The Acquaintance Read online

  “No thanks required”, she said, picking up the pace. “I know I’m not coming off very good here. Hell I know I’m coming off as a borderline stalker. But if you could take a chance on me I assure you that you will be pleasantly surprised.”

  She stopped walking abruptly. Rizwan was not prepared for the sudden change of pace, he faltered and tripped over his own feet and went crashing to the floor. He dusted himself off and looked at her.

  “My entire life is a joke, so at the very least a good laugh is guaranteed”, he said flashing that smile again.

  Nargis looked at Rizwan’s prone form on the ground and couldn’t help but smile. He was not going away. An hour with this guy and then she could politely blow him off. She didn’t want him to feel jilted.

  Jilted lovers were a dime a dozen here and she for one didn’t want acid thrown in her face or worse get killed because she didn’t stroke his ego enough. She was ashamed that a violent reprisal was the first consequence that went through her head. But she had heard enough horror stories to not take things lightly. Even today, she had caught three different box items in the newspaper that dealt with a rape, an assault and an acid attack. The culprits in all three were jilted lovers. She eyed Rizwan, he didn’t look like the vengeful type, but then again, none of them ever do.

  “I hope I don’t regret this”, she exhaled, tearing a piece of paper from her notepad and scribbling down her phone number. “One coffee. Meet me at mall road near the Khalsa building”, she said, handing him the piece of paper. He took it from her like it was a rare faberge egg. North Campus was a world unto itself. A lot of exits, if things went sideways. She was late to meet Professor Kalyani. She hurried off, leaving Rizwan on the floor.

  Three hours later, she was seated opposite Rizwan at the little bistro right outside campus. On the sidelines of the mall road with a clear view of the upper floors of the SGTB Khalsa main building. The “Fig Leaf” bistro was an extension of the campus but had its own insular environment which gave the students at Delhi university the illusion of adulthood. And boy did she feel like an adult. The walls were made of exposed Baker brick. An old fashioned juke box idled in the corner. It was evidently a showpiece, just like the rest of the fifties Americana that adorned the walls. Framed posters of hollywood’s golden age sparkled under golden fairy lights. John Travolta in Grease, Cary Grant in The Gambling Ship, but the poster Nargis found most unnerving was The Silent Men with Tim McCoy, a stern faced cowboy with his gun drawn. No matter which way she turned, she could feel the barrel of the gun follow her like Uncle Sam’s finger.

  Rizwan was nervous, she could sense it. She would have usually found it annoying but Rizwan somehow managed to make it look endearing. He was studying chemical engineering. He was living with his uncle while he finished his degree. He was into activism just like her. He was charming and self-effacing. Quite unlike the typical alpha males that hung around campus strutting around like they were god’s gift to women. There had been a few incidents where she actually and quite literally had to beat them off with a stick. Rizwan on the other hand was a refreshing breath of fresh air.

  She had come into this date with a pre-made excuse that she wouldn’t be able to stay for more than an hour as she had to help her friend move into her new flat. An excuse so transparent that he had smiled at her with an expression that said, an hour is all I need. And an hour is all he had needed. Before the night was done she had spent eight hours with him, talking about everything under the sun including a hypothetical relationship where he would convince her to watch superhero movies and learn to enjoy them, something she hated. She could see herself being swept up in Rizwan’s easy going charm. She liked it. At the beginning of the date he had gone in for a hug but she had extended her hand for a neutral handshake. By the end of the evening however, she not only allowed him to hug her, but she lingered a moment longer, inhaling the sweet fragrance of his cologne that clung to his jacket. She let go. He wanted to ask her something but he was hesitant. She waited.

  “Will it be too much of an imposition if I were to call on you again?”, he said smoothly. Wow he sounded so Colin Firth. She nodded.

  The next couple of weeks were the true definition of a whirlwind. On their consequent dates he took her to a breakfast place on Benito Juarez Marg where she had eaten a frittata for the first time. It was not a fancy place, so she wasn’t sure if it was really an authentic frittata she was eating or an indianised facsimile, but the effort was appreciated nonetheless. They had gola sherbets at jogging park and vada pav at Khan market. They had covered one-third of the city that day. Nargis had been exhausted. But she still didn’t want the day to end. And she could tell that the feeling was mutual. On their way back to campus, Rizwan held her hand tight, like he never wanted to let go. She looked at him, his hair a windswept mess that hung like an eye-patch over his left side. Those dimples of his scooping his cheeks into an earnest smile. He leaned in. Nargis knew what was about to happen. She panicked and turned her head. She felt his lips brush her cheeks softly. Something flashed in those hazel eyes of his but he recovered quickly with an embarrassed smile that melted her. At that moment Nargis knew that she was in trouble.

  CHAPTER 13

  The warehouse was dark and dingy. Mildew and the smell of rotted wood punctuated the constipated air in the confined space. Large though it was, it was not exactly the work space he was expecting while doing god’s work. The figure was hunched over a sophisticated mechanism. A water-cooled console with 20 kilograms of C4 in its body. Enough to level a skyscraper from the ground up. The set-up was complicated, no red wires, no timers, no backdoors. A simple remote with a firing key. He had trained for this his whole life. First as an engineer and then as a student of the faith. He pulled the gloves off his burnt fingers, exposing the debrided skin on his bones. The result of a vicious attack. His fingers had been beautiful once, flying over black and white keys as they made beautiful melodies. Chopin’s Ballade no. 1 in G-minor was the first work he had mastered on the keyboard. But he had soon graduated to writing his own original music. Pieces that had earned him a scholarship to a top university. His ticket out of poverty. His fingers on a keyboard could make magic and they would have made him rich. Until it all fell apart.

  He was working on a device so elegant that it would be virtually impossible to defuse. It was a sublime design. No one could even risk trying to dismantle it without blowing up. A thoroughly futile action if any. Once activated, the device would not stop till detonation. And anyone who tried would be given a one way ticket to kingdom come.

  His previous efforts had been amateurish. The man took them as trial runs for the final bang. Once the Maerifa knew that he could deliver, he had been given the resources to create a true masterpiece of destruction. The man soldered together a piece of circuitry and watched as the OLED screen lit up. This was transcendent art. An explosion that could be controlled. A thoroughly new form of incendiary. And he was the creator. He had built the next generation of smart bombs in a shed.

  He sat back and admired his work. It had been an arduous task. But it has been rewarding. He picked up the tube of anti-burn cream and applied a generous measure to his arm. He bent over and rolled up the sleeves of his pants and gently massaged the scorched skin from his ankles to his knees with the anti-inflammatory ointment. It had been years since he had been attacked. In the immediate aftermath of which he had been bound to a wheel-chair.

  It was at the hospital, at his truly lowest point that he had seen the Maerifa. The man who had rescued him from despair.

  The Maerifa had been as simple as they come. A man of god, dressed in a simple cassock with the mark of god on his forehead. A true devotees mark when spent on your knees in prayer to the lord. The man had spoken to him like a teacher would. He had blamed his injuries, watched as the burned skin agonisingly sloughed off his frame. He had cried and screamed in agony and through it all the Maerifa had never left his side. Everyday he came and read to him, the lessons of Allah.
Everyday the Maerifa taught him how he was meant for greater things. On the last day, the Maerifa gave him the quran, inside was a piece of cardstock with nothing written on it. Maerifa had smiled at him. “If you are a true believer, the truth will reveal itself”, Maerifa had said. He could not wait to get out of bed so that he could reach the Maerifa. The card had been breathtaking, written with water-soluble quantum dots, “nanoscopic” heaps of a semi-conducting material. The technology was next-gen, he could not believe that the Maerifa had access to such technology, but when you’re so close to god. Science was merely a tool to reach an end.

  He had reached the site given on the card, but he was surprised to see an empty field rather than a thriving training ground. He was met by a shepherd who led him to a village, where he met the local chieftain. They were working on something big and he was going to be an integral part of it. The sun beat down on him as he was led through valleys and passes, he didn’t hear a sound except for the cawing of buzzards and the bleat of sheep.

  He followed the shepherd wordlessly into the mountains. He was parched and famished, yet he did not break stride, matching the aging shepherd step for step as together they navigated the treacherous topography of North India. As they trekked in the cold heat.

  One of the sheep broke from the pack and wandered dangerously close to the cliff edge. He waited for the shepherd to do something, but the old man stared on helplessly. He cursed under his breath and approached the clueless animal from behind. The sheep was munching on a dried flower growing out of a crevice on the cliff’s edge. He did not want to startle it. He did not know much about sheep, but he did know that if he startled the creature, it would surely fall to its death. He looked over the cliff and the dizzying drop made his head spin and his stomach queasy. He could feel the vertigo hit him in his palms. He closed his eyes for a moment. Why was he doing this? Why was he risking his life for a stupid animal? He already knew the answer, the old man with his sheep was a part of the Maerifa’s flock and if he risked his life to save the old man’s possessions, word would undoubtedly reach the Maerifa. He opened his eyes and inched towards the oblivious quadruped. He extended his fingers and tried to grab the sheep but he came away with nothing more than wisps of brown wool. He cursed under his breath again. He was sweating profusely, a vinegary tang hitting the corners of his eyes. The sheep had moved away farther towards the edge of the cliff. He heard the old man call out to let the sheep go. But he was not going to admit defeat.

  The sheep turned its back on him. This was his chance, caution be damned. He lunged for the stupid beast. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he tackled the sheep away from the edge and into the safety of the inner cliff. He pulled the lamb to its feet and smacked it in the hind quarters and watched as it joined its companions, the flower hanging from its jaw. The old man came over to him and opened his palm, inside were a handful of dates. He grabbed them and popped them into his mouth, savouring the delightfully sweet palm flower. The old man turned and continued to walk as if nothing had happened.

  CHAPTER 14

  “You know, I don’t fit into any ideal of what a man should be. I am not fantasy material. But I would like to believe that I have some redeemable qualities.”

  They were at Hauz Khas village. The fort spread around them like an exquisite labyrinth. Rizwan had driven her here after the Coldplay concert. They had spent the day as ushers during their college fest. He had taken her to dinner at her favourite roadside café. They had walked hand in hand by the edge of the lake. Spending the better half of the last hour debating ego and id. Which is why she found this segue a little baffling. Why did he want to get into gender roles right now? Was he trying to ruin an otherwise perfect day? Always keep arguments hypothetical, never make them personal, that’s how she liked it. But it always wasn’t that easy with Rizwan.

  He knew that all of their previous discussions that even remotely touched on the issue of gender identity or feminism always ended in a fight. Both sides argued passionately and fiercely but they always ended up deviating from the issues and landing into the muck of personal faults. She didn’t know why he wanted to do it again. But she wasn’t going to bite, at least not today. “I know you do, why else do you think I tolerate you”, she said with a smile, trying to defuse whatever argument she thought he was going to bring up. But inexplicably, he smiled. That dazzling smile that always seemed to take her breath away, and even today, it did just that. After three years together, she had hoped she would have gotten used to it or developed an immunity to it, but she was wrong.

  “So, as I was saying, I am not an ideal man, or anyone’s fantasy or perfect by any stretch of the imagination. I will fight with you, make you hate me at times but you can believe me when I say this at the end of the day, I will always….always be there for you. Whether as a friend, a lover or even a punching bag, I will always be there to support you, laugh at you and with you, you can count on that.”

  She snorted, “Why do you sound like a hallmark card all of a sudden?”

  “I’m just telling it like it is.” He was staring straight ahead into the sunset, a velveteen orange hue spread over the water. He was not meeting her eyes. This was getting weird, what was Rizwan playing at? And a sudden and cold crept up her spine. Was he dying?

  She felt a glint hit her eye and she blinked. What the hell? She looked down and her breath caught in her throat. She could feel her body break into a sweat. Her heart rate spiked. This was not happening. But it was. She was looking at a ring. A diamond ring to be precise. What was happening? What was this? He still hadn’t turned to face her. “So? What about it? Are you ready to tolerate me for another couple of decades if we’re lucky?”

  She didn’t answer. She was speechless. He finally turned to face her, his outstretched arm still holding the ring. “Okay, I’m not going to lie, the silence is making me a little nervous.” This was insane. She had to say no. He wasn’t thinking straight. She would have to do the thinking for both of them. She would have to be the logical one. The rational one. The adult.

  But when she looked up at his face, so full of hope and promise, she found herself nodding. He flashed her the most dazzling smile yet and swept her off her feet. He pulled out the ring from the tiny ornament box and slipped it onto her finger. A perfect fit. It was too luxurious. He couldn’t afford this. “It was my grandmother’s”, said Rizwan. He had told her so little about his family back in Pakistan. Every time she brought them up, his gentle demeanour would turn cold and a scowl would ornament his face till the subject was changed. All she knew was that his family had splintered during the partition. One half of his family had decided to stay, while the other had left for the newly formed country of Pakistan. His grandmother had left this family heirloom in the care of his father. Another figure she knew next to nothing about. That’s when reality seemed to crash into her like a stampeding train. What was she doing? They were both in college. They were both so young. And now that she thought about it, she barely knew anything about her fiancé. She told herself she was getting cold feet. But it was too early to get cold feet. Maybe these were legitimate concerns she needed to address, but when Rizwan leaned in and kissed her, she forgot everything and melted into his embrace. As his lips caressed hers, she could not imagine any other way she wanted to spend her life. This was the man she was meant to be with.

  He pulled back and took her hands in his. “It looks perfect on you”, he said looking at the ring that now adorned her third finger.

  A month later, out of the blue it struck her. The gravity of what had happened at the village was slowly dawning on Nargis. Her left hand felt heavier. She told herself it was psychosomatic. It was nerves, nothing more. But there was still a slight lean to her posture favouring her left side. The ring shone on her finger like a promise, or more like a debt. She tried to remove it, but it was stuck. She ran into the bathroom and splurged soap onto her finger. She was frenetic now. She didn’t know why she was suddenly hysterical but she knew that she ne
eded to get the ring off her person. She was crying now. The damn thing just wouldn’t come off. After rubbing her finger raw for more than twenty minutes, she was finally able to pry the ring off her finger. She dropped it on the marble sink and collapsed into a heap on the floor. She curled up in the fetal position and hoped no one would come looking for her.

  CHAPTER 15

  Nargis could feel the eyes behind the glass watching her every move. Each and every one of them she trusted with her life. But she would have given anything for a moment alone with Rizwan.

  She had to get started. “We have it on good authority that you are in contact with Shahzad”, she said sharply. Rizwan looked like he had been slapped, “That’s not true, I’m not associated with any terrorist nor am I a terrorist sympathiser.” He had the gall to look hurt. “How can you say such a thing? You of all people.”

  Behind the glass Ram shifted uncomfortably, “What the hell does he mean by that?”

  “Please don’t make this harder on yourself. I am really trying to help you here”, said Nargis. Rizwan snorted, “By calling me a terrorist.” His initial shock of being accused of terrorism had worn off remarkably quickly, he seemed to be composing himself. Nargis had been waiting for this. This was the Rizwan who would give her answers, the man she had seen glimpses of but never actually had a chance to meet entirely. The calculating, self-serving individual who had broken her heart.

  She knew the one thing he wanted beyond anything when they were together. The one thing she could not give him. The reason he became a teacher and surrounded himself with children was because she had not borne him any children the brief time they were together. In fact what had infuriated him most was her refusal to have any children.