Chapter 2.
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White was his favorite color. It was a blank canvas, his to paint and taint as he pleased. White was the symbol of fidelity, of power and strength that his ancestors had possessed and wielded with mighty strength. Porcelain, delicate like fine china dolls it was. Held between fingers with the lightest of grips lest they break the threads. It was pure in it's possession and any finger, marked or sweaty could leave it's essence on it. Clarity and the power to withhold secrets larger than universe, white was it all. Hope was threaded like delicate beads on the silken thread and laced into the dots and lines of the word.
As the sun of June descended into angles larger than ninety, rays of blazing orange crashed against the one way windows of his bedroom, the ac on blast. It's cool wind brushed against his hair and kept his otherwise hotheaded head calm. Humming the tunes of one too many ghazals his grandfather sung to him as a kid, he grappled with the lapels of his starchy white kurta. It was his favorite color on himself, the way it sat against his tan skin was one of the many reasons why his wardrobe was majorly white washed, not to mention it kept the heat of the summers at bay.
Arham tousled the waves of his hair until the gently curled above his brow-bone. Patting the musky cologne with hints of eucalyptus and cinnamon on to his neck, his eyes focused on the wind outside. Summers were a dark, lying part of the year. The winds were covered in a double edged sword of burning hot heat, the rain was blistering on the skins and plenty of mirages on the road kept the thirsty alive, yet tormented. His brown oxford style shoes covered the distance to his closet, his fingers taking the sky blue waistcoat off of the hangers and pulling it on.
Gentle hands slid around his shoulders and helped him fix it. Maneuvering him, soft fingers closed the brass buttons on the waistcoat, straightening his collar. A soft kiss was placed on his cheek as he sunk to eye level with his mother. Her own sky blue organza dress matched the color of his waistcoat — tradition that he and his brother, along with their father followed. His mother slid her palm into his, squeezing it in silent reassurance as she offered him his Patek Philippe wristwatch.
"Thank you".
"You are very welcome my love".
They covered the rest of the distance to their main door in silence, his mother leading them. Arham's eyes rested on the large vases that had been recent additions to his parents ever growing collection. They were mismatched with the grandness of the home, the beige walls painted with gold details were far beyond the simple clay vases that were slightly rough. His fingers managed to touch the top of one such vase, vines spilling out of the broken head of a Greek ruler.
"Lilah's work?"
"Um what?" His mother turned around.
"All of this is Lilah's work?"
"Yeah she's been working a lot in her workshop lately".
He nodded, offering his elbow to his mother, opening the heavy double door for them. A silent hiss escaped his lips at the sweltering heat. They hadn't even been out for a second that the atoms of the air fought to strangle them. It was surprising that even as the time neared to dusk, the sun already set, the spell of heat had still not be broken. Still though, Arham silently thanked his grandfather for having planted so many trees that now towered over the walls of their home, keeping some sunlight out of their way.
"Where is everybody?" Arham questioned.
His gaze had filtered around the open garages, the car of his elder brother missing.
"Alamgeer got a call from Haider Ilyas, there was an important meeting that came up abruptly and you were taking too long so they went before us".
"Lilah went without you?" It was a well known fact that Lilah always needed her mother around to enter a new place.
"Your father reassured me that he would handle her. Now let's not waste anymore time," she patted the back of his hand.
"Let me get the keys from the driver," Arham nodded his head.
"Nahi hum driver le kar jain gai, ap ki driving sai dar lagta hai mujhe".
[No we will take a driver, your driving scares me.]
"Please! I'm mature now!"
"Convince your father then," Lyana shrugged, forwarding her phone in his direction.
"Trust me please, I won't speed, promise".
"A no is a no".
"Yaar mein tees saal ka honay laga hun bhala aisay acha lagta hun ap sai behas kartay huway?"
[Man I'm about to be thirty, do I look good fighting with you like this?]
"Tou mat ladein meri jaan, baat maan lein ma ki".
[Then don't fight my life, agree with your mother.] Lyana pinched his cheek.
"You know what? Alright. Let's take a driver, it's already six twenty and if we don't arrive by eight you know what's gonna happen".
Sighing he motioned for the driver to bring around the black bulletproof SUV. Opening the car doors, he helped his mother into the back seat of the Range Rover. He pulled her veil that was dangling out of the door and handed it to her, a kiss on the top of his head a reward. Going around the car he sat in, beside his mother. The middle console pulled out for them to rest their arms on. As the car pulled out of the iron wrought gates, Arham looked out of the window for a second. A security detail in the lead and behind them as they drove out of their street on to the main road, his phone pinging and pulling his attention to itself.
The drive was long and with the heavy traffic on road it took them twice as long. Although busy reading through work emails and the texts his assistant had forwarded him, he still had an inkling of how bored his mother was. Their father made it priority to not use his phone or laptop around her, giving her the company necessary. Arham felt pity on her, that she had birthed him, a son who by nature did not like to make long conversations. He was a great listener but not a good speaker — a startling discovery for most as he was a politician.
"Driver sahab, please stop the car at the next bakery," his mother spoke with clarity.
"Ji madam". [Yes madam.] He dutifully nodded his head, eyes still focused on the road.
"Bakery?"
"Of course Arham, we can't visit someone empty handed," she reminded.
"And what do you want to get? I'll go and grab it," he nodded as the driver pulled up outside a fancy white marble building.
"Just get a cake — a fresh cream cake not chocolate Arham". She warned.
"Alright," but before he could exit the car, the driver explained that one of the guards would get what they wanted for security purposes.
Once again, leaving Arham stranded inside the confines of a car moving at a crawling speed, his hands itching to take control and whizz through the lanes of the carpeted roads.
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The home of the Ilyas family could easily rival the grandness of their own was the first thought that spilled into Arham's mind as he followed behind his mother into the foyer. Unlike his own family that could still be considered ' nouveau rich', the Ilyas's had been amassing wealth since the early sixties when they had established a steel mill, after which their bank accounts had tripled, if not quadrupled. However, he noticed that money did not always bring taste — the cluttered state of the house was a give away of that.
Haider Ilyas was the younger, undermined brother of Humayun Ilyas. He had been forced into the shadows until Humayun had been thrown into jail by the authorities for a case of fraud and money laundering — it was a highly public case, with a serving time of twenty years behind bars. Humayun had lost his youth, career and fiancé Hina, to his younger brother Haider. Although their father had only recently established a good relationship with Haider Ilyas, he was still in edge and none of them had met the man, yet.
Arham wrapped his hand around his mother's shoulders as she saw her shudder. A man dressed in a loose shalwar kameez with greying hairs walked towards them. His face carried a sinister smile, stopping a bit close to their personal space than Arham would have liked.
"Lyana, right?" He whispered in his gravely voice.
"I'd prefer if you call me Mrs.Alamgeer, Mr.Ilyas". Her response was tight lipped.
"Were we not friends back in the day, before your father-in-law threw me into jail?"
"I'd rather be dead than to have ever befriended a man like you, so refrain from uttering such senseless chatter!" Her voice was alert, a sense of warning.
"Still as fiesty".
"I'd prefer if you back up sir, I don't really want to hit an old man".
"Hot headed like your father?"
"If he were like me you'd have a broken nose Humayun".
His father's voice sounded from the room behind them, Aliyaar and Lilah standing next to him. Arham passed his siblings a reassuring smile, feeling the blood inside his veins pump up with fury as the man looked their mother up and down in an almost insulting manner.
"Ah! Alamgeer come on, calm down". Humayun, as his father called him, tsked.
"Stay away from my family and we'll have no problem".
"Humayun bhai, please let's not make any more scene. Lyana bhabi, Arham, welcome to my humble abode". A man, with an eerie similarity to Humayun tried to dissolve the tension.
"Thank you for inviting us, this was all we could bring at such short notice". His mother motioned for the guards to hand over the gifts and cake to the house help.
"There was no need for that, but thank you. You and Lilah can walk through that hallway towards the women's quarters while us men have a talk". Haider spoke.
"Why can't they stay with us?" Arham raised his eyebrow.
He could not for the life of him still understand the reason behind his father making a friendly advancement towards the Ilyas's. From what he knew they had a messy past and Haider's wife was the daughter of his grandfather's estranged sister. He observed the ghastly faces of the paintings in the foyer, the overly chunky gold frames crashed into each other. The smiles on the family's face seemed to have been painted on by force in each of the portraits. It felt cold, almost like the place was not lived in. Everything was too perfect, as if ghosts haunted the walls and nothing else.
"It's alright, excuse us please, come on Lilah". His mother smiled at him.
Arham observed the longing look inside his father's eye as his mother and sister walked away from them. Aliyaar patted his back in reassurance, the two brother's following behind their father in silence. The lounge or office — Arham had difficulty making out what the room exactly served as was dimly lit. An arrangement of cream sofas were place around a low height coffee table, a curving OLED infront of the exposed brick wall. Behind the sofas was a large bar with alcohols of all kind on display, he felt disgust creep up his arm and neck — he loathed alcohol.
"Cigar?" Humayun offered.
Arhan turned to his father, taking one out of the leather bound holder he always kept on himself.
"No thank you".
"Your loss, these are the finest cuban cigars money can buy".
Ignoring the man, Arham lit up the cigar, placing it inside his mouth anf blowing the smoke out. His blood calmed instantly, his nerves soothing out with each puff he took — this was his only refuge other than racing when he felt overwhelmed. Aliyaar coughed lightly into his elbow, taking a sip of water from his glass.
"You don't smoke?"
"No". His elder brother replied with confidence.
"Let's ignore the small talk, Haider why did you invite us over?" His father cut straight through the chase.
"I have a proposal".
"That would be?"
"My daughter for a seat in the cabinet for Humayun," Haider spoke.
"Our you out of your mind? Your daughter is not an item to be bartered off for a seat, especially because I'll never want Humayun part of the nation assembly, ever".
"And Mr. Haider if I'm not wrong, you and your brother are from the opposition now, why turn to us for help?"
"We aren't blind. The nation loves your father, they loved your grandfather and now that you plan on standing for the elections, no doubt they'll love you to. They'll be blind to whatever decisions you take, and here is a solid advice. Money and women help make the best ones".
"If you want to talk politics keep your disgusting ideas out of it, understood?"
"Abhi tou kaafi kud rahay ho magar agar seat keh chakar mein behan ki boli lagwani paray tou tumhe koi masla nahi ho ga, lihaza apna good man act kisi aur ko dikhana".
[Right now you're jumping in anger but if for the sake of a seat you have to sell your sister you'll have no problems, so show your good man act to someone else.] Haider spat.
"Get up Aliyaar and Arham, we won't stay here a minute more". Their father roared in anger.
"You've got all this attitude because you're in power".
"Even if I wasn't in power, my son's have been raised with the attributes of good king's, they would never sell their sister!"
"Phir tou sirf apnay ghar keh badsha rahaein gai".
[Then they'll only be the kings of their own home.]
"Ghar keh badshah hon ya Lahore keh farak nahi parta mujhe. Jis din inki soch itni gir gayi tou apnay haath sai mar dun ga in ko!"
[Kings of their home or Lahore doesn't matter to me. The day their values fall so low I'll kill them with my own hands!]
And that was the end of it, or perhaps the beginning of a war.
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That's chapter two all wrapped up!
Do we hate them?
Or do we hate them?
It's such a delight writing Arham as a grown up and Lyana as his mom lol. I mean to me she's still that young woman and OMG have they grown.
Drop your thoughts here
Keep me in your prayers
Next chapter out — June 26,2022.