Kahan Se Aap Zamaney Ke Bad Aye Hain

When I first saw her she was about fifteen. I was in Senior Cambridge. We lived in a Catholic hostel where it was compulsory to attend the morning Mass at dawn, six days a week. It was during one of those Eucharistic celebrations that I noticed her. She was with her mother and younger sister. Clad in the uniform of Convent of Jesus and Mary, she looked innocent, graceful and pretty. The whole day I kept thinking of her. Next morning I was the first in the Church and there she was. Then days turned to weeks and months and I lived by a strange one-sided attraction. I seemed to forget everything else in life. Studies were becoming a distraction to my full time infatuation.

It was not long that my friends noticed my obsession and caught the thief in me. Being a ring leader of the gang that we were, everyone showed concern and wanted to be helpful. They all saw a Romeo in me and wished a very happy ending to my affair. Soon it was an open secret and my day-dreaming became a joint venture among friends with abundance of teenage ideas; how to lead her in a weekend dance; and how to propose! I was jittery and impatient. The person who seemed to notice the least was perhaps Patricia herself. She was serene, quiet and shy as usual refusing to exchange a glance.

Soon there was a wedding in the Anglo-Pakistani community. My friends confirmed that Patricia’s family would be attending the wedding. On that day I borrowed a suit from a friend, a shirt and a tie from another and mirrored my shoes. We were all there, dressed up for the wedding. Patricia was the bridesmaid and looked like a fairy. I stood by the aisle as she passed, her dress brushing against my side. It was a strange feeling. I was suddenly a hundred feet tall. I was in love.

In the Burt Institute Hall, as the band played Elvis Presley’s “Because of love I’m a hundred feet tall” couples rose for the ball. To set the tempo, the first couple that rose were the bride and the groom. Slowly, others joined the floor. No one had proposed to her yet. Scared, confused, and with a heavily beating heart, I made my move. As I approached, the rush of adrenaline brought bitterness in my mouth and my heart was thumping. I stopped to regain composure. As for her, she sat unaware of the tempest that was howling in me. Suddenly the music stopped and everyone returned to the seats.

After sometime, the band began to play “You by my side that’s how I see you”. I seized my moment and dashed straight to her. I held out my hand to invite her to dance, but she refused. I insisted that we would be the smartest couple dancing around but she refused saying that she doesn’t dance. I told her that I had seen her somewhere previously. With complete ignorance she said she had never seen me before. Then I told her that maybe it was at the Church. Her reply was straight, that she only went there for prayers and not to see boys. Soon her mother was around and asked me politely to move away.

For many months I lived by this encounter and my feelings for her grew stronger. Patricia became a part of my dreams. I had become oblivious of school and studies but the girl of my dreams did not seem to notice.

Perhaps it the impatience and aggression in me that I decided to finally approach her tete a tete and tell her what I thought of her. An opportunity arose during a community fun fair. Patricia came dressed in the bell Bottoms of the 70’s. As I was gathering my composure to talk to her, her mother walked in. She was a petite mean looking lady and stared straight into my eyes. After inquiring from her daughter what the problem was, she called me a "chokraboy" and asked me to stop nagging her daughter. Having compromised my self esteem, I realised the true meaning of disgrace. The last glance that I had of her was when her mother was trying to say something to her. She had her face down and I could never make out her expressions.

Suddenly, life was different. I made it a point to enter the church last and leave first. I never saw her again. Teenage has a certain madness and taken for granted approach about it. Perhaps I was too naïve and immature; perhaps too straight; perhaps impatient. I lay in the hybrid zone between hope and despair. Dreams were shattered and life seemed to have no meaning. It was a big emotional trauma for me.

Somehow the fighter in me urged me to move along. I had to prove I was not a Chokraboy and that there was civility and sincerity around me. Life became more serious and sombre. I began to discover myself.

As time passed, I became more determined in whatever I had to do. I fought the Central Zone Boxing Championships as a teenager. I earned a Gold Medal in the Lahore Board Athletics Championship. Somehow stretching myself to limits became a part of my nature. Having done my Senior Cambridge, I chose professional studies. I educated myself in diverse fields and excelled. Proving a point became a part of all my struggles. I walked from Dir to Chitral and the Kafir Valley with my knapsack on my back. I walked from Gilgit to Chitral and canoed in the Indus. One day, I stood without oxygen on the summit of the third highest peak of Pakistan. But still, no one seemed to notice.

As time passed, the teenage blues became a distant memory. I got the best wife one can dream of and then a sweet little daughter. I settled in Islamabad . Besides a presitigious job I involved myself in community work. 1984 had been a good year and I made good earnings. So one evening, we went to our Parish priest to pay our alms for a social project. The Reverend was delighted and thankful. He offered us a cup of coffee. While my wife was busy changing diapers, the Reverend remarked that God was answering his prayers because that day he had received a handsome donation from a family of Lahore. The name sounded familiar. He told me that the eldest daughter in that family was still not married and wondered if I could help find a match for her. Inadvertently I said “Patricia”? “How do you know her,” he remarked. There were flashbacks but I dismissed them.

Recently I was in Lahore on a business trip. It was Sunday and I decided s to go to the Catholic Cathedral for the Mass. This was for the first time in thirty three years that I went there. After the Mass, I stood outside to greet familiar faces. To my surprise I saw Patricia walk out with her mother, graceful as ever. Years were bridged instantly and I felt like a young teenager desperately in love. They did not notice me.

I met an old friend and inquired about Patricia. She had never married, as her mother was too choosy. Then he recalled those school days and how I felt for her. A sudden sadness engulfed me.

As I left, I focussed the mirror of my car on her. I waited as she passed close by. This time there was no brushing of clothes of a bridesmaid at a wedding. Impulsively I felt like walking up to her and saying hello. I wanted them to see that I was no more a Chokraboy. But then I realised, it was none of her fault and that I will not hurt them. So I just drove past them and kept stealing a glance of her till I lost her sight.

That night nostalgia and sadness engulfed me as I drove on the motorway for Islamabad. I was finding it difficult to concentrate and stopped on the way. After refreshing myself, I bought a cassette of Lata. The first song was:

Kahan se aap zamaney ke baad aaye hain
Mere shabab ke janey ke baad aaye hain

As I traversed the heights of Kallar Kahar, tears rolled down my cheeks. It was after my mother’s death, twenty years ago that I cried again.

Destiny and coincidence play cruel tricks

Thank you Patricia for making me what I am.