Of Smokeless Fire A.A. Jafri (books to read to improve english TXT) đ
- Author: A.A. Jafri
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She twisted her hand free from his and snapped, âGet lost, haramzada bhangi.â
Joseph only heard the word âbhangiâ, not âharamzadaâ, which meant bastardâs son, but it seemed as if he did not care. Had the hateful word lost all its derisive character? Had it become impenetrable nonsense? But then suddenly, as if he was hit by the realization, Joseph got up and landed a stinging slap on the womanâs cheek. She staggered back and howled and shouted, âYou motherfucker, get out of my house. I will call my dalla.â
Joseph reached for his shirt pocket and pulled out a crumpled bidi. He lit it up and inhaled its poison, slowly. He was not afraid of her threat to call her pimp. Sitting stark naked after a quickie, smoking a bidi, and hitting the prostitute for her insult made him feel liberated. But when the womanâs pimp came in and saw Josephâa big, naked guyâhe politely asked him to cause no more trouble. Joseph gave him a dirty look, put on his clothes and came out, only to be accosted by another suspicious-looking man.
âYou want pencil-in?â he asked Joseph in a hushed tone.
âWhatâs that?â
âItâs a drug for âbee deeâ,â he replied.
âWhatâs âbee deeâ?â
ââBee Deeâ, saala! Bee Dee! Benereal Degeez!â
Scaring Joseph with horror stories of venereal diseases and the importance of penicillin after sex, the man took him to another dingy flat where he saw a long line of people waiting for a shot of penicillin. Joseph joined the line and waited for a tedious hour to get the injection, marvelling at the cottage industry that the sex trade created. An hour of post-sex-waiting, after six minutes of crappy pleasure, was not his idea of fun. His mind once again began planning escape strategies from his profession, his work and his country.
*
Haider Rizviâs trial in the august Sindh High Court building was short, swift and fair. Using several precedents and references, Noor destroyed the governmentâs arguments. The rule of law had prevailed. In vindicating Haider, the judge not only defied the rule of force, but he also asserted the independence of the judiciary. In his ruling, he lectured that it is only in law-observing societies that human potential is achieved. After the verdict, a rather overwhelmed Haider hugged Noor and slumped back into his wooden chair. His head in his hands, he began to weep. Both Sadiq and Zakir, who were there for support, tried comforting him. The lead prosecutor later confided in Noor about the weakness of the case; but what could he do as a government prosecutor? He had to carry on with the sham. After the friends calmed Haider down, they all drove together in Noorâs car to the Sindh Club to celebrate the victory. Noor wondered if General Dunddaâs grip on power had weakened, if the sycophants who flocked around him were finally abandoning him.
That night, Noor came home early, elated, and with an enormous, colourful box of sweetmeats. Mansoor was in his bed reading James Hiltonâs Goodbye, Mr. Chips when Budhoo knocked at his door.
âWhat is it, Budhoo?â he asked.
âMansoor Babu, Sahib wants you.â
Budhooâs serious tone made Mansoorâs face flush and then go pale. By now, he should have been used to those nightly lectures that metamorphosed into long discourses, but they still caused his stomach to churn.
âWhy does he want me?â he asked Budhoo.
âI donât know, Babu, but he has brought a box of mithai, sweets, from Abdul Hannanâs store.â
Abdul Hannan Sweetmeat Merchants, near Guru Mandir, was Mansoorâs favourite store. Hearing the merchantâs name, he jumped out of bed, straightened his crumpled shirt, put on his slippers and headed towards his parentsâ bedroom. Noor had changed into his kurta-pyjama and looked incredibly relaxed, while Farhat lay on their king-size bed, nibbling a sweet laddu.
âCome on, son, we are going to celebrate today. What do you feel like eating?â Noor shouted with exuberance.
âWhat are we celebrating, Abba?â Mansoor asked, sitting on the bed across from his fatherâs tufted armchair.
Uncharacteristically, his father gave him a brief account of his legal victory. He seldom discussed the law or his practice with his son. In fact, he had forbidden Mansoor from even thinking about going into law. The only good thing about the profession, according to Noor, was that it exposed one to the Socratic method of arriving at conclusions.
âSo, do you feel like eating Chinese or shall we order chicken tikka?â he asked.
âI donât know . . . what do you feel like Amma?â
âI asked you, not your mother.â Noor was slightly peeved.
They settled on Chinese, and Noor wrote down the names of a few dishes on a piece of paper and gave it to Budhoo along with a twenty-rupee note. Then he ambled to the liquor cabinet in the menâs quarter, where he stashed his entire collection of expensive imported liquor. He came back with the navy-blue box of Royal Salute Scotch Whisky and two crystal whisky glasses.
âTonight, we are going to have the best food, the best dessert and the best drink,â he announced, sitting down on his usual couch. He opened the box and pulled out the bottle from the navy-blue pouch within. Unscrewing the cap, he poured the Scotch into the two glasses and then added two cubes of ice and some water in both. He never drank his whisky neat. After taking a large swig from one glass, he offered the other glass to his son.
âHow old are you?â he asked.
âNearly seventeen,â Mansoor replied, trembling a bit and stealing a quick glance at his mother.
âI think you are eligible to have a celebratory glass with your father; you donât need your motherâs permission, so stop looking at her.â
âYou are corrupting my son,â Farhat remarked rather casually, picking another
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