Dreams of Dania

In our dreams, we are truly free; free to fly, soar high. We are free even free to fall in love, free to attain great worldy achievements, but, most importantly, free to believe in the physical manifestation of our noble dreams that we dream.

Hello! My name is Qaiser Wahid. Today, I am going to visit my friend Kamran Mureed Khan. Kamran lives in the old part of Lahore, near Lahori Gate. Living there, he says, makes him feel in sync with the heartbeats of the City. His ancestors were saddle-makers for the Mughal Emperors, hence it is of little surprise that today he heads a corporation that owns a string of traditional leather shoe stores across the country.

But despite his success in life, he maintains a low profile. And he lives in a century-old quarter-like home that has a cross-connected balcony stretching the four corners of the second floor, adjacent rooms, a living hall that lacks a roof overhead and modest sheesham wood furniture made in the city of Chiniot. There is a kitchen at the back end of the dwelling, and in one corner a large room filled with books from floor to ceiling a couple of dehumidifiers and some sitting furniture in the middle.

I have always sought his counsel through my adolescent years. And even now. He once saved me, in my younger days, from a couple of hooligans as they beat me in the middle of the street, guided me through a philosophy paper I had to write for school, and now, bechara I, I had come to him for I had begun to like a girl. He has never failed to ingrain in me a sense of perspective for the questions of my life I put him through. And I have put him through a lot.

I have always been eccentric, a risk-taker. I almost got myself killed riding a 400cc motorbike, almost fell off a ridge while trekking through Swat Valley, took 6 courses in one semester and nearly fried my brain, and now, bechara I. Having thought this matter of love a little less reverential for discussion with Kamran, I had discussed the condition of my heart with 3 friends but encountered inglorious responses such as, "Pyaray, you don't love a girl you have sex with her," and "Abay yaar, go to a kotha at Heera Mandi and spend the night and you'll be ok in the morning," and "Seriously, you're telling me that girls are that intelligent?!"

Since the characters of Majnoo, Peter Abelard, and St. Valentine evoke the same hair-raisng emotion in me as related with their love lives, I felt cornered and decided to stress test my friend and mentor Kamran to a new height regarding the resolution of my unusual emotional state as I had not known myself to feel this way, with this much intensity, before.

I knocked his door and waited. Nafees, the boy maid, appeared and greeted me and asked me to wait. A few seconds later he re-appeared and beckoned me to come in as the ladies had the chance to done their head coverings. "Assalamu Alaikum, Ama," I said upon seeing Kamran's mother. She was a sweetheart, always cooking great food, always warm, and always insisting I call her Ama, or mother. "Kaisay ho, how is everything at home, Ama Abba,?" She asked. "Sab theek hai, and Ama sent these sweets for you," I said as I handed her the pure ghee sweets my mom made for the family.

She took the sweets from me, "Jeetay raho," said she as she blessed me by rubbing her hand over my scalp. "Betho," she gestured to the simple cushioned chair, "Kamran will be right back from the halwa puri shop. I sat and waited for Kamran as Ama went into the kitchen and Nafees brought me a glass of ice cold rooh afzah.

Kamran entered the home a few minutes later, and upon seeing me warmly cried, "Baboooooo. Salam, kaisa hai?" "W'salam, Zaberdast, Kamran bhai. And you?" I said as we hugged. He also treated me like a younger brother. "Behtareen, Behtareen," he said as we sat.

"You know I got the book titled God Gene. You'll enjoy it thoroughly."

"Ok," I said.

We sat there and ate halwa puri, exchanged customaries and the usual hodge podge of what was happening in and about our City, our Country, the world for about an hour.

As if sensing something out of order with me, he ventured, "How is everything else?" That one sentence caught me off guard as I was so engrossed in enjoying our conversation. At that very moment, I felt my heart pound loudly, my face must have started to turn red as I found it difficult to breathe.

"Let's wash our hands," he said, "and go to the library."

I nodded and followed him.

He closed the door behind us in the library as we sat.

"How is everything at home, Ami Abba, aur sub kuch?"

"Family is fine and ..."

"Haan, then, what, kya? bol."

I waited. And summoning the courage, began, "Dekho, it's not a joke. And if you respond in the negative I will lead a life of celibacy. But I think I am beginning to like a girl."

"You know we are a very traditional Islamic family?"

"Yes, of course."

"Explain to me what exactly you mean."

"Well, I was passing by the Chowk where by the Literary Corner people were demonstrating their works of art. Some were writing graffiti, some were just randomly painting, and there was this girl, Dania, who was writing poetry. Her poetry bordered on Nihilism, and Existential Angst. I read her works, and felt like my wounds from 2001 were freshened. I felt sharp stabs piercing my heart and brain. Nevertheless, I ignored her and went home."

"And...?"

"And the whole week went by, and I was engrossed with work. But again, on Sunday, when I was passing by the Chowk after buying a book from Liberty Market I saw her there writing similar poetry. Reading her poetry was like looking at myself in the mirror, it hit too close to home. So I made the move and started a conversation."

"Hi," I said, "You like Sartre and Beauvoir. How about Nietzsche or Kierkegaard? You have any preference between religious and secular existentialism? What other spoons of philosophy stir your thoughts' coffee?"

"Strangely, I haven't gotten around to reading either one of them. I will some day, I think. I'm both a believer and a non-believer so I don't discriminate in existentialism. As for spoons and coffees and philosophy, its a tangled web, don't really know which spoon is stirring which cup and what coffee grounds are in what pot," She replied.

I naturally laughed, "I am Qaiser," I said.

"Dania."

She went back to writing and there was an awkward silence.

I began, "How can one be a believer and a non-believer at once? I don't think of existentialism as an objective philosophy but rather as an associative science as a lot of it closely mirrors psychology."

"Well its the situation and mood and time that makes me a believer and non believer at the same time. Reason says there is a possibility there may not be a higher being and emotion says, "oh, hell, of course there is" Or is it the other way around? I haven't decided yet."

"So," I said to Kamran, "That's how it began." We had a long conversation after that and our meetings became more frequent. Sometimes we would talk for hours on end. Later, though our discussions on philosophy continued, we moved on to rather simplistic topics like Bollywood music, art films, books, the Pakistani and Indian cultures, fashion. She coaxed me into watching the movie "Water" saying that if I didn't watch it then we're friends no more. Naturally, I had to watch the movie."

"hmmm..."

"Yeah," I paused to catch my breath, "She would tell me about her past, about her family and her friends and I would tell her about mine. You know, Kamran bhai, the pagal larki is majoring in French at university. Sometimes she would translate French poetry in English and let me read it. Reading her words, I felt like she was like an illusionist who makes appear a flower and a dove out of thin air. Like she would set a consonant ablaze, and it would burn in passion like Martian twilight."

"I must confess that I began to see a change in you since last year after that tragedy struck you in 2001. But go on ..."

"You did?!!! You see, I was happy. Everyday I started to look forward to life, I felt like dancing most of the time. Everywhere I looked, I saw the manifestation of the word "elation." I on a few occasion shared her poems with Sis Rayna, and she said that Dania wrote like me. I still thought that Dania had a unique way of expressing herself, that was hers alone. She wrote like Dania."

"mhmmm..."

"Haan, and sometime after an year of knowing her I began to like her. So full of life, she is. Every one of her gestures is so unique, even the way she moves her hands are so art like, spontaneous. She looks like an angel when she lets her hair loose. The way she talks, the way she dresses, the way she writes, her gestures, after so many months of interaction I started to feel like either she was gradually becoming me or that I was becoming her."

"Yeah..."

"Jee, and I believe that if you like someone with a pakeeza feeling you should tell her. I just could not find the words since the last few months since I did not know how she would react, if she would start to hate me, if she would never see me again, if she would deride my guts as being offensive. But I, being Icarus, did. I told her that I am beginning to like her. I, for once, told her because I did not know if she had a boyfriend or a boy her family had in mind. And if she did, I would kill my feeling for her. She was somewhat surprised after I told her which made me think that she had not anticipated what I told her. The last words I heard from her were: "I am sorry, I have to go, this is crazy. Bubye." She left and I have not heard from her since."

"buss?"

"I also told her that I know where the situation stands, and that if she took offense that I apologize to her. And that I have no plans to rush into anything. Jee, buss."

Kamran fell silent, as if thinking. I realized that he was attempting to make sense of all that I had told him. At that moment, Nafees knocked the door. "Haan?" Kamran bhai asked. "Chai," he said. "Aja," Kamran bhai told him. He came, gently put two a tray with two cups of tea in flowery china and left, shutting the door behind him.

Kamran began, as he stirred the teas with a small spoon, "You obviously like this girl. And I trust you have never touched her, never been out late with her as to offend her family. She obviously seems educated and responsible. I can tell that she likes you, too, but can't assume to know how much and in what capacity."

"Jee..."

"Certainly, even if she did begin to like you in a romantic capacity she was not consciously aware of it as i can tell. So either way, her response of shock seems justified. Will you do something stupid if you can't have her in your life?"

"haha ... nahi. strictly speaking, I don't even know if what I feel for her is infatuation or a solid, stable form of liking. And I tried to make her aware of this. I believe that only with the passing of time can one really be sure of the nature of these feelings."

"Ok, yeah, I'm glad you feel this way. If your feelings are sincere and genuine, do not lose heart because it seemed like you two had something good going before you told her what you did. If you sincerely like her, she will most probably realize it and come back to you. In our culture, girls can react like this because of izzat, piety, and that shows that she belongs to a good family with noble values. If she comes back to you, continue your relationship with her keeping in mind our traditions and values. Otherwise, you two can be friends, even good friends. But if she doesn't come back, not it not to heart."

"You speak so logically, and I will do as you say," tears rolled down my eyes, "but it is so difficult to believe that she may not return. Is there some dawa I can take to neutralize this pain? Something? Anything?"

"Meri jaan, you remember the quote by Rumi that the cure for pain is in the pain itself?"

"Jee," I said, "I do."

"Then always remember that. Dania is a human being, and if what you felt for her was genuine she will realize it because every human has the capacity of feeling and can distinguish right from wrong."

Kamran got up and walked over to me, and quietly held my shoulders from behind. I felt like I was surrounded by a figure that was simultaneously both a father and a mother. At that very instant, the splinter in my head stopped to move further and my nerves relaxed, as I wept.

Within the next hour, I felt my being transform in sojourn towards Nirvana from the valley of tranquility. It was perhaps, as if, like the Great Lama had presented me with a Mandala and said, "Now go and be. Be the center."

As I left Kamran's home, I felt more reverently for him than ever. I had left it upto causality and my dreams of Dania I had harbored in me all the while. At least she was mine in that moment, she was me. Sometimes I would wake up at 4 in the morning and call her, she would pick up and we would talk.

She once asked me to read a book, and I did. Never have I ever read 260 pages in 10 hours straight without so much as a bathroom break. I became a hermit, a lunatic, oblivious to reality. It was just me and the book. And with the turn of every page, I felt that Dania drew closer to me.

I once told Dania and I do not know what I will do if she ever asked me for something, which for whatever reason, I could not give her. Bewakoof, she did not understand I think. As I left, I began to feel the temporal reality of Dania and how it beautifully illuminated
my heart. She may not be mine, but I have known her with much closeness and known, as a result, myself better. I am more myself today than I was before I met. The following Neruda poem came to mind that I once shared with her:

"Ah, love is a voyage of water and a star,
in drowning air and squalls of precipitate bran;
love is a war of light in the lightening flashes,
two bodies blasted in a single burst of honey."

I had dared to attempt to manifest my noble dream, and came out as a better version myself.