Page 131 - Leadership in the Indian Army

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"What did you do ?" she exclaimed when Tariq opened the door. Only

then did she remember that his uncle was a barber.
Tariq ran his hand over his newly shaved scalp and smiled, showing

white, slightly uneven teeth.

"Like it?"

"You look like you're enlisting in the army."

"You want to feel?" He lowered his head.

The tiny bristles scratched Laila's palm pleasantly. Tariq wasn't like

some of the other boys, whose hair concealed

cone-shaped skulls and unsightly lumps. Tariq's head was perfectly

curved and lump-free.

When he looked up, Laila saw that his cheeks and brow had sunburned

"What took you so long?" she said

"My uncle was sick. Come on. Come inside."

He led her down the hallway to the family room. Laila loved everything

about this house. The shabby old rug in the family room, the patchwork
quilt on the couch, the ordinary clutter of Tariq's life: his mother's bolts

of fabric, her sewing needles embedded in spools, the old magazines, the

accordion case in the corner waiting to be cracked open.

"Who is it?"

It was his mother calling from the kitchen.