Love Knows No LoC

by Arpit Vageria

  Kabeer was hauled back to reality.

  ‘We’ve met once,’ Kabeer stammered. ‘We were formally introduced. We were in the same stadium during the Lahore attack, nearly a month ago now, when I was a part of the Indian cricket team. You gave me the Man-of-the-Match trophy,’ he smiled.

  Zoya glowered at him. ‘How can you even talk about that and smile?’

  ‘Oh! no, no. I wasn’t smiling because I was happy about that calamity. I was smiling because, you know, I saw you and remembered you from that day. You sing fabulously,’ Kabeer replied.

  Zoya smiled, ‘Thanks.’

  With some kind of non-verbal mutual consent, they walked back to the entry gate together. Kabeer carefully maintained the required distance between them and hoped that his heartbeats were not loud enough for Zoya to hear.

  ‘So where were you when, you know . . . ?’ Zoya trailed off.

  ‘During the terrorist attack?’

  ‘I didn’t want to say it, but yes.’

  ‘Why mustn’t we say “terrorist attack”?’

  ‘Because I just want to forget that day ever happened. So, where were you?’

  ‘I was on the field when it started. In fact, I was just standing a few feet from you.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Yes. I ran towards you when the bullet hit you, but my team’s bodyguards dragged me away to the safe zone.’

  ‘How filmy, right?’ Zoya laughed. Just then her watch beeped to indicate that she had completed her quota of a thousand steps for the day.

  ‘I never would have taken you for a fitness freak.’

  ‘Ah. But then everyone has got to be fit—be it a singer or a sportsman.’

  Kabeer chuckled, ‘Yes. Definitely helps when we’re running from terrorists.’ Kabeer’s attempt at humour did not go down well with Zoya and she frowned at him and walked away.

  ‘Is that what you people consider us Pakistanis?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘That’s what I’ve heard.’

  ‘I’ve also heard that Pakistani girls are beautiful,’ Kabeer looked at Zoya apologetically.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Zoya asked. ‘Even if they are, it’s a condescending and patronizing thing to say . . . and insulting.’

  ‘You’re the first Pakistani girl I’ve ever spoken to. And if you weren’t so beautiful and interesting, I wouldn’t have run all the way from the fifth floor just to see you when I have a practice session at 5:30 in the morning,’ he said and bit his lips.

  ‘How did you know that I was here?’ she asked suspiciously.

  ‘From your Facebook status today.’ Seeing her doubtful expression, he added, ‘I swear I didn’t stalk you. I’m staying in the same hotel for a few days. I came here tonight hoping to run into you. I didn’t mean to alarm you,’ Kabeer put up his hands in a surrendering gesture.

  ‘It’s not that. Because of the cricketers here, I had to compromise with a much smaller room than I was promised,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘You can share my room,’ Kabeer said nonchalantly. But as soon as he realized what he had said, he clarified, ‘I meant, you can take my room and I can sleep in yours. We can swap rooms, is what I meant.’

  ‘You have this way of offering things to girls, is it? You put your life in danger almost taking a bullet for me and now the luxurious suite. Never realized Indians were so kind,’ Zoya said, smiling.

  ‘Sure we are,’ Kabeer grinned, ‘just don’t ask for Kashmir.’

  ‘I could say the same to you; we have our own Kashmir,’ she retorted and they both laughed.

  ‘It took many summits to discuss Kashmir and it took us less than a minute to resolve it,’ Kabeer said.

  ‘We haven’t resolved it yet.’

  ‘I am glad; this way we’ll have more meetings to discuss this serious issue. Coffee?’ Kabeer asked.

  Zoya chuckled at his offer.

  ‘The more you get to know me, the more will I surprise you,’ Kabeer prophesied mysteriously.

  ‘I like the sound of that. Coffee, then,’ she agreed.

  ‘Sure, neighbour,’ Kabeer grinned and gallantly gestured to her to precede him into the in-house coffee shop.

  CHAPTER 13

  June ’16

  Despite nation-wide protests against a Pakistani artist performing in Mumbai, the event kicked off to a great start. The Andheri sports club was full of fans, agog to see and listen to Zoya. A popular Indian singer inaugurated the concert programme.

  Zoya was amazed at the adulation she received. She got an adrenaline rush seeing thousands of people rooting for her, posters held high. It was like a dream come true to see the auditorium packed to the rafters with 40,000 music lovers who didn’t hold her nationality against her.

  She was still waiting in the wings, about to go onstage a few minutes, when her phone buzzed in her pocket. It was a call from Pakistan. She slipped into an anteroom that was comparatively quieter.

  ‘Zoya,’ said a deep voice.

  ‘Mamu?’ Zoya replied, surprised to get a call from her maternal uncle. From the tone of his voice, she knew something was wrong. The last time he had called was to tell her about her mother’s unfortunate and sudden death. As always, she was taken aback at how similar he sounded to her grandfather.

  ‘Abbu isn’t well, my dear. His liver failed and he had a heart attack last night. Doctors are saying that chances are slim that he’ll make it,’ said Mamu worriedly.

  Zoya couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat. After she had finished her conversation with Mamu, she did her best to focus on the job in hand—the concert. She was grief-stricken when her name was announced, but she quickly composed herself, took a deep breath and stepped out on to the stage. The audience gave her a clamorous welcome. Her aalap (prelude) won the hearts of everyone present as her golden voice cast a spell solely its own.

  Her sorrow under wraps, she put on her game face and sang through the evening to thunderous applause and demands for encores. She tried to imagine Naanu in the crowd, cheering for her. She imagined him running on stage to hug her when she sang his most difficult number.

  In her mind’s eye, all she could see was her grandfather on his deathbed. She wished she had listened to him when he had tried to prevent her from coming to India. Zoya’s heart wasn’t in her performance and she couldn’t wait for the night to end so she could return home to her grandfather. Her eyes bright with unshed tears, she soldiered on through her concert.

  The auditorium reverberated with the finale of her most recent number ‘Mil Jana Phir Toh Kahin’ as it faded into a whisper. The stage lights went off and the anchor announced a ten-minute intermission.

  One of the crew ran up with a glass of fruit juice and a bottle of mineral water, both of which she waved away. She prayed desperately for a miracle to restore her grandfather to good health and take her to his sickbed pronto.

  She hurried to her vanity van. Kabeer, who was casually leaning against the vehicle, straightened up and said, ‘Congratulations! You’re getting all the accolades you deserve.’

  Zoya opened the door and stared at Kabeer for a second before slamming the door in his face.

  The rumour mills and gossip columns were triggered. The remorseless media labelled Zoya as a diva with an attitude, given to throwing tantrums and making life a misery for her event organizers. Others saw her in the light of a victim being unfairly targeted for being a Pakistani.

  In the meantime, news of Amaan Malik’s deteriorating health made headlines.

  In the privacy of her vanity van, Zoya desperately tried to call Mamu. At long last, he answered her call.

  ‘Mamu, is Naanu any better now?’ Zoya waited impatiently for him to answer. She tried to find something to hold on to and finally grasped the back of her chair tightly. Her knuckles had turned white.

  ‘He’s in coma, my dear, and the doctor says that it’s unlikely that he will ever regain consciousness,’ Mamu carefully replied, trying to keep his words as clear as he coul
d without twisting them.

  With time running out of her hands, she stood upright, trying to compose herself, and said, ‘Are you beside him now, Mamu? Can you put the phone to his ear, please, so Naanu can listen to me?’

  ‘Sure, go on then.’

  ‘Naanu,’ she whispered, ‘you may not be with us when I get home tomorrow. I so wish that you didn’t have to leave us. You taught me to stay positive through all of life’s ups and downs. I had only heard of superheroes in stories, Naanu, till I found one in you, and you know what superheroes do? They spend their lives protecting their people, and you have always been a superhero to me, fighting my battles. Now, I will be fighting my own battles and you won’t be around to protect me any more. But you’ve made me strong enough to face the world and win.

  ‘Just close your eyes, Naanu, and imagine walking with me on the beach where you taught me how to take my first steps. It was such a beautiful day when you held me in your arms. But do you know what moved me the most? It was your belief in me whenever I fell and failed in certain portions of this chapter called ‘life’. You were brave and courageous. Now that you’re leaving, I just want to tell you how lucky I am to have had you in my life. Rest assured that I would no longer lose any battles in life and I would be the same brave and courageous person that you are and always taught me to be. Now it’s time for you to give Ammi some love. She has waited for you for a long time and it’s her turn to be reunited with her father. It’s my turn to bid you goodbye. That’s probably the last and the most difficult thing I ever wanted to do, but here I am, saying adieu with a happy face because you said you wanted me to be the person who spoke to you last.

  ‘Have a safe journey, Naanu, in a better world, in a better place. Goodbye. I love you.’

  She disconnected the call with tears in her eyes. And thousands of miles away, her grandfather breathed his last, as if he had just been waiting for his princess to bid him goodbye.

  She sank into the sofa, turned the lights off and cried her heart out as she received the message from her Mamu ‘Abbu jaan is no more.’

  It’s never easy to see the person you love the most leave you. Sometimes, you just want it to be a bad dream and sometimes, you just wait for it to pass. But when you come out of the darkness, you find that the truth is the light that’s outside and the truth is that the person you loved has already started another journey elsewhere. To a place where you wouldn’t be, where they would be dear to someone else, leaving memories and a lifetime of pain behind.

  Everything in the world has a fix but, sadly, emotions don’t.

  CHAPTER 14

  June ’16

  Some tears never dry, no matter what. Zoya gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Her make-up was in a shambles—mascara streaming down her cheeks, foundation patchy—so she rubbed it off with the tissue she had used to wipe off her tears.

  As the clock ticked nine, she washed her face, quickly reapplied her make-up and practised her smile a couple of times. She was unconvinced, but it was time to go back in the spotlight, which she did, smiling broadly, and sang her most popular English number ‘Memories Never Die’.

  The entire auditorium resonated with the chant ‘Zoya! Zoya!’ And from one corner of the auditorium, one could hear: ‘Iss Duniya Ki Hum Hai Shaan, Hindustan Pakistan!’

  Only Kabeer noticed the slight break in her voice as she dedicated her next song to her grandfather, a song that was originally sung by the maestro himself.

  ‘I’ll now be performing a number originally sung by my Naanu, which is loved by all of you. Through this song, I would like to tell him how grateful I am for everything that he has done for me. Naanu, I hope you’re listening to this,’ Zoya said, as the orchestra struck up the lilting prelude.

  There was pin-drop silence when her voice faded out at the end of the rendition. Zoya didn’t wait to take her bows. She left lest her emotional barrier broke.

  Kabeer was again waiting by her vanity van.

  ‘What’s wrong, Zoya? I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I can sense that you’re

  upset.’

  She couldn’t hold back the hot tears. Kabeer impulsively put his arms around her to offer comfort. ‘My Naanu is no more,’ she choked, ‘ . . . he passed away while I was performing.’

  ‘No matter what I say, mere platitudes cannot mitigate your pain and grief at this moment,’ he said softly into her hair. ‘But the best way for you to bid farewell to him was by performing his very own song in India.’

  Zoya drew back a little and smiled a watery smile at the tall cricketer.

  ‘I’m sure he was waiting to speak to me. He always wanted me to be around whenever he was ready to go to heaven.’

  ‘Yes, he has gone to a better place now,’ Kabeer smiled.

  ‘Yes. A place of his own. I remember him saying that when he dies, he wants to go to a place where my mother lives and restart their lives once again. He always used to say that she was the best child one could’ve ever hoped for. He regretted that he couldn’t do much about her estrangement with her husband. He always had affairs. As much as Naanu tried giving his daughter the justice she deserved, he failed.’

  Kabeer offered her a bottle of water, from which she sipped gratefully and hiccupped a couple of times before bravely stemming her tears.

  ‘I need to rush back home to Pakistan but there’s no flight until tomorrow morning,’ Zoya said.

  ‘Then we’ll ensure you get on a flight first thing tomorrow,’ Kabeer replied.

  ‘Thanks, Kabeer.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For giving me a shoulder to cry on. I’d like to go to the airport right away and wait there for my flight. That way I’ll feel closer to Pakistan.’

  Kabeer immediately made a couple of calls and while he was still on one, showed her a thumbs-up to indicate that her tickets were ready and she was good to go.

  When he disconnected the call, Zoya said, ‘The chauffeur they’d assigned to me was very efficient. I’m going to miss him,’ she sighed. ‘I’ve asked him to collect my luggage from the hotel and meet us at the airport.

  ‘Life is so strange that I’m scared to get attached to anyone,’ she muttered to herself. ‘I can’t believe that he’s gone . . . ’

  ‘You mustn’t let the vacuum of loneliness suck you in, Zoya. Just think of all the happy moments you’ve shared, that way he will always be alive within you for as long as you live.’

  ‘Are you prepared for your parents’ death?’

  Kabeer was shocked.

  ‘That’s exactly how I feel at this juncture: in shock,’ Zoya said.

  ‘I understand,’ Kabeer said. He started his car, ‘We’ll have coffee at the airport. I can’t think of anything better,’ he added sheepishly.

  ‘That would be the best thing at the moment,’ Zoya replied. They chatted about inconsequential matters on their way to the airport. It helped lighten Zoya’s mood. Neither Kabeer nor Zoya realized how easily they bonded and established a rapport. It all seemed so natural.

  When they reached the airport, they kept a low profile, doing their utmost to stay under the radar and avoid undue attention. However, to their annoyance, Amaan Malik’s sudden death had aroused the paparazzi, which had quickly traced Zoya and followed her to the airport. Both celebrities in their own rights, Kabeer and Zoya were bombarded with questions and flashing cameras even before they entered the airport lobby.

  ‘So, miss Malik, is money is more important to you than the death of your grandfather whose legacy you’ve inherited?’ a journalist shouted.

  Both Zoya and Kabeer looked astounded, and wordlessly entered the lobby of the airport.

  CHAPTER 15

  June ’16

  The previous day’s events played through her mind as she set off for home from Lahore’s airport. She wondered what she had done to be at the receiving end of such hostility. Why did the media imagine that she was mercenary and avaricious? Was this the price of fame and success?
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br />   She knew she had to remain strong to face the day and fought back the tears that threatened to spill out. Her Naanu wouldn’t want to see her so broken up.

  A crowd had gathered around the house when she reached home. Kind friends and relatives had also come to offer their support. She hurried in, looking for her Mamu and suddenly realized that her own kith and kin were subjecting her to hostile glares. She just needed to find her Mamu before she could deal with this animosity. She ran into the inner room expecting to see him, but only saw her lamenting Mami surrounded by several other women.

  ‘Where’s Mamu?’ asked Zoya, kneeling by her aunt’s armchair.

  ‘You’re late, Zoya baby; he must be on his way back after your grandfather’s funeral rites. He’ll be here soon.’

  ‘How could the funeral take place without me?’ Zoya exclaimed in shock.

  ‘They didn’t know when you would be back and decided not to wait. The dead have to be relieved as soon as possible so they can begin their journey to heaven, beta.’

  ‘But I specifically told Mamu to wait for me and he agreed!’

  ‘We have to abide by the society’s rules, baby, so unfortunately not everything can happen at our convenience. You visited an enemy country, against your Naanu’s wishes, and see what happened.’

  ‘How is my trip to India even relevant in this context?’

  ‘Because if you were here, your grandfather would have been alive right now. He would have got timely treatment in the hospital,’ Mami snapped. ‘To be honest, you were just as careless and irresponsible at the time of your mother’s death.’

  Zoya’s heart sank in the face of such harsh criticism. Naanu, the one person who had always championed for her, was now no more. This fact now came home forcibly. Suddenly, everything had changed. She felt like a stranger in her own house without her beloved grandfather.

  She softly stole away to her wing of the house. Some of their friends and relatives were also there, sharing stories about her grandfather.