Chapter 5: 2 is odd

t is late August 2003. I take my backpack and head to Islamabad. On the way to Islamabad I’m thinking on Mr. Monologue. I’m not thinking him like a character in a story but a real person who would emerge sooner or later. I get scared when I see him in me. Like I know my own future.

When the coaster reaches to Karachi Company – the main bus station in Islamabad, I take another local hiace for Aabpara Market where a shuttle bus runs to university. In Aabpara, I wait for the university bus, but it is not yet arrived, and so I pass the time in the market. As I walk, my pace gets faster and faster zigzagging between people as if I’m in the movie Matrix. The people looks to me static, while I motion through them like a bullet. I walk from end to end in the market and then return. As I cross the one-way road to get on the bus, I halt in the middle of the road and poke at a speedy Land Cruiser coming toward to me. The Land Cruiser – which is very close to me – stops. Its lights fall directly into my eyes. It’s evening. I know the Mr. Monologue in me has made me powerful. Nothing can hurt me. I jump from the road to the side and cross the other one-way road without observing the on-coming traffic and get on the bus. The blue university bus is arrived. In the bus, I sit on one seat squeezing myself, but I’m very scared. The darkness of the night horrifies me. Another student also sits next to me on the seat. I know this student. He’s also from physics. I turn my face away from him and look out of the window.

In university, I go straight to my office to hang a picture – which my fiancée has embroidered – above my desk. To acknowledge the gift, I write in my diary: There is a house in it. My fiancée sent this picture from the village. My mother lives in the village. I lock the office and head to the hostel. I take the usual route, the sidewalk that goes by the mathematics department. I’m again walking like I’m in the movie Matrix. I have fixed my gaze straight and not looking down. Steps also come in my way. I skip them if they do not exist. I have maintained my balance. I do not fall. As I reach the hostel, I suddenly stop considering myself trapped in the shadow of the hostel gate. The shadow makes a pattern on the ground. I’m standing in a step forward position with my hands on my hips. I’m looking down at the pattern of the shadow and thinking how to escape from it. Suddenly I jump and get out of the shadow trap. I overhear someone behind me laughing. I head to hostel-2. There are four boys’ hostels on the premises. Hostel-2 is for the Ph.D. and M.Phil. students. The other three hostels are for the Masters’ students. The girls’ hostel is behind the boys’ hostels. As I reach the plaza between the hostels, I change my direction and instead get into hostel-1. I totally randomize – zigzagging – my path. I’m checking how long I will take to get to my room in hostel-2. At the entrance of hostel-1, I see a cat. I run after him. The cat runs upstairs in fear. I also run upstairs. I’m not looking down to watch my steps. I halt the cat upstairs in the hallway. I look into his eyes telling him that I can run faster than him. I do not look around if people are observing me.

I leave the cat there and head back to my hostel. Instead of going to my room, I go to another plaza behind the hostel. A laundry shop is also here, which is closed now. The autumn leaves are lying on the ground. No students are here. I’m wearing a jean, shut tucked in, my hands on my hips, bag on my back. The goal is to go zigzaggingly through everywhere while not stepping on the leaves. I’m marching and sometime jumping high as if I’m flying. The earth under me is running backward. At one point, I run over a fence behind the benches. I’m convinced that the iron fence cannot hurt me. Mr. Monologue is protecting me.

“Shahid, you are here. What are you doing here? Let’s go to room.” Daud finds me.

“What time is it?” I say sitting on the bench with him as if nothing has happened.

“Did you eat dinner?” He puts his arm on my shoulders. “Let’s go to huts; The cafeteria might be closed. Get up. Let’s go.”

“OK, let me put my backpack in the room. Please, wait in the plaza; I’m coming.” I say. The joining of Daud fully normalizes me. I totally forget what I was doing a little earlier. I quickly go to room and then get to huts.

Beside the chemistry and social huts on the campus, there are other huts by the university main gate. These huts are not in the university premises. They look real huts build out of mud and having no electricity but very popular. Majeed huts is the oldest one which is in business since 1973.The spicy food of Majeed huts is so popular that ex-Quaidains also come here with family for lunch.

When we get to huts, Majeed huts is closed. It’s late; however, another huts is open. Daud calls the waiter to bring the menu.

“We only have potato bhurji. Sorry, this is the only dish left.” Hikmat, the waiter, says.

“Ugh.” My least favorite dish. Half-cocked potatoes mixed with eggs. “Please, bring tea.” I don’t feel any hunger.

“Hikmat, one cup for me too.” Another friend Nawab also joins us.

“Hi, Nawab.” I say.

“Every donkey has a head, but not every head is that of a donkey. Your all-time joke, doctor.” Nawab says to me. Even if you are a Ph.D. student, people would call you a doctor.

“The donkey theorem.” I chuckle.

“Nawab, you don’t remember that one.” Daud laughs. “One day he was drunk.” He is referring to me, “He fell in the steps in the hostel. He was swearing saying who made these steps in the middle of everywhere.”

“This is one thing I don’t like about Quaid-i-Azam University: steps are everywhere.” I say.

After the tea, Daud head to physics department while Nawab and I get to the hostel. In the hostel, we say goodnight to each other heading to our rooms. I’m so tired that I instantly crush in the bed. Later in the night, I suddenly get up. I would hardly have slept an hour, but I feel very fresh. I feel like something is occurring at me – a revelation. I get the clipboard and pen and step out. I wander in the plaza. I’m in night dress wearing a shalwar – loose trouser, sweatshirt and flip-flops. I feel tightness in my thighs. I lift up one foot and stretch my leg, and then the other one, but it doesn’t help. I then drift and exit the hostel. I stand outside and keep stretching my arms and legs. The tightness in body is not getting any better. Beside tightness, I’m hearing voices of crickets. Some voices are high like coming from nearby and some are very low as if coming from far far away. I follow the voices and motion along the driveway. The voices get lauder and lauder as I leave the hostel area. I pace toward the main huts. This area is dark. On one side is the campus and other side are woods. Upon reaching the huts, I sit on a chair. The huts are closed while the chairs are there in the open. Beside me, there are a few dogs sitting on the ground. After relaxing, I get back to the hostel and spend the remaining night in the TV room. The TV room is also empty. Lights are office. I lean on the chair and sleep.

I get up in predawn hours. Suddenly it occurs to me that I should take a shower. I put the clipboard, which I’m carrying since last night, in the room, and get a shampoo and towel. Luckily the bathroom is not busy. There are a handful number of bathrooms in the hostel which are very busy in the morning. One has to wait long. I adjust the water and stand under the shower. The water is falling on me. Suddenly, I turn the knob of hot water to fully hot. The touch of hot water mystifies me. I’m trying to understand what hotness is. I then shut the hot water and turn the knob of cold water. Then I rapidly turn the knobs from fully cold to fully hot. The bathroom becomes steamy. I’m confused by the feeling of hotness and coldness.

“Who’s there? Please, hurry up.” Someone knocks on the door.

“I’m coming.” I dry myself, put on shalwar and the sweatshirt.

I put on qameez in the room. I then step out of our hostel and walk in hostel-1. This is the same hostel where I taught a cat that I could run than her last night. The hostel is evacuated for white-wash. The doors of all rooms are wide open, and the electricity is cut. I enter one room in the second floor. I stand in the center of the room and look to one of the walls. When I focus, I see a portrait on the wall. Since it is predawn, the picture is yet to be fully visible. The picture is in the reach of my height. If I go closer, I can verify what is on the wall, but I don’t do it; instead, I concentrate from where I’m to see what is in the painting. I see a naked man. I keep looking at it. More men also emerge in the painting. They all are naked. I smile to myself, “I can see in the dark.” I leave the room and march in the hallway, looking through every room. I’m sliding my feet in flip-flops. I get out of the indoor hallway to outer one. I can see the ground. Suddenly I jump and quickly turn around in the air and then land on my feet like a cat. I jumped in the hallway but not out of floor. I’m thinking if I leap out of the floor, I’ll not be hurt. When I keep looking at the courtyard, the height disappears. I start believing that height is just an illusion: The eyes can only see a two-dimensional image. The world is two-dimensional. I step-back to prepare for jump; but as I run, I stop at the boundary wall and do not leap. Though I believe that I’m powerful, I’m not yet convinced that I reached to the level of Mr. Monologue. I then leave the hostel and head to the huts for breakfast. The light in the sky has increased. I’m marching fast sliding my feet. At the hostel gate, I suddenly stop. I don’t know why I stop. I’m figuring it out. When I roll my eyes, I see a spider’s thread which is almost touching my nose. It gives me a surety that I’m gaining the power of Mr. Monologue. I can detect small things.

I go to the same place where I had dinner last night. Hikmat comes to take the order. When he’s taking the order, I only see the lower part of his body because I’m looking down.

“Sit down.” I shout at him.

“Yes.” He squats down in front of me in fear.

“Now I see your face. Egg sandwich.”

“OK. Can I go now?”

“Yes.”

During this, I see a cat who is looking at me. I leave my seat and crawl after him. The cat runs away. I then stand up. Because of the tightness in my body, I stretch my arms and start dancing. First, I extend my right arm moving it horizontally counterclockwise. It activates my left arm which also starts to stretch. Likewise my nick and legs also come into motion. I start stepping forward and end up in the middle of a road. This road separates the campus and huts and goes around the university, called the periphery. I lie down in the middle of the road and squeeze my body. Now I’m thinking that I’m a snake. A car also passes near me. Since I’m in its way, it drives away from me. I then stand up by myself as if nothing has happened and head to hostel. During this, I do not look around if people are observing me. I’m very happy. I can do what I want to do. I’m a freeman.

**

“Where were you last night? You were not on your mat.” Daud, who has just got up, says.

“I slept in the TV room.”

“What happened to your shirt? It is on ud. Did you fall?”

“At huts. I can’t explain it.”

“Shahid, you need to go home. It wouldn’t be safe to go by yourself. I’ll call your brother to take you home. Stay in the hostel. I forbid you. Do not leave the hostel.” Daud says. He has been to our place several times. He knows my brothers and nephews.

“Do you have our home phone number?”

“Yes, I do.”

“But what would you tell him? I’ve just come from home yesterday.”

“Don’t you worry; I’ll talk to Abdur Lala. I’m going to the department. You stay in the hostel until I return.”

Daud leaves, while I take his words literally: “I forbid you. Do not leave the hostel.” I take it as if God has forbidden me. I further restrict myself, to stay in the room. I have some water in the bottle. I say to myself that this is all the water available to me for the rest of the day. I then dress up formally as if I have an interview, but then I lie on down my mat. There are no beds in the room. Two mats are put on the floor on a rug. One closet, a mirror, chair and desk. My mat is on the desk side. The light is off. I’m lying straight with glasses on. Between my eyes and glasses, I put a small towel. Suddenly I sit up and scratch the brand name from the cigarette packet, which is under my pillow. Products should have no brand names. I lie down again and remain lying until Daud comes back.

“Shahid, are you awake?” He says.

“Yes.” I slowly say.

“Get up. And why are you wearing glasses while sleeping?” He laughs.

“I cannot use two senses while talking to you. I can either see you or hear you.” I say in a ghostly way.

“Hehehe! C’mon. Get up.” He cannot stop laughing.

I suddenly sit up and lean on the wall, while he’s standing in the doorway. He enters and sits on the chair.

“I called Abdur Lala. He said that he was sending Hafiz. Hafiz will take you home. I’m going back to the department. If you want to have cup of tea, you can come with me to go to café.”

“No thanks. I’m fine.”

I again lie down as Daud leaves. It is very quiet in the wing. Perhaps it’s the daytime and most of the students are in the departments.

Later in the day, someone slowly knocks on the door. I say yes removing the towel from my eyes. It is Nawab who brings me lunch from the hostel mess. He keeps the plate and rooti on the rug near me, and he sits on the chair. I put the towel back on my eyes saying I’m not hungry. He remains seated for a while then leave when he receives no response from me. He leaves quietly.

God is great. God is great. The muazzin calls people for the noon prayer. The university mosque is just outside the boys’ hostels. Later, the muezzin again calls for the afternoon prayer. Over time, the speed of my thoughts has slowed down. I get up and start realizing that my own stories and theories give me the stress. My problems will be solved if I destroy them. I put away the chicken plate and rooti from the rug and keep them on the desk. From the desk, I pick up my diary and rip off the first few pages which contain the boy’s story and the other two or three liners. I also remove the pages from the clipboard which contains the God theorem. I put all the papers on the concrete floor and burn them. While the stories are burning, I stand up and bend my head above the fire. The heat is directly falling on my face. I’m at once relieved taking a deep breath. The flame slowly settles down, and the papers turn into ash. The ceiling fan is already off since morning. There is no disturbance in the room. I sit next to the black ash and beat it with my fingers. Meanwhile, a drop of sweat falls from my forehead directly onto the black ash. It turns the ash into ink. I open my diary, which is lying next to me, and write: ‘2 is odd’, with my finger. I smile. The diary, which was just emptied, is again filling with words. I like brevity. This short sentence – 2 is odd – amuses me. It contains number and letters. It reminds me Mr. Monologue who combines dialogue and theorem. Now I’m learning how could that be possible. I close the diary and press it. The sentence ‘2 is odd’, which is still wet, must have printed an image on the opposite page. I don’t open it again to see how the image looks; however, I imagine it. If the number 2 is odd on one page, then its is even on the other page. The number 2 bothered me since my fourth year in college when I learned that 2 is the only number which is an even number and which is also a prime number. All other prime numbers are odd. Prime numbers are those which are only divisible by itself and one, while even numbers are multiple of 2. Prime numbers are very curious numbers. They follow no pattern. Since college time, I assumed that the mysteries of primes may only be due the number 2 being an even number. Today I conjectured that 2 is odd. Problem solved! The number 2 may not be odd by definition, but it is odd because it is alien in the family of primes.

I stand up and sit on the chair. The chair and the desk are not next to each other but by the opposite walls. Since my hands are blackened by the ash, I put them on armchairs. The rays of sunlight are falling through the window. Meanwhile, a drop of sweat falls in my eye. In that droplet, I see a man behind the windows filming me. I also recognize the cameraman who happens to be one my professors who taught us Group Theory. I thumb up to the professor and smile – I’M FAMOUS. I know the media has also reached to the campus. They are interviewing my friends to know about me. I stand up proudly and go back to the blackened floor. I sit, bend down my head and adhere my ear to the floor. I’m trying to hear Australia on the other side of the globe. I don’t hear anything but tiny clicks in my ear. Suddenly the door opens. Four people – Daud, Nawab, Hafiz and Daulat – enter. Nawab takes me to the washroom and helps me to wash my hands and face. After that, we all go to Physics Department where Hafiz has parked his Suzuki Carry. The sun is about to set. At the parking lot, Daud and Nawab see us off. On the way, Hafiz says sorry for being late. He says that he and his friend Daulat were in Peshawar city when Abdur called him.