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 उम्र  बढ़ती  जा  रही  है 

दिन  बीतते  जा  रहे  हैं

हम  अपनी  अपनी  दुनिया  में  खोये  हैं 

मुलाकातें  होती  ही  नहीं  हैं 

बातें  किये  बरसों बीत  गए  हैं 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

पहले  ही  अच्छा  था 

एक  शहर  में  रहते  थे 

स्कूल  में  हर  रोज़  मिलते  थे 

शैतानियां  साथ  हुआ  करती  थी 

टीचर  की  मार  भी  साथ  साथ  होती  थी 

पर  आज  न  स्कूल  रहा  न  शहर 

ख़ामोशी  ने  शैतानियां  की  ले  ली  है  जगह 

चल  दोस्त  दो  बातें  करते  हैं

दूरियां  रिश्तों  की  कभी  न  थी 

दोस्ती  आज  भी  ज़िंदा  हैं  सीने  में 

तो   फिर  ये  ख़ामोशी  कैसी 

तो फिर यह चुप्पी कैसी 

तुम   बोलोगे  कि 

कैसी  दूरी  दोस्त 

कल  ही  तो  व्हाट्सप्प  में  भेजा  था  स्कूल  ग्रुप    में 

न्योता  बेटी  की  शादी  का 

सब  आना 

क्या  दोस्त  ये  मेसेजिंग   को  बात  करना  कहते  हो 

उसमें  वो  बात  नहीं  जो  बातों  में  हैं 

वह अपनापन नहीं जो बातों में हैं 

चल  दोस्त  दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

पहले  पहले  जब  दूर  जाते 

तो  एक  दूजे  को  खत  लिख  देते  थे  कभी 

आज  तो  पोस्ट  ऑफिस  से  पोस्ट  कार्ड  और  इनलैंड  लेते  ही  नहीं 

मेल  मेल  आज  बदल  गया  हैं 

अब वह मेल, मेल  ना  रहा 

कंप्यूटर  पे  लिखी  लाइन  आज  मेल  बन  गयी  हैं 

पोस्ट  ऑफिस  की  शकल  बरसों  देखी  नहीं  हमने 

पोस्ट  कार्ड  और  इनलैंड  जाने  कहाँ  खो  गये  हैं 

कुछ  अपनों  के  पुराने  ख़त आज  भी  संभल के  रखे  हैं

घर  में  जब  अकेला  होता  हूँ 

उनको  पढ़ लेता  हूँ 

दोस्तों  को  याद  कर  लेता  हूँ 

चल  दोस्त दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

उम्र  बढ़ती  जा  रही  हैं 

अपने  दूर  होते  जा  रहे  हैं

हम  कहाँ , तुम  कहाँ 

कुछ  अपने  साथी  खो  गये  हैं  जीवन सफर में 

जो  हैं  आज  भी , चल  उन्हें  संभल  के  रखते  हैं 

मिलना  तो  मुश्किल  हो  सकता  हैं 

पर  बात  करने  में  क्या    मुश्किल  है 

बात  करते  उसी  फ़ोन  से 

जिससे  करते  हैं  दिन  में  सैकड़ों  मैसेज 

बात  करते  हैं  उसी  फ़ोन  से 

जिससे  भेजते  हैं  रोज़ कई  इ-मेल 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

एक  दूजे  को  जन्मदिन  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

नए  साल  की  मुबारकबाद  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

एक  दूजे  की  साल  गिरह  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

घर  में  कोई  ख़ुशख़बरी  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

घर  में  किसी  के  जाने  पे 

बस  एक  फ़ोन 

कभी  बकवास  करने  के  लिए 

बस  एक  फ़ोन करें 

कभी  गुस्से  में  गाली  देने  के  लिए 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं 

बेटी  की  शादी  का  न्योता  भेजा  हैं तूने 

चल  सब  बचपन  के  दोस्तों  को 

लगा  एक एक  कर  सकबो  फ़ोन 

बोल , शादी  पे  ज़रूर  आना 

देखना  वानर  सेना लपक-झपक के  पहुँच  जाएंगी

चालीस  नहीं  तो  तीस तो  ज़रूर  आ  जायेंगे 

बस  तेरे  एक  फ़ोन  पे 

पचास  साल  की  दोस्ती  जाग  उठेगी 

तेरा  फ़ोन, हमलीन के पाइड   पाइपर  की  तरह  बजेगा 

और  हम  चूहों  की  तरह 

तेरे  वहां  आ  पहुंचेंगे 

चल  दोस्त , तुझे दोस्ती की कसम 

चल  दोस्त , दो  बातें  करते  हैं

SS

No Dolls from Daddy

My Father got me everything that I have ever wanted and 90% of the times it was without me asking for it. Like all dads, he got me all sorts of toys, and games. But last night I started thinking and I realized that he has never got me a doll. I have got dolls as gifts from my friends on my birthday, but I have again never really played with them. I have never slept with them, dressed them up or taken them anywhere with me. They used to sit in a corner in their pretty dresses, pink lips, blue eyes and golden crops of head, keeping themselves company. 

So, what did he get me?

 

Kaku and Bahadur

My first friends, a brown squishy teddy bear and a snowy white polar bear. I do not know how their names came to be. Bahadur was my pal from the beginning but for the longest time I used to be afraid of Kaku until he started helping me with potty training! He would sit on the small baby pot till I finally had the courage to approach both of them. 

 

Chhotu

A brown puppy who came on my 2^nd birthday. Chhotu would come with me everywhere. He soon had a collar stitched by my mother and my old belts would be used as his leash. His favourite food was freshly baked cookies aka my collection of tazos which he used to nibble of a frisbee plate. He was formally renamed Timmy once I was introduced to The Famous Five. One summer evening at Chittaranjan Park he was sitting obediently by the side of the street while I was playing with my friends when the street dog actually carried him away. The poor fellow couldn’t even bark out for help. But that must have eventually worked in his favour because the bigger dog soon returned him home, realizing that Tim preferred to be carried around everywhere rather than follow with his tail wagging!

Kaku, Chhotu and Bahadur

As time passed, I stopped being around for Kaku, Bahadur and Chhotu. In May 2020, when I was in Hyderabad, I got a call from my mother, “I cannot find Kaku, Bahadur and Chhotu. I have searched for them everywhere. I am so sorry. I am sure I have never given them away with your old clothes and toys, but I just cannot remember. I must have had a lapse of judgement.” Since then, we have all searched the house, suitcases, the storage places, cupboards but did not find them. Of course, I was sad but I do think my mother was sadder because she thought she had given them away to someone. 

 

February 2023, our house was getting painted and in the midst of all the chaos, an old duffel bag was taken down from the storage above the kitchen to clear the space. “Why did we keep this bag?” wondered D as she unzipped it and lo behold, the three of them came out looking as though time had simply forgotten about them and passed them by without changing them even a bit. They are back, not to be forgotten again!

 

Pontu

1998, Dad went to Switzerland. He literally got me a bag full of Lindt but more importantly, he got me Pontu, a chubby baby boy with a mop of dark black hair. Pontu became my baby brother. On his naming ceremony I named him Rahul, after Rahul Dravid of course, but we all preferred to call him by his daak naam, Pontu. He did not miss the Swiss Alps and was most at home in both Delhi and Mumbai. For years, his birthday was celebrated but my baby brother did not grow up and preferred to continue living with Chhotu and Anduril, a much bigger dog who came in later on my 11^th birthday, while I moved out.

Pontu with Anduril

Olly

A calico elephant from Sri Lanka was my companion in AIIMS, Delhi. Whether it was 3 am in the morning when I returned from night duties, midnight studies before exams or early morning mayhem to get ready on time, Olly was around to witness some of the most turbulent yet fun three years of my life.

 

Giru and Rudi

A German Giraffe and a Canadian Moose made the unlikeliest duo to stick with me in Hyderabad. They were either sprawled on one side of my double bed or, on days that I cleaned my room, made their way to my windowsill.

 

Ootoo

He came from Dubai. The one with the most cheerful disposition, he was also the one who almost got away. There was only one of the brown camels left in the stall, the others were all of different colours. The shopkeeper at the stall refused to bargain and bring down the price for the unassuming tourists. Dad, unwillingly, said no to him. But he brought all his office colleagues on the desert safari with him to the stall to get the headgear fitted by the young apprentice at the shop. At the end of the day when they were all leaving after the safari and dinner, and the stalls were being dismantled, this apprentice ran after my mother with Ootoo, “Madam, your husband is a very good man, he got me so many clients. Take this for your daughter at the price you wanted.” 

 

Paddy

Wearing a red bush hat and a pair of red Wellingtons, a blue duffle coat with wooden toggles and a hood with tweed lining, Paddington came from the shop outside Westminster Abbey in London. Like the original character created by Michael Bond, he too has a label around his neck, “Please Look After This Bear. Thank You.” Paddy did not come to me from the Queen, but my King got him, maybe to keep my mementoes, scrapbook entries of my adventure and postcards in Paddy’s leather suitcase.

Olly, Giru, Rudi, Ootoo and Paddy

I still remember the winter mornings in Delhi

How you used to wake me up and wrap me, all warm and cuddly

You still wake me up every day

And your smile tells me, it will be a good day.

 

I still remember how you used to carry me to the bus stop

And tell me stories about my adventures non-stop

You still pick me up without thinking twice

Even if it means a stiff back, heat pads and pack of ice.

 

I still remember the Christmas presents under my pillow

A diary, a book, a Rubik cube, a marshmallow

And you still like to play my Santa yearly

Even though I guess you are up to something a little early.

 

I still remember you kicking the ball into the goal

Leading the team to victory, medals and drum roll

You still come back early to catch a Man-U match today

And sulk like a kid when we beg you not to play.

 

I still remember you dressing me up for a fancy dress party

Mera Naam Joker, Munna Doodhwala, a Wizard or even Vajpayee

You still skip away to Colaba Causeway in the Sun

‘Cause I want to be Sherlock just for fun.

 

I still remember you flying to meet me in a jiffy

No matter what, a sari wearing event or feeling a little nippy

One phone call was all it took

For you to be there, to take care and even cook.

 

You are still my one and only stress buster

You are ready with a message for courage to muster

You are my partner from ‘Taken’ to ‘Malamal Weekly’

From ‘Harry Potter’ and ‘Speed’ to ‘Hera Pheri’.

 

Okay, so there may be a small bald patch on that dome

But you still stay up till I come back home

Now I must borrow a line, “When I’m feeling blue,

All I have to do, is take a look at you’.

 

So as another Father’s Day you complete

I raise my bat for you, let the drums beat

Announcing the winner of the Coolest Dad in Town

I present thee with the Crown!

 

No Daddy, I am never going to complain that you never got me dolls because you brought me the World!

MS

My Sky is Shrinking

In the suburbs of Mumbai, it is difficult to find a house with a view. So what drew us to this apartment of ours was that all three sides - the north, the south and the west- were completely open with hardly any high-rise around to obstruct the view. Sunlight entered from all sides and the cross ventilation was exhilarating. We could have taken the flat opposite which had the east on one side but all you could see from there were the tops of other buildings in the same complex. Despite knowing that the western windows would let in the piercing, hot rays of the evening sun from late afternoon till sunset, we chose this one. That was eighteen years ago.

Gold Rush

Leap of Faith

Every evening when the sun bid adieu and its harsh rays softened while taking the final bow, the hands of an invisible artist would take up the palette and the paintbrush. What colours, what shades and what myriad and wondrous hues this painter with his master strokes would splash on this vast canvas of his cannot really be put into words. Every sunset was a visual treat that we never tired of seeing. It was a new painting every day and every minute threw up a new riot of colours.

Alien Invasion

Orange is the New Black

Myriad hues

Smoulder

The night sky, too, would never disappoint. As night progressed and the moon journeyed across the sky to stop by our bedroom window, we would once again be left speechless. Sometimes it was just the sliver of a semi -circle in white, while on other days a full moon threw its floodlight and illuminated every object in the room. On those extremely rare occasions, we, too, have seen the red moon slowly fading into the wee hours of early morning. On a clear night a rare shooting star would catch the eye or a falling one urged us to make a wish or the evening star which showed up as the sun went down would send us into a flurry to get a better view.

Steel

Moonstruck

But, perhaps, the southern and western skies are at their best during the monsoon. In the peak of summer, I could literally see the clouds rising every evening and watch them as they grew bigger and darker and more ominous by mid-June. As the meteorological experts kept up their annual cacophony of when the monsoon would hit the coastline, from my vantage point I could actually see the clouds gathering, day after day, till one day the heavily pregnant clouds could no longer hold the water and let it come down as the first showers of monsoon. A parched earth would spring to life.

Curtain Raiser

Curtain Call

Curtain Falls

On clear days, the distant creek came into focus and we could see the horizon where the sky came down to greet its waters. On rainy afternoons, the rain clouds could be seen gathering and moving slowing towards us as the whole sky seemed to drape itself in a slate-grey sheet. The rains falling on the creek could actually be seen advancing slowly and then, suddenly, at great speed towards our building. Every time this happened a quick dash would be made by those at home to shut the French windows and pick up the clothes left to dry on the clotheslines outside. The strong monsoon winds had the capacity to turn everything upside down in a fraction of a second if they could find a little vent anywhere.

Monsoon Monochrome

On a nice cloudy morning, when the rains stopped but the sun was still not ready to come out, some guests could be heard and seen. The parrots, or probably what the ornithologists would prefer to call as rose-ringed parakeets, would come out in large flocks. At a time, you could hear and see as many as eight to ten of them who would fly away from the windows ledges and sunshades as soon as you approached them. You needed to have very sharp ears to know exactly which window they had flocked to. The parrots have had their homes for years in the ever-reducing big trees in our neighborhood, some of which, fortunately, can still be seen standing in our compound. At such moments, I would leave everything to just catch a glimpse of them as they flew away in perfect triangle-formation every time that I ventured near them. Much as I loved seeing their long green tails and perfectly shaped bodies, the reddish black rings round their necks and their well -sculpted red beaks, the Resident Evils of this building were never too fond of them. I mean the pigeons- those grey-blue, grey-black, brown and white spotted ones - who would huddle together on the side opposite to where the parrots were, eyeing them suspiciously with a touch of envy. Probably, they wondered why these pretty creatures were gathering at their favourite spots and screeching to their hearts content?

Perching Parrot

Over the years the skyline kept changing. The picturesque hills of Powai disappeared from view and, gradually, the crimson patch of the sky, which we could see from the south eastern corner in the wee hours of the mornings, was obliterated too. One by one the building blocks seemed to come up, almost overnight, on the southern and the northern sides. We were cowered down by heights of various names and proportions- celestial, monumental, galactic, imperial. Our only consolation was that the western side was still open. While under house arrest during Covid times, when the air was free from all man-made pollution, and friends in other parts of the country were sending pictures of Nanda Devi and Kanchenjunga peaks seen from their home-towns, we were happy to see the buildings across the creek- till then we had seen the creek but never beyond it.

The Lockdown Views...oops Blues

And then one day the gigantic cranes- not birds but monstrosities in iron – and excavators and cement mixers started arriving. Suddenly the Prem Nagar, which we had seen all these years as a conglomerate of shanties and chawls, was replaced by a plethora of buildings of odd shapes and sizes with no sense of symmetry or beauty. I believe it is just the beginning. More such buildings are in the process of coming up as soon as the present inhabitants of the remaining slums are accommodated elsewhere and the politicians and builders are ready to wave the green flag. Another round of trees and shanties will go down; the marshy land will be completely concretized so that not a drop of water can seep through to make way for more vertical blocks to come up in one congested cluster.

The view is gone and so has the sky. I have to run from one window to another and look over the jutting cranes to catch a patch of the sky. Not much is left. I still see the big orange ball of fire go down as it silently sinks into the horizon, but the artist’s canvas has shrunk to the size of one small window in which the changes in colours can still be observed but shorn of its magnificence. Just a matter of time before another concrete monster comes to stand in front of this window too.

The Last Ray

But there is one thing that haunts me every single day and every single night. It is the koel which keeps coo-ing, day and night, perhaps perched on its solitary nest somewhere in a branch of some very old tree still holding its place in this parade of urbanization. I have never seen this little bird; I have only heard it. Wonder what it keeps trying to say, trapped in this man-made concrete jungle?

“Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
No hungry generations tread thee down;
The voice I hear this passing night was heard
In ancient days by emperor and clown:”
(Ode to a Nightingale-John Keats)

DS

Pictures and captions: MS

The Mother

What’s happening? Who are you?

Tauseef was completely taken aback as his face was covered with a cloth bag, moments after he heard a gun fire outside his plush office in Srinagar.

Before he even realised what was happening, he was pushed by his captors onto what seemed to be a big car or van which sped away the moment he heard the doors shut. He could feel surrounded by men who spoke Pushto and smelt of clothes that had not been washed for a long time.

The vehicle moved at a great speed initially and then the speed dropped drastically as Tauseef felt the ride getting extremely bumpy. The vehicle was making noises as if it would break open any moment but, after over an hour, the car came to a screeching halt. The door opened and Tauseef felt rough hands on his neck and shoulders as he was pulled out and then dragged like a carcass over some distance before the ordeal came to a stop.

Halku, call his family and make our demands clear to them.

Hello, is that Dr. Amin speaking?

Yes…Tauseef knew that is what his father would have said on the other side.

We have taken your son captive. You and your family have not been living as stated in Sharia and have also been working with the tyrant Indian government. Now listen carefully, unless the government releases three of our commanders from the central jail, your son will die a slow and painful death.  You have twenty-four hours to hand over our people otherwise you lose your son Tauseef. Would you like to hear him…?

Tauseef was pushed hard and he felt as if someone was stabbing him from behind. He gave out a loud cry and said…Abbu, main hi hoon yahan…I am here.

Please do not harm my son. I will speak to the government to meet your demands but you will have to give me more time. You know how the government machinery works and for such a big request, I will have to get permission from Delhi. Give me ten days please.

So you are acting smart, eh? In ten days the Indian army will find our hideout and try to free your son. Do not even think about it. We will give you no more than seventy-two hours and after that your son dies. Meanwhile, you will get a souvenir from your son’s body every twenty-four hours to remind you of your work and not to take any chances with us. Your only son, your loving son, Tauseef, will have to pay with his life if you make any foolish move. Our people are watching you all the time and we will know of your movements and listen to your conversations with anyone including your wife and your loving daughter-in-law.

Tauseef knew now what was happening. His father and he had been talking to the local people in Srinagar about giving up arms and separation. They spoke about them taking to education and reviving old culture and industry which would benefit all. Lately, Dr. Amin had agreed to Tauseef marrying Maria, a Catholic, and allowed her to continue following her faith and not wear a hijab in public. All this had infuriated the extremists who had now taken him hostage.

The captors now put a chain to his ankles, took off the cloth bag over his face and locked him up in a room that was bare and dirty. He had not eaten for hours but there was no one to ask. In some time, the door opened and a few of them walked in holding their Kalashnikovs. The leader of the pack said, let us give the old doctor a piece of his son today so that he takes us seriously.

Yes yes…all the rest laughed and spoke in unison… let us do it now.

Halku, this infidel has a mole on his back. See if your earlier stab is close to the place… if yes, then tear it away and send it to his home today.”

No no….Tauseef cried and begged but Halku in one swift strike cut off a part of Tauseef’s flesh with the mole, put it in a dirty piece of handkerchief and one of the men took it away to be despatched to the destination.

Tauseef lay there bleeding and crying with no first aid of any sort as the kidnappers banged the door shut behind them. Despite the pain and blood oozing, tired Tauseef slept off and didn’t remember for how long. His sleep was broken by the captors lifting him up and shoving him into a waiting station wagon.

He could barely hear the people sitting around him whispering with each other. From a few words that reached him he could decipher that the person who went to deliver the piece of the infidel was caught by the security forces and it is possible he may have been forced to confess the hideout where they had kept this man.

After a long drive that never seemed to end traversing dusty, hilly terrain, the vehicle reached what appeared to be a village. Tauseef was dragged into one of the houses.

You Indians think you can beat us and win against us? You fool, now we will show your father and the security forces what arresting one more of our men means. Halku, chop off two of his fingers and send them to his father to remind him that the countdown to day two has started and tomorrow he will first get three of his toes and then the whole of his son if our demands are not met fully.

Halku seemed to enjoy the game in which he was being asked to play the main role. Once again he chopped off two of Tauseef’s little fingers, one from each hand, wrapped them in another cloth and sent it for delivery. The man once more lay there bleeding and crying for help. All the men left the house except one, he who appeared to be the big boss among the kidnappers with the largest frame and beard that was bigger than Santa Claus. He seemed to be in his forties and wore black shalwar kameez. He shouted… you will suffer more but for one more day. After that it will be freedom either way…. Freedom from us or freedom from the world… ha ha… and he walked out of the room into the adjoining one where he shouted, get me food… I am very hungry.

Tauseef had once again fallen into a deep slumber after shouting for hours for help… he was woken up later when he found someone trying to nurse his wounds. This was a lady in hijab who asked him with a finger on her lips to stay quiet as she cleaned the bleeding hands with some antiseptic liquid. Tauseef was in intense pain with the medicine giving him a burning sensation. The lady stuffed a dupatta in his mouth to make sure no sound could come out of Tauseef’s mouth.  After all the cleaning, she went out of the room after freeing his mouth and again appeared after a while with food and water in her hands. Tauseef’s hands were free and she let him eat the food that was cold but it did not matter. It was almost two days since he had eaten anything and he was wondering who this saviour was and why was she doing it at all. The lady left Tauseef to once again go off to sleep. When he woke up the morning sun was peeping in through the cracks in the window. He heard the man of the house shout…

I am going out and will return in the afternoon when we will check if the Indian government is acceding to our demands. If not, we will have to chop off three of his toes and by night time will have to kill him if we do not hear about the release of our men.

Listen Ibrahim. You may be the boss of your men and the people fear you and obey you unquestionably, but this is my house and the man inside is a guest for me. He will not be harmed in my house let alone be killed. The moment I see or hear you or any of your thugs come close to the captive, I shall leave your house with Jaan and will never ever return home.

Jaan was Ibrahim’s jaan or life. The nine year old was his most precious thing in the world for whom he could give up anything. The problem with Ibrahim was that while he could get all the things a young boy of nine would need, including the most expensive ones, he could not give him any formal education for he was always on the run with his family. His wife Fatima would curse him always but followed him everywhere as tradition demanded.

As soon as Ibrahim left the house in his van with his people, Fatima went into the room where Tauseef lay with Jaan in tow. She offered the wounded man some hot soup and bread. She even got him a fresh black kameez for the one in which Tauseef was brought in had been splashed with blood and mud. Tauseef felt some life coming back to him and he smiled at the young lad who was trying to hide behind Fatima’s burqa.

Come here...tell me your name?

Jaan…Jaan Mohammad.

What class do you study and what do you like to play?

Jaan nodded no with his head to the first question and then said….I like to play football… I like to see the matches.

I, too, like football. Which is your favourite team?

Manchester United.

Inshallah… I too follow Man U. Do you know they were once the best team but have now fallen in bad times? They are trying to revive but it is not easy. There was a time when they won almost everything.

Fatima was also enjoying the conversation… the two of you talk as much as you can. I have to do some cooking and cleaning…and she left Jaan with Tauseef in conversation about football and their favourite team.

Tauseef was quite impressed with the young boy’s knowledge about the history from Sir Alex Fergusson to legends like Cantona, Van Neestelroy, Rooney, Scholes, Ryan Giggs, Bobby Charlton and George Best. It seemed he had many videos and sports magazines and he never missed the matches on television. Jaan too was enjoying the company of someone who could match his knowledge and also tell him more about the game, techniques and players.

Their conversation went on for long when a loud banging of the door was heard. Jaan ran out of the room and Ibrahim and his cronies walked in.

Your Abba is an idiot and has to be taught a lesson. He has not even made any contact with us leave alone releasing our men. Bakhtiyar, chop off this man’s three toes and send it with love to the old fool. He cannot be ignoring our warnings.

Just as Bakhtiyar took out his long knife, Fatima rushed into the room.

He is our guest and will not be harmed. You must have killed many people today. Take three toes from any of them and send it to his father. How will he know the difference?

Ibrahim stood no chance before the logic and fury of Fatima and went out in a huff saying tomorrow morning this man will be taken out of the house to another hideout where we will chop off his head. Then you will not be able to give me any reason why I cannot do it!

Jaan re-entered the room and this time he brought a small football with him. He started showing his skills with the ball and Tauseef realised that the boy had talent. Fatima was also enjoying the scene when Tauseef said… Jaan must be allowed to play outside and if he is given the right coaching and diet, he can become a player you will be proud of.

He is destined to remain in the hiding and no one will ever see his game. He is the son of a wanted man and his only way ahead is following his father’s footsteps which is what all children in our community do.

Why don’t you take him away from all this bloodshed and tyranny?

I know no life outside. I am an illiterate woman and we will not survive one day in your world. No one, knowing our background, will ever help us. If I were to ask you… will you help… you too will step back.

I would but I cannot do anything and tomorrow I shall be killed. So even giving you any promise and hope is impossible for me.

Fatima then left the room. She served him good clean food and changed his bandages. In the other room Tauseef could hear loud talk going on.

The idiots are watching cricket match being played in India. Some final match happening and they are all excited. They will all be watching the match till the end and I will have to keep serving them food and drinks till the frenzy is over. Listen, I have put some money in your pocket and a phone. There is one number saved. That is my brother’s. You take Jaan with you and call my brother. He will take you to safety. Just promise me that you will take care of Jaan. I do not want him to lead his father’s footsteps. You will have many hours before they discover your absence. If I get a chance someday, I will come and see my Jaan.

Tauseef was completely shocked but saw his chance to escape. How will I recognise you when you come to my home? I have never seen how you look.

Don’t worry…my Jaan will recognize me.

She folded her hands before Tauseef and left the dark room after unlatching the back door to safety.

Tauseef heard the people in the other room shouting and talking about Dhoni, Gill, Sir Jadeja and Hardik as if they were their close friends. Tauseef quietly got up, opened the door and slipped out where he found Jaan waiting. He turned back and from one of the windows he saw a black silhouette with her hands waving to them. They started running…running to escape.

SS