Read Kartography for Free Online Page A

time we used ‘Things’ instead of ‘Genes’. Until that moment on the tree, it had never bothered me at all to consider the way things might have been, the way things once were. But that he should have chiselled the letters so deeply, my father who hated exertion, that he should have done that for someone, and for that someone to not be my mother, was nothing less than an abomination.
    I scrambled off the branch. ‘Come on,’ I said to Karim. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’ But he stayed where he was, running his fingers over the letters, again and again. ‘Stop it,’ I called out from the base of the tree. ‘Stop doing that.’ But he ignored me, and I could not stay to argue for the queasiness in my stomach.

    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    Â 
    . . .
    Â 
    Uncle Chaperoo was supposed to accompany us back to Karachi when our three weeks in RYK were up, but he decided to elope instead. At least, that’s what he wanted everyone to believe, but Uncle Asif saw things a little differently. I was having tea with Uncle Asif in front of the fireplace when Uncle Chaperoo called with the news, and Uncle Asif put the call on his newly acquired speaker-phone.
    â€˜Bhai, Umber and I have eloped,’ Uncle Chaperoo said.
    â€˜What? You’ve married her! Wonderful. And about time.’
    â€˜We’ve eloped!’
    â€˜Let me speak to her. I want to welcome her to the family.’
    â€˜We love each other. We don’t care what anyone else says.’
    â€˜Excellent. Where’s the honeymoon? When you return we’ll throw a huge reception for the two of you.’
    â€˜We’re prepared to live on love!’
    â€˜I’ll get Laila on the line right away. She’ll be so happy.’
    â€˜We’ve eloped, damn you!’
    Uncle Asif hung up, and shook his head. ‘Such assumptions, such assumptions! From my own brother.’ He threw another log on to the fire and watched the sparks fly. ‘At a time like this, Raheen, should I care about anything other than whether he’s happy? Have I not always said that I wish to be the most unfeudal feudal in this country?’
    â€˜You don’t seem very decadent to me,’ I said by way of comfort. ‘Though it’s true you live in luxury and don’t seem to spend a lot of time doing anything that looks even a little bit like work.’ I tilted my head and looked at him sideways. ‘I could see you lying on a couch in a toga, eating peeled grapes. Uncle Ali said that’s the real definition of decadence.’
    He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you? It requires a certain genetic disposition to say something like that at the age of thirteen and yet manage to be utterly charming.’
    â€˜I’m not the charming one,’ I said, putting my feet up on the coffee table. ‘That’s Karim. He’s got natural charm. I mean, you see him across a room and you know you’ll like him.’
    â€˜And you?’ Uncle Ali said. ‘What do people think when they see you across a room?’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ I said slowly. ‘But usually if I’m in a room I’m with Karim, Sonia, Zia. One or all of them. And then you’d notice Sonia, because she’s gorgeous, and you’d notice Zia because he’s completely cool, and you’d notice Karim because you can’t help but notice Karim. Me, I guess you’d notice that all three of them choose to be my friends. And that must say something.’ It was true; I knew quite well that there was nothing remarkable about me. This is not to say I suffered insecurities because of everything I lacked. There wasn’t a great deal that I did lack. I was intelligent enough, attractive enough, witty enough, cool enough. On sports day I won silver medals and even, occasionally, a gold; in school concerts I got speaking parts rather than