She grinned at him, then transferred it over to the other man, who did not reciprocate either — neither the grin, nor her chin nod. Now that she looked at both men side by side, she realised Dr. Samar Dixit was only an inch or two taller than Atharva Singh Kaul. But he did not have Atharva Singh Kaul’s quality of making that height disappear. A public image impediment waiting to be righted. Amaal turned around and walked away.
A long way to go for Dr. Samar Dixit.
2. The snow was falling hard…
The snow was falling hard, making the space in front of her eyes turn blinding white. The dark did not help either. Amaal held the umbrella tighter. She walked faster, keeping her weight on the front of her boots to avoid slipping on the thick ice formed in this dark alleyway. A streetlamp flickered in the distance, making her quicken her pace down the deserted stretch. It was just 9 pm, and while the markets outside were bustling, this lane had gone suddenly quiet.
A rustle behind her, and she felt footsteps. One pair of footsteps behind her. Her mobile buzzed. She pulled it out and punched the answer button — “Ji, Jameela aunty![16]”
“Gali se bahar pohoche, beta?[17]”
“Bas chaar kadam aur, yeh Lal Chowk ki awaazein aa rahi hai. Aap khidki se mat dekhiye, bohot thand hai.[18]”
“Meri khidki use taraf nahi khulti. This area is not safe, Amaal. Aap mujhe niche tak aane deti.[19]”
Amaal huffed. Jameela aunty was a school friend of her mother’s. Perfectly capable of everything, even when living alone, but she was mostly in a wheelchair after her accident. She had cooked dinner for Amaal today, and what a dinner it was! But the line was drawn when she insisted on coming out to walk her to Lal Chowk.
“Sab safe hai, main yeh pohochi,[20]” Amaal enunciated, hoping her tenses were correct. She had spoken Urdu-Hindi with her parents at home, Kaeshir too. But the accent of locals here was so thick, she always thought she was saying it wrong.
“Phone par rahiye jab tak bahar nahi nikal jaati.[21]”
“Come on, Aunty, it’s all good…”
She heard unmistakably loud footsteps behind her now. Not one, many. Amaal continued talking — “Bahar nikalte hi left mein Police Station hai, army bhi hai, nothing will happen…[22]” she kept up her stride, holding the umbrella between her jaw and shoulder, pushing her free hand inside her handbag. Her fingers found the can of spray she was looking for and popped the cap. The footsteps came closer. One louder than the others.
Amaal waited for them to approach. She twisted her neck sideways to take a peek. A leather jacket.
She screamed and pressed down on the spray, pushing it into the man’s face and getting his eyes before his hand caught her wrist and twisted it behind her back. Her phone and umbrella fell. She raised her knee to hit him in the balls but he turned, blocking her blow with his thigh. She tried to transfer the spray bottle to her other hand when he snatched it from her fingers.
“Jameela aunty police! Police call karo![23]” She screamed. “Police! Jameela aunty, Police!”
“Kat gaya.[24]”
She glanced up from the leather jacket in front of her to the head of the man. It was a familiar face but she couldn’t be sure. Amaal reared back, seeing Dr. Samar Dixit’s face in the shadows and snow of the alley. Her thudding heart began to relax for a second before it started to beat furiously again. He was a politician. What if he was a predator too?
This politics is gutter, do not go there, Amaal!
Dad’s words were mocking her now.
“Leave my hand,” she snarled at him, proud of her own voice that did not even as much as waver in this terror. She felt marginally safer when he let her hands go, stepping back from his stance holding her knee back. Amaal panted quietly, glaring at him through the falling snow as he clawed his damp hair back, holding up her bottle to read.
Pain Relief Spray
Amaal hid her panic and embarrassment as his dark eyes fell to hers. She studied his face. She had gotten a good spritz in before he had twisted her hand, hadn’t she? He did not look like he was even squinting, even though the air around them was permeated with the strong menthol smell.
“What are you doing here?” He clipped, his voice heavy. Rustle of footsteps disturbed the silent air, and she startled, turning back. Four men stood there. In pherans. He glanced at them, and they nodded. In the next second, they turned and scattered off. Amaal stared. Was he leading them?
“What are you doing here?” Amaal asked back. His head turned to her, the stubble on his face suddenly hitting her full force. Amaal stumbled. It was… scary, the way he looked at her then. She gaped, horror-stricken, as he shook her spray bottle, pushed it under his leather jacket behind his back and sprayed. Her mouth twisted.
He took it out and offered it back to her.
“You keep it,” she whispered. It had gone under his shirt. Was she an unhygienic fool to accept it back?
“Keep it until you reach Lal Chowk.”
She stared disgustingly up at him.
“Why would you attack me from behind? Do you remember me? I came to interview with you… And even if you don’t, is this the way to follow a woman?”
