Chapter 23
Jammu and January were synonymous with new beginnings.
Or so it had been for her. Iram pushed the curtains open in their new bedroom which was just as she had left it two years ago.
Last year, her pregnancy hadn’t allowed her to travel here for the winter session but the furniture, the stock of linens, even the stack of toiletries had been untouched.
“Mmmmm mummm mmm…”
The newest music of her life banged his tiny hands on the wooden bars of his cot. Grey eyes peeped at her as he tried to push up on his butt.
“Does Arth want his mum-mum?” Iram called out loudly.
Then pretended to look for him — “But where is Arth?” She came to his cot and bent down to check.
Loud chortles and more banging. “Where is Arth? Where is Arth…” she pushed up and squealed down into his bed — “Hah!” She gasped.
And he buried his eyes in his tiny hands, about to fall off his bum in glee. Iram scooped him up — “Here is Arth!”
He giggled, burrowing his eyes further into his palms and pushing his face deeper into her neck.
Iram pressed a noisy kiss to the top of his curls.
“What do you want for breakfast today? Hmm?” She tickled his chin, making those naughty greys peep out of his hands.
They were so bright. Darker than his father’s in shade but so, so alive.
“Are we eating banana or apple today?” She hitched him on her chest and began to make her way down the stairs where she had already readied his apple puree.
“Atharva!” She called out.
“In the bathroom, myani zuv.”
“I know! Come down for breakfast.”
“Arth woke up?”
Yathaarth banged his hands together at the sound of his father’s voice. Iram grinned, walking him to the door and letting him bang his hands there.
“Ba-ba,” she whispered in his ear. “Ba-ba.”
“Mummmm…mmmmm!” He banged.
“What?” Atharva’s muffled voice broke through the shower.
“Baba is showering in water. You still want to go?” She booped his nose.
He had started to hate the shower with a vengeance.
Not a bath. He loved to sit in a tub full of water.
What he detested was water falling on him.
What he detested more was a wet spot on his person.
Even a tiny little splotch was enough to send him into a meltdown.
Or as Atharva liked to call it — the tearless wail.
The water shut off and the door opened, steam spilling out around the formidable man in nothing but a towel around his waist. His solemn face broke into a smile at the sight in front of him and he instantly reached for Yathaarth — “Want to shower, Dilbaro?”
Iram bit her lip, letting him do his gradual desensitization thing.
Yathaarth went happily. He hadn’t learnt yet with only two traps his father had set him.
Iram stepped in after them, leaning against the long double sink as Atharva stepped close to the shower stall and turned the knob.
Rain started pelting in front of them and her son, as expected, started yelling.
“Look at this,” Atharva collected water in his palm and brought it to him. Yathaarth pushed it way, turning around and straining himself towards her over Atharva’s shoulder.
“Mama to the rescue!” Iram reached up and nuzzled his nose with hers. Her husband smelled incredible — soap and shampoo.
“And what will Mama do when it actually rains?” Atharva shut off the water, jostling Yathaarth from one arm to the other like he loved it. Instantly, his frowns were done.
“Huh?” Iram peeked at her son from over Atharva’s other shoulder and he was back to cuddling against his father’s chest, the traitor.
“Haww! He took you to the shower!”
Atharva grinned, turning around and kissing her mouth — “Does he ever remember?”
“Stop kissing me, he is learning to talk!” She pushed at his chest. Atharva’s free hand wrapped around her waist — “I have a few more months before he starts properly.” He kissed her deeper, their son’s head turned away to preen at himself in the mirror.
“And even then, it will take him a long time to string sentences. And know what K-I-S-S means.”
Iram kissed his stubbled chin — “Janab. Get ready.”
“What’s for breakfast?”
“Apple puree.”
“The joys of life!” Atharva threw Yathaarth up and around, bringing forth his most thrilling laugh. “From green gravy to apple puree.”
“Ok, enough,” she reached for their son. “It’s going to be 8 and if we cross that, you know what’s coming.”
Atharva’s eyes widened at their son — “Your hunger pangs are a thing of legends now, isn’t it?”
“Guess where he got it from?”
“His Mama. Baba has survived weeks on peanuts.”
“Show off. Baba is a show-off. Come on, apple puree mum-mum!”
“Myani zuv?”
Iram turned.
“Pack me a box. I’ll be leaving right away.”
She frowned.
“I have a meeting with Amaal.”
“It’s Amaal, she will be ok until you eat…”
“It’s not logged.”
Iram stilled. “Oh.”
He turned, reaching for his trimmer.
“Atharva?” She met his eyes in the mirror.
“Yes?”
“There are a lot of meetings that are not logged nowadays. Is everything ok?”
She had seen this even before they had moved to Jammu.
Pops and Grandma had been home, and she had been the one taking them out and showing them around.
In those last few days in Srinagar, he had been suddenly very busy.
He had kept Captain Husain and Mirza close all through the last year but after she had returned, he hadn’t held them so tight.
Now, he was holding covert meetings with Amaal.
“Atharva?”
“I know what you are thinking,” he straightened from his hunch to work around his stubble. Grey eyes sharpened and his scar stretched — “Iram, it is not about anything like last time, and I am not working to hide anything from you.”
“Then this?”
His mouth opened, ready to speak, when his eyes fell on Yathaarth.
“Let’s talk tonight.”
“Promise?”
“Promise.”
“You better not hide anything.”
“I am burned twice.”
She smirked, nuzzling her son’s temple — “Baba has learnt his lesson well.”
“Very well,” he snorted, returning to his trimming.
————————————————————
It was astonishing how a place could turn your mood, your lifestyle, your entire being.
Jammu for her had been that place. She had first visited this city a few days after their wedding.
And even with the attempted hit on Atharva followed by scrambling events for some of his last rallies here, she had always considered Jammu their first honeymoon.
The first of many that he had promised her.
Then she had come back here again when he had become the Chief Minister, for his first winter session.
Grappling with the loss of their first baby, down but not defeated, she had rebuilt life here.
She had made this government bungalow into a home with Shiva, as Atharva had set up his winter intel throughout Kashmir — the intel that seemed to be failing him lately.
Iram decided not to worry about his work until he brought it to her.
And he would, as he had promised. She was trusting him again after the last time.
But what was there to do? She would always trust him, his intentions.
And looking at his remorse, she knew he wouldn’t repeat the last year.
Moreover, she saw in his eyes — the respect that she had cultivated for herself in her own eyes.
The strength that she had grown through this misery.
He was now surer than ever, as was she, that whatever came — she was ready.
That spirit was translating into her life, her bond with her baby as well as her writing.
“It’s like I am rewriting the book, Sherry,” she spoke into the laptop screen, Yathaarth’s head pushing up from the coffee table to peek.
He couldn’t stand on his own yet but he did try to scroll himself and try to get into all kinds of trouble.
Iram grabbed him around the middle and sat him down in her lap, sitting up on the sofa.
“Hello, mini author!” Sherry cooed. Or the best she could do with that naturally authoritative voice. “Is your mom feeding you words and outlines already?”
“We are working on three words currently — Mama, Baba and Arth.” Iram looked at her son and he gave her a toothless grin. “You know who is Arth?” She asked him and his head fell forward into her chest, squealing shyly.
“He is so cute. Why did you have to move to Jammu when he is in this good of a phase? We could have had our meetings in person!”
“Trust me, I would have liked to be in our home as well. Baby proofing two houses is maddening, especially two as big as these.”
“You didn’t hire a nanny there?”
“I don’t need one.”
“Who doesn’t need a nanny?”
“Taking care of him is not a chore. Frankly, it’s not even a thought. I don’t even see it as taking care of another person. It’s like we always had him between us and now he has materialised.”
“CM sahab would definitely not think on those lines,” Sherry smirked. Iram laughed.
“Which brings me back to our Taj. What’s going on with him? Why is he suddenly softening? It’s not making sense, and I do not think you will be able to meet the deadline with the way you are going about scraping and rewriting chapters. We have already missed crucial months.”
“I understand, Sherry. But I feel like he was this macho, alpha man in Rescuing Heaven and I did not show any evolution in his character in this book. He has to grow. And growth for a man as tough as him is not to toughen up more but soften, reclaim his humane side, start showing his vulnerabilities to Zoon. That’s a real man we can stand behind. ”
“That’s not what’s working in the romance market, madam. It’s a possessive, alphahole kinda man who is always ready to take on the next challenge.”
“I do not remember writing a romance series.”
“But I remember us positioning it on the romance shelf, AND, it being picked up because of that.”
“Ok, look, here’s what we can do — let me rewrite the first three chapters…”
Sherry groaned.