'The lunch is on me, but you will decide the menu,' he said with a smile.
'OK,' Ramsha responded with a wide grin. As she looked through the menu, Salar looked around. She placed the order and the waiter left.
'Your invitation for lunch was a real surprise for me,' she remarked. 'You had not done this before—ever. In fact, you refused my invitation.'
'Yes, but now there are some things we must discuss and that's why I invited you here,' he replied.
Ramsha looked at him meaningfully. 'Some things to talk about? Just what?'
'Let's eat first. We'll talk later.' Salar tried to put it off.
'But by the time we are served and we have eaten, it'll be too late. Wouldn't it be better to talk now?' she asked impatiently.
'No, it's not better. After lunch,' he said in a final tone.
Ramsha did not insist. They engaged in small talk. Then lunch was served and they began to eat. It took them nearly an hour to finish and then Salar ordered some coffee.
'I think it's time we talked,' said Ramsha, taking the first sip of coffee. Salar appeared very serious: head bent, he was stirring his coffee. When Ramsha spoke, he looked up at her. 'I wanted to talk to you about that card you sent me two days ago.'
Ramsha blushed deeply. Two days ago when Salar got home, a bouquet and a card awaited him. He had been away for a week to Hong Kong on official work. The flowers and card were from Ramsha.
'You have no idea how thrilled I'll be to see you again.' Salar read the card, his mind stilled. His worst fears had proved true—Ramsha was expressing her sentiments for him. The next day at work, he did not mention the card, but over the weekend, he invited her for lunch. It was necessary to clear these matters with her.
'Did the card offend you?' she asked.
'No—it was the message.'
Ramsha was somewhat embarrassed. 'I am sorry! But Salar, I just...I just wanted to tell you how much I missed you.'
Salar took a sip of the coffee.
'I like you. I want to marry you,' Ramsha spoke after a brief pause. 'It's possible that this proposal may seem very odd to you, but I've wanted to discuss this with you since some time. I'm not flirting with you—whatever I've written on the card is what I really feel for you.'
Salar let her complete her words. He had put down the cup of coffee.
'But I don not want to marry you.' He spoke frankly.
'Why?'
'Is it necessary to answer this?' he asked.
'No, not really, but what's the harm in saying so?'
'Why do you want to marry me?' he queried in response.
'Because you're different.'
Salar sighed deeply.
'You're not like other men. You have a stature; you're cultured, well-groomed.'
'I'm not like that'
'Prove it,' she was challenging him.
'I can but I won't,' he said taking another sip of coffee. 'Every man is better than Salar Sikandar.'
'In what way?'
'In everyway...'
'I don't accept that.'
'Your accepting or not accepting won't change the reality.'
'I know it. I've been working with you for the last year and a half.'
'It's not advisable to come to a conclusion about men in such a short time.'
'Nothing that you say will change my opinion about you.' Ramsha was set in her views.
'You'll find much better prospects than me in the circles you move in. considering your family background.'
'Talk only about yourself.'
'Ramsha, I love someone else,' he confessed at last. For the first time in this conversation, the color drained from her face.
'You...you never told me.'
Salar smiled softly. 'We've never been that informal with each other.'
'Are you going to marry her?'
There was a long spell of silence between them.
'It's possible that I may not be able to marry her because of some problems,' he said.
'I'm unable to understand you. You love someone knowing that you cannot marry her?'
'It is something like that.'
'Salar, you're not quite so emotional. How can you say such things, being the practical person you are?' Ramsha laughed mockingly. 'Supposing you do not succeed in marrying her, then will you never get married?'
'No.'
She shook her head. 'I don't believe it!'
'But that's how it is. If ever I do think of marriage it may be ten or fifteen years hence—and it's possible that I may not even be alive so many years later,' he said dryly, as he beckoned the waiter.
'Ramsha, I'd appreciate if after today's discussion such an issue will not arise again between us. We are good colleagues and I'd want our connection to be confined to that. Don't waste your time on me—I am not what you take me to be.'
The waiter came with the bill; Ramsha, lost in thought, watched Salar settle the tab with the waiter.
-------------------------
Salar was out of the office for some work. Seeing the traffic rush at the railway crossing, from a distance, he turned the car around. He did not want to waste his time being stuck in a traffic jam.
He reversed and turned another turn. It was a by-lane and was quite deserted. He had hardly covered some distance when he saw an old lady sitting on the kerb. From her clothes and general appearance she looked as though she was from a well-placed family. He could see that she was wearing gold bangles too, and he felt apprehensive that on this quiet road she may well become a victim of someone's greed. He pulled up near her and stopped the car.
The lady's fair complexion had become flushed and she seemed breathless. Maybe she had sat down to recover her breath.
"Assalam alaikum Ammaji! What's the problem? Why are you sitting here?' Salar asked, taking off his sun glasses and looking out of the window.
'Beta, I can't find a rickshaw.'
Salar was surprised at her. It was not a main road. It was a side street of a residential area and there was no possibility of finding a rickshaw there.
'Ammaji! You won't get a rickshaw here. Where've you got to go?'
The lady mentioned the name of an area of the inner city. It was not at all possible for Salar to have gone and dropped her there.
'Come with me. I'll drop you on the main road and you'll get a rickshaw from there.' Salar undid the lock of the rear door and got down from the car. Ammaji appeared quite apprehensive and Salar immediately sensed her misgivings.
'Ammaji! You needn't be afraid. I'm a respectable person, I won't harm you. I only want to help you because you won't find a rickshaw on this road now; the road is deserted and you've got jewelry on you. Somebody could harm you.'
Salar gently tried to dispel her fears. The lady, adjusting her glasses, looked at her bangles and said to Salar, 'Now....all this jewelry is imitation.'
'Fine, this is very good, but somebody might misjudge it. Nobody's going to ask you if it's real or fake,' Salar pretended, glossing over her lie.
She debated, and Salar was getting late.
'It's OK, Ammaji, if you'd rather not ' he turned back towards the car. Ammaji spoke up.
'No, no. I'll go with you; as it is, my feet are killing me.' She tried to get up, pushing down on her legs.
Salar, holding her arm, pulled her up, opened the rear door and helped her in.
He crossed the side street and quickly came on to the main road. He was looking for a rickshaw but none was to be found there. He was driving slowly, scanning the traffic for a free rickshaw.
'What's your name, son?' she asked.
'Salar.'
'Slaar?' she repeated, as though for confirmation. He smiled bemusedly, as this was the first time he had heard his name mispronounced. Correction was futile, as she was a Punjabi woman who was, with difficulty, speaking with him in Urdu.
'Yes,' Salar confirmed.
'What's this name, and what does it mean?' she suddenly asked with interest.
Salar, no
w speaking in Punjabi, explained the meaning of his name to her. Ammaji was pleasantly surprised at his speaking to her in Punjabi, and started to speak to him in it.
After asking Salar the meaning of his name, she said, 'My elder daughter-in-law has had a son.'
He was surprised. It had not occurred to him that after learning the meaning of his name she would come out with this. 'Congratulations,' was all that he could say spontaneously.
'Yes, thank you.' She received his congratulations with much good cheer.
'My daughter-in-law had called me: "Ammi, please suggest a name." Shall I give her your name?'
Surprised, he looked at her in the rear view mirror, 'Yes, do that.'
'Now, that solves this problem.'
Ammaji, very relaxed, took off her glasses and started wiping them with the end of her large chador. Salar had not found a rickshaw yet.
'How old are you?' She resumed the conversation from where she'd left off.
He told his age.
'Are you married?'
This set Salar thinking. He wanted to say 'Yes' but realized that if he did, it would lead to a string of questions. He decided to deny it and that turned out to be his biggest mistake of the day.
'No.'
'Why not?'
'Just like that—never thought of it,' he lied.
'I see.' There was silence for a while. Salar prayed for a rickshaw to come along: he was getting late.
'What do you do?'
'I work in a bank.'
'What sort of work?'
Salar told her his designation—he believed it would not register with her.
But he was astonished when she replied, That's an officer, isn't it?'
Salar laughed out—no one could have better explained his work. 'Yes, Ammaji—it is an officer.'
'How educated are you?'
'Sixteen grades.' This time Salar's response was in the kind of terminology she would understand. Her reply was even more amazing.
'Sixteen grades—what do you mean? Have you got an MBA degree or an MA in Economics?'
Salar suddenly turned to look at her. She was watching him through her spectacles.
'Do you know what an MBA or an MA in economics is?' he was really surprised.
'Now, wouldn't I know? My eldest son got his MA economics degree here in Pakistan; then he went to England for his MBA. He's the one whose wife had a son.'
Salar took a long breath.
'So, you haven't told me yet...'
Salar seemed to have forgotten what she had asked him.
'About your education,' she continued.
'I have an MBA degree.'
'From where?'
'From America.'
'Very well. And your parents—are they living?'
Salar replied in the affirmative. Then she asked him about his siblings: the questions seemed to be endless. Salar could not find an escape.
'Five.'
'How many sisters and how many brothers?'
'Three brothers and a sister.'
'How many of them are married?'
'All except me.'
"Are you the youngest?'
'No. I'm the fourth—I have a younger brother.' For the first time, Salar regretted his impulsive decision to help this old lady.
'Is he married too?' she went on. When Salar said 'yes' she asked, 'Then why aren't you married? Was there a love affair or something?'
Salar was really taken aback. Was she some kind of psychic? He avoided her query. 'We can't seem to find a rickshaw, so tell me your address and I'll drop you off myself.' He was already late and since there was no other transport available, he could not leave her stranded on the road.
She gave him the address. He couldn't make it out, so he pulled up near a traffic constable at the crossroads and asked him the way. The man explained the route; Salar moved on.
'So, you didn't tell me if there was a love affair that stopped you.'
Salar wanted to hang himself. That lady had not forgotten her last question whereas he was prepared to go all the way to drop her off just to get out of this.
'No, Ammaji, there was no such business.' He spoke very seriously this time.
'Alhamdolillah!' He couldn't quite make out in what context this term had been used. Now she was interrogating him about his parents, wanting to know all sorts of details. Salar was really stuck in an awkward situation. The worst was when he reached the locality where she lived: he asked her to direct him to her house.
'Well, I do live here but I don't know the way.'
He was stunned. 'Then how am I supposed to drop you home without knowing how to get there?'
She gave him the name and number of her house.
"No, no. I need to know the name or number of the street.'
She began to tell him about the landmarks. 'There's a sweet shop at the corner of the street... It's a very wide street... .Parvez Sahib's house is also there—the same man whose son got married in Germany last week. His first wife is living here, and she cried her heart out when she learnt of his second marriage.' She veered off in another direction instead of showing him the signposts.
Salar pulled up by the roadside. 'Ammaji, what's your husband's name? Give me some detail about your house and your street. I can't get you home this way.' He spoke as patiently as he could.
'I'm known as Saeeda Amma. My poor husband passed away ten years ago and people have forgotten about him. I told you that the street I live on is very wide. Three days ago, they replaced two of the drain covers there— absolutely new and cemented in place. Every second month somebody would make off with those covers, but now they're safe.'
Salar sighed in exasperation.
'Should I be asking people to direct me to the lane with the new drain covers? Give me the name of someone there who's well known to the residents.'
'There's Murtaza Sahib whose son broke his leg yesterday morning.'
'Ammaji, that's no introduction.'
She got into a huff over this. 'Well, people don't break their legs everyday—it's not common in every household!'
Salar stepped down from the car and walked up to the shops nearby, with the hope of locating her home using the 'landmarks' she had supplied. He realized that it would be impossible at least within the span of that day. He returned disappointed.
'Do you have a telephone at home?' he asked as he got into the car.
'Yes, I do.'
Salar was relieved. 'Tell me the number he said, switching on his mobile phone.
'That I don't know.'
Salar was in near despair. 'You don't know your phone number?'
'Son, I hardly use the telephone. My sons call me up themselves and so do my other relatives; and if I need to speak to anyone, my daughter dials the number for me.'
'Who had you gone to visit in Model Town?' A thought struck Salar.
'I have some relatives there. I went to distribute sweets to celebrate my grandson's birth,' she replied very proudly.
'Fine,' said Salar, somewhat relieved. 'We'll go there. What's the address?'
'I don't know.'
Salar was too distraught to say anything.
'Then how did you get there?' he finally asked.
'You see, if I want to go anywhere, my neighbour's children drop me off. They know all the addresses; they've been doing this for the last ten years. Then Bilal brings me back from there. They also used to live in our locality till about ten years ago, so everyone knows their house.'
She continued, 'What happened today was that no one was home except the maid servant. I sat there for a while but since there was no sign of their returning, I decided to go home myself. And praise be to God, I found you.'
'Ammaji, what address would you have given the rickshaw driver?'
'The same that I gave you!' he could not help but marvel at her intelligence.
'Have you ever found your way home, with such directions?' he asked rather morosely as he reversed the car and turned it toward the ma
in road.
'No, never...I never needed to,' she replied calmly. Her peace of mind was enviable.
'Where are you going now?' Saeeda Amma could not be quiet for long.
'I'm taking you back to where I found you. The house must be on the same road. Did you take a turn anywhere?' he asked as he looked at her in the rearview mirror.
'No, I didn't turn anywhere,' she replied in an upset tone. Salar didn't note that. He was feeling better as he thought the house would be easier to locate on the main road rather than in the inner lanes.
'Do you smoke cigarettes?' She broke the silence again. He was a little jolted. When he looked at her in the mirror, she was watching him too.
'Me? Uh, no.' He hadn't quite fathomed the question.
'Any other addiction, etc?'
More than the question it was her very informal style that astonished him. 'Why do you ask that?'
'Just by the way. You can't expect me to stay quite all the way.' She seemed to be expressing her problem.
'What does it seem to you? That I take drugs?' he asked.
'No, not at all... I was just curious. So you don't?'
Salar was amused by her defensive style. 'No, I don't,' he said briefly. They had stopped at a traffic signal.
'Any girl friend?'
Salar thought he had heard wrong. He turned around and asked, 'What did you say?'
'I asked you if you had any girl friend,' she replied, stressing the last two words.
Salar burst out into laughter. 'Do you know what a girl friend is?'
Saeeda Amma took offence at his question. 'Why indeed! I have two sons and you expect me not to know what a girl friend is. When they went abroad for studies, my husband had warned them not to have any girl friends. They used to call home every month.'
The signal turned green and Salar, looking ahead now, put his foot on the accelerator. Saeeda Amma continued her discourse.
'I used to tell them to swear that they had no girl friends. Till they got married, they would swear this to me—even before greeting me,' she said very proudly. 'My sons are very obedient; they didn't get involved with girls there.'
'Did you arrange their marriages by your choice?' Salar enquired.