Storm in a teacup.

In the orange glare of July sun Zuhra was busy like a bee while putting on the wet cloths on the laundry line at her rooftop. It was satisfying to spread the neat clothes in the drying breeze of hot noon. The street was filled with all kind of sounds,a hawker was selling some newspapers,the grocer exclaiming about freshness of his grocery,the fish seller,occasional sounds of horse carriages, people gossiping about government policies of British Raj. Zuhra kind of soaked all the political analysis like a bloting paper soaked ink.while her laundry assignment completed her father's bicycle horn squeaked like a thirsty sparrow and Zuhra jumped down the staircase to grab the load in her father's hands.A regular Salam and she fetched him a glass of water. Her mother kept peeling the veggies for dinner preparation.

Mr.fazal Abbas was a class 4 peon in the nearby Police station. His family consisted of two sons,Nadeem Abbas and Nazar Abbas,his daughter Zuhra jabeen and wie Razia begum. Fazal Abbas being a popular peon in the office happened to be the part of every political discussion among his office clerical staff.

His elder son was a student leader in aligarh college and the younger studying in his 8th grade. Zuhra was litrate she could read,write and calculate.But her sense of analysis was excellent. Such intelligence in that society for a Muslim women was nothing but an unnecessary talent.

Yet she managed to talk less and thought more like every other women of her age and era In the day to day routine of cooking, washing, cleaning and organizing she took her personal time to read news pamphlets and gossip about politics with her neighbor that begum a bold girl of her age.