My November Rain

Lahore is beautiful in November. The mornings are warm and sunny and the nights are chilly yet, somehow, very cozy.

I always waited for the November rain. It brings with it, the reminisces of the past. And washes away the regret. And leaves with you, a feeling. So priceless and content.

I woke up to the sound of water. Rainfall. There it was. That delicious, musky, earthy smell of my November rain. And I just knew, my day was going to turn out fine.

It took a while for me to get out of bed. Extremely lazy. Possibly genetic. I got up and drew the curtains. For a minute, in that over whelming moment, I thought I would go skinny dipping. Or in this case, dancing nude in the rain. But thought otherwise. My neighbors might be watching. It was Lahore after all.

Sh*t, shave, shower -- all in that order please. My daily ritual. Time for my regular jeans, my regular shirt and my regular red pair of sneakers. A guy has to be metro. You dig?

It was still raining by the time I went downstairs to make my everyday regular cup of Lipton tea. I'm just a plain old regular guy. I am 26. Still unemployed. Educated?, yes fairly enough. I mean if you count understanding accents of anchors on a Pakistani English Channel.

I loved slurping my tea when no one was watching. A fetish, you see. Besides, what was Lahore without Lipton? 11:14am. I grabbed my Cuore keys and bounded out.

Halfway through from Model Town to Mall road, I remembered that I had left my Dunhill Lights on the bed. Sh*t!. I just hoped my mom did not discover them. Yes, I still lived with my parents. I'm the total package aren't I?.

Anyway I was supposed to meet a friend at a top notch bank on Mall. My dear father had pulled some strings to get me an interview with this manager in the same bank- a “formality� as the man kept repeating over the phone. He told me to come casual, it being “Casual Friday� and all.

Please be informed, I am single and unemployed by choice. I refused to work for someone who was less smart than I was- which happened almost in every case. And I detested the concept of “Safarish�, a Lahori endemic to get a job at a “top� Bank. Of course, parents with “Lambay Haath� were mandatory as well as a prerequisite for a successful life in Lahore. Means to an end, you see.

Thus, although, yours truly was a FARIN (foreign) graduate, and that too from a top university, I was unemployed by choice.

I'd like to think I intimidated women too much to get hitched. I mean I was a “looker�, as my mother reminded me on daily basis. So women not taking interest in me because of my looks, seemed out of question. It had to be something else. Anyway, I was too lazy to get romantically involved with anyone and make the effort. Besides, how could someone, as unemployed as I was, afford a girl friend in Lahore? It was just me and my Dunhills baby.

The light rain made the drive on the canal, even more beautiful then it already was. I stopped mid-way at a khokha to get my smokes. “Dip, Dip, Dip 'n Sip�, I noticed the Lipton campaign all over Lahore. Huge Billboards. I think I knew the guy. Afro hair. I was more of a Dip, Dip 'n Sip guy. 3 Dips were too strong for my taste.

The interview was at 12ish. I could afford to get late, my father being a “well connected� man in Lahore. And yet I drive my younger sister's Cuore. I think that might be another reason that I was still single.

Although the rain was light, the roads were pretty slippery. And empty. I had a sudden urge of doing a 360' but told myself I was 26. A-levels was way-hay over. Besides, I was listening to Bono's version of “Summer Wine�.

My November rain followed me all the way to Mall. I was in a good mood. The phone rang. I picked up. And the traffic warden pulled me over. Apparently, one could not talk on the phone, drive and smoke all at one time. Especially on Mall. Cellphone use, while driving, was banned. I insisted I was sober enough to multitask. He let me off with a warning slip. And of course I used my “my-father-is-a-big-shot� card. I Congratulated myself for being a hypocrite in times of trouble. Note to self: No cellphones on Mall Road.

I was only 10 minutes late and was directed to the first floor where the interviews were taking place. I got there and realized that I took “Casual Friday� a bit too casually. All other “Potential candidates for the job� were dressed. I mean it was like a Lahori Walima. And I looked the oldest. Good.

Apparently, I was supposed to go last. So I went downstairs for some smokes and a chit chat with my friend. By the time I got back, it was only three of us left. I went and sat next to a petite girl, picked up an old magazine and flipped a few pages.

“The man in the overcoat walking along the pavement in the heavy rain - the home a long way to go - has to seek shelter for the night. His hunger is getting unbearable for all that he had for the day was a strong cup of tea�. Boring story. I started playing snakes on my cell phone.

Tea. I wanted my regular cup of Lipton tea. I got up to talk to the lady at the front desk. Flirted with her a little and hinted my tea-urge. The office boy would be right over, I was told. With a smile. I went back and sat down. And noticed, I was the only one without a resume'. Sh*t!.

Since I was supposed to be the last to go in, there was plenty of time left. First my regular cup of tea and then I'd go print my resume via my beloved friend's log-in. Good thing I carried around a USB for no odd reason.

“Light� for the petite girl and “Strong� for the guy sitting next. Weren't we the perfect combination. A complete spectrum. The office boy scampered off.

So we started talking. I mean all three of us. I found out that Neha was a Social Science major who volunteered on the weekends at some NGO. The guy seemed ambitious. He was an MBA from France. A bit too pompous. And loud.

I told them I graduated from a local University in Multan. The whole “Hi, I am a Yale graduate� routine would have hit them too hard. You see, I also have this uncanny habit of creating assumptions and experimenting with people. No I was not a psychology major. I, in fact, majored in Economics at Yale. Suma cum laude baby! Besides who would have believed me when I was celebrating “Casual Friday� on a job interview?.

Perfect timings for the tea. I noticed how my hypothesis that one's personality could be judged by the choice of tea, was strongly acceptable at 1% level of significance. “Light� for the kind, shy girl and “Strong� for the ambitious guy. And yours truly-Regular. As always. Life could truly be this simple.

We were interrupted when the strong-y was called in. Neha was supposed to go next. In another 10 minutes. She placed the cup of tea on the arm of her chair and bent down to pick up her resume file. Before I could warn her, the cup rolled over and the tea, as light as her personality was, spilled over her clothes. She could not believe all of this happening to her, not when the clock was already ticking too fast. And like all women, she started panicking. A bit too much. I calmed her down and offered to go in first instead, while she dried herself off.

So basically I went in without a resume. I saw the manager celebrating casual Friday too. He was not wearing any tie. It went fine. The interview. I dodged around the same questions. A Yale graduate, back in Pakistan. Why? How could I tell him that, while I was there, my mother was suffering from recurrent nightmares of her only son marrying a “gori� and never returning. I told him I loved Lahore too much to keep away for too long. So he assumed I would be a bit rigid in relocating to the head office in Karachi. I never bothered to correct him.

By the time I got back home, it was dark. The rain had stopped. After the interview, I had dragged my friend to Gymkhana for a game of Squash and a quick bite to eat afterwards. He had called in sick at the Bank.

No one was home. I assumed my mother was at some “Kitty party�-a bunch of pseudo aunties pairing up their children and suggesting names for their future grandchildren. Over one-bite sandwiches. I had no idea where the rest of the family was.

I sprawled in front of my big-screen TV. Correction: my FATHER'S big-screen TV. And turned on the news. What was on, shocked me.

“Saab jee, do you want regular or light tea?� I could barely hear Akram, my cook.

There was random shooting in front of the same bank where I had given the interview, a few hours back. Some one had died. While going to the parking lot. A petite girl. Neha.
I was suffocating. It could have been me. Instead of her. If only she had not spilled the tea.

I could have died today. But she did. That kind, shy, light girl. Neha.

It started raining again at that very moment. My November rain.

I finally found my voice.“Strong tea for me please�.