Closer!!!

Before starting my senior year of college, I came home to Pakistan for the summer. But this time, everything felt different. Very, very different.

Why Yes!

For starters, I was returning home after my very first experience of a broken heart. But on another note, senior year is just intimidating and overwhelming for anyone. A moment when you may have to stop for a second and maybe, just maybe…think about growing up. Graduation, jobs, grad school, GREs, resumes, rent…all topics that I was now forced to think about yet I pushed them as far back in my mind as I could; burying them only under indifference and denial. But in a way I had grown up and come a long way from the girl who first stepped foot on a liberal arts campus with an excited twinkle in her eye because I was finally on my own. Landed in a world called “abroad” where I could now ‘live life on my own terms.’ When my heart was perfectly fresh without as much as a scratch on it. Life or at least the next four years were paid for. But now that the four years were coming to a quick end, I found myself standing at the same spot on my cozy little campus. A completely different person. One with wisdom, age, experience. A big crack in the middle of my heart. Lesson after lesson, learned the hard way.

The friends who had become my world and my family, were all gone. They were busy trying their best to grow up too. Jenny had lost her scholarship due to terrible grades and had no choice but to move back to Compton. The pain of not achieving the dream she had come so close to as an immigrant from Sudan. Julie? Though she had managed to graduate, she unfortunately discovered what we were all about to realize as soon as we would leave this picture perfect campus….that no matter how hard we worked through papers and all-nighters for this college degree, it turns out that it doesn’t automatically result in a flood of job opportunities and open doors. A Bachelors degree in a bad economy meant as much as a soda can tossed out of a vending machine. So Julie found herself living back at home in Staten Island (a home she had promised never to return to) working at a Victoria’s Secret in her local Mall. As for me, I had no plans that summer either so I went home to Pakistan to worry some more, then mask myself in denial and maybe figure out what I was to do with my life when I would walk out in a black gown and a rolled up diploma that I could trade in for a Yard Sale flyer.

X

So there I was. Back home in Isloo for the summer. Doing nothing but sleeping late, lunching with Peanut, watching VCD movies that stalled and choked at climax scenes and getting high on local hashish. A few months had passed since my dramatic breakup with Mustafa at the New Jersey train station and although some days were harder than others; I was making progress. Sooner or later, I knew….there were open boxes I had to unpack out of my life…unanswered questions I had to search resolutions to. I just wasn’t prepared to come face-to-face with them so soon.

The first time it happened was just a few days after I had landed in Islamabad. After a spontaneous shopping trip, I returned home and nonchalantly asked Jajee Baba if there were any phone messages for me.

‘Jee woh Sakina bibi ka phone aya tha aap kay lye’

‘Sakina bibi?’ I was shocked. What did she want?

The cousin I had always dismissed. The one who treated me like an idolized goddess while I barely cared about her existence. The one who claimed to envy me. But the one I now found myself envying. She held the one thing I never could. Mustafa’s heart as his first true love!

I nodded at the message and returned to my room with no plans of calling Sakina back. How could I? Was it jealousy for having Mustafa? Was it animosity for being defeated? Or was it guilt for loving a man she was once engaged to? Was it simply the fact that I never really had a relationship with her so why start now? I didn’t know. I probably still don’t.

X

The second time was a day later while I was having dinner with my parents. Once again, Jajee Baba barged in to inform me that Sakina bibi was on the phone. Tell her I’m busy and I will call her later. I rudely replied.

‘Kyoun bhai? You should talk to her. She is in Pindi these days. You know Shabana is pregnant.’

‘Mama, I will call her later….you know I was never friends with any of these cousins…have you forgotten how much Shabana used to bully me as a child?’

‘Yes but that was Shabana….not Sakina…why take it out on the sister…. she has always been so fond of you….’

‘Mama….its more complicated than that.’

And if only Mama knew, what I actually meant by that statement.

X

On the third day, she called again. I was heading out to have lunch with Peanut who was also home for the summer and just as jaded and confused about what the future held for him. I was in a rush so I told Jajee Baba to let her know that I would call her later. Without meaning it!

X

‘What do you think she wants?’ I asked Peanut that afternoon as we lay on his bed in The Flat. Just like our A-level days. Sade’s ‘By Your Side’ playing in the background. My head in his lap.

‘Closure.’ He replied as he inhaled a long puff of his joint.

‘So you think she knows?’ I got up to face him.

He replied with nods as he held his breath for a stronger high and then exhaled slowly.

I returned my head to his lap, because at that point it was the safest and most comfortable place I could crawl into. My childhood best friend and his invaluable wisdom I had so often relied on.

“Just give her a call” He continued “She is your cousin so sooner or later, the two of you are bound to come face to face… why not get the awkwardness over with in a controlled setting where you call the shots.’

‘For fuck-sake, I slept with her fiancé Peanut!’

‘Former fiancé.’ He corrected me.

‘Yeah but it’s the same thing.’

‘No its not. And you didn’t just sleep with him. You fell in love with him.’

‘Oh and that’s supposed to make it any better?’

‘Yes. Because it wasn’t just a one-night stand on an intoxicated night of abandon. It was a relationship with a man you fell madly in love with. He just also happened to be linked to your past and your family. You are not the villain here Padash. You can prevent a lot of things but you cant prevent falling in love.’

He was right and I knew it. Today or tomorrow, I would have to face reality. Avoiding it was just a cowardly escape. I stared ahead at a Spice Girls poster on his wall, still intact from our A-level days when he was a scrawny, effeminate goth kid from the UK but still full of so much wisdom and insight.

When Peanut handed me the joint for comfort, I took a long deep puff. Blurring reality for a few seconds, was always a good start.

‘Padash.’ He continued as he ran his fingers through my hair ‘I have known you for years. You are a strong and brave woman who doesn’t put up with bullshit. It’s what I have always admired in you. For whatever reason, this man has weakened you and I will always hate him for that. But you have to remember, he’s history now. I want to see the old, strong Padash again. Who wouldn’t be terrified of meeting her cousin Sakina.’

I nodded and handed Peanut his joint back and somewhere along the way, I fell asleep in his lap for a good 40 minutes.

Peanut had his own decisions to make. The following year he would be graduating from St. Martins where he had pursued his dreams of art and painting male nudes. That same summer, he had also interned for a fashion designer to make up some credits for school. The designer may have been impressed by Peanut’s artistic eye but was more enthralled by his six-pack abs, bulging biceps and godly pecs. I don’t really know if they slept together or not but at the end of the internship, the designer asked Peanut to model for him. It was an unexpected proposition but Peanut readily agreed. For a boy who had been the asexual, sissy in high school - bullied by males and revered by females - this was an affirming opportunity! Without requesting his father’s permission, he immediately decided to head to Karachi for the photo shoot.

On my way back to college at the end of that summer, I picked up a magazine from the airport waiting lounge. As I skimmed through the pages, I was awestruck with how sexy and confident my childhood best friend looked. He stared right at me through the pages; his chest glistening with fake sweat and, his blemishes airbrushed. His eyes piercing through the glossy pages with manly bravado as a skinny damsel with perfect skin and perfect hair dangled from his muscles. Her own bony arms wrapped around with convincing lust. It was an incredibly glamorous photo shoot and I have kept that magazine with me to this day. It was an attestation to the fact, of how far the two of us have come over the years.

But many weeks before I was ever at that airport waiting lounge heading back to college, I still had my meeting with Sakina to take care of.

X

When I got home from that very insightful afternoon in Peanut’s Flat, Jajee Baba informed me that Sakina had called…yet again! You had to give it to the girl, she didn’t give up easily. So I guess, there was only one thing left to do. Hold my breath and take the plunge.

X

‘Yaar Padash I’m so bored, thank you so much for calling.’ Sakina was not only cordial but more than excited to hear from me. ‘I came here after my exams because Shabana baji is pregnant but there is nothing to do here. I am so bored. I got so excited when I heard you were in town from America!’

‘Haan….so…lets meet up…do you wanna come over or….’

‘How about we go to lunch somewhere. Some place cool in Islamabad. I want to get away from Pindi!’

‘Sure…we can do that too…maybe…’

‘Zabardast. Tomorrow afternoon then?’

‘Oh…ok…ok.’

Tomorrow was a little earlier than I anticipated but what choice – or plans - did I have? Peanut would already be on a plane for a glamorous week in the fashion metropolis of Karachi, prepping for his first photo shoot as a male model. Me? I would be going to lunch with the woman who was the reason I could never be with the man who had broken my heart…and she was also the reason I should never have been in love with him in the first place.

I hung up and sat still on my bed for a while staring into thin air. I had no idea what to expect from this amicable ‘lunch’!

X

The next afternoon, as my driver trekked out to pick “the other woman” up from Rawalpindi, I showered and got dressed in my room. Wait? Maybe I was the other woman in this picture? Geez it was all getting so confusing by then. Why couldn’t I have a normal life? A normal boy meets girl story? I know what you’re thinking readers…this girl meets way too many boys that is why…but even the best of us sluts fall in love sometimes.

At one point, as I frantically fixed my hair and make-up in the mirror, the irony struck me once again. Was I really fretting so much about getting ready for Sakina? Sakina? When did this happen? When did Sakina become my competition? When did I start comparing myself to her? Why did it matter if I looked presentable and even pretty for her. I was almost about to give up when the intercom in my room buzzed and Jajee Baba excitedly disclosed that Sakina bibi was here and waiting for me downstairs.

I took one last look at myself. Attired in a fitted denim kurta with my hair parted in the middle, I looked perfectly conservative. For a second, I even deliberated grabbing a dopatta to go along with this traditional ensemble but then I just grabbed my purse and headed downstairs.

I was already expecting Sakina to look as seraphic and calm as ever. I may be referred to as “sexy”, “hot” and “pretty” quite often but there was no denying…that adjectives that were saved for girls like Sakina were “beautiful” and “gorgeous.” Beauty and innocence personified. An Aunty’s wet dream. The kind of women Urdu novels spent three pages in detail when they introduced their heroine.

But that day, I was shocked at what stood before me. She looked nothing like the innocent, “shareef” and boring cousin I had always dismissed. The girl with long hair tied up in a bun. Who only always wore kurtas and sat quietly in corners of drawing rooms. An “achee bachee” who others would view as a potential “achee bahoo”. But that day, she stood before me in a tight black T-shirt and even tighter jeans. Her hair was permed, cut short, highlighted in a faded shade of red and hanging loosely to one side of her shoulder. Make-up was caked on her face. I could not help but notice how much she had changed while I was busy sleeping with her fiancé…or former fiancé…or whatever.

‘Wah yaar looking very nice…” She got up and hugged me.

I reciprocated the compliment. Even with this cadaverous attempt to be ‘different’ her beauty was still untarnished.

‘Aur sunao? How is college? How is America?” She sat down running her fingers nervously through her hair.

“Do you wanna have a cup of tea before….”

“Naheen lets just go to lunch…I am starving. Plus you cant really have a sutta here.”

I assumed she was hinting at my sordid reputation in the family as the girl who smoked. She was talking about herself.

X

The first few minutes after we settled on our table and placed our orders were as uncomfortable as expected. Nervously we looked around, arms folded across the table as we searched for how and where to begin. I had decided on taking Peanut’s advice of not volunteering any information but if asked, I was not going to lie either. With my chin up, I stared ahead. Bring it on!

‘I know you wont mind if I smoke?’ she pulled out a pack of cigarettes from her purse.

I was a little shocked. ‘I..uh…sure….I actually didn’t know you smoked.’

‘But I always knew you did.’

I was already reaching for my own pack of Marlboros ‘Well….that’s hardly news to anyone….stories of my sinful and aberrant ways are repeated quite often in the family gossip circuit from what I hear. What is it they called me? Patakhee Padash….”

‘I think it is great…actually I envy you for that. It is what I always admired about you ever since I was a kid…I secretly wished to be just like you.’ She flicked her cigarette like an amateur.

‘Please don’t tell me that’s why you started smoking!’

She shook her head ‘Not really but it was an effort to be like you….or maybe to be someone like you…’

‘But why….’

‘Mustafa.’

Do not show reaction…do now show reaction…do now show reaction…

‘What did he have to do with it?’ I did not show reaction.

“I was young and stupid and thought it was what he wanted. That maybe it would impress him.”

I wondered if that was a polite segue into the real reason we were to have lunch today. Mustafa!

I let her ask her next question ‘Do you see him at all in America?’

‘Mustafa?’ I knew exactly who she meant…I just wasn’t going to divulge information that easily.

She nodded, ‘Yes.’

‘Well I have…in this past year….but honestly I haven’t seen him in months…and probably wont in the near future…or again.’ I dropped my first hint.

‘You guys were close family friends na…’

‘His parents were close friends of Mama Baba, yes. He also happened to be a friend of Bhai Jan’s. But that was not the reason why we started meeting this past year.’

‘Well then you must have heard that our engagement broke…a while ago.’

I nodded.

She took a deep breath full of hurt before looking away as if she was forcing back tears. The silence was aggravating and I decided to ask my questions now. Ones only she could answer.

‘Why did it end…if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘I broke it off.’

‘Because?’

‘It wasn’t going anywhere…but he didn’t try to resist either. He probably wanted it to end just as much.’

‘Didn’t you love him?’

‘I did…I thought I did…’

‘Did he love you?’

She shrugged. ‘If he did I wouldn’t have ended it.’

‘I think he did.’ I added.

‘He sure didn’t act like it!’

‘You were his first love Sakina.’

‘How can you be so sure?’ My statement immediately caught her attention ‘Did he say anything.’

I shook my head ‘Some things don’t have to be said for them to be true.’

‘You don’t know what he was like. He may be different as a friend…or whatever…but he was a terrible person to be in love with. It wasn’t what l had expected love to feel like. It was like I could never be good enough for him. I could never be what he wanted me to be. I was tired of it Padash. Tired of running after him. Tired of doing everything he wanted me to do. Tired of changing myself completely to make him happy… yet each time I would be left just as confused as before…’

As Sakina went on about the failure of her relationship with Mustafa and the way he broke her heart; I found my hardened shield slowly melt away. I had misjudged this moment. Sure, she may have wanted to meet me to put her suspicions about me to rest but this innocent little female had no tricks up her sleeve. She was just another soul left heartbroken by Mustafa. Just like myself. As she ranted on and on with hurt about the way she felt with him…the way he treated her….the way she was always confused and the way she kept apologizing for herself I felt like I was listening to myself. It was all the same questions I had asked myself the past year. It was exactly how I felt. Exactly how he had made me feel.

‘…He always made me feel like I wasn’t good enough. Look at me…I changed myself completely….I started dressing differently….wearing tighter clothes for him….western stuff because I thought that’s what he would like…. I started smoking…. Padash….you know I almost decided to lose my virginity to him? Yes I cant believe I am telling you this…even Shabana baji doesn’t know but he used to think I was such a prude that I was even willing to cross that bridge. I didn’t though. It wouldn’t have mattered anyway…’

The poor girl just wanted to share her side of the story. She was not there to discourage me…dissuade me…or threaten me…she was simply there for….for….closure! And as she spoke I realized that I could no longer blame myself for the failure of my relationship with Mustafa either. I could have become exactly like Sakina….but it wouldn’t have mattered. It was not me…it was not Sakina…it was him. Mustafa truly did not know what he wanted. Because Sakina and I were as opposite as we could be…yet he made us both feel like we needed to be like the other. I mean if we just stepped back and looked at each other, we would have chuckled at this new reality. We had both attempted to dress like each other that day because that is what we thought he wanted. How pathetic!

‘….He always used to complain how I was too innocent and boring. He always liked girls that were adventurous…risky…wild…the type that excited him. Girls that liked to party…would take risks…girls like….like….you…’

I smiled at her last words. ‘Trust me….that’s not what he wanted either….’

‘But that’s what he always said what he wanted…it is what I tried to become for him…it is…..’

I leaned over and grabbed Sakina’s hand and looked her straight in the eye ‘Sakina…listen to me…that would not have helped…trust me, I would know….’

Her eyes widened but only with mild shock. Maybe she was stunned at my partial confession or maybe she was just surprised that I finally shared it. But only for a few seconds she curled her lips into a shocked O and then pulled back in her seat.

‘So…where do we go from here?’ I continued.

‘I have to move on. I really do.’ She further confessed.

‘Yes we do.’

‘But it is hard….it is so hard getting over someone.’

I knew just how hard it was. I was in the process of doing exactly that…for exactly the same person. Hard did not even begin to describe it.
‘Would you be open to reaching out to him? Give him another chance?’

She shook her head. ‘It is not worth it…I cannot live my life with him…I will always be miserable…I cannot spend my life trying to make someone happy and never be able to succeed. I just do not know how to move on.’

‘How does one move on?’ I wanted to know for myself too.

‘Things have gotten very stressful at home….I have gotten a few more proposals and I keep declining them all. The first few years I was still young and Ami Abu knew that I needed time to heal. But now they are telling me I need to get over it and get married. And I know they are right…I just cannot bring myself to do it all over again….that is one of the main reasons I came here to Shabana’s to get away from it all. But even she is saying the same thing. I know they are right…I just have to stop being such a child about it.’

‘You are not being a kid Saks…there is nothing wrong with feeling the way you do. Take as much time as you want and do what is right for you. If it means giving Mustafa another chance…then I say…go for it…I really do feel that he loved you… he probably still does.’

‘No Padash. Mustafa is the kind of man who will only love something when he doesn’t have it….the minute he gets it….he decides it is not what he wanted….’

Truer words have rarely been spoken. I even found myself wondering if that meant he longed for me the same way now that I had left his life. But if I was to learn anything from my cousin Sakina, it was to let go and move on. She was making an effort. I had to do the same too.

‘What would help you in getting over him?’ I asked.

Though teary eyed, she smiled looked up and smirked ‘Well to start with, I have to stop listening to our song.’

‘Your song?’

‘I know it sounds stupid…but today when I was getting ready…I promised myself that after our meeting today I will never listen to that CD again. Ever. It is just a song that reminds me of him. It was what I used to listen when we were engaged.’

I stared right at her. I should have agreed to meet her weeks ago.

‘You think I am stupid, don’t you.’ She smirked.

‘Not at all….in fact…I think it’s the best idea ever!’

She smiled and looked up right when our lunch arrived. ‘Thank you….seriously….this helps.’

I smiled and raised my glass in the air ‘Agreed!’

X

The rest of the lunch was great. It was almost as if we connected on a bond that we both shared yet did not blatantly discuss. After lunch, I accompanied her to Pindi. It was almost uncanny but on the way there, the song ‘Hands Clean’ by Alanis came on. Well, maybe it wasn’t entirely coincidental. Just like her, I would listen to the song at least once a day. That and Nusrat Fateh Ali’s Night Song CD.

‘Have you ever heard this song?’ I smiled at her.

She shook her head, ‘No…what is it?’

‘It’s a song by Alanis Morissette. The lyrics are beautiful. You should listen to each word. It helped me during a very rough time ….a time very similar to yours.’

As she listened to the words, she harped on about how much she loved it. We played it again. And then again.

‘Tell you what’ I suggested ‘From today on….whenever you feel the urge to listen to the song which reminds you of him….listen to this song instead. It is only fair to replace a CD with a fresh new one with no baggage.’

Sakina laughed ‘Are you giving it to me?’

I nodded.

‘On one condition’ she added ‘Before you head back home…you will take that other CD with you. I cant trust myself if I still have it around.’

‘It’s a trade!’ I winked.

I dropped her home. She invited me in for tea and although I didn’t accept the offer for tea I did go inside to take her CD. Shabana was there to greet me. She was swollen like a pregnant football and although she tried so hard I still couldn’t help but be a bitch to her. She wasn’t surprised. By now she was used to it.

X

On the way home as I sat in the backseat looking out the window, I gave the driver the CD Sakina had given me to load on to our car stereo system. A beautiful song by Nazia Hassan began to waft through the car. A song called ‘Dil ke lagee.’ It was soothing and her voice was like a refreshing balm. With my head resting back, I hummed along to the beautiful words.

‘Dil ki lagee…
Kuch aur bhi…
Dil ko deewana karay…’

A few minutes later when my phone beeped with a text message I looked down to discover it was from a more important man in my life. Peanut!

‘How did it go?’ It read.
‘LOL…not bad!’ I texted back.
‘Whew, what was it about?’
‘Closure.’
‘For who?’
‘For both of us.’

‘Meree iltijaa hay…
Khuda say dua hay….
Yeh dil juda na karayyyyyy…’

X

A year later, I was sitting in my dorm room on a Sunday morning with my mother on the phone. And among the news and gossip that she shared about the family, she went on to matter-of-factly insert that Sakina had gotten engaged to a nice young man with a good job and a good house in Doha. ‘Waisay…I always liked her more than her sister. Very nice girl…she deserves to be happy.’

‘I agree.’ I smiled into the phone ‘She does.’

I kissed a girl and I liked it!!!

…the taste of her Skoal stained chapped lips. She leaned over in the dimly lit bar while I kept my eyes fixed on the prize. A faded and oil-stained baseball cap perched clumsily on her forehead. Remnants of a mullet peeping from underneath the embroidered words ‘I Love BUSH’ as her lips parted to reveal a smile. And a missing tooth. A bottle of Heineken clutched in her hand, she moved her face inches from mine where I could count the axiomatic traces of a moustache on her upper lip, just days away from a full- fledged handlebar fit for a Chowkidaar. I gave her ensemble one last look: Birkenstocks on grubby feet and a gray tank-top underneath a stained red flannel shirt. Khaki shorts courtesy of Walmart contrasting with my black satin pants, courtesy of Marc Jacobs. Alas, I had no choice but to take the plunge. So I went for it and pressed my tender lips on Britney’s. Oh and by the way, if you haven’t guessed by now, this wasn’t the same-sex kiss that I had enjoyed. That one came a few minutes later. But lets rewind to a few hours earlier and how I even found myself in this situation.

Why Yes!

One night, Jenny, Julie and I decided that enough was enough. Tired of this boring and depressing turn that our lives had taken, we were going to treat ourselves to a night of unabashed clubbing. Just us! A fun girls night out like old times when life was carefree and exciting. Before emotionally unavailable boyfriends and just as emotionally unavailable futures. Junior year had been very difficult for all of us. While I constantly found myself sulking over a desultory relationship with a boy called Mustafa, Julie fretted about her future after graduation. She hoped desperately to score a job – any job - so she would not have to move back to Staten Island with her parents. To pay for the extra credits for next year, Jenny had picked up extra weekend shifts at the Blockbuster. Thus we barely ever saw her on the weekends now. Weekends which were often spent chasing after so-called boyfriends on the phone while Julie sat staring at her half-page resume ensconced between a thick Psychology textbook; a class she hoped she would pass on her third attempt.

So it was decided. That Saturday night we were all going dancing like we used to. I should mention here, that the only thing remotely similar to a club in our undergraduate lives was a dive bar called Aces, about a half hour away from campus. After paying a buck for a cover, you got the pleasure of enjoying a rickety dance floor, bad strobe light and an obese DJ who doubled as a bar-back. Yet, when I look back at my college years, it was a place that brought us all the joy we ever needed on a Saturday night. Memories of excitedly dressing up in skimpy clothes to tastefully show skin. Pre-gaming at the apartment to Julie’s Napster collection and then piling into my Mini Cooper to zoom out of our small campus town. Speeding on highways, dancing as we drove and then entering the exit for the closest excuse for a city. Bestowed the label of a metropolis only because it had a movie theater, a shopping mall, a bus system and two ‘dance clubs’.

Getting dressed for a night out at Aces was a memorable ritual among the three of us. Although we would commence the process in our own rooms, we would somehow end up convening together at the large full-length mirror by the staircase that had been picked up for 5 bucks at a garage sale. There, we would fight over our reflections, share make-up and ask for advice on shoes and tops. Plenty of times, entire outfits had to be revisited based on each other’s frowns.

We each had also our own designated roles for the night. Julie was in charge of picking the music as we got dressed and she gladly obliged with the interminable list of Pop hits on her Napster – later replaced by Limewire - to help us get pumped up for the evening. That night she blasted Missy Elliot’s ‘4 My People’ as we danced together while fluffing and patting our hair and faces. Jenny was always in charge of fixing us drinks for the pre-game and then sometimes, if we wouldn’t stop at a diner on our way home, she was also responsible for fixing us a post-dancing meal in the kitchen. I owned the car so obviously, I was the designated driver for the night but at the same time I was also responsible for attracting some old geezer with my cleavage to buy us all the first round of free drinks.



The bottom-boyz as we liked to refer to our downstairs neighbors, would be engaged in a similar ritual themselves. Usually we would run into them on our way out the door. In their tight tank-tops and tighter jeans, glow sticks between fingers and glitter on their faces; they too would be piling into their Yellow VW Bug to hit the gay bar which was conveniently located just a few blocks down from Aces. One of them liked to dress up as a woman when he went out dancing, and would often walk upstairs in his wigs and stilettos to borrow some of our makeup. Saturday nights was the only time this poor boy could escape the jocks and the bullies to sneak out into the dark in drag and we applauded his fortitude. I should probably add, that he is now a professional drag queen in Buffalo and even stayed at my apartment one year, when he came down for NY Pride.

Around 9pm, we rounded the troops. Last sips of mixed drinks, lip gloss smeared, ATM cards and IDs in back-pockets along with a dollar in our purses for the cover. With Missy’s song blasting from our windows, we swerved our bodies with the car. The light blue ray of the moon soaking our skin and tingling it with thrill. The usual knots of excitement and uncertainty in our stomach as we entered the city and parked our car outside the club. For once there was no talk of GREs, resumes, shifts, Mustafa or any other disconcerting topic that could remind us of reality. It was girls night out!

And boy we should have been careful what we wished for! Even when the disgruntled blondes in their hooker boots stalked angrily past us scowling ‘This is Bull-Crap’ we remained clueless. As far as we knew, it was 4 less hot girls at Aces to compete with. The woman checking IDs wasn’t the usual one and her glance of skepticism at our clearly expensive outfits baffled us but only slightly. Confidently, we marched into the club, peeling off our coats with the signature gusto that announced our arrival before making our way to our usual booth. Cigarettes lighted, first round of drinks ordered, we began to survey the land. Handsome men walking around but dressed in extremely casual clothes. I use the word ‘casual’ here as a euphemism for poor taste. Flannel numbers with sleeves rolled up, Leather jackets, Timberland boots, fitted caps cocked to the side and large White Fruit of the Loom T-shirts.
‘That one is cute!’ Julie pointed at a short white guy that resembled Eminem.
And we agreed that once his bail would be posted, he could very well be a contender for the evening’s company. But when the DJ kept playing KD Lang mixes and the bartender brought us a round of drinks with the disclosure ‘these are from the ladies on the far table’ we finally put two and two together. What we thought were handsome construction workers were actually butch women. Nervously we looked around the club again and saw tiny little humps bulging through the flannel and the white T-shirts. All the Eminems, Snoop Dogs and Kid Rocks in the place came with their own set of breasts. That’s when it dawned on us that we had decked up in our finest to go out clubbing on lesbian night. Not exactly what we had in mind when he had hoped for a girls night out!

‘Dyke night!’ The bartender informed us loudly over the shrill beats of a country song ‘Some lesbian softball convention in town so they booked this place for their social event. You should have checked our website.’
Who the heck checks a clubs website before they go out? Heck we didn’t even know the place HAD a website. As our bartender flashed us a sardonic smirk and walked away, we looked at each other and then broke into baffled hysterics.
‘I guess we have no choice but to make the most of it!’ I announced as I dug for a cigarette. ‘I mean we’re already here. Why not schmooze with the ladies!’
‘Hey…free drinks taste like free drinks no matter who buys them, boys or girls!’ Julie gave me a high five.
But Jenny wasn’t convinced. Tonight – just like any other night – she was on the hunt for a penis. Unfortunately, she wasn’t really going to have much luck there. Unless she was willing to settle for something that came with a strap.

The DJ was surprisingly good and we danced from our booth while graciously accepting all the free drinks being sent our way. Let me add that this isn’t the first time I have been around lesbians. I had plenty of gay friends in college but those girls were stylish intellectuals with sun-kissed skin and surfer bods who only dated feminist Women’s Studies majors. These hyper-masculine women with boots, mullets and missing teeth were a different breed altogether. These could make Chastity Bono seem like a beauty pageant contestant! Still we tried to make the most of the evening. Mustafa texted me to inquire about my night and was more than amused when I informed him of the fiasco which we were now attempting to salvage.

At around midnight, Julie disclosed to us that she had been making eye contact with a gorgeous – and hopefully biological - male across the bar.
The only man in the club that night was a good-looking Hispanic dude that looked like he was from of a Reggaeton music video. Just the way Julie liked them. Tatted up, a wife beater, a perfectly trimmed goatee and a body which could only have been sculpted in the recreated gyms of penitentiaries around the world. Of course, we agreed he was delicious.
‘Some more liquid courage and then I’m making my way over there to holler at him real quick!’ Julie announced ‘Padash quick flirt with some more Lesbos for free drinks!’
I guess I wasn’t working hard enough!

When Julie finally downed her next drink and made her way over to Papi Chulo, Jenny leaned over to me.
‘I feel really bad.’ She whispered.
‘Why?’
‘I think he was actually making eye contact with me.’ She explained.
‘You sure?’ I asked.
‘Pretty certain. We always flirt at Aces…we have been doing it for years. He even hit me up once on yahoo chat.’
I didn’t know what was more disturbing. The fact that my best-friend had not informed Julie of this little tidbit or that she frequented chat-rooms on Yahoo. I mean who did that!
‘Why didn’t you tell her?’ I asked her pointedly.
‘I didn’t wanna come across as arrogant and she seemed so hell bent…I just felt terrible…’
‘Yeah but we’re friends…you could have saved her the embarrassment…oh wait look.’ Across the bar I could see the man write his number down on a piece of paper and hand it over to our Puerto Rican girl ‘Looks like she got her some digits after all.’
Jenny didn’t reply. This all seemed sort of shady but Jenny had always been my best friend and much closer to me than Julie so I decided not to push it any further. Still, I thought…girl code should be followed, especially at a lesbian club of all places.

Julie’s walk back to us wasn’t nearly as intrepid and seductive as before. Sliding back into the booth, she dropped the chit of paper in Jenny’s lap.
‘He’s all yours Chica…’ She sighed ‘Turns out he was actually interested in you.’
Jenny feigned shock and I guess Julie was dumb enough to believe it.

For the next few awkward minutes, Jenny sat fidgeting with the number in her hand while Julie stared straight into the flashy lights of the discotheque. I just kept my head down and continued to reply to Mustafa’s intermittent texts.

‘I’m gonna go get a drink’ Julie announced and then walked away to the bar. I figured she needed the time alone. So far, girls night out wasn’t turning out the way we had planned.
‘I’ll be right back.’ A few minutes later, Jenny too grabbed her purse and slid out of the booth.
I was glad that Jenny was going to go talk to Julie because she was already dealing with a lot these days.

The bartender brought over another drink to the table and informed me that it was another complimentary gift from the ‘lady’ in the baseball cap. I thought it was quite ironic that the manliest specimen at the club was being referred to as a lady but who am I to judge…or turn down a free drink. I held up the glass in gratitude and smiled back. Then I immediately looked away before she got any ideas. When I searched the crowd for my friends, I saw Jenny engaged in a flirty conversation with Papi while Julie was ignoring the sight by dancing alone, head lowered, eyes closed, swinging her hair from side to side. Ouch! I guess that’s not who Jenny went to talk to!

‘Hey what’s shaking Mama Sita…COMO ES STAAA.’
Great! I gritted my teeth and looked up at the source of this pathetic salutation. Baseball cap ‘lady’ had made her way over and then slid comfortably beside me in our booth. Then, before I could even conjure up a reply to Martina Navratilova’s stunt double, she added ‘I LOOOOVE Mexican women.’ Flashing a big, libidinous smile. And oh yes….there were definitely some teeth missing!

I spent the next hour talking to ‘Lady Baba’ whose name was actually Britney! Really? Somehow that name would not have been my first guess for this female Sasquatch seated besides me scratching her stubble. But, to be truly fair, she did make for interesting company and as we made flirtatious jabs at each other, I figured if nothing else she was good for practicing my flirting skills.
‘By the way’ I replied to one of her pickup lines ‘I’m not gay.’
‘I know’ she replied ‘And I only date straight girls.’
She may have even winked and flicked her cigarette at that point. I was reminded of Ajab Gul in a ‘Swaad A gya Badshao’ Embassy cigarette commercial.
‘So…I see you’re a republican eh?’ I frowned at one point as I noticed the words ‘I Love Bush’ embroidered on her baseball cap.
‘What makes you think that?’
I pointed at her cap with disapproval.
‘Sweetie, who says I’m talking about the President!’
‘Oh’ I silently mouthed with my lips.
‘You can have it if you want it?’
‘You can have it if you want, you know!’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m talking about the cap…but it will cost you?’
‘Oh really?’ I already suspected the answer.
‘A kiss!’
To this, I couldn’t help but emit a loud cackle.
‘Hey’ she held her hands up ‘Don’t knock it till you try it!’
‘That’s ok…you see I’m from Pakistan. I’m pretty sure by now that I’m not a fan of the Bush.’
‘They don’t have lesbians in Pakistan?’
‘Oh they do….we have plenty of lesbians…we just don’t allow republicans.’
‘I guess that means I still have a chance?’
I had to give it to her. This country western biker chick was good. Smooth even! Heck, I could take a few pointers from her.

I didn’t realize how much time had passed till the bartender announced last call. As was tradition at Aces, the DJ always ended his set with an extremely mushy love song at the end. His words – and we almost knew them by heart by now – were always:
‘Alright good peeps…its that time…time to say goodnight. So this one goes our to all the lovely couples in here tonight….But if you’re single grab the new friend you just made…hey this may even be your last chance to get the courage and make that final plea for that person you have been eyeing all night… go ahead, ask them for a last dance.’

Luckily, my new friend had informed me earlier that she wasn’t much of a dancer. I’m pretty sure its harder to bust a move in Birkenstocks than Manolos! Whitney Houston’s beautiful voice spread across the club, and women all over coalesced to slow dance with each other to her song ‘My love is your love’. Heads buried safely on each other’s shoulders and arms wrapped around waists; they moved side to side with true affection. It was actually quite sweet to watch them. Love was truly never supposed to be confined to boundaries.



I even saw Jenny and her Papi amongst the crowd. His strong, inked arms holding the back of her waist with such delicacy as if he was holding a petite and fragile doll. Her beautiful face next to his, cheeks brushing against each other and that tender sight brought another rush of endearing emotions through me. But then I looked over at Julie, who had walked away from the dance floor. Quietly leaning against the bar, she watched with eyes that narrated envy, longing, sadness and fear. All at the same time.

‘Lets do it!’ I spun around towards Britney almost shocking her.
‘Excuse me?’
‘You got a deal…5 minutes…no tongue…’
‘I was only joking…’
‘Are you backing out now?’
She was almost cute as she blushed. ‘I guess you are a Republican after all…’
‘I like to think of it more as experimentation.’ I winked and leaned over.

That was when I could almost taste the Skoal on her chapped lips. As she leaned over in the dimly lit bar. My eyes fixed on the faded and oil-stained baseball cap. Remnants of her mullet peeping from underneath the words ‘I Love BUSH’. A smile, a missing tooth. Traces of a moustache on her upper lips, just a few days away from a fully fledged Chowkidar handlebar. And as I described earlier, just like that, I took the plunge and pressed my lips on Britney’s. Oh and this still wasn’t the same-sex kiss that inspired the title of this column. As I mentioned earlier, that one came shortly after!

********************

Pushing my hair inside the cap, I made my way across the bar to where Julie stood by herself. I mimicked a masculine walk as I went up to her. Scratching my crotch and then tapping her on her shoulder, I deepened my voice, ‘Hey shorty…I couldn’t help but notice you from across the bar…don’t really know if you play for my team but would you be kind enough to give me the pleasure of this last dance.’
I think I may have even spat on the floor but hey, a little overacting never hurt anybody.
Julie stared at me with her mouth agape for a few seconds, truly speechless. I will never forget the smile which then spread across her face as she shook her head with disbelief. ‘You are crazy’ she smirked and then accepted my hand ‘And I would love to!’
I gently kissed her hand – still taking my role very seriously - and then with a ‘You wont regret it Madam’ I led her to the middle of the dance floor where I cupped her waist with my hands and asked her to lay her head on my shoulder.

That song seemed interminable but it didn’t matter. The moment felt good, as we held each other close and slow danced. I could even feel a tear escape my eye, because just like her, I too was petrified of the future. Our perfect life of dwelling in a campus bubble was slowly coming to an end. We had no idea what lay next for us. So, we held each other closer and tighter. That night, I realized how much I was going to miss Julie. I had never been as close to her as I had been to Jenny but somewhere along the way, she had turned from being a third-wheel in our group to one of my closest friends. Now I couldn’t even imagine what life would be like after she would graduate and leave.
‘Thanks’ she looked up at me with tears in her eyes not shocked to see some in mine too.
‘No sweat’ I winked.
‘I’m scared.’
‘It will all be ok.’
‘Rejection hurts…’ she shared as she glanced over at Jenny and her Papi passionately French kissing on the other end.
I searched for something to say before Julie completed her sentence.
‘I found out today that I didn’t get the internship in DC that I had applied for. I had such high hopes for it too.’
‘I’m sorry…’ I wiped a tear from her cheek. It was the most intimate we had ever been.
‘Its ok…like I said, rejection hurts…’
‘But we might as well learn to deal with it now…something tells me it will always play a part in our lives….even the best of us…’
‘I guess that’s exactly what I need to remember before stepping out into the real world…’

And then, Julie did something which neither of us were expecting. She leaned closer and gently pressed her lips against mine. I kissed her right back. It felt like the right and natural thing to do. There was nothing sexual or even romantic about that kiss. It was simply a kiss between two friends that knew and acknowledged the depth of our friendship and how much it meant to us. How much the two of us were going to miss each other.

It wasn’t till we heard all the women around us applauding when we were slightly embarrassed by what had just occurred. We began to sheepishly giggle as Jenny made her way towards us with her Papi in tow.
‘You freaks!’ She exclaimed.
‘Hey…do at Rome as the Romans do!’ I laughed.
‘I’ll grab our coats,’ her man offered as he took her coat ticket.
I waited till he walked away before I asked ‘So I guess you’re not coming home with us tonight?’
‘No…he said he’ll drive me home tomorrow morning. I’ll just meet up with you guys at Brunch or if I’m late I’ll just see you at work!’
‘Well be safe, love.’ I hugged her.

Julie and I drove home together loudly singing along to slow jams. In a weird way we were glad that Jenny had gone home with the guy. When we walked inside our apartment, we were both starving. Most nights, we would stop at the local Dennys for breakfast on the way home but when we were too tired or too broke we settled on our stash of Ramen Noodles, Pop Tarts and Mac N Cheese on the couch before bed.
‘I’ll throw something together really quick!’ Julie made her way towards the kitchen.
I clicked on the TV and announced ‘Awesome, Real Sex is on HBO….perfect way to an end the night!’ The simple pleasures in life!

When I stepped out of my room after changing into an XL tie-dye T-shirt that a hippie guy had left in my room one night, I couldn’t help but notice the delicious aroma wafting from the kitchen.
‘Phish?’ Julie gave me a lopsided smile as she read the logo on my T-shirt.
‘I figured it was appropriate considering our night. By the way, what smells so good?’
To this, Julie revealed two plates of freshly backed pancakes and handed one to me. ‘Come on, lets watch old naked people on HBO!’
‘Oh my’ I was pleasantly surprised ‘I wasn’t expecting this feast.’
‘Why not!’ Julie winked ‘Didn’t you know I spoil those I bring home with me.’
‘Well then I could get used to this lover’

We sat on the couch and inhaled our pancakes while watching back to back episodes of Real Sex followed by Taxicab Confessions. And then somewhere along the way, we fell asleep on the same couch with our heads on each others shoulders. Yes, dear readers, as you had hoped, this column ends with me sleeping with another woman. But probably not in the way you had imagined. I woke up the next day to the 7th missed call on my cell phone. I figured it was Jenny, but it was actually a number I didn’t recognize. It didn’t matter because the time on my cell reminded me that I was late to work. I jumped up and immediately dashed to brush my teeth.
‘Who the hell keeps calling you?’ Julie asked sleepily as she stretched out on the couch ‘Is Jenny Ok?’
So, while brushing my teeth I decided to check my voicemail. It went something like this.

‘Hey…umm…I cant even pronounce your name but this is Britney from last night. I think you should know that you’re a BIG slut. You should be ashamed of yourself. I spent the entire night buying you drinks and then right after you kiss me you go off and start making out with some other chick on the dance floor. How could you be such a whore! We hadn’t even kissed for 5 minutes before I turn around and you’re kissing some other chick. And then you try to lie and tell me you’re straight! I want you to know I was really hurt. Don’t ever try to call me, you just lost your chance to be with the best thing that could have ever happened to you. And by the way, I want my cap back….’

‘Who was it?’ Julie asked with her eyes still closed and too drowsy to care.
‘Long story’ I laughed ‘I’ll explain at dinner.’
With that I picked up the ‘I Love Bush’ cap from the floor and placed it on my head.
‘Don’t tell me you’re wearing that to work?’ Julie asked.
‘Why not!’ I laughed and walked out the door.

Sure, I got plenty of puzzled looks from my friends and colleagues at the library but it was an inside joke, they would never understand. Even Jenny did a double take when she walked in 30 minutes late looking like the night before.
‘I don’t even wanna know.’ She rolled her eyes as she sat down next to me with tired eyes and a Starbucks cup.’
‘Oh yes you do…’ I laughed!
‘Well we do have a five hour shift before dinner…you go first.’
‘Sure’ I replied as I pulled out my cell-phone ‘But first, I want you to listen to this voicemail.’

The moment, the lesson, the bond!!! - Part 1

As I sit in one of the few local independent cafes left in Manhattan, I can’t help but observe the people around me. Though I pretend to appear busy and self-important typing away on this laptop, I’m secretly watching people. Reminded of a drunken yet poignant wisdom that was once imparted by a drunk in a bar. It holds true, even today as I look around at these strangers that surround me.

Wisdom 1: As different as we all may be…we will always have one thing in common. We have all once been in love.

From the African American Barrista slaving away behind the counter with more piercings than pores to the lesbian couple interlocking each other’s fingers at the other end of my sofa. The Latina nanny that rocks a stroller with one hand and turns the pages of Twilight with the other. The stuffed and starched intern in a suit struggling to find an outlet for his laptop, the statuesque blonde that saunters outside the window and then passes the short, angry feminist who probably makes more money than all of us combined. The hooker, the suburban housewife and even the desi cabdriver ashing his cigarette and swearing in Punjabi…we still have one bond in common. We once experienced the pain of love. When we couldn’t keep our eyes open no matter how hard we tried. When we couldn’t take the same advice we often gave to our friends. When we found ourselves doing things we knew were wrong…downright pathetic…and even vulnerable. Like sending that one more text… that one more email…one more instant message …even forgiving one more time…powerless yet holding on to self-assured hopes and maybes. Let’s compare notes now shall we?

Why Yes!

But first, here are some other important wisdoms to remember.

Wisdom 2: Contrary to any belief and no matter how often you replay the moment in your head…you can’t prevent falling in love! So stop beating yourself up over it. Once it happens though, every songs lyric reminds you of it! Every character in a film tells your story.

Wisdom 3: Most times the ones you fall in love with are the ones you least expected to.

Wisdom 4: You always fall in love when life seems just PERFECT! When you have the world by its balls and no one can mess with you. You feel and look the best and life has just never been better. And then BOOM…some bastard or bitch comes along to jangle up your perfect world into a humbling mess.

For me it happened quite the same way. Junior year of college. I was spending the semester at Cooper Union in New York City and boy was I in my prime! Everywhere I went from family functions to nightclubs clubs, I was picking up compliments and numbers from aunties and male admirers. Once the victim of perpetual unrequited crushes, I was now the one turning down men left, right and center. With a group of very close friends (Jenny & Julie), an amazing self-esteem and complete independence; the world had quickly become my runway and from campus hallways to dance-floors, I was turning heads. During Fall break, Jenny and & Julie came down to visit me in NYC. We spent the week partying around Manhattan before they headed off to Staten Island for a weekend at Julie’s parent’s house. That weekend, I spent in Philly at Khala 1’s place but my girls decided to drive down one night so we could also make the Philly men dance on our fingertips for an evening.

I remember the night vividly, mostly because I would replay it constantly in my head afterwards searching for answers. But back then, it seemed like the perfect night! I even remember the outfit I wore. A black, criss-cross top with black satin pants. My hair, blow-dried to perfection and my makeup, just right. I recall admiring myself proudly in the mirror as I walked around Khala 1’s house, waiting for the girls to pick me up. Texting back and forth, they drove down and we sang along to Q102 on the radio. My younger female cousins watched me secretly as I covered my skimpy top under a college sweatshirt - immediately peeled off and stashed into a potted plant - when Jenny and Julie honked outside screaming, ‘Lets go bitch, the boys are waiting!’

We had dinner at an Italian restaurant on Rittenhouse Square, toasting to what promised to be an amazing night. Later we ended up in a bar around the corner, where we took over the place the minute we walked in. We didn’t have to reach for our purse even once because men immediately began to waft towards us with small-talk and free drinks. We just laughed and giggled about how much ‘we loved life’. After cocktails and a large side of an ego-massage, we jumped into a cab and headed to Spring Garden Street for some dancing at Club Egypt.

The night continued to unravel as one of the most perfect nights of our lives. We settled into a booth, jamming to the DJs beats and lighting up our cigarettes. Drinks continued to be sent our way from men, boys and grandpas. At one point, a young frat-boy type in a black leather jacket approached our booth to introduce himself and announce that his group of friends had apparently sent us our last three rounds of drinks. We thanked him politely. But then he turned to me
‘My friend over there is from Pakistan. He’s a little shy to come over himself but do you mind if I ask you what your nationality is?’
‘I’m Latina’ I lied and gave a fake name. (All three of us girls had fake bar names in college).
Though we snickered after he left and then headed off to the dance floor, from the corner of our eyes, we could sense the boys watching us as we danced. And obviously we loved it.

An hour later, Julie returned from the bar to announce, ‘Ok so I didn’t pay for any of these drinks, those guys did. The Pakistani’s really got the hots for you, he’s actually kinda cute, you should meet him.”
‘Wait!’ I knew Julie wasn’t the brightest in our crew ‘I hope you didn’t tell him that I was Pakistani? I just told his friend I was a Latina!”
‘But he’s hot…and sweetie no one’s buying that Latina crap anyway. Just flirt with him, he’s probably got some of that that oil money and we need more free drinks and maybe a ride back to our car.’
Didn’t I tell you Julie wasn’t the smartest kid on the block. I had barely rolled my eyes when I noticed the boys approach us. I didn’t really look any of them in the eye but Julie and Jenny immediately struck up a conversation. At one point, the Pakistani guy extended his hand towards me and introduced himself as ‘Mustafa’.
‘And you are?’ he pushed further as I pretended to rummage through my purse for a pack of cigarettes.
‘She’s shy….but her name is Padash!’ Julie jumped in.
‘PADASH!’ the guy exclaimed a little more excitedly than I would have expected ‘Is it really YOU?’
I immediately looked up at him and my jaw dropped open. Even after all these years, it took us both only a minute to recognize each other. Screaming our names we hugged as our friends watched with confusion.
‘Don’t tell me you guys know each other?’ One of the guys asked.
‘Hell yeah we know each other!’ Mustafa cackled ‘I’m seeing this girl after decades. The last time I met her was when she was watching cartoons and playing with dolls. She was my good friend’s baby sister!’
‘This really is crazy!’ I laughed out loud ‘How long has it been!’
‘Ages, I just remember how your brother and I used to hide your dolls and then we bought you cups of Polka ice-cream when you cried!’
‘I know…you guys were SO mean!’ I added.
‘I must say, you’ve really grown up since I last saw you!’ He added ‘You look great!’
‘Well, judging by all the free drinks tonight, we all know you feel that way!’ Jenny interjected with a snicker.
‘Oh my God…I can’t believe I just hit on Hassan’s baby sister. How weird is that!’
‘Very weird and very creepy…Mustafa bhai’ I teased ‘But don’t worry we wont tell my brother!’
‘Agreed!’

The rest of the night was just as fun and we all paired off. Mustafa and I couldn’t get over the irony of the situation. But within minutes, he went from a creepy desi guy trying to get into my pants to the over-protective brotherly sort, shielding me away from all the other men in the club. Still he would cringe every time I called him ‘Mustafa Bhai’.
‘Please, Padash, you’ve got to stop calling me bhai now.’
At one point when we took a break from dancing and settled back in our booth, I realized another fact that I had completely forgotten.
‘Wait….” I squeaked ‘Weren’t you also engaged to my cousin Sakina?’
Scratching his head sheepishly he replied ‘Man, I was hoping that topic wouldn’t come up tonight.’
‘Not that I care!’ I shrugged ‘We’re not really that close to that side of the family anyway. And I’m definitely not close to any of my cousins so don’t worry I could care less.’
‘Good to know, but I’m surprised because Saks always spoke so fondly of you. She made it sound like you guys were best friends or something. Drew such a glamorous picture of you but I just remembered you as a chotee bachee!’
‘I don’t know why but Sakina has always tried to be very friendly, even though we have nothing in common!’
‘Well I guess that’s a good thing because otherwise you wouldn’t hang out with me tonight. You would probably have your girls beat me up!’
‘Don’t worry, I’m sure you had good reason to break off the engagement.’
It was at that moment when Mustafa became quiet for a few minutes. Awkward. I had completely forgotten that besides being my older brother’s friend who would bring me back ice-cream and Jubilees when they went out on their poondee rounds, he also had history with a cousin I knew very little about. If you haven’t noticed, things are always twisted in my life but lets try and get a quick and dirty history on Mustafa.

Mustafa was actually a couple of years younger than my brother but would look up to Bhai Jan as a role model. They had mainly become friends because Mustafa’s parents were family friends of ours and the two seemed to hit it off at a family dinner. After that, I would often see him come over after school, his white shirt un-tucked, gray trousers blotched in fountain blue, Dollar Ink stains and rickety baseball caps perched clumsily on his head. Most of the time, he would just head straight to Bhai Jan’s room and then they would sit for hours bouncing tennis balls on the wall and talking about ‘bachiyan’ and ‘Van Damme’. Quite the combo, I must say. The few times I would come in to Bhai Jan’s room, they would either tease me or nurture me. On some days they would snatch my doll to play catch with each other but on other days they would return from an afternoon of driving aimlessly around Jinnah with a cup of ice-cream just for me. When they prank-called female classmates they would beg me to ask for the girls name on the phone and the business woman that I was, I in turn bargained my flavors of Polka or packets of Choco Chums.

Once Bhai Jan left for college, I didn’t really see much of Mustafa anymore. I think shortly after, he too was sent off to boarding school at Aitchison. And from there he left for college. Needless to say he never really witnessed my transformation from the chubby little sister he teased to a rebellious partier/Alisha’s protégé. But to be honest, Mustafa Bhai was always kind of out of sight, out mind for me also. We did, however, almost cross paths a few years but somehow we always missed!

The first time was during the summer before I was heading off to college. I was waiting for Peanut to pick me up so we could see off a high-school friend who was leaving for a Canadian university. Bhai Jan and his wife were visiting from Dubai those days and mentioned something about guests so I desperately hoped that Peanut would whisk me away before I had to say Salaam to anyone. Luckily, a car pulled up in our driveway just as Peanut and I were driving off, so I was relieved to have escaped the guests.

When I returned, I found my entire family gathered around an empty trolley in the drawing room, yapping away about the guests who had just departed. I joined them to pick through the dry-fruit left on the trolley when Ma exclaimed.
‘Padash you will never believe this!’
‘Wait but first,’ my brother interjected ‘do you remember Mustafa? He used to come over all the time?’
‘Slightly’ I tried to recall ‘What about him?’
‘He just got engaged.’
‘Good for him.’
‘But guess who he just got engaged to?’
I obviously had no clue.
‘Sakina. Your chacha’s youngest.’
‘That’s like the most random thing I’ve ever heard.’ I laughed.
‘It is’ My brother laughed ‘He’s heading back to the States for an MBA so I guess his parents felt that it would be best to tie him down before he left.’
‘I’m assuming it was arranged?’
‘Completely. They got to know the family through us and they seemed to like Sakina a lot.’
‘Well of course compared to Shabana, anyone would seem better!’ I joked!
‘But I was talking to him and he seemed pretty excited himself.’
‘But isn’t it weird getting engaged and then married to a complete stranger?’
‘Well it is the traditional thing to do Padash’ My mother always grabbed an opportunity to tame her rebel of a daughter.
‘We had an arranged marriage too; I think it worked out well.’ My bhabhi chimed in.
‘I guess.’
To be honest the notion had absolutely no appeal for me. Maybe because it was a more exciting time in my life. I was finally running away to the States to discover myself in college and then live life on my own terms. The ‘abroad’ both Peanut and I would often dream of with wishful eyes. Sakina on the other hand, was being committed off to a guy, she had barely spoken to and in a way I actually felt sorry for her.
‘He’s going to Rutgers, in New Jersey.’ My brother added ‘I told him you were going to the States too so maybe you two can connect. He also did his bachelors in America so he knows his way around.’
‘America is a big place Bhai Jan’ I rolled my eyes ‘And besides I don’t need your friends to serve as my bodyguards, I’m a big girl now.’

I think I got an email from Sakina a few days later about how happy and in love she was. She also asked if I could take a gift to America for her fiancé and I told her I would. It still baffled me how she thought we were besties when her older sisters had tormented me as kids. When I landed in Philadelphia to spend a few days at Khala 1’s house before leaving for freshman orientation a few hours away in a small town, I got an email from Mustafa as well. It was a good-natured email which mentioned that New Jersey was very close to Philly and that he would be more than glad to show his me around. But to me it was obvious that his eagerness was fueled mostly by an interest in getting his ‘love letter and Cologne’ gift from Sakina rather than playing bodyguard/chaperone to a friend’s younger sister. At first we decided that he could come over for tea at Khala 1’s place and that’s where I would give him Sakina’s gift. However, the few hours when I wasn’t jet-lagged, I spent shopping with my parents for dorm supplies. Needless to say our schedules never connected. Finally, I decided to hide the pink wrapped gift in a potted plan (yes the same one where I now stashed my sweatshirts) and emailed him that though I was driving off to college with my parents, he could drive by and secretly pick his fiancé’s gift up late one night. And he probably did. I just never got to follow up with him nor Sakina since once I got to college, I immediately dove into the excitement of making new friends and going to frat parties.

A year later, when I was home for break, Ma and I were bonding over high tea at Islamabad Club. As she rummaged through her stash of gossip to fill me in on family news, I tried not to look bored. Falaan Falaan had another baby, Falaan Falaan got married.
‘Oh by the way Sakina’s engagement broke.’
‘Really?’ I asked half interested but still noticeably surprised ‘Wasn’t she engaged to your friend’s son Mustafa?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s odd, they seemed like they were in love. Full courting shourting, writing each other letters and stuff.’
‘Exactly’ my mother preached ‘If you ask me, I’ve always been against this engagement-wala fashion. It usually ends badly. This whole calling each other on the phone, love letter writing, gift exchanging…its nice and romantic in the beginning but then comes pointless arguing and then suddenly it all ends. I’m a strong believer that guys and girls shouldn’t meet that much before the wedding. They have their whole married lives to be romantic.’
‘Ma, you’re so old fashioned.’
‘You can call it old fashioned but you know its true.’
‘Sakina must be devastated, I think she was really in love with this boy.’
‘Well I heard she’s the one who broke it off.’
‘You’re kidding?’ I was actually shocked.
‘Aray bhai who knows the actual story. All I hear is that in all these long phone conversations they used to have they had a bad argument and then both decided to end the engagement. Some people in the family say that Mustafa’s character was not right. He had goree girlfriends waghaira in America. Maybe that’s why they had a fight.’
And then just like that Ma pulled out some other family gossip and all was forgotten. And all was truly forgotten till after all these years of hearing about each other, Mustafa and I finally came face to face on that ‘perfect’ night in Philadelphia.



‘Looks like we closed the club down!’ Mustafa looked up at me with a smile as the lights in the club came up at 2am. ‘I’ll Fly with You’ By Gigi D’Astano was slowly fading in the background as Jenny and Julie returned to our booth with Mustafa’s friends. Their beautiful skins glistening with dance-floor sweat. ‘Lets blow this joint!’ Julie suggested and we all poured out onto the sidewalk. Someone suggested food and the next thing we knew, we were all squeezed into a booth at Nifty Fifties sharing pancakes, French fries and milkshakes. Everyone was getting along and none of us wanted the night to end.

Mustafa remained his chivalrous self, opening doors for my friends, picking up the check and then even driving my friends to their car.
‘Come on I’ll drop you off at your Khala’s.’ He offered.
‘Oh you don’t have to; the girls can drop me off.’ I answered.
‘Don’t be silly. There is no way I’m leaving my friend’s sister on the streets of Philly at 4 in the morning.’
‘Yeah you should protect me from creepy desi guys who send me free drinks.’ I joked.

As my friends drove away, I got into Mustafa’s car, admiring the streets of Philly which looked pristine as we zoomed across town to Khala1’s place. We talked the entire way and it was funny how I could now have a serious, grown-up conversation with Mustafa bhai. He also introduced me to an enchanting song in his car called ‘Longing’ from Nusrat Fateh Ali and Michael Brook’s album Night Song.
‘I hope I can trust you and that my brother wont be finding out about my drinking and partying?’ I laughed.
‘Oh don’t worry and you better not do the same either. I’m already the black sheep in your family after I broke off the engagement with Saks. I don’t want them hearing all about my hitting on younger girls in clubs.’
‘Done’ I raised my pinky ‘It will be our secret.’
Mustafa too raised his pinky finger too and laughed ‘Secret!’

We hugged goodbye and I could see him laughing at me as I pulled out a sweatshirt from a potted plant to wear before sneaking in. I crept into my room and immediately dropped on the bed to fall asleep. I was exhausted and it had been another fun night with my best girlfriends. It was also funny how I had reconnected with Mustafa Bhai so randomly. I returned to my semester after that weekend and resumed the perfect, prime life. I didn’t really think I was going to run into Mustafa again for another decade, if at all…

…Or so I thought!

To be continued…