His shawl was strangley warming - draping over her like a cocoon. Despite belonging to a stranger, it was encompssed her in a palpable sense of comfort that allowed her to relax into her seat.
Meerab scoffed to herself, mentally, marvelling at the ability of a stranger to be kinder and more welcoming than her own. She had appreciated the helpfulness but how many gifts could one accept before becoming a burden? This pattern of receiving had given rise to a unswallowable debt pulling her back- attaching herself to him and she aimed to be rid of it at once.
She turned to see him, namely Murtasim Shah Nawaz, by titling her knees towards his as they sat next to each other on the plush bench. The man was looking ahead at the empty bench - swiftly knocked out of his mindless stare when she promoted, 'Aapke ghar ka address dey do mujhay, ya phone ka number.' ( Give your address, or your contact number.)
Murtasim's head titled to see her- eyebrows raised in amusement of what she could possibly need the contact infomation for. 'Kyun? Khat likhou gey?,' he guessed with joy, attempting to suppress a grin at the idea and at her forwardness. (Why? Will you write letters to me?)
It haden't occurred to her that her words could even be construed as such. 'Nahi, lifafay mei ticket wale paisay waapis doungi,' she clarified with a tinge of pink on her cheeks- either from the chill of the exposed skin or at the concept of being penpals. (No, I'll send the money for ticket in an envelope.)
Way to ruin the moment.
'Mujay appkay paisay nahi chahiye,' Murtasim cleared at once, putting her worries at bay. His features fell- sobering up instantly at the presumption of there being a debt between them after he had just coaxed her into accepting the shawl. It was utterly preposterous to him. So he clicked his tongue before asking, 'Yeh kya hisaab kitaab kar rhee hou?' (I don't need your money. Why are you keeping account like this?)
It was more a questioned to himself at to her need to not appear weak, for no one to have leverage over her and he liked it. It was pride.... And he was prideful too.
Meerab was not so easily dettered by the click of a tounge and a mildy belittling tone. 'Kitni ki the ticket Murtasim?' She asked, this time with an underlying sense of seriousness. Meerab looked at him expectingly- as though he would actually divulge on the figure. (How much was the ticket for?)
Murtasim sat back in his seat, not even entertaining the idea of taking money off a woman. 'Humsafar mai aisay koy hisaab kitaab nahi rehta,' he replied effortlessly whilst folding his arms. He was let go of his head, leaning against the wall behind him and the shake of the train's vibration encompassed him. (There is no such exchange among companions.)
His pompousness at knowing the figure and not sharing it, irked her deeply. It successfully fuelled a spark in her ego, which erupted into a mighty blaze- egging her on.
She hummed in acceptance softly as though she had admitted defeat. 'Humsafar....?,' rolled off her tounge smoothly, repeating after him but with a hint of a doubt. Then she looked up with constricted pupils from the strong daylight shining upon them- there was not an ounce of that shivvering hungry girl in view when she deadpanned, 'Shohar nahi.' (A companion.... But not my husband.)
Murtasim inhaled sharply at the comparison of the two relations, nodding but not verbally denying it- careful not to jinx the future.
'Tou?' He fiended innocence, not giving much attention to the implication of her words. 'Waisay bhi, mainay tou aap ki shaadi ka khaana khaaya tha. Hisaab barabar,' he quipped with an awful attempt at levelling the playing field. (So? Anyways, I've eaten your wedding's food so it is fair deal.)
Meerab huffed at his words at his feeble play at dismissing her. 'Khaana aur ticket ki qeemat may bohat farq hoga,' she told him- supposing so, never having previously purchased one. (There would be difference in the value of food and ticket.)
When Murtasim turned to catch her expressions- her found her eyebrows to be raised at him, mockingly at his failed attemp to beguild her. Clearly not believing the hisaab to actually be barabar.
He smirked softly, failing to hide the delight and her misplaced irritation. 'Aapko nahi malum, boti kitni mehngi ho gaye hai?,' he asked, his tone hinting at sarcasm. (Do you even know how much expensive meat is?)
'Botiyaan the, sonay kay turkray nahi,' she scoffed, correcting him whilst her mind raced in visualising her attempt to bribe Farukh with the thin gold chain- her efforts had been without a glimmer of successes. What an eventful evening it had been- that secret would have to stay between them.
'Sahe keh rahe hou,' Murtasim finally admitted and Meerab's heart swelled at the anticipation of an imminent victory. Short-lived, as he continued with his tale, 'Jo rehgi bachi qasr, woh aapki sohbat kay liye.' ( Any shortfall has been made ul by your company and conversation.)
She scoffed at the idea. She wasent a celebrity or royalty that someone would wish to meet and converse with. 'Mengi sohbat,' she retorted whilst doubting that anyone would willing pay so much for her company - especially when she hadn't exactly given him much to work with. Consisting mostly of clipped sentences and haphazardly woven lies- easily unravel-able and thus, unraveled. 'Aur mujhay lagta tha kay aap aik acha business man ho,' she teased with a back handed compliment. ( An expensive conversation. And i thought you were a good business man.)
'Aik khoobsurat aurat kay saath beth kar, haseen baatein karna, yeh tou anmol hai,' he finally confessed, the words mindlessly escaping his mouth in a vulnerable moment of truth. (Having wonderful conversations with a beautiful woman is priceless.)
He gave value to the moments spent together- having developed an understanding for each others temperaments and background by virtue of a train ride- like a crash course in uncovering their troubles and burdens and plans for the future.
Khoobsurat? Haseen? Anmol?
Meerab's breath hitched in her throat at his open compliments, slightly taken back by his candidness, which had previously been thinly vieled during the ride- now dropped. 'Itni barri tareef?' She lowly mumbled to herself at his use of 3 consecutive adjectives. (Such a big praise?)
Murtasim shrugged his shoulders as though his words were an obvious statement. There wasn't an inkling of him wanting to revocate his praise.
Instead, she cornered him, 'Mujsay flirt kar rahe hou?' She toyed with the idea of adding Murtasim Saab to the question, but chose not to in the end as she didnt want him to think that she was flirting back. (Are you flirting with me?)
He laughed for a second or two, it came emenating from deep within at her ability to swiftly counter his move. Matched and paralel- he weighed up that she was a worthy opponent. Murtasim's eyebrows furrowed mischievously at the mention of flirting and Meerab imagined that his cheeks were graced with a vibrant peachy hue, which also could easily have been due to the sleep deprivation.
Murtasim cleared him throat and asked, 'Flirt wali kaunset baat hai? Aapki batein gehri aur bohati falsafe andaaz ki hai. Umeed. Khiraat. Muhaffiz.' He listed, remembering all the comments that she had passed over the course of the train ride- each one already ingrained onto memory, to save and ponder on later. 'Mujhay achay lagge,' he indirectly flattered, his words spoken with a lilt of a person stating an indesputable fact. (How was that flirting? I found your words to be very deep and philosophical. Hope. Charity. Protector. I liked them.)
He was trying to convey that he percived her as a deep thinker. That her words had depth. That she was intelligent.
Meerab's hands came to her lap- not sure how ro respond to such a brazen compliment. 'Acha,' she agreed, accepting that her words could be portrayed as such. 'Insaan kitaabein parta hai, tou aisey cheezain ki samaj aajati hai.'
'Har kisi ko nahi aati,' he corrected without hesitation, with an ease of a man had had easily peeled back the layers of her fables. 'Sochne walo ko aate hain.'
Sochne walo.
She pondered for a brief moment if he was talking about them two after having bared themselves to each other,or if it was genuinley about her philosophical approach in answering questions.
At the least, she supposed that he didnt think of her as impulsive for running away- nor was she then acting unproportionately in responding to her circumstances like this- sochne walo was a cool balm for her.
'Aap kehtay hou, tou hum maan lete hain,' she lightly humoured him- for the first time following his line of thinking.
A flurry of satisfaction filled his chest- seemingly contriving a bout of confidence around him deluding him into thinking that he had somewhat won over the closed off girl. It was a small victory and he relished in it. Maybe thats notion is what spurred him to vocalise the idea struck that struck his mind, and without pause to consider how it sounded, he requested, 'Main aapki tasveer khench sakta hou?' (Can I take a photo of yours?)
His humble request caused the entire train to tilt in surprise, jolting and Meerab's hand's came to the bench to stabilise herself. 'Meri tasveer?,' she muttered lowly with a clear lilt of confusion. She wasnt a bride anymore- reduced to a run away bride and it failed to uphold the glamour of the former. 'Meri tasveer kyun ke kenchougey?' ( My picture? Why would you take my picture?')
He stalled- he hadn't thought that far ahead. 'Bas aik ruhani khayal aya,' he shared sheepishly as though that enough of a reason. (I want to.)
'Yeh ruhani khayal aapko har kisi ko dekh kar aata hai, ya hum khas hai?' she quipped trying to buy time. She was perplexed as to where the request had come from. This wasent a party or some wedding that we wanted to capture her. Nor did she suppose she still looked dolled up, her makeup likley worn off by now- half wiped of mindlessly through the ride. Her makeup was an mere after thought when she had her valuables to fret over. ( Does your heart always want things or is it a sometimes or is it a temporary condition?)
He avoided sharing the source of his surge of inspiration, as she was indeed khas. 'Film aapka he hoga. Jab fursat mile- banwalena.' It was a compact roll- easily fit-table into the palm of her hand. Just capturing her was enough- the need for possession of her photgraph would be improper- his memory would have to suffice. (The film will be yours. You can get it developed whenever you get the opportunity.)
'Musfiron ke tasveeroan bhe kenchta hou?' She asked with nervousness - recalling that he captured wildlife and nature. ( Do you take pictures of travellers too?)
'Yeah musafir hona ka lahma beeth jaye ga. Main utar jaunga Hyderabad main aur aap... Karachi.' He explained with a melancholic tone, coming back to relaity. His brain attempting to rearrange the puzzle, contemplating at how he would intervene with fate to strech the brief moment spent together. (These moments of being a traveller are fleeting. I will get off at Hayderabad and you, at Karachi.)
'Zaindagi hai he aisay cheez - aik pal main guzar jay ga. Jahan raasta legata hai, wahan jayenge,' Meerab added, agreeing with him sentiment. ( Life is like that. It will pass in a moment. We will go wherever our destined path takes us.)
Perhaps it were these words of her's that triggers a click- two brain cells to make a connection, to remember a piece of poetry that he found particulary striking when he read it. It felt apt now. 'Ahmed Faraz saab ki shair hai, jo zehn mai aati hai....' He trailed, unsure aboit share the poetry which danced on the tip of his tounge. ( There is a piece of poetry which comes to mind, by Sir Ahmed Faraz...)
She saw a glimmer of understanding pass between them- already able to communicate without words. It was the looks on his face- apprehension of taking the next step.
Instantaneously her right hand came out to the air- flicking upwards to urge him on, her ears patiently waiting to be blessed him.
'...... Aur woh yeh hai kai....' He began slowly reciting, looking off the the side, focusing in on the copper vase or the dull pinky hue of the lilies which it housed - trying to concentrate and recall the verses which had embedded themselves into his brain. ( And that is that....)
'Jo ehd he koy na ho,
tou kya gham-e-shikatagi.
Sou apna apna raasta,
hassee khushi badal diya.
Woh apni rah chal pare,
main apna rah chal diya.
She came to a standstill as his words danced between them, enticing her into the depths of his being.
Bhali se aik shakal the.
Bhali si uski dosti.
Ab uski yaad raat din tou nahi the magar,
khabi khabi.'
Meerab gulped whilst accepting the bitter reality of life- they would depart soon. This would be their first and last meeting- this reality harrowingly mocked their budding friendship.
'Haan.... Yaad rakh sakougey kay koy humsafar tha, jis ne aapki tasveer kenchi the - safar kay darmiyaan,' he rephrased, practically requesting consent- wanting to be honoured with the ability to photograph her. (You will be able to remember that there was a stranger once upon a time thatook your picture, mid-travels.)
To save this fleeting moments. As an ode to those brief hours in history that their paths crossed.
She had developed a reverance for the man- a confidant, a perfect gentleman. Maybe that's what swayed her into agreeing for the impromptu photoshoot. 'Acha banau,' she urged without allowing herself the moment to revoke her words, refixed her dupatta, sitting up straight. ( Okay, take them.)
He jumped to sit on the other bench- creating distance between them so that she could be captured in the full essence of a run away bride. 'Yahan say zyaada raushani hai, iss side pe behtou,' he spoke gently, guiding her away from the window as to avoid the white glare to too much exposure. ( There's too much light on this side, sit there.)
Meerab scotted over and tucked the stray hair behind her ear in preparation for the mini-photoshoot.... The second of the day, the earlier ine being her wedding film.
'Yeh teek hai?,' she asked as radiant smile appeared on her face and her hands rested one on top of the other- she was etiquette embodied. ( Is this okay?)
He nodded, clicking a images as he mentally cursed the sutble shake of the train from getting an image as crisp as he desired. Then suggested, 'koy tasveer bahir dekh kar bhe keench lete hai,' trying to mould into some natural poses. (Let's take some pictures of you looking out the window.)
Meerab nodded, then titled her head out the window into the abyss it endless fields and the sunlight bounced perfectly off the highpoints of her face; her temple, apples of her cheek, her cupids bown and the tip of her nose.
She gazed out onto the rushing landscape, brightly optimistic. Clean and natural and serene, unlike the vessel she was currently transiting in.
He clicked a few more as she alternated the resting position of her hand, on the window frame, pretending to adjust her dupatta or playing with her banges.
Meerab figured that she quite enjoyed being his muse. There was no sense of awkwardness, and they very naturally assumed their respective positions. After all, he was a photographer.
When the film was used up- he lowered the camera, noticing that she appeared to be glowing without the hinderance of a camera lens. The girl was emanating with a sense surreal angelic purity and his heart yearned to take her home with him, so that he could show his mother. To display the wonder that he had discovered on his fateful journey home - and he was entranced. Never before had he been so grateful for the rickety dragging ride of a cross country train.
Meerab's gaze flickered upwards as the clicking noise ceased and she said, 'ho gaya?' ( Is it done?)
Murtasim unfroze after drinking in the sight of her, coming back to the scene of two strangers in a carriage. 'Hogaya hai Meerab madam,' he confirmed, satisfied, whilst removing the film and promptly handing it over to her- her hand reached out to retrieve it. ( It's done Meerab Madam.)
Murtasim wanted to grab into her open palm rather than place the film onto it- but he didnt dare. Instead he looked to her face, wanting to thank you for indulging his hobby. For allowing him to finally put his talents to a worthy cause, making a memoir of them.
Meerab held the rolled in her hand film herself this time as it was hers to keep.
Murtasim tried to capture her in the frame of his eyes, his eyes dared to lock onto her neckline and the little exposed skin above. It was replaced with alarm as he discovered that there was no necklace hanging there, nor any diamond twinkling irridescantly. He asked, 'tumhara necklace- kahan hai?,' in disbelief, his voice was louder, seemingly unsettled at the possibility of loss or theft. ( Your necklace? Where has it gone? )
Meerab's hand lowered- her neck was empty, unadorned. 'Mera necklace ghum hai,' she muttered to herself, and her heartbeat picked up. ( My necklace is missing.)
There was only two people residing in the carriage so the culprit obvious.....
'Farukh,' she hissed, immediatley standing, heaving at the way she had been played so easily, conned right under her nose. Likely when he came to being that extra round of breakfast foods. 'Woh he mujhay saye nahi lag raha tha,' she admitted was a wash of anger overtook her and her nostrils flared. ( Farukh. He didn't look right to me.)
Only then did he realise that she had sensed it too- from the way he was more than pleased to accept a bribe. Unwelcome and overstaying, hinting at a less than amiable character.
Murtasim looked up to her, towering above as she stood tall, squaring her shoulders.
But still, he didnt want to accuse Farukh of theft without proper prior procedure. 'Araam say sherni, pehle dhoond tou lou,' he urged, not wanting to act in haste.' ( Relax lioness, have a look around first.)
'Main usko sahi karti hou,' she mummled with hardened features, readying herself to attack- his voice fading into the background as a mere after thought. ( I'll sort him out.)
'Pehle, bench kay neechay deklo,' he instructed again, supporting her stance but wanting to check first. He was ready to follow her anywhere, if she simply hinted. (Check beneath the bench first.)
Meerab took in his words that time, nodding at his sensibility.
Both of them searched the carraige voracioauly, trying to catch a sliver gold glinting in the light, but the the ground was less illuminated. Their hands gliding over the bench and eyes scanning the floor.
The carriage was small, comprising of only two small benches with empty space beneath. It had two overhead storage compartment and some hooks to the side.
It had been futile and she huffed at the wasted time. Then Meerab stood up after the search, pushing her gifted shawl back over her shoulder as she began reaching for the handle to confront him. 'Mai jare hou,' she told him in a rush before the door could even open. ( I'm going.)
It was only when she straightened, did the necklace fall. The metal faintly thumped on the ground, but his ears caught the noise effortlessly and his eyes flickered instantly to the source.
'Rukho,' he ordered with a sense of urgency and assertiveness. ( Wait.)
It had gotten caught up in the layers of the silky dress and georgette dupatta and pashmina shawl.
And Meerab tutted, thinking that it was another surge of gentlemanly pride had possessed him. It was only when she caught him moving that her eyes followed, flickering to gold.
There were sighs of reliefs at the sight of it.
Murtasim kneeled down to retrieve it for without a further thought and dropped it into her open palm, making eye contact- appreciating the teamwork.
'Thankyou.' Meerab said, and then emitted an awkward giggle as the atmosphere suddenly lightened, airier as she found her necklace. ( Thanks.)
They both sat down, conscious of the ragged sways of the train as it soared over the tracks beneath, occasionally jumping as the metal collided harshly. Of course, neither of them wanting to mellow-dramatically fall into the others arms.
Meerab supposed she ought to wear it- rather than placing it with her jewellery collecting, highlighting the location of her other belonings to the man. She figured it wouldnt be a difficult for him to headbutt her and make off with her small bundle of treasure.
'Koy baat nahi. Ho jata hai,' he attempted to reassure, playing off her jumpy behaviour. He watched as she attempted to do the clasp to refasten it- but it too fiddly and the chain was too short, too close to her neck to be be re-fixed herself. ( No big deal. It's happens.)
Only then did Meerab realise that her mother had previously fastened the clasp for her and that she haven't attempted it do herself in the train. Meaning she had forgotten the about the chain after the ticket fiasco- preoccupied in Murtasim's interrogation.
'Bechara Farukh,' Murtasim snickered realising that there had been no attempted theft. She had been quick to accuse, on edge, doubtful and accusatory. ( Poor Farukh.)
'Bechara,' she repeated embarrassed at her reaction and this evoked a smile of both of their faces. ( Poor guy.)
Then she turned to Murtasim. 'Kar do ga, sherr?,' she asked, hoping he would oblige her. She held it out for him to take, playing on his words of calling her a sherni, teasing just as he had a moment ago. ( Will you fasten it, lion?)
After all, he had found it for her. He could have easily pocketed it whilst she was out having an altercation with Farukh.
Perhaps they had surpassed humsafar, maybe dost would be more apt.
Sherr and sherni. His heart swelled as an image of his mother erupted in his mind, a momeory of being called her 'sherr beta,' replayed and her words echoed in his ears.
It felt like a divine sign.
'Dey do,' he confirmed whilst reaching towards her. ( Give it to me.)
Always eager to help.
———————————————————-
You guys need to see the clip if Wahaj reciting that piece of poetry. I've just linked it on my twitter - @/ayshjasmin93390 ( or link on my page.) I just had to weave it into the story! BTW how many of you have gone to see Teri Meri Kahaniyaan?