The ghosts of the past visit us when we least expect them to. As Asad puts the teapot on the stove for his chai this morning, he has not the slightest inkling of the shadow that lurks outside his apartment. He draws aside the tiny curtain of his kitchen window and looks out to check the weather. The fog has thickened overnight and only a fluorescent yellow glow of light is visible from across the street. He cranes his neck to get a better view of the light’s source. It doesn’t seem to be the headlight of some vehicle. It isn’t glowing high enough to be emanating from a streetlight either. Blinding December fogs, he thinks to himself and lets the curtain fall back.
It has been over a week since the sun last shone.
He peels a piece of ginger and pounds it in the mortar until the juices ooze out. Using the pestle, he empties out the crushed ginger into the teapot. He leaves the chai to simmer on a low flame while he readies himself to step out for the day.
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- Tags: Ayesha Khan, fiction, India, Issue 36