DAD
Carton
MOM
You got it now get it
Amaal snorted. Her parents were very atypical for their conservative community. Two friends who were equals in a marriage inside their home. Amaal had grown up seeing family and family friends where the women were always shown their place — a subservient corner that often came not second to their husbands but third to their sons, and fourth when they had grandsons. In her home, her dad had always been subservient to her mom. Not in a bad way. In a good way. He was the decision maker in some things, but the rest, he surrendered to her mother. Shauqat Ali Durrani and Seema Durrani were accomplished dental surgeons, with a booming practice run in partnership for 14 years in Wembley. They had migrated from Kashmir a few years after the Pundit exodus, sensing the rapidly depleting societal and cultural order of a land they had once celebrated as their home. Amaal remembered being in school and confused, sad, angry at the thought of leaving home and her favourite hammock slung between two apple trees.
A BBM pop made her phone vibrate. She held the phone between both hands and typed, her thumb already aching after the amount of messaging she had been doing since coming to India. She needed to stop typing so much but there was always a lag of time to catch up over call.
AMAAL
Good morning folks
Sun shinin brighter today?
MOM
Are you at your interview
AMAAL
Yep
DAD
Good luck :D :D :D
Amaal rolled her eyes. Her dad was being his funny, satirical self. If anything, he was wishing her all the bad luck right now, hoping she would crash this interview and come back on the scheduled flight next week because — ‘You can’t settle in Kashmir again, there is nothing there.’
AMAAL
Thanks, dad
Baap ki dua always works[15]
DAD
:/
She barked out a laugh.
“Amaal Durrani?”
She glanced up. The three applicants in front of her were all gone. Had that much time passed so quickly? She glanced down at the clock on her phone. Twenty minutes. Nineteen, if she counted the last change of a minute. Had three applicants finished in such a short time frame?
“That way.” The man at the laptop pointed, opening an arm towards the alley. Amaal got to her feet. The silent winter air was still as she strode to the alley. The windows were all bolted, but the sun streamed through the glass, lighting up the way. She power walked, gathering momentum, counting rooms that were all closed. The architecture was ancient, the interior too. Both were well-maintained. A door at the end of the alley stood ajar, soft conversation filtering out. It felt louder in the thick air.
Amaal used her forefinger to push her sleek, ironed hair behind her shoulder and came to a stop outside the door. She raised the same finger and knocked. The conversation died.
“Come in.”
She pushed the door open and brilliant bright sunlight flooded her eyes before two figures did. Two men. Sitting side by side behind a bare, wide desk. Amaal took it all in. The three floor-to-ceiling glass windows that made up the walls behind the men, looking out into the drooping garden.
She stepped inside, bringing her eyes to the men. Young men. She had seen their photos during her research. In person, they looked larger, even when seated. And when they rose to their feet at her entrance, they looked massive. Ex-military men, impeccable manners.
“Hello, my name is Amaal Durrani,” she pulled a smile to her mouth, practising what she had learnt in the soft skills cell during her finishing school. Enter a room with a straight face, smile when you meet somebody’s eyes to express that your pleasure is at seeing them, not a facade cultivated before you even enter their space.
