My AsYa picture stories (updated pg 6) - Page 2

The last few days have been harrowing. Ammi had been shot, I presume by someone pursuing Mariam. I've never been so terrified in my whole life. The thought of losing Ammi was devastating, and I was very readily laying all the blame upon Zoya's feet. After all, when she was around, trouble was never very far behind.

But I did something terrible. Something that would make Ammi ashamed of me. I slapped Zoya. A strong backhanded slap with so much force and anger that she had hurtled back a distance and slammed into a nearby table. I didn't use any restraint in force, it must've hurt very badly.

I had also spurned all her attempts to help, using each opportunity to insult her very being; irresponsible, badly brought up, selfish ...

But I felt justified at the time. She had needlessly placed Ammi in trouble. Put lovely sweet Ammi in mortal danger because of her need to save a soul in need. I was ready to kick her out of the house but I wanted her to see the suffering she had caused with her callous laaparwa behaviour.

Then the ceiling crashed on my head. Ammi awoke from her deep anaesthetic sleep and rubbished all of my justifications. Zoya had sent Mariam away, it was Ammi herself who brought her back. In fact, Zoya had attacked Ammi's assailant and fought him ferociously in response. Jhansi Rani style.

I walk with a heavy tread to Zoya's room. She was weeping heartbrokenly on her bed. An avalanche of guilt overcomes me hearing her sobs. My throat is dry and my vocal cords seem paralysed.

'Ms Farooqui' I hear my voice croak.

She stiffens and sits up straight, her face averted determinedly. I walk up to her and hesitantly place my hand on her shoulder. She shrugs off my hand and stood, her eyes awash and swollen with tears.

Please leave me alone, Mr. Khan. You have already succeeded in insulting me the worst that I have ever been. I know this is your house, but this is my personal space and I would like to be alone, please.

Who knew guilt would feel this awful? I helplessly walk out of her room, hearing her renewed sobs as soon as I shut the door.

Why do I behave like a deranged bear around her?

What is it about her that invokes such uncontrollable emotions in me?

Mitwa... Ishq Pe Zor Nahi

What a horrendous day today was. Mr. Khan and I had found Raghu Singh, Phuphi's assailant, in a burnt down doll factory, digging a hole in the ground to bury something. Mr. Khan unleashed such a fury upon him, it was terrifying to witness.

As Mr. Khan rained punches on him, I desperately tried to make him see sense, that murdering this pawn wasn't going to get Mr. Khan his answers. I finally get to him after Raghu had fallen unconscious, and Mr. Khan staggered in unabated fury, a wild look in his eyes. Then we saw something that shocked us to the core.

There was Mr. Rashid Ahmed Khan, burying a skeleton in the hole Raghu was digging. I could only stand there and gape as Mr. Khan confronted his father for attempting to murder his Ammi. Rashid sahab vehemently refuted Mr. Khan's words, but refusing to explain himself. If he could murder someone 17 years ago and escape, he could do it again, Mr. Khan exploded.

Things got more frightening when Mr. Khan aimed a gun at his father. I panicked and started grabbing his arm to stop him. Suddenly Phuphi appeared, distraught, finding her beloved son in that state with her estranged husband. She appealed to her son for patience and sense, but Mr. Khan just got angrier that Rashid had his mother so enamored that she can be manipulated so easily to accept anything.

In his helplessness, Mr. Khan fires a threatening shot purposely missing Rashid, letting him know that he was saved by his Ammi today. Rashid leaves and I urge him and Phuphi home, away from this craziness.

Mr. Khan locked himself up in his room, and Phuphi was with Najma in hers. I don't know why but I feel so bad that he is alone at this time. He is scary in this state but I can't bear the pain in his expressive eyes. I pushed through his door to find his room dishevelled with furniture in disarray, broken vases on the floor, and find him standing there, brooding, with a bleeding hand.

I fetch the first aid box and tend to his wound. He allows my ministrations without protest. In a quiet voice he asks if Ammi is alright. I swallow a huge lump of tears and assure him, pleading for him to calm himself. He listens quietly, and I leave after.

A few hours later, Phuphi had fallen into exhausted sleep after a meagre meal. I glance at Mr. Khan's room. It was dark, and locked. I can't leave him alone. Only thing that makes suffering worse is doing in alone. I put together a plate of biscuits and a cup of coffee and climb through his window.

He sat at the foot of his bed, legs raised, it was such a heartbreaking picture I had to stop and hold my tears. I tried offering him some food and coffee but he pushed them both away. So I tried a teasing joke but it didn't even crack his hard shell.

They say talking about our problems helps our mind deal with difficult situations. But this time around I was doing all the talking. I talked and talked about how everyone needs and relies on his strength in times of need. And where would Phuphi and Najma be without him as their pillar of strength?

I needed to crack the stony silence that had set in him. I'd rather see him throwing vases or venting at his punching bag, not this brooding silence. My heartfelt plea worked, he blinked and looked my way. His eyes were filled with suppressed anger, hurt and loneliness.

I felt a kinship with Mr. Khan from then. Beneath all that growling anger and arrogance, was a young boy unbelievably hurt by his father's betrayal, and I could relate to that. What I couldn't reconcile with is his single minded intent on punishing his father without hearing his side of the story.

Mitwa... Ishq Pe Zor Nahi...

Random craziness

I had a pounding headache that morning. Having taken some pills for it, I lay down on my sofa bed waiting for the relief to kick in. I could never sleep in the daytime so I reach for my phone on the side cabinet.

Suddenly the is a panicky shriek and something tumbles onto my lap. Ms. Farooqui !? I stare at her in disbelief and she freezes in shock, eyes like saucers. My headache forgotten, I shushed her dirty shoes of my sofa and she stands before me like a hunted deer.

What are you doing here?' I asked.

She mumbled incoherently as she scrambled for a valid excuse. I watch her eyes dart in all directions, wondering what is going on in that crazy head of hers.

Umm, Najma asked me to check on you...' she offered finally.

Why didn't you come through the door, why use the window??' I press her for an explanation.

Window? ... Door? she stuttered, blankly.

I look at her face carefully, looking for signs of mental derangement. What's wrong this girl today?

Door..." she repeated, making no sense as I look at her expectantly.

Mujhe Door Koi Khiche... Tere Aur Liye Jaye ...' she sang suddenly, looking very pleased with herself. (There's something that pulls me, pulls me towards you...")

Having distracted me with her strange reason for appearing in my room, she flounced out quickly.

Bewakoof ladki...

What I didn't know was just prior to this, was when Mona first met Raabert... and their crazy schemes were about to begin.

Mitwa... Ishq Pe Zor Nahi.

It broke my heart to see Zoya plead with the caretaker of an old mansion in the outskirts of Bhopal. She was visibly frustrated when the old man couldn't tell her more about the man in her old photo, whom she believes is her Abbu. All she knows now is, he used to stay in this house before he left for America, and he still lives in Bhopal. I watched the tears well in her eyes, threatening to spill as she ran out into the garden for some fresh air.

I approach her slowly, not knowing how to console her. As soon as I touch her shoulder, she turned around and flew into my arms, holding onto me tight, sobbing uncontrollably.

I don't know what to say to make her feel better at this moment, but I can hold her for a while...

She feels so good to hold. I never knew how good it felt to be hugged like this by someone.

Stop it, Asad Ahmed Khan! Zoya is crying for her Abbu, and here you are thinking about how nice it feels to hold her.

Mitwa... Ishq Pe Zor Nahi...

I don't remember laughing this much in my whole life. At the back of my mind, I knew something was not right about those pakores'. But all these sensations, uninhibitedness and light-heartedness, was like a dream.

And in this dream was Zoya. She looked really stunning in that sari. Who'd have thought dancing in the rain to tinny music from a phone would be such a beautiful experience. She is so beautiful, carefree, happy. Her happiness is so infectious that it's impossible for me to be grumpy when she is around.

I watched her dance around me, as I pursue her step by step. Her filmy dance steps draw an uncontrollable bubble laughter out of me. I catch the pallu of her sari, and she stills. I drape it around her, pulling her close and I graze her cheek, then lips with my finger. She is breathless, wide eyed. If I kiss her, she won't stop me. We continue dancing a little more until the song ended and it became too cold to stay outdoors.

Finding ourselves locked in, (wonder how that happened!) we continued laughing and telling home truths about each other. Let's see, I am cold blooded, weird, egoistic and have a heart of stone. And I told her she doesn't know the difference between good and bad, and she has no tameez what so ever.

Then came some home truths that I just couldn't quell from my lips, as they came straight from my heart...

If I find you so ill mannered, why do I still like you so much?'

You're the weirdest girl I have ever met, but why am I still attracted to you?'

If I don't like you so much, why do I still dream of you?'

Why do I think of you in my solitary moments?'

Why do you brighten up my days?'

She just looked back at me, stunned for a few moments. Then she bursts into hysterical laughter, exclaiming, "Because you like me, Mr Khan? It's simple !!!"

"And I like you too!!!" she added.

Unfortunately, my bhang-addled brain didn't stop there. I went on to describe how she will never be anyone's perfect wife or bahu. A complete misfit.

Mitwa... Ishq Pe Zor Nahin...

I know I shouldn't have left her alone in the farmhouse. I assumed Ayaan, who had been helping her keep me away from testifying in court, would bring her back to Bhopal. I was just so incensed at being made the fool.

I had received a call from an old good friend, Tanveer , when I heard an awful crunch and Tanveer scream. I had the worst of visions and turn the car and drove like madman to where she had last mentioned she was. I arrived at a chaotic crash scene, injured people everywhere, others still helping survivors, ambulances and rescue personnel tending to the hurt.

My heightened senses zeroed in on Tanveer's veiled formed quite a distance away. Unseeing of others in the way, I ran straight to her, hugging her fiercely to me, thankful that she's alive. She was my best friend in childhood. Someone who knew me and family from the difficult times. Comfortable Tanveer. Understanding Tanveer. Proper Tanveer.

I draw her aside and give her some bottled water offered by the rescue workers. She drank from it thirstily. I can see her alive and well in front of me, but that background niggling worry persisted. As I moved to get her back to my car, I spotted it.

A bright pink covered Ipad. With a large blood stain on it.

Zoya!

Full fledged panic washes over me as I darted from vehicle to tent to groups of hurt people, looking for her. I had terrible images of her unconscious, hurt or worse. I shout out her name desperately, hoping she would hear me and respond. Acid rose up my throat as I failed to spot her anywhere.

Suddenly there she was. She stood woodenly in the middle of the road, taking slow steps away from me towards the rescue workers leaving the area. After each step she swayed sideways, in danger of collapsing. I broke into a sprint, terrified of her state, reaching just in time to catch her from collapsing on the ground.

I carried her to the car, gingerly placing her in the back seat. She was breathing, looking very pale but save from a large drying gash on her forehead, she had no other injuries. Worrying about concussion, I loomed over her, splashing water over her face, checking her pulse until she came to. I didn't even notice when Tanveer came to join us.

She opened her eyes and frowned at me, confusedly. Relief floods my being as she sits up, holding her head, putting some distance between us. I step back immediately, trite. Tanveer, puts a hand on my shoulder, urging us to leave. I drove us back home, my entire conscience in the back seat with Zoya, her tears burning my heart.

My best friend is back. Whatever is brewing between Ms. Farooqui and me, I'm not sure about; but little did I know that this triangle will take Zoya so far away from me that I would suffer in loss.

Mitwa... Ishq Pe Zor Nahin.

The next bunch of updates