Anwar Noor Baloch
“How do I look?” she asked me where I was sitting observing her, before, she sits she turned around and at that moment we started a conversation. “Wow! Is this you, I can’t believe it?” I replied.
She was wearing a maroon black dress and on the sides there were purple, navy blue and golden lines at the cuff of her hands, she looked like a red peacock.
Her personality was cheerful and her wide black hazel eyes that were lively warm and sparkled with bliss but when she smiled there was a glimpse of sorrow in her eyes that seemed to grow from dim to dark.
Most of the time that I have noticed is that when I look into her eyes I see they were dancing, so I asked spontaneously “Why your eyes dance most of the time?” I didn’t know how to begin with which question to ask or which sentence I use to start the conversation with her, that’s why I popped the question. She was surprised with the question and said; “What do you mean?” she asked.
Most of the eyes that I have noticed, were talking, having something to say, having some secrets and some interesting stories to be shared but her eyes were completely different to me. Although she doesn’t know that her eyes loves to dance, in fact they were dancing even when I was talking to her, I will not be wrong if I describe her dancing eyes reminded me of an Indian actress called Vyjantimala she was dancing like a butterfly.
Her emotions were not easily hidden on her innocent face, her pain was evident in the crease of her lovely brow and the down-curve of her full lips but her eyes showed her soul. Sometimes, they were a deep pool of restless gold, an ocean of hopeless grief, as guessed.
As I looked into her eyes I knew that all the beauty of the universe could not even hope to compete with this simple thing of her passion and this has turned her eyes into orbs of the brightest fire that I have ever read and clearly it showed that she would fight to the very last year for her life.
She would not let the world break her, sure she could cry but she would never let them take her true self from her.
Her luminous, heavenly – white teeth flashed as she pawed at, with her film star nails. A pair of arched eyebrows looked down on her sweeping eyelashes.
The journey of intellect and self-understanding has begun a little, after ten minutes of conversation. I thought, I am much more knowledgeable than her, but I was wrong, I thought, I am only the one who reads a lot, I was wrong, I thought, I can effortlessly read the minds and faces of others, I was wrong, I thought, I am the best in explaining things, I was wrong, I thought, I know history more than her, I was wrong, I thought, I know and understand most of the religions, such as Buddhism, Taoism, Confucianism, Shinto, Islam, Christianity, Hinduism, Sikhism, and Sufism, I was wrong.
“I am reading about Gandhi’s biography”, I shared this with her. “He was a great leader”. she replied. “He became a father of the nation, but couldn’t become a father of his own son”. It indicated that she has read about him before. “Gandhi didn’t support and encourage his son who wanted to become a Barrister”, she shared the information that I have read about his son, but I didn’t know that his son (Harilal) raped his own daughter Urmi (Manu). I was amazed, with her knowledge.
“Have you ever read about Sadat Hassan – Manto?” when I asked this question to her, I was one hundred percent sure that she has not even heard of him or read about him or even can say a single word “He died young and didn’t live long. He left his daughter behind and still she is living in the same old house where he used to live. He died because of alcoholism”. I was completely speechless.
“Let’s go for a ride and listen to some old Indian classic songs”, she requested in a friendly way. I couldn’t reject her since the old Indian classic songs are my favorite. I could say she is a “literature house”.
Disclaimer: Views expressed in this article are those of the author and Balochistan Voices not necessarily agrees with them.
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