Ecstasy

chapter 3

It was New Year‘s Eve: thirty minutes to go before the New Year began.
A group of ten or so teenagers were roaring around the city streets on
their motorbikes, doing all kinds of stunts. Some of them wore shiny
headbands to celebrate the coming year. An hour ago they were in one
of the uptown supermarkets, teasing girls with whistles. They had
firecrackers too which they let off to celebrate. At a quarter to twelve
they reached the parking lot of the Gymkhana Club where a New
Year‘s party was in full swing. The boys also had invitations to the
party and their parents were already there.
When they got in, it was five to midnight. In a few moments, the lights
in the hall and the dance floor would be switched off and then with a
display of fireworks on the lawns, the New Year would be heralded in.
The partying would be on all night—dancing, drinking—all the
festivities especially organized for the occasion by the Gymkhana
management. ‗Lights off‘ meant a display of complete abandon—that
was what the crowds came for.
One of the teenagers who had joined the party was on the dance floor,
rocking to the beat and impressing all with his performance. At ten
seconds to twelve the lights went off. Voices and laughter filled the hall
as people counted the seconds to the New Year, and this rose to a pitch
as the clock struck midnight and the hall lit up again. The teenagers
were now out in the parking lot, their car horns blaring away. Beer can
in hand, the youth who was on the dance floor got on the roof of a car.
He pulled out another beer can from his jacket and pitched it at the
windscreen of a parked car, which shattered with an explosion as the
full can hit it. He stood on the car, calmly drinking from the can of beer
in his hand.

-----------------------------

For the last half hour Salar had been watching Kamran trying to
master the video game: the score remained the same, probably because
Kamran was trying to maneuver a difficult track. Salar was also in the
lounge, busy writing notes. From time to time, he would look at the TV
screen as Kamran struggled to win more points.
Half an hour later, Salar put his notebook away, stifled a yawn,
stretched his legs out on the table and crossing his hands behind his
head, looked at the TV screen as Kamran started a new game, having
lost the previous round.
‗What‘s the problem, Kamran?‘
‗Nothing…I got this new game but it is really tough to score,‘ Kamran
said in a tired tone.
‗Let me see.‘ Salar got up from the sofa and took the remote control.
Kamran watched silently: in the opening seconds Salar was racing at a
speed that Kamran had never reached. The track that had challenged
Kamran was like child‘s play for Salar—it was hard for Kamran to
keep his eyes on the car that was racing at a fantastic speed in the first
minute, and yet Salar had complete control over it.
Three minutes later, Kamran saw the car swerve, go off the track and
explode into smithereens. Kamran turned to Salar with a smile—he
realized why the car had been destroyed: Laying the remote control
down on the table Salar picked up his notebook. ‗It‘s a very boring
game,‘ he remarked as he jumped over Kamran‘s legs and went out.
Kamran clenched his teeth as he saw the seven digit score on the screen.

_____________~
They were both quiet once again. Asjad was beginning to worry: Imama
had not always been as withdrawn as she was now. One could have
counted the words she had spoken in the last half hour. He had known
her since childhood; she was a lively girl. In the first year after their
engagement, Asjad had felt happy in her company—she was so quick-
witted and vivacious. But in the last few years, she had changed, the
transformation having become more pronounced since she started
medical school. Asjad felt that she had something on her mind. At times,
she would appear to be worried and sometimes she was distinctly cold
and distant as though she wanted to end their meeting and leave as soon
as possible. This time too he had the same feeling.
‗I often think that it is I who insists on our meeting—perhaps it makes
little difference to you whether we meet or not,‘ he said despondently.
She was sitting on a garden chair across from him, looking at the
creepers on the boundary wall. At Asjad‘s remark, she fixed her gaze on
him. He cast an inquiring glance, but she was silent, so he rephrased his
words.
‗My coming here makes no difference to you. Imama…am I right?‘
‗What can I say?‘
‗At least you can say ―No, you‘re mistaken‖, that …‘
‗No, you‘re mistaken,‘ Imama cut him short. Her tone was as cold and
her expression as indifferent as before.
Asjad sighed in despair.
‗Yes, I wish and pray that it may be so, that I may indeed be mistaken.
However, talking to you I feel you do not care.‘
‗What makes you think so?‘
Asjad detected a note of annoyance in her tone.
‗Many things—for one you never respond properly to anything I say.‘
‗I do make every effort to reply properly to whatever you say. What can
I do if you do not like what I have to say?‘
Asjad felt that she was more annoyed.
‗I did not mean that I did not like what you say: it‘s that you only say
―yes‖ or ―no‖ in response. Sometimes, I feel as if I‘m talking to myself.‘
‗When you ask me if I am well, I say ―yes‖ or ―no‖—what else can I
say? If you want to hear a spiel in response to a simple question then tell
me what you would like to hear and I‘ll say it.‘ She was serious.
‗You could add something to that ―yes‖ or ―no‖. If nothing else, ask me
how I am.‘
‗Ask you how are you are? You are sitting here across me, talking to me—obviously you are quite well. Otherwise, you‘d be at home, in bed,
sick.‘
‗Imama, these are formalities…‘
‗And you know very well that I do not believe in formalities. There‘s no
need for you to ask me how I am; I will not mind it at all.‘
Asjad was speechless. ‗Fine. Formalities aside, one can talk of other
things, discuss something. Talk to each other about what interests us,
what keeps us busy.‘
‗Asjad, what can I discuss with you? You‘re a businessman, I am a
medical student, What should I ask you? About the stock market
position? Was the trend bullish or bearish? By how many points did the
index rise? Or where you are sending the next consignment? How much
rebate did the government give you this time?‘ she went on coldly. ‗Or
shall I discuss anatomy with you? What affects the function of the liver?
What new techniques have been used for bypass surgery this year?
What should be the voltage of electric shocks given to restore a failing
heart? These are our spheres of work, so what points of discussion can
we have about these that will help us to achieve love and familiarity? I
fail to understand.‘
The color of Asjad‘s face deepened. He was cursing the moment that he
had complained to Imama.
‗There are other interests too in a person‘s life,‘ he said weakly.
‗No, besides my studies there‘s no other interest in my life,‘ Imama said
decisively, shaking her head for emphasis.
‗After all, we shared interests earlier on.‘
‗Forget about what happened earlier,‘ Imama interjected. ‗I cannot
afford to waste time now. What surprises me is that despite being a
businessman you are so immature and emotional; you should be more
practical.‘
Asjad was silent.
‗We know our relationship. If you think my practical approach to our
relationship shows a lack of interest or indifference then I cannot do
much about it. That I am here with you means that I value this
relationship, otherwise I would not be sitting here having tea with a
stranger.‘ She paused a moment, then continued, ‗And whether you
coming here or not makes any difference to me, the answer is that we
are both very busy people. We are the products of a modern age. I am
no Heer who waits upon you with delicacies while you play the flute, nor
are you Ranjha who will indulge me for hours. The truth is that it really
makes no difference whether or not we meet or talk. Our relationship, as it is today, will continue. Or do you feel it will change?‘
If Asjad‘s brow did not sweat, it was simply because it was the month of
December. There was a difference of eight years in their ages, but for
the first time Asjad felt it was not eight but eighteen—and she was the
older one. Just two weeks ago, she had turned nineteen, but to him it
seemed as if she had raced overnight from teenage to middle age and he
had regressed to his pre-teens! She sat across him, legs crossed and eyes
fixed on his face, impassively waiting for his response. Asjad looked at
the engagement ring on her finger and cleared his throat.
‗You‘re right…I just thought we should chat more because it would
help develop some understanding between us.‘
‗Asjad, I know and understand you very well. I am disappointed to
learn that you think we still need to develop an understanding between
us. I thought there already was a good deal of understanding.‘
Asjad had to accept that it wasn‘t his day.
‗And if you think that talking about business and anatomy will improve
the situation, then very well—we‘ll do that in the future.‘ There was an
element of disinterest in Imama‘s tone.
‗You‘re not happy with what I said?‘
‗Why should I be unhappy?‘ This embarrassed him further.
‗Perhaps I said the wrong thing…not perhaps, but certainly I said the
wrong thing.‘ He repeated the last phrase with emphasis. ‗You know
how important this relationship is for me. I have many dreams for the
future…‘
He took a deep breath. She continued to stare, expressionless, at the
creeper along the wall. ‗Perhaps that is why I am so sensitive about it. I
have no fears about us. This engagement took place with our consent.‘
His gaze was fixed on her and he spoke with emotion, but suddenly, he
felt once more that she was not there, that he was talking to himself.