Rameen looked at her father's apologetic face and heaved a sigh. She should've seen this coming.

"I hate your office, Baba. Do they have any regard for professionalism? It's a freaking Sunday morning."

Afzal smiled at his daughter sheepishly. "I know, Reen. But I can't skip this meeting."

She understood that. The corporate market in Pakistan was lethal when it came to getting work out of their employees.

"It's okay. I'll book an Uber to Wadia House."

"You can ask Farmaan, you know."

Rameen sent a knowing look her father's way and he immediately grew silent. The situation at home was tense. Normally, as goes with the joint families, small arguments are brushed under the rug and the working of the things is kept from deteriorating. But it didn't seem to be the case this time around.

Unaiza was more hurt by Ayesha and Mehreen's conversation than she let on. She had held her own pretty remarkably, Rameen was proud of that but the handling of the situation by Ayesha, and particularly Farmaan and Mehreen was not encouraging at all.

She wasn't disappointed in Mehreen. For one, she was new to the family and hadn't come from a system as theirs. Her parents always lived separately from the rest and adjusting into a joint family was difficult for Mehreen. Secondly, they had, more or less, gotten an idea that Mehreen's family stuck to problematic old thinking. If they didn't, her sister wouldn't have tried to exclude Unaiza from the wedding rituals because of Unaiza's past. So, Rameen had no hopes from Mehreen as it is. She was Farmaan's wife and Rameen respected that relation with her but in her heart, she knew Mehreen would have things to say about the joint system. It didn't occur to any of them that Mehreen would start, first and foremost, with Unaiza.

The attitude of Ayesha and Farmaan was the real worry. Ayesha hadn't tried to come clear to Ammara and Anwar, or to Unaiza. Apologizing was a far cry. Farmaan, who had been both a brother like cousin and friend to Unaiza had started keeping his distance. The air around the house was tense.

Najia and Afzal stood with Ammara and Anwar. Rameen expected nothing less from her parents. But she expected a bit more from Ayesha Auntie and Farmaan. Amjad Taya was torn between his love for his immediate family, his brothers and their children and the friction he could very clearly see now.

"I should call the cab then." Rameen took out her phone. They were standing in the garage of their house, when the doorbell rang. Rameen went to open it. Bushra smiled at her as she came inside.

"Reen, how are you?" Bushra hugged her that's when Rameen's eyes found the familiar car and its owner. Afzal had also reached them. Him and Bushra exchanged greetings when Rameen finally peered her eyes away from him.

"I'm great, Bushra Auntie. Mama is in her room."

"Oh, I'll meet her shortly. Are you two going somewhere?"

Afzal shook his head. "We were, to drop Reen at Wadia House but I've gotten an urgent call from office. Have to leave in a few."

"Oh, but don't worry. Danish can drop Rameen home."

Rameen wanted to refuse but her father seemed on board with the idea. He preferred that his daughters commuted with someone he trusted and he definitely trusted Danish. Before she could say anything, her father was already out, talking to Danish.

"It's been long I've sat down and caught up with you. Next time, I guess."

Rameen hugged her sideways. "You know you're always welcomed at Wadia House, right? Visit us some time. Banu Auntie was asking about you the other day."

Bushra smiled nervously. She had thought after Sila and Danish's breakup, things between her and the residents of Wadia House wouldn't remain the same but Rameen had cleared this confusion.

"Reen, Danish is waiting for you."

Rameen picked up her purse and her overnight bag and made her way out of the house as she bid a goodbye to Bushra and Afzal.

"Hey." Danish greeted her as soon as she took the passenger seat. Rameen settled her stuff and smiled at him. "Hi, Danish."

That was good enough for him. Making sure that Rameen was comfortable, he drove out of the lane.

The first few minutes went in silence. Rameen kept on stealing glances at him then sighed and finally turned into her seat.

"Sila told me that you two are back to being friends."

"We are trying it and so far, it's not bad. In fact, it's going surprisingly nice."

She looked oddly relieved. Danish's lips curled into a smile. Sila was right. Rameen might act tough but she was the one person who'd always root for him on every positive step he took in his life.

"That's good to know. Congratulations on the new job. You deserved it after back to back setbacks."

Her words were earnest. Danish took them as they were.

"Sila and I went to lunch the other day. Do you know our workplaces are in close vicinity, her, yours and mine? She wanted you to tag along as well the next time. I told her that was not likely as you're angry with me."

Rameen's stare at him was unwavering. "I'm not angry with you, Danish. Just disappointed, that's all."

"I'm working on being better, Reen." His words held the conviction they lacked in the last couple of months. A good sign.

"And it shows so that's a win, I guess."

"I guess so as well."

She went back to staring out of the window, lost in her thought.

"You can share it with me you know."

Rameen looked confused. "What?"

"Whatever is bothering you and before you deny it, let me tell you I can read your body language pretty well. We've been friends for years, Reen. Friends can pick up on such things."

She closed her eyes momentarily. She suddenly looked more subdued and tensed. "Did Bushra Auntie tell you anything about the issues in our family these days?"

His answer was in negation. "You know Mama never shares Najia Auntie's matters with any of us. Best friend pact, I guess. But what issues?"

"I'll tell you."

And she did. She told him everything from the start. Words found their way out of her, as if she was waiting for just that and Danish listened to her intently, as he would when she'd rant about a difficult assignment or semester end project back in their business school days.

"You know what the most hurtful thing is? Ayesha Auntie and Farmaan's attitude. I can overlook Mehreen's attempts at dismantling the peace in our house just because she doesn't want to take the blame for what she said about Unaiza. She's not lived with us all our lives but Farmaan and Ayesha Auntie have. Still, there have been no attempts from their side to make amends."

She sniffled. She was usually a calm and reliable friend, a problem solver and a head strong woman but those who knew her more intimately were also aware she had the softest heart for her family. Seeing them in pain always took a toll on her.

"Unaiza's so hurt. She doesn't show but Ramna has seen her crying herself to sleep at night. How much courage is enough, Danish? It wasn't her fault that destiny played a cruel game with her. No woman wants that her husband she hasn't even known properly dies and leaves her as a widow who didn't even have her Rukhsati. Everyone just wants to pass their judgments; no one wants to even consider what it does to Unaiza as a person. It's not fair."

She covered her face with her palms to calm herself. Then slowly shook her head. "This is what I always tried telling Dado. You can't always keep your family close to you. Sometimes, you have to take a leap of faith. What's the point of it all when there's just resentment between hearts?"

They had entered Parsi Colony. Danish stopped outside Wadia House. Rameen tried to compose herself as both unbuckled their seatbelts.

"Come here."

He moved closer and caressed her head. Rameen welcomed the warmth.

"It's horrible, Reen but you all will find a solution. Your family has that in it. Sure, once the distance in hearts has settled, making its presence known, it just grows, the wedge widens. But here you're, crying for Unaiza as if her hurt is yours as well. I'm sure she'll do the same for you. You folks have been pretty solid and tight so not much is lost."

His assurance felt like balm to her aching heart.

"As far Unaiza's concerned, she needs to be away from all this. Living among the same people who've it out for you gets pretty exhausting. Can't you bring her here?"

He asked, pointing to the white bungalow.

"I tried that already. Banu Auntie has no problems with it but Ammara Chachi refused. She doesn't want to give Ayesha Tayi and Mehreen any more reasons to make things worse. But you're right. Unaiza does need change of scenery. Her environment is suffocating."

Danish was in deep thought. Rameen raised an eyebrow when he checked something on his phone.

"Yes." He mumbled and held it out to her. "Do you remember Kiran Abbasi?"

"I do. She was mine and Sila's classmate."

Danish nodded. "Yeah. So you must also remember she tried to start a campus-wide all woman travel agency."

Rameen knew it all but where he was going with this?

"It had very humble beginning but she wanted to make it possible for female students to travel to north alone. During our time there, she succeeded in her first all women trip to Gilgit and Chitral. Turns out, it wasn't just a business school fever dream. She's actually running that agency quite phenomenally."

"But what do we have to do with it."

Danish put his phone aside. "Kiran's husband is an acquaintance. Even if he wasn't, it's safe to contact her and book a trip with her agency. Send Unaiza to one. That'll refresh her. There's nothing the mountain air can't cure. She needs this vacation. She needs to be away from that environment. It helps. When I was going through it, I took one week off work. My problem was that, I had stopped spending time at home and even if I did, I never treated that time like I was out of office. So, for seven days, I did no work. Just ate, slept and contemplated everything in my life. Worked like wonder, helped me a lot to sort my mess."

His idea wasn't bad. Not at all. Unaiza wasn't opposed to travelling and Kiran's travel agency looked legit. She was their class fellow after all, trustworthy.

"Send me the details. I think this can work."

There, in Wadia House, through the window, Amal saw the discussion without knowing what it was about. Sila wasn't that off track when she called her and Haleh nosy nikammis but Amal was just human and every sane person would check why a car stopped outside their place and no one came out of it even though, it had been fifteen minutes.

Reen and Danish. Good. Amal chuckled to herself and hummed under her breath as she made her way to the lounge to break this news to her best friend.

But Haleh was also busy. Immersed in her book she was constantly smiling. That struck Amal as odd. The novel was a tragic romance, which, in no way, warranted such reaction.

Soon, her confusion got cleared. A book? Nah, she was busy with her phone. No points for guessing whom she was talking to. The newly found common ground between her a certain Lallu was going good so far.

Amal ran a hand through her hair as she tied it in a bun. At the same time, Saleema Baji ran into her, sniffing the air.

"Amal, what kind of smell is this?"

"I don't know, Saleema Baji but love is in the air."

"Hein?"

Amal shrugged. "One is discussing all her problems with her mister in the car. The other one is talking to hers on the phone and the most successful one is at her place, probably cuddling her mister slash hubby, still asleep even though it's ten in the morning."

"And the last one is heading out to meet hers." Saleema mumbled.

"Hein?"

But Saleema was already out of there. "I forgot the milk on the stove!"

"Again?"

Even if she heard Amal, she didn't answer. Not that Amal had the time to partake in this conversation anymore.

Raed was waiting for her.

𝄞

Raed had collected enough material through his fieldwork. Seeing the multifaceted nature of the city in every way possible, it was a herculean task but his guide was one dedicated woman. It came in handy that she knew this city like the back of her hand. It could be due to the nature of her Ph.D. research but Raed knew that had little to do with Amal and her love affair with Karachi. She was one of those people who loved their Sheher with all its blemishes. With those. Despite those.

Raed went through his notes, photographs and video clips last night, enough material to start with the relevant chapters.

From fading Iranian restaurants in Saddar, the shadowy staircases in the shoddy apartment complexes, the seaside district Keamari, the second hand book shops at Urdu Bazar where he got his hands on a poetry collection of Faiz, signed by an Aunt to her beloved niece, the towers, Do Talwar, Teen Talwar, Nishter Park, Soldier Bazar, Mansfield street, the literary discourse he and Amal attended at District 19, and the art festival at Frere Hall, The cinemas the history of which had been made vivid by Amal's retellings, the dilapidated entrance to a low rise building, where the poster for its original construction plan was etched on the wall but the that blue print didn't actualized, Jehangir Kothari Parade, Pakistan Chowk, Hill park, the balcony parties Amal took him to one, the city hawkers, endless music concerts, empress market, to Jabees Hotel.

The vibrancy of the city wasn't different from any other metropolis but the distinct Karachi taste was evident everywhere he went. He had met so many people, willing to show him a new face of their beloved city.

Then there were the bleak alcoves. The city's long history of political, ethnic, sectarian, and criminal violence. Those areas where life was thriving donning the blanket smeared with blotches of blood and walls littered with bullet holes. The ghettos, katchi abadis, the disputed zones. The disparity of it all. So many different ethnicities and their association with their city.

Amal's narration was of a storyteller for the mystical fairy tales. They'd be walking on Zaibunnisa Street but Amal, with her historical anecdotes would pull them to the Elphinestone street in the 1950s, checking the post card collection, M.A Jinnah road would turn into Bunder road in no time, I.I. Chundrigar road would take the distant hue of McLeod Road, Abdullah Haroon Road would don the apparel of its old form, Victoria road.

"When do you start with the interviews?"

Amal's voice brought him back to his surroundings. He looked at her face, her stray locks dancing to the tunes of the breeze at Kidney Hill.

"Soon. The fieldwork will go side by side but I don't want to go back without conducting at least a few of those."

Amal nodded, well aware of the drill. He had to go back in a few days. He had work commitments to take care of but he'd be back to further work on his book. The field work could take more than a decade in some cases, here they were talking weeks and months.

"Where do you want to start?"

She was already rummaging through her purse, likely to hand him the list she'd made.

"With You."

Amal's movements stopped. She raised an eyebrow at him. Raed shrugged but even though his approach was casual, Amal could see his suggestion was serious.

"Why me?"

"Reasons are many but you are my introduction to this city. That's the most important one."

Amal leaned into the bench. "Okay, then. Ask your questions."

"Actually," Raed mimicked her movements. "Just tell me your life story."

"You won't be taking any notes?"

He smiled. "No notes. Your every story is etched on my memory. You have got quite a talent for it."

Amal chuckled softly. "Because what I tell you about this city come straight from my heart."

She aimlessly stared into the distance. "The Karachi I was born into was the stark opposite to the city I try to imagine. At that point, it was the worst year in the city's history as per the crime and murder count. My family lived in a moderate locality of Gulshan. The violence hadn't yet reached there. But every area reverberated with its echoes. My grandfather had brought a lot of property during his business boom in the late 1960s. My father inherited all that as he was an only child. I was only one when the idea of leaving the city and settling down somewhere else crossed his mind."

Her eyes swept across the rugged grassy patch they were sitting on. "It was not an outrageous point of view. Many people who could afford to start a new life somewhere else chose to leave. The city had grown too violent, too uncertain and too unpredictable. The elite spheres still had somewhat of normalcy. The same wasn't true for middle class and upper middle class city echelons. But Dada refused to comply. Even the mention of leaving would anger him. Baba couldn't do much when it was Dada's authority against his wish. So, we stayed."

Raed didn't interrupt her walk down the memory lane. He just listened.

"Fast forward, I was ten and the city was more or less the same. Months of peace followed by days of unrest. A certain pattern the Karachiites had grown accustomed to. But our family was struck by a tragedy. Dada got seriously ill and within days, he passed away. Six months after his death, my father was making arrangements for us to leave for good and this time around, he had complete authority. The whole property was his, sans a house which Dada had left on Ammo's name. Baba sold everything. One of my mother's brothers was settled in the USA. He had already sponsored my maternal grandfather too so that's where we were going. Ammo watched it all with a pained silence. Her husband had given his blood and sweat to get all that but it was gone and at its place, we had our visas, passports and plane tickets. Baba had already started a business there, even when Dada was alive, quite a dedicated man my father is. He set his mind to leaving Karachi and at the end he succeeded in doing that, but without Ammo."

He gave her a questioning look at that and she nodded. "Ammo refused to come along. She hadn't participated in any pre-move documentation. She was adamant in her stance. Baba thought he'd be able to make her see sense but she remained tenacious. They had a huge fight. Baba accused Ammo of sabotaging something he had worked hard on. She remained silent. That day, she knew that her son had been lost. For a while. Baba didn't try anymore. Ammo didn't cave. So, we left Karachi without her."

"Baba gave us lame excuses, that we will get Ammo there when we are a bit steady in our lives. But we all knew he had stopped trying. Ammo's affection for us didn't change. The phone calls back home used to be the highlight of my day. The house on Ammo's name was already being run as an old age home by the NGO my mother was associated with before she moved to the USA. Her active participation ceased and so did the NGO's interest in it. Ammo had moved to that house since there was nothing else remaining in my grandfather's real estate. Slowly, everyone got busy in their lives, my parents in their work and my siblings in their education. The phone calls got fewer. Ammo's mention on the breakfast and dinner table got scarce. As if she was fading away. A bygone detail. "Don't you miss her?" I'd ask my siblings. Kashan would look torn but Zahra would roll her eyes. "Again, Amal? Don't you have things to do?"

Her eyes were glassy. "I was the only one in that house who remembered her. My Ammo, her sweet scent, her bear hugs and her loud laugh. I'd call her every other day. I was already the closest to her back home but somehow distance, which had made my family practically strangers to Ammo, it grew us closer. She was my confidant. All the happenings of my life, highs and lows, I'd share with her first and then with anyone else. My own parents would know about it after her."

Amal took a long pause. Raed suspected she wouldn't speak any further and if she chose not to, that would be fine by him.

But she continued. "8 years passed. We never once visited Pakistan. My family kept a namesake link with Ammo. I graduated high school. In stark contrast to my siblings, I didn't know what I wanted to do with my life. College applications, high paying professions, ivy league, I had no concern for any of that. I just wanted to visit Pakistan. I was a legal adult. When I told my parents about my decision, they tried to stop me but I was adamant. Albeit, reluctantly they accepted my decision. But before I could give Ammo this news, she called my father, not for a mother-son chitchat. It was to tell him that she was seriously ill and needed him."

"My father was callous but he showed his heart that time. Him, Mama and I left for Pakistan immediately. Kashan and Zahra stayed behind as they couldn't take time out of their tight schedule for an out of country trip. We reached Karachi and then Ghar. Ammo..."

She took a shuddering breath. Raed immediately shifted closer. "That was not Ammo. It was her ghost. I was the most connected to her over the phone and even I couldn't recognize her. She was so weak physically. Cancer had confined her to her bed. She cried when she saw us. Baba cried as well. I was numb. But then that numbness gave way to resolve. That day, Ammo became the sole focus of my life. From her medicines to her visit to the hospitals, I was there with her everywhere. At one point, Mama had to go back. Baba also had to but he chose to stay. Three months of her fight against her own body and then Ammo succumbed."

A tissue was extended to her and only then did she realize tears were falling down her cheeks. Amal took it from him with a thankful nod and dabbed her face and eyes.

"The days after her were hazy. There was so much I had yet to tell her. Her disease hadn't given me a chance to voice it out. But in that one month, I had, once again, come to know my grandmother better than my own family. Ammo, her stubbornness but the fierce way she protected what she deemed worth fighting for. And in the list of the things she'd fight for till she was battered and bruised, at the top, was Ghar."

"I refused to go back to the USA. My parents were worried but I wasn't. I told them it was my last decision. They tried their best to change my mind but I stood firm. Some people might say I was driven by emotions. Some people did say that, my sister, for example. But so what? Why dedicating my life to something I deemed worth it was a waste? A mistake? I was never cut out for academic excellence as Kashan and Zahra. So, I did what I could to revive Ghar. My parents supported me, or tried to, out of obligation or regret, a bit of both I guess. But for me those people who had stayed with Ammo during the last eight years of her life when her own son gave up on her, who provided her with the warmth of a family and who cried with her and laughed alongside her, were the priority."

She gave him a warm smile. "That's it. I never looked back after that and built a life here and this city helped me immensely in doing so. It took me gliding with it, it gave me hope and purpose, and accepted me when I felt adrift. It gave me a big family, my girls who will always be there for me. It gave me Azra, Ruki, Shamim and Chandni, my grandmother's closest friends who doted on me just like her. I have a bit of my grandmother in me. I will also fight till I'm battered and bruised for what I hold dear to my heart. Here it is. Your first interview, my life story this city has shaped."

Amal didn't speak after that. She had already done that a lot. Raed didn't comment on whatever she had told him. He could just stare at the woman in front of him with awe.

But one thing remained as loud as the beat of a heart yet as silent as the whisper of love, between them, around them, ahead of them.

This wasn't an interview. She had talked keeping that in mind. He had listened without once feeling otherwise.

𝄞

Continued in the next part