Chapter 8
Big setbacks often have a way of clearing your focus.
It is not as of it wasn’t clear before, but when the chips fall down all at once, and you are faced with a do or die, a new layer of clarity emerges.
Amaal had discovered that on the day of Badamwari firing.
Up until that morning, this, her stint at KDP, had been a means to an end for her — build a career in Srinagar, earn a life, and maybe, one day, convince her parents to come back and build the home of their family here again. It had all been about her, them.
It had been an uphill battle convincing her parents to let her stay back.
Jameela aunty’s alibi that Srinagar had not seen any other skirmish that day or in the week after had helped marginally.
What had helped most was the call Atharva had made to her father.
Amaal had wanted to snatch the phone and hurl it away at the way it had made her feel like a child. But then Atharva had told her father —
“Your daughter is capable of taking care of herself and the entire party here singlehandedly, even so, her safety is my responsibility.”
Her father had not been placated immediately.
But Amaal had kept sending him Atharva’s speeches, his profile, his background, his articles that she was planting on a weekly basis now into different sets of news outlets across Kashmir and the rest of the country.
And slowly, without officially forgiving her for not returning, her parents had returned to ground zero.
Srinagar had returned to ground zero, too, simply because KDP had not undertaken another event.
She didn't have the courage to ask Atharva to approve one.
But the silence in the city also pointed to the fact that how important KDP was becoming, that the militants had to shoot it down from even mingling. That had given Amaal hope.
And she had changed gears, establishing contacts with news anchors in Delhi. The last month had been incessant travelling, from Delhi, Mumbai and Srinagar, to finally Jammu — where she was now throwing anchor for the long haul, much to her father’s relief.
AMAAL
Reached Jammu City
DAD
Lucky you, what tasty food
Rajma chwal
AMAAL
I know right!
DAD
Now stay there forever, don’t go back to Srinagar
AMAAL
:/
MOM
Try chocolate barfi from kwality
You loved it when you were a baby
AMAAL
I am still a baby
She looked up from texting, her forearms on the trolley’s handle, pushing it down the relatively uncrowded airport. And Amaal found the man she was told would come to receive her.
“Hi!” She smiled, locking her phone and dropping it into the handbag compartment of the trolley. “Going somewhere?”
“No.” Samar replied, ignoring her bait to start a conversation.
Hands inside his camouflage cargo pants, he looked like the sour candy he always was.
He wore a white T-shirt for a change today, maybe due to the summer heat in Jammu.
Why did he still dress like he was in the military?
She would have to ask Adil. He was her gossip partner.
Amaal brought the trolley to a stop in front of him and stared at his T-shirt. “I was told a white party Santro would come.”
“It’s outside.”
He still didn’t get her jokes. Why did she even try?
Amaal stared at him, unable to figure out what was happening. He was the founder of KDP. Bigger here in Jammu. Why was he playing driver for her, especially if he was so opposed to it?
“Stop looking like that, Atharva asked me to watch out for you.” He began to reach for her trolley handle but she pulled it back, turning and pushing it out — “I am not a child who needs watching.”
He was by her side as she brisk-walked. Why was Atharva hell-bent on making her the ‘Girl we all should protect.’? Ok, so she was the only girl in their band of boys. But this was going overboard. Telling Samar to ‘watch out for her.’
“How was the meeting with PTI?” He asked.
Amaal loved that about him. Always coming to the point.
She grinned — “Their Assistant Editor turned out to be my senior’s friend from LSE.
We went out for dinner, twice in two days.
And it is safe to say that… she will push us to the top of their Jammu-Kashmir beat.
They need at least one negative and one positive news item every day. I told her I will supply both.”
“How will you give them negative news?”
They reached the open sunny parking and he unlocked the white Santro, lifting the back of the dickey. Amaal began to lift the first bag from her stack on the trolley, but he beat her to it. She hung back. They were heavy. She wouldn’t say no to help when she did need it.
“Aren’t we being threatened all the time?
” She grabbed her purse and hitched the straps on her shoulder.
“Atharva’s Robin Hood and Sheriff narrative is just clever shaping of what the reality anyway is.
I am making sure that it gets featured in the national biggies and picked up from there.
One big news agency reports it, and everybody else thinks they are missing out on something big. There goes the dominoes…”
“How much luggage did you get?” He stuffed her last suitcase into the backseat because the dickey got full.
“I am here for six months.” She walked to the passenger seat and pulled on the handle. It was burning. She quickly settled inside and hissed.
“Ooohh, ooh…” she lifted her bum off the seat, hovering in the air with the back of her knees anchored to the corner of the burning seat. Samar climbed in from the other side, his tall frame folding nicely. He sat without any problem in his seat.
“Is it always this hot here?”
“Hmm.” He started the car and wove out of the parking, stopping only to pay at the exit. The sun was hitting them hot in the face, even with the car’s AC on full. And yet he didn't look like it even affected him.
“I forgot, you are from here. You must be used to this. Which part of Jammu are you from?”
“Udhampur.”
“What’s one claim to fame of Udhampur?” She settled back slowly.
“Home to Indian Army's Northern Command.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll message you the list.”
She twisted her mouth. Why couldn’t he have regular conversation on a car ride? She reached for her mobile and froze. She patted her pockets. Nothing. She unzipped her purse. Not there.
“Fuck! Samar! Turn, turn! I forgot my mobile… where did I keep it? Shit, where did I… on the trolley!” She gasped. “Will it be there? Samar, take that U-turn…”
“Buy a new one, you are here for 6 months.”
“No! All our contacts are there, notes, plus my private stuff is there and there is no password!”
“You don’t learn from past mistakes?” He missed the U-turn.
“Stop lecturing and turn! Please!”
His free hand reached inside his pocket and pulled out her mobile, setting it on the dashboard. Amaal wanted to murder him.
————————————————————
Her Jammu accommodations weren’t as luxurious as her Srinagar flat, though they were spacious.
The flat here was a massive 1 BHK, the hall big enough to be divided further to create another bedroom.
The building was under construction, with two other flats above and below hers, and the KDP Jammu Headquarters under development on the ground floor.
Her first day had been spent meeting the KDP Jammu wing, led by Anand Khatriji, the man who had the backing of the Khatri community in the region.
He had brought a ready vote bank to KDP, as well as a debonair attitude that the soldiers in the founding team could not openly project in Kashmir yet.
He had also brought some opulence here, with such a large tract of land being developed into a KDP headquarters when the Srinagar one was a converted house.
Bigger and much prettier, but still a residential space.
Amaal finished unpacking some of her stuff early the next morning and got into her only workout gear — a pair of stretchy black leggings and an old slinky Nike T-shirt.
She had neither the time to work out in Kashmir, nor the place.
Here, there was a small in-house gym in the complex that was set up with the basics.
At 6.15 in the morning, when the sun had risen and made the sky bright with light and birds, Amaal locked her flat and descended the stairs, the windows big enough and dangerous enough without a high enough balustrade. Under construction.
She skipped, tightening her ponytail, soaking in the cool morning air before it became unbearable. Her Kashmiri skin, which had been pampered in the UK, was about to get burned so bad. She needed to order an extra backup of sunscreen from London. Expensive, but very, very essential for survival.
She reached the ground floor, the KDP office’s door already unlocked.
Had anyone even locked it last night? She peeped.
Three members were in, still waking up with yawns and chais.
The office was bare, with only one poster of Kashmir Development Party.
She made a mental note to design and put up signage.
Populate the place to look like a party office.
Amaal waved at the only man whose attention went to her — Varun, a young member she had met last night, who would be their face for the Jammu Municipal Elections.
He wasn’t as young — 39. But with the list of candidates from other parties, he was the youngest. He was already serving a term as the corporator, one of the 5 KDP corporators currently in a total of 75 seats.
Their mark was 38+ if they wanted to run the municipality, the JMC of the city, and elect their own Mayor and Deputy Mayor.
A massive leap, with Varun as their Mayor candidate. Too ambitious. But not impossible.
Amaal looked at him — a white kurta on jeans, the hem of the jeans folded over twice to fit.
“Good morning!” He called out.
“Good morning,” she smiled.
“Chai?”
“After gym.” She waved, making another mental note to start with a session on dressing and apparel for their candidates.
Amaal walked down the verandah and to the lone garage that served as the gym.
She pushed open the metal door and froze.
The music was death metal, amped up to full, machines making loud banging noises.
Grunting noises punctuated the music. She looked around, counting heads.
Only three men. And then her eyes fell on the fourth.
Samar. He was on a treadmill, running as if ghosts were chasing him.
She nodded at the three men on different machines as she passed them, smiling. They were all KDP members.
Amaal climbed up on the only treadmill beside Samar’s and set her stuff inside the phone holder. His head did not turn to her, nor did he acknowledge her in words. Sweat suffused his face, his hair drenched. The thin cotton of his T-shirt too stuck to his chest, his loose shorts about to get stuck.
“Hi,” she called out, hitting start on her own machine.
No response. His eyes were straight ahead on the glass window, looking out at the deserted road.
Amaal twisted her mouth and started walking.
She amped her speed to a brisk walk and went with the flow.
The music made her leave her own earphones off.
Time passed. She could see it pass on the screen of her machine.
The sun rose fully and spread in front of her.
The mango tree in front of her lit bright, raw green mangoes hanging low from its branches.
Her mouth watered. She didn't remember from where, but she had a memory of eating raw mango slices with salt and chilli. She would ask Mom about it.
“Come at 5.30 tomorrow onwards.”
She startled from her sweet thought and turned furrowed brows to Samar. He was not looking at her.
“Are you talking to me?”
“Yes.”
“We say hi, good morning, how are you, first.”
“You look like you are ok. What’s the point in asking?”
“Seriously?”
“Come earlier at 5.30 or after 7 if you want to use the gym.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“Is there some rule for founders at 6.15 and the rest of us before or after?”
“No.”
“Then?”
He hit the button on his machine to slow down. Amaal saw him not even pant too hard as he went from running to jogging to walking in a heartbeat. His treadmill came to a halt, and he stepped off, pulling his napkin from the handle and walking away. Amaal hit STOP on her own machine and jumped off.
“Hey! Wait.” She followed him. “Why should I come before or after your workout? Do I spread germs or what?” Amaal yelled over the music.
He went to the dock station and disconnected his mobile from the speakers.
The gym went silent. Amaal stopped in front of him.
But his head was still bent over his phone screen.
She looked around. Everybody else had left.
“Samar?”
He glanced up from his phone and wiped his brow. He looked at her then, his eyes halting long enough to acknowledge her presence.
“Our members are respectful boys but they are still boys. They have not worked with women, forget gymming with them…”
“So what? I must change my timing so that they don’t…”
“Listen.” He cut her off. Amaal gritted her teeth but glared at him.
“If we lived in an ideal world, you would not need to move your timings. I am sorry, we do not live in an ideal world. If you are comfortable with them staring at you, then come in, by all means…”
“They were not staring at me!”
He stared at her face, unblinking.
“Were they?” She suddenly sounded unsure.
She had not spared them a glance after entering.
But she wasn’t wearing anything out of the usual…
Amaal glanced down at herself. Her T-shirt was hugging her, as were her leggings.
But this was… perfectly normal. People wore bralettes and crop tops with short shorts to gyms nowadays. This was tame.
“Come at 5.30 while I am here.” Samar’s voice broke through her thoughts.
She glanced up. His chest was slowly hyperventilating, the lean muscles under his T-shirt suddenly too visible.
She quickly looked up at his face. His jaw was covered in dark stubble, heavier than usual, his mouth slightly open as he took deep breaths to relax after that run.
She raised her eyes higher, but his eyes were away, on the clock above the dock station.
Amaal bit into the inside of her cheek — “Ok.”
His eyes cut to hers. And she had to swallow the urge to… what? Hold her breath at how he looked? Her heartbeat quickened. She had walked at a fast pace for half an hour, and this was making her breathless?
As Samar reached down, picked up his bag and walked away, Amaal stood there wondering what was happening to her. She turned in time and took in the back of his head, his shoulders, his gait. Why was she feeling dizzy?