The news about the blast targeting Atharva in PoK had been leaked. Momina Aslam, the Awaami leader of opposition had leaked it, and was now calling for the CM to resign.
51. To, Mummy…
To,
Mummy,
He wrote, feeling like a fool every time he scratched out those two words. She was not going to read these. Why was he even writing them?
“One letter, per week. Write all that you have been feeling about her, that you want to tell her.”
Samar sighed. He didn’t even remember her. He didn’t even know her. Who was he writing to? For the last two months, he had travelled through Himachal, and in whatever town or village he was in, he was writing letters to his mother every Sunday. He had written so much bullshit that he didn’t have any more to write nowadays.
I am in Shimla today and will leave for Srinagar this afternoon. Things have gone out of control there, not only for the government and Atharva but also for KDP. Atharva had to appear before a Special Investigation Team and from his account, it went well. We have cut a deal with Yogesh Patel that the preliminary SIT report would be delayed and the issue would die a slow natural death in the media. So far, the issue is only getting hotter. After all, Atharva went to PoK, got attacked, and came back without reporting it. He not only kept quiet but worked proactively to remove evidences of the event. If this goes on like this, he may have to step down as CM. I find eyes on me, I hear whispers from the cadre about me. My MLAs have been pushing me to rally for the CM’s chair and replace Atharva. But I will not. I don’t want to anymore. Maybe before, I was enamoured and for a moment thought about it but not anymore. I think I am not meant to lead like he is. I am a man built to protect, to heal, to build and move on. I built a militia for KDP, I built the Jammu cadre, now I am building the Himachal party. I am satisfied in this. I have to seek my satisfaction in order to become ready for her.
There is still so much anger, resentment, feelings that I don’t have words for, for so many people, alive and dead. I still hate Aamir Haider and even after his memory is annihilated, I cannot forget what he did to Chaturvedi, to us, to me. I still am angry at Atharva for not understanding this, even though Iram didn’t turn out who I thought she was, neither Aamir Haider’s daughter, nor Atharva’s downfall. I am still burning in guilt about what I did to her. I am still unable to make peace with Atharva pulling me and throwing me out of his government. I would have liked very much to lead Health and Housing. I would have been very good at it. Atharva tells me he owes me three lifetimes, and I believe him. But I also see his distrust still there. As if he owes me a lot, but not his trust. I am trying to move away from my need to win that. I have succeeded in many regards, having lived away from him and Srinagar and the people I thought I would never be able to live without.
I am living away from her.
But she doesn’t count.
Samar turned the page.
Because I am living away from her now to live with her for the rest of my life.
Will I be able to succeed in winning that life? I’ll be honest, I don’t see much progress for myself. Except the work I have accomplished here in Himachal, and the physical recovery that has helped me move faster and better through building HDP, I don’t have much else to offer her if I see her today. I might see her today. I will be going to meet Atharva. She will obviously be there around him.
I said six months, almost three have passed. If she asks me, what will I tell her? I cannot pretend, I cannot lie. Will she read that I haven’t accomplished much? If she does, will she still look at me like she looked at me last time we met? Like she still has hope?
Why do I always end these letters with negative questions? Am I still even writing to you, Mummy? Because I don’t even know you. Who are you? Who were you? What did you want for me? What did you dream for me? When you died, how much pain did you bear from him?
I cannot stop hating him and hating myself for living with him and letting him raise me. But I didn’t know anything else. I didn’t know anybody else who would give me food and send me to school. But I started going to school on my own the day I could cross the road on my own. I started making food on my own the moment I learnt how to make it. He did not talk much to me and hit me even less but he always kept me quiet and I liked it that way because then I would not have to talk to him and maybe like him at all. I did not fall into that trap.
I did not know you but I did not want to betray you
“Samar sir?”
He glanced up from his diary. His assistant, Gauri, stood at the door with a pen drive.
“All the database for Kinnaur you requested is here.”
“Did Tsering send it?”
“Yes.”
Samar looked at the calendar — “Four days late.”
Gauri pressed her mouth together. They both knew Tsering had an attitude. But he was their only asset in north-east Himachal.
“Did you take a look at it?”
“I did, sir.”
“What did you think?” Samar sat back in his chair. Gauri was young, but not so young that she did not understand things beneath the lines. Her grandfather had been a political strategist for the biggest party of Himachal — HJS. He had helped them win their first election. Her father had moved away from politics but she was back here. And even though Samar did not see ambition in her to move into active politics, he saw her acumen in reading parties, cadre and grassroots, especially in a state where he was a stranger to culture, syntax and way of life.
“I think some numbers might be fake, or, exaggerated. After the first trip you took to Kinnaur early last year, there has been no personal connection except when Tsering comes here to submit reports or for meetings. We haven’t even tested the area out with any election yet.”
“Panchayat election is coming there next year, we will see then.” Samar capped his pen, holding his hand out for the pen drive. She deposited it, not needing to move more than four steps in his small office. This HDP Headquarters on The Ridge of Shimla was a matchbox when compared to their grand Boulevard Road Headquarters of KDP in Srinagar. But it was his. Built by him. Filled by him.
