Chapter Three - Jannat (Janet Kahlifa)

5 am, 19th of March. 

Out of 1998's surprising instances, overheard two men discussing about a woman when Jane was over her jogging track on iPod tunes. Jane never used both the ear plugs. It is the other thing that right piece of her earphone was not working but still some times she get it tucked in her ear along with the other – to let people know she is into her music and cannot hear them gossiping OR to treat both her ears with equality over similar agenda.

Murmured suddenly one of the men when Jane was walking right behind.

“I’ll show you a great site today.”

“What kind a site? I see this site everyday. What? Is there something I missed out?” gasped the companion.

“Well, yes, you certainly did and no one can see it while laying lame over his bed at 5 O'clock in the morning. OK, let me describe you verbally and let’s see if you could reseal the site or even recognise her, if you ever get your eyes on her stance.”

“AHHH… HER? OK!” Agreed the companion happily with his set of 32 all out of that huge pout. The two had similar things in their looks, which is, a big pout.

Men do not, however, take a pride in guessing but when comes on women they love their given job to blow their mind to a certain level that only his clan could be a witness of and they take a reward for having that judgmental attitude towards this addiction very carelessly. They could say many nasty things while guessing which keeps them occupied out of the motto of not giving it a thumb’s up to guessing work - just for a fun part you see.

“The most tempted thing that I find in her is…” he snugged at his companion.

Soon as Jane got interested in the discussion and to save her self and these two from the following embarrassment, she pulled the useless right ear piece and plugged it back in her ear so that they could not notice her listening to their conversation if for instance she get caught right at behind.

Jane was still busy with the ear plug when suddenly the companion raised his eyes, smiled and hit his elbow to his narrator's bicep holding up hands towards his well-built chest giving out a gesture of what his friend notices in her when he sees her.

The stranger knocked into the companion’s six packs and said, “you know am gay and I can’t betray you.”

Jane giggled wile cupping her mouth with one of the hands.

While the passed by, who were walking the opposite direction were giving her a sarcastic look might be thinking she listening to one of the funny radio channel DJ’s who is giving out a gift hamper to the listeners who make him laugh for nothing.

The companion mean while laughed and started teasing him as if he is aroused for him. The passed by were getting pretty amazed but these three were enjoying each others company.

For a meanwhile, Jane was shocked herself at the companion and whispering to her heart, “I mean six packs he made to attract a man? Somehow, her hope and want of flirt was going off after assuming all this.

“Hey hey, it’s enough I’m not gay of course but I’m not attracted towards what you are pretending here bro. 

He talked as if he is spitting on companions biceps.

Jane wanted to maintain a certain space between these two gays and herself behind them as a nature of being a woman she was just interested in the conclusion that how a man sees a woman.

He continued.

“Well, she has a golden caramel (ish) skin too far to be an Indian and too near to be an Arab. I find it quite difficult to get her real roots really - well, being a male I am bad in guessing too as my predecessors and successors. But she is cuddly, her cheeks are so soft-looking that I sometimes twitch them in air." Raising his hands while in air with sparkle in his bold and big eyes those are accessorised with heavy lashes.

Gasps and giggle that sexy companion of around thirty years of age.

“Wallahi! Her American, UK (ish) and some times that Asian accent is such a confusing thing for me you see.”

“So you already talked to her?” asked the companion with his usual teasing g way.

“Idiot, as you are expected.”

“Idiot!” whispered Jane to herself, “I did not expect that.” Adjusted her earphone again giving a clear gesture to others walking the opposite direction upon her actions. But what to do, she was disappointed after all.

Since being in the situation where i have to describe Jane, i can claim that where ever she steps, never have turned herself down in anybody's eyes as; all eyes get glued on her stature and personality. Jane is not a slender woman at all i can categorise her easily into an average bodied lady - with attractive and very talk-about (good and bad both) personality. she has a very rebellious attitude in one's vision and very sweet and kind in others. very customised in her looks. never performed any malfunction when comes to her wardrobe. well using the word wardrobe here is just a ritual that I am fulfilling otherwise all her clothes and dresses are never organised or well kept inside a wardrobe. she never decides pre-hand over what to wear the other day. just wakes up and performs a massive control over her day's look.

“Her eyes attract me a lot. The way she put her eyeliner sometimes gives me a gesture that she is a modern Emirati woman. But no abaya is the indication that she is not a local girl. Oh by the way, I heard her talking on phone, in case you need to know how I know so much about her accent.”  He smiled.

“Hmmm…” shrugged the idiot companion while his friend went on after taking a few sips out of his big water bottle.

The six packed idiot companion was really giving her a hard time to get to hear the whole description of a woman from a man’s perspective - nothing on earth is better then the appreciation of a man for a woman - sometimes - a man never appreciates immoderately and on immediate bases and if he does that means he really can not control over his words and of course he means it - Jane for sure always looked out for that true appreciation which was almost everyday added in her credits. 

On many occasions she felt like going to the companion and asking him to shut his mouth and listen to the man carefully. But she was tied up herself. 

Jane was getting late for her work:

“Seems like these people does not have any work to do or don't have to go to Abu Dhabi for a JOB.” Mumbled she.

“Her hair that flares in air always are kept tied into a fairly looking ponytail.  I never quite am able to count colours on her hair - red, purple, blond and all possible browns. And yes, a sweet little nose that never allows her eye to set on me.” Gasps.

"intersteing! go on. I am almost in love with her now." 

"i discovered her!" claimed over the unknown woman this calm matured stranger.

In a very strangled and serious voice the companion somehow continued who was i am sure almost done with his interpreter's introduction and was ready to see her and even meet and greet her at a very first instance he sees her, “Every woman here is in abaya, and am sure they all are expatriate women disguising themselves into local dressings.” Pointed out the companion.

Jane was almost leaned towards the companion already with his eyes who were searching her so deeply and desperately.

“Oh yeah! Crap!” Jane strained her beautiful crease-less long neck while looking around and popping it out of her not slender but carved shoulders - heritage gave it a name of being carved. She found herself in a zone of jealousy I must count here. “Every woman here I see are in abaya yes the handsome idiot is right.”

“OMG… are they talking about me?” a thought suddenly carpeted her mind with her mouth wide opened letting her lips then smack together and biting all the skin coloured lipstick off and furrowing her nicely done eyebrows. Her disappointment was obvious. I recall.

It looked like as if this gay hunk is not going to let her get more jealous of herself. So she coughed and passed them both as if she just joined them on to the track. In that unconscious moment where Jane was still collecting herself all together she literally got hit with the companion’s side. That is it, break of ice and start of conversation she thought it is. It was pretty obvious  by the looks now that whom the companion’s friend was discussing so warmly.

Both the men were from local clan.

“Where are you from?” asked the companion.

“Well, in I am from Pakistan.” Answered Jane.

“Wow! Exclaimed the stranger upon which his companion claimed, “Yeah my friend and even all locals love Pakistani women. They are hard to find though. And they are really very beautiful to start with.”

Blushed Jane with her eyes pointing on her various colour enameled nails.

“What is your name by the way?” enquired the companion from Jane himself while his friend was not able to ask much when the woman was sitting right beside him on a footpath on track site.

“Jannat.”

“Wow Arabic face Arabic name i have now started wondering if you know to converse in Arabic then no one can judge where you from.” The companion said while still under the wings of his amusements.

“Shukran ya seyadi” said Jane in Arabic. I have to go now gentlemen I am already late from reaching my office on time.

Grasped each others’ hands and there Jane ran way to the direction of her house in north swaying of course her sexy hips to the eyes of both the men.

"As you have already missed your transportation," said hot chocolate fudge companion, "can i have the pelasure to drop you, ummm, since I am on my way back to AD myself." while clasping both his hands together making a loud and heavy sound." So, so would you like to join me? I... I mean can i drop you?

Jane looked at him and then to his fired friend with a smile on her lips that smacked almost immediately. 

Well, my readers are wonderfully aware what her reply should be. 

Chapter Two - Abide With Me

A panic it was which ran all over the city – but this small girl with a black Djellaba hood covering her head - was passionate to draw and get her manuscript on drawing published. Striking through and passing along the charcoaled bricks - a flourishing reddish-brown that faded over time. No noticeable difference have the wall reacted to when getting a sensational touch by her tiny, painted with charcoals fingers. Children of all ages were busy in bullying, pulling and throwing away each other – their version of playing a game probably. 

Standing on the stairs a deep thought carpeted this little angel's blue eyes which were stuck on the old styled rusty cooper bell hanging around the opening of the door. Clinching and digging deep her fingers into each others, scratching the skin with her blackened nails. Looked all over the place. No one was walking around to get the help of. Turned around and sat on the stair she was standing on. Waiting for some one to pass inside but no one did. Unable of waiting no longer she stood and organised her self took a deep trembling cold breath smacked and bit her lower lip. Suddenly her eyes caught a site of corner of a bench that was kept hidden behind the opened Solid Oak wood door - probably, where her grand father use to sit with a stick in his trembling but strong hands as a door guard. No one now guard this place any further after his death. She kept her belongings on the stair and went towards the bench - in no time she was seen applying all her force into pulling and pushing the heavy bench. Dragged till it came on to the spot just under the hanging bell. Lifted her Djellaba up till her soft knees to save it from any damages.

Rang the old styled rusted bell hanging over the door. Stepped in the little girl with few papers covered well in a jute fabric. There came outside a strange stranger upon the hearing of the loud bell who looked no less than a creature of her age with big ears and lips with beautifully done French plait wearing a frock that covered her feet. The little girl discovered that strange looking creature had limbs no less than like humans – probably she was born with all other defects in her with extra sweetness to count on.

The little girl named Sana aged seven from Morocco was a celebrated and god-gifted child with certain talent that does not hit a human every now and then without learning from an educated instructor. She was well aware of the pros and cons of sketching from scrap. She sold dry bread to people who had animals to live and feed on. She collected dry bread each morning from houses in downtown where she lived with her old and blind granny. Everyone loved her because she was a fine looking young girl with unusual watery grey bluish eyes and of course with that dent in her clean and fair cheeks she took many hearts – big and small - away already.

After collecting these dry pieces of bread she use to sell them, as I mentioned earlier, to the people who bear animals like goats for meat and cows for milk of course for selling purpose.

The money she earned every day, use to buy daily supplies of food for her and her granny – saved a few pennies to buy her charcoals and papers. Sana, extra ordinary looking girl as everyone thought would grow up into one attractive young woman with slender shoulders good height fair complexion and slim stature to start with. She looked more like Lebanese then Moroccan in her disguise.

Back to the publishing house where Sana found this strange looking girl of her age. Born to a couple who lived in and hailed from Morocco. About her looks that she got from her mother, when she was expecting with Sara, went into a severe accident which affected the unborn child’s genetics disfigured her whole stature and looks who was later diagnosed with cancer. She was put under child labour against her will by parents who did not need her since she was not an ideal figure that a man could demand in marriage for. Looking at no other possibilities, her local goldsmith father decided to put her to earn money into this small publishing house in whatever work she was allotted, to fill the water tanks to clean the concrete floors. Over the time she found her passion in philosophy also which was instilled naturally in her.

“Oh you draw.” Looking around with fearful eyes she asked Sana in low voice, “can I… I see it?”

“Ok!”

Sara turned the pages hastily and found unsaid sadness, courage and love of nature onto the clear papers.

“I am sure you picked them from somewhere else in the town. Or maybe some unanswered and holy soul wrapped dry pieces of bread in it.” Sara guessed.

“no!” exclaimed Sana, “I made it.”

While Sara tried to judge the status of papers if it was twisted and thrown. But it wasn’t. The papers were as clean and wrinkle free as they should be once it has agreed to adopt the a given face and purpose to live for.

“You know what? A paper is like us, humans.”

“Are you really a human?’ asked Sana with such an innocent accent.

“Well, yes I am. Oh it is the thing which I got from my mother.” She continued while walking around on pane of the window that collects all the works from artists, writers, musicians etc. “a paper is when twisted turned quenched so badly it loses its shape. But when it is queued to receive a face a purpose an ultimate disguise it turns into.” Sara continued with her words and somewhat Sana was paying a great attention to the words. Though words are neither her predecessors nor her ancestor’s occupation.

A heavy voice approached the girls while coughing. The hit of the walking stick over the concrete floor was certain to every intent ear. Sara left the papers belonging to Sana over the pane of collecting window and jumped down heading towards the nearest opened door.

“Hello young woman,” the man laughed while taking his seat and resting the stick next to the wall. 

“What do you have for me collect?” Inquired the old man after pulling a rod attached with downlights fixed under an old mahogany ceiling fan and bending himself along his table fixed beneath the sliding window.

“I sketch.” She replied.

“You… SKETCH?” No wonder, haha,  but then my little women, we don’t entertain small readers here as you can see from height of the counter from where i can bearly see your face.

Sana pushed herself backward and joked about his big belly giving him another possible reason for him that prevent him to see things beneath his big belly. the old man looked furiously from behind his specs with no glass attached to it.

“It is, sir, not for small readers it is for all, I have many a drawings of your interest.”

“And how you know what interests me exactly? HAAN?” the old man said in a heavy voice while clearing his sound pipes and smoking through a midwakh.

“Love, of any kind is an interest in itself, Sir,”

The old man was busy in turning the loose pages around that housed many stories in lines and shadows.

“You made… this… entire, young woman?”

“Yes, Sir.” Said Sana with a twinkle in her eyes and smile on her small so gentle visage.

“you have a sweet smile my little girl.”

“Thank you, Sir, my mother gave it to me.”

Laughed the old man upon Sana’s innocent words. 

“I am afraid my child your words are innocent but the drawings don’t say that you made them. Can you make one for me, right now?” Snuggled  he in a heavy voice.

“Yes sir.” Sana sat on the floor and searched her hanging bag that resided many dreams in it. Got all her material out while the old man watching her material that wasn’t of the quality that is required. But the quality of the material can never stop a talented person to hit and break the concrete walls. The papers and charcoal were just as common as a student might have in their early stages of learning.

“what are you going to make for me?” questioned the old man.

“I am making a You for you Sir.” Sana Replied in return.

“Making a ME young woman? Haha” swaying his belly down the table while laughed he upon innocent reply.“I wonder if you or Sara were under each others' influence ever.”

“No, Sir, I just met her now.”

“Oh you already met. No wonder. Haha.” The old man continued with his signature laugh.

Sana was still unfinished with her given job when a handsome young man with dusky skin entered the collecting counter cabin and bidding a good morning to the man behind the counter. Soon as the old man saw him coming in he kept Sana’s sketches aside and occupied himself in getting the big ledger book out. The handsome man with such an attractive personality handed an envelope to the collector and signed into the big ledger book.

He shocked the pen down where Sana was sitting on the floor with her charcoal and a few clean papers that showed traces of black lines those got from her hands all coloured black by the handling of the charcoal that she used as a pencil to draw her dreams. She grabbed attention of the young man by the way she was swaying her tiny hands over paper.

The young man, without signing the register sat down with Sana – she reserved her cloak and pushed herself a bit far then his knee touching hers without looking at him. Suddenly, he grabbed her tiny hands and started scrubbing them with a white handkerchief that he drew from his coat pocket.

“Abide with me; I’ll buy u some good charcoal that won’t stain your hands.” And started packing her bag filled with some wanted and some unwanted dreams. He stuffed her week wrist into his strong palms to make her stand. In no time the old man heard her balgha clattering all over the concrete floor swaying away clueless with the kind gentle man who donated the publishing house for those who have no resources and is heavy on their pockets to buy material.

Old man was inquiring the brown envelope full of money to complete the entry into the register, lying down in front of him on the cracked Oak wood table polished with walnut veneer; there appeared suddenly the young man again to fetch the sketches of tiny Sana. Left astray the opened register fluttering of papers caused by old ornate 54" brass ceiling fan reminded him to sign ceremonially with a gold platted pen drawn from his front coat pocket. Tipped the pen down on register under his name - instead of signing he scrapped his name and took the envelope full of money from the trembling hands of the old man. He left the place like wild wind never to come back. As if he got what he was throbbing for ages on Atlantic oceans, The Casablanca.

Hands if stained with talent is good but hands if stained with hard work is associated to nothing then the quick steps to success - she had both under her cloak. 

This is what he found in my little Sana. The courage and the God-given talent.