| Celeste Charles | October 2024 | Short Story |

The cacophony of tuk-tuks and bikes engulfed the streets, and there, on the corner, stood a street called “Life.” Most summer mornings it would come alive with hawkers selling raw mangoes, and women displaying their fresh catch of the sea. Litters of puppies would aimlessly wander between the murky waters and the open patch that hosted tournaments of gully cricket and seven stones.

On walking a little further down, one could mistake a majestic Banyan tree for a witch grooming her tresses.  It overlooked the ruins of a theatre now devoured  by the carcasses of corroded poles and orphaned cattle.  I stood next to one of its chipping walls, tracing the corners of the mouldy poster, featuring an actress in a pale white saree. She looked ethereal in her white beads and sunglasses. Her smile was tinged with melancholy, and her curls rested neatly by her temple. That smile felt unsettling, and the eyes, hidden behind black and gold-studded sunglasses, left her face feeling eerily flat. I stood there with my heart skipping at every imagined nuance of her personality. She somehow seemed to watch me helplessly, and I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. 

A faint sound broke my daze “Ruksana, ami ghar aa chuki hai jaldi karo!” 

                                                   “Ruksana, Mother has returned, hurry!”

Suddenly the fog lifted. The rays of the garish sun, the thick grey smoke, and the sound of the tuktuks were back. I picked up my bag of lemons, raw mangoes and meat and walked back home.

Home was nothing but walls and roofs, shared by families, acquired by the nameplate called Khans. The Kothi is divided into multiple kitchens and rooms overlooking a common courtyard, where chillies and gooseberries lay sun-drying. Inside the kitchen, the bright light cast a shadow on the debris of leftovers from the morning. Jillu, our cat, lightly nudged my feet and gracefully made her way to her favourite spot, an intersection between the andarkhana and the dining hall. There, she watched my mum skillfully skinning the fish. Now and then, she would let out a soft mew, excited to feast. However, today, Jillu’s antics weren’t helping my case. I was already late and had no intention of drawing any attention. Gently, I tiptoed to leave the bag next to the refrigerator.

Just as I was ready to sprint, a fat sweaty hand grabbed me by my ears. It wasn’t Ammi, it was Heena Maasi (aunt). “Bade par nikal aye hai…kaha ghoom rahi thi?

            “Did you get yourself a pair of wings…where were you roaming about?”

Ammi turned to protest but remained silent. I screeched in pain, and as soon as the grip eased, I made a run for it, darting out of the backdoor and back into the streets. The fear of returning home hadn’t fully sunk in, but the bravado of making the escape made me feel like a poster child of “Jo jeeta wahi sikandar.”

I had ample time before dinner. As I rummaged through my jhola, [1] I realized I had only 5 rupees left. I had a choice to make: either spend it on orange candies or try to convince Kaku [2] to take me to the movies. However, given the strained relationship between Kaku and the family, the former seemed like the better option. Kaku was often called a haramzada,[3] and his beliefs clashed with the rest of the family. He was even labelled as the demon’s incarnation and branded a foolish communist. Though I wasn’t familiar with the term, it seemed like a serious offence.

[1] Jhola– Bag

[2] Kaku– Paternal Uncle

[3] Haramzada– Bastard, obnoxious

Despite the family’s disapproval, I couldn’t deny that Kaku was an adventurous man who would always have fat books and red pamphlets under his arms. He would often talk about dreams, about how it was always important to have one, he told me he had big dreams for this nation. I had big dreams too… of Jillu and Ammi and sometimes of the Jin [4] in Ammi’s room. I’ve woken up to Ammi’s screams and muffles… I’d never seen Jin and maybe Kaku could have helped… but I never really got a chance to tell him this. Anyways, I decided to meet Behram Chacha [5].

[4] Jin– An entity in Islamic and Arab tradition that can take on human or animal form and can harm people both physically and mentally.

[5] Chacha – A term of endearment for addressing an older man.

Behram Chacha owned a small bookstore, a pale yellow-coloured room stocked with old journals and books of all kinds, some with names I could hardly pronounce. The yellow pages and the musty smell, that’s how I remember him. Behram Chacha was a funny, grumpy man. He always wore a dull yellow kurta, making it difficult to spot him; like some sort of an exotic chameleon. He’d sit there for hours, eavesdropping on conversations from the street, reading, and sipping on a red-coloured mucky liquid, which he often claimed was an elixir to the other world.

It was tempting. I pondered whether it had a sweet or sour taste. What if it were too bitter, its taste lingering as I crossed into the other world? The thought of taking a gulp and not reaching my desired destination haunted me. Would I then be stuck in between?

He would never let me touch it. “Ruksana, meri jaan (My love),” he would say, “the elixir is as bitter as the men of the world, and it requires a brave heart to summon a bottle and relish it. One must battle with demons to reach the coast.” How about I get you some sharbat,[6] as sweet as your voice is… women love all sweet things; life is bitter to them, they shouldn’t make it worse for themselves.” He would then select a tale or two from the shelves, never letting me pick. He’d proclaim, “Women should read good books; men are corrupt. Women should remain ‘paakh’ [7]; that’s the only way we could all make it to Jannat.” [8]

[6] Sharbat–  A sweet, chilled drink made of fruits in South Asian cuisine.

[7] Paakh– Morally loaded word to connote purity.

[8] Jannat– Heaven

I had no clue what Jannat looked like. I wondered if it was blue like the walls of the theater, you know, where the clouds were all cotton candy? Would Ammi get to share any of it? I’d definitely take Jillu and her with me. We could live on a big oak tree, and the Jin could never reach us. We’d be free — Ammi,Jillu and I. But wait, do you think they’d let me have Jillu?

The proposition is tempting — I’d get to go to Jannat and become a paakh woman. Perhaps the only way to save this world was to follow everything Behram Chacha prophesied. We were destined to be the saviors, entrusted with keeping the world pure. We had to remain paakh. Maybe then, they’d crown us with a red and gold cape — a superhero’s mantle, of course, that’s only fitting! Perhaps it’s true: the women of today, tomorrow, and the future hold the power to save the world.

The sun was setting, and I realised I had to hurry home; I have to be the superhero, the ‘Paakhwoman.’ I strolled past the alleys until I reached the massive green Kothi. Carefully, I opened the gate and made my way through the verandah into the back of the kitchen. There, I spotted Jillu perched on one of the shelves, looking alert and nervous. The kitchen was empty, with only a faint yellow light seeping in. Outside, I could hear a voice yelling. Cautiously, I got down on all fours and peered from the corner.

On the table stood the same tall bottle of elixir, and Ammi stood there frozen, tears trickling down her face while her cheek was a frightening red. It must have been the Jin; it was back! A large shadow loomed over Ammi, and it grunted at her, bellowing in a stormy voice. Quickly, I covered my ears.

“Azadi kyu?  kuch ho gaya.. ladki hai.. par kat dunga!”

Freedom for? What if something happens…chop her wings!”

I knew it had to be me..it couldn’t have been her. Ammi was ‘paakh’ I was ‘napaakh’, [9] maybe that’s why he haunts her. 

[9] Napaakh– Morally loaded word to connote impurity

I sank into the corner, and Jillu sat next to my feet, comforting me by licking my fingers. Hours passed by, and it grew late; I was overcome with drowsiness. My eyes ached, burning from exhaustion, and my head spun with weariness. Suddenly, I felt a gentle hand caress me, it was Ammi. Her smile brought warmth, but her eyes were all shades of blue and purple. Perhaps she got a bee-sting, she didn’t look the same, her face grew tired in the light. Then an idea struck me – maybe I should get her sunglasses to hide the bruise. I imagined how she’d look just like the actress in the poster. But then, what if the actress wore it for the same reason? Should I get one too?

“Ruksana?”

Her voice helped me snap out of it, and I meekly confessed that I couldn’t, after all, be a superhero, and maybe I’ve lost all my powers to be ‘paakh’.I won’t be able to help her reach the Jannat. There will be no cotton candy clouds or oak trees, just the same old green Kothi and the terrifying Jin!

With a smile, Ammi extended her hand to help me up. Tenderly, she wiped away my tears and slipped ten rupees into my palm, asking me to treat myself to some orange candies tomorrow.

I was confused. I thought she would be upset. Before I could say anything, a soft “sorry” slipped from my lips. But Ammi pulled me into her arms. The sweet scent of her sweat, dripping from her forehead, soothed my nerves. Her dishevelled hair carried the essence of jasmine and mogra, while her hands smelled of turmeric. The familiarity put me at ease. Comforted, I promised to listen and be paakh from tomorrow. Then, she loosened her grip and gently cupped my face.

Ammi said, “Ruksana my child, dream, that’s what you ought to do, you must keep dreaming, you must fly high and fulfil them all. Don’t be ‘paakh’, just dream.”

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Celeste studies literature at Jyoti Nivas College but spends most of her time on movies and coffee, sneaking in some reading. She loves writing and is always humming, though it mostly makes people think she’s talking to herself! 

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Homepage image by Sohan Shingade via Unsplash 

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