Black And White

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 24; the Twenty-Fourth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton. The theme for this month is BLACK AND WHITE.

Noor stopped the car in front of a house. The blue sky was engulfed with black, when the darkness upped to the last notch. The cold December wind of Hyderabad made his tress flip across his forehead but they could not make his tired eyes blink even for once. He had a long day. He pulled the edges of his shirt together to stop the bitter wind from abrading his chest.

With a trembling hand he tried to rotate the window crank but his fingers would slip, driving a sharp pain through his thumb. He tried again and managed to roll the window up.

As the window inched up, he could feel the screams of his conscious stoop into a distant murmur, and finally into an endless crevice of silence. He could no longer hear the lampooning of his soul.

All that he could hear now, was the beautiful rhythm of his breath, the sonata of his heartbeat and the symphony of his pulse, which he never heard before.
As the wind had stopped, he loosened the grip on his shirt and leaned his head on the window pane and stared endlessly in the dark outside. His warm breath spread tiny droplets on the cold glass which would disappear by the next breath.

His colorful life had turned black and white and then grey;

He was now an escaped convict!

He thought about his tangled present, his future, now left in the lurch... his muddled and tired life...the treadmill of work... the suppressed feelings... his mediocre existence... his dreams, which were hoisted on a bier. There was now a stone, where once there was a heart.

 The endless plains of silence reminded him of times he thought he never had- Of the warmth of his mother’s lap when he returned after a long day of play...Of the tickling of red velvet mites in his palm who ventured out in his veranda after a brief rain...Of the absolute peace when he bowed down in prostration... Of the long roll down the hill on his by-cycle with friends... Of the animated celebration when he cut a kite on his terrace... Of the deliberate, long, senseless talks with his sister when she massaged his hair with warm oil... Of the inside secrets of his friends which he guarded in his heart... Of the smile he would cover with a book when Samina looked at him from the first bench... Of the softness in his wife’s bosom.

He wanted to be here forever in the company of these peaceful memories, which otherwise would never visit him outside that closed window of his car. He found a new adoration to stay in that moment forever. He wanted to choose happiness…eternal happiness.

In a caprice, he pulled out his pistol which was tugged at the back of his trousers and placed it over his temple with the same ease he kissed his mother’s forehead. 

Never before he felt this liberated.

Some moments later, car’s door opened and Samina decked up in fine jewellery and a beautiful dress, came in and sat on the other seat.

“Noor! I just can’t believe you have been sleeping through those valuable minutes when your wife of only eleven days has been getting ready for a party. How unromantic !”, she cribbed and looked around, “and for God’s sake can you please roll down the windows unless you don’t plan to suffocate me?”

Noor looked confused for some time. Then he smiled!

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The Other Day

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 21; the twenty-first edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

There is something enigmatically captivating about an exact date. You know where to stop the wheel of time.

17^TH September 1948, Hyderabad State:

                                                                                                                                     

By the morning hours, 1^st Armoured regiment of the Indian army entered Bidar. Tanks and heavy armoured vehicles rolled into the Hyderabad state. Meanwhile, the Indian forces had taken Zahirabad, Latur, Jalna and Osmanabad. Commanding officer Maj. Gen. Joyanto Nath Chaudhuri was tasked with capturing the city of Vijaywada . 3/11 Gurkha Rifles and a squadron of 6^th Cavalry attacked the towns from the eastern side. At the town of Aurangabad, air strikes by Hawker Tempest Aircrafts which took off from the Poona Air Base, cleared most of the Hyderabadi defences. A civilian car was also hit on the highway. The Assault force from the west side was slowed down by anti-tank ditch and later came under heavy fire from 5^th Lancer brigade of Maj. Gen. El Edroos of Hyderabad forces. Later during the day, 6^th Golconda Battalion gave a token resistance to the Indian forces before surrendering. Naldurg fort on the Solapur-Hyderabad highway was now under the command of Punjab Infantry Unit. The Razakars adding a force of 2,00,000 rebels to Gen. El Edroos’s army suffered heavy casualties in the week-long war with the Indian Army. The rebellion was crushed. Over 1000 Razakars killed, 3500 captured. The Nizam’s defeat was now imminent.

2 Years and 3 Months Earlier- 19^th July 1946, Osmania University, Hyderabad:

A crowd of about 200 ecstatic students cheered Noor Jah Bahadur as he recited his Urdu poetry on the dais. His friends clapped and whistled as he meted out one prose after another. It was the culmination of their Graduation ceremony. Young and handsome Noor in his sherwani was the life of all gatherings. His friends loved him and envied his lifestyle. His father Niyamath Jah Bahadur ran a successful transport business. His trucks brought imported goods from the ports of Madras for the Royal family. On Noor’s 20^th birthday his father gifted him a red Chevrolet Impala. Girls gaped at him. His witty and malicious poetry often filled the air with energy. Noor was happy but anxious today. Though the auditorium was studded with other pretty girls, Noor’s eyes kept fishing for Amina. She was the muse of his poetry. Last year during the formal introductions with the seniors Amina had captivated Noor’s heart. They were very good friends since then. And today after the party, Noor planned to ask her hand for marriage. After Noor bid goodbyes to his friends, at the huge dome shaped gates of Arts College, Noor offered Amina to drop her home. Amina blushed and looked at her friends as if for acknowledgement. They giggled and acceded. She covered her head with her dupatta. Noor held the door open for her and she got into the shining long beauty. Her friends oooh’ed! They drove around the beautiful city. The cool evening breeze carried the fragrance from the infinite flowers from the gardens and filled the streets with a magical aura. Noor’s heart was filled with love. They stopped by the Hussain Sagar lake. Noor could no longer hold back the words he always dreamt saying to Amina. He turned to Amina, gathered his courage and asked her permission to talk to her parents. She blushed and held her head down. The moon bathe them in a luscious aroma. Noor wanted to seal this perfect moment with a stellar display of his love for her. He held her face in his warm hands and drew her close to him. Amina closed her eyes as Noor felt his lips touched her petals which were made in heaven!

The wedding date was fixed as soon as Noor would return from Lahore after participating in a Mushaira. Three months later on 25^th October 1946 they got married. The wedding was remembered by Hyderabad for many years to come. Soon they were blessed with a baby girl. They named her Sabah. She was sweetmess itself! Noor and Amina had every thing one would ever wish for. Every evening, Noor would take Amina and Saba to the Safdar Bagh, a sprawling and huge garden near their home. He loved this place because his daughter loved to play with the ducks near the pond. Noor loved to watch her play. For him, it was the most soothing sight after the sight of Kaabah! Saba would play till the mosque near the garden would call the believers for evening prayers. They came here everyday and watched Saba play. There was never a day he missed.

17^th September 1948:

Indian government, led by Sardar Patel was bent on flushing away the newly acquired Hyderabad state of its Rebels and the people who helped the Nizam Royal family. They feared that the millitia Razakars led by Qasim Razwi were re-grouping for a future war with India. Hyderabad was now as an ulcer in the heart of India. Surgical raids were being carried out on the suspected Razakars. Niyamath Jah Bahadur was alerted of a possible raid on their house very soon. He summoned Noor to take his family and leave for Aurangabad where they could stay with his uncle then return back to Hyderabad when the situation is back to normal. Noor wanted Amina to take little Saba and leave immediately with a confidant and he would join them in a couple of days. But Amina and his daughter never reached Aurangabad.

7^th March 2011:

The other day, I was sitting on the bench by the canteen after an evening jog around the girth of Safdar Bagh. There was a small commotion near the tree by the pound. I went over to see what was happening. An old man leant motionless by the tree. I took a close look at his face. He had grey hair and a stubble on his face. His eyes, still open, left a deep trail down his wrinkled cheeks. He was thin and wore a dusty grey sherwani. Someone in the crowd sighed an Arabic verse. Another one mumbled how this old man would come every evening and sit for hours staring at the pond till the sun would fade away behind the trees. An old and dusty book lay beside him. I picked it up and turned the black cover. An old and ambiguous picture of what looked like a woman and a child was tugged between the brittle brown pages. I tried to read what was written on that page in urdu. It stated with-

19^th JULY 1946, OSMANIA UNIVERSITY, HYDERABAD………

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Journey

This post has been published by me as a part of the Blog-a-Ton 19; the nineteenth edition of the online marathon of Bloggers; where we decide and we write. To be part of the next edition, visit and start following Blog-a-Ton.

In my four years as a civil engineer, I was involved in building many buildings, roads, flyovers, pavements and walls across the city of Riyadh. One particular project or a journey which still lingers in my mind was a stretch of an 8 kilometer tar road I designed for my previous company which contracted in government constructions. That happened to be my first assignment as a fresh engineer at the start of my engineering career in The Kingdom.

With oil prices rising and investors eying a new territory for trade and investments, The Kingdom saw its treasury swollen with petro-dollars. Suddenly there was a burst of activity and development throughout its length and breadth. The Kingdom had also grown arrogant and ambitious with its wealth (and of course military support from America). It started pushing its borders into the neighboring Yamen.

As was the norm, a new and less experienced engineer would be assigned a tough region initially. My project manager Loai Odeh was a fine and polished man from Jordan. He was thin and weak looking yet an efficient manager. “Numan Ahmed”, he called me on my first day in office. I sprung from my chair which was placed a few feet from his cabin. “Sir!”, I replied in a sharp and enthusiastic voice at entering his office. There were charts and drawings depicting the outlines of buildings and roads all over his walls. “Please sit down”, he said pulling out white sheets rolled and tugged in a corner. He then spread the sheets on his table and pointed to a small yellow line which stood out from the rest of black and white lines. “There is an incomplete patch of road we need to design and build to connect Sharurah and Najran”, he said moving his finger over the yellow line. The man in his room looked up from his pile of charts and gave a half smile to me and went back to his work. I could not understand this gesture of him. Mr Loai continued, “ You will travel to Najran tomorrow. Start early so that you reach there by evening. You will meet our team there. Next day start for the site, its about two hours drive from Najran. Prepare yourself for a month, it should be enough. Co-ordinate with Shaafi from the implementation department for further instructions”. I nodded taking the charts and a file from him. That evening I studied the details of chart and consulted the map of Saudi Arabia. Najran was at the extreme south of The Kingdom and there was Sharurah, a little hamlet east of Najran, at the edge of Saudi Arabia!

The next day I started traveling ,eager for adventures, loaded with excitement and a gush of positive energy. That evening I met Nasir, a Pathan from Pakistan in Najran. A humble man in early thirties. He was leading a team our company had stationed for works in the south region. The next morning I left for the site inspection along with Nasir. As we left the town of Najran, a few kilometers down we were stopped at a checkpoint by an army man. “Salaamalaikum”, Nasir said rolling down the window on his side. “ruksaa istimaara(driving license and vehicle papers)” , asked the army man adjusting his sun glasses. Nasir quickly pulled out a few papers from the pocket and gave it to him. He examined the papers for a while and asked for my igama or the residence permit. After a while he signaled us to go. “Did you see engineer sahab ? They have put a lot of army here. They are looking for the Yameni trouble-makers. I have been living in this area since seven years. This area beyond Najran was lopped off from Yamen . Sharurah was in Yamen just two years ago and now they want to build a road so that the army can patrol the border”, he explained .

“So I am here to shape the contours of a kingdom, huh”, I joked.

An hour into our drive, I saw the road was beginning to wear-off. There were occasional pits which Nasir negotiated carefully. The weather outside was hot and dusty.

Golden domes of sand started to appear on the right side of the road. On the left ran a rough patch of hilly land. This was something I had not seen before in India. Few miles ahead, we could see a few large trucks parked in the middle of the road with a ‘work in progress’ sign board in Arabic planted carefully on the ground. We had reached the point from where I was supposed to propose a design for a road which would lead up-to Sharurah. We got down after stopping our car one the right side of the road. It was very noisy outside. Warm air blew the dust across the landscape. Nasir walked up to the men who were working their way in a large rock with heavy drilling machines. A mammoth shove was ready to transfer the debris into a truck and then taken away from the site. I followed Nasir with my bag and a water bottle. After Nasir had spoken to the workers for some time, he signaled me to come over. I crossed the place where the trucks were lined and had a better view of the surroundings. It was relatively plain beyond that point with a few small rocks on the left side and a continuous sea of fine sand on the right. For a moment I thought why would anybody need an engineer here at the first place. The workers could pull a road in which ever direction they pleased. The workers halted their machines as I pulled out my compass and the computer generated drawings from my bag. “muhandes (engineer)!” a worker called out in Arabic. I sense of authority and pride filled me. Now the future of this road would be conceived by ME! ‘I would rather name this road after me or my father’ I made a mental joke. After studying the terrain and the compass , I declared,” Nasir get your team ready tomorrow. We will cut through the land in this direction!”

It was about night when we reached back to Najran. Our accommodation was put up in a villa shared by Naser and his team. A fairly large room on the first floor was occupied by me. The cruel heat of the desert and long journey had made me fatigued.

The next morning we reached the site around 10am. After giving instructions to the team about the measurements and radius of curvatures which needed to be maintained , I decided to go a few kilometers down the unevenly cut track to check the terrain and gather some more details about the place. After walking a few kilometers, I sat down on a rock and took a sip from my bottle. ‘nothing like a sip of cold water in a desert’ I gasped. Few moments later I got up, hurled myself on a bigger rock and looked around. To my surprise I saw a few abandoned mud houses and a few trees which stood quite oddly in that rather godforsaken place. On a little distance, there was an odd patch of vegetation. A few paces later I found myself at a small boundary wall of unevenly cut stones and clay. The wall ran around the vegetated area in a square form. I could not resist but have a look beyond the wall. A pictures tic house of stones and clay stood neatly in the center. A small door opened into this large backyard. Trees of even sizes covered the large open area on one side till they kissed the boundary wall. They were green and fruit bearing. A small water pond lay in the center which shone like a million stars as the sun’s rays fondled its surface. On the other side was a shed with tens of white fur stuffed goats ramped in a couple of neat rows. The cattle looked well fed and clean. Birds of different colors and voices sat supine around the shed. An old and rusted Toyota with a wagon attached at its back, lay in one corner covered with a large quilt. I could look at this canvas for hours even in this agonizing sun!

A movement near the trees not far from me disturbed my intoxicated gaze at the house. What my eyes rested on next, became the helm of my ongoing dream. A halcyon pair of turquoise eyes which had blueness of the Red sea and the Arabian sea combined, shone from behind a flow of raven-black kiss curl which dangled on her cheek. I think it took me eternal moments to snap the bond which held our gazes together and wondered what the nature had produced right in this barren land soaked in blankets of ruthless sun and sand. Infact , the nature had made up by gifting a pearl drenched skin to her. Youth had just kissed her body after patting away the childhood. A long gown which had embraced the colors of earth, wrapped itself to a body chisteled by the angels themselves. She then turned towards the house and started walking. I watched her till she disappeared behind the door.

Machines roared and rumbled , back at the starting point of the road. The huge machines inched their way through the rocky earth. That night I could hardly sleep. An insane urge to see her again kept me restless the whole night. Next day I hurried myself through the briefing at the machines. The designs and drawings were thoroughly explained to the team. The patch of next 3 kilometers was to be ready for laying the tar by the day-end. I walked to the house with impatence and praying to get a glimpse of her again. The canvas looked more beautiful than before. And there she was! She stood near a tree holding a basket which contained fruits. The sun splashed her face with the stars from the pond. She looked at me in surprise. Her eyebrows came closer to each other. She sheepishly took a few steps towards me. I rested my palms on the boundary wall and smiled at her. She stood there for a while and what seemed like a lifetime of happiness to me, she smiled back! New to this country and its language, I cursed myself for not be able to speak a few words with her. But I was adamant to start a conversation. “Numan Ahmed”, I pointed my finger towards myself. She smiled again , this time a chuckle escaped her lips which curled as the rose petals. “Ra’fiah”, she said in a voice which sank in the deepest vaults of my heart. ‘this is working!’ I thought. “India, Hindi”, I pointed towards my chest then pointed to her. “Yeeh’mn”, she said sweetly. Suddenly Yamen was my favorite pace, its people the best and I even considered settling in Yamen. Discarding the fact that I could not understand her language, she continued talking for some more time. Nevertheless I listened to her with a concentration I never knew existed in me.

In the following weeks I saw my interest increased twofold in this ‘project’. Each day I would dash through the team briefings and religiously wait for Rafia at her wall. What I could gather from her long talks is that she was living with her ammi and ba’bah or father. There dint seem to be any sign of an elder brother or a random uncle(that quite made me feel easy). Her father would sell the fruits they grew in their garden and milk from her house in the near-by village of Sharurah. She seemed very happy and content with her life and the little ‘world’ they had decorated themselves. One day as I stood at her wall and she brought an orange from her little farm. It was not the sweetest I had eaten but it dint matter to me. Rafia liked to talk and I more than loved to listen to her. She would swing her hands across when she tried hard to explain something to me. I would simply smile and nod although I never understood much anyway. Sometimes she offered gha’wah a traditional Arabian tea. The first sip would make me cringe but she would laugh and pour some home-honey in my cup from an earthen pitcher. At the end of three weeks, she had grown found of me and I had successfully conveyed to her that I was an engineer and was here to build a road. She was elated to know that there will be a good road to the village as her father’s ta’hyotah would often get stuck in the sand and he had to return late in the night after pulling out the vehicle from the sand. I had also decided to shift permanently in this region.’ I will speak to Mr Loai .He will be more than willing to keep me here in this region’ I beamed. One month was nearing its end and the work was going at a fast pace. Occasionally we could hear the shuttering of the machines from Rafia’s house. But we were too engrossed in each other. Final few kilometers of the road were left now. Nasir’s team had all the rocks and the abandoned houses removed from its way, as was mentioned in the design of the road.

A couple of days before I was due to leave for Riyadh, Nasir walked in my room. “Engineer sahab, the implementation department needs the drawings for the last stretch of the road”, he said. “I am still working on it Nasir, they will be completed by tomorrow morning, I will sit through the night and hand it over to you before you leave with your team. I will join you in the afternoon”. “very well sir”, he said and left. That night I worked on the drawings and the elevation of the road. I was to leave the day after. That afternoon I reached the site at 1pm. I enquired about the progress with my team and started walking to Rafia’s house. That day I was feeling uneasy for some reason unknown to me. I brushed aside the thoughts. ‘I am going back but will be here for always. A little distance would make Rafia long for me even more’ I smiled naughtily. When I reached Rafia’s house, she took a little longer time than usual to come outside. After some time she came out. She was looking as radiant as ever. But she seemed a little worried. She tried to explain something to me. I watched her hands fly all over and I mocked her. For a long time she tried to explain the same thing and pointed towards the machines. For a while I tried to figure out what she was trying to say but gave up after some time casually. She ceased to explain to me and let out a helpless cold breadth. I comforted her by explaining every thing will be fine and will be back very soon. She slowly turned back and walked towards a basket. She removed an earthen pot of honey from inside and gave it to me. That day she spoke very less but kept staring at me. It was time to take leave. We said our goodbyes and she stood there and smiled one last time. I promised myself to be back within a week.

Back in Riyadh, I was getting restless with each day that passed. I could not concentrate on the report I had to prepare of the job completed back in Najran. I had taken permission for continuing in the same region. As expected my manager willingly awarded my request. 8 days passed and I could not complete the report. Something wrong was going on inside me. No, it was not the emptiness I would feel without Rafia, a genuine worry had taken over me. Something which I overlooked, some grave mistake had been done. That night I lay on my bed and stared hard into the endless dark. The worried face of Rafia wouldn’t spare my mind even for a second. ‘what was she trying to say that afternoon?’ and I closed my eyes tightly. Suddenly , my eyes opened with a horrified expression. ‘the charts!’ “oh, the charts!” I cried to myself. I swung out of my bed and rushed to the table. I spread the copy of the drawings which I had given to Nasir the last day. I took out the actual pictures of the site and overlapped my drawings on it, all the while praying for this to be a nightmare which I would forget with a little time. A ghastly shiver ran down my body. I felt as if I was stuck by a thunderbolt. The course of my road ran rite through the center of Rafia’s house!

The clock showed 2 in the night. I quickly rang Nasir but he wouldn’t receive the call. Not knowing what to do, I picked up my bag and rushed to my car. I sat inside the car for a long time. My head was too clouded to think anything. Najran was 1300 kilometers from Riyadh. I tried desperately to talk to Nasir, but no joy. In a rage ,I started the car and was soon on my way to Najran. On the way I could speak to him. On enquiring about the house , he said that the occupants of the house were informed to vacate the place the same day I had handed over the drawings to him. Four days later, the house was brought down! By the time I neared Rafia’s house, the sun had started giving up its radiance. A grave silence engulfed the area. There was no wall which I fondly looked out for. There was no house. Uprooted trees lay scattered all over, the cattle was gone , the pond no longer flirted with the sun’s rays, the birds must have died in the unforgiving heat.

Rafia would never come to the wall. She would never be as happy as she was before. She knew that day that I was responsible for building this road and she tried to explain that men had come to ask them to vacate the house. Yet she smiled when I was leaving. I was the ‘designer’ of her apathy and suffering. I felt my energy betray me. At a point I was too weak to stand and I went down on my knees.

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