The true story of my real names and real descriptions. Don't read if you are in hurry. It will develop gradually as it did in reality.
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My name is Zeenat Parveen. I belong to the city of Prayagraj located in North India. I had been born in a strict and orthodox Muslim family. My parents had very strong faith in tradition. It is due to this that I was controlled in my life since childhood. I attended girls' colleges and girls' schools. I had to wear a hijab and loose garments always. This was what my parents thought would save me male attention. I could not communicate with boys and make male friends.
My father, my younger brother, and my uncles of either side of the family were the only men who saw my face. I was raised as an obedient and conservative person though I had a lot of suppressed feelings. I used to be interested in understanding what friendship was and what life without regulations was. Although I never said anything about these feelings.
My parents arranged my marriage when I attained the age of 27 years. The one they picked was of the same city but employed in Dubai, UAE. He is 29 years of age, named as 'Zeeshan'. His employment gave him an opportunity to visit India after every four months for a duration of 15 days.
I had only viewed one photograph of him before we got married. We were not even free to meet or even talk on phone. He is an average looking person neither handsome, nor ugly, in the picture. I quietly obeyed the move since I was instilled to do so. The following time he visited India, we married. It is the Islamic tradition that we had not seen each other in the wedding ceremony.
When the function kicked off, I was taken to a Mercedes car, which was owned by my husband. I was sitting in the car.
My husband later entered as the door of the car was opened once again. It was the initial encounter. I had a heavy red embroidered lehenga on. He wore an off-white sherwani. He was of average height and build, with calm and serious expression on his face.
I had been very nervous, and I was able to welcome him softly saying "As-salam-u-alaikum". He answered, "Wa-alaikum-assalam" and smiled. I was not able to smile back in the correct way. He saw that I was nervous and went on to tell me not to worry.
On arriving at his house there was a great host of family members. His sisters brought me to the bedroom. After a while they went, and, with a few mild jokes, they took leave. In the evening, my husband talked to me very nicely. He posed straight forward questions, and provided me space. That night passed quietly.
All the relatives departed in two or three days. The house became quiet. There were now three inhabitants, my husband, his younger brother, and myself. His brother is four years old than me. He is tall, handsome faced, shrewd eyed, and silent in character. He is obedient and calm in conduct.
My husband spent memorable time with me; however, his 15 days leave was soon over.
As he went to Dubai, the house seemed to be empty. I was experiencing an odd melancholy; despite the amount of time, we had spent together being very minimal.
Life was slow after he left.
I followed my everyday activities with his younger brother. We talked when it was necessary--when we ate meals, or when we were talking about the home or some simple things. Gradually, I began to become aware of his presence be it his silence, the way he honours me or his outspoken concern towards me.
A certain inclination began to form itself. I felt confused and guilty. I remembered about the relationships and boundaries. I attempted to restrain my thoughts. But lonely finds its way of developing feelings. It was not an intentioned feeling. It was due to silence. I was at a place where no one had done anything--but one thing had started in me.
Days passed quickly. I would be up early and complete the household chores, say prayers and I would attempt to keep my mind engaged. The brother of my husband had his own routine. He walked out in the daytime and came back in the evening. At times he would inquiringly request whether I had something to get outside. On other occasions, he would tell me that he was going out first, out of respect.
His behaviour never changed. He was always reserved and polite. I enjoyed his company in the house. And when he was not there the house seemed too silent.
When he was there, I felt alert. I was confused. I told myself that it was not right, I was married. I would be thinking of my life at night. I considered my husband in Dubai, at work to create our future. I was guilty of what I thought and I was ashamed of my heart. I asked God to give me strength and sanity. I had left a very strict house and gone into a new one, where I was married to a man, I barely knew at all, and left by myself.
I was not aware of what emotions were slowly developing within me.
Nothing had happened. No lines were crossed.
Yet inside me, a storm was slowly building.
Little things crept into our lives. They were simple, inoffensive things, but they bore weight with me. In some cases, he would set me a cup of tea on the table in case I was too busy in the kitchen. He would put the cup on table, and walk away. I never failed to thank him, and he nodded. On some evenings, when there was power cut, we sat in the same room, with a certain distance between us. The silence was more than before. He would watch his phone, and I would pretend to read something. I was not talking much and neither was he, but the experience of being together was different than being alone.
We would meet each other in the hall or kitchen at times. We moved aside, allowing each other some room. At times there was a word or two of excuse me. These were brief moments but they lingered longer in my mind than what it ought. I was more responsible in my behaviour. I made sure never to give room for misunderstanding. He did the same. There was that self-restraint. Such gestures did not matter at all. Any outsider would observe but a silent home and rule-abiding. But in me each little thing contributed to the increasing bewilderment.
Nothing improper happened. Nothing changed.
But the silence between us was concerning. And I knew that this silence cannot last long.
Days went on, and the house started to seem as though it was holding its breath. Minor habits started changing. I was waiting to hear the sound of the gate when he went back in the evening. As I heard his footsteps, I was on the alert without knowing why.
One day, it began to rain. The electricity was gone. The house went dark except that it was a small emergency light in the hall. We sat there in silence. The rain fell upon the windows with a strong bang, and broke the silence. I waited a long time, and he replied, "the rain here is not the same as in Dubai." "Yes. It is heavier," I answered in a low voice. That was all. But the hour lingered with me for hours.
One day a delivery man arrived with a parcel to my husband. I was ignorant of what to do. He signed and put the parcel safely away. Later, he called my husband and informed him. My heart sank seeing him do everything in a responsible manner.
One day I cut my finger accidentally during the process of cooking. Nothing serious, a small cut. He saw the blood, and turned his head, and said, as he was far off, "Please wash it. I will have a bandage." He put it on the table and walked out of the room. That kindness, with the distance, vexed me even more than intimacy ever had.
I started experiencing difficulties in sleeping during the night. My mind was uneasy. I was always questioning myself. I recalled my childhood, my principles, my husband. Nevertheless, the wrongness of emotions does not make them fade away.
One night, my husband called on phone. I talked to him like usual, answered his questions and told him all was okay. And, when the call closed, I sat long and still. Guilt was weighing down my chest, not as the result of any act, but the result of certain sentiments I had not desired.
One day, I had gone to the kitchen to warm milk. It was a quiet house. I smelled gas, all of a sudden. The smell intensified. My heart began to beat. I hesitated, not knowing what to do. Panic rushed in, as the smell persisted. My hands trembled. I stepped out of the kitchen and called out his name "Danish"; my voice louder than I intended.
He came out of his room immediately. At the sight of my pale face, he knew something was amiss without my saying a great deal. I said, trying to remain calm, that there was a gas smell. He acted quickly. I heard him say, as I was standing at a distance, to come towards the open space.
He opened every window and door, turned off the main gas knob and inspected everything. He had a controlled and focused movement. We said nothing to each other a couple of minutes. We stood far apart, listening, waiting. The quietness was acute, chilling. Now it is safe, said he, at last. Then I saw how quickly my heart was beating. This night was not easy to sleep. The event continued to re-run in my head.
Neither of us went to our rooms that night. On one end of the sofa, I sat with the glass of water. He was close to the window, and he made sure that it was open. Now we were not far apart--not as far as we never were--yet enough. I was abruptly conscious of his proximity, the first time, ever. I could sense his presence without looking at him. The air felt heavy. I was rushing and my heart was beating fast now when the danger had disappeared.
"These things may occur at any moment," he said in a low voice. "Yes," I replied. My voice was strange to my ears. Nothing to do but stay where we were and there was no reason to go any closer. We remained in our place, what was between us being a few steps and a lot of rules that were not spoken. I paid attention to the little things--his pose, with his hands crossed, how he kept his eyes straight, without looking at me full in the face.
There was a power failure and the emergency light was activated again. The dim light illuminated the room. Shadows grew longer. A greater proximity existed even in the absence of movement. My dupatta I adjusted, not so much out of decency as out of self-control. He moved a little, giving us a little more room, to remind us both of the line.
In a few seconds our eyes met by chance. Neither he nor I smiled. Nor did we both at once avert our gaze. Then nearly simultaneously we both turned our heads off. It was an experience, and felt noisier than any dialogue we had ever had.
"Now you had better go to sleep," he said, shortly. I nodded. "Yes." I got up and approached my room. He waited till I was off.
No words followed. No gestures. Nothing visible happened.
The same night when I was lying awake, I realized something. At times, intimacy without physical contact is more difficult to manage than intimacy itself. I knew I was close to something that I did not know I could control.
The following evening, power failed once again. The inverter failed to start this time. The house was soon in darkness. It happened when I was in the hall. He emerged out of his room virtually at the same time holding his phone torch. The light sank between us a moment and we saw how near we were--nearer than never. We made no immediate step backwards. There was very little space now. I could clearly hear his breathing. I was conscious of the cordiality of someone standing so close to me.
My body was motionless, and my head was troubled. The switch board is here, he said, and pointed to the wall by me. I shifted a little to the other side so as to allow him access. The movement decreased the distance even more. Nevertheless, no contact.
We were too near to feel, too near to touch. He bent so far as to look at the switch. His head was turned to the side of me. I was able to make out his profile well at last--the straight nose, the keen eyes, the gravity of his face. He had the problem rectified within a short time.
As he straightened, we were looking at each other a moment. The gap between the two of us was too narrow, and both of us did not react immediately. It was as if time slowed down. I turned down my eyes. "I will have a lamp next time," I said, and withdrew.
During the rest of the evening we sat in the same room, still farther apart, but the thoughts of that proximity stayed with me. It did not happen that made it strong--it did not happen. Proximity tested our intentions. I had no idea of the number of those tests that would follow. I knew that they were coming. We could not sleep that night. The house was as silent as though the walls, too, were in suspense.
At midnight there was a clap of thunder which shook the windows. Just a minute later it began to pour. The wind pushed against the doors, making them creak. I left my room to shut the back window which was left open. Meanwhile he emerged on the farther side of the passage, and was likely to have caught the sound of the same noise.
We halted, and saw how near-at-hand we were--step-less than a step. The passage was narrow. The light was dim. The space was filled with sounds of rain. We were standing opposite to each other, so that we could have touched one another, but not. I will shut it, I said, nodding my head at the window behind me. I turned some way to the side. And there was no other place to go. The gap between us reduced. The wall was now close behind me. He stood forward so far as to grasp the latch of the window. His arm brushed me, lightly.
I stood still, lest a single movement shatter some delicate object. A few seconds the world was shrunk into that narrow passage--the voice of rain, the dim light, the silence between us. My heart was going crazy, but my body was motionless. He was soon done, and withdrew, putting the distance once again. The pause was made, and the vehemence was not lost.
"Good night," he said, his voice steady. "Good night," I said, though it was a kind of a shaky voice. I went back to my room and closed the door, and leaned against it. My hands were cold. I was thinking too much. Nothing had taken place--but everything was different. The silence was so heavy. How it was only proximity that could put everything I thought about myself to the test. I was aware that I was on a very hazardous brink--not because of him, but because of that which was developing within me.
The incident happened the next morning. I had been in the kitchen, and I was reaching out to a steel container that was in the upper shelf. It was higher than I thought. And as I attempted to draw it downwards, it slipped a little. Just as he did, he intervened, coming round behind, most likely because of the sound. Instinctively, he leaned in to stabilize the container. His fingers touched the back of my hand--a second--a second. It was unintentional. We both froze. He withdrew his hand immediately and walked off. I put the container down hastily with my heart racing. We did not both look at each other. "I am sorry," he said. Nothing else happened. No words followed. He went out of the kitchen shortly. But that brief contact stayed with me longer than it should have.
Not because of what it was--but because of what it meant to me. It made everything real. It made me aware of how close the line was, and how easily it could be crossed without intention.
I did my best to stay out of common areas that day. He did the same. The house was still tense, cautious, like both of us were now quite conscious of the risk of intimacy.
That was not a very comfortable touch. It brought fear. Possibility of feeling fear. Feeling of being out of control. What might happen next, dreads.
The very closeness now became language between us, as days went by. At times we ended up in the same room by chance. I would be doing laundry at the dining table, with him sitting on the sofa using his computer. We were very close together, not so close as to touch, but so close as to sense one another. There was not much talking.
I was able to feel when he moved a little, when he made a break in his work, when he rose to quit the room. Each action was felt.
My husband had phoned this morning. He told me that he would come next week. The call was over, and I was restless. The house was smaller; the walls were nearer.
During the evening, I stood near bookshelf, pretending to organize the papers that were already arranged. He came into the room without saying anything. We both knew why the silence was even heavier than usual. "Did you talk to bhai today?" he asked. "Yes, he is coming soon" I replied. He nodded. We stood motionless a while.
The distance between us was small--smaller than ever--yet not in contact. I was now able to sense the tension. No pretending any more. I ought to take a walk, he said, attempting to get out of it. When he turned to go, something within me snapped--not noisily, not melodramatically, but silently. I stretched out, without thinking, without planning. I had my fingers around his wrist. That was it. No pull. No force. Just that one act. He froze instantly. I knew what I had done as soon as it happened. My hand was very heavy, and unnatural, and manifest. I immediately disengaged, and as though I were being burned. "I'm sorry," I said quickly, my voice shaking.
He stood aside immediately, creating a distance between us. His expression was astonished, perplexed, and controlled. This need not have been the case, he said sternly, yet not scathingly. "I know, I know," I said. My head came down to the floor. That was all.
He went out of the room. There I stood alone, with my heart racing, my chest tight. That is one moment which transformed everything. The touch had not been crossed--it was the intention which had been crossed. The thing that had been waiting there, like a mute within me, had been set in reality, though but a moment. The house seemed deafeningly silent that night.
And with my husband arriving soon, I knew there was no turning back.
...to be continued...