Part 3
o o o Flashback o o o
"Ammi, I
don't want to meet her, she isn't the right girl for me. A complete misfit, she
would never adjust to my life. Woh New York se hai ... uss ke tor tareeke
bilkul alag honge humse ... she just would not fit in with our ways. Everything
has to be perfect and I don't see how she fits into the equation at all. This
marriage would be like slow poison for the both of us. I don't care for her. I
don't even need to see her face," Asad said authoritatively to his mother,
his words were abrupt causing discomfort and pain to his mother.
"But
she's a nice girl, and I don't care what you think and she's the one I have
chosen for you and I know that my choice is right. And considering you don't
ever want to get married, it hurts to see you all alone. I have aspirations too
for you, dreams of seeing my only son settled with a beautiful wife and kids.
When I'm gone you'll need to have someone to care for you and love you and to
walk with you on this long path called life. Everyone needs someone otherwise
life can become unbearable and I think she is perfect for you. I don't care
about what you think is right and wrong but the Nikaah is fixed and that is
that," Dilshaad reprimanded her ziddi son over the phone.
"Fine
but don't expect me to meet her or have a normal married life with her, which
is something I will never do. I'm going away for a few days ... out of town.
All I want is some peace and I get that from immersing myself in work,"
Asad said before ending the call. His mother was livid on the other side of the
phone but she had to console the girl she had chosen for Asad.
The delicate
girl had slumped against the wall, saddened by his words. Dilshaad had to
explain her son's rude and abrupt phone conversation to the upset girl and to
the two despondent faces in front of her. It was not intended for them to
hear this nuance at all but the phone was on speaker much to her distress. They
were disheartened by her son's insolence, afraid that this alliance was not
right for their delicate sister.
"Dilshaad
Bi, ye mein kya sunn raha hoon? Aap ne toh kaha tah ke woh is Nikaah se khush
hai. Your son isn't even ready to meet our Zoya let alone marry her and I don't
want to give our Zoya to such a man. I'm not going ahead with this Nikaah at
all," Anwar Jeeju said authoritatively, despondent after hearing Asad's
disrespect for his beloved sister Zoya and his disrespect for marriage.
"Anwar,
I am hurt too but I am sure that he has some reason behind his behaviour. I
know Dilshaad Bi really well and I know that she has brought her son up
imbibing good manners within him," Zeenat Aapi tried reasoning with Anwar.
Dilshaad
stood distressed by the dilemma her son had landed her in, her sad eyes
observed the hurt on Zoya's face as she slumped against the wall at the
entrance of her Aapi and Jeeju's temporary apartment in Bhopal. Dilshaad had
taken a liking to Zoya ever since she first laid her eyes on her a few months ago
at a distant relatives wedding and since then Dilshaad had made the decision
that Zoya would become her daughter-in-law and her son's wife.
Dilshaad had
fallen in love with Zoya's happy-go-lucky nature, her weird tendencies, her
smile, her nonsensical poems, her innocent eyes and her manner in which she
always placed the needs of others before her own needs, always wishing the best
for everyone. That is exactly what Dilshaad wanted in the girl she had chosen
for Asad. Dilshaad tried her best to pacify Zoya.
"Beta, I
know I don't have the right to say this after my son's rudeness. He had no
reason to be disrespectful to you and so I ask you to forgive him for his
audacity and if you can give him one more chance, for my sake. He'll come
around to his senses, I promise. It's just that he's so preoccupied with his
work and he handles it all by himself and the stress must have got to him ...
please ... please Zoya beta ... I implore you, if you have the smallest amount
of compassion for me ... you call me Phoopi right, apnaa maanti ho mujhe ...
then please give him one more chance Zoya beta," Dilshaad pleaded
insistently.
Zoya looked
confused and perplexed by the dilemma that fate had hurled so callously in her
direction, as if her own dreams were mocking her now. She observed how her only
family Aapi and Jeeju were quarrelling and disputing over her future in the
corner of the room, while Dilshaad the woman she called Phoopi, the woman that
she had grown to love in these few meetings, the woman who she considered as
the mother she never had was begging Zoya to give her cold-hearted son another
chance. Her son, who she had never seen let alone known the name of. The only
thing Zoya knew was he didn't want her, he said it loud and clear over the
phone speaker.
Her mind was
torn, torn by the dreams she had made around her Phoopi's son who she thought
could have been her Prince Charming ... the Prince Charming that she spent her
life dreaming about, the Prince Charming that she spent the past 3 months
preparing for ensuring that when she did meet him, he would approve of her ...
and she was torn by the bitter dispute that her only family were consumed with
in deciding what was best for her. Her dream was torn to a million fragments
and she felt her world collapsing around her.
Consumed with
anger, fear and hurt, and rejection from a man whose name she did not know and
whose face was but a mere shadow of her now shattered dreams haunted her. She
felt claustrophobic as though she were a puppet and she felt pain at the
strings that were attached to her pulling and pulverising her defeated form in
different directions.
She pulled as
hard as she could at these unreal artificial strings of her artificial
relationship with a man who did not want her. She began taking huge staggering
steps backwards aiming for the door. She needed air and she needed freedom from
the strings that attached and caged her to such a prospect, the prospect of
marrying a man who could not love her, the prospect of killing her dreams. She
needed to be some place where she could gather her thoughts and drown her
sorrow. She needed coffee and she needed the rain.
She ran out
of the apartment and drove her motorbike as fast as she could, refused to look
back at her loved ones for fear of conforming to their wishes. And ...
she refused to look ahead of her because she felt the future she once dreamt
about had already slipped out from the caressing and nurturing confines of her
hands.
All optimism
had left her heart, ... her now broken heart. She pitied each blade of grass
and each molecule of air that spun around her, flashing by her as she drove
with great speeds trying to forget everything. For each blade of grass and each
molecule of air had lost their individuality amongst the many blades of grass
and many molecules of air, they were all the same, all conforming and all with
no dreams. She did not want to be anything like them.
She casted
her eyes towards the sky as the rain showered upon her dejected form, the rain
comforting the fire that coursed through her body with pain. She wanted to be
like the rain drops that fell from the skies above, each drop was unique, each
drop optimistic and each drop was a beautiful dream from the charitable
and forever giving clouds. Altruistic but never asking for anything back in
return. She drove for many miles until she needed a break from all that running
... she needed coffee and that is the moment she entered the Daily Grind Coffee
House. Who knew then that fate had conspired for her to meet the same man who
had rejected her?
o o o End of Flashback o o o
Asad stood in
the rain, outside the Daily Grind Coffee House, staring into the vast darkness
of the night, perplexed and ridden with guilt and remorse for his actions and
for his words to the girl he met tonight ... for - the Lonely Girl was the same
girl that he rejected and denied one look, one meeting the following day. A
roll of thunder and lightning blared across the dreary sky and mirrored the
emotions that coursed through Asad's heart, mind, soul and body, igniting his
senses with a piercing burn analogous to the fierce lightning that blazed the
sky with its raw and painful strike.
It was pain
alien to his senses, a pain he had never felt before this, a pain and a longing
brew in his now beating heart. A heart that was once caged from feeling love,
... love an emotion he once thought was only for fools, that very
emotion now resided and blossomed with its soothing petals and painful thorns
in his heart. And his heart now began to beat for another yet it was bereft of
the very person that had kindled that love, that passion and that joy within
him.
He looked to
the skies for answers but with no avail, the rain battered down on his defeated
form, the drops of rain concealing his anguish, soaked his entirety cloaking
him as though he were an old friend to the showers of misery, and in his misery
he was inattentive to the abrasive crowd that now exited the coffee house,
colliding with his battered form as they made their way home. The rain provided
no real solace to him; it only ignited his pain further.
Asad
reluctantly made his way back inside the coffee house to gather his items. His
eyes fell on the money the Lonely Girl had left on the table. A 2000 rupee note
stared back at him blankly, payment for both of their coffees. He felt it would
be wrong to take her payment and so he reached into his pocket for his wallet
and paid the waitress for the coffees with his own money, as her 2000 rupee
note reminded him of his insolence and rudeness on the phone in the beautiful
face of her gratitude and her wishes for him.
Her wishes
for him even after she heard the words he uttered over the phone to his mother,
and much to his disbelief her good will still remained intact. This made him
mellow and angry at the same time. How could she be so pure of heart that even
after hearing his rudeness over the phone, even after his unwarranted reasons
of not wanting to meet her, Asad could not understand how she absolved him of
his insolence, and so easily forgave him for his bitter words and wished him
the best in the world and that someday she wished for him to find his match.
That is exactly what she had written on the piece of paper, it was her way of
dealing with her emotions ... her way of making peace with a man she hadn't met
... yet she hadn't realised she had met him in the form of Mr Coffee Man and
told Coffee Man these very things about him, ... ... the " him "
that was none other than him, himself.
He took the
2000 rupee note and the piece of paper that they had both written on and placed
them in his wallet as a memory of this night and as a reminder of her kindness,
and as a reminder of his loss. His car was towed away by the repair guys and so
he walked home in the rain through the turbulence of the monsoon, dragging his
feet in a wearisome manner; the rain ironically was comforting as it
complemented his dejected outlook on life. He embraced the elements and walked
home realising how foolish he had been. He wasted the opportunity to have met
the most wonderful woman his mother had chosen for him. Yet fate was a weird
thing, it brought him to her regardless, the very person he was running away
from was the very person he fell in love with. Fate truly was a twisted thing.
He watched
her leave, but could do nothing about it. It made him feel empty like a hole
was pierced into his chest and his rib cage was contorted and crushed. The
smallest ounce of hope, the hope and opportunity to love walked out of his life
that night. He wished his mother could help him, but even his own mother could
not bring back Zoya. She had already left from Bhopal with her Aapi and Jeeju
and as the months passed and seasons changed, and they had changed their
address and number, leaving no trace of the Lonely Girl's footsteps. She could
not be found anywhere.
End of part
3
© Fatima B Lunat 2013
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