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I have been following this book for 2 years now and I absolutely love it to bits! I am majorly missing this book I hope you continue soon!
I have been following this book for 2 years now and I absolutely love it to bits! I am majorly missing this book I hope you continue soon!
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
Ki Ban Gaye Ho Tum Mere Khuda
Chapter 139
Zaid looked up eagerly at his Ammi. She was going to tell him his favy-favy story. He just knew it. He could tell by the angle of her dimple and the smile tugging at Abbu’s lips.
Zaid clapped.
“Yayaayay!”
“Once upon a time, in a land--”
“Fa-fa-ay!”
Ammi pinched his cheek and giggled. “Yes, far, far away--”
“Un-ned galaaasie ‘ay?”
Both Ammi and Abbu laughed.
“Yes babu, hundreds and hundreds of galaxies away …”
Zaid’s eyes fixed on Ammi’s face. He forgot to blink.
“There lived a handsome prince in the tallest tower in the land.”
Zaid noticed Abbu rolling his eyes. Zaid also rolled his eyes. He succeeded in blinking.
“He lived alone because of an ancient curse. He was always angry …”
“Adoo?” asked Zaid.
Ammi laughed. “Yes, very Akdu!” She winked at Abbu and murmured “Akdu as f*ck,” in his ear. Abbu reddened and ducked his head.
Zaid too shook his head just like Abbu. And then he waved his stuffed dinosaur in the air. “Dan-dan-dan!”
“Yes. When this prince stepped out of the tower he became a fire-breathing dragon. This dragon burned down buildings and ate up cars and buses. It flew around trying to eat the sun, the wind, the mountains, and the clouds.”
Abbu held his head in his hand. Zaid held his head in his hands. They shook their heads in synchrony.
Zaid loved the prince-dragon. He knew that it was a special dragon--it had the head of a lion. Ammi had told him that and even shown him a mask that had belonged to his Abbu when he was a little boy. He also loved that the prince-dragon did different things each time. Sometimes he burned down forests and castles, and ate planes for a snack. Sometimes he drank the ocean to quench his thirst. Sometimes he played chess with mountains. Sometimes prince-dragon even got into a fighting match with Dhoni mamu.
“Dhishooom!”
“POW!”
“And then one day a beautiful princess skydived onto the tower’s tallest spire. She came from a far, far land too. But the prince did not like anyone coming to his tower. He snarled at her.”
“AARRNNGHH!” Zaid snarled.
“How come he’s not a dragon when he’s snarling at her?” Abbu asked in a low tone. Zaid strained his ears to catch his words.
“No, he’s always human when he snarls at the warrior princess. Mr. Khan, you have to follow along--when the prince is inside his tower, he’s human. When he’s out and about, he’s a dragon.”
“Ohhh,” said Abbu.
“Oooo,” said Zaid.
“But why?” asked Abbu.
“Wy-wy-wy,” echoed Zaid.
Ammi huffed. And then she frowned and pouted at Abbu. “Because the princess is not going to get it on with a frikkin’ dragon, OK? That’s why! Because that would be just wrong!” she hissed.
Abbu threw his head back and laughed. Zaid threw his head back and cackled. He also clapped. He loved story time when both his parents sandwiched him as he lay on their bed in his jammies.
“ ‘Go away,’ the prince yelled at the princess. ‘Never EVER come here.’ ” Ammi continued to rattle off the angry Prince’s dailogues.
“ ‘Allah miyan, what’s wrong with you!’ the princess stomped her foot. ‘I will do whatever I please. You’re not the boss of me!’ ”
Zoya looked down at Zaid and he beamed.
“ ‘Incredibly foolish,’ murmured the ticked-off Prince. And then the Prince stepped out of the French doors of the tower and transformed into a dragon.”
“Phooo,” Zaid said.
“Yes, whoosh!” Zoya encouraged her son’s interaction. “So this Prince who was now a big, bad dragon, thought he would scare her away by becoming bigger than Statue of Liberty. Greener than the Statue of Liberty. He blew a smoke ring in the air. That smoke ring tried to trap the princess around her arms like a cowboy’s lasso. But she was quicker. She removed her golden arm-plate to reveal gold Kintsugi scars.”
“Remind us again what Kinstugi is?” Asad interrupted.
Zoya huffed in annoyance. “It’s a Japanese art form that doesn’t discard broken pottery but actually uses gold to repair and join the cracks. Get it?” She wagged manic eyebrows at her husband.
“Real gold?”
“Real gold,” she said in a hushed tone. Had Asad really forgotten what the word meant or did he mean to make her repeat and acknowledge its glowing significance? So that she would continue to feel pride for her scars? They had researched the word together not long ago. Of how the art made an object even more beautiful and refined with the addition of powdered gold to highlight the cracks instead of camouflaging them. A client had presented him a small momento from Japan—the gift had come with an embossed card that detailed some of the history of traditional art form. Then why…?
Asad smiled at her. And Zoya knew in that instant that that was it: he did know. She let her fingers slide against his and raised their joined hands to plant a kiss on the top of his hand.
“You are my super sweet, superhero.”
“Meeeeee,” Zaid interrupted.
“You too, babu. You’re my chhotu super hero.”
Asad groaned.
“What?” Zoya piped up.
“I just remembered Chhotu from Mangalpur Part 2.”
Zoya laughed outright. Oh yes, that Chhotu. Poor guy. He had come in close personal contact with Jahanpanah’s fist for demanding a thank you kiss from her.
“So where was I?” Zoya asked since Zaid was beginning to get bored with his parents’ jog down memory lane. “Yes, so when the Princess flexed her arm, lightning bolts streaked out from the jagged Z scar on her arm. They zapped the weakass smoke ring into purple dust.”
Abbu snorted.
“That made the dragon madder,” Ammi went on. “He roared a mighty roar!”
“AAAAARRhhhhhhh!” Zaid roared.
“Aaaaarrrrgggghh” Ammi roared.
“Oh please,” Abbu said.
His family looked at him. It was his turn to roar.
“AAAARRRHHHHH!”
“Yaayayayaay!” went Zaid.
“You always do this. You wind him up so he won’t be sleepy for at least another hour,” Abbu complained to Ammi.
Ammi harrumphed. “As if!”
“Aaajifff,” said Zaid.
“You’re not happy bonding with your son? Watching him lay still for 10 seconds as he laughs and interacts with you? Hmm … I distinctly remember a certain Mr. Khan who threw a Jahanpanah-sized tantrum some months ago that he wasn’t getting enough time with his son.” Ammi tilted her head to the side in challenge. Zaid angled his head to the side and looked at Abbu with a mini-frown. Abbu didn’t want to spend time with him? His lower lip started to tremble. It stuck out in a mighty pout.
“What?” said Abbu.
“Oh really? How soon you forget--so convenient!” teased Ammi. She bent her head to kiss the side of Zaid’s mouth and it curved in delight.
“Then please remind me,” said Abbu.
“Oh really, you don’t remember that night when Zaid was barely three or four months old?”
Asad had been coming home late on many an evening when Zaid was still a new-born. Work deadlines were getting to him. Missing Zaid-time was eating him up inside. Zoya knew how much he missed his son--how much he resented himself for missing those milestones that he mostly saw on videos that she sent him--the first smile, rolling over, lifting his melon head all by hisself ... Because when Asad got home late into the night, the baby was already asleep.
"What if he thinks that I'm just one of the uncles or granddads who plays with him once in a while?" he had asked Zoya that particular night, moody and restless--ready to break something but clenching empty fists instead.
"Please Mr. Khan, stop being a drama queen. As if that could ever happen!" she had tried to soothe him with humor and kisses.
"You're sure?"
"Absolutely! There's only one guy in this whole world who's his Abbu and that's you. Besides, my son isn't a dumbo. He'll always know exactly who you are wherever you may be."
"I hardly spend any time with him these days." Asad's voice had dipped in fatigued doom. "He's asleep when I come home. How will he kno--?"
"Asad, his heartbeat knows! He knew you since before he was born. He knows your voice and looks for you. C'mon! You haven't seen it but I see him when you're holding him--how he clutches your shirt. He grabs on to your finger and pats your face like nobody else's. He raises his head to be kissed by you--just expecting it as if it were the most natural thing in the world. When you walk in, he throws himself at you to hold him. Allah Miyan, he wiggles like crazy to be held by you. He knows, OK? And he'll always know."
She’d picked up the sleeping infant to deposit him in his father's arms that night. The baby had snuffled and then settled into the crook of his dad's arm. Their heartbeats had synced and the universe had slowly righted itself. Asad had felt Zaid's breath fan his neck and smiled to see a tiny fist clench on his kurta. Like clockwork.
"He's growing up so fast!" Asad had run his hand over the little fist and perfect feet. "I miss watching you nurse him. He has this incredible connection to you but I ..."
"And he has an even more incredible connection to you! Have you seen his face when you're singing to him? It's as though he forgets to blink or thinks that if he blinks he'll miss something."
Asad had still remained unconvinced that night. He’d stared out of the window rocking Zaid slightly. With the light streaming in from the window it was a beautiful silhouette in the dark room. That night she’d wished she could take a picture to capture this vignette: a vulnerable father and a trusting child knitted in one another, knotted by need.
She’d walked up behind him to hold both of them. "You won't be late coming home every night. Some days you'll come home early to surprise him. Other days you may even take off just to take him to the park, or to go watch a match or a movie. Most likely you'll take him for his music classes, or practice and training for cricket or soccer. Give it up, Asad. You couldn't be a bad dad even if you tried. Enough of this pity party!"
"How can you be so sure?" Her giddy confidence awed him even as it often frustrated him. How was she wired to be this optimistic, this sure? Where did it all bubble up from?
"Because, you're you.” Zoya had gone on to say in that supremely badtameez tone of hers as if what she said was so obvious, so natch, so incontrovertible like the laws of nature. “It's who you are. Would I have fallen in love with you otherwise?" He gave everything he did, a 100 percent. As if he could ever be a bad father! If only Asad knew that he’s where her confidence came from. Well, he knew. But he needed reminding too.
Zoya had squeezed him to remind him of one more thing: we have our fatherless childhoods to remind us to try our absolute best! Because we won't let history repeat itself--her unspoken words had resonated between them.
"Your son will love you and worship you. You are and will always be his role model. Don't forget you've already played the dad figure to Najma and Ayaan. How could you not do right by your own son? You've had such great practice!"
That night Zoya had molded herself into his back letting her warmth seep in to comfort him. And he started to feel just right.
"You used to be my superhero and now you are ours," she’d pressed on. "Remember, it says so on the nikahnama? And the Jahanpanah-ma!" The scrapbook she'd given to him on their first anniversary was nicknamed that: Jahanpanah-ma--just like "Akbarnama," but not quite!
Asad chuckled. She always had the quirkiest explanations to get him to smile. And relax.
Sensing his wellness Zoya had kissed his back. "Finally, my Jahanpanah is back! Where did you go to back there?"
"To a dark place."
"Don't you dare!" She’d paused and he could have sworn he felt her lips curl as her finger traced words on his back. "You know, Mr. Khan, one day, a long time ago, someone asked me: aap kyun mere andheron mein roshni ban ke aati hain?' "
Asad had grinned. He’d turned around to put to pull her to his side. "Um, babe, I was drugged on bhaang then, remember?"
"Asad!"
He’d laughed at her faux-outrage and kissed the top of her head. "And if I remember correctly, someone once told me: When it was dark, you always carried the sun in your hand for me.' "
"So basically, you and I are each other's flashlights? You're my Torch Ahmed Khan?"
Asad’d smiled. "And you are my Bijli-girane-main-hoon-ayee, Ms. Farooqui?"
Zoya had dimpled up brightly at him.
Asad’d bumped his head with hers. And they had looked down at Baby Zaid who slept on in his Abbu's arms, cherubic and peaceful. "We are probably spot lights and searchlights too--because we seek each other out and lift each other out of the dark."
Zoya's eyes had misted. " ... like guiding lights?"
"Hmm," he’d sighed.
She’d stroked his brow. "You're my North Star."
"I thought I was your sun. Have I been demoted?"
Those glorious giggles. "OK, you're my sun by day and my North Star at night. Jeez!"
"I thought Zaid was your son."
"Asad!" she’d kind of giggle-growled.
Zaid had stirred then and both of them’d turned to shush him; they felt guilty for waking him up. He’d raised his head and blinked. In the dark his eyes had rounded like saucers.
"Hi baby. Look who's here, it's Abbu!" Zoya had said softly, still wrapped in the circle of Asad's arm.
Baby Zaid’d grinned and flapped his arms. Asad's face was in the shadows. Had he even see his dad? He didn't need to. The way he fit in them he knew he was in his dad's arms. With a soft sigh he’d tucked his head into his dad's neck and fell back asleep. His palm feathered against and patted Asad's cheek.
A grateful Asad had turned his mouth to kiss it.
Zaid's body had relaxed too.
"Oh god, I miss this so much."
"There's nothing to miss. See, he woke up, said hi to you, and went back to sleep--snug as a bug in a rug. In his world, aal iz well. And somehow he just knew that you needed that special wake-up hi."
And that night Asad had finally accepted that there was no call to be so broody ... or feel so guilty. Everything would be OK. His son was right, aal iz well.
“Was that before or after I took him to the office with me?” Asad asked now after a long pause of reliving happy baby-Zaid moments. How fast time had gone by …
“Before. Don’t you remember, that’s why I engineered the take-your-baby-to-work day! So you could get to spend some time with him when he was awake!”
Dilshad had explained to them that little babies slept a lot--for more than half a day! “They need their sleep to grow into big boys,”
Asad had taken Zaid to his office the next week--after a good nap--overriding the baby’s Chhoti Nani’s protests and dhamkis about germs and bugs, and fragile baby immune systems. Then later in the day both Abbu and Zaid had taken a nap in his cabin. Ammi had joined them. There was even a picture that Chachu took that was framed in Dadi’s and Chhoti Nani’s rooms.
“That was such an incredible day,” Asad sighed. He’d walked around the whole office with a happily-gurgling Zaid miyan in his carrier. They’d do it this year too. Though how he was going to restrain a running-climbing-jumping-flying-squirming Zaid, he had no idea.
“Of course, kyunki Zoya Farooqui kuch bhi kar sakti hai!”
“True. I have never doubted your super powers.”
“Oh but Mr. Khan, you did. Once upon a time you did.”
“I was a fool then. A complete and absolute duffer. Apne iss Jahanpanah ko maaf kar dijiye,” Abbu said.
“Aww, good boy!” Ammi said and Zaid beamed. Obvio Ammi was talking to him.
“Towiiiii!” Zaid interrupted their banter. “Dan-dan-dan,” he waved his dino.
“Uh-oh Mr. Khan, have you forgotten that you should never ever interfere with story-time!”
“Yes please, let the story continue,” Abbu said. “Let’s see what Dragon-Prince and the Princess are up to now.”
“Hey, she’s not just any princess! She’s a warrior princess.”
Zaid lay back down on Abbu’s pillow. His parents smiled when they saw him bend a knee and cross his other leg over it.
“You are such an Abbu Mini-me,” Ammi tweaked Zaaf’s nosey.
“Towwiiii!” he yelled.
“OK, OK, my god Allah miyan, what’s wrong with you!”
“The Princess loved pizzas,” Abbu said quickly. Zaid turned his face toward him. He loved pizza too.
“Peet-ta,” he squealed.
“OK, so one day the Princess fought with the Prince because he was nagging her about not dropping crumbs and reminding her to wipe her hands on the napkins he had placed strategically next to her. ‘Stop being a drama queen,’ she said to him. And she got so hungry. But couldn’t finish all her pizza. She left it on the Prince’s throne,” Abbu said.
Ammi giggled.
Zoya knew what was coming even if her son didn’t.
“The Prince didn’t like that the badtameez Princess was sitting on his throne. After she moved away, he came and sat in his rightful place.” Zoya picked up the narrative thread from her husband. “There were so many orders to give to rule over his land. He had aggro fatwas to sign and farmaans to issue."
"Aggro?" Asad arched a brow.
"Aggressive! Maha-aggressive, OK? And the Prince also needed to lock up one musibat Princess in the dungeon. She was making his people revolt against him. She was telling them that they should have fun, dance, and even go to cricket matches behind his back.”
Ammi clapped at this and bounced in the bed. Zaid clapped too. He didn’t know why Abbu groaned.
“When the Prince got up to guard his kingdom everyone started to laugh,” Zaid liked that Abbu was telling part of the story. It made Abbu smile broadly and Ammi blush.
“But Zaid, why was everyone laughing at the Prince?” Ammi asked.
“Because when he got up, he had a pizza slice stuck to his butt, that’s why” Abbu said. “right here,” and Abbu lightly pinched Zaid’s bum.
Zaid squealed with delight. “Butttoooo!”
That made his Ammi squeal too and his Abbu blush. Dang, the woman had been messing with his butt long before she marked it as her calligraphy territory. Thank god, that had finally washed out.
“That made the Prince very angry. He roared forgetting that he was not a dragon inside the tower. The Queen Ammi came running, ‘what happened, beta,’ she asked, worried,” Zoya had taken over the narration again.
“I’m not staying here anymore, the prince said. I am going far away so I don’t have to be in the same room as this Princess! She dresses and talks weird.”
“ ‘Huummphh!’ the Princess said. I don’t want to stay in the same place as you either! I have better things to do. I have miles to go and dragon butts to kick.”
“The Prince gulped when he heard this. Outside the tower, he was a dragon! Did she know? Was she going to slay him? He stuck his nose in the air and stomped off. She wouldn’t dare! He stood at his window and leaped into the air.”
“Phoo!”
“And yes, he turned into a lion-headed dragon with swooping, soaring wings that carried him over the mountaintop into the sunset. The Princess strapped on her jetpack and flew off too. She had heard that a young fairy was in trouble. She needed to get to that girl as soon as possible, or something terrible would happen--her wings would be cut off by evil wizards.”
Zaid’s eyes widened. Jaldi, Pwincess! Abbu’s expression had become serious too.
“The Dragon-Prince swooped down to a tiny village. He had been invited for a celebration because he had helped the villagers build a road through a mountain. The Prince had breathed and snorted, and a fireball blasted a tunnel through the mountainside. Now the villagers could get to the other side to get water and food.
“The villagers sang songs and danced dances in celebration. The Prince didn’t like dancing but he stayed silent. He was a guest here.
Suddenly he felt a great gust of wind and when he turned to look up he was knocked off his feet. Because the Princess had just landed in this village. To help the fairy. But she had miscalculated the landing gear and dropped straight onto a Prince’s head.
“ ‘YOU!’ the Prince roared.”
“ ‘YOU!’ the Princess stomped in rage.”
“ ‘How dare you follow me?’ the Prince howled.”
“ ‘Please, I wouldn’t even follow you on Twitter,’ the Princess laughed as she licked her ice cream cone. ‘I’m here on an important mission and you’re just getting in the way. Please move.’ ”
“He widened his stance and crossed his wings--erm arms, over his chest.”
“And the Princess snorted. ‘Step aside, Mr. Akdu, My mish awaits!’ ”
“ ‘No,’ he retorted.”
Asad laughed softly. Mish indeed.
“ ‘I won’t let you corrupt these nice people with your outlandish ideas of girls having fun and gong to cricket matches.
“ ‘Pfft!’ the Princess retorted. ‘And who’s gonna stop me?’ ”
“Me! I’ll stop you. You’re not getting past me.”
“ ‘Oh yeah, stop this,’ and the Princess kicked the Prince in the--’ ”
“Ahem,” Zaid’s Abbu cleared his throat.
"HUMMM," said Zaid.
“She kicked him in the shin, baby.” Zoya grinned as she kissed her son’s head. “And she boxed him in the six-pack too. A mean right hook!”
“Really? I don’t remember any kicking and hooking, just a lot of moaning and groaning about ‘Allah miyan what’s wrong with these people? Main media main jaoongi, blog likhungi etc. etc. Mr. Panch humare peeche pade huye hain.’ ”
He really did get boxed in the six-pack this time. But Asad continued to chuckle. He still couldn’t get over her Americanness--calling the Sarpanch, Mr. Panch should have made him laugh then. It had been oddly charming. But at that moment in Mangalpur he had been furious with Zoya for starting the mayhem.
“Meanwhile … the Dragon-Prince swished his wide wings open. They were bigger than the iron gates at the tower. The Princess smirked at this pathetic ego-show. She unhooked her arm band. Lighning bolts snaked out to strangle him and the dragon coughed. By the time he recovered she was gone.
“ ‘Badtameez ladki,’ the Prince muttered,” Asad added.
Zoya giggled remembering when he’d actually said that to her back. That had been when she’d nearly seen him do an unintended strip-tease for her.
“The Princess reached the fairy’s house and saw her crying. ‘Don’t worry, I’m here. Here’s the plan: take my jetpack and get away from here as fast as you can. I’ll take care of the rest.’ And the Ninja Princess wore the fairy’s clothes.”
“Really, now she’s become a Ninja?” Asad “What’s next? An Olympian gymnast or astronaut?” His ear got pulled and nastily twisted. Zaid gurgled.
Zoya continued. “Meanwhile, The NINJA princess covered her face with the veil. She waited for the evil wizards as she devised plans to beat them and tie them up. But wait, what was the Prince doing with these awful wizards? Was he one of them? She felt terrible. She had begun to kind of, sort of like him.”
“ ‘Psst,’ she elbowed the Prince when she got close enough. ‘Why are you here with these monsters?’ ”
“ ‘How do you know they are monsters?' The Prince rubbed his side where she'd gored him with a pointy elbow. 'They invited me here. I am the guest of honor.’ ”
“Oh hello, do you know what they want to do? They want to chop off the fairy’s magic wings.’ ”
“What? That’s not possible!”
“Yes, they do. They want to keep the magic for themselves. They believe that women who have magical powers are witches.”
“But that’s wrong and I don’t believe that!”
Thank god, the Princess thought. She was so happy that he wasn’t one of them.
“Then you have to help me to get away from these people. They think I am the fairy because I wore her clothes.”
“But where is the fairy? Is she safe?”
“Yes, I gave her my jetpack. She should be OK.”
“But that is so risky! Why didn’t you think about your own safety?”
“Really Mr. Prince, is this the time to get mad about that? Allah miyan, what’s wrong with you!”
“You’re a musibat, a trouble-maker and a muck-raker. You bring disaster wherever you go!”
“Oh please, don’t you have to go be Akdu somewhere else?”
“You are so badtameez!”
“ ‘Correction, I am badass. And you need to expand your vocabulary. There ARE other words in the dictionary besides, badtameez!’ And she made mad air quotes.”
“OK, you can stop re-writing and revising Mangalpur. He’s asleep,” Asad interrupted story-time.
“Aww, I was just getting to the best part!”
“Oh really, how was this going to end?”
“Oh, there’d be an awesome adventure. The Princess would ride the dragon--”
“What! Your bedtime story for our son is X-rated?”
“No, I didn’t mean ride that way! Good god Asad, are you mad?”
“OK fine, but the next time you tell him the story, you might want to keep the Prince’s human and dragon identities straight. You seem to get them all mixed up when you get excited.”
“Oh really!” she frowned a Zoyafrown at him. “You’re the expert storyteller now?”
Asad grinned. No. She was the real expert, no doubt. He loved the creative turns her wicked mind took in enshrining some of the wackiest and most terrifying moments of their prem kahani. He loved her revisions and the delicious rewriting of their history. It only served to strengthen their chemistry. But Asad also loved razzing her, pulling her down a notch or two when she got too smug for her own good. It was his scripted role after all, in their love story that was older than time itself--to be the measured and rational Yin to her madcap Yang.
When her eyes popped open that morning, Zoya stretched, then smiled. She turned to see if Asad was awake. He was. They grinned at each other.
“Happy anniversary!” they whispered together.
Asad pulled her to his side to cuddle her.
“I love being married to you, Mr. Khan,” Zoya whisper-announced. They didn’t want to wake Zaid.
“Me too,” Asad said, dropping a kiss on her head.
“It’s been a good two years, right?”
“The best.” His voice was muffled as Asad nuzzled the crook of her neck.
“What were your favorite parts?” her happy voice chirped.
Asad sighed. This is what came of marrying an eternally excited giggle factory. She made him work hard with multiple choice tests and quizzes. This early when he was eagerly waiting for some morning sugar and anniversary happy times, there she went wanting an interview.
He grunted. Why did there have to be so much talking?
She giggled.
“OK, I’ll tell you mine!”
Of course. His wife never saw his reticence or silence as a deterrent. She bulldozed over his refined sensibilities like a typical American. Asad frowned his Jahanpanah frown and that drew another blasted giggle from her. But his brow relaxed and eyes closed when he felt her smooth her fingers over his face.
“This. This is my favorite part,” she said softly. ‘That I get to touch you and wake up next to you every morning.”
Asad pulled her wandering hand to his lips to kiss her fingertips. Him too. He just didn’t feel like talking or giving a speech this early in the morning.
Her fingers fluttered over his eyelids. “These are the eyes I love to see myself reflected in every day.” She traced the outline of his eyes. “The eyes that light up when you look down at me, at Zaid. These are the eyes that promise me loads and loads of sexy times ahead.”
She sighed.
Asad wrapped an arm around her to hitch her higher. Come to think of it, he wanted to hear more. He wanted her to keep talking.
“And?” he encouraged.
“I love it when we get lost in each other and have oodles of eyesex in front of everyone like horny teenagers. And then Ammi has to clear her throat to make us behave!”
Asad laughed helplessly. OK, not exactly the romantic pronouncement he was expecting but funny as hell. And that, folks, was his favorite part about being married to Ms. Farroqui. The surprises and guffaws never ended. They came with mini heart attacks too but by god, some of those heart attacks were due to their orgiastic, randy, horny chemistry which was totally qubool hai to him. Because she was the only one who could make him laugh like this. He had laughed more in these two years than in his entire life.
Hadn’t their favorite Rumi said something to this effect? “Sorrow prepares you for joy. It violently sweeps everything out of your house, so that new joy can find space to enter. It shakes the yellow leaves from the bough of your heart, so that fresh, green leaves can grow in their place.”
Asad kissed the pulse at her throat. He could nibble at that soft, fluttering, quivering flesh for centuries and still hunger for more. Was it a song or poem’s lines that flashed in his mind? “Chand ko chakh le, taaro'n ko pee le…”? He didn’t know nor care. This here was his chand, and taare too. What mattered right now was her taste, her smell…
He felt her fingertips and thumbpads explore the hollows of his cheeks … she traced his nose, bridge to tip as if re-memorizing the lines of his face. He knew she loved to do this--to his face and Zaid’s. It connected her to her Ammi who used to wake up Zoya in the mornings by tracing the outlines of her features on an impish baby face. A glowing Zoya face …
And that was the other thing Asad loved about being married to this woman. The strings and threads and dhaagas of family connections that she ‘d swept into his life. How she tied up generations and continents into a glance, a giggle, a flashing dimple …
“I love you,” he breathed against her skin. Heated silk at his mouth. Wet satin at his fingertips. That familiar arch and sigh, that bitten off moan and gasped cry …
This. This. All of this was his favorite. But how could he put all this into words?
And when she rose to straddle him, hair wild, eyes wilder, nipples tight as diamonds, Asad couldn’t but help remember their suhaag raat. Her skin had glowed brighter than the bridal jewelry as she rode him that night. He had indeed felt like a king then. A Jahanpanah crowned by a goddess.
That was the night they’d became Mrs. and Mr. Khan.
And like a man crazed he had left a million bruises on her skin that night--as though he would never get enough of her.
This morning, even as he gripped her swaying, undulating hips, cupped her fuller bre@sts, he stared in wonder at the silver stretch marks on her stomach and lower--Zaidmarks as she loved to call them. New forever jewels and scars that told a story of a love consummated and forever seeking new consummations.
But the morning after their suhaag raat he had looked at her darkening bruises with a mix of guilt and badtameez horniness. How did she have the effect on him!
“I’m sorry, baby,” he’d apologized to her on the way to the dargah. “Are you very sore?”
“Um-hunh,” had come her languid reply, and he’d frowned in shame.
Zoya had reached out a hand to thumb his lips and said with a whispery giggle, “really, really sore, Jahanpanah. All over.”
He’d gulped in more guilt.
“Specially my throat …” she’d waited for him to blush and glow even as she dragged his palm to cup her throat.
“OK, never again,” Asad pinched the skin at his own throat in solemn vow with his other hand. “I promise not to bug you to do those things to--for me.”
“Aww, but what if I want to do nasty things to you?”
“Really?”
Zoya had laughed at that super hopeful, “really?”
“Really! I love to taste my Jahanpanah as he loses complete control over that Akdu façade.” And he’d blushed more. And if they hadn’t been in the dargah’s parking lot he’d very nearly have begged for a repeat performance.
“Zoya,” Asad breathed this morning of their second anniversary after they’d crashed back to the earth.
“Hmm?”
“When you do those nasty things to me, does your throat get sore?”
She laughed. He’d asked her this several times over the course of their married life. After it had taken the man ages to get used to saying “nasty” without blushing too much. And each time her response had been different--depending on how playful or aroused she was feeling. Everything from, “vicks ki goli lo, khich khich dur karo,” to “strip right down to your bare skin, Mr. Khan, I can’t wait to get my mouth on you!”
Today she looked at him with a smile.
“You mean when you demand to f*ck my mouth?”
Asad groaned and slapped a hand over his eyes. That mouth worked magic on his body. But it also gave him tehzeeb ulcers on many an occasion.
Zoya giggled. “Don’t worry, baby. I absolutely adore doing nasty things to you. I love eating you up and sucking you dry!” She made satisfied sounds at the back of her throat.
Oh god, that mouth on her. That’s why he could never have enough of her. She drove him crazy. Batshit nuts.
“Asad?” she asked a few seconds after he’d kissed her blue.
“Hmm?” He stroked the soft skin at her lower back, tracing the curve of her spine. He was already thinking of the day ahead. If only--
“Will you go out on an incredibly foolish lunch date with me?”
Dinner tonight was going to be at the Siddiqui house--the table teeming with both Asad and Zoya’s favorite foods. So pizza, kachoris and apple pie would be snuggled right up there with biryani and phirni.
“A date?” Asad asked, charmed yet curious.
“Umm-hmm. Just the two of us. I know you have to be at work the whole day and so do I. But we could sneak away for lunch, right?”
“OK,” he said after a quick check of his phone. “But it’ll have to be after 1:30.” Goddamn meetings.
“’K, no probs!”
The rest of the morning galloped away--kisses and phoonks from Dilshad, Tears and laughter from Aapi and Jeeju. Countless phone calls with best wishes and duas. A hundred-rose bouquet and a photo mug with a picture from their nikaah from Najma and Omar. A special black forest cake from Nikhat and Feroze and even more flowers. Cards from her American nanads telling Zoya how much they missed her and Bhaijaan, and how much fun they’d had at their wedding--the gaalis that Zoya had sung at the make-shift sangeet, the quickie rasms because Bhaijaan would NOT delay the wedding any longer, and the hefty ransom the girls had collected from the parents. Bhaijaan taking forever to fix the khandaani necklace ...
There was the anniversary ritual of the family morning trip to the dargah where they smiled at each other across the mazar before raising their palms in prayer and gratitude. But not before they slow-blinked at one another in homage to that first dargah sighting that had irrevocably knitted and knotted them together. Next, they gazed at one another through the jali as they tied new threads--only after untying a thread each for past wishes come true.
And then they all went their separate ways: Zaid and Dilshad back to the Khan home, Asad to work, and Zoya to the factory.
“At least try to be home by 5,” Zoya texted Asad even though they’d be meeting in a few hours for lunch. She knew he would try and couldn’t make any promises despite the fact that he’d tried to keep his calendar light for today. Stuff always happened. Life got in the way as it was wont to do. Was she being too greedy asking for time at lunch and begging him to come home early? But it’s just one day in a year, she tried to comfort herself.
Well …
They were both taking the day off for Zaid’s birthday. And Zoya did make a pest of herself commanding Asad to come home early on his own birthday. And hers. And Ammi’s. And Tamatar’s.
When Asad dashed into the restaurant at 1:52PM he was ushered to a shadowy corner booth hidden behind plants and draped with vines and fairy lights. The apology died on his lips when he saw her. Eyes colliding with one another they waited for the manager to make his exit. And then Zoya rose from her seat and held out her hands. As he slipped his hands into hers he gawked at her in a sari. It was white, lacy. Sequiny. Basically spun sugar. Was it the same one he’d given her for Eid?
“You look …”
Zoya raised her brows and tilted her head to the side when he didn’t complete the simple sentence. Her Jahanpanah had been curiously at a loss for words all day today.
“Beautiful?” she hoped.
“Edible,” he breathed as he pulled her to him to place a lingering kiss at her neck, right under her ear--that tender, goose-bumpy e-zone of hers. “Absolutely delectable,” Asad added as he bumped his nose with hers. He imagined taking giant, gulping bites of the cotton candy concoction she was wrapped in. He wished it was cotton candy--would it melt with the heat of his mouth? Bare her golden skin to his tongue and teeth?
She smelled divine too. He closed his eyes not ready to let go of this moment. Ghalib’s words floated up in his drugged head … But it ended too soon when Zoya turned around to grab something from the booth where she’d been sitting. Asad blushed when he saw the bunch of red roses she handed him.
“Why?” he asked, dumbfounded. He wanted to kick himself--why didn’t he get her flowers? No girl had ever got him flowers.
Asad bent his head to inhale the scent.
“Because I want to spoil you today, Mr. Khan,” his wife said shyly. “Just like you’ve spoiled me everyday of our marriage.”
They still hadn’t seated themselves. Asad wanted to haul her over his shoulder and take her home. Or to a nearest hotel room. But he’d also love to be spoiled rotten today.
Zoya sat down and scooted over to pull him by her side. Asad blinked at her in surprise. She wanted him next to her, not opposite? Well, he wasn’t going to complain. He put the roses on the table to grab her hand and saw the overladen charm bracelet at her wrist. She didn’t wear it every day these days. With Zaid’s seeking fingers and eager mouth the charms could well be a choking hazard. They’d added more charms to it. How could they not. Here were the Batman and Wonder Woman logos nestled among the older charms. Baby shoes collided with infinity and yin yang symbols. Tiny handcuffs and shooting stars. The American and Indian flags … The feature length stories each charm could tell! And there were so many more to add.
Asad’s finger slid over the charms in reverence. “I love this,” he murmured. He breathed in deep. Everything felt slowed down. As if time had stopped still. Or at least been given some bhang so that it dragged and swayed in abandon.
“Me too. So much,” Zoya said, luminous eyes raised to his.
He looked around for a menu reluctant to get the business of eating started. But there were deadlines …
“Don’t worry. I’ve already ordered for us.” Zoya knew what he liked and didn’t like. And she did NOT want to waste any time looking over menus or placing orders, or politely dealing with hovering waiters.
“Good girl,” Asad muttered. He hated eating out.
Zoya got something from her side and pushed four envelopes at him.
“What’s this?”
“Just open them,” she said smugly.
Oh god, he didn’t even have a card for her. What an ass of a husband! Just two years of marriage and he was becoming one of those absent-minded shauhars.
But he forgot all about his guilt when he opened the cards. One with the sweetest words of everlasting love. The second, raunchy and promising midnight delights--for a lifetime. Another with the silliest and funniest quip: “I’m awesome,” it said. Followed by, “You’re welcome. You’re the Luckiest! Happy Anniversary.”
All true.
The fourth envelope held a folded piece of paper and a photograph. Asad grinned when he opened the sheet. Wild crayon sketches decorated the sheet. Was that a bite mark at the edge? There were stamps of Zaid’s handprints and Dobby’s paws. “Happy Anniversary, Ammi and Abbu,” it said. The photo captured the moment of when Zaid was coloring the card for his parents--all frowning concentration, tip of his tongue poking out, crayon held in a chubby fist …
It was MA.
“Oh my god, this is so incredible,”
“Not incredibly foolish?”
Asad laughed. “Not at all. Incredibly sweet and satisfying. Just perfect.”
Their fingers twined. He stroked the top of her hand with a lazy thumb before raising her hand to his lips. He wanted to keep saying, I love you but there was no need. She said it instead.
The food and drinks arrived. They ate and drank absent-mindedly. Shoulders and hands brushed against each other. Sighs and breaths mingled. It was only when Zoya arrested his hand and fed him ras malai slow bite by slow bite, that they gazed long into each other’s eyes.
“I was thinking of Ghalib’s words when I saw you in this sari.”
“Tell me.”
“Is saadgi par kaun na mar jaye aye khuda,
Ladte hain aur haath mein talwar bhi nahin.”
Her dimple flashed. She removed the silver pen from his jacket pocket, clicked it open and handed it to him. “Write it down for me, Mr. Khan.” And she slid one of the anniversary cards toward him.
When he did, she made him read it aloud and recite it for her again.
“Uss raat silvatein bistar mein pad jati hain,
Jis roz unki nazar hum par pad jati hai,” Zoya recited back at him.
Asad gasped. “That’s beautiful … and sexy as hell,” he added. “Whose is it?”
“I don’t know. I came across it and then forgot to research the writer. Is it Ghalib?”
“We’ll find out … later.” He didn’t want this moment to end. If he could stop time he would. Turn the earth back on its axis? Done. Pull the sun from its descent to make it rise again to bring this passing day back? Definitely.
He looked at his watch reluctantly. “Babe, I’ll have to--”
“I know. No worries. Just 10 more minutes, OK?”
“OK.”
She brought out their wedding album from her side. Wow, the woman had come prepared to slay him today. “I thought we’d look through these. I was feeling so … so sentimental today. I don’t know what’s wrong with me!”
Ahhh, so she was feeling that tuggy, emotional overload too. He thought it was just him. In the early morning as she'd listed her favorite things about being married to him, a scrap of Jagjit Singh's song had drifted across his mind: "our woh samjhe nahin ye khamoshi kya cheez hai" …
Asad squeezed her to him. “Hey, it’s OK to be sentimental sometimes. It takes nothing away from your street cred.”
“It doesn’t?”
“Nope. Not one bit. You’re still my fiercely dimpled Jhansi ki Rani!”
“So I’m not getting old and boring?”
“You and boring? Never!”
“Aww Mr. Khan, you know how to make a girl truly happy.”
They snuggled close to look at the pictures.
“Awwn, look at Najma.”
“Look at you. You’re gorgeous.” There was a picture with her lehenga hem lifted to show off the jeans underneath. But he couldn't take his eyes off the elaborate henna on her foot. The pink toes--he'd painted the smallest ones himself. And the jewels that draped her foot—toe, to ankle, to suckable toe.
“I miss Aapi and Jeeju.”
“I know,” Asad tucked her head under his chin. “And I miss Najma and Nikhat.”
Zoya squeezed his hand. Life. The damn pluses and minuses and pros and cons columns. “If only Nuzzhat and Faiz would agree to marry this year! We could all see each other again.”
Asad smirked. There she went planning more weddings. When they were about to get married she couldn’t wait for Najma and Ayaan to get married either. “Hey, let’s concentrate on our marriage anniversary, OK?”
“ 'K.”
They turned a page and saw their picture as a newly-married couple. They looked so happy as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
“So that’s the famous eyes*ex you keep talking about?”
"Mm-hmm.”
“I wish we had pictures of our suhaag raat,” Asad said as he pinched her waist.
“Oh Mr. Khan, but I do have pictures of our suhaag raat! Right here in my head.”
“Me too. And I can’t wait till tonight to relive that magic. But now I really have to run.”
She sighed. “I understand. Go, I’ll take care of the bill.”
Asad demurred. He’d take care of the bill, thank you very much.
“What! A girl can’t treat her husband to lunch? Are you going back to the 17th century again?”
“No! Never. The 17th century is boring and Zoyaless.”
Joyless.
“Good answer, babe.”
He thumbed her chin. “Apke bina … tanhaiyon ka shor tha 17th century mein. Sirf andheron ki parchhayiyaan …”
“Unnh,” she groaned. “Stop making me melt into a puddle right here!”
“True.” He bent his head close to hers. “We’ll save that for tonight.”
She giggled as he took off. Dang, she was going to miss him for the rest of the day.
Of course dinner was a blast. Facetiming with the family in America. Terrible sher-o-shayari and madcap jugalbandis from Ayaan and Zoya. The food was yum. The pictures and poses MA! Even more flowers. The black forest cake almost fully demolished to Zoya’s dismay. She had hoped for leftovers. She had hoped to relive a certain sex memory from their honeymoon aboard the Palace on Wheels.
He was thinking of the same.
Asad could not wait to drag them all home so he could get his hands on his wife. If he had wanted time to slow down this afternoon he craved for it to race this night. He nearly growled out loud when Ayaan got out his guitar and asked everyone to sing their song.
Uff.
Zoya had asked for 15 minutes to get ready, so it was up to him to put Zaid to bed. As he hummed the little guy to sleep Asad wondered when Zoya had had time to get mehendi applied. Her palms were bare when they’d met for their lunch date, so … But what an ingenious idea to get him to find his name in her mehendi at the Siddiqui house tonight! They’d always regretted that their real mehendi function had been a disaster, shadowed by what Asad had found out about their linked pasts--her mother’s death … his father’s arson.
But now that the terrible past was firmly behind them, they could concentrate on making things right. Making mehendi functions right too. So Asad had dutifully held her hands in his and searched for his name in her fragrant henna as the family cheered him on. He had taken his own sweet time finding it too. He’d loved marinating in her hisses and soft sighs when he traced the dark filigree on her palms, pretending to get a closer look.
“Bhaijaan, you better win this time!” Ayaan had announced midst catcalls and whistles. “Don’t give up like last time.”
Zoya and Asad had looked at each other at that. Yes, that night he had given up on them, hadn’t he? But thank god Allah miyan, that Zoya had given him a swift kick in the rear and made the world all right again. Well, it wasn’t a kick exactly. The crazy, silly, miracle of a woman had actually framed his face in her hennaed hands and begged him to hold her even after the terrible revelations he’d shared: “I could be the son of your mother’s murderer! How can we get married now?”
“Because we’re even,” she’d declared in some mad math calculation. “Why would I turn my back on the best thing to happen to me?”
And that’s how their mehendi function had ended on a happy note.
Kissing the tiny forehead, Asad lowered Zaid into his crib. And he felt her behind him. He turned and gasped. She was wearing a golden sarong, the ends tied behind her neck. Hadn’t there been some talk about a dream of golden sherwanis and her promise about wearing gold too?
Good god. Asad reeled.
“Zoya, tell me you don’t have a golden sherwani for me to wear.”
“I don’t.”
He exhaled.
“But not from lack of trying,” she went on. “I couldn’t find the right material so I thought I’d just do the golden lungi for myself. You like?”
“I like. In fact, I love it.” But what really did him in was that she was wearing floral jewelry at her ears, neck, and wrists. Even her ankles.
“But how did you manage this? For how long have you been planning this ambush?”
Her laugh tinkled in his ears as he took her in his arms. He’d go insane with longing if he didn’t sniff at her throat.
“It was seriously spur of the moment. Yesterday Humaira was gushing about our anniversary and the women at the factory got super excited. One of them is really good at applying mehendi so she got it for me today and we did it when I went back after lunch.”
“Nice. And the flowers?” He’d begged her for a repeat of their suhaag raat hadn’t he?
“Also their idea and hard work. I told them about the millions of flowers we’d received as gifts and was feeling bad about them all going waste. Then one of the women suggested inventing a Jashn-e-bahaar style anniversary rasm, and I just couldn’t resist.” She had most of the flowers sent to the factory in the morning.
“Good girl.” He better remember to thank the women at the factory. He’d send over sweets and snacks tomorrow--all the jalebis and samosas in Bhopal. But right now his mind was taken up with the glowing jalebi in his arms. Asad slid his hand down her throat to the enticing slit down the front. Just checking to see if she had her jeans on underneath. Of course she didn’t. Or anything else for that matter. He led her by the hand to their bed.
“Asad, wait. Get the flowers I got you this afternoon.” Of course she'd saved the Jahanpanah flowers. No one was getting their paws on Zoya-Asad flowers.
“But why?”
Zoya waggled her brows at him and pointed with her chin to the pristine bed.
Ahhh. Getting the message, Asad dashed to the vase on the console table to rip the roses off their stems. He flung the petals on the bed. Even more roses were decimated so that he could ravish his wife of two years on a phool chadar. His hands slowed when he saw her tug the knot at the back of her head. And then the golden sarong slid and slithered off her body to land in a golden pool at her feet.
Asad walked to her to swing her up in his arms and deposit her on their bed. And then he beheaded the remaining roses to shower his wife with the soft petals. He watched them land on her breast and thigh. On her hair and at her feet.
“Teri meri zindagi ko mil gaya naya track,
Teri meri zindagi ko mil gaya naya track,
Jab Ms. Farooqui ko mil gaye Jahanpanah six packs.”
Zoya giggled. “Reciting my own shayari back to me. Nice! I have trained you well, Jahanpanah.”
She had indeed. He bent his head to nibble at an ankle circled by a fat chain of more roses. Asad nipped the dewy skin and heard her hiss. He remembered a long-ago note she’d left in his bag when he’d gone to Hyderabad for a couple of days.
“But I love your feet
only because they walked
upon the earth and upon
the wind and upon the waters,
until they found me.”
Asad kissed her instep and moved to dip his tongue in some toe cleavage. Her heels dug into the sheet to mash in blood-red petals and her fingers spasmed to crush more velvety rose bits; the most heavenly fragrance perfumed the air.
He was in love again. Drugged. Head over heels and toes in dizzying lust. And zapped senseless by a Zoya bug. But unlike the morning after their suhaag raat there would no bruises from her jewelry tonight. Only from his teeth.
Song in Title:
Bachna Ae Haseeno (2008): "Khuda Jaane"
Awesome update. Zoya unique story telling. So cute zaid listening to so actively.
Update more
I fall in love with Asya all over again every single time I read a new chapter of yours!
The bedtime story was 👌🏼 It is so creative!
Their anniversary lunch was soooo sweet loved it so much!
I absolutely love all the books you’ve written so far and hope that this story will never end....
Nice update dear
Loved it
Story time was wonderful
They remembered their old days & enjoyed in story.
Lunch date was awesome
Waiting for next update soon
Thanks for pm
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