<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Mehreen stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Their eyes met for a moment, then Asma looked away. Their relationship was at a stage where they knew what each other was thinking just from their expressions. The sun was already slipping away without having had its chance to shine because of the smog. Some days were like that. Never succumb, Asma said to herself. Never, not to the noise, or this business of life. Better the silence of sorrow. She had had a craving for karak chai, so they\u2019d come to Lahore Chai Masters, <\/em>a dilapidated kiosk in one of the gullies off Walton Road. Further down the alley, a group of men were seated in a circle on the ground playing rummy. This is what you did on a lazy Sunday afternoon.<\/p>\n A waiter with a pink showering cap on his head placed two cups of tea on the wooden stool. He covered them with saucers to stop the tea from cooling and keep away the flies. They were his only customers.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat a time of day it is,\u201d Asma said, \u201cas though our whole lives were compressed into this hour.\u201d<\/p>\n Mehreen gave her a sharp look.<\/p>\n \u201cDoesn\u2019t it?\u201d Asma said.<\/p>\n A crow rocked on the dead wires above them and cawed, Mehreen did not reply but kept her gazed fixed on her. Asma lifted the saucer and picked up her cup. Of course Mehreen had heard her, but why didn\u2019t she respond? What was she thinking? It was moments like these when Asma needed reassurance, and Mehreen wasn\u2019t forthcoming, that Asma felt she\u2019d never been understood. No, she must not think that. She took a sip of tea. The waiter was still standing there, leaning against the door with his arms folded, looking across at the card players. It was hard to tell whether he was eavesdropping.<\/p>\n \u201cYour skin\u2019s looking tired and patchy,\u201d Mehreen said. \u201cAround here and here.\u201d She pointed to her own face under the eyelids.<\/p>\n Asma made a gesture with her hands, she would not let Mehreen make her feel small. \u201cAnd you need to learn some manners,\u201d she said. She looked over Mehreen\u2019s shoulder towards Walton Road where the traffic had come to a standstill. The pedestrians who had been moving in hurried lines like ants along the pavements outside the shops had come to a standstill and gathered in a crowd in the middle of Walton Road.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat\u2019s happened?\u201d Asma said to the waiter.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll go and check.\u201d He walked down the gulley and returned in a few minutes.\u00a0 \u201cThe usual; a motor bike and car collision.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s life, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Asma said. \u201cYou keep going until you crash. You pick yourself up and try again. Then you meet another obstacle, you fall off\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd what if you can\u2019t get up?\u201d Mehreen said.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2026\u201d She was interrupted by shouting from the road, where opposition demonstrators were chanting slogans and waving billboards. Earlier that week the ex-prime minister had been shot in the leg and now his supporters were protesting. Men shouting for democracy, for their rights to be heard, for justice, while in a balcony overlooking the street, as if none of it mattered at all, a woman, probably exhausted to the bone, took down the washing from a line and went back inside to feed her baby and prepare supper. The noise faded; the demonstrators had joined the spectators at the accident scene.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy don\u2019t people just obey the law?\u201d the waiter said, loudly. \u201cThey like to cause problems for nothing.\u201d<\/p>\n Asma wasn\u2019t sure if he expected a reply. He adjusted his shower cap and returned to lounging by the door, standing over them like a sentry.<\/p>\n \u201cI always think of that day,\u201d Mehreen said, quietly. \u201cI haven\u2019t forgotten it, you know.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhich one?\u201d Asma said.<\/p>\n A man with a basket of flutes on his back stopped in front of their bench. He placed his basket on the ground, took a flute from his pocket and began playing an old, familiar tune which took Asma back to another time, in another city.<\/p>\n She was standing in a hotel car park, surrounded by empty cars, and tall, buildings with lights on in every office and no one inside. The moon was pale, the night was dark, and she was completely alone. Her arms were wrapped around herself, offering her nothing, except a sense of her own presence. From the street beyond the hum of traffic, the beat of drums, live music from a rooftop bar with flashing neon lights. And then she was running barefoot, down the narrow path on the rough stones even though they cut the soles of her feet to the beach, until she reached the soft, pale, sand and collapsed at the foot of the ocean. The black, oily waves rolled back and forth over her knees, and she was soaked up to her waist. Ten years had passed since that terrible night in Dubai.<\/p>\n The flutist finished his song and stood there with an expectant look. Mehreen gave him five hundred rupees and he thanked her. She beckoned to the waiter, \u201cMy chai\u2019s gone cold. Could you please bring me a fresh one?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAre you really planning on drinking it?\u201d Asma said.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy not? It\u2019s why we came here, isn\u2019t it?\u201d Mehreen gave her a teasing look and Asma was reminded why she loved her. The waiter took away the old cups and put two fresh steaming ones in front of them. Mehreen stirred ground jaggery in her tea.<\/p>\n Everything Asma had felt that night, what she had wanted, imagined, and desired, all of it were clear to her as if it had been yesterday. That night, in that city with more buildings than trees, more cars than birds. That night, in that city made by people with temporary lives and broken dreams.<\/p>\n \u201cWhere are you lost?\u201d Mehreen said.<\/p>\n Asma made an impatient gesture. \u201cI\u2019m here, right here, in front of you. Where else could I be?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cLost, always, that\u2019s how you always are. Lost, far away in your thoughts.\u201d Mehreen lifted her cup and put it down without taking a sip. \u201cWhat\u2019s the matter, love? Aren\u2019t you enjoying the tea today?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am, of course, I am,\u201d she said. She knew she sounded defensive but did not care and made no effort to pick up the cup.<\/p>\n Mehreen took a vape from her handbag and put it between her lips. She seemed to be in a state of restful thinking. She was continually plotting, planning her next creation, designing her next grand, artistic idea. That\u2019s why she had an aura of self-confidence and achievement about her; she always accomplished her goals. That\u2019s how it was. Some made it, while others were barely survived.<\/p>\n An elderly, overweight woman in a faded yellow salwar khameez limped towards them, her swollen feet squashed into slippers too small for her. \u201cI\u2019m going to the market,\u201d she said to the waiter. \u201cBut I\u2019ll be back later for my tea. Don\u2019t add too much sugar, unless you want me to die. The doctor\u2019s warned me about diabetes.\u201d She broke out into a rasping cough.<\/p>\n The waiter replied he\u2019d keep it ready.<\/p>\n Ordinary days of our ordinary lives. Some struggling to find meaning, others just accepting things as they were.<\/p>\n \u201cI often think about it,\u201d Mehreen said. She drained her cup and asked the waiter for another tea. He stayed idling by the door, so Mehreen repeated her request.<\/p>\n \u201cI heard you the first time. What\u2019s the hurry?\u201d he said irritated and moved inside the kiosk.<\/p>\n Mehreen lowered her voice. \u201cDo you know my love, you\u2019re the only woman I\u2019ve ever loved.\u201d She frowned, the lines on her brow deepened, her eyes deep and serious, and then her face relaxed into a teasing expression which she knew would make Asma laugh. For a moment, it lifted the tension between them.<\/p>\n \u201cAm I?\u201d Asma said.<\/p>\n \u201cIt happened in that desert city,\u201d Mehreen said, \u201cwith hundreds of skyscrapers, where everything is efficient, clean and organized.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes.\u201d Asma leaned forward.<\/p>\n \u201cI was there for my first solo exhibition. Everyone was excited about my work, talking about my style, my technique\u2026\u201d she drifted off. \u201cThey said my work showed the same defiance as Paula Rego. There were people from all over the world at the gallery, from Venice, London, Berlin, important artists\u2026Dubai felt like it was the only place to be.\u201d Mehreen had a slight smile, the memory of something that had brought her satisfaction. \u201cSince then, I\u2019ve been back to Dubai several times, but it\u2019s changed. It\u2019s built up and congested. It takes hours to get from one place to another. Everywhere you look, nothing but concrete and glass. Everything is automated. The gallery where I had my exhibition had shut down and even that rooftop bar where we went that evening has disappeared without a trace.\u201d Her voice became calmer. \u201cI haven\u2019t thought about the evening in years, but then today I remembered her when we were walking here when we walked past the travel agent with the advert in his window for a holiday in Dubai\u2026<\/p>\n She was much younger than me, about ten years, and in her late twenties, very pretty and doing her PhD. She was working at the gallery as an intern and helping with the catalogue. At the time I was with someone else, a man, more my age. I\u2019d been with him for a few years\u2026\u201d She paused, her face had a softness, a look of nostalgia.<\/p>\n Asma looked in the distance towards Walton Road. The crowd had dispersed. The traffic had returned to a steady hum. The rhythm of the sprawling ancient city had already absorbed the fall and adjusted to the recovery.<\/p>\n \u201cI remember that afternoon when I was getting the paintings hanged in the gallery\u2026,\u201d Mehreen said, \u2026 \u201cmy partner was talking to someone else, and I beckoned to him to join me. But she<\/em> caught that intimate look and thinking it was for her, came and stood next to me. Our shoulders brushed, and I pretended that it had been her that I\u2019d been calling, but seconds later when my partner joined us, she realized she\u2019d made a mistake. Embarrassed, she moved away. I can\u2019t forget\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Asma felt her anger rising.<\/p>\n \u201cOne night we were in the gallery working. Even now I can recall…\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYes?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201c\u2026that moment when she came and stood in front of me, and then, and then, without warning she took all her clothes off. I hadn\u2019t noticed her enter the studio, because I\u2019d been focused on putting the final touches to a portrait.\u201d Her voice became softer. \u201c\u2018Paint me,\u2019\u201d she said to me. \u2018I want you to paint me.\u2019 I remember how she said it. She was so shy, so lovely, standing in front of my easel, completely naked. I had a brush in my hands. I remember it clearly even now, how the lamp from my desk cast a glow on her smooth, brown skin, and we could hear the strains of music coming through the open window from the bar \u2026\u201d She took Asma\u2019s hand and folded it in hers.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease stop\u2026\u201d Asma said, with a small cry.<\/p>\n \u201cIt was just her and me in the studio. What could I do?\u201d Mehreen said. \u201cI went over and kissed her. I couldn\u2019t stop myself from stroking her back, her shoulders. I knew it was wrong, I was with somebody else. \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOh.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe never made love, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re wondering. We only kissed, that\u2019s all.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut she asked if she could be your model, not for you to \u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNa\u00efve, she didn\u2019t know what she wanted. I picked up her shirt and draped it around her. I told her she was too young. I don\u2019t know why I said no, my other models were about her age\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou shouldn\u2019t have kissed her. You shouldn\u2019t have, you were with someone else\u2026\u201d Asma tried to pull away her hand, but Mehreen wouldn\u2019t let her.<\/p>\n \u201cShe knew I was.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou kissed her,\u201d Asma said, angrily.<\/p>\n \u201cYes, my love, I kissed her. I knew she wanted me too.\u201d Mehreen smiled, let go of Asma\u2019s hand, as the waiter appeared. He gave them a strange look.<\/p>\n \u201cAnother five minutes,\u201d he said. \u201cThe tea is still cooking.\u201d He took his mobile phone from his pocket and began typing.<\/p>\n Asma picked up her cup and cradled it, trying to control her emotions. \u201cShe came to you because\u2026and you know very well what you did was\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWas what?\u201d Mehreen said.<\/p>\n \u201cCruel. She\u2019d been with you in the gallery for a month. You and her\u2026\u201d She tried to hold back the tears. \u201cHow could you have been so mean?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe was so young, so lovely, and she had no idea what she wanted. We were together, all of us at the gallery, pulling all-nighters, working around the clock.\u00a0 But when the exhibition was over, she suddenly disappeared. She went on to finish her PhD in Mughal miniatures, but \u2026\u201d Mehreen\u2019s voiced drifted off.<\/p>\n Asma put down her cup. \u201cThat night, that night when you kissed her,\u201d she said, \u201cimagine how it must have been for her. How she must have been planning it for days. How she must\u2019ve sat thinking about you, for hours on end, assessing the risk, not just to her, but also to you. It was a forbidden love. You and her \u2014 she knew it could be disastrous…you could end up in jail. But did you give a thought to that? How she must\u2019ve been waiting for a chance when everyone, including your lover, especially, was not in the studio? How she must have thought about what to wear, and, and, how she would ask if she could model for you. Imagine how she must\u2019ve been watching, waiting for the perfect moment when you were alone in your office, when she could have her chance\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI couldn\u2019t focus that evening,\u201d Mehreen said. \u201cOf course, I was conscious that it was only her and me in the studio. I remember how she stood there, and unbuttoned her shirt. How she\u2019d been so charming, so hesitant. The moment is clear in my mind, as if it happened yesterday. It was almost midnight. The gallery was on the thirty sixth floor. Around us buildings with lights on. She was so beautiful.\u201d She took Asma\u2019s hand in hers, and caressed the inside of her wrist, just near her pulse. Her fingers were warm. \u201cI don\u2019t know why I\u2019ve been thinking about that night so much these past few days.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBut that night, that night, you, you sent her away. You rejected her.\u201d<\/p>\n Mehreen gave a small, low laugh. \u201cAnd because of that she stopped speaking to me. A few months later I heard through the grapevine she was with someone else, a female artist, who\u2019d come into the studio, and I\u2019d introduced her to. She made sure I knew about it. I knew she couldn\u2019t stand me because I\u2019d hurt her.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cImagine how she must\u2019ve felt. How it must\u2019ve been for her that night. How she collected her clothes from the floor, and left your room naked, almost crying\u2026\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShe was shouting, calling me names, swearing. I tried to calm her down, and tell her I hadn\u2019t meant to hurt her, but she wouldn\u2019t listen.\u201d Mehreen\u2019s fingers stopped stroking.<\/p>\n \u201cShe put on her clothes,\u201d Asma said, \u201cand took the elevator to the ground floor. She left the building, shivering. She ran, without her shoes on, without thinking, to the beach. It was completely deserted. She was completely alone. There was not a soul in sight. She was shaking like a leaf. She went and sat under the palm tree where you\u2019d kissed her that same morning. She thinks of that morning and that night, every day, every, single day.\u201d<\/p>\n Mehreen shook her head. \u201cIt wasn\u2019t my fault.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cIt was awful,\u201d Asma said, tears rolling down her face. \u201cAwful. She\u2019ll never forget it, never. And nothing will ever make up for it. That night haunts her. Especially when everything seems perfect, she suddenly remembers that night, and how alone she\u2019d felt and how she\u2019d run, crying to the beach. She\u2019d been ready to risk everything. Everything. For what? For Love…\u201d She was sobbing. \u201cFor Love.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, my love, don\u2019t say that. It wasn\u2019t my fault. How could it be?\u201d Mehreen lifted Asma\u2019s hand and kissed it, her eyes searched her face. \u201cPlease don\u2019t cry.\u201d<\/p>\n She caressed Asma\u2019s wrist, saying soothing words.<\/p>\n Asma pulled away as the waiter returned. He placed two cups carelessly on the stool, spilling tea everywhere. \u201cLahore Chai Masters is for decent people,\u201d he said, in an insolent tone. \u201cWe don\u2019t allow troublemakers in here.\u201d He did not bother to wipe the mess with the tea towel hanging over his shoulder. \u201cBesharami.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBring us the bill,\u201d Mehreen said, her voice low with anger.<\/p>\n Asma reached for her cup. A thin film had formed on the surface of the cold tea. Even now they had to be careful. People were always looking.<\/p>\n Theirs was still a forbidden love.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" When Mehreen and Asma compare notes, they realize they are still not unfettered lovers.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":308,"featured_media":31498,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"site-sidebar-layout":"default","site-content-layout":"","ast-site-content-layout":"default","site-content-style":"default","site-sidebar-style":"default","ast-global-header-display":"","ast-banner-title-visibility":"","ast-main-header-display":"","ast-hfb-above-header-display":"","ast-hfb-below-header-display":"","ast-hfb-mobile-header-display":"","site-post-title":"","ast-breadcrumbs-content":"","ast-featured-img":"","footer-sml-layout":"","theme-transparent-header-meta":"","adv-header-id-meta":"","stick-header-meta":"","header-above-stick-meta":"","header-main-stick-meta":"","header-below-stick-meta":"","astra-migrate-meta-layouts":"default","ast-page-background-enabled":"default","ast-page-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-5)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"ast-content-background-meta":{"desktop":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"tablet":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""},"mobile":{"background-color":"var(--ast-global-color-4)","background-image":"","background-repeat":"repeat","background-position":"center center","background-size":"auto","background-attachment":"scroll","background-type":"","background-media":"","overlay-type":"","overlay-color":"","overlay-opacity":"","overlay-gradient":""}},"footnotes":""},"categories":[16,26,3331],"tags":[673,1012,1284,3373],"article-category":[],"article-type":[],"coauthors":[1944],"class_list":["post-31496","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction","category-lgbtq","category-tmr-38-lsd-love-sex-desire","tag-forbidden-love","tag-lahore","tag-pakistan","tag-women-in-love"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n
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