Dead Ends: Episode 1

(This is a lengthy story based on actual facts. Episodes will be posted over a span of a few weeks. There are going to be NINE episodes in total. Enjoy!)

Episode – 1

A dark haired, tall woman with exquisite features and a flawless complexion walks in a queue to board her plane. She looks impatiently at an old man in front of her moving inch by inch.

“Damn these wrinkled creatures!” She mutters under her breath.

Finally her turn comes and she hands over her boarding pass to a man. She over takes the old man, her heels clicking as she treads quickly in the tunnel towards the airplane.  

She gracefully sits in her spacious passenger seat in the First Class cabin and notices a little boy sitting next to her.

“Great! First the old buffoon and now this boy will make my flight miserable.” She thinks irritatingly.

Maheen is 25, with apparently no interest in children or old men.

The plane taxis and takes off. The seatbelt sign is still lit. It feels to her as if somebody is jabbing a stick in her left ear. The pain is unbearable. She puts both her palms against her ears and presses them forcefully. She gulps, chews gum that’s already in her mouth, drinks water and gulps some more, but to no avail.  

The little boy is observing her constantly. He touches her perfectly manicured hand with a chubby index finger to gain her attention.

“Are your ears hurtin’ you?”

Her eyes start to water. She nods.

“I know a trick to stop my ears from hurtin’ in an aero plane.”

“What’s the trick?”

“Watch!”

He balloons up his cheeks filling them with air and pinches his nose close.

“Now blow! But don’t open your mouth.” He says earnestly.

Maheen does as she is told. There is a little POP and her ears adjust to the pressure in the cabin. She smiles in relief at the boy.

“Thank you! What’s your name?”

“It’s Sadiq.”

“Thank you, Sadiq. Are you traveling alone all the way to San Francisco?”

“No. My momma is sitting behind me.”

Sadiq resumes playing games on the in-flight entertainment system. His round eyes are glued to the little screen at the back of the passenger seat. Maheen rests her head on the head rest. She looks a little troubled and lost.

“You are a good little boy Sadiq.” She whispers almost inaudibly.

A brand new Mercedes cruises at a leisurely pace on one of the roads in the posh locality of Defence, Karachi. Sadiq, Maheen’s boyfriend, is driving. He is a handsome Karachitte, in his late twenties. There is an aura of importance around him. He fiddles with the ring in his middle finger, looks at Maheen and opens his mouth to say something.

“Sadiq, please don’t argue again!” She cuts him off, “you know how I feel about premarital intimacies.”

“Come on babe! You and I have been together for more than a year now. At least let me kiss you, a little peck on the lips!”

He reaches for her with one hand. She slaps it with hers.

“Please stop being stubborn.” She says sternly.

He clenches his strong jaw in frustration, grips the steering wheel with both his hands and accelerates his new Mercedes, zigzagging through traffic. Maheen sighs. She opens the automatic window and lets the sea breeze whip through her hair, her eyes closed.

Maheen feels the car slow down then come to a stop. She opens her eyes and realizes that they have reached her home. The street is well lit with orange bulbs mounted on high poles. She looks at her house; it looks like a fort with 12 foot walls surrounding it with a strong black wrought iron gate. She doesn’t climb out of the car immediately.

“Sadiq… don’t be angry, I-”

“Please Maheen shut up!”

She opens the door, gets out of the car and speaks through the open window.

“I’m going to San Francisco next week… I still have to shop for the wedding there… Do you want to shop with me tomorrow?”

“No. I’ll see you after you come back.”

Sadiq closes the automatic window and slams his foot on the accelerator. The Mercedes screeches and speeds out of sight leaving behind tyre tracks.

“Excuse me ma’am… Ma’am?”

Maheen opens her eyes and stares at the airhostess’s face. The airhostess raises her eyebrows and smiles.

“Huh? Come again?” Her voice comes out in a croak.

“I said ma’am, would you like something with your breakfast, tea or coffee?”

“Oh… yes, yes some coffee please.”

*                      *                        * 

Bahadur Shah, a boy of sixteen, makes his way through the crowded market. Its very hot and humid, his oversized grey kameez which was originally blue, sticks to his body due to the sweat. His complexion is tanned a deep brown, his nails are filled with black grease and his hair, brittle and rough like that of a goat.

He passes a bakery where stacks of cakes, pastries, biscuits, and breads are on display. He stops there, his gaze lingering on each scrumptious item, his stomach urging him to pick them up and eat, but he moves on. He has no money.

He enters the mechanic shop where he works. His brow is creased. A noisy workshop greets him. He approaches Jamal Bhai, the owner of the shop.

“Assalam-o-alaekum Jamal Bhai.”

Jamal Bhai turns; he is a fat balding man with a round protruding belly, his eyes bulging. A thick curling moustache hides his upper lip emphasizing his plump lower lip.

“What do you want?”

“Jamal Bhai, everything has gotten so expensive. We don’t even have any money to buy flour. Amma wants you to increase my pay...”

“Tell me something chotay! Does you’re Amma own this shop?”

“No…” Bahadur answers timidly.

“Listen carefully then, either you work here for 80Rs. per day or you don’t work here at all! There are a thousand more grateful kids who will be glad to work here for 80Rs. unlike you, ungrateful dog!”

He hits Bahadur Shah’s back and pushes him. Bahadur stumbles to the ground.

“Get lost! Do some work! You are wasting my time.” The owner glares at him.

Bahadur picks himself up and walks forlornly to his childhood friend Majid. Majid lives next to Bahadur’s Cottage in the Kutchi Abaadi. He is two years older than Bahadur. His face and hands are blackened with motor oil and grease. Majid looks at him ruefully, then he looks at Jamal Bhai and his face contorts in anger.

“He will never give us a raise!” Majid curses loudly, “that fatso! He gobbles down all our hard earned money! I swear one day his belly will explode like a bomb!”

Bahadur makes no reply. He picks up a tool and starts to unbolt a screw. His face is a mask of sorrow and his shoulder’s feel heavy.

“Can you replace this engine’s oil for me?” asks Majid, “and after that help me fix that Suzuki’s radiator.”

Bahadur nods his head in reply.

Both the boys are sweating in the sizzling October heat and Karachi’s humidity made it still more unbearable.

“It’s three ‘O’ clock.” Majid announces, “let’s go eat something.”

Bahadur pretends to be engrossed in his work.

“Err… I… I still have some things to do. You go. In fact I’m not very hungry.”

Majid walks closer to him and sits by his side.

“Why are you lying to me? I could hear your stomach grumbling all the way from where I was standing.”

“Majid, I don’t have any money… how can I buy food without money?”

“Hey! So what! I’m not broke as yet. You can always borrow form me, you know that.”

They stroll to the nearest tandoor and buy two roties. The food vender pours a large spoonful of watery lentils on each of their roties. A bus, overflowing with passengers, passes them by engulfing them with smoke. They sit squatting on the footpath and attack their food.

It was a long day for both Majid and Bahadur.  The sun was setting and Bahadur was now concerned.

“When will Jamal Bhai give us our wages? I have to buy some food and take it home! Amma, Baji and Munni haven’t eaten anything since last night.”

“He’ll give us the money in an hour or two, I think. Don’t ask him for it though. He’ll kick you out. He’s already angry at you.” Majid replies.

Bahadur watches the clock every five minutes. It’s already 10:05pm. He wipes the sweat form his forehead when Jamal Bhai enters the shop, his big belly bobbing up and down.

“Han Bhai! Here is your pay for the day.”

Every boy in the shop rushes to him. Bahadur elbows his way through the eager boys. He takes his salary and returns the money that he borrowed from Majid that afternoon. He then runs out of the shop towards his home.

Bahadur pushes open the door to his house carrying two plastic bags, one large and the other small. A yellow bulb hang’s from a wire, dimly lighting their home. There are three charpoys lined side by side and a chair is placed against the mud plastered wall. A wash basin stands in a corner and beside it is a lota.

Munni rushes to her brother and hugs him tightly looking up at him with two beady black eyes. She takes the paper bags from him and then hurries to Baji, who is sitting by the gas stove.

Bahadur goes towards his mother. She’s sitting on the floor with a sewing machine and a yard of cloth. He kneels by her side and Amma gently lays a hand on his cheek.

“He didn’t increase the pay Amma.”

“Oho! It doesn’t matter. We’ll make do with whatever we have. Haven’t we done that since forever?”

Bahadur lays his head on Amma’s shoulder.

“Where’s Abba?”

“He hasn’t come back yet. He will be late. The contractor wants to complete a house by this Monday,” she sighs loudly, “he’ll be coming home late all week.”

Bahadur’s mother looks at him, her wrinkles magnifying her every expression. Her clear eyes prove the youth that hides behind the worry laden face.

“Haye! May Allah bless you both.”

(Stay tuned for Episode 2 next week.)