If he was looking at a relatively peaceful pre-election season in Kashmir, he would have to take over Srinagar by the end of 2011, and the rest of the important pockets of the valley by 2012. Only then could they start campaigning in 2013 without threats.
Her face began to appear again and he got to his feet. It went away.
It was going.
II: The Election
14. Know that if you are alive, there is more to the story…
Srinagar, 2014
Know that if you are alive, there is more to the story. He woke up every day with two thoughts — one, that there was more to his story. And two, that if today was the end, he would make it count. There was not much else to do.
Samar got out of bed and showered in precise, short minutes. He washed his clothes, wrung them out, and threw them over the metal wire outside his bathroom window. It opened in an alcove where nobody ventured. The sun was bright on the cold morning, promising a good rally.
He shaved, shut the window, bolted it, then zipped open his bag. He reached for his black T-shirt, then stopped. Formals for events. He picked up the piles of his rotation of T-shirts and found the pair of formals he had replenished recently. A white dress shirt and black pants. Self-cuffed shirt. He didn't own any cufflinks.
Dressed in the attire that had to be varnished on him for today’s road show, he combed his hair, slipped on his spectacles because he was getting old and needed them, grabbed his mobile and opened the door of his room. The noise of people instantly invaded the silence that had pervaded his space. He closed the door, locked it, and slipped the key inside his pocket. Samar breathed in the relative quiet of this side of the outhouse before pushing his mobile into his pocket and striding out towards the hall. The early morning was just as messy today as it had been for the last three years. Only, noisier. The original rooms had been assigned and filled long ago. Recently, the younger lot from the KDP Logistics team had shifted into the hall, making a college dormitory out of it.
“Good morning, Samar Bhai.” One of them raised his hand, holding a bottle of Coke. At 9 in the morning.
“I hope that is not what I think it is.”
“Oh no,” he sputtered. “Try?”
Samar held up a hand, moving down the hall, nodding at the tenants. His roommates. He was too old for this shit. But what alternative was there?
He stepped out of the house into cold, crisp air and breathed in the day. The noise was left behind as the door closed behind him.
His mobile buzzed.
Faris Calling…
“Yes.”
“Khanqahi to Hazratbal is clear for this evening.”
“Keep an eye on Nowhatta. Aag laga ke blast karna SOP nahi banna chahiye.[79]”
“Kal jo Shehr-E-Khaas mein hua woh nahi hoga,” he hesitated. “Woh log kadal ke uss paar se kab aaye pata hi nahi chala… It was my mistake.[80]”
“Hmm.”
Samar ended the call, breaking into a walk down the back of the lawn and towards the main house. After Badamwari, this was the first big attack that had shaken them. Two other rallies had been bombed in the last six months, but both had been preempted in time, the impact minimised. This one had come out of nowhere.
Samar climbed up the steps to the verandah and walked into the house, their office. The hall was full, even this early. He would be worried if it wasn’t, considering they were just three months from the State Legislative Election.
“Is the Media Team in?” He asked Noora.
“Are you talking to me?”
Samar stared at him. A middle-aged accountant that none of them knew who had hired but made a circus out of everyday working here.
“When do they ever go home?” He clicked his tongue. “Dancing and partying all day, then movies at night. Waste of money…”
Samar kept walking, ignoring whatever else came out of his mouth. He turned down the alley with rooms dedicated to most of their back-end teams, from Media to Tech to PR. He began to push open the door to the Media Team’s room when a hand slapped his back.
“Hey.” Samar turned, knowing whose slap that was. “Do you have the reports of today’s news from yesterday’s rally?”
