Realities

Guide to Urdu/Kashmiri terms used in the text:

·      Angrez ki aulaad (Urdu): An Englishman’s child (used to indicate that someone is acting entitled to be treated with privilege)

·      Phupho (Urdu): Paternal aunt

·      Noon-chai (Kashmiri): Translates to salted tea; a traditional pink hued, salted tea from the valley of Kashmir.

“Nabeela? Nabeela? Nabeela?!”

“WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT?!”

Nabeela finally threw the bed covers aside with violence matching that of an army ready to attack an enemy base and sat up in bed.

In the doorframe stood her mother with a scorn printed on her pretty face. Even with that expression, she looked like an exquisite artwork. Nabeela, for her part, had a frown and squinting eyes to present.

“Mama, why the heck have you been sitting on my head for the past ten minutes, huh? If I am not replying that means I want to sleep! It's Sunday, for God’s sake!”

“First of all, stop throwing your fake airs at me. This is not America or whatever! And you are not an entitled angrez ki aulaad ! I need you out of bed in five minutes. And this is my last warning. Get out of the covers before I whack you! Your Phupho is coming to visit, remember? Come help me in the kitchen.” 

“Phupho? But she visited us not that long ago!!”

“Ha! My daughter must’ve had one hell of a sleep! She’s hallucinating!”

“What?! She didn’t? I feel like she did…” Nabeela said a little absently.

“In your dream, she might have!”

“C’mon, Mama…!”

“When did she visit us, then? On what day?”

“Ummmm…”

Nabeela tried hard to rattle her brains but a concrete answer struggled to present itself. 

“Oh, I don’t know, I just had this vague feeling that she already visited us.”

“And that’s why you need to splash some cool water onto your sleepy head!

Gesturing five minutes with her hand and tut tutting over the new generation and their cell phone malady, her mother left.

Through sleep drugged eyes, Nabeela looked at the wall clock. She rubbed her eyes and squinted again.

“Why is Phupho coming at such an odd time, anyway? So early in the morning…” Nabeela wondered as she began slithering under the covers again.

 She jerked herself back up.

Five! The clock showed five! Yes, sure enough; the minute hand was quivering at twelve while the pudgy hour hand sat pointing towards five. She pulled the curtains aside; strong daylight tumbled into her room, flooding it. 

“What the heck?! Is it five IN THE PM?!!”

Nabeela lunged at the bed-side table for her phone. The screen woke up and announced 5:00 P.M with rude clarity.

Had she slumped down for an afternoon siesta?! She didn’t remember eating lunch. But she wasn’t hungry, so she must have eaten. As she rummaged through the coffers of memory, she did faintly remember eating a big meal and sleeping. Yes, she’d taken a nap. She couldn’t have just woken up for the day. That would be incredible! Her mother would never allow that! Heck, she wouldn’t allow even the idea of that to enter their home.

Nabeela waddled to the window overlooking the garden. The summer sun was strong but there was a grey hint in the sky. A breeze blew at merciful intervals so the air didn’t stifle. A faint yellow hue seemed to be descending on the world.

“It’s all so beautiful. But it feels…queer.”

A little dazed, Nabeela went to freshen up before prancing to the kitchen. The kitchen was a collective name for a carpeted sitting area that led through an arch into the tiled cooking space now equipped with the latest modular kitchen cabinets and hi-tech gadgets after the renovation had been completed three days ago.

In the sitting area, her father sat on the carpet with a manual and some bills open in front of him; her brother, Suhail sat with his sketchbook, the first vestiges of another brilliant artwork lightly visible on it; and her little sister, Huzaifa sat braiding the American Girl doll that Phupho had gifted her last year. Although at fifteen, she believed herself to be well past the age of playing with dolls, Nabeela envied these new ones. A dozen of the Barbie dolls that she had been gifted growing up now sat in a box in the attic. Her sister never showed any interest in them. And it was clear why. These new dolls were quite something!

Nabeela smiled as she recalled their painted faces and slender bodies that she would giggle at while changing their clothes. She remembered how red her brother's ears had turned when she had once caught him undressing her Barbie doll. A chuckle escaped her.

       Her father looked up and smiled.

      “What’s funny?”

      “Oh nothing.”

The diffused yellow of the day was pouring into the kitchen. It washed everything in a lazy paleness that felt suddenly oppressive to Nabeela. 

         Her mother stood at the counter, making noon-chai; its subtle, earthy essence permeated the room, seeping into the new acrylic, the compressed boards, the new granite countertop and coloured it all Kashmiri. It felt as if the old aroma of noon-chai made the new kitchen more homely. The salt seemed to have lent itself to the air. Nabeela’s throat felt rough.

     She grabbed a glass tumbler from the drawer, filled it with water from the filter and chugged it down. The cool water streamed down her throat. She thought it funny that one could feel the path of water as it meandered down the throat and the esophagus into the acidic depths of the stomach.

Nabeela let out a satisfied ‘Ahhh’ before addressing her mother.

“Mom, why did you wake me up? I had barely finished my nap!”

“Mighty long naps you take! Now keep your eyes on the tea or it will spill over,” her mother replied gently as she saddled Nabeela with this task while she turned her attention to the patties she had been making. Nabeela grunted in pleasure. This was a novel past time for her mother- making YouTube recipes! Thankfully they always turned out well when her mother tried them.

As Nabeela watched the boiling tea with grave attention, an unpleasant sensation rose in her gut. She had felt it before too. In her nightmares. Now it was particularly unpleasant. Nabeela turned back from the counter to look at her father and siblings. The TV played in the background. Suddenly, Nabeela felt like an outsider looking in upon a scene in which she had no part to play. She felt like an intruder. Inexplicably, her heart whispered to her

“This is a lie. All a lie.” 

Nabeela panicked.

 “Oh no! It’s one of those strange thoughts again.” 

She couldn’t shake it off. But she didn’t want to stress out everyone. She turned her attention back to the stove and took silent, deep breaths. Behind her, her mother rustled past.

“Tea yet to boil?”

“Hmm.”

Nabeela lowered the flame on the stove. She thought to close her eyes and breathe for a few seconds but hesitated. 

“What if I open my eyes and everyone is gone and this is all an illusion? Oh wait, what am I thinking again? What's wrong with me?”

She felt her heart beat getting heavier, so that it almost hurt her chest. Her breath was laboured. 

“Am I having a heart attack? What did the counsellor tell me to do?”

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. 

She grabbed the edge of the counter, and took very audible deep breaths. Like a drowning man gulping massive life-giving breaths as violent waters surged around. Her face was flushed and her eyes were teary. Shivers passed down her body.

Then, everything was calm.

She turned to look at her family. Her father was now deeply engaged with National Geographic playing a documentary on Egyptian history, her brother was furiously sketching and her sister had sidled up to Mama to ask for a snack while she fished a tea sheet out of the crockery cabinet.

 They sat bathed in that yellow light from outside engrossed in a world to which Nabeela again felt like an outsider. 

 Had no one noticed her almost dying?

Her gut lurched. Calmly, she cleared her throat.

“Did you peo-”

“What's with this yellow light outside? Is Phupho coming or not?”

Huzaifa’s loud sentence was abruptly answered by the sound of the door springing open and a few seconds later, a middle-aged woman, tastefully dressed in an exquisite pastel pink shalwar kameez glided into the room. 

Huzaifa jumped up in delight, probably more from the possibilities that lay hidden in the huge bag that a servant carried into the lobby beyond. But she ran into the welcoming arms of her grinning aunt nevertheless before dashing for the lobby to hover around the bag. Nabeela saw her mother shoot a look of ridicule at her father. 

Suhail greeted Phupho next, reluctantly allowing her to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Oh my! Look at this kid, all manly and shy!” chirruped Phupho.

Everyone smiled. Suhail quietly snuck out as Phupho turned to Nabeela.

Nabeela gave her aunt a warm hug. Phupho was moved, but quickly diffused the emotion of the moment.

“Say, have you missed me?! They must torture you here!”

Everyone laughed. That was Phupho. Vivacious, lambent, chirpy, with a permanent smile planted on her lips. Childless, she spent all the fierce force of her maternal love once a year on her brother’s children. The rest of the year was spent in the States in social circles that Nabeela knew nothing about.

Phupho cracked more jokes as she hugged her brother and sister-in-law.

 All having greeted their aunt in turn, they sat down to tea. Nabeela helped her mother fetch the trays laden with shining new pearly white, gold rimmed crockery, chicken puff pastries, kulchas and flattened, ghee-soaked puff pastry breads. They all sat around the huge tea sheet facing each other, Nabeela sitting directly opposite her aunt, commanding a view of the door on the far left. The room was heavy with the pleasant aroma of food and the jingle of hearty laughs.

The door opened again. Nabeela felt her chest tighten. She froze, her teacup bearing hand in mid-air as she saw a man wearing a buff-coloured body-suit walk in and sit beside her aunt. His hair and lashes were the same colour as his suit and his skin. His eyes were huge black orbs that reminded Nabeela of the American Girl doll that now sat in a corner of the room staring as it were, at them. From his thick curls projected, what were unmistakably, horns. Two ram-like horns. He smiled. 

“Mama!” Nabeela shrieked.

 She looked around, and her jaw fell open. Everyone was still laughing and sipping tea and her aunt casually handed the creature a cup. Panic coursed within her but a sensible prospect presented itself almost immediately. 

“It must be stupid Suhail, dressed up like this!”

“Suhail? What the heck? Why are you dressed like this? Where did you even get this costume?!”

Her aunt looked up and smiled at her. As did her father, her mother and Huzaifa. Everyone smiled, said nothing and the conversation continued. Nabeela felt her head getting heavy, crowded with unintelligible words.

At that moment, Suhail entered the kitchen and sat for tea as if he didn't notice that creature sitting amidst them. A shockwave went through Nabeela’s body jolting her and urging her to stand up. But she sat as if nailed to her spot. Try as she might, she could not move.

Nabeela was too confused, too stunned to say anything. Then, the creature started to reach out for a plate of puff pastries. The plate being too far away, he crawled to it over the tea sheet and took one, smiling at Nabeela as he crawled back to take his place beside her aunt. Too close. He continued staring at Nabeela, smiling as he ate. His smile made her skin crawl. She closed her eyes, shook her head and took deep breaths. 

Heart throbbing, she wrenched her eyes open. He was still there. He still smiled. 

“Mama!”

But the flow of their conversation never ceased. Nabeela could feel sweat beads on her forehead. Her breath was laboured.

“Mama! Mama!”

Is this another nightmare?! Please wake up!

She closed her eyes again.

Deep breaths. 

Wrenched her eyes open again. He was still there. And now he sat on the tea sheet. 

Closed eyes, deep breaths. 

He was some inches further down the sheet, coming closer to her. It looked ridiculous. She would have laughed at the sight if it hadn’t felt so uncomfortable. 

Her chest hurt. She tried to get up but she could not move a limb. 

The ticking of the clock was loud in her ears. She snatched her eyes away from him to look at the time. It was four!

Eyes locked on the creature, she asked her brother what the time was.

“Four.”

“Do you not see this man, Suhail?”

No answer.

The clock on the décor shelf showed the same time. Slowly, she turned her head to look at the wall clock again.

It was a minute to four now! Her heart now frantic, she looked closely at the flitting second hand. It fled. Counterclockwise. 

“Mama, what’s happening?!”

Breathing heavily, sweat trickling down her forehead and the hair on her neck standing on end, she looked at the man. He was a good four inches further down the tea sheet. Every time she looked away, he inched closer. Nabeela’s heart sank as she realized that she had to keep her gaze on him if she wanted to keep him at bay. 

Her scream cut through the house, and all was dark.