Madawa

3

"The hiring team will call you with updates regarding this interview," the woman with blinding bright red lipstick spoke. Her fake smile clearly stated otherwise. The hiring team was never going to call her. Just like the previous, or the one before that, and before that.

Saman stopped at the grocery store on her way back home. She bought some fruits and meat. Everything was ridiculously expensive but that was something she had never had to worry about. Living in a tight monthly budget made her accustomed to her new lifestyle that was going shop to shop until she finds the best [lowest] price.

An hour and half later of melting in the sweltering July afternoon heat, and finding all that she needed, she was headed home.

She got a bus back home and upon entering her apartment, she found out that her uncle had come to visit. Haidar, their father's older brother, has been supporting them financially since that fateful night—unwillingly so. She didn't like it when he came over, he always made sure to boast of all the favors he has done them and how it's hard for him to manage their expenses, how she should get a job. She hated the fact that he lived in that mansion of a house but couldn't accommodate two of his own blood just because his wife didn't want them there. She hated accepting money from him but there was nothing else she could do. She didn't have a job, all their savings were finished.

She kept the groceries in the kitchen and went to her brother's room, where she could here her uncle's voice come from.

"AssalamoAlaikum," she greeted as she entered the room.

"Walaikum Assalam," her brother and uncle both replied.

"Saman, Kab tak chalega aise?" Her uncle asked, before she even had the time to take a seat. "Ambreen ko apni farewell trip par jaana hai, beta, main yeh ikhrajaat zyada der tak nahi utha sakoonga," he added and even though it was expected of him, her heart broke a little. She neither had the words nor the strength to let him know that they were out of money at the moment and he was late in giving this month's allowance.

"Main aaj ek interview ke liye gayi thi, I'm really hopeful," she lied. She didn't want to look her brother's in his eyes because she knew she wouldn't be able to stay strong then. He always ends up feeling guilty for all this but she knows it's not his fault.

Their uncle didn't stay for long after that brief conversation.

Saman didn't have it in her to relive everything by talking to her brother so she said a quiet good night before going to her room. She took a cold shower, something that always calmed her down, even in winters. It reminded her of how her mother always used to call her 'ulti khopri' (twisted mind) because of this. She smiled-cried at the thought of her mother laughing with her.

She changed into an old pair of shalwar kameez that served the purpose of her nightdress and plopped herself on the bed. She turned her laptop  on and opened the tiny mail envelope icon hoping she found what she needed.

This was the one thing she looked forward to her whole day. The person that brightened up her dark life, this was her moon. She didn't know if it was a guy or a girl. All these years of chatting but they made sure that was one thing they never give away. Saman thought gender makes people biased and she didn't want that in their friendship. All she knew was that he/she could made it all better for a while. She hadn't received an email in the past week and she was starting to get worried.

They met on an online chat forum a long time ago—before she tragically lost her parents. The first time they had a conversation was them fiercely arguing about how Ravenclaw is better than Gryffindor. She had gone on and on defending her house and eventually rendered her now-penpal speechless. And that's when it all began. At the end of the day, they would write to each other about how their day went. They set up certain rules though, one of which was that they would never reveal their identity. No names, no addresses, no backgrounds; nothing. Identity makes you prone to judgement, Saman had said. They wished to remain just two strangers connecting without any judgment—connecting for who they were behind the shackles of identity. Her online friend knew about the death of her parents, though. She had gone silent. She hadn't replied to any emails. It was total, complete silence—and not just virtually. She hadn't spoken for months after the loss. A few months later she had replied to all of their emails—there were literally hundreds. She didn't say what happened but just that it happened and that she didn't want to ever talk about it. She noticed that the person on the other side of the screen wasn't as cheery as they used to be anymore. She didn't think of it much. They had become really close but she let it pass because she thought if she had gone through something so painful, others had their own problems too; others could lose their spark too.

She opened the email from unknownbadass407@gmail.com

Hey, Chanda. How have you been? happy email-adversary(?)! We've known each other for 10 years now! That is something big. This is honestly longer than most of my real life friendships. I know I had initially disliked the idea of not sharing our identities but I see how it's a lot better this way. I could never open up to any of my other friends the way I do to you. I want to send you a gift. I know sharing addresses is against our rules but I deduced in 10 years of reading emails for you that you're in Karachi and since I still don't know whether you're a guy or a girl, I've got something gender neutral. It's also age neutral so I'm sure you're gonna like it even if you're a ninety-year old guy. Anyway, I'm gonna arrange for your gift to be dropped off at a public place, most probably a coffee shop, from where you can later pick it up. That sound good? Please don't say no. Oh and I'm sorry I hadn't written in a while. It was a shitty week. I came across someone from my past, someone I have terrible history with. My neighbor is hell bent on waking me up at 6 in the morning with his stupid leaf blower. I had a super late night. I'm terribly sleep deprived. And on top of all that, my family has been trying to get in contact and you know how my relationship with them is. We do NOT get along. Okay, enough about my day—or should I say week?—either way, tell me about yours. I'll be waiting for your response.

Yours truly,
Unknown Badass.

A smile spread on Saman's face. Something that was a rare sight lately. She must have read the email at least three times. Her friend's cheery, funny side was back. She wondered what had changed, though.

She wrote back.

Hey, Badass. You sound like YOU after such a long time and that makes me so happy. I hope whatever it was that took that away from you is over. Happy email-versary! I like that! You don't need to send me any gifts but I know it's of no use to tell you this because you already knew I was going to say that and you're gonna send it no matter what, isn't that right?

I'm sorry you had a bad week. I don't know what went down between you two but if it's bothering you, can't you sort it out? Oh your neighbor sucks but why don't you wake up and offer Fajr* and maybe the leaf blower won't be as irritating if your already up? I know you're not on good terms with your family but I think family is very important... sounds weird when it comes from a person whose parents are dead right? But no, parents are truly a blessing. I don't know what differences you have with your father, but my advice would be to work it out.

My day was typical. I went for a job interview that I'm certain I will not get. My beloved uncle came to let us know he is running short on money to support me and his paraplegic nephew and he needs to save what he gives us to send his privileged daughter to Paris for her farewell trip. It baffles me how my father and him share the same blood. My father was the kindest, most generous man I ever knew. And my uncle... never mind I don't want to get further into this.

I'm glad for this friendship too, there's no way I would be talking to any of my real life friends about my financial problems. It's comforting how you don't know me and how you can't hand me money. I hate pity.

Anyway, pray that I get this job. Miracles happen, right?

Yours truly,
Cheesy Chanda

They had come across these random names when they had made their emails a little over 9 years ago after their HP battle. At the time, it was the funniest thing in the lives of these two teenagers—not a speck of worry in their lives.

——

*Islamic morning prayer