FICTION

During her school days, Mrs. Yasmin Barkaat wanted to be a Gynaecologist.

Since she was unable to fulfil her dream, she had been a housewife for the past twenty years. She was forty years old and had no children.

Her husband worked in a government veterinary hospital where they focused on treating horses and mules free of charge. His salary was enough to support their needs, providing them with a comfortable life. Because of his chubby build and round face, he had a look that made people call him fox-faced at first sight. His rough appearance gave a look like a person who bets on a bear fight. But it was a fact that he had never made his wife angry and never meddled in domestic affairs.

Mrs. Yasmin Barkaat had suffered from a chronic skin disease. Her hair was curly, brown and short. She was fairly thin, her frame delicate and her hands were as slim as a candle. She looked like those stern cold-faced women who so often played the role of mother in old Hollywood movies. She never paid much attention to her dress because she always had to stay at home. Days in and days out, she was surrounded by those same four walls, dragging herself around in her worn, rugged leather shoes. She used to write for women-oriented magazines but then she gave up that hobby because she felt that she could not be a good writer.

Now she had only one hobby.

After her husband left the house for work, she would talk to different men on the phone.

She was not disloyal, and she never met any man in private.

She was faithful to her husband. She put his needs above her own. Over the years, her monotonous life started exasperating her. She probably got into this hobby out of boredom.

She had a brief romantic relationship before her marriage. In general, such relationships involve only holding hands and kissing on the cheeks. And in her youth, she looked like an aunt to her friends. As a result, men showed little interest in her and treated her as if she were an elder.

Over the last few years, she has made some friends via phone calls. These friendships were usually short-lived. All of her phone friends would insist on meeting — at least once.  They demanded the same but she excused, leading to the end of their relationship. She was never disappointed and would go on to make new friends, which she fortunately did quickly.

Like a middle-aged woman, she was talkative and had a long list of topics to talk about. She had a treasure trove of trivial gossip. Though man would soon come to the point she, due to her experience, was able to keep them from abandoning her for a considerable period of time. She was not a good speaker and had never won a debate or speech competition at her school. Her voice was good, but not good enough to sing. She had never thought about singing. However, if a man insisted, she would croon an old movie song. She was very conscious of her accent and word choice while speaking on the phone. She would make pauses and speak softly. She spoke in an artificial tone like a newscaster.

She generally avoided discussing sex and emotions, preferring to keep the conversation light and impersonal. It was not that she lacked knowledge about these topics. She just did not want to get intimate with anyone. However, once in a while, a cunning man would trick her into talking about them for hours.

She would never reveal her true name to her addressee. She would only reveal her age after getting to know them a little better. She always pretended to be single but revealed her marriage to older men. She has already decided what she will do on such occasions: she will tell fake names and ages of her imaginary children. She had two imaginary children — a son and a daughter. Her son was in eighth grade, while her daughter had just finished primary school. She would tell that her husband worked abroad.

Married men would complain about their dysfunctional matrimonial relations. They would try to show how badly they needed a good partner. She could recognize older men with their voices. Those men would brag to her about their wealth and happy lives. They would also describe their excellent physical fitness, healthy diet and active routine in detail. They were all looking for a well-mannered, open-minded woman like her.

Her friendships with boys were shorter than with men because boys were hasty. They were unfamiliar with the concept of patience. Some boys would insist on taking her out on the first call. Sometimes a boy would threaten to stop talking to her if she did not go out with him. He would act as if he were the most attractive man on the planet, and she would regret losing him. Men would often ask questions about her bodily features. They were particularly curious about the size of her brassiere.

Some men would describe themselves as the loneliest and the most depressed person in the world. They would claim that they are ready to commit suicide that nothing in the world interests them, and that no one loves them.  They would cry and beg for her sympathy because she was their only saviour.

Some spoke like philosophers, while others were political and social analysts. She also had a poet friend, but she stopped talking to him because he was constantly reciting his poetry over the phone, and she had no interest in poetry. She did not even ask about his age or whereabouts.

She would occasionally become bored and avoid using the phone. On such occasions, she would turn off the phone’s bell. She aspired to play the piano but felt her tunes lacked artistic beats.

Among those phone friends was Muraad, who was her youngest and oldest friend. They never grew tired of each other after two years of contact. Muraad — a twenty-year-old student — was studying a subject that could lead to a job in a company mining minerals under the sea. He spoke softly and was a good hockey player. His father had died, and his mother ran a private hostel.

At the beginning of their friendship, Yasmin Barkaat told him that her name was Sara and that she was eighteen years old.  For Muraad, she worked as a proofreader for a weekly magazine and, was studying in an evening college. He used to call her every Saturday at noon. For the past two years, it was their routine. They never skipped a Saturday.

That’s how she learnt about his habits, schedule, and the names of his friends. She knew that he was weak in math during the early days of school. She knew that he could not hear properly from his left ear during the harsh winter, that he had never kissed a girl, and that he cried for days after his father died. She knew that he liked boating with a life jacket on. She knew that he had never consumed any kind of drugs, that he always slept early at night, that he went to the mosque for Friday prayer once a month and, that he was curious about Indian gypsies.

One day, she asked him what his favourite and least favourite things were. Without thinking for a single moment, he replied:

“I hate bullfighting very much and I do not consider it a sport.”

And,

“I like girls with dark, black hair.”

Immediately after that, he asked her a question.

“What is the colour of your hair, Sara?”

“Totally black, just like my eyes,” she replied.

“I am glad to know this. We can surely be good friends.”

As time passed, Mrs. Yasmin developed feelings for him.

The spirit of motherhood dominated her feelings for him. She would pay close attention to him and be genuinely interested in everything he said. During his exams, she would advise him to study carefully and anxiously await his results. She would always pray for him after saying the evening prayers. Every time he got sick, she would get upset and insist on taking medication regularly. She even offered him financial help many times.

Although she considered talking on the phone with strangers to be merely a pastime, Mrs. Yasmin developed an addiction to talking to him. She felt a special kind of sensation while thinking about him. She even felt compelled to tell her husband everything about him under the influence of this sensation. She wanted to tell her husband every detail about him, such as how good his character is, how unique he is, and how good his memory is.But it was not an easy task to do. Even though her husband had never doubted her, she lacked the courage to tell him.

When she was lonely, she would think of his sparkling eyes and ever-increasing height.  She could imagine his washed shirts and polished shoes. If she happened to wake up at night, she would pretend Muraad was sleeping next to her. She would imagine that his blanket had fallen and cover him with it.

After finishing his education, Muraad found his dream job that met his expectations. He called her for the first time other than on Saturday to break the news.  Mrs. Yasmin’s rapture knew no bounds. She was flying like a feather. She prayed for more success for him and wished him luck. Muraad told her that he had not even told his mother, and she was the first person he had talked to about it. In his excitement, he kissed Mrs. Yasmin over the phone.

Muraad called her on Saturday, as usual. He was a different and confident person that day. Without saying anything else, he began asking: “My dear Sara, will you marry me?” His voice was tender and confident.

Mrs. Yasmin bewildered. She could not believe her ears.

“You are not only my first and last friend, but also my last love. With me, you can leave your proofreading job and pursue your education. Surely, you would enjoy sea travel. I am desperately waiting for the moment when I will kiss you on the ship’s deck under the full moon. It will be the happiest moment in my life.”

Mrs. Yasmin tried to say something, but her lips did not cooperate and words stuck in her throat.

He continued speaking.

“My baby girl, my sweet little friend, you will surely look like a fairy in your wedding dress.”

Mrs. Yasmin struggled to gather her courage and only said this in a very low voice: “But…”

He was not in the mood to listen to her. He was overcome with excitement.

“Oh, how fortunate I am! I have been waiting for this moment my entire life. I have told my mother everything about you. I have told her how much I love and care about you. She will be happy to meet you.”

Mrs. Yasmin found the situation unbearable. Before things got out of hand, she abruptly spoke in a loud voice, “But…I can’t do this!”

Muraad could not feel the change in her tone because of his enthusiasm.

“You have nothing to be concerned about. Everything is working in our favour. You have no reason for not marrying me.”

 Mrs. Yasmin’s brain clogged. She had not expected this. She appeared to have lost both her words and her speaking ability. Her feet were getting cold, and she had turned into a snow-covered mountain. She wanted to cry, but tears started falling inside her body rather than coming out. She was numb. Her throat bunged up with entangled words. She feared that if she did not speak now, she would explode into a thousand pieces.

“Listen, Muraad, I lied to you,” she yelled abruptly, “My hair is not dark black.”

She broke down into uncontrollable sobs.

….

(Translated from Urdu by Rehan Islam)

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