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The flight took off. Yusuf and Fatima stood there holding the steel-frame of a trolley. Time stood stand-still for some moments. They remained silent. Ayesha, their fourth child, is joining an international NGO.

This is a part of her post-graduation studies. This is for the first time their chatterbox-girl, the bubbly-Ayesha, is going out of her home-circles.

He is sixty plus, well-built, tall-height but waist-line is quite conspicuous. Donning an old cream-coloured sherwani, today he appears pretty pensive. Flashes of memories are still so vivid. She would ask her father for all her new demands. Yusuf is an established businessman of Bradford locality. His ancestors were seamen who started settling in Britain in the early years of 1940s. Slowly their family moved inland leaving the port-area.

Quietly he remarked, “Fatima, let’s move. There’s not much time for us to hang around here.”

She is fifty plus, short height and buxom. Her gold rimmed specs sparkled often as she tried to talk to her soul-mate. They had a very brief conversation, sedately & modestly, while coming out of that entrance area of the well-known airport.

For cheaper availability of parking out there at Heathrow, one of his friends recommended a Park and Ride service. He advised, “Yusuf-bhai, see, I tell you, you may consider the Purple Parking and NCP Flight-path because both of these offer the people a hassle-free procedure.” The South-Asian community is quite noteworthy out there. Yusuf would very honestly deal with all his customers in his automobile garage. People in his locality respect him.

His father often shared with him, he was a mere boy then, the anecdotes of changing addresses of embassies, consulate-offices, passport designs, and visa procedures. After all, the then newly formed nations were creating their own new alma-mater. Unseen boundaries demarcated the different countries. But, languages & dialects, cultural-practices, customs & traditions, geographical-

surroundings and physical-ambience remained eternal.

Among many immigrant families out there ‘it’, the partition, boldly differentiated an

unforeseen ‘we’ and ‘they’. Surprisingly, earlier it was ‘we’ only.

_ _ _

Soon after touch-down she rang her mother, “Ammu, we reached safely. Now we’ll be heading to the hotel arranged for our stay. Ammu, don’t you worry, everything is fine, convey my love to abbu. 

In between keeping a short-pause, she asked, "khairiyat?" Mother calmly replied, "Haan theek hai". She again continued, "Tell abbu not to get into tensions unnecessarily. We’re all grown up now, you see.”

She was with a team of young-doctors along with some other staff of the NGO. They will be visiting several hospitals and facilities-created-for-primary-health-care in rural-areas out there in remote, harsh and rustic locations. 

Bilal, her best friend, would ask her for any clarification he often needed. He speaks English & Bengali, follows Urdu a little bit but not acquainted with ‘Lahnda’ or Western Punjabi, which is a group of North-Western Indo-Aryan languages. It has several varieties of dialects that are spoken in several parts of the two countries.

The team was finally divided into three small groups. Each one has a distinct assignment to carry out. Ayesha’s group got the mother-and-child-care part.

_ _ _

Every year, more than two and half million newborns die. She was very sad to know that nearly forty-seven percent of children are dying worldwide before reaching their fifth birthday. The paramount cause of such deaths is the medical complications of preterm birth among the newborns. The area they’ll be visiting is amongst the top ten countries with highest preterm birth rate per thousand live-births. Every Newborn Action Plan around the world has emphasized on the method termed as Kangaroo Mother Care (KMC), which has turned out to be the essential component of neonatal health initiatives.

KMC is a method of care especially for the preterm infants. This unique method involves infants being carried, routinely by the mother, with skin-to-skin contact. It is already known to be very effective and successfully reducing mortality by about forty percent.

Soon, out of her usual jabbering during the routine telephonic conversations, Fatima too gathered the new term, KMC, which she never heard before. In the UK along with her friends she would frequently mention the term KFC. A few of her friends would visit their home occasionally. They would chit-chat with other family members too.

Very often Fatima would express her apprehensions of finding a suitable boy for her highly educated Ayesha. She would complain to her husband, “It seems you aren’t serious about finding a suitable life-partner for my Ayesha. Aren’t you worried? I don’t find such a qualified boy from our community. Have you come across any?”

He would calmly reply, “Inshallah, everything will be fine. Have faith in the Almighty. We’ll

definitely get a suitable groom for her. It’s all predestined, you see.”

He rarely utters but disturbing thoughts would arise from nowhere. And thereafter slowly makes a sort of grueling frustration. That is why; he keeps himself always very busy with his work.

Ancestors of Fatima were also immigrants. They moved into the UK solely to fill the unskilled textile jobs in Yorkshire textile mills and Lancashire as well. They entered Britain before the ‘Commonwealth Immigration Act’ of the year 1962. Those families had predominantly economically active men. Fatima didn’t continue her studies beyond middle-school. She wonders, ‘How do we find a suitable boy for my Ayesha from our community?’

_ _ _

Within a few days Ayesha got acquainted with many people. Out of those local employees of the NGO, she developed a pretty close friendship with Amina. She was as old as her ammu, or, maybe a few years younger. 

One afternoon they were returning from a health-centre to the nearest motorable road point because their vehicle was parked there. After reaching the vehicle Amina said, “Whether you feel thirsty or not, drink plenty of water to beat the heat of this region.”

Since ages people in this locality follow these traditional practices to avoid sunstroke. Mind it; this geographical-area is ill-famous for being one of the hottest places on earth. Thus, dear young doctors, drink plenty of water, even if you do not feel thirsty, and avoid tea, coffee etc.

So long as you are here, avoid all these caffeine containing drinks. Our forefathers advised us, “Don’t wait until you feel like you need a drink.”

While looking at the face of Bilal, she said, “Gabroo Jawaan, you should stay on the lowest floor of a house. Wear loose-fitting, lightweight, light-colored cotton clothing. Slow down your physical activities, stay indoors and avoid all kinds of exhausting exercise during the hottest part of the day.

With curiosity and bewilderment on his face Bilal looked at Ayesha. 

She understood immediately and told him, “You couldn’t follow her words, right?”

Like a child, he nodded his head to mean, ‘yes’. 

She shared with him all those useful-tips in English. And he said, “Yes, Yes, I read that geographically this place is situated along the Indus Valley right on the Tropic of Cancer. Thus, it ensures that during the summer months the sun is directly overhead. This deadly combination of high-heat and humid-air from the Arabian Sea makes the conditions out here nearly uninhabitable.”

Looking at Ayesha she opined, “Puttar, you know the Lahnda language so well although all of you are from England.”

Bilal was bewildered once again, “You are a girl, still why did she say, Puttar. The word puttar actually means ‘son’, isn't it?” 

Ayesha clarified, “You see, Bilal, when a daughter is dearly beloved, I mean, when she is the idol of her parents, they call her Puttar, which actually means ‘son’ though.

- Wonderful, what a beautiful expression, it’s cool, it is real gender equality. No doubt.

_ _ _

The nearest city was founded by General John Jacob in 1847. But formerly it was known as Khanger or Khangarh, which served as both the capital city of the District and the administrative center. 

Most of the one million people in that city and surrounding villages live in unbelievable poverty. They boldly face the challenges of the vagaries of nature. 

And there are acute water shortages, recurrent power cuts that compromise their ability to beat the heat. 

No mortal would believe these unless they witnessed the same with their own eyes.

_ _ _

They had been to a nearby desert location. There were Cattle Show, tents, camels, and the World's oldest camel fighting competition. One evening the team was enjoying a campfire while at a distance on the mounds of sand Kalbeliya dancers were performing. It was literally mystic and mesmerizing. 

All of them had a wonderful week-end trip. Five close friends had a long conversation, a real rendezvous under the open night-sky filled-with-celestial-stars. 

Words were infused by each participant to reiterate different topics. They discussed the pros and cons of ‘live in relationship’. The repercussions of global climate change. Should they do private practice or take up a job in a hospital? Money or mental solace!

Time rolls on. Topics keep on changing.

Nevertheless, all of them realized that there are a whole lot of ‘knowledge and wisdom’ that remains hidden within the traditional age-old practices. No Schools, colleges and universities can impart those within the four walls of a classroom.

_ _ _

After breakfast, one morning he sat with his laptop in the hotel room. While drafting the

project report, Bilal came upon a report published in the British Medical Journal in which it is stated that for every single degree Celsius rise in global temperature increases the number of stillbirths and premature deliveries nearly five percent. 

The study was carried out by several research institutions globally.

Suddenly, his mobile phone rang. He stretched his left hand to pick up the android-set lying on the bed. WhatsApp-DP flashed on the screen. It was his ‘mummy’ from the other end. His father is no more. It was an accident. He was studying in the final year of high school then. 

Sedately he started the telephonic conversation looking at the screen-display. As usual ‘she’ updated quite a lot of things and ‘son’ shared several experiences with his mother.

After some time, Ayesha joined him.

- You know, Bilal, many people out here, how are they alive? I would say, by means of sheer sorcery’.

- Why do you say so?

- The other day Amina told me that one of her neighbours, named Dalia, one day she was frying onions and okra over an open fire. She felt the usual dizziness due to the heat. You know, she tries to soak herself in water each time she would be cooking to prevent herself from fainting. Though, there would not be enough water to do so always.

- What a pity!

- Wait, wait, here is another anecdote. A young mother of four children was preparing lunch. Her cousins were coming to visit them. There is neither AC nor a desert-cooler in the house and there is no exhaust fan in her kitchen. She collapsed and then immediately she was taken to the nearby hospital, where she was pronounced dead from a suspected heat-stroke. Can you imagine? And I’m sure Bilal, It’s so pitiable, you can’t hear the next part of it.

- What is that? He said looking blankly.

- Close relatives took her body on the following day to her ancestral village to carry out the funeral rituals. And you know, Bilal, her children, the youngest one is merely one-year old, breastfeeding still, regularly cry for the mother. It’s so pitiable.

…she was about to cry…her eyes filled with tears…

Bilal stretched his right hand, hold her left hand to express his empathy.

They remained speechless for a few moments.

_ _ _

That evening before dinner, Bilal shared quite a few anecdotes with Ayesha, those were 'a sort of collage of recollections', which his mother often narrated to him. She was born and raised in unpartitioned India. The nostalgia of visiting Calcutta (now of course it's Kolkata), every summer from her In law's house at Dhaka. How happily she used to spend the vacation with her maternal grandparents and cousins! 

A few of her cousins would have been visiting from different parts of the then undivided country, East, West, North and South. Those were really magical times. In the quiet & sultry afternoons running barefoot towards the small wheeled-cart of a pani-puri aka fuchkaa seller. 

Flashing smile on the corners of her mouth she would narrate about the vendor of 'jhaalmuri', who used to carry a thick-strapped weird tin-box having several small-containers slightly bigger than soft-drink-can stuck on all three sides, and his unmistakable 'modus operandi', quickly picking up chopped onion, green-chillies or adding drops of mustard oil was worth watching. 

The small round cover of each small container tied with strings would dangle all around and produce a melodious tung-tang music whenever he would be preparing his mouth-watering mixture for the impatient and jittery customers. He would hand it over in a cone-shaped paper-bag. 

People say that this spicy-puffed-rice recipe, common to the streets/trains of Kolkata, was first sold by the migrants from surrounding areas to the soldiers during the second World War. 

How memorable were the quibbling with the vendors for one extra scoop of those delicious fast-food was indeed unforgettable. children would spend most of the day playing umpteenth games on the nearby alleys. Can you think of those days? There was no television or mobile either, no movie-theaters to watch a film, no computer or video-games as well. 

With a faint smile on her face, she would say, "A small cup of sweet-yogurt, they called 'misti doi', bought at the little but busy store at the end of the second-street was, my 'treat', which I was awarded on special-occasions, you know!"

She would categorically remember waking up to the melodious-hymns of a baul-singer, who used to visit their street every morning, playing his single-stringed-instrument. He would always smile peacefully greeting all passers-by. 

On days when the milkman couldn't turn up, she would accompany one of her aunts on a short walk to the cowshed to get fresh milk. The sights and sounds of the historic city during the daybreak were simply mesmerizing. 

Suddenly, Ayesha shouted with joy and said, "Thank you, Bilal, I found a solution." 

She continued, "Tomorrow we'll go to the capital of this country."

How is it possible? Amidst our project writing work? 

He was totally surprised. 

She immediately said, "It's very urgent."

_ _ _

Next morning they were ready for the sojourn. 

What's your plans? Bilal asked her. 

You see Bilal, the anecdote you shared yesterday taught me a lesson. 'Whenever available services do not reach near you, then you should go near those authorities who provide such services.' 

He looked at her face blankly. 

Stretching her both hands upwards almost like a child, she said, "Today we're going to the capital of this country and contact those NGOs, working on alternative energy-sources."

Ok, thereafter? Bilal asked. 

Bilal, they will definitely guide us, how to install solar panels and harness electricity in these remote areas. 

And then? Bilal enquired. 

Then we can certainly avoid these deaths due to heatstroke. Imagine, people can use induction cookers, if not AC at least desert-coolers. Their life will radically improve. Don't you think so? 

With that gaily mood, both of them proceeded for the journey ahead. … 

               _-_-_