The Flying Dreams

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

I called my mother after Shifa left to get groceries on one Sunday afternoon. The weather had gone colder and there were still laundry and dishes to do but I decided to lounge on the sofa and chat with my mother for a while before Shifa returned as she had already picked up a movie, she wanted me to watch, and I wanted my mind to be free from this overwhelming emotion of guilt for not keeping up with my family more. We had decided to divide the household work between us; thus, I didn't have to worry about the dishes anymore and Shifa usually helped with the laundry even though it was on my list of chores, and whenever I even dared raise objection, she only gave me a look and my lips shut on their own. I didn't mind it a little bit, as the time flew by, I found out that she was a huge talker and always had some weird way to keep the conversation going. Often, all she did was talk about some new movie or anime she watched and had given me the funniest look when I asked what does anime mean? And that was how I had ended up on the sofa, watching cartoons on TV. She violently opposed the idea of anime being compared to cartoons. Even after the fifth episode of the cartoon, she called Tokyo Ghoul, I just did not understand her enthusiasm. 

Sundays were quickly becoming my favourite day of the week—Sundays meant laundry day and laundry day meant more time with Shifa and a list of her odd obsessions to be increased. There were two more things added to the list, one being oranges and the other being buying massive-sized sunglasses and never wearing them.

Phone conversation with my mother lasted far longer than I had initially expected, and we still were on the topic of one of my distant cousins eloping with a Hindu boy when the door opened and Shifa made a show of shivering and shaking the two brown paper bags around. A smile involuntarily turned up on my face and before I could realize what was happening, Shifa grinned back as if making me smile was the sole reason for her antic. My mother's voice, still a little hushed, completely believing that even walls could hear gossip and scandalous family business which were likely to become the doom of the family in question, broke the little daydream and I returned my gaze back on my lap. A few minutes after telling me how she had always disliked the girl and found something suspicious about her, she quickly offered a Khuda hafiz and hung up the call. I wondered if she sensed my lack of interest.

"Your mother? Were you talking to your mother or was it Wahab?"

She approached the sofa with two mugs in her hands and offered me the red one with a raise of a brow and I chuckled. Ever since I became more comfortable with her, I had no problem in letting her know my choices in her home and whenever tea happened to be in the scene, I strongly desired the red mug for myself. Only because I liked the little printed Shinchan in pyjama, holding a similar red mug with steam covering his face on the front. Shifa didn't have any difficulty with just playing along. I took a long sniff of tea and watched Shifa already taking sips.

"My mother. Did you know Anam?"

Her brows furrowed, "Roshan khala's daughter? Yes. Why are you asking?"

I sipped some tea before telling her the news my mother just passed on to me, "She eloped with a Hindu boy."

"That's what you and your mother were talking about?"

I stopped my hand before it could reach my lips and stared at her. She met my stare with a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth, almost making me believe that she knew I just wanted to share the gossip with her, and she made it sound like I had committed a heinous deed of the street talking.

"Very funny. Did you not hear me say Hindy boy?"

She blew on her tea and touched the rim to her mouth; her eyes were no longer set on me. I mirrored her action and gripped the hot mug tighter to steal more of its warmth into my hands. I watched her until she laughed and turned her head toward me. Shrugging, she made a face which I didn't understand before answering, "Heard it. Perhaps she was really in love."

I scoffed, "Love? In love with a boy of a different religion? Shifa, please. Muslim boys aren't all dead."

"Have you ever been in love, Adia? Would you even know when it happens?"

Comprehending her question and studying her face when she asked, I couldn't say a word. Her gaze was too puzzling for me to even try and solve it. I wanted to say yes, I loved Wahab, but I knew she would look at me with those disapproving eyes for lying as she usually did when I didn't appreciate the movies, she, apparently adored, resembling so much to pity. So, I stayed silent and when she perceived that I had no words to offer to her question, she nodded as if she had just solved the riddle of a lifetime. Like she had anticipated my silence before I did.

"Exactly my point. You won't— we won't get a chance to know we are in love because there are so many boundaries and principles set for love and often crossing the barrier is the most difficult thing we can do. And she did it. She chose love over rules, and I think I understand her choice. Don't you?"

Did I? I must have clenched the teacup too tightly as the previously soothing warmth almost burned my palms. Averting my eyes from Shifa, I focused on my tea and felt her staring at me. She talked about the matter like she knew how it felt to love and I could not decide what I wanted myself to feel. Envious that she knew love when I didn't? Or jealous of the person who made her understand the sensation? Or just plain appalled that she would dare think such nonsense. At last, I went with the last option. For more reason than one.

"I don't know, Shifa. I don't know love but even if I did, would it have changed anything? No. I would never disgrace my family, my parents with a single choice. How could loving one person become far more important than your family?"

This time she regarded me in a certain way that made my skin tingle. Her eyes on me seemed too personal, too intimate, and heavy for me to take, so, I looked away and heard her sigh. I didn't have to think it over, I knew I had somehow disappointed her. But it was true. What I said was what I believed. Even love should happen with the right person and if it didn't, then you don't love at all. It was a simple rule, really—every induvial should have an obligation to their family to not shame them by going and falling in love with someone of different religion or caste or... same sex.

"Alright. We clearly have different opinions, so agree to disagree and order some pizza?"

"I want to eat chicken-rice. Made by my own hands."

She laughed and nodded, "I have no problem in eating handmade food by the most amazing cook I know."