{"id":27054,"date":"2023-07-02T09:32:17","date_gmt":"2023-07-02T07:32:17","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/?p=27054"},"modified":"2023-07-02T09:32:17","modified_gmt":"2023-07-02T07:32:17","slug":"rich-and-poor-people-fiction-by-farah-ahamed","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/themarkaz.org\/oldmarkaz\/rich-and-poor-people-fiction-by-farah-ahamed\/","title":{"rendered":"Rich and Poor People\u2014fiction by Farah Ahamed"},"content":{"rendered":"

I\u2019m going to give them a piece of my mind. Who do they think they are, feeding the crows KFC chicken?<\/p>\n

 <\/p><\/blockquote>\n

Farah Ahamed<\/h4>\n

 <\/p>\n

Rich people have no idea what it\u2019s like to be poor.<\/p>\n

When you\u2019re poor, you\u2019re used to people dropping dead like flies and spending half your salary every month on funerals. Being poor means you\u2019ll die young, because if you\u2019re ill, you won\u2019t have a car to take you to the hospital. And if by some luck you get there by bus, you\u2019ll have to sit on the cold floor in the hospital corridor and wait for hours. And when the nurse finally takes you in, there\u2019ll be no bed, medicine, or doctor. If you survive, your baby might die. If you hit your chest and cry, everyone will say it was God\u2019s will, and if He took away your child, maybe one day He\u2019ll give you a chance to change your destiny and know what it\u2019s like to live like the rich.<\/p>\n

Rich people have the luxury to mourn. They make a fuss about every death as if it were not a daily occurrence. Take Ma\u2019am Farida and Mr. Abdul. I\u2019ve been working for them for twelve years now. Last month Mr. Abdul died of a heart attack, and now Ma\u2019am Farida is heartbroken. Every morning she opens the sliding doors to the balcony and looks at the apartment directly across the way. If you asked her why she was so interested in the neighbors, she\u2019d tell you she didn\u2019t care about them \u2014 it was what they were feeding the crows that bothered her. That\u2019s another trait of the rich: They\u2019re not interested in the poor, but more worried about the birds starving.<\/p>\n

Farida likes to look at those crows in the balcony opposite. The people living in that apartment are new to the building. They like to feed the crows. You\u2019d think rich people like them would buy proper bird feed, but no, they don\u2019t like to waste money on such things. They give the birds their leftovers, and Farida watches the black birds pecking at food in the foil containers and becomes very angry. This morning she swore she\u2019d seen a crow with a bone in its beak, which it had taken from a red and white KFC box on the neighbor\u2019s balcony ledge.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are they doing, giving fried chicken to the crows?\u201d she said to me.<\/p>\n

I couldn\u2019t tell her \u201crich people are like that, thoughtless,\u201d so I just said, \u201cYes, Ma\u2019am.\u201d I busied myself with wiping the mugs in the cabinet printed with congratulations you\u2019re retired now, which Mr. Abdul had received from the university a few years ago. He\u2019d never let Farida use them.<\/p>\n

\u201cAbdul would have been appalled,\u201d Farida said. \u201cDon\u2019t you remember how he used to feed the birds with special seeds and watch them feast?\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Abdul was very particular about the birds, and he had his reasons. Every morning at breakfast he\u2019d call Farida to come and watch the crows. \u201cSee how they\u2019re family-oriented,\u201d he\u2019d say. \u201cSee how their behavior is so civilized. They could teach you a thing or two, Farida.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d she\u2019d say. \u201cCrows are mean and vicious. What\u2019s there to learn?\u201d<\/p>\n

One thing you should know about Mr. Abdul is that is he didn\u2019t like being challenged, and over many years I\u2019d observed how he\u2019d controlled Farida.<\/p>\n

\u201cThe problem with you, Farida,\u201d he said, \u201cis that you don\u2019t look<\/em>.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThose birds are nothing but pests,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d watch my tongue if I were you,\u201d he said. \u201cIf they hear you, they\u2019ll come after you for revenge.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

It makes me want to laugh, how rich people quarrel about meaningless things. When you\u2019re poor you fight about bills, and how your husband is wasting money on gambling and alcohol. You\u2019re at each other\u2019s throats all the time, because what else is there to do? There\u2019s no time for anything but work. No time to put your feet up and have a cup of tea. And here they were, Farida and Mr. Abdul, fighting over the mannerisms of crows.<\/p>\n

Every day, it was the same. At first it was amusing, but as Mr. Abdul became obsessive about his birdwatching, their arguments became more heated. What irritated Farida most was the way Mr. Abdul compared her to the crows.<\/p>\n

\u201cCrows are sharper than you, Farida,\u201d he said. \u201cThey recognize faces.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNonsense,\u201d she said. \u201cJust like all crows are the same for us, all humans are the same to them.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour worst habit is that you never want to accept facts.\u201d And he carried on pointing out more positive characteristics about the birds. \u201cTrust me, Farida, once a crow knows your face, they\u2019ll never forget it.\u201d<\/p>\n

Finally, Farida said, \u201cPlease stop, I couldn\u2019t care less whether they know me or they don\u2019t. It makes no difference to me.\u201d<\/p>\n

And because Mr. Abdul always needed to have the last word, he said, \u201cWell you should, because crows hold grudges.\u201d<\/p>\n

Maybe now that Mr. Abdul was dead, Farida was asking herself if it was true what he had said; were the crows more intelligent than her? There she was, standing on the balcony, all alone, thinking the crows were all she had left. And she was crying.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere, there,\u201d I said, and tried to lead her into the sitting room, where I\u2019d kept her breakfast on a tray. \u201cHave some tea. It\u2019s getting cold.\u201d<\/p>\n

But she pulled her arm away. \u201cNot now. Can\u2019t you see I\u2019m busy?\u201d She kept her eyes fixed on the black birds jabbing at the KFC box. One cocked its head in her direction and gave a loud croak. Farida gave a small shudder. \u201cDon\u2019t the neighbors care the birds will get indigestion from eating fried chicken?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, Ma\u2019am,\u201d I said, and then before I could stop myself, I blurted out, \u201cRich people don\u2019t worry about things like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

She ignored my comment. \u201cAbdul suffered from terrible heartburn,\u201d she said. \u201cHe was very sensitive.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHe\u2019d always say, \u201c\u2018My nerves and stomach are connected,\u2019 then gulp down the ENO while it was still fizzing.\u201d<\/p>\n

She looked like she was about to start crying again, so I said, \u201cPlease, Ma\u2019am, Mr. Abdul would have liked you to eat your breakfast.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow would you know what he wanted?\u201d she said, irritated.<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t been with you for 12 years for nothing, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

She turned to look at the stool, and I saw her taking in the tea spilled in the saucer, the burned omelet and over-browned toast. Mr. Abdul would never have tolerated me serving such a sloppy breakfast. But he wasn\u2019t there to shout anymore, so I didn\u2019t bother being tidy.<\/p>\n

\u201cLeave the tray there,\u201d she said, and returned to watching the birds.<\/p>\n

Another characteristic of the rich is they like to waste food. Mr. Abdul always wanted fresh rotis<\/em> for his lunch, and when I\u2019d bring him a hot one from the kitchen, he\u2019d stop eating the one he\u2019d just taken a bite of and leave it aside, saying it was cold. I started collecting his half-eaten rotis to take home. I\u2019d shave off the edges, cut them into small pieces and keep them in a box. At the end of the week I\u2019d make a dry curry from the leftovers, with tomatoes and onions. This is one way in which the poor survive.<\/p>\n

People die in their sleep all the time. When you\u2019re poor you accept it and carry on. But rich people insist on making a fuss. It was true that Mr. Abdul had died suddenly; one minute he\u2019d been fast asleep beside Farida, and the next, when she\u2019d tried to wake him, she\u2019d found he was dead. After the funeral, her daughters had said she should take turns living with them, and suggested a rota. But Farida had refused.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m not an old suitcase,\u201d she said. \u201cI won\u2019t be carted around from one place to another, until my wheels fall off. I\u2019m not going anywhere. I\u2019ll stay here with Mary.\u201d So her daughters returned to their lives, and she was left here with me.<\/p>\n

Mr. Abdul had often told Farida she was incapable of living on her own. He said, \u201cYou\u2019re not the independent type, Farida, you wouldn\u2019t know where to begin.\u201d<\/p>\n

She hadn\u2019t bothered to contradict him. Maybe she couldn\u2019t imagine her life without him.<\/p>\n

I can tell it is noon by the way the sun falls at a particular angle on the parquet floor. Mr. Abdul was very particular, and insisted I scrubbed the floors once a week with a special gloss polish. But nowadays, because he\u2019s not there to notice, and it is such an effort, I don\u2019t bother.<\/p>\n

I watched Farida pulling the rocking chair into the patch of light, and sitting down, she shut her eyes. I imagined her enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face. When you\u2019re poor, you don\u2019t have time to enjoy anything.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\n

 <\/p>\n

Mr. Abdul and Farida have lived in this campus flat for the past 30 years. They\u2019d moved to Lahore when Mr. Abdul had joined the School of Engineering at the university. Their flat is on the fourth floor in the middle block of six buildings with identical architecture, arranged fifty feet apart. The tinted-glass windows lend some privacy, but like everywhere else on the campus, the buildings are packed close together; you can look straight into the balconies opposite and see the broken suitcases, old mattresses, dead plants, and washing lines with faded clothes.<\/p>\n

One night, when I was clearing the table after dinner, Mr. Abdul began checking the windows as was his habit before bed, when he noticed one of the neighbors reversing their car into his parking area. He immediately rang them up and asked them to remove it.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re being unreasonable,\u201d the neighbor said. \u201cYou don\u2019t have a car, and the spot is free, so what\u2019s the problem?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s my space, so I\u2019ll decide \u2014 and right now I want it empty,\u201d Mr. Abdul said, and then he hung up.<\/p>\n

Farida said he ought to be more patient.<\/p>\n

\u201cNever,\u201d Mr. Abdul said. \u201cIf you don\u2019t react right away, they\u2019ll take you for a fool and do it again.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Abdul took the matter to the Housing Management Committee and demanded a written apology from the neighbor. The Chairman said no harm had been done, and that Mr. Abdul ought to be a little more flexible. But Mr. Abdul wasn\u2019t having it.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t interfere with matters which you don\u2019t understand,\u201d he said when Farida tried to persuade him. \u201cIt\u2019s a matter of principle.\u201d<\/p>\n

The rich think they have the gift of reading people\u2019s minds, and Mr. Abdul especially was of that opinion. Poor Farida, not once had Mr. Abdul seen things from her point of view. She\u2019d fought back as much as she could, but he\u2019d never conceded. Maybe the overwhelming sense of defeat, after his passing, was part of her sorrow.<\/p>\n

Later that afternoon, when I saw Farida lying on the sofa with her eyes closed, I went down to the garden. Haroon was waiting for me, and we sat together in the cool shade of the amaltas<\/em>. However, only after a few minutes I heard Farida calling my name.<\/p>\n

\u201cShe\u2019s a bloody nuisance,\u201d I said to Haroon. \u201cLook, she\u2019s watching us from the balcony.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMary, get back here at once,\u201d Farida shouted. \u201cWhat are you doing?\u201d<\/p>\n

I raised my arm and waved, and stayed where I was. I gave Haroon the Tupperware container that I\u2019d sneaked out of the kitchen in the folds of my apron. He stroked my cheek, took out a chocolate-covered barfi<\/em> and popped it in my mouth. These chocolate sweetmeats were Farida\u2019s favorite.<\/p>\n

Haroon and I\u2019ve been together for five years. He works as a gardener on the campus. Last year, we lost a baby. We\u2019re trying to save so we can get married. Haroon\u2019s not the most handsome man you\u2019ll ever meet, but he\u2019s got a good heart. He\u2019s thin and dark and always wears a faded red scarf tied like a turban to protect his head from the sun. It makes him look like a man who\u2019s been walking for miles in the desert. Sometimes he drinks too much liquor, and then we argue.<\/p>\n

Farida was still standing in the balcony looking at us. \u201cDid you hear what I said, Mary? Get back here,\u201d she shouted.<\/p>\n

I lay my head on Haroon\u2019s shoulder; he smelled of cut grass, and sweat. \u201cHappy Birthday, my love,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cOi!\u201d Farida called.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m coming, I\u2019m coming,\u201d I said, but made no effort to get up. I knew my reply would infuriate her, and she\u2019d think I was being cheeky. Over the years I\u2019d often heard Mr. Abdul saying, Never trust the servants, they\u2019ve no loyalty. Always keep them in line, or they\u2019ll end up sitting on your head.<\/em><\/p>\n

I hate admitting it, but on and off Farida has tried to help me. One time she gave me her old clothes and shoes and her favorite orange handbag, but that was only because the strap was broken. \u201cMake sure you look after it,\u201d she had said. And whenever she\u2019d see me carrying it (because I got it repaired), she\u2019d comment how nice it looked, and I could see she regretted giving it to me. However, I didn\u2019t offer to give it back. Instead I told her how many compliments I\u2019d received.<\/p>\n

\u201cJust don\u2019t let Abdul see you with it,\u201d she said. \u201cHe\u2019ll say I\u2019m spoiling you.\u201d<\/p>\n

We both knew Mr. Abdul had the smallest heart in the world, but our shared understanding of him did not make Farida and me any closer.<\/p>\n

Last year, when I was pregnant, I asked Mr. Abdul for a loan so I could get some medical treatment.<\/p>\n

\u201cDo I look like a charity to you?\u201d he said. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you ask your church to help?\u201d<\/p>\n

Farida tried telling him that I\u2019d been feeling unwell and that I was expecting a child, and why couldn\u2019t he deduct a small amount from my salary every month? But he refused. \u201cHaven\u2019t you learned, Farida, that you should never get soft with servants? If you do, they\u2019ll only manipulate you.\u201d<\/p>\n

Rich people think they have the gift of prophecy.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

\"Shakir
Shakir Ali (Pakistan, 1914-1975), Untitled, oil on canvas 84×127 cm, 1966 (courtesy Bonhams).<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

 <\/p>\n

When I was back from the garden I went straight into the living room. \u201cYou called me, Ma\u2019am?\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat were you doing with that man?\u201d she said. \u201cWho is he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHaroon\u2019s my friend, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cFriends? Since when do you have time for friends?\u201d She took her dupatta<\/em> from the chair and flung it around her shoulders. \u201cAbdul wouldn\u2019t have allowed it.\u201d<\/p>\n

I raised my chin and looked directly at her. \u201cBut Mr. Abdul\u2019s not here, is he?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHow dare you? I\u2019m going to give that gardener a piece of my mind.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlease Ma\u2019am, we were just talking.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t trust you,\u201d she said. \u201cI saw you giving him something. What did you steal? I\u2019m going to find out and end this nonsense, right now.\u201d She hobbled to the front door and I followed her out and down the stairs.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe careful,\u201d I said. \u201cWe don\u2019t want you to have another fall, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI didn\u2019t ask for your opinion,\u201d she said, going down the stairs sideways and holding the railing for support. We reached the ground floor, where we saw Haroon raking the yellow flowers under the tree.<\/p>\n

\u201cOi!\u201d Farida raised her arm and beckoned him. He stopped sweeping and came over. \u201cI don\u2019t pay Mary to gossip with you,\u201d she said. \u201cSo don\u2019t talk to her.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cToday\u2019s her birthday, Ma\u2019am,\u201d he said smiling at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat nonsense,\u201d she said. \u201cToday it\u2019s hers, tomorrow it\u2019s yours, and the day after it\u2019s something else.\u201d<\/p>\n

Haroon took the Tupperware from his pocket and offered it to her. \u201cPlease try some chocolate barfi<\/em>, ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat nerve,\u201d she said, her facing turning red. \u201cI recognize those barfis<\/em> from my kitchen. How dare Mary take them without my permission?\u201d<\/p>\n

Just then there was a strong gust of wind, and an empty KFC carton came sailing down towards us. It landed a few feet away from where we were standing, scattering chunks of chicken and chips everywhere.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is the limit,\u201d Farida said, and shading her eyes with her hand, she squinted up at the neighbor\u2019s balcony. \u201cEnough is enough.\u201d She began limping towards the opposite building, as a crow flew down and started pecking at the food. \u201cI\u2019m going to give them a piece of my mind. Who do they think they are, feeding the crows KFC chicken?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am,\u201d I said. \u201cWait.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI haven\u2019t finished with you yet, Mary,\u201d she said. \u201cI want to know exactly when you started stealing.\u201d She mumbled as she climbed the stairs using the railing. \u201cStealing \u2026 lying \u2026 cheating \u2026 Abdul warned me never to trust the servants \u2026\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I went after her, and Haroon followed. \u201cGo away,\u201d she wheezed. \u201cLeave me alone.\u201d We did not respond, but stood behind her in case she lost her balance, watching as she mounted the second and third flights of stairs. \u201cAbdul always said if you can\u2019t defend your principles, you\u2019re worth nothing,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYes, Ma\u2019am. But he\u2019s gone, so it doesn\u2019t matter anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBe quiet, I know what I\u2019m doing.\u201d<\/p>\n

Poor Farida. She was losing her marbles. It is no big deal, people are losing things all the time. When you\u2019re poor, you forget things on the bus, or someone picks your pocket or snatches your purse. These things happen every day. But it\u2019s different for rich people; they can\u2019t stand it when something gets lost.<\/p>\n

A few years ago Mr. Abdul\u2019s watch had gone missing. \u201cSomeone\u2019s stolen it,\u201d he said to Farida.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt could have fallen off your wrist,\u201d she said. \u201cThe strap was loose. You must have misplaced it somewhere \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019d have known if that had happened. I\u2019m not as careless as you are,\u201d he snapped. \u201cThieves are always looking, and watching. They have a thousand eyes, and when you least expect it, they\u2019ll pounce.\u201d<\/p>\n

Mr. Abdul made me search the entire apartment, but the watch didn\u2019t surface. He went through every hour of the day he\u2019d lost it, where he\u2019d been and who he\u2019d met, and became more convinced. \u201cI\u2019ve been robbed,\u201d he said. \u201cViolated in broad daylight.\u201d He gave me long, brooding suspicious stares, but I just looked back at him.<\/p>\n

Farida had grown tired of his moaning about the watch. \u201cFor my sake, just get a new one,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cThis city is full of thieves. When they see a soft target, they attack.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cForget about it,\u201d Farida said. \u201cThere\u2019s nothing we can do about it now.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I\u2019m not letting them get away with it.\u201d Mr. Abdul sat down again in his usual chair and went through the events of the day all over again. But he remembered nothing different.<\/p>\n

A few days after the watch incident, Haroon knocked at the door, accompanied by a man. Haroon said the man had something to show Mr. Abdul. The man, a casual laborer working at a building site, opened his handkerchief, which was tied with in knot. \u201cI\u2019m selling this watch,\u201d the man said. \u201cIf you like it, you can buy it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhere did you find it?\u201d Mr. Abdul snatched it from the handkerchief and fastened it around his wrist. \u201cHow dare you? First you steal it, and now you want to sell it back to me?\u201d<\/p>\n

All the trouble that Haroon and I had gone through came to nothing. We didn\u2019t make a single rupee<\/em>, because Mr. Abdul refused to buy back his watch. \u201cNever,\u201d he said to Farida. \u201cIf I do, every morning something will go missing from this place, and every evening we\u2019ll have a thief trying to sell it back to us.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe man must\u2019ve found it somewhere,\u201d Farida said. \u201cAll you had to do was give him a small reward.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t underestimate poor people,\u201d he replied. \u201cFor them it\u2019s all about survival.\u201d<\/p>\n

When we reached the fourth floor, Farida leaned against the wall and fanned her face with her dupatta<\/em>. She looked at the three doors. \u201cWhere do the culprits live?\u201d<\/p>\n

I pointed to the middle door, and she limped across and knocked. A man opened it. He must have been about forty years old, with scanty hair combed sideways across his balding scalp. I recognized him because I\u2019d seen him on his balcony many times speaking loudly on his mobile phone.<\/p>\n

\u201cHello,\u201d he said. \u201cMay I help you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m Farida, your neighbor from the opposite building,\u201d she said. \u201cAnd I\u2019m here about the birds.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBirds?\u201d he said, looking confused.<\/p>\n

Farida turned to me with an exhausted expression. \u201cExplain, Mary. Tell him about the crows.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am doesn\u2019t like what you\u2019re feeding the crows,\u201d I said. \u201cShe thinks you should not be giving them KFC.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cKFC? I don\u2019t understand,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t deny it!\u201d Farida raised her voice. \u201cThis very morning, I saw the birds with my own eyes eating fried chicken and chips from a KFC box on your balcony.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man\u2019s eyes narrowed. \u201cDo those birds belong to you?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbdul said crows ought to be treated with respect,\u201d she said. \u201cIf you don\u2019t, they\u2019ll punish you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cBut that\u2019s my problem, isn\u2019t it?\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not right. It\u2019ll give them indigestion.\u201d<\/p>\n

The man sniggered. I took hold of Farida\u2019s arm and said, \u201cLet\u2019s go, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

But she pulled it away and said, \u201cCrows recognize faces.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAre those birds your pets?\u201d the man asked. Farida gave him a blank look. \u201cI didn\u2019t think so,\u201d he said. \u201cSo I\u2019ll feed them whatever I like.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAbdul would\u2019ve complained about you to the Management Company,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

But the man had already begun closing the door. \u201cOne more thing,\u201d he said, pausing. \u201cIf you don\u2019t like what you see, don\u2019t look.\u201d He slammed the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat cheek,\u201d Farida said, her voice shaking. \u201cHe wouldn\u2019t have dared, if Abdul was here.\u201d We turned to go back down the stairs, and when Farida saw Haroon waiting, she became more furious. \u201cWhy are you still here? Are you spying on me?\u201d She went down one step and almost fell.<\/p>\n

Haroon was quick. He grabbed her arm and held her steady. \u201cEasy, Ma\u2019am.\u201d<\/p>\n

She tried to push him. \u201cStop,\u201d she said. \u201cAbdul wouldn\u2019t have liked you touching me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLet\u2019s go,\u201d I said to Haroon. I lifted Farida\u2019s left arm and put it across my shoulder, and Haroon gripped her elbow. We went down the stairs, taking one step at a time.<\/p>\n

Each time Farida wobbled, Haroon said, \u201cBe careful, Ma\u2019am,\u201d and she became angrier. When we reached the ground floor we released her, and Farida steadied herself. She looked like she was about to cry.<\/p>\n

\u201cEasy now,\u201d Haroon said.<\/p>\n

\u201cBe quiet,\u201d she replied.<\/p>\n

\u201cMa\u2019am hasn\u2019t eaten any breakfast today,\u201d I said. I told him how Mr. Abdul had always eaten an omelet and two parathas<\/em> for breakfast, and that since he\u2019d died, Ma\u2019am Farida had lost her appetite.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat nerve you have, gossiping about me, Mary,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

I ignored her and said to Haroon, \u201cPoor Ma\u2019am Farida\u2014she\u2019s all alone, and her daughters are far away.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAt least she\u2019s got us,\u201d Haroon said, and I agreed with him.<\/p>\n

When we finally made it up the stairs to the flat, Farida staggered into the living room and collapsed onto the sofa. Haroon waited by the door.<\/p>\n

\u201cTell him to go,\u201d she said, and waved her arm. Her voice was weak. \u201cI don\u2019t want him here. Abdul said gardeners aren\u2019t allowed inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cCome in, Haroon,\u201d I said. Haroon crossed over into the living room. He walked past Farida, and stood in front of the console where all the family photos were displayed: Mr. Abdul and Farida with their daughters; Mr. Abdul shaking hands with the Education Minister; Mr. Abdul wearing dark glasses and a baseball cap at a university golf tournament. Haroon picked up Mr. Abdul\u2019s portrait.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, no, don\u2019t touch,\u201d Farida said. \u201cJust go, please.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI knew Mr. Abdul,\u201d Haroon said. \u201cHe once found me sleeping under a tree and called me a lazy choora<\/em>. He also reported me to the Management Committee, and I was demoted.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s how Mr. Abdul was,\u201d I said. \u201cA real bully.\u201d<\/p>\n

Farida looked as if she was trying to say something, but no sound came from her mouth. Haroon looked at the photograph for a few more moments, then put it down. \u201cThe past\u2019s the past,\u201d he said. \u201cI\u2019m not the kind of person who holds grudges against the dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPoor people don\u2019t have the luxury of that,\u201d I said. \u201cCome, Haroon, let\u2019s take Ma\u2019am to her bedroom. She\u2019s very tired and must get some rest.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d Farida said. \u201cNo.\u201d Haroon went to the sofa where Farida was sitting, and bent to help her. She began resisting. \u201cNo, no, don\u2019t touch me.\u201d<\/p>\n

We lifted her up.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re very tired, Ma\u2019am,\u201d I said. She tried to protest, but all she could say was no.<\/em> Her face was wet. We put her into bed. \u201cGet some rest, Ma\u2019am,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

She moaned softly. \u201cAbdul \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n

I closed the door. \u201cCome Haroon, I\u2019ll make us some tea,\u201d I said, and went to the kitchen and put some tea leaves and water on the stove to boil.<\/p>\n

When I returned to the living room with a tea tray, Haroon was on the balcony laughing softly. He took some chocolate barfi<\/em> from the Tupperware in his pocket and crumbled it on the ledge. \u201cA treat for the crows,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

I settled down on the sofa, the way I had seen Farida do a hundred times, and drew her soft shawl over my legs. Haroon sat in Mr. Abdul\u2019s chair and put his feet up on a stool, just the way Mr. Abdul used to.<\/p>\n

We sat sipping our tea, and by and by, a crow flew down and began pecking at the barfi<\/em>.<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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