Chapter 20 #3
“Where are you stuck?”
“Huh?”
“In your writing process.”
“My blank document.”
“But you had to start editing your second book, isn’t it?”
“I have to write a whole new chapter insert to begin. I am unable to do that. Sherry is patient but her bosses won’t be for long.”
“Then start with something else.”
“I don’t want to leave this book unfinished, Atharva.”
“I don’t mean a new book. I mean, start editing from some other point right now.”
“No,” she sighed, looking sad for her profession. Given the sorrows they had seen, that was the best kind of sad. It was the bearable kind of sad. The kind of sad he could handle. Suddenly, the man in him that had always been able to fix things for her felt useful again.
“Alright, here’s what I offer — sit to write with me.”
“How will that make a difference?”
“You are about to find out.”
“But…”
“Grab your laptop and come up.”
“But the buns are baking.”
“I’ll shower, you wind up here in the meantime and come.”
“It’s late, you have to wake up early.”
“I am waiting, Iram. Come,” he took slow steps back, eyeing the 13 minutes left on the timer. “I mean it. 15 minutes. Come.”
————————————————————
Atharva showered at leisure today, enjoying a rare night because he had 15 minutes to kill.
His body felt dry in the late November weather.
Winter was just around the corner and even though a shower this hot would scald him, he enjoyed the burn for a few moments, tipping his face up into the water.
It was cathartic, especially after the year he had spent.
“You summoned me in 15 minutes and are still not out yourself?” She knocked.
“You come in then,” he joked, knowing the door was locked.
“I am going to sleep!”
Atharva laughed. Aah, his life was back.
He shut off the water and dried himself at leisure, knowing she would either be pretending to sleep under their thick duvet freshly aired for winter, or sitting up on his side, glaring at him if he was unlucky.
Atharva pulled on a pair of pyjamas and rubbed his hair dry, staring at himself in the mirror.
He was smiling, grinning, plotting what else he would do to annoy Iram tonight and make her write, and then maybe fall asleep wrapping her in his arms. It had been so long since he had slept feeling her safe in his arms. He combed his fingers through his hair and opened the door.
She had taken option 1.
The lights were still on and she was soundly asleep, the duvet tucked tight under her chin.
Atharva grabbed his towel and began to ball it in his hands. He lifted it high and aimed.
“Don’t even think about it.”
His arm froze.
“How do you know what I am doing?”
“I know it.”
He strode to their bed and peered closer. One eye was cracked open, a tiny sliver of a slit.
“What a cheater I married,” he poked her side, making her shriek. “Shh,” he clapped his hand over her mouth. “He will wake up.”
“Don’ttickleme!” She whacked his wrist. He took it off her mouth — “Where is your laptop?”
“Let’s do it tomorrow now.”
“No. Get it. I’ll get mine,” he climbed back down.
“You are working right now?” She sat up.
“I can work at any time. There is no dearth of work for me.”
Iram reached under her bedside table and pulled out her laptop sleeve.
He got his own iPad and the preliminary PAG report that had been typed fresh this evening.
He could free up his early morning at the Secretariat if he finished skimming it today.
Atharva put on his glasses and came back to bed, Iram staring at her closed laptop.
“Open it, Iram.”
She sighed, as if he were sending her to the executioner.
“Does writing feel so bad?” He climbed beside her. “If it’s too much, then don’t.”
“No, it’s not. I just… ok. I need to do this.
I need to start.” She gripped the top of her laptop and pulled the hood open.
It began to boot up. Atharva pushed a pillow behind her and took two for himself, just as they used to like it.
He reached down and covered their legs with the duvet and they set up in silence.
“You like to sit on the lounger while working but we will start from here,” he told her. “Hmm?”
She nodded. As soon as her laptop screen lit up, her gumption began to spiral down.
“Come on, myani zuv.”
She opened her Word doc and stared blankly at it.
“Iram.”
“I need more time. This is… what if…”
“100 words. Delete them all later. For now, 100 words. You have 5 minutes.”
Her head whirled to him. “You are challenging me?”
“I can read 500 words in this report in 5 minutes. Can you write a 100 at least?”
She stared at him, his Iram, her brown irises flaring, crackling, lighting up.
“On your marks,” she challenged back. He quickly unlocked his iPad and grabbed his report folder. “Get set.”
“Go!” They shot out in unison and before he could even start reading the title, the sweet ticks of her keyboard hit his ears.
————————————————————
“New assignment for you,” he met her halfway down the stairs.
“You scared me!” She snapped back before he slipped his arm around her waist to steady her. “I was going to call you to eat.”
“I ate my bread last night and also the chef’s scolding, thank you very much.”
Her eyes narrowed.
“Is that Arth?” Atharva held his ear out.
“Noora is singing to him.”
“And he is liking it?” He scowled, moving to the banister and peeping down. He couldn't see it but the sounds were clear. “No,” he muttered.
“Your son likes Noora’s company,” Iram added fuel to the fire.
“I worked doubly hard to keep you away from him during your pregnancy. But you just had to go and gossip with him.”
She grinned up at him with her whole body — “He is good company.”
He stared down his nose at her, then reached inside his pocket and held the keys out to her — “Then you are about to miss his company this morning.”
“What? My car keys?”
“Take it and go for a drive.”
“Why?! I have… we all have to eat breakfast. Begumjaan is waiting, Noora also…”
“After breakfast.”
“But Arth… you can’t seriously mean I take him also.”
“If you want, take him too. But I really want you to go alone.”
Her throat worked a long swallow. Her chest rose, then fell, her eyes not leaving his.
“Atharva…”
“You used to love driving.”
“I know.”
“Then go.”
“Is it… safe?”
He smiled — “It’s not like it used to be. But you will have your security convoy tailing you.”
“I don’t know if I can be trusted to be alone.”
“What are you scared of?”
She shrugged.
“Put on my playlist. Call me if you feel even a little off. Hmm?”
She chewed her bottom lip, then nodded.
“Take it.”
Iram picked up the keys from his palm, looking at them like she was seeing them for the first time.
“Wait. Arth? Begumjaan is there but we don’t want to keep putting him on her…”
“I’m home.”
“You are not leaving?” She stepped down and gave him a once-over. “But you are ready.”
“I am not leaving immediately. I’ll start late today.”
“For me?”
“For erasing Noora’s songs from my son’s memory.”
“Ha, good luck with that.”
————————————————————
“We haven’t gotten any skin-to-skin time lately, have we?” Atharva held his son up and nuzzled his onesie-covered tummy. He chortled. “You are a big boy and I miss it already.”
Yathaarth’s bright eyes shone brighter in the sun streaming across the windows of his hall and Atharva leaned back on the sofa, setting him on his chest. Suddenly, he felt too big on his chest and Atharva realised that he couldn't remember the last time he had held his son like this. Ever since Iram’s return and then her slow takeover of his care, he had consciously stepped back, and kept stepping back.
“You won’t even know how fast he’ll grow up,” Begumjaan remarked from the seat across from him, going through the catalogue of seeds she was planning to order.
“Exactly. Kids grow up so fast, isn’t it, Begumjaan?” Noora sat with one leg over another, sipping water from a glass, through a straw.
“It’s a weekday, don’t you have somewhere to be?”
He frowned — “Like, the bank?” His round eyes rolled up. “But I don’t have money to deposit. I don’t save enough with this inflation. Give me a raise and I can deposit it.”
“Talk to Samar. He is the President.”
“He does not let me come into his house.”
Atharva’s brow shot up, holding Yathaarth by his bum as he began to root on his chest. “No milk, Dilbaro.”
“Imagine if they could get milk from both Mouji and Baba, huh?” Noora remarked in amazement. Atharva stared at him.
“I mean… what fun, no? Here milk, there milk, everywhere milk-milk. Old McDonald had a farm…”
Yathaarth’s face turned to that toneless lilt.
No, Atharva groaned, trying to distract his son.
To no avail. The honk of Iram’s car sounded and Atharva trained his eyes to the window.
From his position half-leaning on the backrest with Yathaarth on his chest, he couldn't see much.
He heard car doors and then there was shuffling at the door. He waited with baited breath.
A massive brown teddy bear head darkened the door of his house. He sat up. A life-sized brown teddy bear, taller than Iram, was being hauled into their hall, toddling. Atharva’s chest vibrated.
He turned Yathaarth in time to see it and bent his chin to observe his reaction. His son identified colours, shapes, people; maintained eye contact. Atharva glanced down but he was staring owlishly at the teddy with blank blinks. His lips wobbled.
“Did he see it?” Iram’s voice came from behind the teddy bear, straining as she held it up.
“Umm… yes.” Atharva didn’t want to witness what would happen next, because Yathaarth looked spooked. He began to turn his son around and distract him when Iram peeked out from behind the teddy bear — “Arth!”
His son let out a loud chortle.
Atharva’s chest caved in. Not at the sound of that chortle but at the sight of Iram’s awed face.
“Arth!” She stepped out from behind the teddy and his son’s head bounced on his chest as he tried to hide shyly, giggling. Iram padded to them, lowering herself on her haunches between his knees.
“Hi,” she whispered, her voice so small and hopeful and victorious. Tears were beginning to pool in her eyes. “Remember me?”
Yathaarth’s face pushed back out of his chest and he bodily hauled himself to her.
Atharva had to hold him steady to pass him safely as he fell into Iram’s chest, his tiny hands curling in her hair as she rocked him from side to side.
He didn’t root for her breast. Didn’t do anything. Just stayed there.
“Me too,” she laughed with those tears leaking quietly. “Me too.”
Atharva’s eyes moved over from that sight and met Begumjaan’s knowing ones. She was sitting there, catalogue in hand, looking on as if she was writing this entire script. And maybe she was, with her slow guidance and soft conversations.
Loneliness only suits Allah Miyan, Janab.
I agree, Begumjaan.