Of Smokeless Fire by A.A. Jafri

Author:A.A. Jafri [Jafri, A.A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789390914685
Publisher: Penguin Random House India Private Limited
Published: 2021-03-18T00:00:00+00:00

Seventeen

Mansoor was now in the final years of college. The political climate had worn him down, and the strikes and shutdowns had jaded him. He decided it was time to go abroad if he wanted to get a good education. Initially, his father wanted him to go to England for further studies, but it was the United States that attracted Mansoor more. It represented youth, vigour and dynamism, a place where the action was. Besides, most of his classmates had also gone to the United States. After convincing his father that the centre of economics had shifted from England to the United States, he began sending applications to as many American universities as he could. Noor insisted that he apply to all the Ivy League universities, but Mansoor did not and lied about it. He was not sure he’d get into any and he didn’t want to waste time. Most of his life, he had studied at extraordinary institutions, now he wanted to try the ordinary. The idea of applying to the ‘yellow schools of America’ appealed to him.

*

It was Athanni’s fourth ride on the elevator within the first hour of the day. Up and down, up and down, like Sisyphus, but pushing everyone else’s meaningless weight. That is what he usually did during the entire day, but on that particular morning he did more in one hour than he did during the whole day. Everyone wanted him to take something to someone or run some trivial errand for them. If it was not the files, then it was the envelopes; if it was not the envelopes, then it was the forms that needed someone’s signature. And then, as if he were their servant, he had to fetch tea for the clerks. As he pressed the ground floor button on the elevator, he noticed his reflection on the brass door. His new beard almost concealed the scar on his face. His hand instinctively went to that area; the skin felt stretched when he touched it. The elevator stopped on the second floor and the assistant clerk from the Home Loans Department, Javed Anwar, stepped in. As soon as he saw Athanni, he said: ‘Areý, Khaleel, where have you been? Mister Hashem was looking for you!’

‘For me? Why?’

‘I don’t know.’

The elevator had already reached the ground floor. Athanni’s heart raced with excitement. He was sure that Mister Hashem would talk to him about Islamic banking. As soon as Javed stepped out, Athanni whispered, ‘Thank you, Mehrun,’ and pressed the button for the second floor, where Mister Hashem’s office was. Outside Syed Hashem’s office, his secretary sat screening everyone in quest of an audience with her boss. The minute she saw him, she said, ‘Where were you? Mister Hashem was looking for you! Go in quickly.’

Inside, the burly Mister Hashem sat on his leather chair, smoking a cigarette and going through a file, his handlebar moustache covering his upper lip. As soon as he saw Athanni, he gestured him to come in.

‘I want you to take this box to Mister Kirmani at the Tariq Road branch.

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