Read The Delhi Deception Online
Authors: Elana Sabharwal
The Delhi Deception
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Copyright © 2012 Elana Sabharwal
All rights reserved.
ISBN-10: 1479105597
EAN-13: 9781479105595
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62346-922-1
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This book is for
SOMARA
My daughter, my inspiration
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CONTENTS
ONE YEAR LATER SUNDAY 1 MAY 2011
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Foreign terms used in this novel
| Ayha | | Nanny. |
| Anjee | | Term of respect, meaning Yes, sir/madam. |
| Afghan choora | | Large handmade knife usually bone handled. |
| Bhai | | Brother, also used as term of endearment between close friends. |
| Bharra | | Large or older. |
| Betel nut | | Seed of betel palm, chewed with betel leaves as a digestive stimulant. |
| Bas | | Enough. |
| Buaji | | Oldest aunt in the family. |
| Beedi | | Hand rolled tobacco cigarette. |
| Beta | | Child. |
| Bungalow | | Single residence house set in a garden. |
| Baba | | Father. |
| Biryani | | Rice dish made with meat or vegetables. |
| Charpoy | | Wooden framed string bed. |
| Chappals | | Sandals. |
| Chowkidar | | Gatekeeper or watchman. |
| Chapatis | | Stone ground flour flat bread. |
| Chacchi | | Aunt. |
| Chai | | Tea. |
| Chikankari | | Type of embroidery origins from Lucknow. |
| Curd | | Thick yoghurt. |
| Dupatta | | Large scarf worn with traditional women’s clothing. |
| Dhobi | | Laundry man. |
| Dhoti | | A rectangular unstitched cloth, 4.5m long, wrapped and tied around a man’s legs and waist. |
| Dhaba | | Casual eatery. |
| Eunuch | | A man that have been castrated, typically early enough in his life for this change to have major hormonal consequences. Castration was typically carried out on the soon-to-be eunuch without his consent so that he might perform a specific social function; usually as guardians of women or harem servants. |
| Ghulam Bazaar | | Slave market. |
| Hamman | | A Turkish bath. |
| Havelli | | A gentleman’s residence, usually Moghul in style. |
| Hijab | | Head covering worn by Muslim women. |
| Jali | | A perforated or latticed screen, usually in front of a window opening. |
| Jaldi | | Hurry up. |
| Jula | | Indian swing usually made from wood and hanging off brass chains. |
| Jalebi | | Indian fried sweet. |
| Kurta | | Traditional lady’s shirt, usually mid-calf in length. |
| Kurti | | Short version of Kurta. |
| Kichry | | Bland dish of lentils and rice normally for the infirm. |
| Khanna | | Food. |
| Kufi | | Scull cap worn by Muslim men. |
| Lassi | | Yoghurt drink. |
| Mali | | Gardener. |
| Nimbu pani | | Lemon water. |
| Naan | | Leavened bread baked in a clay oven, usually shaped like a teardrop. |
| Pathani | | Long men’s shirt worn over pants, more common in North India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. |
| Pashmina | | Woolen shawl usually made from cashmere. |
| Peon | | Male secretary. |
| Pomfret | | Ocean fish similar to sole. |
| Prashad | | A semolina, sugar and butter dish served at religious occasions. |
| Palu | | Edge of sari worn over the shoulder. |
| Pataka | | Fire cracker. |
| Rupee | | Indian currency. |
| Rogan josh | | Lamb curry. |
| Roomali roti | | Very thin, flat bread. |
| Salwar kameez | | Traditional dress/shirt worn over pants. |
| Sahib | | Sir. |
| Sangeet | | A musical evening, one of the many traditional wedding events. |
| Sastrikal | | A traditional Sikh greeting. |
| Tuk Tuk | | A three-wheeler taxi. |
| Tandoori murgh | | Chicken cooked in a clay oven. |
| Tiffen | | Food in an assortment of steel containers with lids, usually for eating away from home. |
| Yogi | | Yoga teacher or instructor. |
| Zardozi | | A type of embroidery made with metallic threads. |
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T
he man glanced at his reflection in the bedroom mirror and frowned. The gray in his beard made him look old and frail. He made a mental note to tell his wife to dye it black before they made the video. He then walked to his bed, where he sat down cross-legged in his white Pathani suit. He was thinking of the broadcast. It had been many months since he had last appeared in a video. How shocked they would be to see him looking fit and still in control.
His sons stood in one corner of the room, discussing the latest plan their beloved father and leader had come up with. But the leader did not join in the conversation; he was still distractedly looking at himself in the mirror while practicing his smile.
A woman dressed in full black burqa entered silently with a tray of milky, fragrant tea in glass cups. Another woman dressed the same followed with a plate of potato pakoras and butter biscuits. The men stopped conversing and sat quietly, accepting the refreshments with their eyes respectfully downturned.
When the women left the room, the bearded man looked at the courier standing meekly at the doorway and said, “You have the train schedule?”
He nodded.
“And it will remain the same for the next year?”
He nodded again.
With his left hand pulling gently on his gray beard, he said, “And our martyrs? Are they in place?”
Again the courier nodded nervously. The bearded man smiled, almost coyly, and then, as if gaining confidence, the smile reached his brown eyes, which were soft and gentle. Then he was laughing. A cruel glint flitted across his eyes, but it was so brief it was lost in a blink.
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T
he sun was setting over the ancient city of Hyderabad, its watermelon rays painting the white muslin in her fingers a soft shade of peach. Its warm light shone on the embroidery needle, flashing long-short, shortlong, as if signaling distress. The delicate paisley pattern slowly came to life as tiny, deft stitches filled the blank spaces on the finely woven cloth. She yelped in pain and watched in terror as ruby-red blood spread across the fabric at an alarming rate. Her father noticed, his mouth twisted in anger.
“You careless girl, hurry to the basin and wash off the blood before it ruins the whole piece.”
Her feet felt like clay sucked to the floor. Swallowing her tears, she bit her lip and said, “Sorry, Baba, I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t just sit there; get up and clean it.”
Nazeema looked at her mother, pleading. “Give it to me,” her mother said kindly, and put her own embroidery in a basket on the cement floor.
Nazeema tried to escape her father’s glare by picking up the empty glasses sticky from the sweet chai they had drunk earlier. Carrying them to the kitchen, she saw her older brother arrive home from school. He was almost bent double from the weight of his schoolbooks in the tattered gray rucksack on his back. His face was dirty, but the gleam of joy in his large brown eyes pulled and twisted something inside her. Envy had her clutching the edge of her dupatta, twirling and scrunching the fabric so tightly between her fingers that she felt it tear.
She knew her father’s eyes would light up with pleasure as they always did when he saw his oldest son. She watched from the kitchen doorway as her father greeted her brother.
“Ah, there you are, Beta. How was school today? Did you do well on your science test?”
Her brother threw the heavy bag onto the floor and sat down next to his father. “Full marks, Baba, full marks.”
Were those tears glistening in the old man’s eyes as he kissed the boy on top of his head? Nazeema watched the scene, a sardonic smile twisting her beautiful lips.
She turned her back to her father when she heard him call out to her mother, “I want you to add the best piece of goat’s meat to our son’s biryani tonight, do you understand?”
“Of course,” she replied and glanced at Nazeema, but Nazeema couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. Instead she walked away, taking the washed cloth from her mother to hang on the roof of their apartment building. She hoped it would dry in the last warm beams of the afternoon sun.
