Thursday night at Mohideen Hajiyar’s house.
Hamdha was trying to concentrate on her textbook, “the introduction to social psychology” by a professor of psychology.
The professor was explaining about the bobo doll experiment conducted by Albert Bandura, a famous psychologist. It was an experiment with babies about aggression. The topic always used to be something appealing to Hamdha. However, today her brain could hardly concentrate.
Hamdha's mind was rewinding the vivid memory of Shakira’s words again and again. “You pretend to be so innocent. Then, you have a crush on your own friend’s brother. It is so disgusting, Hamdha”.
Hamdha could remember how Shakira's eyes looked like when she said this. It was filled with full of anger and hate. Those eyes were so frightful as a terrible lonely death.
Shakira had tried to veil her hate with a pleasant smile. But, Hamdha could easily spot how fake the smile was.
Her mother’s words were echoing in Hamdha's ears. “She is envious of you, Hamdha. Be careful with her”.
Hamdha had all the reason to be angry with Shakira. Shakira had accused Hamdha of a baseless accusation.
Hamdha had never thought about Minhaj, Rushdha’s brother, in the first place, let alone to have a crush on him. At least, she had never seen him in person. Few times she could have seen him from a distance unexpectedly. She can not remember those instances accurately. They were such insignificant incidents.
Rushda once in a blue moon used to talk about her brother. That was all. There was not such a thing as a crush of any sort.
The more she thought about it, she became more and more obsessed with the awkward feeling of how Rushdha would take this whole thing.
Rushdha obviously knows very well about both Shakira and Hamdha and both of their nature. But, the issue-at-hand was about her own blood-brother, Minhaj. Hence, it was going to be too sensitive to Rushdha too, Hamdha thought.
Hamdha tried to concentrate again on Albert Bandura’s Bobo Doll experiment. Her phone started beeping and Rushdha’s name flashed. Both of them had not talked to each other since the awkward incident.
“Hello, Rushdha…?”
“Hello, her royal highness, the princess of Marudur”, It was Rushdha’s delightful voice.
Hamdha’s heart sighed a very deep sigh of relief with genuine spiritual gratitude. Alhamdulillah. All praise be to God. I praise you and I thank you. Rushdha is neither angry nor upset.
“How are you, Rush?”
“Fine. Making dinner with Umma”.
“Really?”. Hamdha couldn’t maintain a conversation alive. She was still broken.
“Hamdha, your voice is so dull”.
“No, it’s just that”, Hamdha said, “I am not well, have got a fever”.
“Fine”, Rushda paused for a second, “I think the princess, her royal highness, has really seriously taken those things Shakira told yesterday”.
“Not really, but, Rushdha, you didn’t believe the things that she said, right?”.
“Not at all. I didn’t believe it, I know very well about Shakira and you”.
“I couldn’t even sleep properly. I was thinking about you as to how you would perhaps take this whole chaos”
“Take it easy, girl”.
“I mean, it was about your own brother and even you asked me whether it is true”.
“I am so sorry, Hamdha. Extremely sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that way. Actually, I didn’t expect she would come up with an issue like this”.
“Yeah, I too didn't expect. That’s right. I know you didn’t mean it”, Hamdha said, “Shall I tell you one thing. Just now my heart has started feeling a great sense of tranquillity. I terribly wanted to speak to you. But, I was so afraid to call you”.
“Stupid girl”.
*****
Friday afternoon.
2.00 pm.
The school was over. The Friday prayer, Salathul Jumu'ah, was already performed.
Shibly must have naturally felt happy. He could go home now. He was eagerly waiting for this day this whole week. He had been feeling homesick.
Now he could go home and spend his weekend at home with his parents. He could meet his sister and play with her cute little kids. He could meet his childhood friends and chat with them.
Shibly could sense a feeling of being on his own native soil.
He had been feeling homesick since the hour he stepped foot here. So, he must have felt happy for the weekend and for going back home. But, he didn’t. He felt anxious and worried.
There could be a single explanation for his mental dilemma. It was his cousin Nifra’s wedding on Sunday. Her father, Shibly’s uncle, had called him over the phone previous night.
It was a rather short conversation.
“Hello, Shibly?”
“Uncle, yeah, how are you?”.
“Ah, fine, I think your mother would have told you about Nifra Maini’s (cousin) wedding, didn't she?”.
The uncle told Shibly proudly the name of a five-star hotel, where the reception was going to be held, “the arrangement had to be made in a hurry. The groom has to go back to Dubai''.
“Yeah, uncle. Umma told me. Sure, I will be there”.
That was the whole length of conversation. There was no more. Then, what was the exact reason for Shibly’s worry?
Was it because the girl whom Shibly thought would be his future wife was getting married to someone else? Or was he feeling humiliated?
Shibly's heart determined it was the second reason that was true.
Not the first one.
Nifra Maini had never made a huge impact on Shibly's mind. He had played with her childhood games as a kid. She was three or four years younger than him.
They had never met since they grew up.
Nifra studied mostly in Kandy. Shibly studied in his village and went to university. They were separated in every possible way. If they had ever met in all these years, they were such unavoidable accidental meetings lasted for a few seconds in a wedding ceremony or a funeral.
Shibly had always been a shy person. More than being shy, he had happily set some moral restrictions for him. He never tried to talk to her. He knew that she was pretty. But, he had never ever glanced at her, although some part of his heart was eagerly urging him terribly to look at her. She is still not my wife.
So, It was natural that he did not know what exactly she was thinking? So, how could he expect her to be his wife, just because some elders years ago had foolishly spoken?.
He can not hide the fact that he was truly worried she would leave his life forever. But, he was ready to accept it. She had to leave. There was no choice. Both of them belong to two different worlds. However, more than the worry, it was the humiliation, disrespect and helplessness that made him anxious and worried.
****
Shibly’s Dairy
It happened on the day my teaching appointment letter arrived. Getting the first job is a thrilling experience for anyone, isn’t it?
How can I be an exception to this simply human nature?
It was like I was no longer a burden on my parents. I was going to earn my bread on my own. I was going to get my own paycheck.
I failed to understand, in my preoccupied excitement, the simple fact that people would not look at things in the same perspective as we do.
I was happily visiting my relatives in my neighbourhood and was sharing the good news with all of them.
I visited my uncle as well. He is my mother’s own brother. Nifra’s father.
It was nighttime, a few minutes after sunset prayer.
“Welcome, Shibly”, my uncle invited me. “How long has it been since you've visited us. Take your seat”. His face looked dark as though he was in a bad mood.
Both of us sat on a luxury sofa.
We were customarily talking about weather and politics that had nothing to do with our lives. “Uncle, I have got a teaching appointment. Today morning I received the appointment letter”, I said.
“Yeah, I heard”, my uncle said, his voice was emotionless, “where is the place?”.
“It’s Marudur, uncle”
“Marudur”, my uncle pronounced the name of the village in a way that made me uncomfortable, “Some of our factory workers are from Marudur”.
I clearly noticed uncle did not share my happiness. He did not greet me or congratulate me. He coughed for a second signalling he was trying to say something important.
“Teaching is like this; same job; same salary; until you retire”, uncle told me, “there won't be any forward movement in your life. You will end up just like your father”.
I felt offended. I didn’t expect such a bold comment.
My grandfather - my father's father - was a teacher. Both my parents were teachers. I had very high regard for this profession. I had to say something. “There will be financial stability, uncle”.
“Shibly, you are still very young. You should dare to take some risk in your life. This is not your age to think about financial stability and pension”, my uncle said, “this is the sort of thing that has made the economy of our country stagnated”.
Uncle sounded as though I am the sole reason for this country’s economic stagnation. I remained silent for a few seconds. I was swallowing my anger. My career is my choice.
“Last time, when I was in Colombo, I met an officer who works in a government department”, my uncle said, “his son got his first job. Just like you. Can you guess how much his salary is?”
“How much?”, I asked irritatedly.
“One hundred and fifty thousand rupees. Can you imagine?”
“One hundred ad fifty thousand rupees in his first job?”, I asked unbelievably.
“Yeah”, uncle paused for a second and said irritably, “but, for your field, you couldn’t earn such a salary”.
I just want to get out of this house first.
“That’s why I asked you to study science. You never listened to me”, my uncle started digging into one of our old conversations that held after I finished my ordinary level examination.
“Only medical doctors earn a fortune these days. When you visit a specialist doctor, you must have at least three to five thousand rupees in your wallet. They would hardly spend at least five minutes of their time. You will have to work three or four full days to earn this much”.
I was humiliated. I didn’t want to say anything to my uncle's face. But, I was afraid inappropriate words might slip from my tongue. I was so angry.
Thank God, Nifra’s mother brought the tray of tea. So, the conversation stopped.
“How are you, son? How is your mother?”, she asked customarily, “I heard you got the job. Very happy to hear".
She went inside. I knew I wouldn’t survive another round of conservation with my uncle. I quickly finished drinking the tea and stood up to say goodbye. The tea tasted nothing for me.
“Why don’t you have dinner and go?”.
“No. Not now, uncle. I will visit another day. Now I am in a hurry”.
I had visited this house several times before. This is the first time I felt myself to be too poor. I noticed for the first time in all these years how rich this house was.
My instinct said that the dream of marrying Nifra is not going to work out. It did not take many days for me to realise my instinct was right.
****
Friday, evening.
5.30 pm.
It was relatively a hot day in the week, despite the floating grey-rainy clouds.
Minhaj’s house.
Mr Shareek was sitting in front of Minhaj.
Mr Shareek was one of Minhaj’s aunts’ husbands.
Minhaj’s uncle.
Mr Shareek was in his forties. The couple, Mr Shareek and his wife, aunt Fouziya, were very sharply nosy and were always happily used to peeping their noses into Minhaj’s family affairs.
They lived next door in a few minutes of distance. They always had the fantasy that even the sun should obtain their permission before the poor creature rises and sets.
Mr Shareek had been working in a government office in Vijayapura, but he always talks as if he is the president of the country.
Minhaj hated even pronouncing both of their names. He would have a bad appetite even for merely listening to their voices.
“Minhaj, We are late. We can’t start our own business now. If we start it, we must have already started and settled by now”, Mr Shareek, the free-advisor, opened up his mouth.
He sounded like he and Minhaj were of the same age. “You have family responsibility. You shouldn’t try to fly even before the wings grow strong enough”.
When did I try to fly? Minhaj thought. Maybe uncle Shareek was trying to release his own stress. People often make others stressed to simply release their own.
“If you get married right now, you will be over. It will be the end of your life”, Mr Shareek said. “Go abroad. Earn at least for the next five years. Then, you can think of getting married”.
Minhaj did not understand anything. Everything that Mr Shareek spoke did not make any sense. Who the hell is going to get married now? You need not teach me responsibility. Do you ever remember the last time you met your parents?
Minhaj always wanted to yell at Mr Shareek’s face, ‘shut up your mouth and mind your own business, Mr Multimillionaire. Please, stop peeping into our family. We also deserve a fair share of privacy’.
But, Minhaj never did it.
He never showed his anger at uncle Shareek. Never yelled or scolded him. If he had done it at least once, things might have been at different lights now. But, he always showed the respect for their age.
But, Mr Shareek happened to be his uncle. Aunt Fouziya’s husband. Aunt Fouziya was his mother’s own blood sister, though often she behaved like a bloody sister.
“Give me a minute, uncle”, Minhaj got up as though he was going to the kitchen to collect a tray of tea from his mother. He terribly wanted these few minutes of distraction. Unfortunately, it was simply like falling down directly into the stove from the dishes.
Aunt Fouziya was waiting for him in the ladies hall. The second round started. "Your mother is talking about your marriage, Minhaj!?”, aunt Fowziya said sarcastically.
Minhaj understood the teasing tone in her voice. It felt like pouring drops of boiling oil into his ears.
“My marriage? Maybe Umma wants a daughter-in-law”, Minhaj said. Although he wanted to behave as normal as possible, it was difficult for him to smile with his usual broad smile.
“She already has three daughters, you remember your sisters? Your mother is dying for her daughter-in-law in this condition…!”, Aunt Fowziya laughed angrily and pathetically. She stressed the words, ‘your sisters’. “I scolded your mother for nothing, for thinking about this ridiculous idea of your marriage”.
Aunt Fouziya’s tone was not respectful. The volume of her voice started growing swiftly.
Minhaj had no idea what was going on here. His mother never talked to him about his marriage. Moreover, Minhaj had his own elder sister. She was twenty-eight, still unmarried. It was an age too late for a girl to be unmarried. He had his younger sister Rushdha as well.
No one needed to tell him to think of his profession or responsibility.
Where was uncle Shareek and aunt Fouziya when Minhaj and his siblings had to skip their dinner and sleep hungry? Where were they when they had to attend school many days without breakfast?
What is the moral right of Shareek uncle and aunt Fouziya to intrude in the domestic affairs of his family after all those darkest days?
For Minhaj, Something was explicitly clear. His mother got some idea of his marriage. She had discussed the thing with aunt Fouziya. That was where the volcano had erupted.
Aunt Fouzia was talking endlessly in her exaggeratedly high pitched tone. His mother and Minhaj’s younger sister, Rushdha, were spellbound-silent. They were always afraid of this couple of poisonous-sharp tongues.
Minhaj had to say something to stop aunt Fouziya. He couldn’t. His tongue denied moving on in any direction, as experiencing a terror-filled dream.
Minhaj had never expected this sort of discussion to happen. Once the mission was accomplished, the couple stood up to move with triumph.
“We'll go and come, Minhaj”, uncle Shareek said.
“Bye, Minhaj”, aunt Fouziya said.
They started walking. It was surprising they did not have the least sense of guilt, for creating the whole scene.
“Ok. see you”, Minhaj said. Get Lost. Never come back again.
((To be continued))
_ _ _ _
Next chapter: chapter 15 - "cool water for my thirsty heart"
Previous chapter: chapter 13 - your brother doesn't deserve her
* Characters, events and the places in this story are fictional and a mere product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to real-world events or characters is merely coincidental.
** Vijayapura and Marudur are fictional places.
Riza Jaufer
Akurana -Kandy,
Sri Lanka
