Chapter 35
But Amaal Durrani, Press Secretary to Chief Minister Kaul, had eclipsed every drawback of this job.
On day one, she had preened inside.
On day two, she had grinned.
On day three, she had smiled.
Now, a couple hundred days later, with the ups and downs they had already seen in the first six months of being in government, the title just skimmed past her ears. She hardly had time to breathe, forget absorb the words and relish them.
“Oh ho, Press Secretary Sahiba is here!” Varun’s annoyingly endearing voice made her turn. He was striding up the two steps that led to the KDP Jammu Headquarters, still in his jeans and kurta, with a crisp koti now. Amaal approved.
“Oh ho,” she called back. “Mayor Sahab is here.”
Varun opened his arms and embraced her. She patted his back, laughing. “It’s been a while, no?”
“A while?” He pulled back, his mouth twitching beneath that moustache he had started keeping in his old age. “You went back after the election and forgot we have another round to win here.”
Amaal squinted at him. “You managed fine on your own.”
“Fine? We snatched majority on our own.”
“Well done, mate.” She gave him a quick round of applause.
“What brings you here today?”
“I have…” she rolled her eyes exasperatedly, “a very tiring session that I am not looking forward to at all to plan the CM’s press schedule between his government commitments and party commitments.”
“Who are you sitting with?”
“Vishwas Bhaiya.”
He winced.
“Mmm,” Amaal pressed her mouth together. “What about you?”
“I am here to meet Samar Bhaiya. Ideally, he is supposed to come to me because… protocol. But when has he ever given a damn about it…”
Amaal held her smile as tight as she could while Varun gave her an overview of their new beautification drive across Jammu City, which would be joined by KDP volunteers as well. She missed key details, except when a particular name popped up.
“That’s great,” Amaal nodded through her smile. “I should go and wait for Vishwas Bhaiya in his office…”
“He hasn’t come yet?”
“No…”
Varun glanced at the clock — “If he hasn’t come yet then he will come after aarti at Raghunath Mandir. Which means, not before lunch.”
She huffed — “Don’t worry, I am used to waiting longer with Kashmiri bureaucrats.”
“I heard Atharva Bhai unleashed a whole military routine there?”
“He did, it’s worked to some extent, but old habits die hard…
” Amaal trailed as the bright sunlight of the door was darkened by a figure.
Samar Dixit. Still in his white shirt and black pants, specs on his nose, hair neat and face unyielding.
If he registered shock at her presence in Jammu KDP, he did not express it. He never did.
Amaal looked at him for what was a polite amount of time and moved her gaze away.
They had passed in professional settings without much else peacefully.
But their paths had gone separate ways for the most part.
She was no longer responsible for his press.
She no longer worked in the same institution as him.
She no longer worked in the same space as him, nor lived in the same building as him.
He was the President of Kashmir Development Party, in the process of starting a subsidiary party in Himachal Pradesh. She was the Press Secretary to the man he did not see eye to eye, spending her summers in Jammu and winters in Srinagar. There was no crossover.
Life had been merciful that way, separating her from him, for good.
“Arey, Samar Bhaiya!” Varun shook hands and embraced him, Samar’s eyes on her. “Himachal gaye toh hume bhool hi gaye?[103]”
His eyes finally left her face. She could feel them go.
“Yahin hoon.[104]” Samar said. “Amaal.” He opened his hand to her because that was polite in this company. She set her hand in his, shaking and moving out of his hold quickly with a smile — “How’s everything with the party?”
“Good.”
“I keep getting updates from Fahad,” she held her public smile up. “Your membership drive across Kishtwar was covered nicely. Atharva would have liked to be there but the engagements that day were tight and very far from there.”
“I understand.”
Amaal tipped her chin, then took a step back — “I will make a move and start plotting out my work until Vishwas Bhaiya comes. Great meeting you two again.”
“You too.” Varun waved. “Say hi to Khalil for me.”
Amaal noticed Samar’s eyes widen slightly before they blinked, and he was back to ground zero.
“Will do,” she waved back and climbed up the stairs, taking them two at a time. The shawl she had knotted at her throat began to feel warm, even in this cold. She tore it loose and kept climbing.
————————————————————
It was after 8 when she finally finished plotting the schedule for Atharva’s next four winter months in Jammu that would make it easier for him to work his party obligations while fulfilling his commitments as the Chief Minister.
It had taken a good chunk of her day, but the clarity would give her unprecedented control going forward.
She had learnt it the hard way in the first six months of Kashmir’s summer session.
Ever since the government had shifted here to Jammu last week, she had meant to do this working session.
Amaal descended the stairs and came out to a deserted reception area.
This KDP headquarters had been polished from the under-construction days when she had lived here, but it was just the same in its work timings. The place was a ghost town by sunset.
To be fair, it was winter.
“You are still here?”
Samar’s voice arrested her feet. She glanced at the coffee table and the surrounding chairs. He occupied one, thumb on his mobile, cigarette in mouth. Right under the No Smoking board. Amaal eyed it over his head. He knew that she did. And did not look like he cared.
She did not pay him heed. Amaal turned and stalked out of the door, the cool evening air nipping at her skin.
Jammu wasn’t as cold as Kashmir in January, but it still became still and silent.
The gym in the garage was lit though, loud pumping beats echoing out of its closed doors.
It was fancy now, real equipment, smoother flooring, more weights…
“You are still here, Amaal?” Varun came up beside her.
“Oh, hi, yes…” she trailed to a stop as she felt Samar on her other side.
“I was about to give Samar Bhaiya a lift. How are you going home?”
“I am going to the Secretariat.”
“Samar Bhaiya is also going there.”
She eyed Samar.
“I have work there.” Not for you, he seemed to say.
“Drop me then, I will ask the driver to stay put.” She pulled out her mobile, eyeing the Mayor’s convoy of cars lined up in the driveway.
She was no stranger to security-laden cars and convoys, having travelled with Atharva and his Z+ security numerous times.
But now… when Varun opened the door for her to slip into the back seat with him, and Samar took the passenger seat, the Police sirens blaring in front and ahead of them as they set off, she felt closed in.
From her vantage, she could see the outline of his face. His spectacles were flaring the light of the traffic ahead of her. The scent of his cigarette was suffocating her. The memory of his sins was beginning to hold her. She threw a blanket over it all and stared out of her window instead.
Let this journey pass quickly.
And it passed in a blur. They were dropped off outside the Secretariat, at the hour when the place was wrapping up.
They walked up together, silent, side by side.
She flashed her clearance card and got frisked while he got his visitor’s pass stamped.
And then they were together again, walking through the atrium towards the lift.
There were no visitors, most bureaucrats exiting where they entered.
The lift emptied out, and they stepped in. Again, alone.
“How are you?” He asked, gaze straight ahead.
“Good.”
“It’s been a while since we saw each other.”
“We met last month when you wouldn’t stop firing at Iram.”
Amaal saw in their reflection of the lift doors how his jaw clenched.
The lift pinged and the doors opened. She stepped out, her head turned enough to see him step back.
The doors began to close, she began to walk away.
And then she saw movement in her periphery.
He had lunged out impulsively, slipping through the closing doors.
Amaal turned, only to find a storm on his face. A sight she hadn’t seen in long months.
“Can we talk?” He nodded at the media pen ahead. Amaal eyed her office. Employees had thinned. Some still lingered though, curious eyes on them.
“Of course,” she clipped, turning to walk through the cubicles, nodding at people leaving.
“Amaal Madam?”
“Yes?”
“The CM has requested that you vet Iram Madam’s press schedule and align dates for them both. He also asked that you personally accompany Madam to her one-on-ones.”
“Email me both, I’ll take a look.”
Amaal strode to the end of the space and pressed down the door handle to her office. This one thing had been upgraded for her in this new job. Her own office, three times the size of the office at Boulevard Road Headquarters.
She heard Samar follow her inside and close the door. Amaal set her purse down, rounded her desk and sat down, gesturing at the chair without looking at him.
“Why do you vet Madam’s schedule too?”
She snapped her eyes up. He swallowed.
“Don’t tell me he doesn’t misuse resources that are due to him for Iram.”
“I am not your grievance box. The CM just set up a box outside. Drop it there.”
“Amaal,” he snarled.
“Talk and leave. I have a long night.”
Samar set his palms on her desk and leaned forward. It was a wide desk, he was too far away. And yet… something stilled inside her at the way he was looking at her. His specs had slid down his nose. His eyes were bare, naked, unfiltered. Dark.
“You accused me of being ruthless to Iram. But I did not know what had happened that night.”
“And?”
“If I had known…”