Page 186 of The Circle of Exile
Iram went to the gramophone, randomly pulled out a record from the open cabinet she had meticulously filed in order of colours, and pulled the vinyl out. She had also placed his Bhagwad Gita on this shelf — a talisman, a memory, a book that had tied them before love or Hayat or Yathaarth ever had. He had not picked that up either. She knew it. The edges were not parallel to the edges of the table, unlike his military precision placements.
Iram moved her eyes to the black vinyl in her hand, looking muted under the watery light of the day. Having seen Atharva do this tens of hundreds of times, she cleaned the shiny black surface with her cotton kurti’s hem under the shawl and placed it gently on the gramophone. She lifted the stylus with the pin on it, placed it atop the vinyl and turned the dial up.
Sansar se bhaage phirte ho… bhagwan ko tum kya paaoge…
She saw Atharva’s shoulders tense. Before he could react, though, Iram plucked Yathaarth from his lap and settled on the old settee in front of him, reaching for the breakfast which was now lukewarm.
“Aaa…” she cued to her son. But he was transfixed on the melancholic grandfather music crinkling from the gramophone. His mouth opened in awe and she stuffed the bite in. He chewed with his gummy lips, riveted by the music.
“Your son finds fascination in the exact same things as you do,” Iram remarked, finding it easier and easier to feed her son his most disliked breakfast. “Other kids need TV or iPads, and your son is happy looking out the window, and now at your grandfather music.”
“Take it downstairs for his meals then,” Atharva muttered distractedly. “Did Daniyal leave for college?”
“Yes. His first month’s attendance report reached Sarah. She is shocked that it’s 100%.”
Atharva’s mouth quirked up, eyes on the paper. Iram knew it wasn't his most wholesome smile but she made do with the breadcrumbs. She herself was only able to give breadcrumbs to herself, even though she brought the whole pie for the rest of the house.
“Did you speak to Qureshi again?”
“After Daniyal’s admission day? No.”
“How is he ok with Daniyal living with us and being like this? On one side, he is elongating your case and fuelling the media trial, on the other, he is leaving his son with you.”
“He doesn’t have a choice in the latter.”
Which was true. Daniyal had refused to return home. Sarah had come, pleaded, even cried. He had refused to go. She had tried to convince him to go to his Nani’s house a few blocks away. He had instead asked to be allowed to live in Atharva’s outhouse on his own or rent out a flat in town.
At that point, Atharva had intervened and offered that Daniyal continue to live in the room he had been inhabiting since they had set foot in this bungalow. Qureshi had been livid. Iram didn’t know till date what Atharva had spoken to him about on that phone call. Not that Atharva hid it from her. But his mood had been so morose, she had never asked. Never brought it up again. Anyway he went through every day like it was a punishment.
After all, this was exile. Even if spent in a glass observatory with weather created in romantic books of yore and sceneries painted in ancient Indian portraits — this was exile. Banishment. A man without a mission. Moreover, a man without a purpose.
The song switched to an upbeat number.
Jiyara… kahe tarsaaye…
Yathaarth’s face perked up. She fed him another spoonful and observed Atharva, searching for some spark of bonding with this part of his life’s history, some feeling of joy on his face. Nothing. He was flipping the paper and folding it to continue reading.
“Let’s go out for coffee today,” she proposed.
“I won’t have any, but we’ll go if you want to.”
“Atharva.”
“I cancelled breakfast too, Iram. I am still too full from last night.”
“You didn’t even finish your rajma…”
“I am having bad bouts of acidity nowadays.”
Her nostrils flared. She knew why he was getting acidity.
“Alright, then don’t have coffee. We will go out for a walk, stop at a cafe to sit. I’ll have coffee, you and Arth can look out at thetees,then we will go to Mall Road to see bathroom mats. Our bathroom floor is very slippery…”
He had still not looked up.
“Atharva?”
“Hmm?”
