All of it seemed pointless. The flesh, the speeding up, the slowing down, her twinkle and the hope it gave me. The Asuras I can see, whispering calamity into my mother's conscious cannot not be tamed. They've been bred, through years of feed. Trained professionally to attack on anything that's raw. Meat, prey, and hope. Like tigers.
I desperately search, for an opening, a sliver, to find a way to reason with her. But the baagh shows no signs of weakness.
Kahan?
Sri Lanka. Ammi is sending me there to set up a new branch.
Hmm.
She looks at me, then at her broom, embraces Andera for a second and then continues working.
Hmm (she's firmer this time). Jao fir. I'm sure you're going to do great. It'll be the top branch in no time.
Aisa kya? Is that how you want to play this? What about us?
Us
You remind me of the Jharna by my home. Your home. You're everything still and silver. A marriage of metallic and mogras. You always notice me. You always make sure I know you notice me. You chose this. You chose to read beside me while I wash, reflect near me while I dust and condense on the same green earth god put me on. We're only an us when you leave me chudis to wear. We're only an us when I sneak into the gardens to watch your khidki. We're only an us when 2 bottles of feni later you tell me about nakshatras.
We're not an us when my scars meet your narm. When they reach out like hope, turning ablaze but burning out like water on a hawan. We're not an us when I tell you about Mohabbat, it being you, and the ways it tortures me. We're not an us when you make me reconsider, in all the ways that are ghalat.
What about us? I was never going to be your life. Just a part of it. Surely you would've known that.
I thought I'd react, but I knew this was going to happen. I saw her reaction coming. She's always been contrite. Uptight. She has the nature to run this haweli far more than me. She fits the description. She's high strung even when she receives. One of my chudis, meri nazar, and a request. To fight. For us.
I sigh, step forward and stop her restless broom and anxious muttering. She looks at me like she's been caught stealing and hides herself in my pallu. All in an instance there's rahi. And then again there's hope.
I am going away. There's no changing that. But there is hope. My life is not my own yet, and neither is yours. And when that happens, this ummid will help us fight.
Dhruv tara ne bhi intezar kari, salon ke liye. Aakhir mein use jagah mili. Nakhshastron ke paas.