Chapter 26
Happiness is just results minus expectations.
It had been an upward climb to understand this simple fact.
And today, after thirty-two years on this planet, she could claim to understand this phenomenon.
Yathaarth still wasn’t crawling, but instead of panicking over it, she was taking joy in the fact that he was slowly standing on his feet and using support to walk sideways.
“Some babies directly go from scrolling to walking, yours might be one of those, Mrs. Kaul,” Dr. Shankar had exclaimed on their visit to Srinagar for Yathaarth’s vaccine shots in February.
Her silent worries had been quietened then.
The chilled winters had given way to the sunny spring of March.
The air was thinner, the scent of greens more pronounced, and Jammu a lot louder as the season changed.
“Myani zuv?” Atharva called out and she startled from her perch on their bedroom window.
“Look at him,” Atharva showed her their son held in a Buddha perch between his arms on his chest. Iram’s eyes widened.
“Who took you outside?!” She shrilled, wondering if to blast at him or laugh.
His brand new clothes were stained with mud, the front of his shirt — all brown.
His chin and mouth and half of his face were covered in mud and stray greens, the tidily combed curls now springing from all sides.
Those dark greys though were grinning at her.
“Did he eat mud?”
“I checked. He didn’t.”
Iram whirled her eyes to his father — “You took him to the garden?”
“I value my life. He went on his own.”
“There is a verandah to climb down…” Iram stopped short. Her jaw dropped open — “Did he…?”
“I didn’t see it but there is no other explanation. Noora isn’t here and Shiva was in the kitchen.”
“Where were you?” Iram ran her thumb over Yathaarth’s mouth, holding his protesting jaw in her hand and cleaning the muddy lips he had already licked multiple times.
“Stop! Arth,” she took him from Atharva’s hands and went to the bathroom, holding him down and using water to wash his face and neck. He protested, crying angrily.
“I was on a call and didn’t even realise when he went,” Atharva laughed silently behind her.
“This is not funny,” Iram whirled, half laughing herself as her son wailed at the wet splotches on his shirt. “Quiet, you are ok with mud and not with water?! Everybody is coming home. And now I have to bathe you again. And I didn’t even get to see you walk. No crying now, shh.”
Her son blinked angry, wet eyes at her, then let out a new note of wail.
“It’s the tearless one,” Atharva commented.
“I am dressed and now even I have to bathe with him…” Iram looked down at herself — white chickan pheran with the softest pink embroidery, come in freshly stitched.
Makeup in place, hair smoothened and safe from the new humidity in the air.
“Arthhh!” She growled playfully at him and even in his tearless wail he laughed.
“Give him to me, I’ll bathe him.” Atharva plucked him from over her shoulder.
“You are ready too.” She turned, eyeing the rare Sunday form of her husband.
He had a black polo on and had pulled out one of the two jeans he owned.
They were hosting the KDP founding members today for her post-birthday dinner — their friends, along with Mirza.
Ada hadn’t been able to leave Ahmedabad for the weekend.
“I’ll take it off, you go and see what’s up in the kitchen.”
Atharva expertly manoeuvred her out of the bathroom.
“Bring him down. I have to see this walking thing. How did he walk down three steps?”
“Come on, Dilbaro. We have a bath to conquer and then an After-Action Review to present!” He threw their son up and around in his favourite Ninja move and closed the bathroom door.
————————————————————
“Leave him there now,” Iram directed, standing at the edge of their threshold. “But you stand on the other side in case he falls.”
“Nothing will happen. He will climb down himself.”
“If he does, then we have to start keeping this door closed…” she trailed as Atharva left their freshly cleaned son on the marble flooring of their house.
The threshold was a few steps away and she stood behind Yathaarth, Atharva taking the step down to the verandah. They kept their eyes on him, waiting.
Yathaarth blinked, sitting silently on his bum. Never in his life had he sat so silently, glancing between them like they were two strange clowns.
“Go, go, baby,” she pushed, trying to pull him up to his feet. He thumped back down on his bum, mouth pouted, eyes solemn on her.
“Arth, who is my big boy? Go to Baba. Go… Where is Baba?”
His face split into a grin and he turned his head to his father, letting out loud claps — “Bababa.”
Atharva’s face changed. His mouth dropped open.
Iram gasped — “Yes… Baba, go to Baba…”
“Bababababaa…” he banged his hands together, then pushed them down on the marble and banged harder. “Babababaaaa.”
“Arth, come on, baby, come on, where is Baba?” Iram grabbed him under the armpits and stood him up to his feet again, passing her index fingers into his fists. He pulled her fingers down with him as he went. THUMP.
“Oooof,” she huffed, glancing at the clock. “They will start coming for dinner, baby, come on. Now, look, where is Baba?”
Loud honks sounded one after another.
“They are here already,” Atharva turned and began to stride away.
“Bababaaaba!” Yathaarth got to his feet and started stumbling after him.
“Atharva!”
He glanced back and there it was — their son, using both hands to hold the floor and leverage himself down the step of their threshold, then breaking into a waddling run for his father, arms out to hold balance.
Atharva’s arms opened and Yathaarth went right into them, squeaking, laughing, singing his name like some holy chant.
“There you go!” Atharva threw him up. “Good job, Dilbaro,” he pressed a noisy kiss into his neck. His eyes came to her and his brows rose.
“Why are you crying, myani zuv?”
“Huh?” She startled, realising her eyes were getting blurry. She rubbed them hard — “I’m not crying.”
“Zuvzuv is crying,” Atharva stepped inside the house, grabbing her hand and pulling her close. Instead of his mouth, he pushed another tiny mouth to her cheek and Yathaarth tried blowing bubbles like his father’s raspberries. She laughed, turning her head and kissing his smooth, round cheek.
“Close your eyes, close your eyes, kids!” Adil announced, alarmed, and they turned to the commotion on their threshold. Qureshi, Sarah, the kids, Adil, Amaal and Mirza.
“Want to see something fun?” Atharva quickly set Yathaarth on his feet and took his fists with his index fingers. Yathaarth walked a few steps to gasps. Atharva left his fists and he thumped down.
“Go ahead of him,” Iram directed. And Atharva rounded their son, waving at him and turning to leave the house.
Yathaarth saw him stride out, blinked for a few seconds, then got to his feet and began waddling along.
Loud claps reverberated from the verandah with hoots and shouts of encouragement just as Atharva turned and swooped him up again.
Iram teared up again.
They would have made two kids race for this. Hayat. If she were here… they would have both walked after their Baba.
“Hey,” Amaal found her as Atharva took the walking party outside, the men and Sarah following him. “You are crying?”
She sniffled, pinching her eyes clean.
“Don’t do that! You will smudge the mascara.”
“It’s waterproof,” Iram chuckled, turning away from the laughs and hoots outside to more demos, drying her tears in privacy.
“Iram,” Amaal came in front of her. “Are you not feeling well?”
“No, no, it’s nothing like that. I was thinking about her. She would have walked with him today. Who knows, walked faster. She weighed more than him when she was born, did you know that?”
Amaal’s eyes smiled, her hand coming to grab hers.
They clasped together and Amaal squeezed.
Iram smiled, shaking her head. “It’s been a while since I thought about her in one of Arth’s milestones.
I used to, in the beginning, then consciously gave up, telling myself that I would be unjust to Arth if I drowned myself in sorrow for every happy moment of his life. I just couldn't help it today.”
“It’s alright,” Amaal squeezed her hand again. “You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”
“Oh, I am not feeling guilty.” Iram glanced at her. “I am just happy to discover that I could dip into the thought of my daughter and come back to my son without getting lost. That’s a big win for me today.”
Amaal’s mouth opened to say something when her eyes fell behind her and her smile froze. Iram frowned, glancing over her shoulder.
Samar stood there, sweet boxes in hand. He looked uncomfortable, glancing from her to Amaal, then back to her — “Uhh…” he trailed. “Amaal, where did you want these?”
“In the kitchen. I’ll take them,” she strode to him and accepted the boxes. “Iram, I brought chocolate barfi for everyone.”
Amaal’s voice disappeared inside the kitchen and Iram stared at Samar. The sounds of the ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ outside were now amplified in the silence of the hall, the mildly warm air thick.
“How are you feeling now?” Iram asked.
“What happened to me? You were… unwell,” he said tactfully.
She glanced at his arms, covered in full sleeves till the wrists where some scars still showed. His eyes landed there and his mouth rounded. “Right. It’s fine.”
Iram nodded — “I asked Amaal for any dietary restrictions…”
“There are none,” he cut her off.
She nodded.
More silence.
More awkwardness.
More looking everywhere but at each other.
“Atharva and everyone are outside,” she finally gathered the courage to break it.
“Yes. I saw. I’ll be out.”
“Oh, no, you can sit here. I didn’t mean it like that. If you want to lie down or something, the bedroom downstairs is also open.”
Samar’s mouth, that stiff, pursed, tight line of a mouth curved slightly. His glasses slid down his nose as he tipped his chin down — “I am fine. It’s been close to a year.”
“Oh… yes,” she forgot that his accident was as old as her son. He had saved the life of her son, her daughter and her. Debts worth three lifetimes, as Atharva had put it.
“How are you doing now?” Samar asked.
“Who, me?” Her brows shot up. “Oh, I am doing fine. Really, good.”
“That’s good. I’ll go out.”
Iram worked to smile, feeling something thaw but still half there.
He turned on his heels and disappeared outside, his gait quick but a mild limp visible.
Iram stared after him. Some people — you did not understand why they were in your lives.
They played big roles, but the in-between was all vacuum.
————————————————————
Stuffed full with chole-kulche, rajma-chawal and tandoori dishes roasted fresh in the garden, Iram ran her eyes over the troop settled in the garden.
The patio table had been cleared of their dinner vessels and was now laid with Amaal’s chocolate barfi — a Jammu speciality everybody seemed to be fond of, the blondies that she had baked last night and hidden from Atharva, and salted caramel ice cream to go with it all.
Maha was on her way to her third serving of all three desserts and Amaal was competing with her in polishing it off.
Atharva was deep in conversation with Adil and Samar, his miffed mood after he had discovered that there was no mango dessert now forgotten.
Daniyal, though, stared blankly in the distance, his father’s eyes on him.
Iram grabbed the glasses of water and walked to the table, Sarah behind her with pitchers filled with iced water that they knew would be gulped within minutes thanks to so much sugar inside everyone’s systems.
“Is he asleep?” Iram asked and Sarah peeped into Yathaarth’s cot that they had parked in the garden, covered with his mosquito net.
“Snoring. How do you manage alone? I had my mother both times and still I was exhausted.”
“I get tired too. Most days, I cannot see two feet ahead after midnight. It’s been months since I stayed up past 1 in the night. But this is the life I prayed for.”
“You sometimes say something so simple and make me wonder how wise you are.”
“I am not wise. I was just lucky to learn from my worst days.”
“That’s not luck, Iram, that’s spirit. Some of us can’t hold on long enough to keep it alive.”
Iram gaped at her, trying to find the source of that confession.
“Water, Ammi!” Maha called out.
“Here, here,” Sarah walked on. “Iram, glasses?”
She followed Sarah and began to pass the glasses around when Atharva’s phone rang. It always rang, was always buzzing. But this time, Altaf was striding towards him as well.
“Hello?” Atharva picked it up, pushing his chair back and nodding at them all to walk away. Iram saw him meet Altaf halfway. Something was wrong. She saw Adil, Samar and Qureshi’s eyes pick it up. Amaal was clued in as well, her phone open in front of her as she typed vigorously.
She saw something, read, then passed her bowl of ice cream to Maha and pushed out from her chair. Iram noted her walk towards Atharva, join them just as he ended his call. They talked. Hush-hush. And then they were striding back, all three of them.
“I am sorry, we will have to take a round of the Secretariat. You guys carry on, we’ll be back,” Atharva tapped Adil’s shoulder. None of his partners asked him why he was going.
“But why?!” Maha whined. “You stay, Amaal Aapa.”
“We’ll be back in half an hour,” Atharva smiled down at her, patting the top of her head. “Don’t eat all the ice cream.”
Iram caught Atharva’s eyes as Altaf ran ahead to signal for his convoy. It was not good, whatever it was.
“What happened?” She asked as Atharva passed her.
“A Pakistani memo has been leaked.”
“So?”
“It mentions inviting me to Nagar Jami Masjid.”