"would you like a refill sir?" The moderately aged waiter repeated patiently for the third time. The waiters words were nothing more than an interruption to Nizams thought process.
Afzal had failed to execute his section of the plan. Now it was up to Nizam to deliver his own personal blow.
"fill me up!" Nizam said, winking at the waiter. Trying all the while to mask any expression of hostility.
~Cafe Mondegar was his favorite place in the city. A city destined to denounce him till the end of time, Nizam thought~
"Ek Goldflake lights" Nizam heard himself say to the Pan Tapri owner, after what seemed like hours of a self sustained mental debate.
He liked the social freedom given to the citizens of India. Back home in Karachi, if anyone from around his block saw him grab a smoke, he'd get a long lecture from Ammi Jaan.
"Ek Bhagat Singh beedi ka bundle" said another customer, handing a Ten Rupee note to the shopkeeper.
Nizam vaguely remembered Bhagat Singh's name from his Indian History lectures. He also remembered admiring the extremist qualities of the Indian freedom fighter.
If Bhagat Singh's value had been degraded to Rs 10 in these years, Nizam could never have been worth too much to his own country, Nizam realized.
*
"Salam alaikum bhai jaan" said Nizam, bringing an abrupt halt to the chant of 'Mohammed ke sheher mein', which had suddenly started emanating from his left pocket.
"Alaikum salam", came the calm yet unnerving voice of Sufian bhai.
"Do we have new intel on who the dog could be?" asked Nizam, loathing the fact that a traitor had been the cause of his brother Afzal's death.
"These Indians can never be trusted on their own soil" said Sufian Bhai, sounding quite unperturbed.
"I have orders to execute the plan early" sighed Nizam, absorbing for the hundredth time that emotion was not a part of his job description.
"Do as told, Allah will take care of the rest", chanted Sufian Bhai.
Doing as told would probably lead to Nizam's demise, but there were always risks involved in the job. Being a rebel was like sky diving without a license, even if the diver somehow miraculously managed to open his parachute on time, there were still equal chances of him crashing straight into the ground.
No one knew the real motive behind this Jihad. But a lot of Chemicals, physical torture and a lot more brainwashing had turned Nizam into the purest form of Jihadi fuel.
"Khuda Hafiz" said Nizam, flipping his phone into his pocket.
"I'm gonna crash early tonight Ameeta" said Nizam.
"tomorrows a big day", he added quite ambiguously.
Ameeta was Nizams Tour-guide/Escort. She was a trailer to what awaited him in 'Jannat', as Sufian Bhai had explained.
Ameeta was a 22 year old indian girl. She had the features of an everlasting rainforest, so fresh and yet so synchronized. She was Nizams only acquaintance in the city.
Friends, he had none.
*
Bombay had treated Nizam well. If not the time when he'd forgotten his watch by a restaurant wash basin and the waiter ran 6 blocks to give it to him, then it had to be the night he almost walked into a moving car and was pulled out of the way by a street urchin. He wondered if there existed enough moral fibre within someone to like him despite knowing why he was in the city. then again, maybe he was a bit too clumsy for a terrorist. Only time would tell.
After finishing his early morning 'Namaz', Nizam decided to take Ameeta for an early brunch before he got to work.
~Today, i achieve redemption~ Nizam thought.
*
"I'm so stuffed!" exclaimed Ameeta, the remains of her Shawarma dangling from the napkin in her hand.
Picadilli was her favorite place to eat in town.
"your a Roll rapist!" laughed Nizam, for the first time in ages. Maybe the world wasn't as amusing as it seemed to be. maybe he was just trying to squeeze some happiness out of a frozen lemon.
"And your a Telly-Tubbly!" giggled Ameeta, pulling Nizams cheek, completely unaware of the fact that her 5 feet 6 inches tall and evenly broad Muslim friend could dismantle a car with his bare hands.
Ameeta locked eyes with Nizam, half expecting him to look away like he always did.
Today was different.
Nizam gave himself one last chance to dive into the depth of those serenly beautiful eyes. He gave himself one little moment of romance before fear engulfed the young war veteran and he looked away.
For a minute, Nizam felt like he was running naked atop a Snowy Mountain Peak without any logistics or directions. No means of survival.
Then the jitters passed and he called out to a cab. It was time.
"i'm getting obscured vibes from you Nizam!" said Ameeta.
"Do you want to share anything with me?" she continued.
Nizam sat quietly all the way from Colaba to Churchgate station. Here he was, sitting next to a girl who suspected him of being promiscuous, while the true reason behind his discretion could not be explained in words. then again, all girls are clingy, Nizam thought.
"A laugh broke the silence".
Nizam looked out of the cab window to see a handsome couple seated on a bike, cracking up on a joke that they had just shared.
Thats when it struck Nizam that no matter what his life may have been about until that moment, it was all about to change in a few minutes.
"Take her to Sterling, safely!" said Nizam to the cab driver rather passionately, handing the driver a hundred rupee note.
"Nizam, please call me once your done with your meeting?" said Ameeta through watery eyes.
Nizam made a mental note to call Ameeta if he ever got through this alive. He smiled at Ameeta and turned to walk towards the station, his ears waited to hear the sound of Ameeta's cab disappearing around the corner.
Shoulders up, Nizam walked straight into Churchgate station.
On any other day, Nizam would have hated to see the station so crowded. But today was different. The crowd just made his job easier.
"FORGIVE YOUR DESTINY FOR BRINGING YOU HERE TODAY!"
shouted Nizam, brandishing a fully loaded semi-automatic machine gun from inside his briefcase.
Those people who seemed to pay attention to Nizams voice, suddenly shifted their glances to the metallic beast in Nizams hand and started to scream and run immediately. Others joined in as the bullets connected with their bodies.
Nizam just made sure each bullet found its target. After all, he was a professional.
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