Over a bowl of ‘haleem’

It was exhibition time for the pressure cooker! A moment of showcasing its terrific sense of timing! Hissing frenetically and dancing to the tune of self composed music, it threatened to demonstrate the full range of its strokes. Sidra, on cue, sprinted towards the thick of action only managing to slip over a disjointed tile. Holding her toe with one hand, she fiddled with the stove for a few seconds. Eventually, the cooker was tamed, but not without a noticable degree of obstinate resistance!

The mixture of lentils under the popular name of ‘haleem’ was placed in a big container and brought in sight of the guests desperately waiting for the prized trophy!

Faiza was blown away by the smell. She tried to preserve the aroma by shutting off her sight to everything else. The smile on her lips signalled approval of the highest order.

“We don’t get the same variety in my city. Or rather you’re a much better cook.” Saira seemed to have made a candid admission.

“I believe, taste comes from passion and everything I do, I do with my heart.” Sidra remarked self admiringly.

“Heart over mind or mind over heart! The argument for supremacy is infinite.” Imran chipped in while stuffing his mouth with gravy. However, it was a botched attempt as a few fragments leaked on his white shirt, producing a yellow mark over the logo. He tried to escape attention by keeping his mouth mobile as if nothing had happened.

Sidra being the host patiently waited on them. She was equally if not more tempted by the food but put on quite an act!

The dialogue was disrupted by a loud scream. Ayesha was not allowed to operate her favourite toy car. Not that she only had access to one! She had a huge collection of cars to indulge herself in but she wanted the ‘very purple’ one that Azam had set his sights on! This provoked her ego setting in motion her vocal refusal to accept the matter as it stood.

Their respective mothers sped towards their ‘wronged’ children.

Sania was critical of Azam. “My daughter is always denied her fair share.”

Ayza retorted. “Remember what happened last weekend when Azam’s chicken burger was snatched by Ayesha. You seem to have a short memory.”

This elicited a chuckle from the crowd. 'Mother wisdom' was both praised and rebuked.

Taking bowls of ‘haleem’ the male guests withdrew to a ‘card’ corner. A new machine that automatically shuffles and distributes cards among the players was put on display for the first time. It was held in compulsive awe before the spell was broken by cost figuring in the equation. Though making a deep hole in their collective pockets, it spared them a fair amount of manual labour.

“Jibran always manages to be in the winner group.” Kamran commented.

"I am a gifted player, aren’t I?" Jibran was happy.

“Hide your cards, they are all exposed to Wasim.” Danish sounded genuinely alarmed.

“Why don’t you study them all?” He opened the whole lot but Wasim lowered his gaze at the right moment.

"Don’t make a show please! We all know how honest you are!" Jibran slipped into a mocking tone.

The women had retired to another corner for an extended round of tittle tattle.

"Mrs. Haroon, don’t you have a large appetite!" Alia commented on the 4th ‘haleem bowl.’

"You are poor with numbers Alia. This is only my 2nd bowl." Mrs. Haroon was equal to the task.

“Why do you keep poking your nose in extraneous matters? Why can’t you keep yourself to yourself?” Zainab censured Alia.

“Because everyone else’s business in pretty much my business.” Alia stated in a matter-of- fact way.

“Mrs. Ali, your pink dress is a smashing hit. Where did you buy it from? I have a similar dress but the colour is not so bright.” Khalida asked inquisitively.

I bought it from ‘Aleezays’. I always have clothes of this brand. But I’m afraid this is inaccessible to folks with a meagre income.” Mrs. Ali continued in the same vein.

Suddenly a mobile phone beeped. Mrs. Ali stretched out her hand to pick it. It was i phone 16 Pro.

“Hello, good evening. How are you doing?

Well, I’m occupied now. I’ll come for the test drive tomorrow morning.” Mrs. Ali sounded business like.

"If I may not sound intrusive, may I ask the brand of car you are going to buy?" Mariam inquired.

“No I don’t mind at all revealing my taste. I’m going to buy a Porsche. My husband is gifting it to me. Actually my Range Rover is now one year old." Mrs. Ali was lost in her state of self-importance.

“It won’t cost me a penny more than 40 million rupees.” She continued.

Khalida, still recovering from the snide remark uttered previously remained a silent observer for the rest of the conversation. She could not lift her eyes. Her gaze had frozen in time. She felt out of place. Every passing moment became intolerably long. She felt like a stranger among acquaintances: a harmless sparrow in the range of a predatory foe! To add another embarrassing feature to her woeful story, she had made the mistake of bestraddling a rickety motorcycle to travel to this place. Thankfully, she had alighted in dim light without provoking any undue alarm. Although the thrust of the communication was not directly aimed at her, she felt a lump in her throat. She wished she could disappear like a ghost from the site but her feet refused to carry the burden.

On the men’s side the card game lingered on well into the night. The players were exhausted now and seemed to be snoozing off every now and then.

“I need some tea.” Jibran almost pleaded as he tried to stifle a yawn.

“Yes, I got the flask full. Let me bring it” Wasim replied.

The flask was brought in and served in paper cups. It had become a tradition for the host to serve the guests in disposable utensils to spare themselves the blushes of washing them all up, in the remains of the night!

The conversation drifted towards their children’s education.

“My son got admission in Dubai.” Ali thumped his chest.

“My daughter got admission in the UK in a prime university. She is majoring in accounts.” Imran seemed to be making an announcement.

“But as far as I know your daughter wanted to study history.” Wasim inquired.

“I told her history is about the past. It cannot be retrieved so she agreed and changed over to accounts.”

“I think your son wanted to dabble in Arts, didn’t he?” Jibran returned the question.

“But she sat with her mother who convinced her that art is only a distraction, not a profession.”

The ladies had by now assembled at the entrance. They continued with their tales of triumph and trickery and when it was time to go some of them held the others back. It was quite comical. The men wanted to dismiss the meeting but nobody had the courage to initiate proceedings.

“Mr. Jibran has lots of control in the house. All do his bidding.” Imran quipped.

“Really! Can you use your authoritative powers to get us another cup of tea?” Jibran said in a jovial voice.

“Why don’t you do it yourself? It will be an act of charity. And everybody will follow suit." Imran refused to tow a more subdued line.

The place had become too noisy by that time. The parting shots were annoyingly prolonged adding to the misery of the sensitive souls and offering more opportunities of advertising things from a material perspective!