‘She is a hand painter; Paints stellar masterpieces with her naked hands.’
‘Without a paint brush?’
That sounds amazing. Art is the subject, which never came to me naturally, I was really bad at drawing from my school itself. Painting with bare hands must be tough. How do you even paint with your rough finger edges? I’m totally clueless at it.
‘She had her own Gallery. Mostly appreciating the arts and spent her time, deducing the story behind every painting.’
‘What was her name?’
‘Aditi,’ he paused. Pulls out his phone, unlocks it ‘Aditi Sharma.’ flashing her photo on the screen.
She looks beautiful.
‘Hindu?’ I checked steering the phone to have a closer look.
I had to ask. I don’t judge people. It’s just that Inter Religion marriage is a big feat in India.
‘We met at an Indian Cultural fest held in our city. A painting of her which convolved different colours of Indian religions into one beautiful lady walking on the street alone at night won the accolades. I was stunned by her talent. Approached her and we spent the whole night talking about art and culture; we liked each other’s company; began dating and finally happily married.’
‘You both are from India?’
‘Only her, she was on a world tour then. I’m from Runisia, my parents are from India, though.’
After hearing the country name so many times, ‘Where exactly is this Runisia?’ Still figuring out, ‘Where is it located?’
‘It’s one of the Middle Eastern country.’
‘Okay.’ I realise, I ask too many questions and interrupt him from talking, but he continued anyways.
‘She left me four years ago. Her last words were painful, and still intact with me. She said “I feel suffocating, whenever I’m around you.” and left with no traces back to her.’
‘But what was the problem?’ I insisted myself on him. ‘There should be a strong reason, to leave your husband uninformed.’ I mean it’s not usual.
‘The problem is love itself,’ He sighed ‘Like medicines, love has an expiry date too. After years of journey with me, our love was not enough to keep us together.’
‘Was she cheating on you?’ I was making sure, if it’s the same bullshit, we see in our movies.
‘Not at all, she is loyal. Her insecurities about her art, that cannot be compromised for the small love we had. She wanted to travel round the globe and study art and me the polar opposite wants to stick stagnant to one place holding her hands.’
‘What bought you here after four long years?’
‘I wanted to pay her a visit; to make sure, she is okay. Maybe she doesn’t love me anymore. But I still do.’
‘Don’t worry, she’ll be fine. Be Strong.’ I want to give him a warm hug, but I didn’t. In India, hugging is not considered as a form of casual affection. It is still an intimate act, even though you have no intention by heart. Especially, a woman never makes a move. I just hate these stupid theories of our undated society. So, I gave him a little hug anyways and he felt good. Humans are easy to handle, we complicated things and ruined human emotions.
‘Don’t worry, everything will be fine.’ It’s kind of awkward to hug a stranger. Still, he needed that.
He wipes his tears, ‘Though, I don’t know, where she is admitted? Her friend’s contact was not reachable now, I don’t know where to go. I need to find her somehow.’
‘Which place, was that again?’ I realised, I wasn’t paying attention to the places he mentioned.
‘The one at the Opera house, they said, she was attending a Choir performance that day.’
‘Yeah, I was present near the incident and don’t worry. I have some contacts at press, maybe I can get the hospital records of patients who are admitted. It has been nine days only, she would still be at the hospital probably, if I’m not wrong. We can get her contact.’
His eyes were pooled with tears. ‘Thank you so much, that would be a great help.’ He forwarded his hands for a warm handshake.
‘I will text you the hospital name as soon as I get the information.’
‘Oh, Sure. You can save my number then.’ he said
‘Yes, sure,’ I said hesitantly ‘How will I text you, if I don’t take your number.’ Smile broke between us after a long emotional conversation.
I was reaching for my phone, meanwhile two security officers in their tough Khaki uniform were approaching us. They walked stiff with a stern face shouting out loud ‘Who is Rahim Razak here?’ they screamed twice.
It didn’t ring a bell for him, the first time. For the second call, Rahim immediately stood up on his feet glaring at the officers ‘Yes, it is me. Here!’ I guess he isn’t expecting the security officers. Rahim slid his hand into the pocket. The officers sensed something un-usual and revolted in split second. They armed the guns and aimed at Rahim who was absolutely astonished.
‘Arms in the air! Don’t get any thoughts mister.’ stated the officer to the right.
Chapter II
I’m all romped, tension filled the room and all the passengers around in shudder, holding their breath. A brief silence passed similar to our classrooms when principal is about to enter. Rahim is trying to digest the fact that there is a gun pointed to his head. Maybe, I should say something now? Will it panic them? Or shall I keep quiet?
Not sure, what to do?
Rahim with a stammering voice ‘I was – pulling out my phone.’ Informing the officers, while his hands already floating in the air.
I should speak now ‘He is no threat; please lower your guns.’ I requested them in our local language.
While his hands in the air, ‘Who are you? Mam?’ Are you with him?’ officer to the left enquired.
‘No, I’m a co – passenger. Met him a while ago and I believe that he is no danger. There is some confusion.’ I replied.
Whenever there is a terror attack. Every Muslim, becomes the victim of suspicion. It has become much harder
