‘Baba!’ My ten-year-old son pulled my hand, ‘Was it very difficult?’
‘Was what very difficult, my love?’ I asked, while smiling into his curious dark eyes.
‘Was it very difficult becoming your own father?’ He chose his words carefully.
Instead of answering his question, I looked afar. I looked towards the place where time and space ceased to have a meaning - the place where all was obscured under a slowly falling, golden dust. This is from where a few memories smiled back at me, while the others were wrapped in the grey shrouds of sadness. It was a magical place - a place where dead butterflies rested forever in the glass jar of nostalgia, but their colors remained immortal. I have always had this glass jar, tucked away safely within the folds of my heart. It is my most valuable asset and also a friend who keeps me company.
Once upon a time, in a jungle far, far away, lived a tiny squirrel named Katto. She was a beautiful squirrel with a silver coat of fur, a long, graceful and bushy tail, and to top it all, a charming, toothy smile. God had blessed Katto with a heart as lovely as her looks. It was large enough to shame even the heart of an African elephant.
But like all really beautiful things and beings in this world, Katto’s beauty was not perfect. A great flaw marked it as she was totally blind. A great misfortune indeed, but it made no difference to her. She was one happy squirrel, though unaware of her own beauty and charm. Katto lived within a comfy old crack in the trunk of the tallest Oak. This crack had always been her home. There was a bed made of the softest moss and ample storage space for the winter nuts.
Anna is sitting naked on a high-backed chair and is looking at her sad reflection in a cheap, aluminum-framed mirror. It is a small and sparsely furnished room in a grey, depilated apartment building.
There are two plastic chairs, placed in a corner, piled high with dirty laundry. A small TV is mounted on the wall. It is on mute, and the faded screen is alternating between static and a music video featuring a few garish characters from hell.
There is a double bed in another corner, and it is covered with a dark purple quilt. It is presently occupied by a naked, hairless man. He has a pale complexion and a bulging beer belly. His hairy belly button looks like a single eye staring back.
Two lamps are placed on side tables on each side of the bed. One out of these is throwing a red glare across the room, while the other is dark.
The room smells of cheap sex and sweat, and the stink of unwashed bodies. The room smells of desires, repeatedly fulfilled and repeatedly regretted.
The man gets up slowly, grabs hold of a soiled towel from a chair, and wipes his hairy and shriveled genitals. He examines the towel after the deed, and disgusted with what he sees, throws it on the floor. As he starts getting dressed, a tattered wallet slips out of the back pocket of his trousers. He picks it up, opens it, seems frustrated by what he sees, and puts it back in the pocket.
Anna gifts the man with a cold, hard glare, and her hand automatically starts inching towards the red panic button. The man understands the glare and looks unceasingly at the panic button. He knows the implications of Anna pressing this button. Once pressed, two burly gentlemen in cheap polyester suits, with shining boots and dead eyes, will appear, just like demons summoned by magic.
The man thinks of the steel toes of the shining boots, and fear creeps into his shrewd eyes. He is aware of the pain, which can be caused by the marriage of steel toes to his groin.
‘Fuck!’ He whispers, pulls out the wallet, and throws a few bills on the bed.
Anna duly observes the action and mentally counts the bills. Her hand withdraws from the red button.
The man looks at the inviting curve of Anna’s hips peeking from under the chair’s back and licks his dry lips. He checks his wallet and finds it almost empty. Groaning with disappointment, he gets out without a second glance.
Anna gets up, locks the door, and clicks the safety chain is in place. Picking up the soiled towel from the floor, she wipes herself down between the legs. Then, she picks up a cheap, disposable lighter, lights up a cigarette, and walks out on the balcony.
Anna examines the street below, oblivious to her naked body and the cheers from a few workers passing by. She is more interested in a couple. They are hurrying through the light, early afternoon rain, making splashes in the small pools of rainwater.
The couple looks married. The man is tall and is wearing a dark-colored overcoat. His female companion is also wearing a dark overcoat and is tightly clutching his arm. Suddenly, she slips in the water, but the man’s quick reflexes prevent her from falling. She looks up at him with a small, grateful smile. The couple walks on and vanishes around the corner.
Anna takes a deep drag on her cigarette and wishes she were the woman in the street, safe in the warm embrace of a man - her man.
The couple is still walking in the street, and the woman is still grasping the man’s arm. They walk on and enter a small pizza place. The man walks to the counter, while the woman removes her coat, and moves towards a small table in the corner. She adjusts the chair and examines her surroundings.
It is a small place with cheap furnishings and old movie posters on the walls. Only one other table is occupied - a tired-looking man, sitting with a small girl, five or maybe six years of age.
The woman eyes the child with interest. She is wearing a beige skirt and a red woolen cap, and is busy finishing her French fries, smeared with ketchup. She eats the last fry and wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘Let’s go, Father. I am full.’ She tells the man, who smiles, kisses her head, and gets up.
The woman smiles at the little girl and thinks of her two children. They were killed in a hit-and-run accident a few years ago. Her eyes start brimming with tears. But then, seeing her husband coming back, she composes herself and smiles at him.
The man and his daughter walk out on the dark street, him holding the little girl’s hand. She tries to jump into every puddle, sometimes splashing her father’s trousers. But he does not mind, and instead encourages her on with a smile.
The rain has stopped since long, and the sun is beginning to paint everything with a golden-yellow warmth.
The man and the child pass by a small playing area, where a few children are enjoying the coldness of the wet slides. They are laughing in their sodden clothes, and their giggles and laughter catch the fancy of the little girl. She drags her father towards the park. They stand outside the fence, holding hands.
A boy stands out from amongst the small crowd of playing children. Almost as old as the man’s daughter, he is trying to swing as high as possible. Suddenly, he loses his grip and falls. A woman runs up to him, picking him up and wiping his bloody nose.
‘Look, what you have done,’ she sounds scared.
The boy smiles from behind his tears, and his smile calms her down a bit.
Looking at the now vacant and oscillating swing, the little girl looks up at her father with pleading eyes.
‘No, some other day maybe.’ He denies her silent request softly.
He looks at the boy and his mother and envies their happiness. Then, he grabs the girl’s hand and they start walking again. They are getting late. She has cancer, and today is her appointment for the first dose of chemotherapy.
‘Keep your head tilted upwards. It will stop the bleeding.’ The worried mother instructs her son while they are hurrying home.
‘Don’t worry, Mom. I am fine. Look, the bleeding is almost stopped.’ The boy tells his mother cheerfully.
She examines his nose, and seeing the clotting blood on his upper lip, sighs with relief. They walk on and enter an old apartment building. The lobby and the staircase reek of stale piss and poverty.
They start climbing the stairs. The boy is happy and is hopping up the stairs two at a time. But the woman wishes the stairs would never end. She is thinking of her alcoholic and abusive husband, who is awaiting their return. She imagines him sitting in front of the TV, scratching his hairy belly, and thinking of some new means of torturing his wife.
The woman and the boy finally reach the door of an apartment on the second floor.
‘The door to my personal hell.’ The woman thinks apprehensively, shrugs her shoulders in frustration, and unlocks the door.
‘Back so soon?’ A deeply slurred and sarcastic voice echoes from inside the room.
‘Come here.’ The voice beckons, and the boy quickly runs to his room, scared to the core of his being of his drunk father.
The woman walks to where the man is sitting. She looks at the leather belt, with its heavy, steel buckle, clenched tightly in his hand. A cold shiver runs down her spine.
‘Please God, no.’ She silently prays, but God does not live in the houses of the poor.
The man gets up with a menacing grin. She bends her head with silent helplessness and turns to face the other way.
The man raises his arm, and the belt hits the woman just above her hips. The leather traces liquid fire across her back. She screams in pain, and the man’s smile widens with pleasure.
Once, twice, thrice, the woman loses count and stops screaming after five. Finally, the man is tired and sinks back into the sofa in a drunken stupor.
The woman collects herself and walks out on the balcony. She rests her bruised back against the cold, rain-soaked wall. Tears are streaming down her face.
She looks enviously at Anna, smoking on the adjacent balcony.
Shehryar khawar 