YA' ABURNEE

Chapter 13

Dhaka, the city of mosques, seems quite and tranquil at the moment.

Because there's still time for Asr Prayer and for bangalis this is the perfect hour for a quick slumber.

Umair and I are now sitting on the cemented floor of our apartment terrace. Dull and dim afternoon sun is shining brightly on the small tree plants around us, making those tender green leaves appear more Geko.

We are sitting under the shadow that the large cement cistern is casting. The sun is not scorching but it is not mild enough to let smooch our skins.

Our tea cups are placed in front of us on the floor of the terrace. Bits and bobs of the tea remnants on their bottom still bearing evidence of the tea's savour.

I let out a chortle, remembering an incident related to such flavourful tea and a fateful day.

Umair turn his attention to me. Query clear in his eyes.

"One day, we were sitting on a terrace like this." I start.

"We?" He intervenes.

"I mean me, Ayesha, Lamiya and you know my other friends," I very well know he does not know any of my friends, they're yet to be introduced. But I wanted to continue the story, other than giving him a long description of who actually attended that slumber party. "We were sitting with our teas and drinks, gossiping. It was not a personal terrace. So a few other tenants were there too, enjoying the noon by themselves. Suddenly gossips turned into jokes cracking. So I, can't remember how and on what joke, accidentally spit some coke out of my mouth."

"What?" Umair lets out a guffaw. "How?"

"Yeah." I join him in the unrestrained teary laughter. "I don't know how."

"What happened after? On whom it landed?"

"Well, it gets even worse." I rub my eyes, wiping out the small droplets of tears. "There was an uncle, wearing a white like snow Punjabi. While avoiding to drench any of my friends with the sudden out burst, I actually had turned to my left. I didn't know he was standing there, his back towards me."

"Oh no!" Umair's cachinnation continues. "Then?"

"Till this date he doesn't know what happened. May be that day he went home," I pause for a quick convulsive laughter, "and wondered what those somewhat large droplets were."

"Oh my!" Umair, still continuing his hee-haw, rubs his eyes off the tears and clutches his stomach. "My belly's hurting."

"I swear it went out like a fountain." I fuel him more, " From then on I was nicknamed miss fountain."

He was howling with his laughter. Tears glistening his happy scrunched eyes.

That day, after we first consummated our marriage, following several session's fatigue soon took over ourselves. When I was awoken again, Umair was still snoring in my arms.

As I took in his features up close that day, his heart syncing steadily with mine, butterflies tickled in my abdomen.

Now that I look at him, the same butterflies from that day is parading back; making me feel sick in the most beautiful way.

"You're beautiful when you laugh like that." I voiced out my mind.

He was taken aback for a moment. As if thunder has struck him, he were stilled like that. I realised in that moment, dudes never get compliments like we girls do.

Supposing, we made a bizarre rule in our minds. To only expect compliments from our partners, not returning any.

Seconds pass by, him still staring at me like I'm an impossible creation. Soon his cheeks are tinted.

Is that a blush? Oh my my. I should compliment him more.

Out of blue, a peck landed on my lips. This time he had me flashed.

"What are you doing? Someone might see." I scold him in a hushed tone. The flutter in my stomach and the visibly suppressed giggle was telling some other tale.

It was very unlikely to display your affections publicly in Bangladesh.

"I don't care." He shrugged. "I'm kissing no one else's wife. I'm kissing mine."

                  ________________

Another few weeks into the months of our marriage.

One more month only. Then its the fateful day. Our anniversary, in fact first anniversary.

Taslima's mother, my house-help, is to come for moping and dusting thrice a week. And today is the day.

Man power is extremely cheap in here, for every household to afford one or more than one house-help. All thanks to the booming population.

I feel bad when I see people treating their employees wrongly. Bashing them black and blue was a common headline in every week's newspaper. A regulatory system should be there to regulate their work hours, maximum wage and basic rights.

I thought as I stare at the slouching form of Taslima's mother, moping around the kitchen floor.

I'll never understand why the female house-helps always introduced themselves by their children's names. As though their own existence cease to subsist, other than their role of being a mother.

"Apa, have you heard onions' price? We poor should stop living by now." 'Apa' is an address for elder sister, an informal address among us.

Her back is still facing me. A calm weekend noon, me sharing a casual conversation with her all the while she continues to do her chores, is common in this household.

"Yeah. Everyone's thinking of their own benefits. Syndicates everywhere." I continue.

"Exactly. Moreover, Ramadan is at the door. Shaytaans go insane and instead of reducing the prices they create a syndicate. Government is showing us the radish in the name of open market sale." She gets up to change water. Pouring the used water into the basin and filling the bucket with clean water.

"Why?" I ask. "Don't you get to buy from OMS in lower prices?"

"Ha!" She snorts. "Corruption is everywhere. Do you think we get to buy from those OMS trucks peacefully? Everyone's a thief." Rubbing on a spot vigorously she adds, "Eid is for the rich only. For us, its just another day."

I nod my head, unmindful to the fact that she can't see me right now.

A familiar sound of door bell had me hurrying to my feet. I knew it was Umair. He was back from the Jumaah. There is a certain way of his pressing the door bell. And I knew it by heart.

Ignoring Taslima's mother's smirk, I went to open the door.

"Woah!" Umair smiles staring back at my happy face. "That was fast. I just pressed the bell. Did you fly here?"

I laughed and rolled my eyes at his bad joke.

Umair leaves a small peck on my right cheek as he walks past me.

Alarmed. I look for my house-help. She's nowhere to be seen. May be went to the bedrooms.

"What are you doing?" I lour at him. "We are not alone." I motion my eyes to the figure walking out of one of the bedrooms with a bucket and a mop in hand.

Umair shakes his shoulder and mouths a 'so what'. Firing death glares I watch him walk back to his bedroom callously.

'His bedroom' reminds me how it became 'our bedroom' over past few months. The visual images my mind replayed at this thought, had me slap my forehead. As if it could stop my mind.

"Hmm." She smirks as she goes past me. "I can't remember who said I'm just a guest at this house. I'll leave sooner or later."

Baffled. I look at the laughing state of her in horror.

My mind was still to process people can't read minds. I thought she did.

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