DARE TO DREAM

“Zainab!”

The fifteen year-old's heart sank when she heard her mother's angry voice. She had hoped to sneak into their house unnoticed like she had done for the past several days, abetted by her younger sister Ayesha. Realizing that her stealth had been discovered, she braced herself for a round of vicious tongue-lashing.

Yes, Mom,” she mumbled. She had just hopped into her first floor bedroom through the window and was aghast to find her mother Nagma waiting for her. Ayesha stood behind her, looking absolutely terrified. From her swollen face Zainab knew that she had been crying. In all probability, the ill-tempered Nagma had swatted her and she felt sorry for having dragged her kid sister into all this.

“Where’ve you been, stupid girl?”

Zainab cringed when she saw her mother glance at the window where the knot of the stole, she had used to climb, stuck out like a sore thumb.

“Who did this?” she screamed. Walking up to the window, she peered out. Mosquitoes danced along the surface of the long scarf, weighed down by a stone.

“It’s not her fault, Mom.” Zainab spoke out in Ayesha’s defence when Nagma glared at the little girl.

“I suppose some genie has done it!”

“No. Ayesha tied it so I could climb up. But it isn’t her fault. She did it because I asked her to do so,” Zainab clarified in a composed voice. She approached her sister and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, sis. Nothing will happen. Go to your room.”

After Ayesha scooted from the scene like a frightened lamb, Zainab turned toward her mother.

“Trust me, Mom. I’m not doing anything shameful.”

“What can be so honorable that forces a young girl to leave and enter her house from the window, hanging by a stole?”

Biting her lower lip, Zainab arranged her thoughts before answering. “Why don’t you sit, Mom?” She led her to a chair.

When her mother settled upon it, Zainab knelt down before her and gazed at her face. Though age had not treated Nagma well, Zainab knew that this heavyset, haggard woman with graying hair had once been a sprightly and charming girl of considerable beauty. You look so old and worried. If only I could make you happy. She wished.

“I have joined the training camp for selection to the state junior girls' hockey team,” she informed.

An eerie silence followed this declaration. Zainab winced when she saw the shock on Nagma's face. Her jaw opened to say something, but no words emerged.

“Are you mad? You don't know your father?” she yelled.

“I know he will be angry. But Mom, I love hockey.”

“Have you seen any of your cousins play hockey? They are all married and have children.”

“I don't want to be just that.”

"What do you mean?"

"A baby making machine," Zainab managed to say.

“What did you say? Women in our family are only meant to be wives and mothers." Nagma sounded hysterical.

“I would rather die than not play hockey.”

“How long has this being going on?”

“Two months.”

“Two months! My God! You’ve really lost it. Do you know what you’re saying?”

Zainab sat on the floor and touched Nagma’s hand, but she brushed her away.

“Calm down, Mom. You'll increase your blood pressure.”

“As if you care! Why do you always have to add to my troubles. I’ve had enough of your father’s moods and frustrations. And now you!”

“Mom, you know that Papa loves us so much.”

“Sure, he does,” Nagma spoke. Zainab did not miss the irony in her voice.

“You also love him a lot, don’t you?”

“Don’t try your tricks with me, Zainab. We're not discussing my married life. If you’re so fond of your dad, tell him about your hockey.”

“I can’t, Mom. You know well what he'll say.”

“Wait till I tell him what you have done!”

Having pronounced that threat, Nagma stood up and walked away.

“Mom!” She made a brave attempt to hold back her tears.

“What now?” Nagma snapped.

“Do not tell him about Ayesha,” Zainab requested. Though, she held back her tears, she could not conceal the disappointment written all over her lovely face. True, life without hockey would be dull. But what pained her more was her mother's attitude. I dreamt of playing for India one day.

XXX

Nagma hurried to the safe confines of her own room. Once inside, she locked the door and slumped on the bed, feeling wretched and helpless.

What kind of a mother am I? I can't even support my child! she regretted, haunted by her unhappy face. A motley mix of various sounds filtered in through the window which opened on to a narrow road, but unlike other days they refused to relieve her melancholy. Though unflinching in their monotonousness, the scenes outside always helped raise her spirits. She would observe the bikers tweet their horns as they maneuvered around children who treated the street as their playground. She would see vendors hawking their wares, knowing each one of them by name. If it was a lucky day she would spot a roadside verbal duel between neighbors; nothing was as spicy or interesting. The window was her outlet to the world outside. It reminded her that she was not a prisoner and helped her remain sane.

Today, though she could heard a quarrel outside, she didn't open the window. Instead, she unlocked her cupboard. It was her private place and she always kept the key in the pocket of her salwar, the baggy trousers worn by Indian women. Her hands slid beneath the layers of clothes to pull out a wooden box. She settled down with it on the floor, lifted the lid and extracted an old, yellowing newspaper article.

Though she knew the article by heart, she read it with rapt attention as she had done for the past many years. It went on to describe how local lad Zafar Khan had scored a hat trick in the dying minutes of the game to win the Hockey State Championship for Lucknow. It also carried an image of the handsome Zafar brandishing a hockey stick.

I made the foolish mistake of falling in love with you because of your hockey. That stupid game has come back to haunt me again. Why does it not leave me even after so many years? She caressed the photo several times as if she could sense the warmth of his face, feel his soft breath.

She heard the sound of a motorcycle in the courtyard of their house. Zainab’s father was home. She wiped her tears and hurried to return the article to its secret place. It was time to confront him. She was determined to make her beloved daughter happy. I have to convince him.

Half an hour later, she mustered all her courage and knocked on his door, holding a cup of tea.

“Come in!” answered a gruff voice. She pushed the door open and entered.

“I’ve something important to discuss,” she said, placing the tea before him.

“I don’t have time.”

“It’s about Zainab.”

“What has she done now?” he asked with undisguised irritation.

“She has joined a hockey training camp.”

“What?” he asked, rising from his seat.

"Yes. She escaped from the window of her room, hanging from a stole."

"A stole?" Amusement lit up his striking features.

"You think it's a joke?" She observed with utter disbelief. “She wants to play hockey.”

"What do you want?"

"I want her to be happy. I know you don't like hockey, but can you allow her, for my sake." She choked. Her words seemed to have an impact. She saw a kindness in his eyes she had not seen for a long time.

"Call her. Let me have a word."

"You won't scold her too much," she pleaded.

"We may keep fighting all the time. But you and the girls are all I have. I am not their enemy."

I know. If only you are not so moody and aloof all the time. The children are scared of you. His conciliatory tone gave her hope. You still love hockey, don't you? she guessed.

"Call her," he repeated.

XXX

Zainab heard the small knock on her door. She opened it to find Ayesha. “Papa has called you,” she muttered.

A few moments later the two sisters entered their father’s room. Nagma stood next to him. Zainab was shocked to see him stare at a hockey stick. When he looked at her, she tried to give a feeble smile.

“So Zafar Khan’s daughter wants to be a hockey player?” he asked.

She nodded vehemently.

“See this?” He pointed to the stick in his hand.

She nodded again, her heart leaping with excitement at its very sight.

“It's no ordinary stick. I used it when I scored that hat trick in the finals. We defeated the tough Railways Team,” he exulted.

“Really, Papa? Can I touch it?” He fears drowned in her eagerness to hold that souvenir of his glory.

“It's yours,” he said, stretching out his arm.

“Are you sure?” Nagma appeared surprised.

“Hockey is in her blood. It's God's will. Who am I to stop her?”

“Papa, I thought you hated hockey!”

"But, your Mom wants you to play. And a mother always knows what's best for her child."

Zainab gazed at Nagma gratefully, cursing herself for misunderstanding her intentions.

“When your Mom told me that you escaped to practice hockey, I remembered my own childhood. I used to do the same because your grandparents only wanted me to study,” he recounted, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“I was a star in college because of my hockey. I was popular with girls, but I had eyes only for your Mom,” he continued with a grin.

“Zafar, stop!” exclaimed Nagma. Zainab did not miss how she blushed and how his eyes twinkled. They still love each other very much.

“We married early and you were born. I hardly had the time to practice my game, so burdened was I by the responsibilities of family. I lost my touch and was dropped from the State team. I had to settle down into a clerical job as I was not trained for anything else. If your grandfather would not have left me this house, we would alI have faced serious hardship. I blamed hockey and your Mom for my failures,” he explained, ignoring his wife’s interjection.

“Papa, I want to be a great player like you.” Her heart bled for him. You'll always be my hero, dad.

“No, you should look up only to the great Dhyan Chand or Leslie Claudius, the most outstanding players India has produced. Who is your coach?”

“Mohammed Shahid Sir.”

“And which position do you play?”

“Center-Forward.”

“Just like me,” he said with a smile. “When are your coaching sessions?”

“Three to seven in the evening. I usually leave early because I had to return home before you.”

They all laughed at the confession.

“Shahid knows you’re my daughter?”

“Yes, Papa. That's how I get to leave early.”

“Quite a reputation I have."

"He really respects you. Says you were the most talented player of his time."

"Talented maybe. Hardworking no," said Zafar with a grimace. "Convey my regards to Shahid. Tell him that I will meet him soon to check on your progress."

He stretched out his arms and Zainab rushed into them. “Come Ayesha!”

“Thank you, Papa, Mom.”

"Hockey calls for dedication and hard work. Are you ready for it, my child?" Zafar asked, kissing her head.

"Yes, Papa." I want to bring you back your lost glory.

Nagma placed a hand on both the girls' shoulders while they were lost in their father’s tender embrace.

They didn’t see when their parents exchanged affectionate looks. Perhaps, hockey would unite them again.

Word Count:1986