A Bruise On My Soul #wattys2016

A Prejudiced Society

The couch wasn't comfortable neither my company. We were sitting in the drawing room of some Mr.Sharma.

Apparently, earlier that day Zakhir saw an advertisement in the newspaper mentioning their 2Bhk home was on a 'To-Let' mode. He also added that he'll get lucky only if the so called Mr. Sharma would be liberal enough to let him stay once acknowledging his religion. I laughed off that comment and pointed out that he was out of his mind to think that people in this 21st century are inquisitive about the religion factor for renting their home. But Alas! I was proved wrong.

We were welcomed by a lady in her late 40s who by the look of it was the wife of the owner. She was short and petite. Her grey hair was unkept and ruffled. Wrinkle lined her eyes and mouth. She adorned a plain pink Patiala suit. Her demeanour showed that her position in the house was just akin to a servant and never have a say in any matter.

' He'll be here in some time. You both please feel comfortable' she husked and slouched on a stool kept beside the fridge holding a grim expression.

The drawing room was average in size and were occupied by numerous furnitures, way more then required,which in turn gave a congested view. Walls were ordained by their religious Baba's pictures and some prosaic paintings. Rooms beyond were out of sight as the adjacent rooms were veiled by shimmering curtains.

'Namaste ji' called out a man standing just across us. He was so huge that I felt he was towering over us while he was standing. He took a seat adjacent to us and motioned to his wife. His wife in return nodded and advanced towards the kitchen without a word.

His eyes now fixed on us. He regarded us with those penetrating eyes that made me nervous.
Whereas Zakhir seemed to be least intimidated by the man.

'Hello' sir. I read about your house in the advertisement and was interested in getting a glimpse of it, before agreeing on the rent and all.'

'What did you say your name was?' the man asked eyeing him.

'Its Zakhir '.

' It's a Muslim name. No?' he asked casually.

I watched Zakhir for his expressions. It was blank. It showed no emotions just like his voice but only confidence.

'Its because I'm a Muslim sir' he remarked.

Mr.Sharma brooded for a minute without uttering a single syllable. His demeanor changed dramatically. I was ascertain of the fact it wasn't only me who observed it but Zakhir too.

'My home will cost you 30,000 bucks a month. If you are fine with this rent then we can proceed' he finally said.

I gasped. I was thrown back completely. This house sounded way too expensive.

' But I think the advertisement said only 15000 a month' Zakhir exclaimed.
He too found it costly then, I thought.

Sharmaji scratched his neck for sometime.

'See I'm the owner of this whole building, therefore I hold the perquisite to hike the rent as much as I require.' he snapped at him. His change of tone surprised me.

'Oh is it? Or are you just not interested in giving your house to a muslim stranger?' Zakhir retorted. His anger rising with each and every word.

' I don't want your voice raised in my house. I'm just not willing to let my house to you. You can leave ' he quipped arising from his chair and crossing hands across his chest.
Both of them glared at each other. I could feel the tension in the room rise.

' Let's go' I whispered in Zakhir's ear and tugged his arm. But he stood there rooted to the ground.

' Religions are not there to divide people but to make them humans. Someday when you'll look back you are gonna regret it. Mark my words' he said and after letting out a sigh, he gripped my hand and marched out of the door.