His voice felt like a breeze in the burning desert. Like a shelter in the sweltering summer.
“Were you sleeping?”
“Okay we’ll talk tomorrow.”
There are certain things to tell you. I thought.
I hung up.
Heck! Seems as if my feet are on the hot frying pan. The weather has been changed girl! I reminded myself. You can’t go to bed with the socks on… even nights are getting warm. If the sun shone like that for a few more days, I’ll have to start fan.
I took off the socks.
Rain! Rain! Rain! I want rain.
“What weather you like?”
An interviewer’s voice rang in my ears.
“Because I like rain.”
Last monsoon had been dry here. This spring too has been relatively dry. Hopefully it isn’t alarming. There won’t be any drought or famine. Allah is kind to us. People are cruel. They kill each other with bombs.
I got terrified… and my grip tightened around the cell phone. I was still holding it. The silver, metal body getting warm in my sweaty hand.
“Go back to sleep!”
“Mom?!…did I hear you?”
Chanda mama dur ke
Bade pakain boor ke
Aap khaina thali main
Munay ko dain piyali main
Piyali gai toot
Chanda ma gaye rooth
Piyali aye aur
Chanda ma aaye dor!
“Go back to sleep…” She patted on my shoulder.
“How is your wrist now? Is it still painful?”
“There is no pain where I am.”
“Then why do I feel so much pain?”
The question remained unanswered… I had gone back to sleep.
(At times I like being repetitive)
Note: Painting by Faiqaz