At His Mercy

Part 25

As soon as I walk into the office after work, I notice that Abdullah, my PA is on edge.  His forehead is wrinkled from his frown and he smiles nervously, bumping into the corner of his desk in a rush to follow me into my office, fumbling with some sticky notes as he comes to a halt at my desk. 

The trip to the building site has inspired anything but confidence in the project so far.  My mother's philanthropic work has now become the bane of my life.  A constant barrage of set backs has meant that the project is running 6 months behind schedule. Not only that, there is so much red tape, it seems that I'm going to have to finally call in some favours. Father had insisted on offshore investments.  he had known the state of this country with its crooked system and the endless hands of bribers forever ready to extort the blood out of you. 'Tread carefully' he had said 'remember you never know whose help you're gonna need and when.' I had known from the moment my mother had asked for help, that this wasn't going to be a straightforward job.  

what do I know about hospitals? and I certainly don't know anything about construction.  steel manufacturing and oil is my forte.  And now apparently i've been coerced into becoming a patron of a neonatal charity. 

Eyebrows raised, i feel the irritation and impatience begin to irritate me as i tutt just loud enough for Abdul to hear.

'Gar se call ayah tah. . .  3 times .' he looks back apologetically

frowning, I take out my mobile phone and looked at the screen. 7 missed calls. 5 from home and 2 from the office.  Sighing, I  signal for Abdullah to leave and 'hold all my calls.'

Ami Ji is drinking tea on the verandah when I get home. I stalk through the house going from room to room till I see Abdul Rehman (the errand boy) come down the corridor from the kitchen quarters. He takes one look at my face, lowers his head and points to the veranda. 

My mother is embroidering some material in a large round frame on her lap when I step out into the open space.  the table is set with delicate china and some suspiciously gooey looking cream cakes, which haven't been touched.  I slouch in the chair opposite her  looking expectantly.

'hum, what's the emergency? kayaah baat hei? (what's up?) she puts down her frame and gives me one of the most icy looks I've ever seen her give, ofcourse its a reaction to the acerbic undertone in my voice, which I can tell she hasn't appreciated at all.  I roll my eyes accepting I've crossed a line.  One thing about my mother is quite simply that she detests bad manners and won't stand for them, not from any one. 

'you told me you have a wife- kooch nei meh nay kaha (I didn't say anything), you bring her to our home and expect us all to get used to each other- kooch nei hum nay kaha.  then you leave her here on her own all day - per bi, kooch nei meh nay kaha.  you upset her to the point where I am scared to leave her on her own- yea galaat baat hei!   And I won't tolerate it!' her gaze is hard and impenetrable. 

I sigh and look down at the tea crockery 'chai?' I ask nodding in the direction of the table.

she ignores me and picks up her embroidery again. 'Joe bi hai- fix it!'

'she's just doing dramay!' I say giving Ami ji a side long look. 

I swear in that moment she radiates such scorn, I freeze. I've only ever seen her like this once before in my life, when I kicked a dog which had jumped on Zara as child.  

we were at the farm and the dog had gotten so excited it began to nip Zara's dress and then it jumped up onto her and I thought it was going to take a chunk out of her.  with as much force as I could muster, I had kicked it. My mother had been informed by the gamekeeper and I remember being stood in front of her-actually thinking I was going to be the hero and the Gameskeeper was going to get the sack.  
Instead, to my astonishment she apologised to the gamekeeper and sent him on his way.  She looked at me with such animosity I can still feel the shame today.  'I told you not to take Zara outside the courtyard, didn't I?'  her voice is flat and hard. 'when you do things you shouldn't be doing, what do you think is going to happen?' again silence  'That dog is there to protect this house and everyone in it-  In it!' she repeats. 'It is older than you are Adam!'  Then she dismisses me saying she 'doesn't want to look at me" with such disappointment in her eyes, I have never forgotten it.  Later she sent the housekeeper to go and enquire about whether the dog was ok. I went to bed without any super.

'You are mature enough to bring a wife home, but not mature enough to treat her with the love and respect she deserves?' silence. 'You have a sister, think about her before you tell me what dramay baazi you think your wife is or isn't doing?'
Oh god! I walked straight into that one.  Ofcourse Ami Ji is going to pull that one out- you wouldn't want your sister to be treated this way would you?but what annoys me the most is that in the grand scheme of things I've overlooked the fact that my mother just happens to be the defender of the downtrodden and underdog. Ofcourse she was going to love Aya!  

I lean back in the chair placing my elbow on the arm rest  and face on my wrist as I look into space- shit!

Gar se call ayah tah- there was call from home 

dramaay baazi- drama/ over exaggerating 

kooch nei meh nay kaha- I didn't say anything 

kooch nei hum nay kaha- we didn't say anything 

yea galaat baat hei- this is wrong

Joe bi hai- whatever it is