Chapter 3.

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Tragic as it was, a claim that came from privilege, Arham hated being in the public eye. The moment their cars stopped in the large parks parking lot, phones and cameras were raised in their directions. Flashes went on around them, snapping their faces and attire, they would make headlines next week he knew.  The nation while ravaged from cruelty hunger, still fighting the deep rooted feet of inflation found itself dying for some drama. A gossip spotted every now and then, about the elite could keep them going for the next week or two to follow, leaving little regard for the people whose lives were blatantly made public.

It was the norm every year for the provincial government to hold food festivals in every season in the capital of the province. The people of Lahore, were famous for the appetite and luxurious cuisine that they were home to. Such events were full of uproar, sponsored by multinational corporations for their own benefits. Singers, from the country who had made it big, got the perfect opportunity to gain even more fame from such events. Food stalls, with the air thick and heavy with the smoke of spices, the sizzling noises and apparent search for a drink to wash down the spices with was an important part.

Arham held himself back from punching the infatuated teenager who kept following them around. Trailing at a distance safe enough to give himself some cover. He would have sat this event out had it not been for his mother and sister forcing him to attend. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his khaki's, his muscles bulging under the button down shirt.

"Dekh liya? Chaltay hain ab wapsi par kuch kha lein gai". [Did you see it? Let's go now we'll eat something on our way back.]

"No bhai we — we just came now!" Lilah spoke in protest.

"What's there to see? Same old things Lilah".

"Arham we seldom come out of our home as a family, calm down". Their mother spoke calmly.

"It's just I hate everyone taking pictures of us, I do not want to be made into a public spectacle".

"It's a downside to the life we live Arham, you should be thankful that you're blessed with all the things most people could never even dream of," Lyana patted his arm.

"Bhai just one hour then we'll go, pinky promise!" Lilah whimpered.

"Maan jao Arham". [Please agree Arham.] Aliyaar squeezed his shoulder.

"Okay. One hour, no more no less".

Lilah squealed in delight, her hand holding her mother's in a tight grip as they walked through the brick walkways towards the entrance. A long line of families stood in waiting for the tickets to enter. People pulled and pushed each other around to sneak in early. A sign reading the words of the festival's name illuminated the spot next to them, pure white light blinding their peripheral vision as the line moved forward at a snail's pace. Their guards secured the parameters, sending him a text every now and then to update with the situation.

"How's your preparation for the meeting with the election commission?" Aliyaar spoke.

The two had been surrounded with deep silence whilst their mother and sister talked about a new designers collection.

"I'm as prepared as I can be, seat tou tumharay bhai ki hi hai". [The seat is of your brother.] He added sarcastically.

"You sure you don't want to nominate yourself for Lahore? Mushkpur is really far away".

"Aliyaar you know I like the colder regions, mountains call my name. Mushkpur is my destiny I know".

"That's good and all, but no one other than Asghar Khan has won the elections since it became a province".

"The man is retiring. He is good friends with abu, I have high hopes for myself," Arham spoke, a thoughtful look on his face as he continued, "yeh sab chodo mujhe batao kaam kaisa hai?" [Leave all of this you tell me how is work?]

"Good, great in fact. The dividends paid for this quarter are at a ten year high. We're looking to bring in at-least an overall profit of fifteen percent at the end of the business year in July. Which is amazing," Aliyaar spoke with enthusiasm.

"That sounds—wonderful". Arham added, mulling over the words.

"I just hope it makes abu proud of me".

"Bakwas band karo yaar sab fakhar kartay hain tum par samjhay? Ainda yeh suna na tou shikayat kar dun ga!" [Shut up man everyone is proud of you understood? If I hear you say this again I'll lodge a complain against you!]

The line moved up one family every few minutes. Sweat trickled down his back, his hazel eyes focused on the heads of his mother and sister. Maintaining a distance of a few inches from them, both Aliyaar and he shielded the two from unwanted gazed. His sharp ears twitched as he caught sounds of people in front of them whispering to each other about them. A few women, that stood in front their mother turned around to talk to her getting a bit too friendly as she eyed Lilah.

Arham squeezed Lilah's shoulder, her head whipping and a wide smile was thrown his way. It was remarkable how much he learnt from his sister. To be patient, to love despite not knowing the outcomes of your decision was a talent she possessed and passed on to him. He observed the way she interacted with her surroundings, giving him hope and faith that if she could do it, then he could too. Unlike most people he knew, Arham's true inspiration were his siblings not parents. His sister who fought with society every day and his brother who battled the claims of nepotism with his brain.

His sneakers crushed the slightly wet grass, the long ring clad fingers scratched his bare bicep as mosquitoes found their way on to his skin. Vision glasses covered his eyes, the caramel streaks in his hair gifted to him by the bright sunlight and constant exposure glinted under the white lights. Arham's palms twitched with the urge to pull out a cigar from his pocket, being amongst a crowd of questioning gazes, he was beginning to loose his patience.

The line shortened and after another fifteen minutes they finally arrived at the front desk. A woman in a uniformed attire sat on the table, her hands fiddling with the tickets as she cut them off with a steel scale. Before their mother could pull out money from her wallet, Arham slapped two crisp notes of five thousand rupees on the desk. Gripping the flimsy ticket material, they walked towards the entrance. Inside there were neatly arranged rows of food stalls with bright neon signs that read their names with elaborate cursives. Coughing, Arham massaged his chest, the spice saturated smoke hit him harder than he could imagine.

"Kia khain gi ap mama?" [What would you like to have mother?]

"Ask Lilah she brought us here," Lyana tsked.

"Chapli kebab?" Lilah spoke with glee.

Arham nodded, following Aliyaar towards a stall that seemed to be selling the particular style of kebabs. The stainless steel griddle burned bright and smoke arose from it as the chefs added fresh oil, throwing on five pieces of the kebabs at a time. Flipping and flinging them in the air with artistic flair the two brother's watched in awe. Lilah joined the two, wedging herself in between her brother's as she watched at the man cook the kebabs in surprise. Their mother watched at them from the corner, feeling tears of pride prick her eyes.

"Arham — Arham Alamgeer right?" A voice called from behind.

Turning around Arham stared at the man for a few seconds. The familiar face with the sharp eyebrows and brooding gaze, he could recognize everywhere, it was after all his best friend — Dawaar Mehmood.

"Dawaar!"

"Tum to bhul hi gaye ho humein bhai!" [You have forgotten us man!]

"It's not that, I'm just busy with the election commission these days".

"Mhmm as you say, although I could just go and ask your mother where you've been hiding!"

"Go ahead!" He patted Dawaar on the shoulder.

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The next morning Arham woke up at seven in the morning, sliding out from under his sheets he pulled the curtains open. His trousers hung low on his waist, his chest bare as he stared at the gardeners working around the flower beds in their lawn. Running a hand through his hair, he walked in to his bathroom, the election commission had pushed his meeting with them a few days forward. It was out of the blue and had his father not prepared the documents before hand he would be in deep trouble.

Dressed in a cream white knee length shirt with a fitted trouser and brown lace shoes he stepped out of his bedroom. His fingers held on to a brown leather folder that had been custom made for him. The initials of his name carved on to it in gold lettering. Taking two steps at a time he entered the brightly lit dinning room. His aunts, Myra and Unnati ran a hand on his shoulders wishing him morning. His mother walked into the room with a plate in her hands, the rest of the family already seated.

"Aur bhai kaisi tiyari hai?" [So man how is your preparation?] His uncle, Aryan grinned.

"Achi hai Aryan chachu". [It's good Aryan uncle.]

"Kehnay ko keh rahay ho ya waqai mein achi hai?" [Are you saying it for the sake of or is it actually good?] Ayaan pulled his leg.

"It's good, abu spent the entire night giving me tips on how to tackle their piercing questions".

"Did he now?" His mother spoke, patting his shoulder.

"Ji meri jaan ap keh betay ko puri tarah tiyaar kar diya hai". [Yes my life I've prepared your son.]

"That's good, now come on eat your breakfast Arham". Lyana patted his shoulder.

"Aliyaar pass me a paratha". Arham addressed his brother.

Tearing into the crisp, warm bread he dipped it into the still blistering hot fried egg. He poked the pink yolk, a liquid gold oozing out. The bread coupled with the yolk covered his mouth in their warm luxuriousness. It was a simple choice yet his favorite breakfast. Something about it reminded him of the warmth of his grandparents, the softness of his mother's palm as she fed him morsel after morsel. His leg bounced in nervousness, each breath was held against him, his conscience was far away from reality. He gazed out of the windows on the opposite side of him, natural sunlight pouring in through them. Blinding his vision anytime he looked up. Maids rushed in and out of the dinning room with cups of tea and refills for the toasted bread, one after the other, the large table abandoned of people as they all left for their work.

"Arham do you have a minute?" His cousin, Umar called to him.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, he turned around to face the man a year younger than him. Umar was a resident doctor in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the city. He was leaving for England in a year to continue his masters in cardiology. Arham nodded his head, motioning for him to continue.

"It's my car, the boot keeps leaking". He explained.

"The boot? Didn't you just buy your car?"

"I did. There was a minor accident and ever since then the boot keeps leaking, I've had it replaced thrice now".

"I'll have a look after I'm back from the meeting, I'm sure it's nothing serious".

"Of course, best of luck".

Luck was indeed what he needed. As the car neared its destination at the national election bureau, Arham recited the verses his mother had passed him on a piece of paper. A small good luck sprawled across the ends of the paper with a scrawny heart in his mother's handwriting. The black iron gates rolled, wide enough for the Land Cruiser to pass through. Guards saluted the car out of practice, his lawyer and assistant already waiting for him at the entrance.

"Arham sir the commission is ready for you, now you know your rights right?" His lawyer, Azhar Khan looked at him.

"Yes I am very much aware Azhar. You'll be called if I need help". He informed.

"Okay sir after this you have a meeting at Pearl Continental with a new generation of politicians". His assistant, Burhan Naeem informed.

"Alright then, let's get this done and over with".

With that, he walked through the large wooden doors with his shoulders spread wide in confidence. The tall walls were painted white and glass chandeliers hung from the top, every part of the place spat expensive. A large wooden frame with the pictures of Quaid-e-Azam and Allama Iqbal hung from the walls. Looking the frames dead in the eye he prayed for the two brave men, that were the reason why he stood where he was. Taking a deep breath, he opened the chocolate colored door, stepping inside a private office.

"Arham have a seat," the president of the committee, Selena Khawar, smiled at him.

He nodded, having greeted everyone inside the room he slid into his chair, passing his documents along to the team of people in front. Relaxing his posture just a little bit, his heart was beating fast and sweat laced his fingers, but that was something they did not have to know.

"You studied law from England, why not settle there?" The questions came fast and without a warning.

"My family, it's in Pakistan and this is my country, I want to live and die on this soil".

"Brave words for a young man, you sure you wouldn't waver?"

"I am". He nodded his head.

"It states here that you have no active source of income save for the shares you own in the A&A corporations, will that keep your family afloat?"

"It will. Because not only do I get the quarterly profits, I do get to keep the revenue generated from out annual sales".

"You own these shares how?" An old man inquired.

"Mr.Arham's grandfather is the founder of this company, it's part of his inheritance".

"A hefty inheritance". Shuja-ud-din Baig taunted.

"Yes. Indeed, all made from white money I assure you. All my assets have proofs, as stated".

"Thank you Arham, you'll hear from the commission soon".

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With that we wrap another chapter and I promise Filza appears soon.
Next week I think, probably.
teheheh <3333

Now here's the plan :
You guys comment here and tell me how it was
And then
Comment and tell me do we think Arham is a good politician?

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