Mirage (standard:romance, 3827 words)
Author: Shamoil Ahmad	Added: Feb 06 2012	Views/Reads: 3118/1934	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
This is story of cultural gap...gap between Lungi [ a strip of cloth tucked round the waist ] and Cheroot .

Mirage                                       Shamoil Ahmad 

Badruddin Jilani was sad after he returned from the burial of Lady Atafa
Hussain. Suddenly, it occurred to him that death was the eternal truth. 
His contemporaries were leaving one by one. First, it was Justice Imam 
Asar who died, then Ahmad Ali and now it was the turn of Lady Atafa 
Hussain to break the shackles of this mundane world to proceed on. 
Jilani was worried—did not know when his own soul would start out on a 
new journey? He did not want to die in the colony. He wanted his death 
to come when he was in the peaceful backyard of his own birth place. 
But roads leading to that were hazy. With the passage of time thorny 
bushes had sprung up on its way. Jilani was a retired IAS officer. He 
had retired almost a year ago from the post of Commissioner. He was 
keen to spend the rest of his life at his birth place, but to Madam 
Jilani the place was steeped in conservatism. As a matter of fact, his 
father was a school teacher and Madam came from IAS background. She 
wanted to have her house built only in the IAS Colony. Jilani always 
found the colony inhospitable. Everybody seemed closeted in his own 
hamlet. He was particularly peeved at the requirement of having to 
contact over phone if ever one wanted to meet someone. No one 
interacted freely. That openness of the home town was simply missing 
here. It was not possible to just slam a fist on someone and say,” “You 
buddy....? Have been looking for you since morning....?” “Oh hell 
Jilani...? When the hell did you come...?” Who was there in the colony 
who could have addressed him thus and Jilani could have slammed him on 
his back...? People would shake their hands, not their heart. One never 
felt the feelings of neighbourliness here, no sense of camaraderie that 
one felt in a well-knit locality...that willingness to share the grief 
and happiness of one another...this sentiment was simply missing in the 
colony. He felt people here were leading the life of alien settlers. To 
him the ladies of the colony too appeared to be identical in many ways. 
They all seemed to have got that conical, rotund faces and egg-like 
lips...the whole day they would keep knitting sweater and talk sex. 
Jilani felt greatly incensed at their futile attempts to speak in 
English. While pronouncing English words their lips would acquire 
circular shape. In human relations hierarchy is unquestionably settled. 
The most potent member of this hierarchy is the father. The role of 
father is at times villainous too. When Jilani qualified for IAS, there 
was much excitement and buzz in the community. Father's status rose 
skyward. My son is an IAS...my son...! His ego, his position in the 
hierarchy went up by several notches. But there was another son 
Iftikhar Jilani. Father never alluded to him in his conversations. 
Naming him bruised his ego. Iftikhar could not pursue his studies. He 
ran a ration shop and to add to father's embarrassment he married the 
daughter of an Ansari. There was much hue and cry and chest beating in 
the family circles. Sayyad's son entangled with Ansari's daughter! 
Hearts shrank. The only consolation was that a girl was brought in from 
the Ansaris, not given from the Sayyads. But the stigma stood and such 
things did not wash even though Jilani provided some balm. He secured 
special position in all examinations. When he qualified in the IAS, his 
father seemed to have gone air-borne. The teacher father had put in his 
own efforts along with the efforts of the disciple son. He had seen the 
spark in the eyes of the boy. He only needed to get necessary fillip. 
He gave maximum time to him, telling him to read this, read 
that...especially the editorial columns of newspapers...must read them, 
son....gain mastery over ‘current affairs'...mug up the definitions, 
learn the word-usages. Jilani was obedient to the last syllable of the 
word. He always complied with orders, even then there was no sparing of 
rods for him from Master Khalil the teacher tough. His cane was famous. 
One wrong pronunciation, cane ready to fly like a whip...stupid, 
nincompoop, bloody ass...can't pronounce properly. One who survived 
this ordeal came out glittering like gold. The dung-headed Iftikhar 
could not take it. He would doze off while at it and if the cane did 
its work, he would shriek and shout. Even when it came to getting into 
the trap of love, he had to end up in the family of an Ansari. Fathers 
usually forget that sons have a heart too and fathers' ego would like 
to keep it under their own control. Jilani too had a heart. When he had 
just cleared his 10th class, his heart had begun to throb at the sight 
of Husnabano. Red hot lips...rosy face...downcast eyes. Jilani would 
secretly watch this girl from Ustani household. Hayat has espied him 
doing this. Hayat was the son of Kallo Maulvi. He gave him some hints 
on how to meet. “Meet her on Id.” “On Id?” “Yes! And demand a 
kerchief.” Husnabano gave him a kerchief soaked in essence. In the 
corner of the kerchief two letters of his name were embroidered. They 
were B and J...and when he observed minutely, he found H...meaning 


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