45. Jaan, the Lyricist
Fate was a funny little fiend.

* * *

Much against Ashar's protests about staying here, his stepmother gripped my elbow and rushed me towards the pseudo priest. Jhanvi followed me with curiosity. Not to lie, I wanted to watch the scene for my film script inspiration.

All of us sat down behind the four clients in front of us waiting for "blessings." Ashar's baba had to force him to sit. I observed the dirty ground I had voluntary planted myself on. My black jeans were going to be destroyed and these were limited edition!

Versace was never going to invite me to their fashion shows if they saw the damage their clothes went through on my body.

Nobody else seemed to care much about sitting on heavily sanded ground. The man in front of them was the center of interest.

He was in his late fifties with perfectly dyed black hair. I saw a gleaming gold chain hidden under his black kurta. His kohl covered black eyes attentively paid attention to a tired husband telling his problem with his wife not having a baby. The woman next to the him—his wife, most likely—was crying into the husband's shoulder.

I gave Jhanvi a pointed look which she ignored. There was a woman crying she wasn't having a child. My cousin had been crying earlier because she was having a child. Fate was a funny little fiend.

The priest surprised us all when he opened his mouth.

"You're destined for a child," he told the couple. "But not right now. You have to wait another few years when the time is right."

"We've tried everything," said the husband.

"That I know," the priest replied calmly. "You have visited quite a lot of . . . places before coming here."

The husband looked startled by those words.

"I can give you all the dark materials if you want to get you a child faster," said the priest. "But is that the kind of child you want where you do dark magic and throw your misery on someone else?"

The woman cried even more hysterically and her husband shushed her. They seemed to be in their mid 30s. The priest murmured a few things under his breath before one of his disciples placed a glass of water in front of the woman. The priest muttered a few more incoherent things before telling the lady to drink the water while wishing what she wanted in her mind.

She seemed satisfied after drinking the water. Was it a placebo? He gave her the water to calm down while making her think she was wishing for something?

The man must've mastered human psychology!

After everyone else was done, the elder man turned to face Ashar's stepmother. She introduced us to the priest and asked him to bless me.

"We found out today she's expecting," added my cheery stepmother.

The man eyed me before shutting his eyes. I wondered if he had a third eye open or something. Would he realize I wasn't the pregnant one? Jhanvi looked at me nervously too because the priest didn't seem like a fraud from what we had observed. He hadn't asked any of his "clients" to pay him anything nor had he given poor advice.

Sometimes, people without ulterior motives were scarier than people who lied to your face.

He opened his eyes and gestured me to move forward. Uncomfortably, I went close enough for him to place his hand on top of my scarf covered head. He didn't say anything.

I wondered what he was praying under his breath.

Once his hand was withdrawn, I returned to my original spot and briefly met Ashar's eyes who was stone faced. He was definitely waiting for the moment we'd leave.

A glass of water was placed in front of me on the ground.

I was told the same thing as the woman from earlier. I had to make a wish in my head and then gulp down the water. The situation was too intense for me to walk away now.

"Is that filtered water?" I asked, pointing at the glass.

Sunny snorted behind me before breaking out in a cough. I glanced at him as he covered his laughter.

"Yes, only filtered or bottled water," Jhanvi said in my support. "We've only been here a few days."

"I think the wish only works if it's tap water," Ashar said.

His baba quickly shushed him.

"Drink the water or leave," the priest said indifferent. "You're wasting my time, anyway." The way he stared into my eyes, I almost felt that those black eyes could see past the pregnancy lie.

He couldn't possibly know, could he?

"Drink it," Ashar's stepmother insisted. She handed the glass to me. "Before you drink it, picture and wish for a boy. A healthy, sweet boy."

None of them knew the gender of the baby. It struck me how sexist the thoughts were of this woman. I wondered if anyone ever told my half English half Indian mother to wish for a boy before I was born. My papa never treated me like a burden or anything. I was his princess.

If I had to make a wish, I'd wish for my papa to come back. I would never waste it on gambling for the gender of a baby!

I looked at the glass in my hands which I wondered was even washed or not after everyone drank out of it. Before I could've risked even smelling it, it was slapped out of my hand and spilt over the ground soaking into the soil.

All eyes were on Ashar. He grabbed my hand and forced me to rise to my feet. I stood torn between him and stepmother.

"That's enough for today," said Ashar. His eyes flashed at his stepmother.

"Do you understand what you've done?!" his stepmother said horrified. "All I want for you is to have a healthy baby boy!"

"Maybe it was your wish for a boy that you never had any kids of your own!" Ashar snapped.

Sunny moved slightly forward to pull Ashar back from raging at his stepmother. Jhanvi clung to my one side while Ashar kept a tight grip on my wrist.

"Watch your tongue, Ashar!" It was the first time baba had his voice raised. "Is that how you speak to your mother?!"

Along with anger, I saw something else pass in Ashar's eyes. A deep painful look at his father half in disgust and half in disapproval.

"She's not my mother!"Ashar shot back. "Do you remember my mother? She would've never gone to some stranger begging for a son—"

"Ashar—" Sunny butted in.

"Don't say anything!" Ashar said outraged. "You're just like them. Don't make me open my mouth!"

Sunny paused and looked at me and Jhanvi.

There were some secrets sitting on their lips but no one chose to reveal them. I was afraid seeing Ashar's outburst.

"That woman taught you nothing," his baba said finally.

A wave of silence followed those words. Ashar's stepmother's eyes were on the verge of tears and Ashar seemed close enough. I fidgeted and looked at the priest who had his eyes closed, uncaring of the Virk family drama. I thanked the stars no one else was here to witness this scene.

The priest's assistant or whoever told us the priest wanted us to go home now.

Ashar released me as everyone headed back towards the car grim faced and tight lipped. I didn't know what to make out of his rage. Was it the wishing for a boy comment that upset him? I expected him to play along and let it go since we were faking the whole charade anyway.

He took it too personally.

No one said a word on the way back home. I tried to catch Ashar's eyes but he kept his gaze on the visuals outside.

When we arrived back at the Virk house, three people were standing outside the locked gate ringing the doorbell.

Sunny had to run out and open the gates for his baba to pull in. Then, as we were stepping out the car, baba and his wife ran to the unannounced guests. It was an older man in his late forties with a thick grey beard and an orange turban on his head. He was dressed well and same for his short and stout wife. She wore a bright pink salwar kameez with gold jewelry. Her hair was jet black and perfectly braided down to her hips.

Behind them was a guy around my age with black hair gelled straight up. He was the same height as Ashar and looked like he kept in shape. His clothes were a mismatch of different name brands. All fake Balenciaga, Tommy Hilfiger, Calvin Klein fake logos. Poor people.

Then again, I wouldn't know the brands well if I didn't have great friends.

"I can't believe you didn't invite your best friend to see your kids!" The older man complained to baba.

"Come inside, first, Binder," baba told him.

He ushered his friend's family inside the house. They sat down in the living room. Ashar tried to go upstairs but I stopped him and shook my head non-verbally. We had fulfilled the fighting quota for today already. No need for a show in front of more strangers.

Ashar's stepmom ran to the kitchen to fix something. Thankfully, the maid hadn't left for the day yet, so she helped cook dinner.

"Anmol, Jhanvi—this is my college time friend, Binder," baba introduced us after introducing his sons. "These are my daughter-in-laws."

Any hint of the fight earlier had disappeared into the abyss between the father and sons.

"They're both beautiful, bhaji (brother)," said Binder's wife with a pretty smile. "This is my son, Jaan."

"Jaan?" Sunny repeated in confusion.

"What does that mean?" Jhanvi asked in a lowered voice. We were seated together with Ashar on my other side. Her language skills were rather poorer than I had thought. I wondered how survived those international fashion shows with multicultural models.

"It means life," I whispered back. "But if it's like an endearment if you use it to call someone."

"I'm not calling him that," mumbled Jhanvi, loud enough for only me to hear.

"It's my pen name," said Jaan before his mother could explain. "My real name is Sukhmanpreet Singh Saini. That's too long for a writer."

"You're a writer?" I asked half curious. It earned me a sideways glance from Ashar. Jaan's father rolled his eyes at his son as if disappointed.

"Yes, I'm currently trying to get into the Punjabi music and film industry," he explained. "I have a hundred songs written already. Some Shayari (poetry) as well."

"I'm also getting into the film industry but in the US," I told him. "Maybe you could write lyrics for a music album for one of my movies." I had no idea why I was feeling generous. "I mean, once I can get an idea of your . . . work."

Jaan's mother's eyes went wide and she elbowed him.

"Why don't you recite some lines of one of your songs—" she begun to say.

"Dinner's ready, I believe," Ashar said standing up. True indeed, his stepmother was waving us over.

"After dinner," baba assured the overeager woman and her son.

All of us ate quickly as the elders chatted amongst themselves for the most part. Ashar responded with one word answers when asked anything. For once, even Sunny didn't have much to talk about.

As promised, after dinner, Jaan was to share his work, but he felt nervous in front of everyone. He said he had forgotten everything which disappointed his parents.

When they were all leaving, Jaan quickly shoved a piece of paper in my hands. No one was looking our way.

"It's one of my latest songs," he said. "I didn't want to read out loud in front of everyone. I get nervous. Let me know what you think. We will meet on Lohri on Saturday."

With that said, he ran off with his parents.

I shoved the paper in my jacket pocket before anyone could ask. It'd be better if I read it first than share with everyone immediately. I didn't want them to make fun of the poor kid if the song wasn't good.

Once Jaan's family was gone, all of us returned to our rooms. It had been a rather long day.

Though I wanted to discuss about today's fight, I didn't want to ruin Ashar's sleep by pushing his buttons further. Tomorrow would be a new day.

I changed into my night clothes and prepared with socks and a hat. It was still too cold in this house. I sat under the covers. As Ashar and I waited for Jhanvi to sneak upstairs, I took out the peace of paper.

"What was that guy saying to you?" Ashar asked. He sat down on the edge of the bed near my feet.

"Who?"

"Jaan," he said making a face.

"When?"

"Never mind," Ashar said. I shrugged looking down on the paper in my hands. Apparently, Ashar was still not satisfied. "I'm talking about when he was leaving. He stopped to talk to you."

"He was too shy to recite his song out loud, so he gave me the written copy he had on him." I waved the paper in my hand at him.

Ashar looked at the paper and nodded with an expressionless face. He was acting strange.

"So, you're gonna hire him to write lyrics for your movie?" he asked.

"Yeah, if I can understand his words," I said staring at the paper. Jaan had written his song in the actual Punjabi alphabet. I recalled my grandfather telling me it was called Gurmukhi. "Are you able to read this?"

I shifted over to make some room for him.

He didn't complain and shifted next to me as I handed him the paper. His eyes scanned each line as I kept my breathing in pace at his proximity. His cologne, his scent was going to drive me insane one day.

"I guess you can't read this alphabet either," I said deflated. I'd have to get help from his parents.

"I can read it surprisingly," he said frowning. "I guess those Punjabi and Hindi lessons my mother gave us paid off."

"What does it say?" I asked sitting up straighter.

He read:

"Hor ki mangna mein rab kolo,
Ik khair manga tere dum di,
Baaj sajan lajpaal tere
Main ko jiyan kehde kam di."

"So beautiful." I praised.

"Did you understand it?"

"No."

"He's saying that what more do I ask from God?" Ashar translated slowly. "All I ask is that you're safe. Because . . . without you, my life is worthless."

So is mine, I wanted to tell him.

"Can you say the lines again?" I asked softly

He blinked at me through his long eyelashes before obliging my request.

Ashar was only reading aloud. Why was my face suddenly feeling warm? I had to remind myself that Ashar was in love with someone else. It was so hard for me to not fall for him every time his eyes met mine. That affect he had on my heart bothered me. When it was time for him to leave, I had no idea how I was going to survive.

"It's meh," Ashar said after repeating the lines. Looking unimpressed, he shoved the paper in my hands.

"Wait, read the rest of it," I said, praying for Jhanvi to take a long time to come upstairs, so Ashar could read more romantic lines.

I couldn't believe it. Guys always wanted my attention and my time. Here I was begging God for only a few extra minutes with Ashar.

"It's stupid."

"Fine," I said annoyed. "I'll ask Jaan or Sunny or someone else to read and translate."

He grabbed the paper out of my hands and scrutinized before reading through the lyrics. Hearing him speak in Punjabi was lovely especially because there were some lines I actually understood without his translation. I watched his lips move. I had to look away whenever he looked up at me, catching me raw.

I mentally reprimanded myself. This was not real.

The saddest part was this was the only way or only time I was going to hear anything romantic from Ashar. I wondered if he noticed how I melted hearing him say the words out loud and look into my eyes with his soft brown gaze.

Before Jhanvi disrupted us, I made him repeat the main lines from Jaan's song three times! It even earned me a lopsided smile from Ashar before he bid me a goodnight.

I kept the paper close to my heart and repeated the lyrics until I feel asleep.

"Nit Khair Manga Sohneya Main Teri,
(I ask for Your well-being, my beloved)
Duaa Na Koi Hor Mangda
(I pray for nothing else)."

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A/N
It was a looong chapter.

How will Ano feel about "Jaan's" lyrics?

I have a thing for qawalis and sufi songs. What is your favorite song or music type?

I absolutely love anything by Ustad Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. What a legend.

How was the chapter?

How is life?

How are Ano and Ashar?

—K-K-Kiran