peer e Kamil : the perfect mentor

Waseem knocked on the door for the third time; this time he could hear Imama inside.

'Who is it?"

'Imama it's me. Open the door, said Waseem standing back. There was silence on the other side.

A little later, the lock clicked and Waseem turned the door knob to enter. Imama moved towards her bed, with her back to Waseem.

'What brings you here at this time?"

'Why did you turn in so early? It's only ten now, replied Waseem as he walked in.

'I was sleepy.' She sat down on the bed. Waseem was alarmed to see

her.

'Have you been crying?" It was a spontaneous remark. Imama's eyes were red and swollen and she was trying to look away.

'No-no, I wasn't crying. Just a bad headache. She tried to smile. Waseem, sitting down beside her, held her hand, trying to check her temperature. 'Any fever?" he asked with some concern. Then he let go of her hand. "You don't have fever. Perhaps you should take a tablet for your headache."

'I have.'

'Good. Go to sleep then. I had come to talk to you but you're in no

state... Waseem turned to leave the room. Imama made no effort to stop him. She followed him to the door and shut it behind him. Flinging herself on the bed, she buried her face in the pillow-she was sobbing again.

The thirteen-year-old boy was engrossed in a music show on TV when Tyyaba peeped in. She looked at her son somewhat uncertainly, and entered the room, irritated.

'What's going on?"

'I'm watching TV,' he replied without looking at her.

'Watching TV. For God's sake! Are you aware that your exams have started? Tyyaba asked, standing in front of him.

'So what?" he said, annoyed.

'So what? You should be in your room with your books, not sitting here watching this vulgar show, Tyyaba scolded him.

'I have studied as much as I need to. Now please move out of my way.'

His tone reflected his irritation.

'All the same go in and study. Tyyaba stood her ground.

'No. I will not get up, nor will I go in and study. My studies and my

papers are my concern, not yours."

'If you were concerned about your studies, would you be sitting here?" 'Step aside. He ignored Tyyaba's comment and rudely shooed her away.

'I'm going to talk to your father today. Tyyaba tried a threat.

'You can talk to him for all I care. What will happen? What is he going to do? I've told you that I've already prepared for my exams, so then what's your problem?"

'This is your final examination. You should be concerned about it.'

Tyyaba softened her tone.

'I am not a four-year-old who you need to nag. I have a better understanding of my responsibilities than you so don't pester me with your silly advice.'

'Your exams are on. Pay attention to your studies. You should be in your room. I will have a word with your father!"

'What rubbish!" Standing up, he flung the remote control at the wall and stomping his feet, left the room. Tyyaba, helpless and humiliated, watched him go.

It was New Year's Eve: thirty minutes to go before the New Year began. A group of ten or so teenagers were roaring around the city streets on their motorbikes, doing all kinds of stunts. Some of them wore shiny headbands to celebrate the coming year. An hour ago they were in one of the uptown supermarkets, teasing girls with whistles. They had firecrackers too which they let off to celebrate. At a quarter to twelve they reached the parking lot of the Gymkhana Club where a New Year's party was in full swing. The boys also had invitations to the party and their parents were already there.

When they got in, it was five to midnight. In a few moments, the lights in the hall and the dance floor would be switched off and then with a display of fireworks on the lawns, the New Year would be heralded in. The partying would be on all night-dancing, drinking-all the festivities especially organized for the occasion by the Gymkhana management. "Lights off meant a display of complete abandon-that was what the crowds came for.

One of the teenagers who had joined the party was on the dance floor, rocking to the beat and impressing all with his performance. At ten seconds to twelve the lights went off. Voices and laughter filled the hall as people counted the seconds to the New Year, and this rose to a pitch as the clock struck midnight and the hall lit up again. The teenagers were now out in the parking lot, their car horns blaring away. Beer can in hand, the youth who was on the dance floor got on the roof of a car. He pulled out another beer can from his jacket and pitched it at the windscreen of a parked car, which shattered with an explosion as the full can hit it. He stood on the car, calmly drinking from the can of beer in his hand.