Chapter 35

Achoo…

Fayra rubbed her already red nose tip and sniffled. She was sitting with Momina, a huge bundle of memories was spread in front of the old lady in the form of old clothes, some antique brass and copper utensils, some old jewellery pieces and what not.

Picking up an old iron scissors she clicked it in the air and Momina gasped.  

“Fayra, Khali kaichi bajane se ghar me ladaiyan hoti hain.”  Momina scolded her.

(Fayra, Using scissors in vain can increase discord and arguments within the family.)

“Dadi jaan, why are you still keeping these things?” Fayra asked with frustration. Momina held it with her wrinkled hands and examined it keenly. 

"Tum aaj kal ke bachho ko to kisi cheez ki ahmiyat hi nhi pta, tum log na cheeze sambhal ke rakhte ho na rishte.” Momina got angry but kept the old scissors back in the old iron trunk. However Fayra tried her best to suppress her laughter. For her, all these things deserve only one destination. Junkyard. She continued to explore the old and useless things, without paying attention to the lesson delivered by the old lady. 

(Children of this generation don't understand the value of anything. You don’t take care of things, nor do you take care of relationships.)

Achoo… Achoo… She again rubbed the already red tip of her nose and cleared her throat before giving her eyes to Momina’s treasure.She picked a small polythene bag which was stuffed with God knows what. 

The fragile fingers were struggling to open the tight knots of that old polybag and after all, another treasure came out of it which brought a big grin to her lips. 

“These are my caps and sweaters. Aren't they?” holding the small woolen caps and sweaters in her hands Fayra asked with enthusiasm in her eyes and Momina smiled. Years ago Sara knitted these sweaters and caps for little Fayra and this old lady was still keeping them safe. Maybe for the first time in the last two hours Fayra felt that Momina was actually collecting the memories instead of a useless mess. And then came the black woolen sweater from the same polybag. Momina smiled more after looking at that sweater, as if it was telling a cute story and the old ears were listening to it after a long time. However Fayra’s face turned pale. 

“Danish Bhai, ye to mela shweater hota hai na?” The little Fayra pointed out towards the sweater Danish was wearing but he shook his head. 

(Danish Bhai this shweater izz mine. Right?)

“Nhi na, ye mera hai, Sara mami ne mere liye banaya hai." 

(No, Sara mami has made this for me, so it's mine.)

“Lekin wo to meli mummy hoti hain na, to ye bhi to mela shweater hota hai. Mujhe mela shweater dijiye. Kishi ki cheej leni gandi baat hoti hai na? Gunah milta hai na." The three year old Fayra folded her arms on her chest and Danish made a cry face. He loved this sweater but he loved this girl more than anything else. 

(But she's my mother, so this is my shweater. Give me my shweater. Taking someone's things is a bad thing, isn't it? You get punished for it, don't you know?)

“Chhoti si billi, tum bohot chalak nhi hoti jaa rhi?" Setting his glasses on the bridge of his nose he huffed. 

(You little brat, you're so clever)

“Ye to bad word hota hai na… main shab ko bataungi Danish Bhai bad word bolte hain. Dande bachhe hain wo." 

(Thish izz a bad word, I'll tell everyone that Danish bhai izz a bad boy.)

"Arey? Mene kya gandi baat kri?” The innocent poor Danish was shocked. 

(But I didn't do anything wrong.)

“Mela shweater dijiye walna shab ko bataungi." The sweet ten year old Danish was blackmailed by this three year old. He silently removed his sweater and made her wear it. It was big enough to fit two or three like her but she loved it. 

(Give back my shweater or I will tell everyone.)

And that day Fayra ran in the whole lawn wearing that oversized sweater, chased by Danish who was in a sheet Tshirt, resulting, next day he had a fever. 

“Remember or not?" Momina's voice pulled Fayra out of trance. She looked confused. 

“What?" She was busy with past memories so forget the present. 

“Tum yahi sweater pehen ke ghumti rehti thi, garmiyo mein bhi tumhe ye sweater chahiye hota tha… yaad hai?”

(You used to roam around wearing this sweater, even in summer, you wanted that same sweater… remember?)

"Mujhe dar tha Danish mujhse mera sweater na mang le, isliye hamesha use apne paas rakhti thi.” Fayra mumbled and slowly caressed the softness of that woolen sweater which contains the memories of these two. They weren't only cousins but best friends too. Supporters of each other. Crime partners. And what not.wlr

(I was afraid of Danish taking my sweater away. That’s why I kept it always with me.)

“Danish ne tumse kabhi kuch nahi manga, usne to apna sab kuch tumhare liye qurban kara hai.”

(Danish never asked for anything from you, he has always been a giver.)

Fayra silently stood up, she didn't want to discuss Danish, his gifts and favours. 

Achoo… she sniffled again.

“Where are you taking this?” Momina grabbed the sweater from Fayra’s hand and neatly folded it. A satisfactory smile never leaving her lips. “I will give this to your child.”

“What?” Fayra was shocked

“Hmm… it belongs to you two, who else deserves this?” Momina smiled more but instead of saying anything Fayra preferred to walk out of the room. Mominas smiled as she thought it was an innocent act of shyness. 

Achoo… Achoo… Achoo…

“Want to have another popsicle?” A voice followed by her sneezing echoed in the hall and she grimaced and ignored the comment.

“Come here." Another order and she again grimaced. 

Why is it difficult to ignore mother's orders? 

“Yes?" She sat down beside Sara who was cutting dry fruits.

“Have this." Passing a handful of almonds and cashew nuts Sara again resumed her work and Fayra stood up without saying anything. She disliked nuts. Well, she disliked every beneficial thing and liked every useless and pathetic thing. 

“Sit here and have it in front of my eyes." Without looking up Sara said in an ordering style but it was Fayra. 

“I'll have it, see I'm having it right now." Putting one cashew in her mouth she muttered.

“Take it." Passing a brown envelope to Fayda, Sara saw her reaction, she looked excited to open the mysterious envelope.

“What's this?" She asked with excitement.

“Danish has sent a parcel, there was something for everyone, this was for you.” Fayra's face turned pale.

"Fayra, have the dryfruits.” Sara reminded her but she walked towards Afnaan’s portion. 

"This girl…" Sara smacked her forehead and looked towards the dry fruits she was cutting for making dry fruit laddu but a question stood up tall in front of her…

Will her daughter eat it?

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“Happy birthday.” She whispered with a huge smile on her lips and a tiny cake in her hands. “I made this for you.” She looked at the cake which was looking delicious. 

“Thank you so much but...” he tried to suppress his smile but laughed out loud at the end, “Ye cake tumne banaya hai? Itna jhut?Tum chai bana lo wo hi bohot badi baat hai,” 

(You making tea is a big deal, and you are lying like this? Have you made this cake?)

“How mean.” She was shocked to hear that, once she glanced at the tiny cute cake which was decorated with a cherry then looked up at his face. Her creamy complexion converted into red due to anger, he took the cake from her hand and examined it from everywhere. The pink heart shaped chocolate sponge was decorated with white buttercream and red little hearts, cherry on the top. 

“Baked by a professional.” He commented and she huffed. 

“Yes, I bought it from the bakery but you…” she looked away. “Don't talk to me now.” And she walked away. 

“Zinuuu…” he walked after her but she was faster than usual. “Zinu, naraz to na ho yaar.” he grabbed her arm.  

(Zinu, don't be angry.)

“Main itne pyaar se aapke liye cake layi lekin aap mera mazakh uda rhe hain?” She had all the rights to show tantrums and he was all set to tolerate them.

(I brought you a cake with love but you are making fun of me?)

“Aur maine itne pyaar se tumhe tang kra lekin tum bura maan gyi." He smiled like a winner but got a glare from this sweet girl.

(And I teased you so lovingly but you took it seriously.)

“Now cut the cake," she huffed and he shook his head.

“I don't want to cut such a cute cake yaar… I want to save it forever.” 

"You're an idiot Shaaz.” Zinia rolled her eyes but set a candle on the cake. 

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The envelope was present in her hand begging to open it and read the letter present in it but she was only seeing it silently. 

Achoo… Achoo… Achoo…

Sniffling again she pressed her head and looked at the wall clock. 3 AM! One empty coffee mug was resting on the nightstand and the fresh one was present in her hand that she made just two minutes ago. 

Midnight. Headache. Coffee. And mild fever. 

She was unable to even take a nap. 

The envelope was again yelling to open it and this time Fayra walked towards the window of her room. Coffee mug and envelope in hand she was looking at the moon present in the middle of the dark sky. Maybe for the first time the brightly shining Moon was looking dull. Taking a sip of coffee she put the mug on the windowsill and opened the envelope. 

Meri pyari Fayra 

(My lovely Fayra)

The very first line gave goosebumps. She didn't know for how long she was staring at the first line and her eyes filled with tears. She dared to read further. 

Meri pyari Fayra,

Kesi ho tum? Main yaha theek hu, lekin sach batau to kuch theek nhi lagta. Ek ajeeb khalipan hai. Kayi baar dil chahta hai wapas aa jau lekin phir sochta hu ki kya fayda, waha bhi to is khalipan ka koi ilaaj nhi hai. Tum batao, tum kesi ho? Tumhari bohot yaad aati hai. Main yaha aksar raat mein free betha hua aasmaan ko dekhta rehta hu, chand aur sitare kitne pyare lagte hain lekin mujhe adhura sa lagta hai…

She looked up. The sky was still shining with the stars and moon but she was also feeling empty. Goosebumps again appeared on her body. Was Danish writing about his emptiness or about hers? She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath and opened her eyes. The moon was still staring back at her without blinking. Both were sharing the emptiness present in their hearts. Gulping down the tears she looked away and continued to read the letter while picking up the mug of coffee. 

Kabhi kabhi chand ko dekhte dekhte hi keh deta hu “Fayra zara ek cup chai banana.” Phir yaad aata hai tum to yaha ho hi nhi. Tum sath hoti to kitna achha hota. Tum mujhe apni sari baate batati main tumhe apni sari din ki masrufiyat bataya, hum sath baith ke chai Peete aur chand ko dekhte rehte. Lekin tum to aasmaan wale chand se bhi zyada dur ho, wo har rooz dikh to jata hai tum to har rooz dikhti bhi nhi ho. Kash main tumhe hamesha apne paas dekh sakta. Khair… apna khayal rakhna kyuki ab main waha nhi hu tumhara dhyan rakhne ke liye. Mosam badal raha hai, abhi kuch thanda na khana, tumhe flu ho jayega. Coffee zyada na peena, phir sari raat jaagti rahogi, main to waha hu nhi, phir kiske room me jaa ke tum use preshan karke apna time pass krogi? Dhyan rakhna apna

Tumhare jawab ka muntazir 

Tumhara Danish. 

She felt her heart beating faster than normal. The coffee mug was still present on her lips but she was unable to sip the coffee. She looked at the plane walls of her room. She felt being watched. How did Danish know everything? She read the last few lines again and again and again. Resulting— tears were flowing through the shaft of her eyes. 

Yes she was missing Danish. She wanted to talk to him, she wanted to tell him to come back but she was angry with him. 

Picking up the mobile phone she dialled a number. It was ringing but no one picked the call. Fayra looked at the clock. 3:10 AM. He must be sleeping. She started reading the letter again when her mobile rang. She felt her heart beating faster. “Fayra." His sleepy voice came from the other side. “Hello Fayra." Maybe for the first time she was running out of words to talk to Danish. 

“Kuch to bolo Fayra." He said in a hushed tone. She couldn't help but cry out silently.

(Fayra, say something.)

“Kese hain aap?" She muttered. After reading the letter she understood he wasn't fine. Regardless of circumstances and her anger for him, she couldn't tolerate Danish’s pain. 

(How are you?)

“Fayra tum mujhse naraz kyu ho gyi ho? Agar tumse mohabbat karna hi meri galti hai to main is maamle me kuch nhi kar sakta, lekin sach me, maine hamesha tumhari Khushi chahi hai. Maine kabhi bhi koi aesa kaam nhi karna chaha jis se tumhe takleef pohche." He was explaining his intentions. He wanted to clear that he didn't create misunderstandings between Arsh and Fayra to get her in his life. 

(Why are you angry with me? I can not help but love you, is this all my fault? Trust me Faru, I wished your happiness. Nothing else. I haven't intentionally done anything that gives you pain.)

“I'm sorry." Fayra muttered. For a moment Danish saw a hint of that Fayra who loved him the most. “I understand everything. You know what Danish…” she mumbled and cried. Danish was hearing everything silently and then she told him everything. From Arsh chasing her to seeing him in the night club to slapping him. However Danish was hearing one more untold story. The story which was impossible for everyone to understand. The story of her pain. 

“Tum sab kuch chup chap sehti rahi? Ek baar mujhe bataya to hota.” 

(And you were tolerating everything alone? At least you could tell me.)

"Aap to chale gaye the mujhe akela chhod ke… aur waha jaa ke pta nhi kis ladki ke apni zindagi jii rhe hain aap… meri fikar hi kisko hai? Aap bhi Arsh jese hi hain. Aap sab ek jese hain. Ladkiyon ke emotions se khelte hain aur apni zindagi araam se jeete hain. Bohot bure hain aap bhi.” Fayra’s crying voice laced with anger. Danish was unable to understand his faults here. First of all he didn't want to left her alone. It was Fayra who wanted him to go away. And who was this girl? Whom she was talking about? 

(You left me alone and went away… and I don't know for which girl you are living your life… who cares about me? You are just like Arsh. You all are the same. You play with the emotions of girls and live your life comfortably. You are also very bad.)

“I?" He was unable to say anything in his defence. “But I was…” he tried to collect some words and…

“Danish, aap abhi tak…” a weak and sleepy voice echoed in the background and Fayra was shocked. 

(Danish you're still…)

“I was correct. You and Arsh aren't different." And she disconnected the call with anger. Last time when Fayra called Danish, she heard the voice of this sleepy girl and today only when she called him, he was sleeping… and now this girl's sleepy voice.

She put two and two together. Anger burning her from inside. Danish called her back and she picked the call. 

“Fayra you're misunderstanding me. Listen to me." 

“I'm not misunderstanding you. I still remember Maha Ali. You were his darling. I still remember everything. I was just trusting you. But it was my fault. Now who is this new girl? Only Maha or someone else?" 

"Fayra I'll explain.” 

"No, you'll manipulate. Don't call me again. Never.” She cut the call and tore the letter present in her hand. 

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Jiski manzil mera muqaddar nahi, main wo raasta phir chunu hi kyu,

Jo likhi jaye aansuo ki siyahi se, main wo dastaan phir likhu hi kyu.

_Naaz Jamal