“Kath khushi aav nish yath manz, shukriya![29]” A local lady folded her hands to her, holding them around a basket of jam jars. Amaal beamed at her, reaching for one of the glass jars. She had an even better understanding of Kaeshir after spending months working closely with Atharva. Her spoken Kaeshir was still weak. She tried all her broken phrases on her father and got nothing but angry smileys from him.
“Khushaamdeed[30],” Amaal nodded, hoping she had said it right. With the woman’s broad grin, she thought she had.
She had gone all out with Ehsaan’s help in leveraging local traders, wealthy merchants and brands in getting posters and hoardings up. She hoped there would be some good payoff.
Her mobile buzzed.
“Yes, Fahad?”
“Atharva Bhai had to leave for Pampore for a meeting. He asked me to coordinate with you so that he can come directly there. You said you will inform when the crowd is at its peak. What time are you thinking?”
Amaal scratched the side of her neck, eyeing the stalls and tents all set up, hosts already buzzing behind their shops, hopeful eyes on the entrance of the park.
“It’s still early, Fahad. Give it a few hours.”
“It’s not that early. It’s already 10.30.”
“Hmm…”
“What’s the footfall like?”
“Uh…”
“Amaal?”
“It’s Sunday, people are laid back.”
“Amaal.”
“They will come.”
“AMAAL.”
“They will come, Fahad.”
“Fuck me.”
“Don’t tell anyone.”
“Yes, let’s do that. Nobody will know it ever!”
“Stop. Quiet. I am anyway half-dead thanks to my antibiotics, don’t add to it.”
“Tell that to Samar Bhai.”
“Did he say something?”
“Not to me. But Qureshi Bhai and he are against bleeding any more money for events. If this one fails, our budget for the rest of the year is gone.”
“Let me worry about that. You get your journalist friends ready.”
“To cover what? An empty Badamwari?”
“Stop with your panic! Hold them off until I give you the green signal.”
“Am…”
“Wait, wait, some people are coming! I’ll call you back.”
