𝟏𝟏. 𝐄𝐤 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫 𝐍𝐚𝐚𝐫

The day progressed with Ms. Noor and I walking around the place, one vendor at a time. She'd say something about the monument's history, get distracted by whatever the stall in front of her had to offer and walk away with the thin plastic shopping bag they use around here with the newly bought item. And just like this, she's purchased bangles, earrings, Indian sandals, cotton kurtis similar to the one she's currently wearing, hair clips and bobbles, and many other things I can't even recall.

Now, as I watch her struggle with all those bags in her hand, trying to maneuver her way through the crowd, I let out a sigh. Guess all girls are the same around the world.

I had Layla making me do the heavy lifting back home and now her.

Allah has made me such a gentleman.

Muskaan looks taken aback when I reach for the bags.

"It's ok. I've got them, don't worry. I can carry--"

"I'm not as cruel as you think. I'm used to carrying bags anyway. Let go if this doesn't hurt your strong little heart."

"Help karna hai to help karo. Tana marne ki koi zaroorat nahi hai." She huffs, yanking the bags away and taking a step forward only to topple over something and crash land on her butt.

"Oooowwwwww!"

I bit my tongue, then jammed my lips together to stop the bubbling chortle. When that didn't help, a strangled snort that left my mouth.

"Laugh all you want." She muttered after I had looked away from her.

Given the green flag, I burst out laughing. The image of her landing on the floor with all her shoppers lying around her was too funny to hold back. And to top it all, the expression of scowl mixed with pain she had on her face and the way she glared at whatever had made her fall was too much.

"Itna bhi funny nahi tha." Ms. Noor grumbled again, only fueling the fire.

My stomach hurt and I was panting due to all that laughing that had me hunched over my knees. "Oh God!" I wheeze, wiping the corner of my eyes. "Aaahh!"

"Hogya aapka?" She sassed, now up on her feet with all the bags in place.

"Yeah. Let's go." I don't offer her my help and try to walk beside her as she makes her way to the actual monument. The crowd here was less as opposed to from where we had started walking and thanks to the no-vehicle zone, I was given more room to breathe actual air.

Ms. Noor walks over to the ticket counter while I take a moment to appreciate the build of the monument we were here for, Charminaar. The pillars, the intricate design of the side of the tomb, and the smart way they had installed clocks on all four sides of it.

A narrow flight of stairs took to the upper portion of the monument. A four-wayward balcony that gave you the view of the bazaar surrounded by all sides. The place was maintained not-too-well if you compare it to all the palaces and museums of Europe. I could tell by the way one of the minarets was surrounded by sticks, wrapped in a green cloth, the authorites jumped in to save the historic landmark at the right time.

"What do you think?" She asks, her voice echoing.

"It's nice." I admit.

Her brows were raised in anticipation suddenly dropped like I had disappointed her. "Nice? Just nice?"

"Yup. Just nice."

"Why just nice?" She prods.

I open my mouth but realize I am not here to argue with her. I had a job to do. So, instead, I ask, "Is this all you have to show to me about your place? Or is there more?"

Ms. Noor blinks like she'd expected anything but that. "Oh. Um,"

I patiently wait for a minute or two for her to respond. And when she didn't, I offer to book an Uber for the two of us so we could either go home or back to her office.

But she was quick to bounce back. "We have Makkah Masjid here too." She points a finger at the minar that was originally white but was now grey.

Yikes.

"Is it time for prayer yet?"

"No, but it will be soon. But we're not going there for only prayer. It's a pretty famous mosque."

"For what reason?"

"Abbich bol dena sab?" She snapped.

I pick up the local accent in her sentence, something I was familiar with thanks to papa and his random outbursts, and knew not to say anything after. Gesturing for her to lead the way, I step aside. Muskaan shot me a pleased-with-myself look making me mentally kick myself.

We descend the narrow staircase only for Ms. Noor to get distracted again. She wandered off to a couple more shops she thought she hadn't been to. Then, bought a bouquet of fresh flowers a young girl was selling.

"You hungry?" She asked, looking at me over her shoulder already on her way to the juice point. "They've got ice cream, falooda, and fresh juices."

"Nah, I'm good."

"Pani to pee sakte, atleast."

Glancing at the bright blue sky with the sun shining down at us and the beads of sweat starting to form on my forehead, I think why not?

'Drink only Bisleri when you're outdoors.' Mumma's instruction rang in my ears.

"Do they have Bisleri?"

Muskaan directs her attention to the man inside the food truck type of thing and places her order, asking if they have Bisleri water bottles.

"Khaali Kinley hai." He answered.

Does that mean a 'no'?

Ms. Noor looked at me and clicked her tongue in negative. "No Bisleri."

"Never mind." I sigh. We wait as her order is prepared, a simple bowl of cream and some kind of berries, topped with nuts. "What is that?" I ask out of curiosity.

"Shahdood malai. A rising name in desserts these days."

"Shahdood?"

"A mulberry."

Oh.

"Never heard of that one before."

I watch her struggling to balance the bags, the flowers, and her snack silently. She'd looped the bags in her arms but couldn't get a grip. She knew I had my eyes on her, but was too stubborn to ask for help.

"Can you eat and walk?"

"Sharam nahi hai, Mr. Angrez? Yahan main struggle karriyun jabse to hold these bags and my meetha. Aur ek aap hai, formality ke taur pe help ke liyea bhi nahi poochre."

"I thought there were no formalities between us."

"Who said?"

"You." I point it out, rendering her speechless. She stutters for a bit and settles with a simple 'ok'.

"But that doesn't mean you don't try."

"I won't until you ask for help yourself."

"So not a gentleman." She comments, limping forward.

"I have my gentle ways reserved for people who deserve it."

"You're saying I don't deserve it?" She challenged.

"Did I take your name?"

"You definitely meant it. Because if you didn't, you'd have taken the bags from me already."

"Like I said, I would, if you ask me to. I've tried taking the bags from you before and you turned me down."

"Ladaku bhokurd." She muttered.

"What's that?" I pause mid-step, having no clue what she called me.

"Nothing." She says, popping the wooden spoon in her mouth and continuing to limp past me.

We walk down the way we came in silence, our footsteps echoing softly against the cobblestone path, until the giant brown door of the mosque comes into view. Intricately designed in a unique blend of architectural styles, the door stands as a testament to the craftsmanship of its creators. My unofficial tour guide, Ms. Noor, had informed me that this was the largest and oldest mosque in the city. The bricks used in its construction were tailor-made from soil brought in from Makkah itself, hence the name, Makkah Masjid. It had taken a total of 77 years to complete.

Stepping into the expansive courtyard, I was immediately struck by the grandeur of the place. The first thing that caught my eye was the giant pond in the middle, its surface shimmering under the afternoon sun. At its heart, a graceful fountain bubbled and flowed, sending ripples across the water that seemed to dance in harmony with the gentle breeze.

The mosque itself loomed majestically ahead, its minarets reaching skyward as if in a perpetual state of prayer. Intricate calligraphy adorned the walls, verses from the Quran skillfully etched into the stone, telling stories of faith and devotion. The air was filled with a sense of peace and reverence, a palpable reminder of the generations who had come here to seek solace and spiritual connection.

We moved further into the courtyard, passing by rows of arched walkways that framed the mosque's entrance. The cool shade provided a welcome respite from the heat, and I took a moment to appreciate the delicate floral patterns carved into the pillars. It was easy to imagine the countless hands that had worked tirelessly to create such a masterpiece, their dedication immortalized in every detail.

I was startled when the first words of Azaan were called out, the voice of the muazzin flowing from the speaker that was close enough to surprise me.

"Go ahead and pray, I'll wait for you here." Ms. Noor says. "That's the wudu area." She points to the pond which I thought only served the purpose of display.

My bad.

I begin to move in that direction, but realize I have my phone, wallet, watch, and my suit--

"You can hand over your things to me. I am a gentlewoman even if you ask for help or not. Also I won't run away with them." She smirks, effortlessly catching me off guard.

"Thank you," I say, masking my embarrassment and surrendering my belongings to her.

Ascending the set of stairs that led to the pond, I crouched down, folded my sleeves, and rolled up my pants so I could cleanse myself. Dipping my hand in the water, I heave a sigh at the coolness of it and pour extra on me to wash off the effect of the scorching sunlight.

The main prayer hall had 5 big arcs, with minarets on each corner of the rectangle box of clay. I was surprised at the simplicity of the interiors of the masjid itself, with nothing but carpeted flooring, and high walls ending in tombs that had crystal chandeliers and ceiling fans for the devotees. That, and an ancient clock with a swinging pendulum against a pillar.

I must have looked like a lunatic, gazing around me like a surveillance camera at the beige-colored walls for an old man to pat me on the back. "Aao miya, namaz ka waqt hora."

It was a different feeling to pray among the locals. Not that I don't pray in mosques that often, but coming from the place I am from where most of the population were once an immigrant and had to embrace the place as their home, you don't feel the feeling this place, or rather the sense of belonging this mosque gave me.  A strange sense of calm and peace bloomed with every 'Allah hu Akbar' that resounded around me. I could breathe easier now, away from the crowd and standing before my lord in a strange setting.

After the prayer ended, I wandered around a bit taking in the architecture of the walls and the minarets, the Quranic inscription of the walls, and the domes followed by spires. On my right was another hall but with no crowd at all. Walking by, I saw from the archways that lead the way there were 5 benches that had an uncanny resemblance to a grave.

Were they graves for real?

Let's ask our tour guide.

Continuing my stride down the stairs, I spot Ms.Noor standing in a corner. All of her stuff lying on the ground around her feet, and her head was buried in her phone with her thumbs moving at a high speed. She didn't notice me coming her way and my inner prankster decided to pull a little stunt.

Keeping my pace neutral, I approach her quietly and bend over to grab whatever shopping bag my hand can and make a dash.

"Arey, arey, arey!" I hear her exclaim, and the slapping of her sandals against the ground reaches my ears. I kept in mind to not look over my shoulder to see if she was following me or not and reached the giant brown door that was both the entry and exit points of the masjid.

And that's when I knew, I messed up.

Because the prayer had just ended, there was a crowd trying to exit the place at the same time as I wanted to rush past. Which resulted in traffic and made it easier for Ms. Noor to catch up on me.

I curse silently when her hand grabs the collar of my shirt and the other holds me in place by the loops on the waistline of my trousers.

"Saale kuttey! Upar wale ka khauf nahi hai tere ander?" She yanks me backward, dragging me back into the courtyard. "Allah ke ghar me chori karte phirra-- tum?!"

"Unfortunately." I utter, meeting her gaze after which she lets go of me instantly.

"Samaan hona tha to bol dena tha, tumhare liyea bhi khareed leti thi. Ye behuda harkat karne ki kya zaroorat thi?" Muskaan dusts her hands like she's touched something filthy, her eyes narrowing in disdain.

"Where I come from, we call it a prank," I say with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood.

She scoffs, crossing her arms. "Dusron ke cheezan leke bhaagne ko prank nahi, chori bolte. Aur ye baat aapki country wale logon mein bohot common hai."

"Wow!" I drop everything I had in my hands, letting them scatter to the floor. "Shall we also discuss when England is planning to return the Kohinoor over a cup of tea and those biscuits?"

"Rehne do," she says dismissively, gathering the scattered items and handing them back to me. "Konsa tumhare bolne se Rishi de deta."

"Rish-- never mind," I say, shaking my head. "Do you have another place on your list that needs my attention, or am I free to go?"

"I do have, not one but quite a few places in mind, actually. But we're done for today."

"Shukar!" I exclaim, rolling my eyes for emphasis.

Ms. Noor scoffs. "Itne me thak gaye? Aap to ready the mere saath time spend karne."

"I was, until today, because I realized how boring your companionship is," I retort, flashing a lazy smile.

Her gasp is genuine, and I can tell I’ve hit the bullseye, though I’m not sure if it’s for better or worse. "You better be grateful you're getting to work with me," she says, pointing a finger at me.

"What's so great about working with you?" I challenge, crossing my arms and giving her a smug look that riles her up even more.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" she snaps. "You're lucky to be working with someone who actually knows what they're doing. I could teach you a thing or two about professionalism and dedication."

"Professionalism?" I scoff. "Is that what you call dragging me around the city for hours on end?"

"Yes, it is," she retorts. "Because unlike you, I take my responsibilities seriously. Maybe if you spent less time making snide comments and more time paying attention, you'd actually learn something."

"Maybe if you weren't so uptight, you'd be more bearable to work with," I shoot back.

"Uptight? Just because I don't laugh at your childish pranks doesn't mean I'm uptight. It means I have standards, something you clearly lack."

"Standards, huh?" I smirk. "Like making baseless accusations about other people's cultures?"

Her face flushes with anger, but she quickly composes herself. "This conversation is over," she declares, turning sharply on her heel. The loose end of her hijab slapping me in the face like she meant it, giving me a whaft of the musky perfume she wore.

As she walks away, I can't help but feel a mix of frustration and amusement. Working with Ms. Noor is definitely going to be an interesting experience.

"You're really something, you know that?" I call after her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. She doesn't respond, her pace quickening as if eager to escape the confrontation.

I gather my things and follow her at a distance, my thoughts racing. As much as she irritates me, there's a part of me that can't help but admire her tenacity. Maybe, just maybe, there's more to Ms. Noor than meets the eye.

When I catch up to her at the exit, she glances at me, her expression unreadable. "See you tomorrow," she says curtly.

"Can't wait," I reply with a grin, knowing full well that tomorrow promises another round of our verbal sparring.

🤪😜

This is Day 1 of Hyderabad tourism coming to an end. What do you guys think?

Much love xx