Hijaab waali Part 6/1

Part 6/1 Hijaab Waali by Ikram Abidi's

Deeba put down the receiver and breathed a sigh of relief. Aariz Ali had agreed to see her at six, today, and if she was lucky, it was now time for her dream to come true.

At first she had rejected Sheeba's idea about meeting him. But, after long, careful thinking, she concluded that this was the only possible option available. After all, what else she could do?

She knew she was lying for the first time and it was not very ethical thing to do, but she thought this was her first and last chance to meet him.

She looked at her watch. It was too early to leave. With a cursory glance at a mirror, she left her room for lunch.

An hour later she was back in her room, looking through her cloths and trying to decide what to wear for her meeting with Aariz.

What sort of man was Aariz Ali?

Ofcourse he's supposed to like modern kind of girls, who are brave, out-going, and capable of moving in the society. Her hand stopped at a mauve silk shilwar suit and taking it out, she held it against her and looked in the mirror. Smiling at her own choice, she left to take quick shower.

Once she was ready and prepared to leave, thoughts of him emerged again like an unwanted rain.

How would he behave and react? Would he allow her to ask some personal questions?

Stop thinking of it, she once again admired her reflection in the mirror. Armed with every weapon of female beauty, it was just an appropriate time for her to 'attack'.

Giving final touches to her lipstick, she took her purse and moved forward.

But she was not prepared for the sight she came across when she finally reached near his house. Ofcourse from the address he'd given her, she knew that unlike other Pakistani poets, he belonged to financially well off class but she'd not thought that he'd be a super rich man.

His house was sprawling mansion perched on a cliff overlooking the Arabian Sea, and it was too damned big for one single, solitary man, as she'd heard of him.

On introducing herself, the guard let her go inside and a servant guided her toward the dinning room.

Nervous as a schoolgirl being summoned to the head, Deeba walked into the beautiful and luxurious dinning room.

Two minutes later, she was waiting for him. A smile on her beautifully curved mouth couldn't hide the nervousness in her.

With dark make-up and lipstick, she had tried her best to appear as someone old and mature, but her features seemed to reveal the secret.

She was nervous, really nervous. To relax herself, she threw her glance around her to see her surroundings.

The dinning room was formal, lit by two shimmering crystal chandeliers, and there were French doors opening onto a garden filled with pink, white scarlet and lavender rhododendrons and English roses. The walls of the massive library were lines with handcrafted shelves and the fireplaces on the first floor were all large and traditional. Thick wall-to-wall Persian carpets covered all floors.

Yes, the place was too big and too fancy.

The sound of door opening brought her back to her senses, and she looked up as he emerged.

She rose like an automatic robot to greet him.

"Oh, Hi… hi sir" Her nervousness increased.

"Please." He waved her to sofa and sat down at his easy chair.

He first raised his eyes and then his face to see a tall, willowy girl with long, black hair and a Miss World body. He had not actually thrown a "detailed" look at her, but the way she was exposing herself told the whole story at first sight.

"So?" He asked.

She tried to say something but her voice completely failed. Clearing her throat, she tried again.

"I… I called you this morning for an interview." Gaining her courage, she looked at him finally.

He looked more attractive and impressive than before. Wearing simple, plain white shirt, with sleeves rolled up to his elbows and dark gray pants, he didn't look 'formal' and yet so different. He was wearing fine, thin, black-framed glasses that gave him that brainy intellectual look. He reminded her of those mature librarians that look absolutely beautiful when they have their glasses on.

She never really liked men with glasses but this man. Well, he truly was an exception in every department. Glasses suited him and matched his personality, giving him a genuine intellectual look and a sophisticated, noble touch.

With a mind-shattering fragrance emitting from his body, he was capable of attracting many females through their nostrils.

She instantly liked him with all of her might.

No doubt, he was a man to inspire poetry.

"So, you have started this Magazine or what!" He said, contrary amusement glimmering in his eyes.

She noted, he had eyes with hypnotizing powers.

"Not me" She replied as her breaths turned to normal. "I just work there as a journalist. I am not the owner."

"I see." He folded his arms across his chest. While sitting, he did not look very tall, but he sure had an above-average height. His jaw was square and his face looked clean and neat with nicely cut black hair.

"May I ask your magazine's name?"

"Oh sure, why not. Actually, I came from the monthly female magazine ' Femag'!"

"Interesting!" He sighed. His facial features relaxed some more. "Never heard of it though"

"Actually, we publish it from Dubai, and it's been only a couple of months since we started it"

"Aha. Sounds good!" Mild amusement flickered in his eyes.

"So what do you want to ask?"

Oh yes. That is why she was here. What did she want to ask? Had she thought about it? She was supposed to take his 'detailed' interview here and yet her mind seemed totally blank at the moment.

She thought and thought but, unfortunately, no appropriate question came to her mind.

"Well?" He asked abruptly, his deep-set dark eyes narrowing as they regarded her.

"Okay, for the starters, let me ask you something while you think about your 'interview' questions." He said.

"S…sure." She stammered.

"Who's your favorite English or American movie star?"

She thought, she didn't hear him correctly.

It was her, who had to take his interview, but the first question came from his side.

"Well…Mel Gibson, Brad pit and Kevin Costner. Why?"

"Good." He said without much expression and asked his next question. "And your favorite Indian actors?"

"Oh yes, Shahrukh is cool, and Salman Khan too. He is quite a hunk I think."

"Sorry I have this bad memory." He continued. "Would you mind telling me the name of Shahrukh's last movie?"

"Yes, why not it was great." She answered evenly.

"And the last war in which our Holy Prophet fought himself?" He inquired again.

"Jee?"

She couldn't believe if she'd heard him correctly.

"Tough one? OK. Leave it. Tell me any four essential principles of Islam."

And then it occurred to her that, perhaps all the rumors she heard about him being mentally abnormal were true.

She opened her purse, and with trembling fingers, she brought a tissue and wiped off the sweat from her forehead.

"Which are the longest and shortest Soorah of Quran?" Perhaps, he was determined to make her feel ashamed of herself.

On his last question she felt like she was going to be buried alive at any second.

He gave her few minutes to gather her mind and waited for her response.

But when no answer came from her, he shrugged his shoulders.

"Disappointed, I am."

He said, and gave a long sigh before going on.

"Now it's your turn to ask questions."

"Sir…I...I was not prepared for all this." Words took great effort to come out of her mouth finally.

"Are these questions some kind of examination questions so you'd need 'preparation' for them?" He said, looking at her with some hint of grief in his eyes.

"Do you pray?" Perhaps he was determined to go to the final extent today.

"Nun…no. I mean not regularly." She replied thickly.

"But you do eat regularly, right? You do sleep regularly, you do watch movies and T.V regularly." He smiled slowly but sarcastically.

"Anyway. It's your personal matter, I'm not supposed to ask such questions." He breathed then said. "So have you made your mind to ask some questions now?"

Deeba nearly sighed aloud with relief.

She looked at him with pure shame in her eyes and brought a small tape-recorder out of her purse and kept it on the nearby table.

After pressing its 'record' button, she turned to face him once again.

"Before you begin…" He raised his hand, although he kept his voice low.

"I want to make it clear that I won't answer any questions related with my personal, private life."

"I'd start from poetry. If you don't mind?" She asked as if she wanted his permission to proceed.

He was silent. Taking his silence as his permission, she asked her first question.

"What is poetry?"

"Poetry?" He closed his eyes for a brief interval, opening them again after few seconds. "It's the job of jobless people. One who has nothing to do can try poetry."

As he spoke, she saw that there was a brief, faint smile on his lips. His faint smile held a trace of sadness.

He crossed fingers of his both hands together. He had long, artistic fingers she noted, as he pulled out a golden case and took a cigarette out. He placed it between his lips.

She couldn't resist stealing another glance at him--he was certainly attractive,

"Miss Deeba!"

He called her, straightening his fine glasses as he peered at his gold watch.

"Jee, oh" She rapidly moved her eyes from his hands and straightened herself up.

"I am waiting for your next question."

"Sure. I was, Infact, thinking about it." She made her mind.

"So, how do you see your life as a poet?"

His tortured gaze slid back to her, but only for a second, then he moved his eyes away.

"My life?" He repeated her question. "It has become like a wet paper now!"

"Wet paper?"

He brought the lighter and with a fine 'click' he showed the long flame to the fore-end of his cigarette.

"Yes. Wet paper." He said, pulling deeply on the cigarette. "No one can burn it, no one can write on it."

"But I deserved this." He added in a low murmur.

Deeba watched him for a second. He seemed so calm and so uncaring but his response clearly showed her that he didn't want to explain what he had just said.

"Any recent change in your life or has it been uniform all over?"

"What do you mean?" He asked soberly.

"I…I mean things do change. Life can not be like a wet paper through all of its course." She explained.

Aariz ran a hand through his dark hair and worked up a grin. "Things don't change," He said philosophically.

"Time moves on."

Changing her position, she asked her next question.

"Your poetry mostly revolves around love, romance and pain. Why?"

He rose from his chair. Going near the big glass window, he opened it to let the sea air come inside. The salt breeze rippled gently through his dark black hair and the sound of incoming tide, far below, was a soothing song.

Deeba held her breath.

"Love is the most persistent and undeniable reality of life." There was a wealth of patience in his voice.

He said, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, then exhaling the whole smoke through his nose.

Flicking Deeba a meaningful glance, he shook his head.

Against her will, Deeba scanned his profile, then hurriedly glanced away again. His mouth was tight and grim, yet it was still the most handsome mouth she could recall seeing on any man.

Why was he not staring at her at all? Thinking, Deeba couldn't help herself asking this question.

"Why do you talk like this?" She said absently."I mean, always keeping your eyes away, not looking at me."

"I often wonder," He paused, clearly ignoring his question "That, what has happened to our so called 'Muslim Society'?"

"I could see you only if you were in proper covering and Hijaab. I don't like to put a second glance on those women who don't cover themselves properly."

Deeba felt like her cheeks were throbbing with embarrassment.

"Muslims girls now try to attract and impress others through their bodies." He returned to sit on his easy chair, still keeping his eyes away. "Don't they feel any shame or disgust while showing their curves?"

On his remarks, she felt so ashamed that she wished she could die right there with shyness. She felt like someone had suddenly made herself bare in front of thousands of eyes.

A servant came quietly with a trolley full of snakes, biscuits, cold drinks and coffee.

"Please" He offered her to take something.

With shaking fingers, she raised the steaming mug of coffee.

"You were talking something about love?" He asked, perhaps he'd sensed her condition.

"Can you define what is love?" She questioned.

"Love"…. A cold sigh escaped from his lungs and intermingled with an equally cold air of December evening.

"Love is…. Perhaps, the most meaningful word of all languages of the world. Just see in Urdu language, how many words people use for this feeling, Mohabbat, Pyaar, Chaahat, Ulfat, Dil ki Lagi, Lagaao, Ishq!" He brought the coffee mug to his lips, while keeping the cigarette in his other hand.

"But I wanted to ask its definition, and how does it happen?" Propping her chin on her hands, she stared at him with deep interest.

He turned to face her, his features hardening.

"Well, love is a house made up of glass, where stones strike everyday in the form of rain, got it?"

He laughed softly.

But even in this little laughter, she didn't miss the chance to see wetness in his eyes.

"Some people say it happens automatically " He added, gazing at the ceiling above. "And some say it is done voluntarily and some…. Some say…. " His voice became husky.

"Yes?" She looked into the eyes of the most weird and mysterious man she had ever met.

"Some people say it's an inborn matter, a grip and bond between two souls, who have met even before they come to earth. Once they're in the world, they just have to search and find each other. As soon as eyes meet, it seems that both were familiar to each other for thousands of centuries." He said gracefully.

"Well…now I want ask a very typical and popular question …can I" She smiled.

"Go on" He closed his eyes.

"What's the difference between love and lust? "

"Hmm…lust is like trying on clothes, while love is finding an outfit to keep" His shiny black eyes twinkled brightly from behind the gleam of his spectacles.

"Wow…. And when does love end? "

"Yes…good question…To love and be loved is like the ocean tide.... They keep going out and coming in…but yes sometimes it does end in front of the world…it does end in the world with the last breaths…but speaking of age factor …Age does not protect you from love. But love, to some extent, protects you from age"

"Why do people consider first love as the most romantic one?" She asked with sheer curiosity.

"Because they're very pure when they love for the first time, don't know the bad part of it." He laughed wonderfully. The action gave her a good view to see his neat, uniform white teeth.

"Why is love supposed to be a hurting experience?" She asked, now looking deeply into his watery depths.

"One aspect of love is.... Is to feel 'pain'." He told her seriously. "You always feel pain in love.... Whether it's failure or successes in love...you feel pain in your heart...right from the beginning ...sometimes this pain is pleasurable...but many times...it hurts." He paused briefly, only to take a fine sip of his coffee and then continued his discussion.

"People have expectations...dreams...wishes...fantasies... and when one does not get fulfillment of all these things, obviously it hurts. As they say 'love is like a knife, it can stab the heart or it can carve wonderful images into the soul that will last a lifetime."

Observing his interest and knowledge in the topic, she extended the discussion on the same topic.

"Is love something constructive too? I mean, can we get something positive out of it?"

"Love can make you bear any kind of pain and any kind of sacrifice. It can also make you feel stupid and act stupidly. Sometimes when you love and end up giving so much yourself, subconsciously you only discover how much you've given when the person you love hurts you or has to say goodbye." He kept the empty mug of his coffee back to the table but did not stop talking.

"Then you realize, an important part of yourself is already with that person. It goes away when he leaves and you are left with a sickening, empty feeling inside. Tears are bound to shed from your eyes, no matter how you force yourself to keep them in. Well, that's what you get for caring so much about someone. But how can you regret it? To give yourself freely and lovingly is the most beautiful thing you can do."

She nodded, speechless at his vast knowledge and unique philosophy about the subject.

"What's the difference between knowledge and wisdom?" She managed to ask.

"To acquire knowledge, one has to study but to acquire wisdom, one must observe." His answer was short and spontaneous and yet it satisfied her.

"But still, you didn't tell me your definition of love." She stared at his face, confused.

"All the problem is about definition of love." He said thickly. "It's a mystery …no one can define it satisfactorily. Everyone defines, perceives and experiences it from different perspective."

"But atleast you can say just few words?" She begged.

"Alright." He released a long, shattering breath. "Then listen…

"Love is the reflection of His joy in Her eyes. Love is an eruption of feelings buried within a heart longing to break free. True love is like life, a gift of God to Man, which he finds only once …so when you find true love, hold on to it and never let go for a good love is hard to find and it comes only once."

"But where do we find it?" She asked.

"You can't find it. Love finds you, or you can say that love is like wild flowers. It's often found in the most unlikely places." He grinned adequately. "Actually, you do not fall in love, you grow to love, and then love grows in your beloved."

"But what's the basis and foundation of love?" She was taking full interest in the topic.

"Respect" His answer was quick and short this time.

Behind his thin-rimmed spectacles, his eyes glittered cold as the winter sky.

"Could I ask a different question?" Deeba asked.

"Sure."

"I'll understand if I'm going over the line here," She went on, "but there's something that I used to wonder about."

"I've never been offended by any question," Aariz said, "but I always reserve the right not to answer them."

"That's fair," Deeba said and paused, thinking about how best to phrase her question.

"Seems like you had some really bad personal experience of it." Deeba couldn't help herself saying. She wanted to explore this man, search this man, who had been lost in his own world.

"Have you ever been in love?" Before she could stop herself, words had left her mouth. She held her breath for the time of her life.

She watched with interest and fear as his eyes narrowed at some distant point.

Some thoughts are better left unsaid, some feelings are better left kept to you, but love has its way of expressing itself despite the silence.

Deeba didn't know how to fill the silence that followed her question.

After what seemed like an hour of strained silence, he shook his head, conceding flatly.

"I told you there will be no personal questions."

She nodded in understanding. Yes, he had made it quite clear that there will be no personal questions.

He glanced at his wristwatch and said,

"You may go now."

"But sir…still I need to ask you much." She said in a rush, getting on her feet.

On her remark, he put a detailed look on her for the first time. Here eyes were pleading for something more than he'd just told her.

He couldn't refuse her then. "Alright, we'll think about it next time. Call me again next week and I'd see if I could tell you something more about myself."

"Thank you so much sir." She was so glad that she almost yelled with happiness.

"I told you, you'd be disappointed." He accompanied her to the main door.

She didn't reply right then, instead took few steps forward, finally moving out of his house.

And then she turned back.

He was just about to close the main door.

"Yes sir, I am disappointed. Today I really felt disappointed. But not because of you, I'm disappointed because of myself."

He smiled wonderfully this time and said.

"And yes…next time you don't have to play this interview drama for meeting me. If I'd have time, I'd definitely give you some of it."

Stunned and paralyzed, she stood there, watching him go inside his house.


To be continued.....