| Hawaaon Ke Paighaam | Messages Of The Wind

| Doha |

Mai dil ko samjha lunga

Tu khayal tera rakhna

Zihal-e-muskin makum ba-ranjish

Bahaal-e-hijara bechara dil hai...

The magnificent Doha skyline glittered in the balmy night. The city itself was a marvel, but observing it from the fourty-fourth floor of the Mandarin Oriental was pure magic. Murtasim loved Doha; it had the distinct ability to brighten his mood and relax him simultaneously, something he wasn't in the habit of doing.

Standing on the terrace of his penthouse, facing the city he loved, he couldn't be further from relaxed. Taking a long drag of the cigarette hanging from the side of his mouth, he let the smoke escape his lips and viewed the city-scape through the haze. The familiar comfort that smoking brought with it took effect instantly.

The last conversation he'd had here with his wife repeatedly flashed in his mind, bringing with it a new interpretation each time. What was any normal man to do in this situation? He let out a sarcastic chuckle, shaking his head. A normal man wouldn't accidentally find his wife of two years in a foreign country, embarking on a career he knew nothing about. A normal man would ideally be living with said wife, and not be able to count their interactions with one another on two hands.

"Mai darr gayi thi. I panicked."

"I felt betrayed."

He shut his eyes and took another deep inhale of the cigarette.

"Tum sirf ek baar sach sach kaho, kya mujhe apni marzi se apni zindagi guzaarnay ki ijaazat di jaati?"

Her words had been gentle, her voice low and devoid of complaint or aggression.

He watched as the cigarette smoke vanished into nothingness.

"I was okay with everything. Tumne kaha shaadi kartay hain, mai maan gayi. Mai dil se raazi thi shaadi ke liye Murtasim. Lekin kya mila mujhe meri achaai ka?"

"Tum aise keh rahi ho jaise tumhe situtaion ka pata nahi tha Meerab."

"Mujhe situation ka pata tha, lekin uske saath lagai huwi pabandiyon aur jhootay vaado ke baray mai mujhe batanay ki zehmat kisi ne nahi ki thi."

He'd taken offense to that; he had never made any false promises to her, had never been anything less than honest, and neither had she. It was why he'd believed they would work. But she hadn't let him speak; she'd been carrying this burden within for too long and now she'd finally had an outlet. A target for her catharsis. Him.

"All I ever wanted was to just find my own way in life. Ke mujhe kya pasand hai, mai kis cheez ke baray mai passionate hu. Tumhe lagta hai mai humesha se flight-attendant ban na chahti thi?"

"Meerab tum kya chahti ho ye mai pichle do saal se samajhne ki koshish kar raha hu yaar." His voice was low and weary.

Raising his hand to the back of his, he squeezed the throbbing pain which had appeared as he'd stood there listening to her; she'd looked like a Frida Kahlo painting; bold, beautiful and breathtakingly tragic. Stubbing the now-spent cigarette into the standing ashtray on the terrace, he lit another one instantly and let it hang from his fingers across the glass railing, its ashes dropping into the abyss of the city below.

"Ye sab kuch jaan nay ke baad bhi mai chup chaap rukhsati nahi karsakti thi. Mujhe haveli mai ek decoration piece bana ke rakh detay Murtasim."

"I'm strong, but I'm not unbreakable. Mai ahista ahista har kisi se nafrat karnay lagti; unse, tumse aur khud se."