Love Across Borders (8 page)

Dear Saira,

I’m so sorry to hear about Uncle. And I’m sorry that I could not be
with you and Aunty at what must have been the most difficult phase
in your life. But do know that you were never far from my
thoughts.

It is good to know that you managed to work
away your difficulties and get to such a senior position. You seem
to have such an exciting life.

I would love to meet you at some point. But
I don’t travel much. I’m pretty much homebound since Vasu. Maybe
when he is grown up…But Saira, all you mentioned was work? Isn’t
there a special someone in your life? Do write when you get time. I
know how busy your life can be with work and everything else.

Hugs,
Tara
Tara pressed ‘Send’ and leaned back. Saira was right. Things had
changed. Now with so many things other than just distances
separating them, were they still the friends they used to be? Or
had that relationship changed as well, nudged by the hands of time
and fate?

***

“
Ami
, please try and understand—it’s a
really fabulous opportunity for me,” Saira tried to get through to
her mother for the umpteenth time. True the opportunity was good, a
two-year contract in Johannesburg as senior marketing manager. She
had been working towards a foreign posting for a while now and this
was a great opportunity. But she did feel guilty about leaving her
mother alone, especially when her health wasn’t that great.

“But,
beta
, there are such stories about
South Africa, and especially Johannesburg. And you a single woman,
all by yourself there. I don’t know, Saira, I don’t think you
should go.” Her mother reiterated her fears once again.

Saira hmmphed impatiently. “Ami, there is no way
I am passing up on this opportunity and marrying some poor sod and
settling down into comfortable domesticity like you want. I am
going to Jo’burg and, if you want, you can come with me.”

She walked out, slamming the door behind her.
Tears smarted in her eyes. She was so sick of it all, having to
work like a dog at the office only to come home and find it wasn’t
good enough. Her mother wanted her to be someone else entirely. Her
perfect daughter would probably be someone just like Tara.

She thought about Tara’s response. A ‘special
someone’—yeah right! There was no time in her life for a special
someone. Tara’s message had been in her inbox for a week now. This
was the perfect time to respond. She opened up the computer and sat
down purposefully to write.

Hi Tara,

Too bad you don’t travel. I am sure your
husband must go on business trips. Put your foot down and fly with
him next time. As for me, there is a new and exciting development
in my life. I am off to Johannesburg to head the food products
marketing division. It’s a really important assignment that
practically ensures a top slot for me back in Pakistan when it is
over. And who knows, I may meet someone special, or maybe several
someones while I am out there…

The move happens two weeks from now and I
need to hand over stuff here and settle into my new position there,
so not sure if I will be able to communicate much for the next few
months.

Take care and love to your little Vasu.

Saira

She pressed ‘Send’ and shut her computer. Time
to leave the past behind and move on to bigger and better
things.

***

Tara sat in front of her computer tiredly—it had
been a long day. She clicked on messages and there it was—a message
from Saira. She hesitated before opening it. It had been six months
since they had last written to each other. Since then, she
occasionally saw a status update or a picture of Saira at a safari
or a hotel, looking like she was having the time of her life. She
had also found an occasional ‘Like’ or a comment by her on her
photos of Vasu. But they hadn’t bothered to reconnect. Till now. Oh
well, it was probably another update on her achievements or
something—might as well get it over with.

Dear Tara,

Am at Dubai airport after an overnight
flight from Jo’burg, waiting for my flight to Karachi. Am going
back because Ami had a stroke. Am so scared. Don’t know what I’ll
find when I get back. She’s all I have. Can’t stop thinking of how
sad she was when I left. And for what—a job?

It may be too late, but I just want to let
you know that I never forgot you. I lost you and Abu at the same
time, and I never wanted to feel like that ever again. But life
does goes on… and you did come back.

I don’t know if you’ll forgive me for
pushing you away. But at this moment I realize how short life is
and how precious our connections are. You and Ami are the only ones
who were always there for me and put up with me. Anyway. Sorry for
all the drama. Flight’s been announced. Got to go now. Please pray
for Ami.

Love,

Saira

PS: I am sure you’re a great mother by the
way. You were born to be one.

Tara sat, holding her heart. Slowly her fingers
moved to the keyboard. ‘Saira,’ she thought, ‘my Saira, I have
found you again.’

∞

ABOUT
SHWETA
GANESH KUMAR

Shweta Ganesh Kumar is the bestselling author of
‘Coming Up on the Show’ and ‘Between the Headlines’, two novels on
the Indian broadcast news industry. She has a monthly travel
column called ‘Trippin With Shweta’ in Travel and Flavours
Magazine.

A major chunk of Shweta’s childhood was spent in
Muscat, in the Sultanate of Oman. Some of her closest friends, in
the apartment building where she lived with her parents, were from
Pakistan. Having left Muscat in an age before Facebook and other
social networking sites, Shweta was unable to stay in touch with
her childhood friends and still wonders where they are now. While
collaborating on ‘Best Friends Forever’ with Naheed Hassan, it was
this emotion she tapped into.

Shweta currently lives in El Salvador with her
husband and one-year-old daughter. Her latest book, ‘A
Newlywed’s Adventures in Married Land,’ is now available worldwide
via Indireads.

You can read more about her life and work at
www.shwetaganeshkumar.com

ABOUT NAHEED HASSAN

Naheed Hassan is a writer, editor and the founder of
Indireads. Although she has been trained as an economist, her first
love is words and stories. She has been a voracious reader her
whole life and believes she is privileged beyond belief to work
with new and aspiring authors, helping them bring their dreams to
life. Love Across Borders has been a labor of love for her, and she
believes strongly that fiction has the power to intrigue, interest
and engage people, and that words effect change long after and
beyond the end of a story. She hopes that this collection of short
stories, written by passionate authors using their words for peace,
will transcend borders and divides, touching hearts and
imaginations.

Naheed is a social entrepreneur and has led
initiatives in development and disaster relief. She holds a MPA in
international development from Harvard, an MBA from the Institute
of Business Administration and a BSc in economics from the
University of London.

Lost and Found

NIDHI SHENDURNIKAR TERE

Dilip did not know how to use Facebook. His
grandchildren mocked him for not keeping pace with time and
technology. Reluctantly, he opened an account and despite his
initial fear and apprehension, was hooked instantly.

Retired, he now spent the better part of his day
surfing the net, connecting and chatting with an ever-increasing
circle of friends. Within a few months he had found far-flung
cousins and had established contact with long-lost friends. But
there was one who eluded him and each day, as soon as he logged in,
he would trawl different networks looking for this one particular
friend.

“Who are you looking for
Dada-ji
?” asked
his teenage grandson Rohan.

“A friend.”

And the search continued.

***

Dilip sat in the garden with his cup of tea and
thought back to his college days in the US. Although forty years
had passed, if he closed his eyes, he could recall them clearly. He
could see himself, on his first day on the campus of the University
of Iowa, surrounded by blond Americans, feeling awkward, alone and
very far from home. He had been delighted to catch sight of a
familiar face and immediately approached him.

“Hi, I’m Dilip.” And in a bid to place the tall,
clear-cut features looking back at him, “which part of India are
you from?”

“Pervez. And actually, I’m from Pakistan,” came
the reply. “I guess we used to be part of India once,” he added
with a smile.

Dilip stepped back. It was 1971 and the two
countries were on the brink of war. He was not sure how he could be
friends with the enemy. Alone and in a minority of one, he found
himself feeling more Indian than ever before.

However, on the small campus they were fated to
meet every day in classes and at the cafeteria; they even ended up
in the same dorm. In one class they ended up working in the same
group, making interaction unavoidable. The South Asians, a small
minority and all homesick, banded into a tight-knit group, and none
became closer than Pervez and Dilip.

The two became inseparable; studying hard,
partying hard, wooing long-legged girls in short skirts,
experimenting with the ‘happy’ drugs so freely available on
American campuses in the 70’s. Their dinner parties were legendary,
Pervez would produce blisteringly hot curries and rich, cardamom
scented
biryani,
while Dilip, the Hindi film aficionado,
provided soulful music.

And when their money ran out, which was usually
towards the middle of the month, it was Dilip’s
daal
and
rice that they would survive on till the next money order came,
along with letters from their families. They would both call home
once a month and over the years, their families grew used to
hearing the other on the phone. Not once during the four years did
they go home. It simply wasn’t done back then. And neither they,
nor their families, could afford it. Instead, they spent their
summers working to supplement the money orders, flirting with girls
and singing songs in the warm summer nights.

And then, in their last summer together, the two
of them bought a battered old Ford with their pooled savings and
set off on a road trip across America. And America, as yet innocent
of foreigners, welcomed them with open arms. Their modus operandi
was to find a familiar surname in the phone directory, call and
introduce themselves. More often than not, homesick Indians and
Pakistanis living in small towns would invite them home, feed them
and give them a place to spend the night. Dilip smiled at the
memory. He would never forget that road trip.

At last, after a graduation ceremony they
attended by themselves, they packed their bags and booked their
tickets.

“Pervez, you better stay in touch and write. I
know you—you’re useless without me. You wouldn’t even have written
once to your parents if I hadn’t made you.” Dilip had known better
than to trust his charming but feckless friend.

“Of course I’ll stay in touch
yaar
. And
you better not forget to invite me to India.” Pervez had said as he
hugged him goodbye.

The two of them had managed to keep in touch up
until their professional and social lives engulfed them. Family and
work got in the way of the occasional letters and calls. Dilip then
moved to Delhi and eventually settled there. As the years passed,
occasionally Dilip would catch himself remembering his old friend,
but lacked the will or time to reconnect with him. And now, when he
had all the time in the world, he did not know where to find
him.

“You’re doing it again. Who do you keep looking
for?” Rohan asked him one day, finding him searching again.

“A friend.”

“Where does your friend live?”

Dilip was quiet for a moment. “Somewhere in
Pakistan. I am not sure though.” It sounded odd not to know where
to look.

“Pakistan! You have a friend in Pakistan? Papa,
Mummy did you know this?
Dada-ji
has a friend in Pakistan,”
he called to his parents incredulously.

Dilip wasn’t surprised. Years of indoctrination
through history books and media and the lack of personal contact
had left the youth of both countries believing they could never be
friends. Not much had changed since 1971.

As a child, Dilip’s son had heard stories of his
father’s friend but Meeta, his daughter-in-law, was also surprised.
Dilip told them about Pervez, how they became friends and then lost
touch. And now that he had discovered the Internet, how he had
begun searching for his long-lost friend.

“Let’s find your friend.” Rohan was
enthusiastic.

“Is that possible?” After months of searching,
Dilip was doubtful.

“Difficult, but nothing is impossible,” Rohan
grinned with the confidence of the young.

Over the next few days, Rohan hooked Dilip up to
every social networking site possible—Twitter, Google Plus,
Facebook, My Space, Orkut. Dilip felt a bit overwhelmed—he didn’t
know there were so many sites. But even Rohan, the
social-networking expert, was having trouble finding a Pakistani
who could help them connect with a bigger network. Dilip reflected
a little sadly to himself on how the new generation, despite having
incredible access to information and knowledge, still regarded
their neighbors as aliens and had trouble connecting with them.

And then on the third day Dilip chanced upon an
online group of Indians and Pakistanis. There were petitions, posts
and comments on a variety of issues relating to India and Pakistan.
Interested, Dilip decided to explore the group. Suddenly a message
caught his eye.