Under the lens...

I started writing this blog to show the world, the beautiful people I met. The following chapter is from that one novel that never saw the day of light. Hope you guys like it.

under the lens

A tale of lives

“Baba, why is Ammi jaan so fat?” questions pondered out of a small kid barely six or seven years old.

“She’s not fat beta Adil. She’s carrying your younger brother with her”

“Why?” was an obvious question, with eyes getting curious as if his Ammi had taken his rights... to play with his favorite toy, to nurture it… to take care of it and show Ammi and Abbu he could be the elder brother, even though he knew not what it really meant.

Baba tried to reason with him, but soon enough, gave up.

Adil, now a twelve years old grown boy, was not like the fragile kids he usually played with on the streets. Taking care of his five year old sibling was what he enjoyed the most.

A three kilometer distance would be covered in a mere fifteen minutes now as Adil came home as early as possible from school, running, panting, only to prove he had taken up this duty well.

He held the tiny dainty fingers, but his hands were not big enough either.

Nevertheless, he wouldn’t complain of it. With Zahir in his lap, Adil was the apple of the eye for the elder sisters and parents too.

“Adil, you are now the man of this house, so it is my duty to let you know what our family is facing” Abba said, face stern as a stone.

Adil had just had his dinner. The biryani had become a scarce scenery past few days in the home.

“Adil beta, a great man once said, Allah provides enough for everyone’s need, but not for even a single man’s greed” Abba had taught his boys a few good lessons in life, and he had done it well.

The family lived in less, but every spoonful was served with a platter of laughs and jokes. The ambiance of the kitchen that had just cooked a simple roti with any cereals available could easily be confused with that of a hotel serving buffet spread lavish.

But today was different.

Adil knew something had gone wrong. The situation so wayward, it was a tough task to fix the damage. One could sense it.

He knew not of what it was. He knew though that something was wrong indeed.

“Adil, you are now the man of this house, so it is my duty to let you know what our family is facing” Abba said.

“Yes Abba jaan,” Adil replied.

“The factory I was working in has been closed. Everyone has lost their jobs.

Adil your sisters will have to be married off and sent to their own homes soon.” Abba paused, almost choking now.

“I have got for us a cart on rent. Early mornings from tomorrow I’ll bring vegetables and fruits. Let’s hope we can sell a good amount and make some money. God forbid if this doesn’t work out, we’ll be in deep waters.

“Abba, what time you’ll be back home?” asked Adil.

“I’ll be back by noon, beta. I’ll hopefully have my lunch at home, and then go back with the cart. Hopefully, I’ll be back home by nine or ten p.m.”

“No Abba.” Adil replied.

Abba’s dismay was intolerable for Adil, and his reaction surprising to everyone else.

“Beta, if vegetables aren’t sold by evening then they’ll start going stale. Leave apart profit, I’ll have to pay for losses then, in a matter of days.”

“Abba, I never said vegetables won’t be sold in the evening.”

Abba was back by two the next day. Adil was off by a quarter pass.

His feet didn’t fit in his father’s broken… tattered shoes. Not yet. Yet, his competence was worth applauding.

A new duty? So be it. Life had thrown in a new challenge. But if only he would have bowed down this easy, he wouldn’t have been the Adil he was. He knew to fall, but not getting up after the blow wasn’t in his text book.

The father-son duo had started playing relay with life, passing the baton of cart, and hoping the other one scores more in the pocket.

With Zahir sitting on the cart biting into a mango at times, and a cheap mango candy at others, Adil walked determined of making his father’s worries his own.

He still tells fondly when that day at quarter to six his dad had a tear drop in his eye, a lump in his throat when he witnessed the cart empty to its last green leaf as Adil handed him a good heavy cash bundle.

The heavy bag lit with silver colored coins and a number of currency notes was what Abba jaan had not expected in a little over three hours.

“Take it Abba. It’s going to come every day from now on. I went to all of neighborhood where I knew people. The vegetables were fresh, and knowing people helps. It sold like hot cakes.

An year later Abba was ill, serious. Market was far, and school was too much of a liability.

Market was from now on his area. This is where his journey to school ended.

The tattered white canvas were replaced by a pair of comfortable sandals for the tarmac was now his playground. Zahir, helping his own favorite hero with his soft little hands at times, would sit on the cart, breathless, after every half an hour.

He knew not of not pushing hard, tearing the envelope. He still doesn’t.

A few years later the world seemed a whole lot brighter the day Badi Aapi got married. The day he paid for the marriage hall, and the moment he declined a single penny from Abba for the welcoming and food for guests.

Next day, he was back on the roads.

He was older now. He looked even more so. Sporting what seemed to be a butchered French beard, wearing a netted skull cap, he wasn’t alone now.

Zahir was somewhat an adolescent now. A keen student in classes, an interesting speaker on the roads. He had mastered the techniques that Adil had presented. Make friends. Sell the vegetable to their mothers. And was he good at it!

“Adil, he has cancer. The last stage” doctor said.

Adil had called in the doctor when Zahir lost 19 kilos in less than three months. He wasn’t even overweight to begin with! And now his ribs could be counted right through his shirt.

When none of the babas and hakims seemed to be able to shrug off the evil spirits that were apparently feeding off of on Zahir’s soul, a doctor was brought in.

Covered from his color to the thigh in white, wearing round framed black colored spectacles, a stethoscope hanging from his neck, he had a calming presence. The news however was too unsettling to be calmed by anything less a storm capable of clearing all of the humanity from the face of the earth.

Yes that would have calmed him.

He was to save money for the coffin and six feet of land now, than for any chemotherapy, while Zahir lay there coughing blood, in pain, yet, Alive!

And 13 days later, no more.

But, time heals the gravest injuries and pains. This too, passed.

Now Adil was married. Now Adil was a father. Now Adil was a worker here and he was good at what he did, like always.

“Sir! Please this check on sir” he said in a broken English, taking my mind off of my coffee.

I went to his work table. The workpiece needed some adjustments. That was what my life shared with the workpiece.