, she was on time and so were I. No, I won't talk to anyone. I already know it, ummi.'

The not talking to strangers was a thing engraved in my mind since I was barely in my teens. She never let me overlook the matter and I had a sharp memory. Once, something is told to me, I remember it. So, I found it funny how she was so adamant about not letting me forget. Not like I was ever going to.