All of My Heart Page 4

  I was wearing a cream-coloured kurta, embellished with gold embroidery. I knew it looked over the top but my mother and khalas had made me wear it. I had graduated from the university with a leading GPA. I had not only topped my department but also bagged a gold medal. During our final semester, a few foreign universities had made a visit and offered scholarships to some of the brightest students for a master’s degree abroad. Luckily, I was one of them. I was chosen for a programme at London Business School. I was ecstatic and overwhelmed. Amma was happy that her prayers had finally been heard, and she wouldn’t have to ask her brother for money any more. To celebrate my achievements, she’d invited all our relatives and close friends. She had prepared a lavish spread—chicken roast, mutton karahi, biryani, seekh kebab, kheer and gulab jamuns.

  The past eight years had whizzed by. I was a changed person now—not the old Rehaan. I wasn’t scared to take on the challenges life threw my way. I was going to live an independent life all by myself in a new place. London, the city of my dreams. The city where I saw myself in the future. I thought back to the day Zynah left for London. Zynah . . . I had not forgotten her. Even though she had chosen to sever all ties after leaving Pakistan, I still thought about her.

  ‘You look dashing, bhai!’ Azaan said, breaking my reverie.

  ‘Not as good as you,’ I said, running my hand playfully through his hair.

  ‘Why do you always mess up my hair?’ he said in an irritated tone.

  ‘Because you look cute with messy hair,’ I laughed.

  ‘Everybody’s waiting for you outside. I think you should stop getting ready and go meet the guests.’

  ‘Stop acting like my big brother,’ I told him, rolling my eyes.

  As I made my way outside, I saw my relatives looking at me with admiration. My young female cousins giggled as I walked past them. I couldn’t stop myself from smiling back at them.

  I found Amma in the kitchen, setting burfi on a tray. I hugged her from behind.

  ‘Rehaan . . . beta, where were you? Why are you so late? You know guests are waiting for you.’

  ‘I know, Amma. I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Acha, chalo, leave me now. There’s so much I have to do.’ She pushed me away and directed our maid to carry the trays outside.

  I made a face. I did not want to go outside and sit and talk to our relatives.

  ‘Rehaan, come, beta!’ Amma called me.

  ‘Coming . . .’

  I saw Shaidi Mamu sitting in a corner, talking to my other uncles. He turned to look at me and then flashed me a warm smile. His face glowed with pride. I was overcome by nostalgia for the time I had spent with him in his office, poring over automotive journals and discussing various business possibilities. He had been a father figure to me.

  I suddenly realized that I had not seen Abba all morning. I scanned the room and found him sitting all alone, lost in thought. My maternal family wasn’t fond of him. They believed it was a bad decision to let their daughter marry such an incompetent person. Abba, oblivious to my presence, looked at everyone’s faces, pretending to be happy. He had changed considerably in the last eight years. He had restarted his import-export business and had done his best to provide for his family. Our financial conditions had slightly improved.

  ‘Abba . . .’ I called out.

  ‘Hmm?’ he turned to look at me.

  ‘Have you had lunch?’ I asked him.

  ‘Yes, I did, son. You should have it too.’

  ‘Sure,’ I said and walked away.

  Only a week was left for my departure. Amma was almost done with my shopping. She had packed jars of achar and packets of dry fruits too and had asked me to eat them regularly. I knew I was going to miss her. This was the first time I was going away from my family. Amma did try to put up a brave front, but I knew deep down she was unhappy. Shaidi Mamu understood me. He told me to come back to Pakistan if I couldn’t adjust there. He even said he would give me the seed money to start my own business in case I decided to return after finishing my degree. But that’s not what I had planned. Though I had got a scholarship to study finance, I still wanted to pursue photography. To chase my dreams and live comfortably in London, I had decided to study during the day and work at night. This was the only way to survive in a foreign country.

  ‘Will you miss us, bhai?’ Azaan asked as we lay in our beds the night before I was to leave.

  ‘Of course, I am going to miss you. I’m going only for you and Amma; to better our future.’

  ‘Acha, listen, do not forget to send me a new PlayStation as soon as you reach.’

  ‘I will send you one as soon as possible.’

  ‘I’ll miss you,’ he whispered.

  ‘Me too,’ I said, tears rolling down my cheeks.

  I tossed and turned in my bed for a while but still couldn’t fall asleep. Finally, I gave up. I slipped my feet into my slippers and walked towards the kitchen to get a glass of water. I was surprised to see Abba sitting all by himself in the living room. I stepped closer to check on him.

  ‘Abba . . . you’re still up?’

  On seeing me, he sat up with a jerk. He instantly turned his face away to wipe his tears.

  ‘Yes, I woke up for namaz,’ he told me, avoiding eye contact.

  I could sense that he was upset and this surprised me. I had never thought that my decision to go abroad would affect him like this. I stepped closer to his chair and sat on the floor beside him. I took his hand in mine and looked at him. For a moment, he seemed taken aback.

  ‘I know your heart is heavy with guilt because you haven’t been able to provide for us,’ I whispered. ‘I would be lying if I said I wasn’t angry with you. I was angry because I wanted you to do what Shaidi Mamu did for me. I wanted you to pay for my school and university. All my life I’ve felt only hatred for you,’ I said, a slight tremble in my voice.

  Abba looked at me helplessly, tears forming in his eyes.

  ‘Despite everything . . . I know you have tried. If you hadn’t faced any troubles back then, maybe our lives would have been different.’

  Abba nodded, not looking at me.

  ‘Abba, I would not say it’s all your fault. It happens. Such is life.’

  He looked at me and nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks.

  ‘I may ignore the fact that you couldn’t look after our needs, but I won’t ignore the way you treat my mother. Abba, please, while I am away, I expect you to treat her with respect.’

  ‘I won’t. I promise,’ he said.

  ‘I hope you’re proud of me, Abba.’

  ‘Of course, beta,’ he said, taking my face in his hands. ‘I am very proud of you. I want you to do what I couldn’t. Make your mother proud.’

  I looked at him and smiled.

  ‘And forgive me. I wish I could have given you a better life.’

  I took his hand in mine and pressed it firmly.

  ‘Like I said, it’s not all your fault. You tried your best. Sometimes good things happen to bad people and bad things happen to good people. Life is cruel. The only way to survive is to keep fighting and not give up.’

  Abba nodded and leaned forward and hugged me.

  ‘I need you to take care of my son. Okay?’

  ‘I will. Take care of yourself and our family,’ I told him.

  The New Chapter

  London, UK

  I sat up with a jerk as the aircraft approached touchdown at Heathrow Airport. It was dark outside and I could see the runway lights glimmering below.

  Shaidi Mamu had already spoken to one of his friends based in London to help me get accommodation. Rahim, his childhood friend, had arranged for an apartment in East London that I would be sharing with another person. He had asked me to download an app called Uber—a newly introduced taxi service—as soon as I reached the airport, and to book a cab to reach the apartment. I followed his instructions carefully and was soon in a homebound taxi. I was really impressed with the technology, and made a mental note to discus
s it with Shaidi Mamu.

  As the taxi exited the airport, I rolled down the window and let the wind gush in while I feasted my eyes on the London landscape. I called my family to inform them that I had reached. Amma was almost in tears on hearing my voice. Thankfully Azaan intervened and calmed her down.

  The driver dropped me off outside the apartment building. I dragged my suitcase across the road and stepped on to the porch. No one responded to the first knock on the door, so I knocked a few more times. I wondered if the address was correct, double-checked it, resumed knocking and was just about to give up when someone yanked open the door.

  ‘Are you Rehaan Sheikh?’ a drowsy voice asked.

  A man with a handsome face had opened the door. He was wearing a pair of shorts and a loose V-neck vest.

  ‘Uh, yes. That’s me,’ I told him, heaving a sigh of relief.

  ‘Cool. Come in,’ he said, yawning.

  I made my way into the apartment, which had cream-coloured walls adorned with ivory curtains. A plasma-screen TV was affixed to one of the walls and the bookshelf next to it was stuffed with books of all sizes. A three-seater couch with colourful cushions was at the centre of this lounge. I kept my backpack on the floor while I took in the decor.

  ‘Your room is upstairs. You can put your stuff there.’ The guy, probably my flatmate, picked up my backpack and threw it back at me.

  I was startled at his odd behaviour. He did not offer to help me carry my luggage to the room, so I picked it all up and started climbing the stairs. The room assigned to me was not all that bad. It was small, the walls painted a sky blue, except for one which was a floor-to-ceiling window. A wooden cupboard and a study table occupied the remaining corners. I drew the curtains and leaned over the windowsill to get a better view of the road below.

  ‘Dude, are you hungry? Do you wanna eat something?’ a voice called out from behind.

  Startled, I turned around to find my flatmate standing at the door, a bowl of spaghetti in his hand.

  ‘No, thanks. I’m fine,’ I said.

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I am Vikram, by the way. I own this place,’ he said with a wave of his hand.

  ‘Oh. Nice to meet you, Vikram. I’m Rehaan.’

  ‘I know. You’ve come from Pakistan. I’m Indian. Hope that’s not a problem?’

  ‘Oh, no. No. Not at all,’ I said with a smile.

  ‘Cool. I hope you’re already aware of the payment terms and conditions?’

  ‘Yes, I know,’ I said with a nod.

  ‘Cool. See you around then,’ he said, closing the door behind him.

  I hurriedly took out my DSLR—a priceless possession I had purchased from my savings—and took a picture of the view in front of me. I smiled when I saw the results in the small camera screen.

  I don’t know when I fell asleep. When I woke up, the room was engulfed in darkness. I checked my mobile phone to see what the time was. I had slept for three hours straight. My stomach growled with hunger. I got off the bed, straightened my clothes and made my way outside. I could hear blaring music from the living room and wondered if Vikram was still around.

  ‘Vikram?’ I called out, but there was no response.

  I made my way downstairs and entered the living room. There was no one in sight. The TV was on but nobody was watching it. I looked around and finally found the kitchenette. I opened the fridge to see if there was something to eat. I found a can of orange juice. I couldn’t find a clean glass, so I drank directly from it.

  It was eerily quiet inside so much so that the hum of the refrigerator was distinctly audible. I shuddered a little as I threw the empty can in the dustbin and then hurried back to my room. As I crossed Vikram’s room, soft moans of pleasure caught my attention. I stepped closer to the door and then took a step back as the bed suddenly squeaked. I knew what was going on inside. I trembled a little and my cheeks turned a deep crimson. I almost ran to my room and quickly shut the door.

  I woke up early the next morning as I did not want to be late on my first day. I quickly took a shower and put on a pair of faded jeans and a grey pullover. As I made my way towards the staircase, I noticed that Vikram’s door was ajar. I wondered where he had gone at 8.30 a.m. I realized I should hurry and ran down the steps but stopped abruptly as I reached the kitchenette. A pretty girl, dressed in a loose shirt that hung over her bare shoulder and denim shorts, was sitting at the counter, sipping milk directly from a carton.

  ‘Hi,’ she said in a husky voice.

  I simply nodded at her and turned my gaze towards the refrigerator which was still slightly open. I opened it and took out another carton of milk and poured some in a glass.

  ‘You want me to make breakfast for you?’ she asked, leaning over the counter.

  I was slightly surprised at her question. Why would she make breakfast for me?

  ‘Hmm?’ she waited for my response.

  I was busy checking her out. She looked sensual in those night clothes. I gulped a mouthful of milk before replying. ‘No, thanks,’ I said, looking at my wristwatch.

  ‘By the way, I’m Avantika. Vikram’s . . .’

  ‘By the way . . .’ I cut her in between. ‘I am getting late. Maybe we can catch up later? Take care. Bye,’ I said putting the glass on the counter.

  London Business School was located on the northwest side of the city. After a ten-minute walk, I reached Westminster Station. From there, I took the Tube to Baker Street Station. It was a ten-minute walk from here to the university. As I walked down the cobbled street, I couldn’t stop marvelling at the beauty of the city. The architecture of LBS was stunningly beautiful. As I entered the campus, I noticed there was a sports centre, a restaurant, three cafés and a library all under one roof.

  As I made my way inside the university, I was blown away with its sheer elegance and beauty. One part of the university was still under construction, which indicated it was soon going to expand. I asked one of the students for directions to the office. The administrator gave me a few forms to fill and then congratulated me for getting a scholarship. There were only a few from my country who had got this opportunity.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘Uh, are there any extracurricular clubs I can be a part of? A media club?’

  ‘Yes, there are,’ the administrator told me.

  ‘I want to join the photography club, if there’s any.’

  ‘There is one. I’ll add your name to the members’ list so you can be notified of the upcoming sessions. Welcome to LBS,’ she said, smiling.

  ‘Thank you.’ I smiled back at her, feeling giddy.

  The Delusion

  I was glad that I was finally settling down. I had classes four days a week and the other three days were booked for the media club. I talked to Amma and Azaan almost every other day on Skype. Occasionally, I talked to Abba and Shaidi Mamu too. I also kept in touch with my school and college friends through Facebook. I would tease Ahmed and ask him to shift to London so I could hook him up with a gori. He would laugh at my absurdity as he knew his dad would never let him come.

  There were times when I seriously considered taking a part-time job to earn some extra money but both Amma and Shaidi Mamu always tried to talk me out of it. They told me I shouldn’t worry about the expenses and should only focus on my studies. I didn’t like being dependent on someone else. Therefore, I decided to take up a part-time job without telling anyone about it.

  My flatmate, Vikram, and his girlfriend chose to keep a distance from me, and I did the same.

  I would be lying if I said that I never searched for Zynah on social media. I did stalk her on Facebook sometimes. I could only look at her display and cover photos as most of her information was private. She still lived in London but I had no idea in which locality. I often fantasized about bumping into her some day.

  Instead of the Tube, I had taken a bus to the university. I regretted my decision as soon as I stepped in as it was over-crowded. Since I did not get a place t
o sit, I had to stand all the way to my stop. My backpack felt heavy on my shoulders as it was loaded with books, a laptop, and my camera. The bus stopped at a traffic signal and new passengers stepped in. Yawning, I looked outside the window. Suddenly my heartbeat quickened as I thought I saw a familiar face standing by the side of the road. Was it Zynah? Or was I hallucinating? It was difficult to say. I rubbed my eyes and inched closer to the glass window. The lights turned green and the bus jerked forward. It soon gathered speed and I lost sight of her. I wanted to believe she was Zynah. Who else could it be? I wish I had jumped out of the bus. I had missed the chance. But I had noticed the name of the music store behind her. I made a mental note to visit the store soon.

  The next few days passed rather slowly. Every day, I took the same bus, hoping to catch a glimpse of her once again. Unfortunately, there was no sign of her.

  But my luck changed one day. I saw her. I kept my eyes peeled as the bus stopped at the same signal again and there she was. Dressed in a pair of torn denims, a beige-coloured loose cardigan and brown ankle boots, she was walking towards the music store. As I observed her face, a sense of familiarity hit me. My heartbeat almost stopped. I knew her. I recognized her face. She looked exactly the same. The only difference was that she was wearing kajal. Her nose was still the same, delicate, but now a sparkling nose ring adorned it. She had grown her hair over the years; it fell beautifully in loose curls over her shoulders.

  I didn’t want to lose her again, so I quickly ran towards the exit door and jumped out. I noticed there was a lit cigarette between her fingers. She still had not quit smoking, I reflected. A lot had changed about Zynah but for me, she was still the same girl I had fallen in love with. I smiled at her, knowing that she wasn’t even aware of my presence. I couldn’t hold my excitement and happiness. I had finally found her.

  The Near Encounter

  Zynah was rummaging through her leather handbag. After she had found what she was looking for—a pair of earphones—she jerked her head up and turned it in my direction. I quickly hid my face behind a book. When I looked around after a few seconds, she was not at her spot. She had wandered off. I quickly crossed the road and followed her, as discreetly as possible. I wondered where she lived and if she still lived with her family. Was she still studying or had she completed her education? What if she’d settled down? What if there was someone else in her life? What if she was dating someone? Brushing off these thoughts, I tried to focus on where she was going.