Ittefaq Say (MeeraSim FF)

37 - Jaaneman

Murtasim softened; he had never even considered how he seemed to his in-laws, only how wretchedly traitorous Waqas and Anila looked towards their daughter, his Meero. Murtasim had already faced Waqas once before in court for pollution charges and was set to soon return, so was already a man under scrutiny and harbouring a fugitive.

Like a swiftly changing tide, Murtasim's hand outstretched, reluctantly commanding, ''gel do.'' (Give me the gel.)

They swiftly turn back to the car and Hafeez handed it over.

Whilst Murtasim's finger dipped into the pot in a hurry, Hafeez took reign as the astute business man and ordered his crowd of men in an authoritative tone, ''Tokre nikalo.'' They instantly took to the car boot and the scene morphed into something mildly amicable. (Take the baskets out.)

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As the gate opened, Murtasim wove through the security of men. Their guns were now replaced with baskets of ornate gifts that had been unloaded from the back of the car, all thanks to Hafeez' speedy and thoughful planning.

''Murtasim Khan,'' Waqas gritted out, looking at the man in the flesh, the husband of his sole daughter, carrying monstrous pollution charges against him. The short hair was neatly slick back as if for a formal gathering, and yet the dark clothes suggested something pristinely defined and mysterious, like his intention was to enact careful negotiation.

''Salaam,'' Murtasim's hand came out, eyeing the Waqas up close rather than on the cover of a newspaper or behind the judicial bench. He had matured, lightly tanned skin, deep broody eyes that had been inherited by his daughter. He had the aura of a man that judged with an iron fist.

Instead of returning the greeting, Waqas saw the lane of pink ribbons, the fat flowers and the endless hampers. ''Yeh kya hai?'' Defying expectation, Murtasim had returned to reclaim his wife and locate their palatial home much earlier than expected. (What is this?)

Murtasim, acting sweet, pivoted to the array of treats and smiled as if Waqas had been invited to the wedding like a father ought to. ''Meri biwi pehle baar maiki aaye hai, tofe tou bante hai,'' Murtasim explained with a charming smile as if Meerab's visit was wholly intentional and planned, stepping closer as if he would be given way into the premise like family. (My wife has come home to her parents, so some gifts seems apt.)

Unfortunately, Waqas was not amused, watching the onlookers and the emotionless expressions of the other men behind Murtasim. ''Yeh tamashe ke kya zarorrat?'' He asked in a lilt of displeasure, out numbered yet not intimidated in the slightest. There was a rough quality to each word, eyes boring into him with disdain. (What is the need for the circus?)

The remark was put aside by Murtasim, shoulders squared with his hands tied behind his back as if completely composed in foreign territory. ''Andhar aane dou. Damaad ko yunh sarak pe karha rakha tou loag kya kahenge?'' The audacious question was laced in a smugness, reverent and yet burgeoning on competitive. (Let me come inside. Don't make your son-in-law wait on the street like this. What will people say?)

Conscious of the growing crowd, and being a public figure, Waqas assessed his co-ordinates and acquised. He languidly moved out the way, letting the procession of gift baskets pass through. ''Au,'' Waqas commanded in an assertive tone lacking the slightest hit of warmth. (Come in.)

Murtasim lingered before passing the veranda. There, he looked up the balcony and saw his wife waiting in brilliant cherry pink, glowing at just his presence. The sight of her made his stern lips morph into a relieved smile, compelling an apt endearment to roll off his tounge, barley audible, ''jaaneman''. He softened in his entirety, washed in a wave of relaxing soothing love.