‗Salar Sahib is not playing well today,' muttered the caddie standing by
the golf cart behind Zubair, who turned around in surprise.
‗So he's not playing well?' He looked at the caddie. Was this a joke?
‗Yes, sir, otherwise the ball would not have gone into the rough,' the
caddie said. ‗You have played here today for the first time, but Salar
Sahib has been playing here for the last three years. That's why I say
he's not playing well,' he added. Zubair looked at his sister who was
smiling benignly.
‗Next time, I will be fully prepared when I come here, and I will also
select the site for the game.' Zubair was somewhat miffed as they
walked across towards Salar.
‗Any time, any place,' she confidently challenged her brother on her
son's behalf.
‗I want to invite you to Karachi this weekend, with all expenses paid,'
Zubair said casually as he approached Salar.
‗Why?'
‗To play on my behalf against the president of the Karachi Chamber of
Commerce. I lost the election to him, but if he loses a golf match, and
that too to a child, he'll have a heart attack. So let's settle the score.'
Salar's mother laughed at her brother's words, but a frown creased
Salar's brow.
‗Child?' He repeated with emphasis the only objectionable word in
Zubair's comment. ‗Uncle, I think I'll have to play another 18 holes
against you tomorrow.'
-----------------------
Asjad opened the door and entered his mother's room.
‗Ami, I need to discuss something important with you.'
‗Yes…what is it?'
Asjad sat down on the sofa. ‗Have you been to Hashim Uncle's lately?'
‗No…is there anything special?'
‗Imama is over for this weekend.'
‗Very well, we'll go this evening. Have you been there?' Shakeela smiled
at him.
‗Yes...'
‗How is she? She's come home after a long time,' Shakeela remarked.
‗Yes, after two months.'
Shakeela sensed Asjad was upset. ‗Is there a problem?'
‗Ami, I find Imama a little changed,' Asjad said with a sigh.
‗Changed? What do you mean?'‗I cannot explain what I mean. It's just that her attitude towards me is
rather strange.' Asjad shrugged his shoulders. ‗Today she took offence
to something quite minor. She's not the way she was before. I am not
able to figure out the reason for this change.'
‗It's your imagination, Asjad. Why would her attitude change? You are
thinking too emotionally.'
‗No, Ami. Initially, I thought I was being oversensitive, but after today I
don't think I am imagining things. She treats me in a very offhand
manner.'
‗What do you think is the reason for this change in her attitude?' she
asked as she put the brush back on the table.
‗I have no idea…'
‗Did you ask her?'
‗Not just once, but several times.'
‗And?'
‗Like you, she always says that I am mistaken.' He shrugged again.
‗Sometimes, she says it's because of her studies, sometimes, she says it is
because she has matured now…'
‗It's not so far-fetched; perhaps, that is the reason,' Shakeela replied
pensively.
‗Ami, it's not a question of her becoming serious! I think she's moving
away from me,' said Asjad.
‗You're being silly, Asjad. I don't believe there's any such issue. You
have both known each other since childhood. You know your
temperaments.'
Shakeela felt her son's fears were meaningless. ‗Obviously, changes do
take place as the years pass: you're no longer children. Stop worrying
over trivialities,' she tried to reason with her son. ‗In any case, Hashim
Bhai wants the two of you to get married next year. Imama can continue
and complete her education afterwards. He wants to fulfill his
responsibility,' Shakeela revealed.
‗When did he say this?' Shakeela was taken by surprise.
‗Many times. In fact, I think they may have started the preparations.'
Asjad breathed a sigh of relief.
‗Maybe that is why Imama is agitated.'
‗Yes, possibly. The wedding should take place next year,' Asjad replied
with some satisfaction.
-----------------------------
He was a tall, thin lad of sixteen or seventeen. He had a fuzzy growth onhis face and had an innocent look about him. He was dressed in sports
shorts and a baggy shirt, and had on cotton socks and joggers. He was
in the middle of a crowded road, on a heavy duty motorcycle which he
was racing recklessly without any consideration for traffic lights or
oncoming traffic. Zigzagging his bike throughthe traffic, he periodically
lifted both his feet off the pedals performing wheelies. Then, without
breaking speed, he turned and changed lanes going the wrong way
through the oncoming traffic. Suddenly he braked with a sharp screech.
He raised his hands from the handlebars and the motorcycle slammed
full speed into an approaching car. He was flung into the air and thrown
down. He had no idea of what had happened…his mind plunged into a
dark abyss.
--------------------------
The boys stood behind the rostrums on the stage, facing each other.
They were both canvassing for the post of head boy and this was part of
the election programme. One rostrum had a poster saying ‗Vote for
Salar' pasted on it, while the other had a poster of the other contender,
Faizan. At this point, Faizan was telling his audience what he would do
for them if elected. Salar watched him intently. Faizan was the best
orator in the school and was impressing the boys with his performance
in a clipped British accent which was so popular. The excellent sound
system carried his voice very clearly and there was pin-drop silence in
the hall which was sporadically broken by the thunderous applause of
his supporters. When Faizan finished half an hour later, the clapping
and whistling carried on for several minutes. Salar Sikandar also joined
the applause. Faizan looked around triumphantly, and seeing Salar
clapping, he nodded in appreciation. As Faizan knew well, Salar was not
an easy opponent,
The compere called Salar to begin his speech. To a roar of applause
Salar began. ‗Good morning friends…' He paused, and then continued.
‗Faizan Akbar is certainly an asset to our school as an orator. Neither I
nor anyone else can compete with him ...' He stopped again and looked
at Faizan, who looked around with a proud smile. But the rest of Salar's
sentence wiped the smile off his face. ‗…If it were only a matter of
spinning yarns.'
Sounds of giggling filled the hall. Salar maintained a serious attitude.
‗But there's a great difference between an orator and a head boy: an
orator has to speak while a head boy has to work.' The hall echoed with
the applause of Salar's supporters.‗I do not have the eloquence of Faizan Akbar,' he continued. ‗I have my
name and my record to speak for me. I do not need a stream of words
where just a few would do.' He stopped again.
‗Trust me and vote for me.' He thanked the audience and switched off
the mike. Thunderous applause filled the air. Salar had spoken for one
minute and forty seconds, in his typical measured style and calculated
words, and in that brief time he had overturned Faizan's ambitions.
After this preliminary introduction, there was a question and answer
session. Salar responded in his customary brief manner; his longest
response was not more than four sentences. On the other hand, Faizan's
shortest response was not less than four sentences. Faizan's eloquence
and way with words, which were his strength, now appeared bombastic
compared to Salar's short and sharp responses on stage, and Faizan was
all too aware of this. If Salar gave a one-line reply to a question, Faizan,
out of sheer habit, went on with a monologue. Whatever Salar had said
about Faizan seemed to be proving true to the audience—that an orator
can only speak, not act.
‗Why should Salar Sikandar be the head boy?' came a question.
‗Because you should elect the best person for the job,' he replied.
‗Wouldn't you call this arrogance?' came the objection.
‗No, it is confidence and awareness.' The objection was refuted.
‗What is the difference between arrogance and confidence?' another
pointed query arose.
‗The same as the difference between Faizan Akbar and Salar Sikandar,'
he replied in a serious tone.
‗What difference will it make if you are not appointed head boy?'
‗It will make a difference to you, not to me.'
‗How?'
‗If the best person is not appointed as the leader, it affects the
community, not the best person.'
‗Again, you are referring to yourself as the best person.' Once again,
there was an objection.
‗Is there anyone in this hall who'd equate himself with someone bad?'
‗Perhaps there is…'
‗Then I'd like to meet him.' Sounds of amusement rose from the
audience.
‗Tell us about the changes Salar Sikandar will bring about as head boy.'
‗Changes are not talked about, they are demonstrated and I cannot do
this before I become head boy.'
A few more questions were asked and answered and then the comperecalled for the last question. A Sri Lankan boy stood up with a naughty
smile.
‗If you answer this question of mine, then I and my entire group will
vote for you.'
Salar smiled, ‗Before I reply, I'd like to know how many people there
are in your group.'
‗Six,' the boy replied.
Salar nodded in assent and asked, ‗Okay, what's your question?'
‗You have to calculate and tell me that if 952852 is added to 267895 and
then 399999 is subtracted from the total and 929292 is added to the
sum,' he read slowly from a paper, ‗then the figure is multiplied by six
and divided by two and 492359 is added to the final figure, what would
be one-fourth of it?'
The boy could barely complete his words when Salar's response to this
‗silly' question came with lightning speed. ‗2035618.2.'
The boy glanced at the paper in his hand and, shaking his head in
disbelief, began clapping. Faizan Akbar at that point felt that he was
merely an actor; the hall was filled with applause—Faizan saw this
entire programme as nothing more that a joke. An hour later, coming
down the stage ahead of Salar, Faizan knew that he had lost the
competition to him even before it had begun. He had never felt as
envious of this 150 IQ scorer as he did now.
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