Chapter 17 #2
She glanced at Begumjaan and decided to start.
No point in waiting, especially for Safiya Begum.
However fit she looked while caring for Yathaarth and her, Iram could see the exhaustion weighing her down by night.
She was used to eating and going to bed by 8.
In Budgam, life set with the sun and woke up with the sun.
Unlike here, where it woke up with the sun but set with Atharva’s arrival home — usually post 9.
“Begumjaan,” she served her the gravy. “This is my special recipe.”
“The famous green gravy,” she sniffed, no doubt decoding the spices and the seasoning.
“He has told you also?” Iram went to Yathaarth’s cot and peeped inside. He was happily playing with the mobile over him.
“He has been badmouthing you,” Begumjaan pointed. “Time to avenge yourself, Iram.”
She grinned, an idea forming. Iram filled his plate, hurried into the kitchen, chopped up three dark green chillies and sprinkled them into his gravy. She mixed it up to hide the darker green inside the green and came back just in time for him to stride out of his office.
“On time, Janab…” she trailed as he stopped over Yathaarth’s cot too, tickled his belly, and only then came to the table.
Iram set the plate in front of his chair and he did not even look at what was on it.
She observed, unnerved, as he broke the paratha, scooped up the gravy and ate — “What have you all been up to today?”
Iram met Begumjaan’s eyes. She noticed it too.
But she launched into conversation easily.
Iram couldn't. She saw the bites go into his mouth, the chillies bring red water to his eyes.
He kept eating, like nothing was wrong. He drank his given glass of water, finished the food that had been served on his plate and pushed to his feet — “I have a call to make. I am sorry.”
“Go, go,” Begumjaan gestured with her hand.
And he was gone. Just as aimlessly as he had come.
Iram glanced at Begumjaan.
Go, she mouthed.
Iram didn’t have to be told twice.
————————————————————
Knock. Knock.
No answer.
Knock again.
“Yes, Shiva?”
“It’s me.”
Pause.
She depressed the handle and pushed in, only to find that there was nothing out of the usual. He was on his chair, his laptop open, his iPad in one hand and glasses perched on his nose.
“What happened?”
“Is everything ok, Atharva?”
“Yes. I had a call.”
She stepped inside and closed the door behind her.
“How was the food?”
“Good, why?” He took his eyes back to his iPad.
“It wasn’t too spicy?”
“Maybe a little, but you know I like spice,” he answered.
“I made it.”
Grey eyes whirled up, and stared at her over the rim of his iPad.
“It was your green gravy.”
He blinked.
“There were three green chillies in your plate.”
Atharva pulled his iPad down, his mouth slightly open.
“What is happening, Atharva?”
“Nothing is happening.”
“You can’t be like this.”
“And you can tell me how to be after not being here for months? This is how I was then.”
It hurt. She had asked him to let it come but it did hit where it hurt. Iram swallowed the ball of tears down and nodded.
He jumped to his feet and rounded the table, closing the distance between them. “I am sorry, I am so sorry…” he grabbed her hand and tugged her into his chest. “I am so sorry,” his forehead fell over hers. “You are right, there is something wrong.”
“Because of Dev…”
“No,” he cut her off emphatically. “No.”
She held her tears back. “With us.”
“No,” he reared back, his eyes strained but honest behind those glasses. “No, not with us. I mean, I am definitely snapping at you again and that’s not right but… you asked me to let it come out.”
“I did.”
“I am sorry. It’s like Mama all over again. And I can’t stop comparing.”
“I did do what she did…”
“No! No, myani zuv, your constraints were different. This is me, I have to separate those two experiences.”
“So what is it?”
“What?”
“If we are ok, then what is it?”
He sighed, shaking his head — “Just work. Nothing for you to worry about.”
“When has it ever stopped me from worrying about your ‘work?’”
One side of his mouth pulled up — “I never valued it enough how easily I could come and talk to you about my work.”
“Until I wasn’t here.”
“Yes,” he confessed honestly, without cutting. “Until you weren’t here.”
“But now I am. Tell me.”
“Iram, it’s causing me constant headaches. Let it remain mine for now.”
“Is it that railway vandalism?”
“That and more. Usama Aziz’s death has sparked a domino effect.”
Her eyes widened. “Usama Aziz is dead?”
“Oh… yes. He was killed in an encounter.”
“When?”
“Some time ago. We have been in a state of emergency of sorts.”
“It doesn’t look like it… or wait, there is military everywhere. I just went out twice and my head has been buried in myself, and us, and Yathaarth…”
“As it rightfully should be.”
“But…”
“No. Iram, it is not worth worrying for you. I will deal with it.”
“Not if you are dealing with headaches. Since when have you been having them?”
“It’s just this week,” he squinted. “I just need more sleep and one day with 40% bad news and 60% good news.”
“You have been waking up every time Arth cries. I will wake up tonight onwards.”
“Can you lift him up from his cot when you are groggy yourself?”
“I will have to learn, no? You go and sleep in the attic. Straight eight hours.”
“We’ll see.”
“And tomorrow, we are getting your eyes checked.”
“What for?”
“Last time you had recurring headaches, you got fitted with glasses. The number might have gone up.’
“It hasn’t. I had my eye test two months ago.”
Her lips pursed.
“And anyway, we have our appointment with Dr. Baig tomorrow.”
“You are coming?”
“Of course I am.”
“Work?”
“The bad news will find me wherever I go. Don’t worry.”
Iram slipped her arms around his torso and froze. The muscles that bunched under her palms were stronger and firmer than before. How had she not noticed it yet?
She let the momentary hesitation pass and caressed his back.
“Begumjaan says that thinking is a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
“Does she?”
“Don’t act shocked. You are a treasure chest of her wisdom.”
“I have my glasses to prove it,” he pointed to his frame. She stared at him, admiring the brilliant, beautiful man who was muscle, might and then these glasses. She reached out and set the glasses tighter on his nose — “Very wise, Janab.”
He smiled. A genuine, complete smile.
“What were you doing just now?”
“Reviewing intel reports after a call with Captain Husain.”
“What do they say?”
“In the last two months, 70% of all intel has failed.”
“But you worked to make your spy network foolproof in Jammu last year.”
“Something is wrong. Some link is broken, or worse — corrupted. Outside forces, I can handle. But I’m unable to figure out what is going wrong inside. It’s like something big is coming.”
“Talk to me.”
His head snapped back towards the ceiling with a long-drawn huff — “Can I talk to you about something else?”
“What?”
“Your green gravy was awful.”
Iram burst out laughing — “That’s because it was pumped with green chillies,” she poked his chest. “It was meant as a joke.”
“I am hungry.”
“You had to eat when it was served.”
“I want another round.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
“This is unfair. You’ve been hyping up that green gravy for years.”
“And you have been badmouthing it outside.”
His head snapped — “Who told you?”
Her brow went up.
“Safiya Begum has started to deal in gasoline then,” he muttered under his breath.
Iram smiled at the return of her Atharva.
She grabbed his head and reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek.
Her mouth pressed to his jaw and he stilled.
So did she. The scrape of his stubble pierced her lips, reminding her of things that felt like they had happened in a past lifetime.
She took a second longer to pull back, and felt the indent of his stubble hairs on her lips, letting it tingle across her mouth.
She inhaled. His Old Spice and musk were always in her nostrils.
But now… they hit her full force. From the source.
Emanating with the heat of his skin. His gaze cut to her, stupefied, as if this was the first time she had kissed him.
And in the second that passed, she realised it felt like that.
Iram bit her lip, pushing her nose into the centre of his neck.
“You can’t still be all…” his arms tightened around her.
“All what?” She pushed away from his body. He snapped her back and clasped his hands behind her. “Swoony kissing me.”
Her mouth dropped open.
“No green gravy for you!” She broke free from his hold and opened the door. He followed her out, laughing, the hall quiet, the kitchen dimmed.
“Give me food, I am hungry!”
“Keep it down! Begumjaan must have gone up to sleep!”
“Give me my green gravy!”
She turned and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Let’s pray that Arth does not inherit the tantrum gene.”
“Shall I remind you of your pregnancy tantrums…?” He stopped short, as if wary of the words that had left his mouth. Iram picked up right where he had left off — “You want a repeat telecast?”
As if recharged, he went on. “I would like it with my green gravy.”
And they traded barbs as she switched on the kitchen lights, brought out his green gravy and reheated it. Without the chillies this time. Their banter kept its pace, lighting up their dinner time — this time relished. And Iram thought to herself — this was good. This was already good.