She didn't wait for his answer and cut the call. Amaal gaped at the stone entrance at the far end of the park. Nobody was coming. She looked down at her BlackBerry. Would it be a bad idea to switch it off until people started coming?
————————————————————
Azaan echoed across the park, borne on the almond-blossom-scented wind. Amaal glanced up from her perch under a tree.
The sun was overhead, at its peak. The stalls were as empty at this time of Dhuhur ki Namaaz as they had been at the time of set-up. A dozen random visitors had come and gone, and nothing much had been sold except a bottle of water. She gaped at the line of KDP-coloured tents, the hosts getting restless. KDP volunteers were lazing around, lost. Amaal hated that this event’s failure would set the media team back in their already meagre budget, but she hated more that these people, these local small-scale craftsmen, these paper-maiche artists and jam-makers, would go home disappointed, without any sale.
Thankfully, they wouldn’t bear the financial burden of this. KDP would. Promotion, tents and permissions’ money was wasted, she sighed, glancing at her watch. 12.55 pm. They had the SMC’s permission until 5 pm. Half the day was already gone.
A small finger poked at her shoulder. Amaal glanced at it. A little girl, in a tattered pink shawl wrapped around her, was gazing at her with a curious expression. Her brown, messy hair was all around her face from playing in the wind, her bright blue eyes just like hers, but bigger.
“Koi aa hi nahi raha hai.” She complained. “Bore ho raha hai.[31]”
Amaal glanced from her to her mother at the wooden toy stall. She had come dressed up in her best Kashmiri wear — pheran, head scarf, silver jewellery. She looked at her apologetically, stepping out to get her daughter when Amaal pulled her into her arms and between her legs.
“Thumb fight?” She interlocked her fingers with the little girl’s.
“Yes!” The little girl giggled, perching herself on her thigh and trying to subdue her thumb.
“Which school do you go to?”
“I don’t go to school.”
“Mmm? Then how do you know such good English?”
“My ammi’s madam teaches me.”
Amaal gazed at the mother, who was busy arranging her wares for the tenth time since this morning. She also worked in houses?
Amaal smiled at the little girl — “What does she teach you?
“Talking, writing, drawing, counting…” she left her thumb and held her hands up, all fingers out — “Till ten!”
Amaal high-fived her — “After ten comes eleven!”
“Leven.” She pronounced.
“E-le-ven.”
“E-le-ven.”
“Nine, ten, eleven.”
“Nine, ten, e-leven.”
“Amazing! Now you can tell your teacher that you know a new number. Who will you say taught you?”
“You,” she pointed at her.
“Yeah but do you know my name?” She asked playfully.
The little girl grinned, her front teeth broken. Amaal squeezed her to her chest and kissed her cheek — “You are so cute. Can I eat you?”
“Naa!”
“Please!” She nuzzled her, pulling her down.
“Nah!” The girl laughed, shrieking to get out. Amaal laughed with her. “Please, na?”
