“How was the meeting with PTI?” He asked. Amaal loved that about him. Always coming to the point. She grinned — “Their Assistant Editor turned out to be my senior’s friend from LSE. We went out for dinner, twice in two days. And it is safe to say that… she will push us to the top of their Jammu-Kashmir beat. They need at least one negative and one positive news item every day. I told her I will supply both.”
“How will you give them negative news?”
They reached the open sunny parking and he unlocked the white Santro, lifting the back of the dickey. Amaal began to lift the first bag from her stack on the trolley, but he beat her to it. She hung back. Theywereheavy. She wouldn’t say no to help when she did need it.
“Aren’t we being threatened all the time?” She grabbed her purse and hitched the straps on her shoulder. “Atharva’s Robin Hood and Sheriff narrative is just clever shaping of what the reality anyway is. I am making sure that it gets featured in the national biggies and picked up from there. One big news agency reports it, and everybody else thinks they are missing out on something big. There goes the dominoes…”
“How much luggage did you get?” He stuffed her last suitcase into the backseat because the dickey got full.
“I am here for six months.” She walked to the passenger seat and pulled on the handle. It was burning. She quickly settled inside and hissed.
“Ooohh, ooh…” she lifted her bum off the seat, hovering in the air with the back of her knees anchored to the corner of the burning seat. Samar climbed in from the other side, his tall frame folding nicely. He sat without any problem in his seat.
“Is it always this hot here?”
“Hmm.” He started the car and wove out of the parking, stopping only to pay at the exit. The sun was hitting them hot in the face, even with the car’s AC on full. And yet he didn't look like it even affected him.
“I forgot, you are from here. You must be used to this. Which part of Jammu are you from?”
“Udhampur.”
“What’s one claim to fame of Udhampur?” She settled back slowly.
“Home to Indian Army's Northern Command.”
“Anything else?”
“I’ll message you the list.”
She twisted her mouth. Why couldn’t he have regular conversation on a car ride? She reached for her mobile and froze. She patted her pockets. Nothing. She unzipped her purse. Not there.
“Fuck! Samar! Turn, turn! I forgot my mobile… where did I keep it? Shit, where did I… on the trolley!” She gasped. “Will it be there? Samar, take that U-turn…”
“Buy a new one, you are here for 6 months.”
“No! All our contacts are there, notes, plus my private stuff is there and there is no password!”
“You don’t learn from past mistakes?” He missed the U-turn.
“Stop lecturing and turn! Please!”
His free hand reached inside his pocket and pulled out her mobile, setting it on the dashboard. Amaal wanted to murder him.
————————————————————
Her Jammu accommodations weren’t as luxurious as her Srinagar flat, though theywerespacious. The flat here was a massive 1 BHK, the hall big enough to be divided further to create another bedroom. The building was under construction, with two other flats above and below hers, and the KDP Jammu Headquarters under development on the ground floor.
Her first day had been spent meeting the KDP Jammu wing, led by Anand Khatriji, the man who had the backing of the Khatri community in the region. He had brought a ready vote bank to KDP, as well as a debonair attitude that the soldiers in the founding team could not openly project in Kashmir yet. He had also brought some opulence here, with such a large tract of land being developed into a KDP headquarters when the Srinagar one was a converted house. Bigger and much prettier, but still a residential space.
Amaal finished unpacking some of her stuff early the next morning and got into her only workout gear — a pair of stretchy black leggings and an old slinky Nike T-shirt. She had neither the time to work out in Kashmir, nor the place. Here, there was a small in-house gym in the complex that was set up with the basics.
At 6.15 in the morning, when the sun had risen and made the sky bright with light and birds, Amaal locked her flat and descended the stairs, the windows big enough and dangerous enough without a high enough balustrade. Under construction.
She skipped, tightening her ponytail, soaking in the cool morning air before it became unbearable. Her Kashmiri skin, which had been pampered in the UK, was about to get burned so bad. She needed to order an extra backup of sunscreen from London. Expensive, but very, very essential for survival.
She reached the ground floor, the KDP office’s door already unlocked. Had anyone even locked it last night? She peeped. Three members were in, still waking up with yawns and chais. The office was bare, with only one poster of Kashmir Development Party. She made a mental note to design and put up signage. Populate the place to look like a party office.
Amaal waved at the only man whose attention went to her — Varun, a young member she had met last night, who would be their face for the Jammu Municipal Elections. He wasn’t as young — 39. But with the list of candidates from other parties, he was the youngest. He was already serving a term as the corporator, one of the 5 KDP corporators currently in a total of 75 seats. Their mark was 38+ if they wanted to run the municipality, the JMC of the city, and elect their own Mayor and Deputy Mayor. A massive leap, with Varun as their Mayor candidate. Too ambitious. But not impossible.
