Malika Bashir had a darkened view of the world. Ibrahim Ahmad refused to see anything but the light.
Soon, a friend from the past appears at Ibrahim's doorstep and a mysterious set of letters are left in his bedroom. Old conflicts are raised and ne...
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It was a warm morning in the Port city of Bangladesh. The city was colored in red and green, the colors of the national flag, on the occasion of the country's Independence Day. The Father of the Nation's speech, delivered on a 7th of March years ago, rang across the city as the Ahmads and the Fayyads stepped into the Osmani property. General Jalal Ud-din Osmani allowed strangers in his home only for three occasions - The day Bangladesh won the war against Pakistan, the day the country was born and the day he himself was born.
Neela Bashir's father, General Jalal Ud-din Osmani, grew up in poverty. He was a freedom fighter who spent the later years of his youth as a prominent political leader. He once ruled the country with an iron fist, and headed his family just as strictly. Now settling well into retirement, the General enjoyed his old age growing his own food and relaxing on the acres of land he now called home.
The property was situated in the outskirts of the city surrounded by a beautiful lake and luscious green - a privilege only a few could enjoy in the overpopulated city. General Osmani preferred to spend his free time lounging on the easy chair at the veranda that stretched to the entire length of the house, with his freshly-squeezed pomegranate juice and a decorative ashtray which was no longer in use.
His favorite pastime was to criticize the industrialists who visited him and complain about the useless leaders who eventually ruined their country. He was a tough man with a gaze of steel. No one dared argue as he spat out to his heart's content.
The General's eyes landed on his only daughter. "Where's that good-for-nothing husband of yours?"
"He's not my husband anymore, Dad," Neela Bashir answered with a sigh, tired of having the same conversation year after year.
He pursed his lips. "What kind of nonsense has filled your head, girl? Once a man and a woman weds, they are husband and wife for life." The old-fashioned man still refused to accept the divorce.
"Wow, then my husband must have been playing hide and seek with me for the past twenty three years. That's how long I haven't seen him," she replied with sarcasm dripping from her words.
The General's eyes glowered viciously, however, the answer shut him up. He raised seven boys and one girl, so he taught her to be tough. She was the one who had inherited his zeal the most, he always thought with pride. However, when Neela actually showed her hard-headedness, he didn't know how to deal with her.
The guests started pouring in. Salman Bashir pushed his grandfather's wheelchair across the yard, as people parted ways to greet the man of the hour. Salman's eyes brightened as they landed on the Ahmads. "Aye, Sasquatch!" he cried. "I see you decided to show your ugly face."
Ibrahim narrowed his eyes though mirth sparkled in them. "Are you sure you're not looking into a mirror again, Salman?"
He clicked his tongue in disapproval. "There's one thing you're not allowed to criticize about me and that's my pretty face."
