S E A T E D in the back of a rickshaw, Hoor along with her mother were destined for the famous Ichraa bazaar. The particular November morning was bright, the sun over head shining on the planet Earth, spreading its rays all over the horizon. The sky was sprayed a beautiful shade of blue and the white clouds looked like fluffed cotton. It was a very unexpected Monday morning. Usually, during this time of the year, rain would make its way down on random times of the day. And such a clear day was a welcome guest.

Their bodies resonated in the plastic covered seats. The driver maneuvered through the lanes skillfully. At times taking out his hand to signal a lane change. Hoor gripped the metal rods that were covered with bright, glittering tape. To provide her body some stability. The constant "zzzz" sound acted as the perfect lullaby, attracting Hoor towards itself to fall asleep.

They were heading to the huge cloth market to buy some new clothes for her. Her mother insisted that she buy all new clothes to signify a new start. Her father had given her mother money to buy stuff that she desired. On top of that, it was decided that she would take a few of Jahan-ara's own clothes that she had never worn, but were gifted to her at the time of marriage. It was not unheard of. Daughters taking their mothers clothes was a common sight.

"Baaji 200 ruppay ho gai aap kay," the hoarse voice of the driver broke Hoor's chain of thoughts.
"Arrey bhai 200 bohat ziada hai. Waisay bhi baat 150 ki hui thi!" Jahan-ara lost her patience on hearing the outrageous price.
"Ji baaji. Par orange line ki construction ki waja sai upar sai ana para. Is liye". The driver tried to defend himself.
"Acha acha," Jahan-ara handed him the money, murmuring to herself about the unfair situation.

Hoor was the one who stepped out first. Jumping on the road, carefully. The traffic in this part of the city was heavy and no one stopped. So one had to take care of themselves. Hoor stood parallel to the opened door. Allowing for her mother to step down, placing all weight on her slender shoulders. Making her think for a second that she might dislocate it, whilst standing there.

Jahan-ara grabbed Hoor's hand, leading her into the main part of the large shopping street. The two made their way through several narrow spaces, turning left and right watching their steps. The passing motorbikes and rude women who bumped into you at any given moment, slightly annoyed Hoor. Soon they reached the heart of the area. It was a space that opened to four different streets. The loud sounds of generators and food being fried became the backdrop as soon as vendors began shouting. Trying to attract buyers to their shops.

"Sale lag gai. Sale lag gai. Sale lag gai!"
"Appi aain andar bohat variety hai!"
"Baaji aap pasand karein, rate bhi munasib ho jaye ga!"
Were just a few of the several phrases that were continously being shouted by the sellers at the top of their lungs.
One could not pass one shop without having been called at to enter for the best quality clothing.

Hoor and Jahan-ara finally reached a shop. It was one nestled in the corner. Hidden from plain sight. Many people walked past it just due to its size. The small shop had rows on rows stacked with all kinds of clothes. From printed khaddar to the finest of plain silks. Since the first mission was to buy some everyday use clothing, they had come here first.
"Assalamualikum baaji," a man in his thirties, greeted Jahan-ara.
She nodded back in reply, sitting herself down on the worn out seat.

The fully stocked shop, smelt like dyes. A scissor and large scale used for measuring clothes, hung up with a nail. The white lights brightened up the place, allowing for better judgment of the articles.
"Bhai koi khadar mein kapray dikhao," Jahan-ara ordered.
"Ji baaji. Khadar bohat hai. Yeh saamne wali panch line hain uski," the man pointed to the colourful rows infront of them.
The pile had all sorts of colours one could imagine. From white to black, and some even sported a bit of embroidery on them.

"Ammi woh wala," Hoor pointed at a yellow one. Its bright colour was pretty and not tacky.
"Bahi yellow wala nikal kar dikhain," Jahan-ara ordered.
The man nodded and took it out. Laying it on the white shelf for them to see. The shirt was pretty. Its top half was yellow, and had black and white embroidery. The lower half was white and gray, with the gray painting a different pattern.
"Yeh bhai kis tarah hai?" Jahan-ara inquired.
She had seen the look of longing in Hoor's eyes. And she was sure this would be the first outfit they would purchase.
"Baaji yeh two piece hai. Saath mein safaid trouser. 1800 ruppay mein," the young vendor smiled.
"Arrey bhai 1800 bohat ziada hai. Pura bazaar 1500 ka de raha hai," Jahan-ara used the signature bargain line.
"Jhut na bolo baaji. 1650 final," the man bargained.
"Arrey bhai 1300 thodi kaha? 1500 mein hi lena hai. Dena hai tou do," Jahan-ara was adamant.
Finally the man, knowing he could not defeat her, agreed.
"Yeh lo choti gudiya," the man handed Hoor the shopper.

The mother daughter duo spent the better half of the afternoon bargaining with people. They had bought ten two piece suits and five three piece suits for her. Some of it was bought from the money her father gave while majority was bought from what her father-in-law gave her on her engagement.

However, you could never be a true Lahori if you visited Ichraa and did not try their pathura. Jahan-ara and Hoor, like most people that visited the place, stopped by a shop that sold pathuray. The shop was tiny and had a narrow roof. Inside, there was a seating area. It had low ceilings due to the fact that it was right under some staircases. Men rushed to and fro to serve the buzz of women that took seats whenever one was available. Luckily, even in such rush, Jahan-ara and Hoor found seats.

"Bhai 2 pathuray," Hoor gave the order.
And very soon, the mother and daughter were served. They dug in, and did not talk with each other. Instead were more focused on finishing every single thing inside the platter. The pathura's were served with a side of cabbage and onion salad, lemons, achaar and chanay. The perfect bit was a mixture of all the side dishes eaten in one bite. They hurriedly ate so that they could reach back before Maghrib.

The fact that it was Monday, meant that by the time they were free, the roads were crowded with heavy traffic. Because people were headed back to their homes after a busy day at the office. As they sat in the rickshaw, second time that day, people that were impatient began to hoot their horns. Which was because the signal was green and Jahan-ara was sitting in slowly. Making those that were behind, irritated.

"Ammi thoda jaldi kar lein," Hoor spoke.
"Haan bhai beth hi rahi hun na. Hadian itni mazboot thodi na hain keh eik dam sai beth jaun?" Jahan-ara reprimanded.
Hoor remained silent after that, swiftly sitting in herself, waiting to reach home. By the time they returned, Maghrib had already happened and her legs were cramping due to the small legroom and piles of shoppers that they had accumulated.

"Assalamualikum!" Hoor greeted her father and brother as soon as they entered.
"Waalikumassalam," Ali and Jamal replied simultaneously.
"Arrey waah lagta hai puri dukan utha lai ho!" Jamal teased on seeing the amount of shoppers in their hands.
Hoor blushed, embarrassed at the amount of things they had bought.
"Itni shopping karwanay keh paisay hain. Betay ka karz utarnay keh nahin?" Ali taunted.

Ali's claims made Hoor feel worse about herself. She knew how much her family was struggling. She knew her father had taken a loan. But was it not her right to feel happy? All her life she had never requested for anything. Unlike her brother who always wanted to be treated like royalty.

"Baqwas band karo. Uskay susar nai mangni par jo paisay diye thay unn mein sai aain hain. Waisay bhi jitnay paisay tum juay par laga chukay ho, uss sai tou kam hi lagay hain!" Jahan-ara shouted at her son.
The insolent man still thought he deserved something. After all the problems he had created in his sisters life, the least that he could do was be kind and not make her feel like a villain. Unfortunately, Ali was a man who liked to feel like the victim, and it would lead to dire consequences.

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