Page 213 of The Circle of Exile
“Let’s go now, are you writing a novel or what?”
“Done,” he finished and tucked the pen inside the book, hoping it wouldn’t roll out with the groceries she would stuff in. “All buckled up?” Atharva turned his head over his shoulder.
“Yes!” Iram pumped her fist in the air and the mini-me behind her held both fists up — “Ess!”
It had become their war cry nowadays.
“Music.”
Iram scrolled down her mobile and hit play. Nowadays she openly ran theft on his playlists in the guise of putting Yathaarth to ‘sleep.’
Suno sajna, papihe ne…
He started the car, depressed the handbrake and they set off with a collective holler.
It was a weekday, between tourist seasons, and he had the privilege of taking his family out. Atharva valued it more and more with every kilometre that their car ate up and with every round of claps and happy banter that flowed.
“Dilbaro, who is the best — Mama or Baba?” Iram asked for the umpteenth time.
“Besss!” Yathaarth chose with a grin, like he did every single time.
“He is such a diplomat,” Atharva shook his head.
“Just like his father.”
“I am not a diplomat.”
“Oh, you are when you want to be.”
“So specify that, I am versatile and fluid. I can be very curt with my opinions.”
“And then you went and became a politician.”
He laughed at how easily that word again flowed between them. At one point in the last year, even saying words like ‘politician’ and ‘CM’ around him had become taboo for the people in his circle.
“Now I am a party worker again, myani zuv.”
“Zuv zuv!”
“Yes, baby?” Iram turned.
“Mama,” his low voice mumbled.
Atharva slowed the car. “Did he just say Mama?”
Iram turned fully in her seat, her seatbelt pushing off. “Arth, Mama? Ma-ma?”
“Mamaa!” He giggled.
“Turn around, see if he calls you,” Atharva eyed the scene play out in his rear-view. Iram turned. Yathaarth pouted his mouth. Then strained in his belts to reach for her. “SZuvzuv!”
“Yes, baby?”
“Zuzz…”
“Don’t answer.”
“Zuvzuv… zuuu… Mama!”
