As the days grew warmer, winter lost its hold on the village, and the sky became filled with colourful kites, like exotic birds in flight. Farah rejoiced as these inanimate birds swooped, darted, and flitted across the sky. Kite season was her favourite, especially the darker art of kite cutting. There was an unwritten rule across the village: if anyone cut a kite or if it landed on someone else\u2019s veranda, then the owner lost their claim. Farah had a stack of kites hidden behind the massive grain pot in the store room. All of them, she had claimed. It had become an obsession.<\/p>\n
Farah’s father, Baba, had regaled her with tales of the exuberant Basant festivities, a tradition that originated in Punjab in the 19th century. The stories of Maharaja Ranjit Singh and his queen Moran, dressed in glorious yellow and flying kites from their palace on Basant, had captivated her. The fairs were a kaleidoscope of joy, with rides, food, and kites swaying in the air. Farah longed to be a part of a world of wonder, filled with yellow and marigold hues, heaving tables laden with treats and the air sweet and rich.<\/p>\n
Farah looked down at her dust-covered salwar kameez and laughed at the stark contrast between her reality and the Maharaja residing in his palace all those years ago. Her village had no fairs; the nearest one was Lahore, an hour away. However, the arrival of Basant was still marked as spring began to seep through Pakistan, bringing with it new life.<\/p>\n
Today, Farah focused not on flying a kite but on the thrill of hunting for fallen kites. This required a different kind of skill, patience, a virtue Farah had in abundance. She was alone today. There had been a time when her sister Razia would have joined her, but marriage had changed her priorities. As she ascended to the rooftop, her eyes scanned the village. She laughed as children rolled down sand dunes and watched the bustle of the chowk. There it was, a bright, blue kite, flying low in the sky, her next conquest. Setting off on her mission with a resolute stride, her determination radiating from her every step. Her gaze fixated on the kite as she manoeuvred the village streets, leading her to run right into Balkise, the village gossip.<\/p>\n
Balkise prided herself in being aware of every scandal or news that littered the village streets. She could be found\u00a0in the village Chowk, regaling tales of lust, lies and larceny. However, what people often failed to see was that Balkise used the petty demise of others to distract from her deep sorrow. Balkise had been sold to an older man\u00a0by her late parents, who in turn had died a decade ago, leaving her destitute and childless. In her solitude, Balkise often mourned the child\u00a0she\u2019d never had and a great love she\u2019d dreamed of when growing up.<\/p>\n
\u201cWatch where you are going, Farah!\u201d she scolded. \u201cIt’s not suitable for a girl to run around like this; where is your Mama?\u201d<\/p>\n
Farah tried to dart past her. She was not interested in Balkise\u2019s lectures. But Balkise was quick and grabbed Farah by the cuff of her kameez.<\/p>\n
\u201cI asked you a question: where are your manners?\u201d She sneered in disgust.<\/p>\n
Farah sighed impatiently, \u201cShe\u2019s at home, and I\u2019m going to help Baba at the farm.\u201d<\/p>\n
Balkise looked at her in confusion, loosening her grip, \u201cBut your farm is in the opposite direction.\u201d<\/p>\n
Taking advantage of her confusion, Farah pulled away from her and darted away, shouting over her shoulder.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re getting confused in your old age, Auntie- ji,\u201d<\/p>\n
Farah slowed down as she rounded the last corner. The street was quiet and ran alongside cane fields harvested for their delicious, sugary syrup. Children would sometimes play hide and seek amongst them or be caught red-handed stealing a sugar cane to suckle on later.<\/p>\n
At the end of the street stood a boy and girl, who Farah determined were similar in age to her. As she ran up to them, she recognised the boy from her sister\u2019s wedding. She\u2019d defended him when the village children had ganged up on him.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s you!\u201d she shouted excitedly, \u201cDo you remember me from the wedding?\u201d<\/p>\n
The boy stood quietly watching her, refusing to return her pleasantries or answer her questions. The girl leant in and whispered something into his ear, staring at Farah with a stony gaze.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did she say to you?\u201d Farah demanded, annoyance clear in her voice.<\/p>\n
\u201cShe said you\u2019re known as the kite stealer,\u201d he smirked.<\/p>\n
Farah laughed; she\u2019d had no idea she was renowned all over the village. She wondered if they told stories in the dark of night, over campfires, about the treacherous Farah, who stole kites from unsuspecting victims.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes it bother you?\u201d asked Farah with a determined glare.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo, not particularly, and I do remember you,\u201d he replied, watching Farah and the other on the kite.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Farah, and you are?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cKarim.\u201d<\/p>\n
The girl stepped forward, almost resentful for being excluded from the conversation. \u201cWhat brings you here?\u201d she asked Farah.<\/p>\n
\u201cJust enjoying the scenery. It\u2019s a nice day for a stroll.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy, you\u2019re a cheeky little worm, aren\u2019t you?\u201d the girl uttered angrily, moving towards Farah.<\/p>\n
Farah watched her in amusement. There was something comical about the girl; she looked like a mix between a giraffe and a weasel.<\/p>\n
Farah looked at Karim and whispered, \u201cYou know you shouldn\u2019t hang around with her; she belongs out in the wild.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat did you say?\u201d demanded the girl.<\/p>\n
Karim shrugged in response.<\/p>\n
Farah looked at her squarely, \u201cI asked him your name.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMy name is Sobia, and the kite you\u2019re after is mine.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow about you race me for it, Sobia?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sobia looked uncertainly at Farah; some of her arrogance vanished from her face.<\/p>\n
\u201cI hurt my ankle the other day,\u201d Sobia replied, looking flustered. \u201cRace Karim instead.\u201d<\/p>\n
Farah glanced over at Karim. He had long legs and a lean body. It would be challenging, but when had she ever shied away from a challenge?<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re on. Winner takes the kite, fair and square?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAgreed,\u201d answered Karim, shaking Farah\u2019s hand.<\/p>\n
While they were all debating, the alley had filled with children. A boy detached himself from the crowd and walked over.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat\u2019s going on?\u201d<\/p>\n
Sobia informed him of the race for the blue kite. The boy ran back to the crowd, and the children laughed at how funny it would be when he lost to a girl.<\/p>\n
Farah ignored the comments, focusing on winning the race. Sobia instructed a girl wearing a pink scarf to run towards the end of the road to act as a marker. As Sobia began her countdown, Farah\u2019s muscles tensed, and she focused on her breathing.<\/p>\n
Sobia shouted, \u201cGo!\u201d<\/p>\n
Farah darted off down the road. She had purposely suggested a race. She knew she could be almost at one with the wind, to tread it quickly and lightly. Sometimes, when she was running effortlessly at great speed, she imagined herself flying amongst the birds and kites, free to roam the land as she pleased.<\/p>\n
Some of the boys began to shout from the crowd.<\/p>\n
\u201cBastards going to lose to a girl.\u201d<\/p>\n
Farah stole a glance behind her. Karim was running steadily, but his pace was slower than hers. The realisation hit Farah at once. She was going to win. Farah ran faster, her muscles moving effortlessly, her calf muscles protruding from her legs, the gap between her and Karim widening.<\/p>\n
\u201cHis father wasn\u2019t man enough, and neither is he,\u201d came another shout from the\u00a0crowd, followed by laughter.<\/p>\n
A voice whispered in her conscience that she couldn\u2019t do this. She couldn\u2019t win. The boys would never let Karim live it down if he lost. Another voice interceded, asking why she should give up her kite for a stranger.<\/p>\n
Farah remembered flashes of Karim\u2019s story as she ran\u2014his mum (Saima) in love with the charming Hasan, who sold everything under the sun at the local bazaar. False promises, virginity lost out of wedlock, giving into momentary passions, the betrayal when Saima found herself with child, and Hasan\u2019s refusal to take responsibility. The din of instruments as Hasan celebrated his wedding day to someone else and the sound of gunfire as Saima shot him and then herself. The cries of Karim left an orphan in his cruel and unjust world. Farah had often heard the story when adults around her thought she wasn\u2019t listening.<\/p>\n
Farah slowed her pace as she remembered Baba\u2019s weathered face and his undying belief that she could do anything she wanted. Her Mama\u2019s stories about kindness and empathy, her love that Farah basked in every single day. Farah remembered her life filled with joy, ease, sibling rivalry and contentment.<\/p>\n
She grabbed her side, pretending that the run was taking its toll and\u00a0that she was winded and struggling. Farah let out a wheeze, giving into the drama of the moment, which played to the exhaustion of the race.<\/p>\n
Karim, who had shortened the gap, darted forward and ran swiftly towards the finish line to win the race.<\/p>\n
Some of the children cheered as Kasim was crowned the winner. His trophy would be the elusive blue kite.<\/p>\n
Farah approached him and graciously shook his hand, muttering, \u201cWell done.\u201d<\/p>\n
The boys looked disappointed and jeered as she walked past them, shouting, \u201cI bet he couldn\u2019t win a race against a proper man.\u201d<\/p>\n
Farah couldn\u2019t help herself and shouted back, \u201cWell, he is going to struggle, isn\u2019t he? Because all I can see is a bunch of whiny little boys.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before the boys could retaliate, Farah hurried out of the way and ran to her Baba\u2019s farm. She arrived out of breath, and when Baba asked where she\u2019d been, Farah told him tales of the slippery blue kite, the weasel girl, and the race. Baba, as usual, played the part of the audience well and laughed and gasped at the right moments.<\/p>\n
As they finished their chores and left the farm, he turned to her, winked, and said, \u201cLet\u2019s not mention this to Mama, though.\u201d<\/p>\n
Even though Mama loved her, she always conformed to social norms, as that had been the way of the world ever since she had gained consciousness.<\/p>\n
When they arrived home, Mama told them that Razia and her husband were coming over for dinner and instructed Farah to wash and change.<\/p>\n
\u201cBut why, Mama?\u201d Farah moaned, \u201cIt\u2019s not like they\u2019re royalty! Does it matter what I wear?\u201d<\/p>\n
In response, Farah got a light smack and walked to her bedroom in a sulk.<\/p>\n
As Farah entered the bedroom, her breath caught in surprise. She wondered if she was dreaming or possibly hallucinating. She ran over to the bed, and there in all its glory was the blue kite she\u2019d lost during the race. A crumpled note was lying next to it, and she opened it to read it.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou could have taken me during that race, and I know you slowed down to let me win. The kite belongs to you, fair and square. Thank you for your kindness.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n Karim.<\/em><\/p>\n Farah grabbed the kite in delight, screaming, \u201cBaba! Baba! Look, it\u2019s the kite!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHow did you get it, Monkey?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cKarim gave it to me; he left me a note. Isn\u2019t that kind?\u201d<\/p>\n As Baba read the note, Razia, who had just walked through the door, looked across at Mama.<\/p>\n \u201cWho is Karim?\u201d<\/p>\n Mama took a deep breath before replying, \u201cIt\u2019s Siama\u2019s son.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe bastard son of the girl who killed herself?\u201d<\/p>\n Mama nodded at Razia.<\/p>\n Taking Mama\u2019s hand, Razia stared at her intensely.<\/p>\n \u201cThis has to stop, Mama. No good can come of this.\u201d<\/p>\n Mama shuddered as black crows screeched overhead, and she imagined Balkise cackling somewhere.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Anjem Anwar takes a journey back in time – to Pakistan in 1985 where a race between Farah and Karim turns out to be more than fun.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":15,"featured_media":2309,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[106,115,100,45,20],"series":[],"class_list":["post-2304","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-short-fiction","tag-children","tag-kites","tag-magic","tag-pakistan","tag-story"],"yoast_head":"\n