Page 89 of The Circle of Exile
“Keep it down! Begumjaan must have gone up to sleep!”
“Give me my green gravy!”
She turned and slapped a hand over his mouth. “Let’s pray that Arth does not inherit the tantrum gene.”
“Shall I remind you of your pregnancy tantrums…?” He stopped short, as if wary of the words that had left his mouth. Iram picked up right where he had left off — “You want a repeat telecast?”
As if recharged, he went on. “I would like it with my green gravy.”
And they traded barbs as she switched on the kitchen lights, brought out his green gravy and reheated it. Without the chillies this time. Their banter kept its pace, lighting up their dinner time — this time relished. And Iram thought to herself — this was good. This was already good.
18. Healing came, it came in many forms, and it came at its own pace…
Healing came, it came in many forms, and it came at its own pace. She knew this in theory. But when it came to everyday struggles with healing, she had to work doubly hard to convince herself that. Especially in those weak, miserable moments when nothing sounded convincing enough. Not even Atharva’s ‘I am here.’
Iram glanced at him, a magnanimous figure — both in size and stature, sitting beside her in the car as it sped down to Dr. Baig’s nursing home. Srinagar behind him was a blur of day-to-day activity. But now she could see the heavy wireframe of military structure that held it up. Some would like it, some wouldn’t. But the truth was, that for better or for worse, the man sitting beside her was responsible for it all, and more. And he was healing with all of this going on behind him. Iram respected Atharva. She had respected him ever since he had offered her his hand under the cart. That respect had only multiplied as years had passed and she had gotten to know him, his scars, his struggles.
Now, as she herself was in a struggle of her own, she identified his. She had all the luxuries of the cocoon he had created for her to heal inside. He did it while fighting the world outside.
Two steps forward, one step backward. That was healing for them right now. But that balance of one step forward was their win. Hers, his, andtheirs.
“What are you thinking?” He asked, eyes on the iPad in his hand. Iram smiled. He always knew when her eyes were on him.
“That your glasses look…” she trailed purposefully.
That got her his eyes, and his full attention.
“Look?”
She drew her brows together — “Dirty, Atharva. Dirty. What did you think?”
He smirked. She looked away, horrified that she could feel the flush rise up to her face even after all this time, and even in this state.
“We are here, sir.”
Those four standard words of Altaf brought her face back. Atharva’s was buried in his iPad, signing away with his pencil even as their car rounded in the nursing home’s atrium. As usual, it had been completely cleared for them. Sanitised. Now Iram realised that the upgrade in security wasn’t because of her but because of the situation in the valley. She got down from her side, her hand automatically reaching out for the car seat which wasn’t there. They had left Yathaarth at home because this appointment was for her. But in that one reflex, Iram felt a thrill course up and down her spine. Suddenly, she realised that she had begun to see her son as an extension of her outside and not inside her body.
That was progress, wasn’t it?
“Iram?”
“Hmm?”
“Come.”
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“Everything looks good for us,” Dr. Baig sat down on the single couch seat. Iram lowered herself beside Atharva on the longer one, closer than she had sat last time. That closing of the distance and his warmth itself was a testament to the progress of the last few days. She smiled, feeling thrilled at her body healing and bringing her mind up to speed.
“How do you feel, Iram?” Dr. Baig inquired, even though she had asked her this exact same question in her examination room and they had shared a deep, insightful conversation. Iram opened her mouth to remind her of the same, then realised it. Dr. Baig was asking her again in front ofAtharva.
She let her breath come and go, then nodded — “I feel better than I did last time. It’s not completely gone… but I feel like myself on multiple occasions in a day. Which is saying something.”
“That’s good to know,” she set her reports down on the coffee table in front of her. “Now, at this stage, I would usually recommend a counsellor or a therapist as per my patient’s wish. But you mentioned your experience with them during an accident a few years ago.”
Iram nodded.
“You don’t have much faith in one. And even though I have some excellent references, I don’t believe in pushing my patients.”
