Rubic's Cube in My Heart

A Box of Emotions

 There’s a box inside me, I can feel it right next to my heart. My imagination suggests, it looks like ‘The Rubic’s Cube’. There’s a bit of blue bitterness, a little green greed, heaps of yellow hilarity with a pinch of red rage. I twist and I turn and boogie around to make a perfect pattern. But I’m not a scholar, neither a diplomat, and so every single time I twirl, I’m a new shade, a new tinge.

Sometimes I laugh with so much insanity I feel I’d flip inside out. I feel so bright as if the sun is blowing its amber rays straight into my head with a straw. I try controlling the eruption but it over flows like a waterfall does during monsoon. The fact that I have no control over this eruption of fanatic laughter makes me laugh harder, and the cycle goes on for hours together.   I’m insane because I’m carefree.

I laugh at the funniest of jokes and then at the silliest of sentences that barely require a giggle, I laugh because I feel funny. Then, at times, I cry so hard I feel I’d bust a vain in my throat. The tears fall and dry making dirty grey pathways on my cheeks and then they fall again following that same path. I sob, I scream, I wail, I howl and hope no one catches me in fits.  I look at myself in the mirror while splashing water on my eyes to soothe them and then I cry at how sad I look. I cry because I’m sorry for being sad.

There are days when I feel like making to sense, I mix yellow with grey and orange with turquoise to yield nothing but euphoria. I dance without music, on roads, in parks. People stare, I blow kisses at some, to some I blow raspberries. I sing random songs with lyrics that barely rhyme. I utter words I’ve just invented out of the blue. I roll on grassy green gradients and pretend to be swimming in cottony cold clouds. I fly airplanes on the road, asking people the way towards nowhere. They call me a retard, and I feel like I’ve been honored.  I scream, I yell, I annoy people, I kiss, I dance, I rock and roll, I do it because I’m senseless.

They call me a bitch! Not one, not two, they all do. They say I’m pompous and mean and downright rude. Well honestly, I love that mood. When I say ‘I hate her’, It’s because I mean it. I can be jealous, and why not? I want the best for me and what’s wrong in that? I want those  stilettos, I want them even though I have the same ones in a different shade. Yes, they go with my new green dress, my costume of greed.  I ain’t always like that. But when I am, I’m the best at it too. I’m arrogant because I know I rock it, even if it makes my red heart get little black polka dots. I’m a bitch because I’m snotty.

You mess with me once, you’d be scared to do it again. I’m a ball of red fire, I’m short-tempered and hot headed. But that’s only when I’m on my last nerve. I’m like the deep blue sea, that says nothing till its tampered with. Till you’re good I’m fantastic, when you bug me I shall tolerate, but dare driving me mad I’ll swallow you alive. My rare red rage, comes sans warning or security gear. It isn’t an adventure sport, don’t meddle with it for your own bloody safety. It can be fatal so don’t test it. I’m hot-headed because I know the limit of tolerance.

And then at times I switch from being arrogant and forget my cat fits because I want to be cute. I see a little cuddly puppy dog, wagging its tail and dropping its drool and my heart transforms into a white fur ball with faint brown spots on it. I want to hug people and help them and be nice to everyone and everything because somewhere within me is a little kid that doesn’t know the ills and odds of this nasty world.  I know what it feels like to lose yourself in a vacuum, that has no gains, no loses. It’s just me, a relatively good person, against the world, that I assume isn’t bad either. I’m adorable because I’m compassionate.

I can be carefree and then I can be gloomy. I can be senseless on minute and then I turn snotty. From a roaring tigress to a playful puppy. I’m a bit here and a bit there, a little bit of this and a little bit of that. I have in me every color of the rainbow. Every shade of me is unique, every story mesmerizing. It’s because I love me, more than any priced possession, more than any of my beloveds.

The Father of Her Child

                                                          

“We need to talk.” Natasha said after five minutes of absurd silence. 

“About what?” Mickey finally got out of the daze that he’d been lost in and spoke.

“About you, and me, and us. What is the matter with you Mick? What is it that you are hiding from me? What’s been bothering you?” She said choking on the last words of her sentence, trying hard to stop herself from breaking down.

Was he the same person she’d fallen in love with fourteen years ago? Was he the same vivacious Mickey who carried smiles with him everywhere he went? Was he the man who gave her headaches with his constant jabber? No, he wasn’t her Mick, he wasn’t the man she’d been married to. He seemed like an imposter. A replica of her husband. A statue that had no emotions, something that couldn’t feel, just react, with anger and violence.

His silence was slaughtering her. It had been six months. It was as if he was punishing himself for something he’d done and was too ashamed to confess.  The only thing that ever broke his hush was his sudden gushes of aggressiveness towards their daughter, Mia.

She didn’t know what it was, all she knew was that it was eating him up. It was exhausting his spirit to live and she comprehended that when she saw tranquilizers next to the anti depressants he’d been prescribed by his psychiatrist, Dr. Eric Smith.

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Mickey spoke in a feeble voice.  “ We’re doing just fine.”

“Fine!” she let out a nervous laugh. “We’re fine. Yeah, we’re fine. We’re a normal happy family, aren’t we Mickey? A normal family with a man hiding blades and a knife and sleeping pills in his cupboard. “ She bawled running towards his cupboard and throwing all his clothes on the floor to take out his weapons of self-destruction.

Mickey stood still next to the bed, looking ashamed and horrified. Trying to think of something to say to his wife, to the woman he loved; to the woman he’d married, to the mother of his daughter.

“What’s it Mick? Why are you doing this to me, to us, to Mia? What’s wrong; please tell me what’s happened to you? Trust me, there’s nothing we can’t sort. Tell me, Mickey, please tell me!” Natasha fell on the floor like broken pieces of glass, weeping and gasping for breath.

Mickey ran towards her and embraced her saying, “Everything will be alright, I promise. I swear things will be just fine. I’ll get out of it. For you, for me, for Mia.”

                                                                                        *

Mickey was as restless as ever that night. He shut his eyes tight and tried to find sleep in the depths of darkness for a while, but failed. He thought of all the sinful thoughts and images that had been invading his mind for a while now. He cursed himself and tried not to think about it, but failed. Then he felt himself losing control once again. Losing himself in the pink and blue polka doted blanket. The blanket that was too small for an adult to fit into. The one he desperately wanted to rip apart to make space for himself. He picked up the blanket from her petite delicate body and ran his cold fingers over her warm bony legs. He tried stopping himself from going any further but failed, for he wasn’t Mickey Jones anymore- husband of Natasha Jones and father of Mia Jones. He was something else. A demon, as he liked to call himself. His heart pounded as he reached over and kissed her on her baby soft skin and sniffed her hair that smelled of bubblegum.  He lay next to her for a while, moving his hand gently over her chest from underneath her pink colored nightshirt. She moved a bit and moaned softly.  He bent down towards her and whispered into her ear. “You know I love you more than anyone in the world, don’t you?” She lay still with her eyes closed, looking like a little angel.

“Forgive me, my love.”  He cried and got on top of her. She opened her eyes and kept beaming at the demon until the realization and pain of what was happening sank into her juvenile mind. She tried fighting him, failed, and let out a piercing agonized cry…

                                                                                     *

Mickey snapped out of his dream, alarmed and sweaty. Her shriek echoed in his ears for a while. He lay in his bed with his eyes wide open trying to breathe. He got up from his bed in half an hour and started to get dressed. It was seven a.m.; He had an appointment with Dr. Smith in precisely two hours.

The phone rang at the Jones residence at Eleven thirty a.m. Natasha answered it. Dr, Smith’s assistant called her and Mia to the clinic. Mickey had a nervous breakdown talking to Dr. Smith that day.

“Natasha, Mickey is not just my patient. He’s also my best friend, and so have you. So just remember I’m with you in this.” Said Dr. Smith.

“Don’t beat around the bush Eric, get to the point. What is it? Is it work? Is it some sort of financial pressure? What is the darned problem?” Natasha hyperventilated.

“Natasha, I need to talk to Mia.” Eric said with a sympathetic face.

“What the…What could Mia have to do with this? “ She stood up, bewildered.

“Relax, Natasha, I know this is hard. You’ve got to be brave.”  Eric stood up from his chair to calm her down.

“I don’t get it, what’s wrong with him? Will you tell me?” She walked towards the couch where Mia sat and brushed her Barbie Doll’s hair.

“We suspect Mickey of being a pedophile.” Eric announced.

“What the….” Natasha let out a half nervous, half amused smirk. “Stop shitting around, Eric.”

“Sir, Officer Mosby from the Sex Offenders Register wants to talk to Mrs. Jones, Mia and you. Should I send him in?” Dr. Smith’s assistant informed him.

Eric looked at Natasha not knowing what to say next, Natasha froze for a while, and then fell on the couch next to Mia and broke into a fit of tears.

It Drinks from Me

                                                               

No place unseen, but every destination is foreign,

been through every road, yet every path feels strange.

this place where I abide, this city drinks from me.

It cuts me every day with the sorrow of the night,

it tells me why i'm wrong, reminds me of my plight.

it shines on me in the morning, an uncontrollable light.

every face recognized and everyone is strange,

this city of Her-Highness , with not a person fully sane.

everyone is the same, everyone suffers megalomania,

everyone so dignified, with a hysteric schizophrenia,

the biggest of objections is just a minor of quibbles,

not a person worth talking to, this town called 'gullible'.

every turn is a mystery in this town of mega minds,

every person xeroxed, yet all individuals one of their kind...

this city where I abide,

it drinks from me,

from me all the time...

At Café Liffey

   

                                                                                

An unconventional day. The sun was shining brightly in the otherwise gloomy winter morning in Dublin, when I saw her for the first time working in a café next to the river Liffey. No, she wasn’t the prettiest girl I had ever seen, but there was something magnetic about her to make me order another cup of coffee and a croissant, just so I could sit there and gaze at her for longer...  She wore blue denim dungarees over a bright red jumper with red converse shoes; her hair was sloppily tied up into a pony that wriggled out of her cap that read ‘Café Liffey’.  She hopped from one table to another placing coffee, tea and hot chocolate from a big tray that boogied on the palm of her hand.

She had light green eyes, which appeared hazel from a distance. I noticed them the next day as I ordered the same coffee as the previous day. I paid her six pounds for the coffee, went, and sat on my table. The table was right in the corner of the café, a big glass window on one side, a fireplace right next to it and gave a perfect view of the rest of the café. I sat there for the next 6 hours looking at her, pretending to be reading “Love Story” by Erich Segel.  I ordered seven cups of coffee that day, ended up paying fifty-four pounds, but it was all worth it.

“Six pounds, your balance from yesterday.”  She said to me looking at the notepad she carried around to take orders, very aloof of my existence or my interest in her. Those were her first words to me. 

“Deduct them from the bill.” I told her, not knowing what else to say.

“So, what do you want?” she asked me, still staring at the notepad.  ‘….I want to take you out on a date’ is what I wanted to say, “One cappuccino, please.” Is what I said. She scribbled the order and went towards the counter as I sat still in my chair blushing at the thought of my first conversation with her.

I saw her the next day, and the day after that, and the one after that and then again till my very last day in Ireland. I didn’t know her name; she didn’t wear a badge like waitresses usually do, so I called her the ‘Converse Girl’. By the end of my trip, I Had become a regular at the cafe, everyone working there had assumed the corner table to be reserved for me between one to five p.m. and the ‘Converse Girl’ knew what coffee I liked, and how I liked it.

 My fifteen-day long holiday in Ireland had come to an end, and so far all I knew about her was that she owned six pairs of converse of different colors, five jumpers of the same kind but of different colors, a few pairs of dungarees that she wore every day, and that she was a good waitress.  On my last day in Dublin, I went to the café one last time, with my mind set on asking her out for a date that night.

I wore my favorite shirt and expensive perfume that day.  Left my hotel with a smile, no correction- a grin on my face, purchased fresh Orchids and Lilies wrapped in a cute bouquet and danced my way to ‘Café Liffey’. I sat on my favorite table in the cozy corner and waited for ‘My Converse Girl’ to come with her notepad in her hand. But she didn’t…

I first saw him on a boring cold day in ‘Café Liffey’ in Dublin. No, he wasn’t this breathtaking, handsome man one would see, but he did make me wish he’d stay there for longer, maybe have another cup of coffee. And he did. My heart jumped like a spring every time I walked up to his table to take his order. Oh! How I wish I wasn’t wearing my despicable dungarees and those cloudy converse.  I could feel his eyes stuck on me, which made me restless while serving coffee. I almost dropped the tray twice as the mugs jived on it.

I saw him again the next day, in the café. He sat on the table in the corner, next to the fireplace and the big window. He ordered seven mugs of cappuccino that day, and read my favorite novel- The Love Story. I fell deeper in love with him at the sight of that book in his hand.

‘’Cappuccino, please. ’- those were his first words to me. I think he was smiling then, but I was too nervous to look at him, I kept staring at my notepad, trying to look engrossed in my work. His bill amounted to fifty-four pounds, he paid sixty and he was gone when I came back with the change.  I went home that day and emptied my closet to look for something nice to wear, but all I had were dungarees, jumpers, jeans, and Converse.  I’d exhausted my monthly allowance and there wasn’t a chance in hell my mother would give me money to go shopping. Therefore, I turned up at work looking as lousy and stupid as ever, the next day.

Thereafter, he visited the café every day and sat there for hours together reading books. My girlfriends said he liked one of us at the café, each one of us wished it were they. So did I.

I finally got my monthly allowance after thirteen days of seeing him at the café and trying to make ‘small talk’ with him. I took a day off that day and went shopping with my best friend.  We bought  fancy clothes, new chic shoes and accessories for me.

The next day, I got up early and spent an hour singing in the shower. I wore my new clothes, made my hair, stole my sister’s make up and wore my mom’s perfume. I reached the café before my shift was to start. I made up my mind; I had to tell him what I felt for him before any of the other girls did.

I waited at the café all morning, and then the afternoon and soon the evening passed by, I even waited after my shift got over. But he never came…

I Met Her Shadow...

SCENE 8: THE PICTURE

2033

At the bar, Sidharth is sitting with his mouth covered by his hand. He’s drunk and on the verge of crying.

Sidharth (antagonized) she got married?

Omar (smiling) yes she did.

Sidharth But, how? Wasn’t she supposed to be in second year when you left?

Omar (finishing his last bit of beer) apparently, she realized she didn’t want to study anymore. So she went back to India where her parents threatened to disown her if she left Uni midway. It took her a while to convince her father. So he struck a deal with her. Either she went back to London and completed her studies or she would have to marry his best friend’s son who also lived in London.

Sidharth (disgusted) and so she got married? At twenty? Hang on a minute, wasn’t she in love with you?

Omar I don’t know about all that. We never discussed such things. But I shall never doubt her love for me. Not then, not now (pauses.) I don’t know why she did what she did. All I knew back then was that she was married, she had a son, and she lived in her own little world with a man, who loved her, had enough resources to support her, was accepted by her family and above all kept her happy. And I could do none of those, not back then at least. I left her crying when could’ve held her hand and spent a lifetime with her, but I didn’t. Besides, I had nothing back then. No money, no job, no house to take her to. So I thought it would be best to just leave.

Omar takes out his wallet from his pocket. He opens it and smiles at a picture in it.

Sidharth Did you tell her you broke off your engagement for her?

Omar No, I didn’t want her to feel she’d lost something by marrying and starting a family. I told her I was getting married.

Keeps his hand on Omar’s shoulder to show sympathy. He tries getting up from the barstool, stubbles and falls over. He happens to drop Omar’s wallet on the floor, bends down to pick it up and notices a picture in it. He looks carefully at the picture and begins to get restless.

Sidharth (restlessly) Is that (pauses) Is that your Ayesha?

Omar (worried) Yes, Sidharth. Are you ok? You look a (pauses) pale.

Sidharth (breathing loudly) Omar, can you walk me back home? My uncle lives two streets away.

Omar helps Sidharth get up. They both leave the bar and walk towards Sid’s Uncles’ house. Omar rings the bell and a man almost his age opens the door. The man and Omar put Sidharth on the couch where he passes out. Omar finally looks at the man carefully and realizes something.

Omar (startled) Dhrup? Dhrupesh Oberoi? Are you Dhrupesh from India?

Dhrup Omar! Omar, Oh my god, I can’t believe this. How are you man?

Omar’s excitement soon ends as he settles down and starts joining the ends.

Omar (mortified) Ayesha? Is Sidharth Ayesha’s son? Dev, is he my Aesh’s son? Is she no more (his eyes begin to tear up)?

Dhrup (keeps his hand on Omar’s shoulder) He’s your son Omar. He’s Ayesha’s and your son.

Omar looks at Dhrup with eyes filled with tears. He finally starts realizing what had happened.

Dhrup (sympathetically) She didn’t want to break a happy home Omar. She knew you were engaged. She also knew you’d wouldn’t get married if she told you about your son. (Pauses and sighs) Her parents disowned her the moment she gave them the news of her pregnancy. She knew she’d never be accepted by your family. She didn’t want you to go through the pain she went through. She wanted you to be happy, even if that meant staying away from her own happiness.

Omar hugs Dhrup and starts weeping.

Dhrup She left Uni and worked part time until the time she could. She borrowed money, did assignments for Uni kids, did everything she could to have Sidharth (pauses). She really wanted the baby, abortion wasn’t an option. He was her most prized possession until the very last day of her life. (pauses and smiles) She used to call him (points at Sidharth) ‘A Gift from You.’ A gift you gave her without your own knowledge. She really loved you Omar, she really did.

Dhrup gets up and leaves the room. Omar walks up to the couch where Sidharth is sleeping. He keeps his son’s head in his lap and begins stroking his hair and sobbing.

CURTAIN

The Ghastly Reunion!

SCENE 7: WE MET AGAIN.

May 2019,

Omar is standing outside a play school where Ayesha teaches. School gets over and children start running towards their parents waiting for them at the gate. Ayesha appears holding the hand of a four-year-old boy. She walks past Omar, not recognizing him.

Omar (excited and happy) Ayesha Talwar!

Ayesha turns around and looks at Omar, horrified.

Ayesha (disbelief) Omar? (points at him suspiciously) Is that really you? (confused) How are you in London?

Omar (disheartened to see Ayesha’s reaction) I (pauses to think) I’m here for some work. You’re friend Rachael told me you worked here, thought I’d drop in to see you.

Ayesha (looking at him carefully) how are you Omar?

Omar (smiles) I’m good Aesh! You look different (pauses, looks at the ground) you look nice.

Ayesha (shyly) Thanks!

Omar Lets grab a cup of coffee?

Ayesha (hesitates) Maybe some other time. I got work right now (refers to the child)

Omar Come on Ayesha! The school’s closed. It’s been ages, let’s catch up on each other. I’ll wait with you for the kids parents to come pick him and then we can go have coffee together. What say?

Ayesha (laughs awkwardly) Oh no. No, he’s my son (holds her son closer and tries not looking at Omar)

The smile on Omar’s face fades. He is mortified and heartbroken but he gets himself together in time and pretends being happy.

Omar (chirpy) your son? Is he really your son? Oh my god! When? How? When did you get married? I’m (pauses to catch a breath) I’m so happy for you.

Ayesha (smiles) It’s a long story. Maybe some other time.

Omar (sad) Let’s talk Ayesha. Who knows if there would be another time?

Ayesha (looking straight into Omar’s eyes) not right now. He’s hungry (looks at her son). We need to get back home.

Omar turns around and starts walking.

Ayesha (Ayesha says from behind) I’m off tomorrow. Would Oxford Circus suit you?

Omar (turns around) that would be great (turns around and starts walking while cleaning tears from his eyes)

The hour of separation!

SCENE 6: SO WE DEPARTED.

June 2033

Sidharth is smiling mesmerized by the story. Omar is lost in thought. There are somewhere around twenty empty bottles of Budweiser on the table and a few empty peanut bowls. They are both slightly tipsy and very emotional. There is silence in the pub as Sidharth stares at Omar and Omar gazes aimlessly at a distant table.

Omar (gets up and opens the cold storage and gets a few bottles of beer)

We both realized there was no point in loving someone who can never be ours. We still looked at each other and smiled but our smiles carried a faint essence of grief in it. There’d be times when we’d hug each other to find solace in each other’s arms. Nevertheless, even that solace carried unrest for the fear of separation. (there is sound of bottles opening and clicking)

Omar gets up with his bottle of beer and starts waking around the empty bar.

We met every single day of the next one month. Not saying a word about that night. She’d changed, I realized, she wasn’t the Ayesha who wouldn’t stay indoors on a Saturday night even during subzero temperatures. She wasn’t the Ayesha who would down almost an entire bottle of Vodka and then danced to Bayonce’s ‘Single Ladies’ song on the bench outside my hall (smirks). She wasn’t like champagne, trying to get out of the bottle to bungee in the air, anymore. She’d sobered down, she’s started losing herself to her thoughts, to the fear of losing the man she loved. She wasn’t the Ayesha that had made me fall head over heels for her madness, she was different but I still loved her more than anything, more than ever. 

            He comes and sits back on the barstool.

Soon time passed and we saw lesser of each other. Somewhere in the middle February 2013, I submitted my final dissertation and along came my exams. I applied for jobs in London, Manchester, Leeds- anywhere and everywhere in the same country as her. But fate had different plans for us (shakes his head), I couldn’t manage to find a job in England and so I had no option but to move back to Pakistan a week after graduation. Back home, my mother had found a suitable match for me. She was my cousin and our alliance had been fixed soon after we were born. My mother tried hard to bow the seed of marriage in my head over the phone; nonetheless, I retaliated saying I was too young to get married. My parents decided to get us engaged and give us five years to know each other.

Dhrup got Ayesha with him as his date on graduation night. I knew she’d come there to see me. I was right, her eyes were fixed on me all night, and mine on her. I’d never seen her look like that before (Omar’s eyes light up and he smiles). She wore a red dress hanging off her shoulders by two delicate strings of pearls. Her hair weren’t a mess like always, they fell over her shoulders in layers and her legs that were always covered with bruises and bandages seemed like the most flawless pair of legs in the world. She learned about my return and engagement from a friend that night. I expected her to cry, to wail, to hit me and question me. But she did none of that, she just congratulated me and left the ball.

On my way back from the party, I saw her sitting on the bench we both usually sat and smoked on (starts staring at his bottle of beer). Wafts of smoke came out of her lips colored in red lipstick as she looked at me and said, “I’ve missed you Omar, and I’m going to miss you till the day I die.” We both looked at each other, we both knew what we wanted, we also knew what we wanted was wrong. But what had happened so far hadn’t been right, and our future didn’t carry justice for us either. And so, we made love

A tear falls from his eye, he quickly wipes it and smiles sadly.

Sidharth (confused) Made love. You mean you had sex?

Omar (embarrassed) Yes, we had (pauses and struggles to speak) we did that.

Sidharth (tipsy) Dude, hats off to you and your babe. Seriously man kudos. Oh and don’t you ever tell anyone (pauses) anyone, that I cried. Yeah? I got a rep to protect!

Omar (wiping his tears) I won’t, I won’t! You can count on me.

Sidharth Yeah, but you can’t.

            Sidharth doesn’t speak for a while.

Omar (worried) are you ok, kid?

Sidharth(clenching his fists) I’m a liar Omar. I’m not a good person.          

Bangs his fist on the table.

Omar (confused) What do you mean?

Sidharth (screams)I’m a fucking liar, and now, I’m an orphan (begins to howl). I’m the worst person in the world.

Omar (calms his down) Sid, Sid, listen to me. Listen. What happened? You can tell me, I’m a father figure, ain’t I? I told you my secret, didn’t I? Now come on, be a good boy and tell me what’s bothering you.

Sidharth (sobs) remember when I told you I’m here to meet a friend. I was lying. I’m actually in London to meet my uncle. My mom’s bestfriend.

Omar That’s ok kid, it’s not that big a lie. And hey, mind it, you’re not the worst person in the world.

Sidharth Really, then why did my dad never meet me? Twenty years and not a single phone call. Why have I never seen my father? And why did my mom never tell me about the man? You know it’s so funny (laughs sarcastically) I always thought Uncle D was my dad. Even though mom never said so, I always thought I was his son. But then, on my mom’s funeral (pauses and sobs) Uncle D told me he knows who my real father is and my mom wanted me to know about him after she left.

Omar keeps a hand on Sidharth’s shoulder sympathetically.

Sidharth- I’m here to meet Uncle D, no I’m here to find my father. To meet him once, to hug him and mourn my mother’s demise (pauses and wipes his tears.)  I don’t want to question him, I don’t want him to give me his name, I don’t want to be a part of his life. All I want is for him to call me his son, just once. I just want to tell everyone, “I too have a father.”

Omar hugs Sidharth tightly and lets him weep on his shoulder. He too gets emotional and sheds a tear.

Omar you might not have known me for long and all I might’ve given you is free beer but son, you can rely on me. Come here whenever you feel the need of a father and I shall be there for you. (pauses and smiles) I shall think I’ve helped the son I’ve always wanted but never had.

Sidharth (wiping his tears) Sorry, too much beer turns me into a girl. Where’s the bathroom? I need to pee.

Omar Go straight and then left.

Sidharth returns after five minutes. He goes to the bar and grabs four more bottles of beer.

Sidharth (teases) Ok, enough drama old man. No more crying, men don’t shed tears. So tell me, does your wife know about Ayesha? Moreover, did you ever meet her again?

Omar (smiles) Wife, hah! I didn’t marry.

Sidharth (shocked) What? What happened to ‘Miss Mom’s choice’?

Omar Miss mom’s choice had to marry another man. I tried hard, but Ayesha never left this head of mine and when I finally did manage to divert her thoughts, she refused to leave this heart (touches his heart and smiles sadly). I finally mustered the courage to tell my parents about Ayesha after four years of being engaged to Humera, my fiancée. They took me to be a disgrace to the family, the country and the religion. I was given two options- to marry the girl they’d chosen for me or (pauses) to never show them my face again. I (pauses again) chose the latter.

Sidharth (curious) and what about Ayesha? Did you see her again?

Omar Yes, yes I did. I got in touch with a friend of hers. She told me she lived in London. So I took whatever I had and came here.

Sidharth So what happened when you met her?

Omar begins to narrate again and loses himself in thought.