Across the Line

by Nayanika Mahtani

  News of the DownUnder Daredevils’ captain Alison Warne’s talent had reached every headline in the tape-ball circles. The coach assigned to the Curry Cruisers team had only one instruction for the girls: Warne was to be seen off early. Else, there was no hope of winning.

  The Curry Cruisers lost the toss and were put in to bat first. They got off to quite a good start, but then their middle order collapsed, leading to a rather dismal total of 121 at the end of their innings.

  The DownUnder Daredevils came in to bat, and from the outset, things did not go as per the Curry Cruisers’ plan. Their skipper Warne opened the batting and scored a thumping 76, taking the DownUnder Daredevils to within touching distance of their target. But then, Warne’s partner Emily Driver was dismissed, and two more wickets fell cheaply.

  With 2 overs to go, the DownUnder Daredevils needed just 8 runs to win. Spectators started leaving the stands—the outcome was clear, there was nothing left in the match.

  Shaheen, the captain of the Curry Cruisers threw the ball to Lubna, for the penultimate over.

  ‘The ball is swinging well. Let’s give it our best shot, Lubna,’ she said, before running back to her fielding position.

  Lubna nodded tacitly.

  The first ball Lubna bowled was hit for a single by Doyle, giving Warne the strike. The next ball was struck well by Warne and would have fetched them 4 runs, was it not for some inspired fielding by Shaheen, who leapt sideways to stop it. Doyle and Warne still managed to take 2 runs.

  5 runs needed. Ten balls in hand.

  The third ball by Lubna was a beauty—Warne misread it completely, which almost cost her her wicket.

  5 runs needed. Nine balls in hand.

  Shaheen walked over to Lubna. ‘Allow Warne an easy single so that Doyle is on strike,’ she said.

  The next ball by Lubna was slightly short of a length, and Warne nudged it into a gap in the field placement, getting a comfortable single. Warne was keen to come back for a second, but the fielding was too sharp for them to take the risk.

  4 runs needed. Eight balls in hand.

  The next ball was slower and Doyle misjudged it completely. She tried the pull shot, but without the pace, the ball ended up straight in a fielder’s hands.

  The Curry Cruisers leapt up in joy at the dismissal. Every little step counted.

  The new batter in was Lily Daunt.

  4 runs needed. Seven balls in hand.

  Lubna took her run up and Daunt hit the ball for a single, just as Lubna had hoped. Warne didn’t look keen to take the single because that would mean that Daunt would retain the strike, but Daunt had already started running.

  It was the last over of the tournament and the DownUnder Daredevils needed just 3 runs to win.

  Shaheen tossed the ball to Inaya, amidst an audible gasp from the crowd, who had all expected that the last over would be bowled by the Curry Cruisers’ ace bowler, Alia.

  ‘They don’t know your style. I’m counting on that element of surprise,’ said Shaheen, as Inaya looked at her, quite taken aback to have been given this huge responsibility. ‘I’ve seen you bowl at the nets. You have a killer instinct. Go for it.’

  She patted Inaya on the back and darted off.

  Inaya took a deep breath. She looked around the field and signalled to fine leg and point to move up closer. She sent the fielder at sweeper cover further back.

  Warne was not on strike, but with 6 balls to spare, the DownUnder Daredevils needed just 3 runs to win. All the batter had to do was get bat on ball, pinch a single and give the strike to Warne. But Inaya had other ideas in mind.

  For the next 5 balls, Warne was reduced to a spectator, as Daunt couldn’t connect with even a single one of Inaya’s perfectly delivered, late-swinging yorkers.

  There was just 1 ball to go. Inaya took a deep breath and took her run up. As the ball left her hand, she watched Daunt’s bat connect with the ball, lifting it up and over her head. Inaya watched the ball’s trajectory as it flew into the stands for 6 runs.

  The DownUnder Daredevils had won. The stadium erupted in applause.

  Inaya looked at the ground, crushed. She hadn’t been able to save the match for her team. All their faith in her had been misplaced. Lubna came running up to her.

  ‘Hey, that was some amazing bowling, Inaya!’ she said, hugging her.

  Shaheen joined them and patted Inaya on the back, ‘Well played, Inaya!’

  ‘Sorry, it wasn’t good enough,’ muttered Inaya, blinking back her tears.

  Jai was disappointed for Inaya. But the silver lining was that the game was over—and he could now meet Nabeel Said. Hopefully.

  His ears perked up when he heard the words ‘Inaya Haider; she’s from Pakistan’ from behind him. He angled himself to listen.

  Sitting right behind Jai watching the game was the coach for the women’s cricket team for Middlesex and Simone Donnelly, the captain of the Chippy Champs side. The voice, which turned out to be Simone’s continued, ‘She’s got a spark. She’s wicked with the bat as well. I’ve played with her before.’

  ‘Hmm . . . I’d like to meet her,’ said the coach.

  Twenty minutes had passed and there was still no sign of Inaya emerging from the dressing room. Jai assumed that she must be busy with her teammates and started collecting his things to leave. He needed to finish packing as there was a flight to be caught the next day.

  ‘Hey Jai!’ called an unfamiliar voice.

  Jai turned around to see Nabeel Said standing with her arm around Inaya. He could barely believe his eyes.

  ‘I hear that you’re a gourmet,’ said Nabeel. ‘Are you free to come on a quick tour of my kitchens this afternoon? I’d love to get a pair of fresh eyes give me ideas about what I could be doing better.’

  The DownUnder Daredevils may have won the match, but it was Jai who felt like he had just been handed the trophy.

  He nodded, too overcome for words.

  Filter Coffee

  Heathrow Airport was busier than usual, which was a good thing because it was the perfect setting for Jai and Inaya’s plan.

  Since Toshi and Habib had yet to tell the rest of the family about them being siblings, Jai and Inaya had suggested that the best place to break the news would be in a public place, so that any reactions would be muted. Or at least, so they hoped.

  After much deliberation, Heathrow Airport was the venue decided upon. The ‘announcement’ was to be made just before their respective flights took off. This would allow for an eight-hour long journey to allow Rajan, Arathi, Humaira and Irfan to come to terms with the revelation. The Puris were leaving London two days before the Haiders were, so Toshi and Jai had to do their bit first.

  Rajan had first been in shock, then in denial. Arathi had almost fainted and it was only a strong filter coffee consumed in the safety of her own kitchen hours later that set her straight again.

  Two days later, it was Habib and Inaya’s turn. As soon as Habib broke the news, Humaira started chanting prayers under her breath and wouldn’t listen to anything further that Habib had to say. Irfan simply pretended that he had urgent work calls to attend to and entertained no further discussion on the matter either.

  Jai and Inaya had been in touch with each other over email and instant messaging, ever since Jai’s return.

  ‘How did the Big Announcement go? My parents may need aftershock therapy,’ wrote Jai.

  ‘Daadi has not stopped chanting prayers,’ Inaya wrote back. ‘And Abba is talking to imaginary people on the phone to deflect any further conversation on the topic.’

  Jai grinned as he read this. ‘Sounds familiar. Hey, thanks again for the Nabeel Said thing. She is such a star.’

  ‘Glad it worked out. She seemed to like all your suggestions. You should follow-up on your café idea. You’d be okay at it.’

  ‘Thanks,’ typed Jai, not used to anything even slightly resembling a compliment from Inaya. ‘You should keep going with tape-ball. And if you come to India, we’ll go find Ghul
an Joswami for you.’

  Inaya burst out laughing as she read that.

  ‘It’s Jhulan Goswami, but thanks for the offer. Although judging by my family’s reactions, the India trip may never happen.’

  Deadlock

  Rawalpindi, Pakistan

  An awkwardness lingered in the air between Humaira, Habib and Irfan. There hadn’t been a full-blown discussion of the matter—neither at the airport, nor on the flight, nor at home.

  Inaya dreaded mealtimes. Dinner conversations were stilted and perfunctory, skimming the surface, skirting the periphery—as if Habib’s revelation had made them strangers all of a sudden.

  ‘How was school, Inaya?’ asked Habib.

  ‘It was good, Daada.’

  Silence.

  ‘Can I pass anyone the mutton curry?’ asked Habib, looking at Humaira and Irfan.

  ‘No, thank you,’ said Humaira. ‘I’m sure we can help ourselves.’

  Irfan looked up from his plate.

  ‘Excuse me, I have a work call,’ he said, pushing his chair back.

  ‘But it’s so late . . . ’ protested Habib.

  ‘It’s New York,’ said Irfan abruptly and left the room.

  Habib fell silent. Humaira stole a glance at him and it was then that Inaya knew that the showdown was imminent.

  ‘I can’t believe that you have lived your whole life as a lie, Habib,’ she said, without looking up from her plate.

  Habib looked at her, pained.

  ‘I was six years old when I was adopted, Humaira. How is the time before that my whole life?’

  ‘You could have still told me.’

  ‘I thought I had lost everyone from my birth family, Humaira. Please understand I wasn’t trying to deceive you. It was just very difficult to revisit that chapter of my life.’

  ‘And now? What happens now that you’ve reopened this chapter?’

  ‘Well, if you’re okay with it, I’d love for us to go and visit my sister in India.’

  Humaira looked too shocked to even dignify that suggestion with a response.

  ‘What do you say, Humaira?’ Habib reached out and touched Humaira’s arm lightly.

  Humaira turned to face Habib, an edge of steel in her voice. ‘Do you want to know what I say, Habib? I say, over my dead body. I’m not going to India and neither are you. Do you not care at all that my grandfather was killed by Hindus in the Partition riots?’

  ‘Humaira, I too lost my family in those riots. But I have reconnected with my sister after sixty years . . . ’

  ‘Yes—and she’s Indian and Hindu . . . ’

  ‘Do you realize that you have been married for almost fifty years to someone who was born a Hindu, Humaira?’ Habib replied softly.

  ‘That . . . that is your fault. How was I to know? Oh, I pray I will not be punished for this.’

  ‘I take the entire blame, Humaira. I will bear any sin that it carries, if that makes you feel any better.’

  ‘It doesn’t. And I still won’t let you go to India.’

  There was a moment’s silence as Inaya watched both her grandparents continue to stare at their respective dinner plates. Deadlock, she thought. Then Habib spoke again.

  ‘You’ve always spoken about visiting Chishti’s dargah in Ajmer, Humaira. How about we go there too, when we visit India?’

  Something stirred in Humaira. Chishti’s dargah held a very special place in her life. Her mother and grandmother and almost every generation before had visited the Sufi saint’s shrine to pay their respects. Perhaps this was a sign that her calling had come. Perhaps Habib needed to face his past. Perhaps she needed to face it too.

  But she held her silence.

  Later that night, after the whole family had retired for bed, Humaira took out her brown moleskin diary. She opened it and slid out the loose pages stacked inside. She looked at the sketches that she had collected over the years. Sketches that Habib had made in the dead of night, furiously drawing during his somnambulism. More than once, she had asked him about the sketches the next morning, and he had looked at them as if he had never seen them before. With her finger, Humaira traced around the circular scribble of the huddled figures and the line that cleaved across each sketch. The darkness and despair that they conveyed sent a shudder down her spine. For years, she had wondered about the deep pain that Habib held within himself—a trauma so torturous that he had kept it caged, but which reared its ugly head in his wakeful sleep. Humaira had never been able to understand where it came from. But now, it all fell into place.

  Unforgotten

  New Delhi, India

  ‘But how come you never mentioned it, Ma? Not once?’ asked Rajan.

  Toshi took off her spectacles and looked at Rajan and Arathi. ‘I didn’t want to remember what had taken me a lifetime to forget,’ she said simply. ‘I don’t expect you to understand.’

  Arathi came over and sat down beside her mother-in-law. ‘Ma, I’ve been thinking a great deal about this, but I can’t fathom . . . ’

  Toshi looked at her with kindness, ‘It’s enough for me that you tried to see it my way, Arathi. We don’t always have to agree about everything.’

  ‘What I was going to say, Ma, is that I can’t fathom how you went through life carrying so much heartache, all alone. I feel sad that you didn’t think you could tell us about it. We might have helped lighten your burden of sorrow.’

  Toshi smiled wistfully at her daughter-in-law, ‘That load is the only thing that reminded me that I could still feel pain. Leaving Tarlok all alone that day is the burden I carried every day of my life. It was my repentance. If I gave that away, I would have felt like I had failed him even further.’

  You mustn’t think that way, Ma . . . ’ began Rajan.

  ‘I can’t imagine life without my sister,’ cut in Arathi. ‘If I don’t call her at least twice a week, I feel like something is drastically wrong.’

  ‘Twice a day is more like it,’ said Rajan.

  Arathi ignored his comment and carried on. ‘Rajan, I think we should invite the Haiders to come and stay with us. One must spend quality time with one’s family. Nothing is more important.’

  Rajan’s jaw dropped only a little more than Toshi’s did.

  The Envelope

  Rawalpindi, Pakistan

  A month or so passed without any further mention of an India trip. Habib had not pressed the matter, not wanting to upset Humaira. Irfan had immersed himself in his work so completely that he was barely seen by his family. He left for work at the crack of dawn and returned home late at night, leaving little time for any real discussion of the matter.

  Early one morning, Habib went into the kitchen as usual and found Humaira there before him, reading the newspaper and sipping tea. His tea was on the tray along with the sports section of the newspaper that Humaira usually set aside for him, since Habib always said that all the other news tended to depress him. Lying by his newspaper was an envelope.

  Habib sat down and took a sip of his tea. He reached for the letter opener and slit through the envelope. Inside it, were flight tickets to India. Four tickets, to be precise. Habib turned to Humaira, dumbfounded.

  ‘I hope you’re free in November, Habib?’ said Humaira, casually looking up from her newspaper. ‘There’s an art gallery in Mumbai that is keen to exhibit your works. And I thought I may as well tag along, since you’re so prone to aches and pains—you’ll need someone to complain to. I’ve bought a ticket for Inaya as well because she seems rather desperate to meet this Jhulan Goswami. And as for Irfan, he needs to get out of that black hole of an office of his. Now it’s your headache to arrange the visas.’

  Habib was quiet for a few moments. Then he drew a slow, grateful breath.

  ‘Thank you, Humaira,’ he said.

  Highway Robbers

  New Delhi, India

  The kitchen table in the Puri household was very full. The Haider family had arrived the day before and they were all sitting around the table, sipping tea while Toshi
plied them with savoury and sweet snacks that she just wouldn’t stop preparing. It was a heart-warming sight, all of them together. Habib was busy showing the Puris photographs of his adopted family.

  ‘And that is my mother, Rukhsana, and my father, Javed—and that, is my grandmother, Arjumand,’ he said, pointing them out.

  ‘Oh, she’s gorgeous! And what stunning jewellery she’s wearing. Wait—hold on,’ said Arathi, as Habib was about to turn the page in the album, ‘That looks familiar doesn’t it, Ma?’

  She pointed to an ornament on Arjumand’s forehead. Toshi came over and squinted at the photograph. Her breathing quickened.

  ‘It cannot be,’ she said softly.

  ‘Are you saying what I think you’re saying?’ said Rajan, leaning in to have a closer look as well. ‘That would be such a bizarre coincidence.’

  ‘Well, let’s find out,’ said Arathi.

  And as the Haiders watched in confusion, Arathi retrieved the paasa jhoomar and the diary. She carefully laid out the paasa jhoomar next to the photograph. It was an exact match.

  ‘I believe this might have belonged to your grandmother,’ said Arathi, looking at Habib.

  ‘What! This is crazy. How do you have my great-great-grandmother’s jewellery?’ asked Inaya.

  ‘We’re highway robbers,’ said Jai, with a straight face. ‘We’ve got a stash of jewellery hidden behind our kitchen walls. Though some of it has been taken away by the mice that live there, for their children’s weddings.’

  ‘Oh, I had forgotten about the mice!’ laughed Toshi.

  ‘Are they always like this?’ muttered Humaira to Habib. ‘I thought you were bad enough, but your “real” family seems even crazier than your adopted one.’

  Toshi came over to sit beside Humaira and handed her the piece of jewellery and the diary.

  ‘This is rightfully yours,’ she said. ‘We found them both in a hidden alcove in our kitchen. And look, it says here that the diary belongs to Arjumand.’