A floating societal approach—much like Anton Chekhov’s short stories—finding variant characters, recording their journeys under striking happenstances, and leaving a bold space for the readers to take up the role of a decision maker, this is what Shaik Asad has done in his bouquet of nine short stories—a brilliant exposure to modernist style of writing, focusing on characters’ inner lives, subtle psychological shifts and moments of epiphany, encompassing pan-Indian modal living and life.
The Stir of a Leaf
Shaik Asad
Paperback/ PBB
English
Black & White
Short stories
153 pages
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A Scooty and a Water Can
Althaf had been pacing the front yard for the last fifteen minutes, eagerly waiting for his son Yaseen to return from school. He checked his watch every two minutes, craning his neck over the gates every five minutes to see any sign of the kid coming. The school should’ve let him off at five o’clock. What was taking him so long? Althaf wondered if his son had been held up at school for some extra classes. After all, he was in the tenth class now. “I should’ve gone right to his school to fetch him,” he muttered to himself, now pacing the verandah even faster. Althaf was a Naik in the Indian Army, presently posted in the easternmost corner of Assam. After seven months of being away from his family, he was finally home on a month’s leave. Usually, his wife Rihana made Yaseen skip school on the day Althaf came home, but since there was to be an important exam today, the kid had to go. At long last, he could see Yaseen come riding along the road on his bicycle. It wasn’t until he’d turned off the road and stood the bicycle on its side-stand outside the gate that Yaseen saw his father waiting for him on the other side of the gate. His face lit up in a broad smile. “As-salamu alaikum Abba,” Yaseen said. “Wa alaikum assalam, Babu,” Althaf said. Pulling Yaseen into a tight hug, Althaf noted that his son had grown up to his shoulders. His face, which had been filled with soft cheeks only last year, was fast shedding all of its innocence. His voice, too, had become low and heavy. Well, why not? He was fourteen now! At that moment, there couldn’t have been a prouder father than Althaf in the whole world. At the same time, it also saddened him that his son was growing away without him around all the time. He felt like he had quite missed his son’s childhood and now it was too late … But he was quick to shake that feeling off, laughing cheerfully. “I guess every father has to go through this stage at one time or the other.” Althaf placed his arm on Yaseen’s shoulder, and they walked in, talking about his maths exam. —“Maths Sir corrected our papers then and there, Abba. He wouldn’t let us go until he’d announced every individual’s marks and caned the failures. That’s what made me a little late, you see.” —“So, how many marks did you get? I hope you didn’t get caned …” “Oh, no way, Abba! In fact, I would’ve got full marks but for that one simple mistake. Instead of …” Yaseen went on explaining that one mistake that had cost him two marks, and lost him his chance of standing first in the class. After snacks and tea, Yaseen asked straight out, “Abba, what’ve you brought for me?” “Oh, I almost forgot!” said Althaf, who had actually been waiting for his son to ask. “Actually, why don’t you go take it yourself?” Yaseen dashed into the bedroom where the blue trolley bag lay. Opening the bag, he found a cardboard package from which Yaseen pulled out his gift: a blue remote control car with bulky tyres. “Wow!” Yaseen gasped. He knew very well what those tyres were for: if the car encountered a wall, those tyres would make the car climb the wall a little way and flip over majestically. Yaseen quickly assembled the car and ran it over to the verandah where Althaf was sitting on a navar cot. The moment he hit the brakes before Althaf, the blue car turned resplendent with multi-coloured lights blinking from different parts of its body, displaying another jaw-dropping feature. —“Do you like it?” Yaseen nodded excitedly. “Good,” Althaf said, ruffling his son’s hair again. Yaseen directed the car outside the gate and was off to run it along the road, for a long ride without any obstacles. Althaf thought he could happily skip a meal just looking at his child so excited! Next morning, after he saw his son off to school, Althaf made a tour of the house, sipping occasionally from the steaming coffee cup in his hand. After the round, he drew up a to-do list of tasks: First of all, general dusting off, of course. Then, a couple of tube lights had burnt out and needed replacement. The left passageway to the backyard was strewn with broken plastic mugs and buckets, logs for firewood, and dry leaves of the neem tree growing in their neighbour’s compound right beyond the compound wall. He needed to clean it all up to make it usable again. Paint had chipped off in certain places on the outside walls, needing patchwork. Then there was their scooty that stood in the verandah waiting for a thorough wash. And then … He also made a mental note to teach his wife Rihana how to ride the scooty, although she dreaded the sheer idea of handling the thing on her own. Over the next three days, he got to work soon after breakfast, working a couple of hours listening to old Hindi and Telugu songs on his mobile. After lunch and siesta, he put in another couple of hours’ work. On the third day, when he’d dealt with all the points he'd noted down, including the washing of his scooty, he undertook another tour in which he observed that his home had taken a better shape. “Inspection level cleanliness!” he told himself gleefully. He was now happy that the time had come for him to kick back and relax. (Contd .... )