12 | Miss
"And what happens if your huge brother attacks me as soon as I set foot into his house?"
"He won't," I rolled my eyes, "I mean, not unless he comes to know that you're depriving me of a cat, something he's seen me yearn for forever."
Hasan was driving me to my mother's house before he left for work. I could stay the whole day there before he joined us at dinner.
Being around Hasan I didn't really realise it, but when he slowed towards the gate and I could see Jebrail on the porch of my old house, it hit me like a bolt - I was seeing my family again, after being away for about a month.
Typically, my eyes teared up again.
"Don't start crying now, Allah," Hasan said. Then softly, "Adinah? Adinah! I want you to stop crying. Right now. Hush."
I faced him, drying my cheeks.
"Hey," he said, reaching for my hand. "Do you want them to think you're unhappy with me?"
I looked away and did not reply, and then he realised something; his face showed his sudden wonder. "Oh my God, are you really going to complain about me once you're there?!"
"No," I said. "Of course not."
"Thank Allah! I mean have you seen Jebrail? He'd turn me to unrecognisable human pulp," he laughed.
Then he looked at me, and stopped. "Adinah, what's the issue?"
"It's that I'm seeing them again!" I sniffed. "And come on, at this point you must realise that however annoying, this is a piece of me, all this crying," I sniffed.
"Oh Allah," he said. "You need to chill."
"You need to stop caring!"
"Who said I do? You're just being way too girlish."
My head whipped to face him. "Excuse me, I am a girl?"
"You're a woman now," he laughed.
I told him to shut up, and did so myself.
When he pulled over at our gate, Jebrail respectfully came forth to greet us.
"Assalaam Alaikum, Hasan Bhai," he said, although Hasan was younger than him by a year.
Hasan replied with a smile.
After a mandatory couple of minutes of my brother's trying to pull my husband inside for chai-nashta and his politely refusing, Jebrail finally let him leave, and I sighed.
"Your struggles to get him in convince me that you were more excited to meet him instead of me," I said as he lead me inside.
"Lol, who wanted to meet you again anyway," he said, but he didn't meet my eyes, and looking at him from behind, I smiled.
I missed Jebrail - his ugly, irritating, overly uncool self; I missed it, because he'd been a huge part of my life, and now suddenly, when he wasn't, it felt like there was a hole there where he'd been all this while.
But before I could say anything more to Jebrail, my mother came to my sight, and seeing her after all this time, characteristically, I melted.
So I was crying again, as was she, and for some minutes we just cried as we held each other.
Next was Amaan, my most favourite person in the world.
"How have you been, motu," I asked, never breaking the embrace.
He didn't let go, either.
"Bad, Baji! Very bad. Jebrail Bhai annoys me all the time now, and I have no one to fight him along!"
"Oh okay, that problem will be solved tonight when Hasan joins our team and defeats this idiot," I laughed.
"As if," Jebrail scoffed. "Beat me at Tekken, then we'll see."
"That's a good idea, watch yourself lose!"
Some more time I roamed my own house with Amaan and Jebrail, scrutinising the place I'd lived my whole life, which was suddenly made foreign, and when mamma came with the food, on special platters, it unexpectedly enraged me.
"What is this, mamma? Am I a guest?"
She smiled.
"No, I want an answer, mamma! You're treating me like I don't own this place," I cried. I picked a samosa. Then a sandwich.
"Come on," I heard a familiar voice from the kitchen, "You own a different house now."
"And hence this one's not yours anymore," Jebrail agreed.
With widened eyes and the fastest pace possible for my limbs I threw my samosa and sandwich back to the dishes I'd picked them from, without ever having taken a single bite, and ran towards the kitchen. Everyone laughed behind me, but I could only grin.
I entered the old, familiar kitchen that I loved so much, and in a single movement I hugged my best and only friend, who was stupid enough to cook for me in my own house on the first day that she met me after so long.
"Lubaina!" I cried. "You paglu! What in heaven's name are you doing here?! And why would you not even come outside to meet me?!"
"Salaam to you too, uff. And, I mean, I couldn't just tell the samosas, 'Hold a minute, guys, don't burn or anything while I go and give a grand welcome to Adinah to her own house!'"
I shook my head. "Walekum Assalaam. You could just, you know, apprise me that you're here too? How long have you here frying samosas?"
"About an hour. Even sneaked a glance at your hubby from the window," she smirked. "He looked fine, masha Allah!"
"Say Astaghfirullah!" I said, widening my eyes, and hit her, laughing all the while.
Soon she stopped laughing. "Ah, Addi. Look at you, all glowing with the bride glow! I need to get settled too. Need me a nice rich hottie too, damn."
I rolled my eyes. "If only it was just that. You have no idea of my struggles, Lubaina. These people make me cook! Something I rarely ever did here!"
"What a surprise!" She faked shock. "Never could've guessed a Desi bahu would need to cook and clean, isn't it?"
"Yeah, okay, mock me, princess. When you get to do all these things while looking the best you can, you'll know my pain. Chill all you can till then."
"Huh? I don't mind it. Not getting dressed, and not the work. I never have. Unlike you!"
That's when I remembered, looking at the frying spoon still in her hand, and a goofy smile on her chubby face, that like most girls around here, Lubaina actually liked to cook.
. . . Or made it a point to at least try to develop a liking towards it, thinking that since it's feminine 'fate' to do these things, they might as well have regular practice.
Characteristically, this whole idea, with all its insanity, made me scrunch up my nose in sheer disgust. Just to have practice, they made themselves take up housework for all their free time. It made less sense than Modi's national economic policies did.
But within seconds my brain was filled with the ridiculously hypocritical way I had started my own married life : trying my best to cook, clean, please my husband and in-laws . . . I had done all those things to myself that I had always pitied other women for being forced to do to themselves. So how different did it make me from the others, really?
Like every time that I realised how brutally my own actions violated my principles, I slouched, my eyes moist, my brain packed with questions about my stupid choices and
"What happened to you?" Lubaina asked, obviously noticing my sudden change of mood.
"Nothing," I said, although a lot had happened to me. I had had a rather depressing revelation regarding my own life. "I'm just kinda tired."
"Why are you tired," she laughed. "What did you even do?"
"I got married," I sighed.
"Wow, look at all this drama," Jebrail said casually, appearing from behind. "I didn't think marriage could make you dramatic. I mean, not this dramatic."
Neither had I.
"And I can bet she doesn't even do anything majorly laboursome," Lubaina agreed. I turned and gave her a look.
"I bet she's probably just watching drama serials while eating all day," he said, and now I was staring back at him.
"That would totally explain the cinematic act."
"Alright, hold on. Leave me be for a minute," I interrupted them, "and now one of you tell me since when are you two such great friends?!"
There was silence.
To be honest, it was a new kind of insane.
Lubaina almost never visited my house, not unless it was an absolute necessity, or a social obligation like my wedding. And hence she had little to no association with Jebrail even though she was the sister I wasn't actually related to, and he my own brother.
And although it wasn't very amusing for me to hear them joke about my misery in such a manner and my vastly masochistic brain totally wanted to dwell on it for hours and be mad and cry, I couldn't take my attention away from how strange it was that Lubaina and Jebrail were completing each other's sentences here.
I was in the midst of weird thoughts when I noticed her.
Blushing.
And as quickly as I could, still shocked, I turned towards Jebrail to catch his reaction to my question, but unfortunately for me, he was already running out of the kitchen.
He could still stop as I called for him to, but he didn't, planting concretely a rather odd idea in my head that I really didn't want to think about.
It was all great fun to see my family again, and also Lubaina, but I couldn't say the same about my room.
It's something about how we spend most of our time in our bedrooms, how it's the most homely place within the most homely place. Every inch of that small space I'd spent nearly all my life in was familiar and comforting.
But I didn't cry because of nostalgia when I sat on my bed again, as a chained, changed woman for the first time.
I cried, because coming back here reminded me of the time I'd spent here, on this very spot on the bed, my desk, my window sill, and dreamt of being a vet. Of writing a book. Of owning a cat.
And not just those; opening my old wardrobe again opened in my head the dreams I had about my married life. They weren't as different from the reality that enslaved me now, but at the same time, my future wasn't even remotely the same. My former plan had to do with a life of self-sufficiency and animals and solitary peace, which was now converted to one that revolved around a husband, home, beauty parlours, and most probably even children in the near future.
So I cried, and when Lubaina came to see me, she screamed. Obviously.
"Oh Allah! Why are you crying??" She cried. And then louder, "Aunty! Amaan, Jebrail! Come here quick, everyone, Adinah's crying!!"
I wiped my tears. "I'm not crying! I mean, not because I'm sad, at least."
"So it's because you're . . . happy?"
I stared at her.
But before I could try to explain to her the anatomy of my eyes and the inexplicably excessive amount of tears they produced, my family came to surround me, the speed not a result of the loudness of her cry, but because these three weren't really doing anything today except cater to Me, The Married Off Girl Of The House.
"Adinah, what happened?" My mother cried.
"What did you say to her?" Jebrail asked Lubaina.
"Nothing!" She said in her defence. "She was crying before I came here."
"Let me bring Baji something to eat," Amaan declared. "Ice-cream, Baji?"
I shook my head. "Uff. I'm fine, really! Just nostalgic. I'll be okay, chill, everyone."
"Nostalgic?" Jebrail asked, skeptical. "You're missing Hasan? Already?!"
"This is why mamma can't find you a wife," I sighed. "Men with brains get to get married, and Wallahi, brother, Allah has sent you among us without ever providing you with one."
"She missed this place," Lubaina explained. "Addi, you know something? You should stay here some days. That will surely make you feel better. I mean, you have forever to live there, right?"
I thought for a moment. And then decided to grab the opportunity to figure out if there really was some khichdi cooking on here.
"Then you stay over, too," I suggested.
And sure enough, whilst I was noticing intently, to confirm my suspicion, her eyes turned towards Jebrail.
. . . Who was coincidentally looking at her.
"Oh, no," she said. "Not me!"
"Why not?" I asked.
"Yes, why not, beta?" Mamma said. "I can talk to your mother to let you stay for a couple of days with Adinah."
Although Jebrail didn't say anything, he looked at her.
It made me uneasy for some reason.
"I . . . have to study!" She said suddenly. "I have to study. For my tests. Tests that are coming soon. I must study; I can't stay over, Aunty!"
"But Adinah has tests too," Mamma said. "If you stay, you can study together. You can help her!"
Finding herself in a problem she created for herself, Lubaina sighed. "Okay, then."
My mother smiled.
"But I don't have my books!" She remembered suddenly. "I don't have my books. I must go home, Adinah. I must."
"It's okay, Lubaina," said mamma, "You can go with Jebrail and get them. Get some clothes too."
"Oh, no, Aunty, please try to understand!" She cried.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Haraamness!" She whispered, but not low enough for any of us to not be able to comprehend. Jebrail took his eyes off her, probably very embarrassed.
"Come then," I said. "I'll come with you guys. No haraamness that way."
And finally, defeated, she gave in.
"Okay."
"Wait," Jebrail said. "Did you ask Hasan? What if he doesn't let you stay?"
"He will," I said, my voice steady. "I don't need his permission to stay a couple of days in my own house. Bring me some ice-cream now, Amaan," I said, moving away.
And before my mother could lecture me, I ran from there, Lubaina trailing behind just to avoid further conversation, like me.
I had decidedly come to the portico because I knew Lubaina would follow me. I wanted to have a talk with her.
"Adinah," she hissed as soon as we were there. "Will you tell me - "
"You've met Hafsa, right?" I said, cutting her off.
"Yes, but - "
"Hasan thinks Hafsa and Jebrail could be great for each other one day."
It wasn't true, but I wanted to know how she'd react.
I saw the emotions drain from her face, but within seconds she acted like the idea didn't affect her.
"Oh."
"What do you think about it?"
She didn't speak for a moment. "I . . . don't know . . . He's your brother, and . . . she's his sister and . . . it would be cool, I guess . . . "
It broke my heart to see her stutter like that. She was my best friend, and now she didn't know what to say to me.
What had happened to us, suddenly? How had making new relationships roughened my previous ones?
"Do you like him?" I asked, straight, sharp.
She looked glaringly horrified. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean, Lubaina," I said softly. "And I know what you mean by your silence, too. Just tell me; I'm the last person who'll judge you."
"Tell you what?" She asked, but she wouldn't look at me. "It doesn't even matter."
"It does, to me," I said. "Just say it, Lubaina. Do you like him or not?"
"It's not like it's going to make any difference!" She snapped.
She never snapped at me like that. This was why I felt it . . . it was all a lot more serious that I had presumed.
"If he's written for someone else, no attraction means anything more than just attraction. Please just drop it, Adinah."
"Your attraction would matter just as much as Hafsa's, Lub," I said, my voice low. "I need you to confirm it. Yes or no?"
"Yes!" She cried.
She was on the verge of tears.
"Yes, Adinah! Yes, I like him, I like him very much! I couldn't help liking your brother. He is the best guy I've seen, and I've seen many, and I don't think I deserve anything less than him, or anything more! And I can't determine if he's so perfect because he's your brother, since you're the best person I know!"
I was shook. I had not expected this reaction from her, and it probably showed in my expression.
"Adinah, I pray in every prayer for Allah to make my husband of my liking, and me of his. I pray for his wellbeing and his family's and friends'. But I have never once explicitly mentioned your brother's name in my prayers. Do you know why?" I shook my head. "It's because I don't believe he's made for me!"
It's not easy to describe how much it hurt me to see her like this.
She sobbed. "I pray for it, I hope for it, but I don't expect it to be true.
"So when you come to me and tell me that Hafsa and Jebrail are finalised, I probably won't be surprised . . . But Allah, how I wish to be his!"
"You should've told me earlier," I said, my voice low. "I didn't know . . . "
"Adinah, look at me."
I reluctantly faced her.
"I told you, because you asked, and because not telling you felt wrong. But Adinah, you have to understand : it means nothing. Okay? It means nothing. Anybody liking anybody means nothing, and this attraction is wrong on my part. I hope it goes away soon, because honestly, I don't believe he's made for me. And you must forget it too."
"Lubaina - "
"No, Adinah. Don't. Don't say anything. It's only going to hurt me more than the fact that this whole idea is irrational, childish, and just completely absurd."
"But - "
This time, Amaan was the one who made me stop.
"Your ice-cream, Baji," he said, and gave me a bowl of ice-cream.
Lubaina looked at me as Amaan handed her a bowl too, and as she looked at me, silently begging for me to shut up, in her eyes I saw the Lubaina I always knew and loved - the girl who was mute even when she had a million words inside of her; one who didn't care about herself but cared a little too much about everyone else; one who'd never reach out to you herself, but if you decided to, just once, would give you a lifetime of eternal love.
I saw Lubaina, and Jebrail's face came to my mind - the way he spoke to Lubaina, the way he looked at her . . . And my wish of matching Jebrail with Hafsa fogged with the doubt that maybe Hafsa wasn't the one who would get to be my brother's unlucky wife.
A.N.
After a point, the book starts to write itself; I've always believed it. And this chapter, it was just exactly that. It left me shocked but happy. Hope the flow takes it somewhere good.
Please comment :)