“Ok stop.” Amaal held up her mobile and replayed his answer that she had recorded. His monotone was louder than his words. It ended, and Amaal began to speak from memory — “This is our second foray into JMC, not the first,” she smiled. “We fought the 2005 election and won 5 seats. Varun Singh, our star candidate, came out victorious with a margin of 3,000 votes. That’s a historical margin in Jammu municipality. And we only intend to expand it this term.”
Samar kept staring at her, impervious. She pulled a breath in to take whatever cutting words were coming her way. But he surprised her by saying — “You sound better than me, of course. But I don’t know any other way of speaking.”
“I am not asking you to change the way you speak. Just pause. Pause where you know you should. Speak like you would talk to me.”
“I don’t talk to you.”
Amaal compressed her lips — “Speak like you talk to… Adil. No, Atharva. That must be a more mature conversation than Adil’s.”
“By a mile.”
Amaal smiled. “Exactly. Answer a question like Atharva is asking you. Wanna go again?”
He nodded.
“So,” she cocked her head. “Uncrowned king of Jammu’s Jatts, the best speaker in all of North India, Samar Bhaiya,” she grinned. “This is your first foray into Jammu’s city-level politics. How ready are you to take on all 75 seats in the Jammu Municipal Corporation Election?
“I am ready. We are ready. We have been ready for a long time. We fought the 2005 elections… and won 5 seats. Varun Singh was our star candidate who came out victorious with a margin of 3,000 votes. That’s… a historical margin in Jammu municipality. And we only intend to expand it this term.”
Silence settled. Amaal broke into applause. “See? It’s not that hard.”
“This was like some play acting.”
“We will make it better. But it was so much better than the first one. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Next one?”
Amaal did not take offence at his gruff dismissal. She was beginning to read between those dismissals now.
10. If you wanna be my lover…
“If you wanna be my lover…” she mumbled along in pain, resting her head back on the closed glass window of her flat. Even the late evening sun felt harsh on the glass but the AC humming in the bedroom cooled her down. She was trying to find one comfortable feeling, one comfortable spot, one comfortable state to be in. Her stomach and thighs were cramping so badly, she couldn’t even lie down and die.
Amaal took a deep breath, willing the dramatic self-conversation to stop. She turned her head on the hot glass, grinding her forehead on it. Could she climb up the windowsill and stick her stomach to the heated surface? She groaned, hating herself for not preempting this and buying a hot water bag. She popped open her eyes in a daze and squinted, seeing somebody staring at her from the ground. Amaal pulled back, focused. It was Samar. She blinked, confirming if it was him. Parked and standing outside his car, face turned up.
Amaal tried to smile and wave. He did not wave back. So she limped around on her heels and trudged to… where? She did not want to go to bed. She did not want to sit on the three-seater sofa or the chair or anywhere. Neither did she want to stand.What was this misery?!
If you want my future, forget my past…
Her laptop blared. Amaal sang along to take her mind off this.
“If you wanna get with me, better make it fast.” She half-cried. Her doorbell rang.
“Now don't go wasting my precious time…” She crawled to the door on two legs and pulled it open. “Get your act together we could be just…” she stopped singing. And did a double-take. “You?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Now say it without the smile.”
“I am not smiling.” She grimaced, needing to fold over but holding her own. His eyes went down to her stomach, clearly, because she was holding it tight.
“If it’s stomach pain, take this,” he held out a small white paper bag. “And if it’s period cramps, take this.” He pulled out a strip of paracetamol from his pocket. She mildly slapped both away — “It’s not that bad.”
“Which one?”
“Period cramps.”
