Chapter 45 Sometimes I feel I am married to half a dozen different men!
“Sometimes I feel I am married to half a dozen different men!”
Politician, political consultant, negotiator, party worker, guitarist, and when none of those were active, mostly at night — secret recipe Maggi maker.
Iram grabbed the discarded kitchen rag and cleaned the mess Atharva had made as he had cooked them a batch of Maggi.
The romance of that first time that he had made it was now a headache to clean.
“Stop cursing me, myani zuv,” he came up behind her to deposit the bowls inside the sink. “You ate more than I did.”
Her mouth dropped open. She whirled. “I did not.” Iram poked a finger into his bare chest. He was hard. So hard. Everywhere. The man ran, went to the gym, travelled to remote hilly regions, watched what he ate (mostly), and did other extra curricular activities (the night kinds).
“When I got up to change records?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?” His eyes narrowed, his chest pushing her finger back. “I saw somebody twirl a fork in my bowl.”
Her finger pushed his chest back — “Wear your T-shirt. Why are you going around like this?”
“It got stained while cooking for you,” he held the bunched white cotton up. A small stain and a few splashes of Maggie sauce.
“Stop learning these things from your son.”
Atharva chuckled. “Seriously, his ick for tiny splotches has rubbed off on me. I can’t stand it nowadays.”
Iram deposited all the dirty vessels in the clean sink and wiped down the platform.
“Let’s go now, Shiva will do it tomorrow…” Atharva grabbed her wrist.
“Where? Time to sleep, Janab.”
Atharva glanced at the wall clock.
“It’s ok. We can sit for ten more minutes.”
“Atharva, you can survive on five hours of sleep, I can’t.”
“Ten minutes. Come on.”
“A…”
A swoop and she was in his arms. More of that thing that made his chest hard.
“You will pull your back. 40 is not an age for these stunts.”
His arms loosened from under her and she shrieked, tightening her arms around him. “Atharvaaa!”
“Shut up,” he laughed. But carried her up the spiral of stairs without breaking sweat, or winding up. Iram looked at her husband’s profile. At 40, he was pretty fit.
“Stop staring at me, my cheek is burning.”
She reached out and bit it. The happy lilts of Taarif Karoon Kya Uski belted from the observatory and he pushed inside with a flourish, kicking the door shut behind them.
He didn’t take her to the diwan where they had relaxed and eaten.
He didn’t take her to the armchair. He went straight for the mattress, which was now laid out as a daybed.
Yathaarth’s old mattress had been replaced by this adult-sized double mattress, always cozied up with pillows, a throw and a duvet in winters.
Tonight, the weather outside was warm for October, keeping it neater with just the pillows.
“Only 10 minutes,” Iram warned as he set her in the centre of the daybed and strode away to change the record.
“Set a countdown, why don’t you?”
She scowled. Waited. A slow, haunting song crackled to life. But the volume went low. Very low.
“I have to talk to you about something,” Atharva voiced softly, coming and lowering himself beside her. Iram turned to him, the sky without stars tonight but bright with the full moon.
“You told me all about your silent heroic save today. You told me all about the HDP leaders who will be picked up for ministries. You told me everything about Samar’s decision to stay back from being inside the government,” Iram counted, pushing her face closer to his.
“But, Atharva Kaul, you did not tell me what’s next for you. ”
Grey eyes smirked.
“You have nine minutes now.”
His mouth pulled up on one side.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Show me those variations of your smiles.”
“It’s been years, myani zuv.” he gave her his full-blown naughty hands-in-the-cookie-jar smile. “How does my smile still affect you?”
“Eight minutes now.”
“Eight and a half, liar,” he warned. And then his expression turned solemn. “You did not ask me about my conversation with Yogesh Patel.”
“I knew you would tell me when you had made peace with it, whatever it was.”
“So you knew it wasn't immediate relief.”
“If it were immediate relief, we would have been halfway to Srinagar already.”
Atharva’s eyes went soft. “Do you think we should get our house renovated? Both your father’s house and our house are regularly checked and cleaned. But when we go back…”
“We should. Arth was a baby when we left. Now…”
“He is still a baby but a menace,” Atharva chuckled.
“Hmm… Baby-proofing, among other things… as our family changes,” Iram felt her throat tighten. But she went on, letting the words that she had been trying to bring to her mouth finally come. “Grows.”
His face froze.
“Are you trying to say that you are pregnant?”
“No,” she replied immediately. “No, no. I am not pregnant. But… this is the time to think about having that second baby. Arth is three. We decided three years. That age gap will be perfect if we start now. We are in a good place, everything considered.”
“Are you ready, myani zuv? All that happened last time. The hormonal cycles, the end, the postpartum. I am not saying it will repeat but it may.”
“Are you ready to be with me through all of that?”
“Do you doubt it?”
Her face stretched into an unconscious grin. She took a deep inhale. His tired Old Spice. Her favourite version of his cologne. At the end of a long, busy day. Today had been victorious as well.
“What did Yogesh Patel say then?”
“No, no,” Atharva held his finger up. “No jumping topics. Let’s finish this one first.”
“What’s there to finish? We’ll start trying. You said you are ready.”
He exhaled with a smile. His eyes went faraway.
“Atharva?”
“No, I am ready, Iram. I am ready to become a father again.” Grey eyes returned to her. “But… there is a chance that we may be able to go home.”
She held the hitch in her breath.
“Soon,” he added to balance out the hope in his statement.
Iram exhaled. She did not let the flare of hope show on her face. She hoped she had succeeded because Atharva looked cautiously hopeful for both of them.
“How soon?”
“There are some moving parts for the Jammu-Kashmir Legislative Elections of 2020. They are 6-7 months away. If a certain outcome is manifested, Qureshi’s power diluted, then…”
“Yogesh Patel made any promises?”
“Who makes promises in politics, Iram? And if made, who fulfils them unless their interest is served?”
“But if Qureshi’s power is diluted, the next best thing is Janta Party. You look out for Yogesh Patel’s interest in Kashmir. In exchange, he brings you back.”
“Yes, but it is not so simple, no? Life does not operate in a vacuum, least of all politics. There are other parties, independents, Awaami. Local issues. People’s mood.
And the drawback is that, unlike Himachal, I cannot travel across Jammu-Kashmir.
I can’t even make so much official contact.
Time has passed and the surveillance on me has gone down after I went into hibernation. But I don’t want to take another risk.”
“Adil?”
“Too risky. He is the only man there whom I can trust. I can’t take the chance of having him ousted. And… he has put his neck on the line for me multiple times.”
“Mirza!”
Atharva nodded. “He is one. But he doesn’t know how to get political work done. I am sending Vikram for that.”
“Vikramaditya Rana? Why would he leave Himachal? Now his agenda is complete. HJS is gone.”
“And that’s the thing with completed agendas. You must move on from them.”
“But will he go?”
“He will go.”
Iram stared at her husband. She hadn’t met Vikram as often or as personally to know what kind of man he was.
But Atharva had worked closely with him over the last couple of years.
And the fact that he wanted to work with him for something as delicate and significant as Kashmir was a testament to the trust that had developed between them.
“And I have to start laying groundwork for Punjab and Uttarakhand. I have more travelling on my plate in the coming months than I did in the last two years put together.”
“You need to keep a low profile, Atharva.”
“And I will. Right now, the party is not even a talking point in these states. I am long forgotten as a face. Don’t worry, I will be doing small village rallies and nukkad charcha. Nothing worthy of press.”
“Hmm…” she bit her lip. “Just be careful.”
“There’s just one catch.”
“What?”
“I need a speechwriter.”
She burst out laughing.
“Why are you laughing at me?”
“Secret recipe Maggi bowls, letting me eat the extra from yours, Rafi on the gramophone — what a way to woo your Ghalib, Janab.”
He smirked — “It’s worked a time or two.”
She rolled her eyes, finding the big, round, yellow moon beaming at her. “It’s been ages since I last wrote a speech.”
“It had been 29 years of not writing a speech at all when you wrote my Kashmir University speech.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I have no idea about Punjab or Uttarakhand. Nothing about their politics, history, culture…”
“On a scale of 1 to 10, you were -2 on Kashmir issues when you started at KDP.”
“If this is your idea of wooing, then it is counterproductive.”
“One trial speech. Just one. Then we will see.”
“Excuse me, you are not taking my copy test. I will decide if I want to continue.”
He shrugged — “You won’t be able to stop.”
“How are you so confident?”
“Because I remember the adrenaline rushes you got after every speech was delivered. Myani zuv, you came alive when I spoke the words you wrote.”
She pinched her mouth, looking anywhere but at him.
“It’s a deal then,” he held his hand out. She didn’t shake it. So he took hers and planted a kiss to the back of it. Lingered there, like he used to back in the day. In the marathons and relay races of their daily life, these moments had dissipated like dust behind their shoes.
“Thank you.”
“You would lose if I don’t write for you.”
His head came up and his hand squeezed hers, grey eyes meeting hers.
“You don’t want to start trying until we go back home, isn’t it?” Iram surmised.
He remained silent.
“It’s ok, you can say that’s it.”
Atharva let out an amused breath.
“Myani zuv, I have made peace with this exile. And you and Arth have had to make it too. You have made our life here so happy but I want nothing more than to go back home. I know you want it too. I see it on your face now and again. Then you go and hide it so that I can keep going.” His other hand closed around theirs.
“I would have been ready to start trying if it weren't for a matter of a few months. With a pregnancy and all this going on… I won’t be able to concentrate. And this time, I want to give you everything. Once we are home, I am unemployed. All yours.”
“I like unemployed Atharva.”
“So do I, now that you showed me all that I could do with my free time.”
“That’s the thing,” she poked his bare shoulder. “Free time. Your brain is constantly working even in unemployment. You took down a sitting government in your free time. Take your unemployment rant somewhere else.”
His fingers closed around hers — “Yes, Madam.”
“Now let’s go sleep. It’s already so… ummmm…” her mouth was captured by his. Her body was gathered into his. Her arms were locked between his.
Iram kissed him back, letting her neck fall back as his body rose over hers. His fingers threaded into the hair at her temples, anchoring there as he pulled back to change the angle of his mouth.
“You said no trying until we return home,” she pointed.
“But we have to practise,” he pushed her down. Her head hit the pillow. “We want to nail it on our first go…”
The doorknob rattled. “Mama…”
They sat up, running the back of their hands across their mouths and straightening their clothes. Hers. Because he was naked from the chest up anyway.
The door was pushed slightly, Yathaarth’s little body trying to hold it open. Atharva rushed up and held it, letting their son slide from between the door and him and pad inside — pyjamas rumpled, eyes half-asleep. Those dark grey eyes first went to the sky for his stars and then to the gramophone.
“You climbed up here all by yourself?” Iram rebuked softly, holding her arms open for him. He crawled into her lap and curled against her chest. She patted his head on her bosom. His deep breaths were instant.
“Asleep?” She whispered, glancing up at Atharva. He smirked, eyes on their son. “Sleeps like me.”
“We need to be careful now. He is waking up in the middle of the night and climbing all the way up here alone. If he falls…”
“Nothing will happen, myani zuv. He runs down these stairs in daytime.”
“Nighttime is different,” Iram murmured, slowing her panicked breaths that had come on belatedly.
“It looks so good.”
She nudged her chin.
“You, him, under a safe sky.”
Iram’s eyes pricked. I wanted to make Kashmir safe for you again. He had made it safe for her, and in return, had to leave it himself.
“We will be under a familiar sky again, Atharva.”
The soft, liquidy look in his eyes hardened. Like lava turned to rock.
“We will. I have achieved many impossible goals in life. This one too, I will achieve.”