Burning Ashes

Arc 1: Chapter 1

"Courage is grace under pressure." ~ Ernest Hemingway 

The weather forecast had predicted rain in all parts of Pakistan but by now everyone knew that Karachi never even counted as part of the country when it came to precipitation. The sun beat down as mercilessly as ever and the land seemed to shrivel up on itself, soaking up any water there was on the ground up with it. I watched the weather forecast with distaste. Their predictions of rain were always so off they might as well have conjured up the prediction with a crystal ball. No science could be as inaccurate as the Pak Met Office had proved theirs was, yet they pressed on with the same forecast everyday without shame. 

My father 'tsk'ed at the forecast like he did everyday, folding up the newspaper that he read just for the sake of it (television was always so much more easier for keeping up with current affairs) and neatly placing it on the coffee table in front of him. The coffee table screamed for a much needed polishing. It had little rings peppered all over its surface from where someone would keep placing cold glasses of water and disregarded the need for a coaster. My father had dismissed the idea of re-polishing it after some quick calculations in his head- the money could be better used elsewhere. We weren't poor, I told myself. Just...economical. 

I found the coo of the Asian Koel rather irritating. The sound of the front gate intruded on it's steady melody and heavy footsteps on the concrete patio outside created it's own rhythm as if in defiance of nature. The rhythm found itself in the living room in front of me and waited. What my brother was waiting for, I couldn't tell. But if the last few times my older brother swayed in drunk was anything to go by, then at least I knew he would be dealt my father's judgement. I didn't say anything, but my brother decided it was a good time to flash me a wink and put his fingers to his lips. I cringed, because he reeked of both alcohol and stupidity. If he was too drunk to even see how drunk he was, then it left little to our imaginations. He had definitely spent all night drinking till he was truly and utterly wasted. 

Life's director gave my father his cue and he strode obliviously into the room, buttoning up his sleeves and adjusting his tie. His gaze caught that of his son's and their eyes locked, silently fighting in a battle of wills. 

"You've been out all night." All those who heard it knew it wasn't a question.

"I slept over at a friend's."

"Then I suppose your friend has no shame." 

"I don't understand."

"Don't play innocent, Omar. I can smell your breath from a mile away. What are you trying to show your sister?" 

His words had steadily risen to a near-shout. I could sense a shouting match would ensue and I would be caught in the cross-fire. 

Omar spread his arms wide. "I'm teaching her how to live."

"You're teaching her how to be a coward."

"I daresay this is anything but cowardice. I lead hundreds- I'm a king." 

I kept quiet, because whenever I interrupted it never ended well for me. So even though I had been asking for about two years what Omar meant when he said he lead hundreds, I had never received even a close-to-satisfactory answer. So I simply chose to save my breath.

"And then you drink yourself to oblivion because I suppose that's what a leader does." 

"Please enlighten me. How does this have anything to do with being a coward?"

"Because courage is grace under pressure, and you have just about the grace of a teaspoon." 

"Oh, dear. You must be disappointed in me."