Page 84 of The Circle of Exile
“Take, carry him inside,” she began to pass him to her.
“No! He is so slippery, I’ll drop him.”
“Nothing will happen. Take him.”
Iram grabbed him tight between her hands and he let out a wail. She winced.
“Don’t strangle his chest. Loosen up.”
Iram tried but was scared his oily skin would slip. He went on howling.
“No, he is crying,” she returned him into Begumjaan’s waiting hands. Begumjaan gave her a glare — the Safiya Begum glare. Then got to her feet and walked inside the bathroom. Iram knew she had to learn how to massage her own son, bathe him,carryhim. But she was unable to. He cried. And she couldn't see that.
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In her bid to expand her daily chores slowly, and because doing a lot of direct work for Yathaarth wasn’t possible due to her limitations with him, Iram decided to go one step further in the kitchen. That evening, she not only chopped but also cooked.
Winter vegetables were ripe and she had asked for five bunches of spinach to be delivered. The sight of the lush, green leafy bunches had taken her back to Dal and Atharva’s bargain, to the swell of her stomach that had harboured two very active children. She tuned herself back to the present, deciding to replace that memory with a good one.
She washed the leaves, blanched them, pureed them. Shiva did not like it one bit. Yet he sat quietly on the kitchen table, peeling garlic to prep for the coming week. Iram worked and found her mood lifting. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time. Long hours passed where she was doing no thinking, just working. And then when thoughts arrived, they were all good. Like how this green gravy had turned out and what Atharva would say.
It had been two and a half years to their marriage and two fifty taunts by Atharva about her green gravy. After all this time, she finally had it cooked and ready for him.
She stirred the pot, fragrant with the green chillies, tomatoes, mint and fresh garlic. She went ahead and added sautéed vegetables, checking for salt.Perfect.
The sun was setting and the time for dinner was coming closer.
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“Where is Atharva?” Begumjaan asked, laying Yathaarth in his downstairs cot. He had multiple spots in the house for his resting, playing and naps. Iram couldn't help but preen and be grateful for how spoiled he was. As he grew, she knew Atharva and her would have to come to a better consensus about how to tone down the opulence, considering he would grow up as the son of a Chief Minister.
“Janab went to his office,” Shiva droned.
“Office?” Iram set the plate of salad on the table. “I thought he went up to shower when he came.”
“Office.”
“Go and call him,” Begumjaan ordered.
Iram began to set the table, taking trips to the kitchen to get all the food out.
“You look very happy,” Begumjaan smiled up at her, taking a seat at the table.
She grinned — “I am. I haven’t felt so good in a long time. Let’s hope it lasts.”
“Again?” Begumjaan scolded. “What did I say to you? Thinking is a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you think it will last, it will last. If you hope, then that’s 50-50.”
Iram nodded, taking a deep breath and letting it go. “It will last.”
“Good.”
Shiva came back, alone.
“Where is Janab?” She asked.
“He said he will come. You and Begumjaan shouldn’t wait for him. Start.”
“Is everything ok?”
