The Night Reporter and the Lady of Evening

The Night Reporter and The Lady of Evening Emran Jamal The Night Reporter and The Lady of Evening Emran Jamal Published by The Little French eBooks Copyright Imran Khan 2021 All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. 1 It was 1979. The rainy days of suffocating August in Karachi. Sikandar Lodhi was thirty-one, still single and hardly employed, as he always said to his friends. Even to any acquaintance he met that he was hardly working as a journalist-or reporter in an evening newspaper, which focused on sensational news scoops. The owner of this newspaper was called ‘ bastard ’ by Sikandar. The Daily Today-Tomorrow was running successfully with dozens of reporters -like Sikandar. They were responsible for the sensational scoops, yet the bastard, in Sikandar’s words, never cared him or any of Sikandar’s colleagues. “Now listen, I don’t want to hear any excuse. The rain is like a blessing for us. Go outside and fetch good news for our newspaper. I heard that few houses are collapsed in Malir near the River. So, go and get sensational true stories from there!” Sikandar wanted to say something but his boss, who was receiving most vulgar comment over his command and demand from Sikandar, in his heart, continued his talk. “Now, don’t look at me like a clown. Soon the rain will be started again. We’ll loss an opportunity to publish thirty to fifty thousand extra copies. Take these rupees as your TADA and go!” His boss almost threw the fifty rupees note towards him. He took the note and put his bag on -in which his camera, notebook and few other stationeries were kept like his most trusted companions; always there to help him in his profession. He also snatched his raincoat, lying on the desk of his boss, at which his boss stared as if it were the most unpleasant thing. He had to make haste, otherwise his boss was about to throw the paperweight on him. He walked first into the office of crime editor, where this was taking nap with heavy snores. “Bastard, relative of the bastard boss!” He muttered and walked into the circulation department, then silently picked today’s copy, and walked outside the building. His destination was now Barkat Hotel because he was much hungry after receiving such bad compliments from his boss, the bastard. Sikandar was a dark skin man with about five eight inches and a most healthy burly body type, which he developed with his constant habit of eating too-much. Eating everything tasty to his loquacious tongue. With over two hundred pounds stout body, he had a soft heart and penetrating black eyes, a most wide forehead, and the hairiest chest, which he successfully hid by his long habit of wearing always white vest. He looked at the big wall clock of the café, although had a wristwatch, when he seated at the corner table in Barkat Hotel. It was his habit. The wall clock was reporting the time as 3:20 pm. “Sikandar bhai, all your friends seem disappearing.” The waiter, who was like an old friend of Sikandar, said when he ordered his late lunch. “This is rainy season, and they’re enjoying with their wives at homes.” Soon his friends joined him, and they talked over the tea and cookies, Sikandar’s favorite with tea. Wearing his raincoat and with his bag, he walked out from the café. He looked again at his watch. It was now 4:43 in the afternoon. He spent more than one hour in hotel and thoroughly enjoyed the companionship of his chums, who were constantly on his barraging jest, repeatedly listened jokes of cuckolds and nagging wives. “Hey rickshaw, just stop!!” He shouted at a rickshaw. “Where sir?” “Malir, how much?” “Thirty rupees!” “Thirty, you’re robbing in the broad day.” “It’s no longer a day. Look the clouds have covered the entire sky!” “Ok, I didn’t ask you the weather forecast. You should be in radio.” “Want to go or not?” “I’ll give you fifteen!” The driver looked at him with an angry face and accelerated his rickshaw. Sikandar stopped two other rickshaws who even asked more than the first one. He waited for a while, thinking whether to travel by bus, even buses were now few in the rainy day, or to stop another rickshaw. He stopped a rickshaw instead. “Malir, how much?” “Fifteen rupees!” He looked at the fat driver, who was wearing a raincoat with a hat. His face was much amusing with a long thin moustache. He appreciated the driver for such safety measure -smiling for his unique moustache he hardly seen before. “Fifteen rupees!” He said thoughtfully while the fat rickshaw driver was looking at him. “Fifteen is a least amount, other drivers must ask more!” “Yes, you’re right! So, let’s go to Malir!” “Fine, sir!” Sikandar got into the rickshaw. The fat driver drove ahead. *** *** Sikandar a talkative man for nature though, when the rain started pouring, he no longer could remain silent. “Khan sahib, you’re enjoying rain?” “I am not Khan! You can call me Khan, there’s no harm in it.” “You look like a Khan in this moustache. You’re driving the rickshaw, and mostly Khans do it.” “Yes sir! I think you’ve researched well on Khans.” “Yes Khan, I am a journalist and we’ve an itch to know everything.” “So, you’re a journalist? I doubted when I saw your bag on your shoulder.” “You’re sharp, Khan!” “I am not Khan, still ok.” “Leave this topic, tell me you enjoy rain?” “Yes sometimes when I am not in my rickshaw. Now I don’t enjoy it. Don’t you see it’s like a flood and I am driving hardly just for the sake of my sinful belly.” “What you do with your big belly?” “Still your belly is looking much bigger than mine.” Sikandar smiled and appreciated the humor of rickshaw driver. “You live in Malir?” “No Khan, I am going to Malir for a report or say for a scoop to capture for my newspaper.” “Capture, what to capture?” “Simple man, I mean I’ve to take pictures of those houses which collapsed in the rain.” “So, what you can do to those people who have those houses?” “Just to make fun of them! You know this is a third world country. We really enjoy when we see other people in distress, in misery.” “You’re really a mean journalist. Now I believe in it.” “You met any journalist before?” “What?” The driver was focusing a big hole ahead. Visibly it was a ditch. When they crossed it Sikandar almost jumped from his seat because of the vehicle’s shock absorber which had less support for any such jump. “Now you understand the meaning of misery?” “Yes, I usually have many such jumps every day. It’s again this third world country which use a trash vehicle for such a long-distance journey.” “You’re really a rascal!” “You’re proving like a Khan. You became an acquaintance of me so quickly.” “Yes, you’re right! I usually use bad words when someone is my friend.” “I’ll give you a good company in return with more bad words.” “You rascal!” “You henpecked!” “Hey, I am not!” “Don’t get angry! I was just joking.” “I am not angry, and I am not married.” “Oh, like me. I am also a single independent man. Hey pal, we’ll enjoy this friendship!” “I think so! You collect news from the entire city like a trash collector and s**t cleaner?” “Hey man, don’t call me a s**t cleaner!” “Your face is like a s**t cleaner.” “I am little dark, but…” “Much dark, like a big, hairy black bear.” Sikandar remained silent for a while looking out the heavy rain. “What’s your name, dark man?” “You can call me dark reporter.” “Good name, I am fair driver then.” “Yes, I really enjoy this rain. That’s why I don’t mind any comment while there’s heavy rain.” He was again absorbed in the rain with a calm pause. “Driver, how much you earn from this rickshaw?” “It depends! When I do in the day it’s not good, that’s why I usually do from afternoon till night up to ten or eleven and then return to my nest.” “So, you’ve a nest?” “Yes, with many good friends! They’re loyal and honest with me.” “They all are single?” “Yes, what about you, friend? I noticed that you’ve much interest in asking, tell me about you.” “I live alone in my small flat at Garden East. I’ve friends, most of them are henpecked husbands, slave of their wives.” “So, you think they should be like warriors, beat their wives, also their children?” “No friend, I just joke with them otherwise I am happy when I see their happy marriages.” “Such a tender, yet cunning reporter!” “Shame on you, driver! Making fun of my sympathy!” “What you think about women?” “Hey man, what are you doing now? Taking the interview of a reporter, you know this can make you sick?” “What about your hobbies?” “Fat man, just focus on your driving! You can dump me in any hidden hole.” They reached at Shahra-e-Faisal after twenty minutes. “Where you want to go exactly?” “You know the place where most poor families live in Malir, in slum like hut houses?” “Yes dear, I know the whole city! What you think of me?” “Then drive to that shanty slum house area, where I can capture many sympathetic pictures.” “Then I’ll charge twenty-five, because this is not Malir, just ahead.” “Ok, first let the Malir comes.” “Malir will not come, you’ve to reach their!” It seemed he had found a good companion during his favorite journey towards Malir in heavy rain. Now their clothes were also wetted a bit. The dark overwhelmed the entire environment. “Driver, you want to eat before we reach there? I am feeling hungry now.” “It seems you’re a glutton man. Your much fat belly has indicated it before.” “No comment about my precious organs, understand?” “Yes, you big black man! Even rain cannot make you fair.” Sikandar just smiled. “So, this is the place?” Sikandar asked when the driver turned his right into a small road from the highway. “No, it’s much ahead, more than a kilometer.” “I was expecting it. I’ve visited the place before, just forgot the exact location.” “Don’t worry! An experience driver is with you. I’ll guide you further.” “Will you charge any fee for this?” “No, my friend, I am not that selfish.” The thunder made a loud sound. Sikandar shuddered with an old fear of being struck by thunderbolt. “You know driver, I fear this thunderbolt? Otherwise, I love and always enjoyed rain.” “You seem a city man. This is usual in village life. It never harms anyone except those living in far off places.” “You’ve such knowledge, believe in me! I appreciate your knowledge.” “I know dark man; you’re trying to flatter for a favor to capture more real-life misery exposing pictures.” “It was not for that. Just reducing my fear of thunderbolt!” “Fine, small kid!” Sikandar remained silent when he heard another thunder. Soon the shanty looking houses loomed out in his view. “This is the place where you can get better pictures for your nasty newspaper.” *** *** After taking pictures of those houses and then writing a short article, they had a light meal and again tea in a small roadside café. Back on the highway, Monir, the rickshaw driver, thought about the hungriest man he ever saw meanwhile driving. Monir asked after a while. “Tell me Sikandar, you’ve any bad habit?” “Now you’re asking secrets.” “By the way, what you want to do?” “I just want to screw a beautiful woman and also…” “Filthy man, you don’t have any mercy for women?” “Why, Khan? I just want to sleep with a beautiful woman and nothing.” “Want to screw her?” “With her consent, not like r****g her.” “Don’t elaborate the details. I know!” They reached at Sikandar’s desired place. “This is the starting point, just give me sixty rupees and be off.” “Hey Khan, you increased every time you say about the fare.” “Sikandar, can I ask one thing?” “Yes! I also want to ask something, first you ask.” “What kind of woman, you like?” “What kind of woman, I like? Hmm, what this means? Are you that such man?” “Fool, I mean what kind of woman, young, pair skin, dark skin?” “Oh yes, I like woman, big woman. Also, tall woman, fair skin, sometimes dark skin. Sometimes, short petite, and energetic woman.” “This means you don’t know about women. You just want to change the topic. Or maybe you only want a woman to screw.”