Love Knows No LoC

by Arpit Vageria

  He rode the elevator down and stormed over to the reception, looking furious.

  ‘You are so careless! I was busy on a call and mistakenly said room 701 and without even checking the records, you gave me the key card! What if I had been a burglar?’

  ‘I’m extremely sorry, sir. I assure you that it was unintentional and won’t happen again,’ the receptionist stammered nervously.

  ‘Give me my key card to room 702 now,’ Kabeer demanded, feeling sorry for the hapless receptionist. This time, the receptionist made sure to check the computer’s records before handing over the card to Kabeer.

  As Kabeer reached his room, he pondered the trail of clues that had been left for him. If Zoya was indeed the person behind them, why hadn’t she just messaged or called him directly? Why this elaborate roundaboutation? If it was someone else playing a prank, what was the motive?

  As Kabeer mulled over these questions, he poured himself a glass of wine. One glass led to another and soon, Kabeer was fast asleep in a chair on the balcony, too tired and drunk to make it into bed.

  His duffel bag hadn’t been unpacked and he decided to abandon his quest. He picked up his bag and clicked the door shut behind him. As he turned to head down the carpeted corridor to the lift he glanced at the room numbers 701 and 702 on the doors, and a faint memory stirred. He remembered that last year too the hotel had provided him with room 702’s keys as the people who were in 701 had extended their stay. He ran back to his room and checked the drawers. Sure enough, there it was. Another e-ticket in Zoya’s name. This time, although the name and timings were written on it, the destination and flight number were scored out manually with a pen. He flipped it over and saw a paper stuck on the other side:

  ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

  Kabeer almost dropped the ticket in shock. This wasn’t Zoya’s handwriting, it belonged to someone he knew very well.

  It was his own.

  CHAPTER 22

  April ’17

  He stared at the sentence. It was six in the morning and he was still groggy. He remembered writing a love letter to Zoya. It looked like the last line of the letter had been torn off and pasted here.

  ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

  He wanted to scream in frustration. The only way he could get closure was by going to Pakistan—an impossibility at this juncture because (a) there were no cricket tournaments underway in that country (b) the political climate between the two countries was overcast and (c) his past relationship with Zoya was common knowledge, so he would be refused a travel visa.

  He looked at the e-ticket again and tried to figure out the next clue. He remembered visiting Mumbai, Bangalore and Delhi for Zoya’s concert tour and if that sequence had anything to do with this trail, he knew which city he had to visit next—Lahore. This entire exercise now felt like a game of treasure hunt. The treasure of his life, Zoya.

  He googled the flight number 6E-829. It belonged to Fly Air, the airline that operated between Delhi and Lahore. He was certain that someone—perhaps Zoya, perhaps not—wanted him to visit Lahore.

  He was having trouble processing all these conundrums, but the thought of meeting Zoya again galvanized him. A part of him refuted the idea that Zoya would play such a cruel trick on him. He poured himself one last glass of wine to help him cogitate and soon emptied the whole bottle. He thought about the letter that he had once written to Zoya. He had been in Pakistan when he had decided to declare his love for Zoya in the most romantic way he could think of—a handwritten letter.

  Dear Zoya,

  How weird is life? Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine myself visiting Pakistan or using Pakistan Post to send you a letter. A mere verbal expression would not do justice to the depth of my feelings for you; therefore, I have decided to write a letter and document my love for you. It is crucial to express oneself rather than bottle up emotions waiting for just the right moment. I hope that you will read every word in this letter with the same sentiment that I’ve written them.

  I fell in love with you long before we met in India. The moment I saw you on one of those huge billboards, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you. I am someone who never makes split-second decisions, but I was sure about my feelings for you from the word go.

  Because even after knowing you for only a few months, I can hear the sound of our laughter together; I can see myself growing old with you, but most importantly, I can hear the words you would probably never say and I hope that you too someday feel the same.

  As I write this letter to you, I hope that you would not just read it but read every word with the same sentiment that I’ve written them with, because if they can’t tell you my feelings, trust me, nothing else will.

  I know the challenge I face. Our nations are at loggerheads. Our people might or might not be too fond of each other and our love story, if there ever would be, might keep fluctuating with what’s happening at the border but I believe that there is a way out. I’m also aware that your grandfather always wanted peace between our countries, which gives me hope.

  We have heard many stories of hatred between India and Pakistan but, for a change, let’s talk about love. Let us forget that we’re on opposite sides of the battle line because I love you so much that these borders don’t matter any more.

  What matters are your feelings. Do you also see a forever with me just as I do? I promise to be your Pakistan if you are ready to be my India when in need.

  I love you more with each passing second. My heart races as I write this little note, but I am glad that I wrote it after all. I will be leaving Pakistan in a little bit and am not sure when I will be back. All I’m trying to say is, ‘I can’t wait to see you.’

  Kabeer

  CHAPTER 23

  July ’16

  That night, after a few drinks, Kabeer stayed awake all night, admiring Zoya’s incredible beauty. How easy it had been to fall in love with her!

  A breeze drifted in through the open window and gently caressed her hair. Her skin, like alabaster in the moonlight, was a perfect foil for the sweep of her long, dark eyelashes as she slept peacefully, her beautiful lips softly parted. Kabeer felt all his doubts and anxieties evaporate. If someday Zoya accepted his proposal and agreed to marry him, Kabeer was certain he would weep with joy.

  Wait. Was it too early to think that far? How did that even matter as long as these thoughts warmed his soul with contentment?

  The breeze gradually picked up and the rustling of the leaves seemed to herald a beautiful wind of change. He wondered whether she would believe him if he declared his feelings for her. Would she reciprocate his passion someday?

  The duvet rose and fell rhythmically with her breathing and then, as if she had sensed his gaze, Zoya’s eyes fluttered open, and they stared into each other’s eyes. Kabeer was unaware of a stupid, lopsided smile spreading across his lips as he continued looking at her.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Kabeer.

  ‘I should apologize,’ she said, her voice husky with sleep. ‘I fell asleep with a guest at home. How rude am I?’ Zoya sat up, yawned and stretched. ‘Would you like some tea? Green or regular?’ she called out as she went into the kitchen.

  ‘An . . . any . . . thing,’ Kabeer stammered, following her into the kitchen. ‘Um . . . I’m sorry about earlier. You looked extraordinarily beautiful as you slept, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

  Zoya put the kettle on and turned to face him. She drew closer and looked into his eyes. Kabeer realized he was holding his breath.

  ‘You have such beautiful eyes, Kabeer,’ she said softly.

  ‘Do I?’ he murmured.

  Zoya raised herself on her toes. Their lips met and they kissed slowly, languorously. They could hear each other’s breathing.

  A dam seemed to break and their hands seemed to move with minds of their own, quickly unbuttoning their clothes until Kabeer’s hands held her smooth, bare back, pressing her body tight against himself. He kissed her swan-like neck a
nd Zoya balled her fists to control the urge to rake her nails on Kabeer’s muscled back. She ripped off Kabeer’s shirt and he immediately flipped her around.

  Their love-making was feral and passionate with each trying to gain control over the other on the couch by mounting the other. Whence Zoya threw her head back gasping, Kabeer saw a shadow outside the window and a camera flashed, blinding him momentarily.

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘Someone’s outside taking pictures of us!’

  Zoya crouched down into the couch. Kabeer rushed to the window just in time to see a hooded figure vault over the fence in the backyard and run away. Zoya called her manager and publicity team and told them about the incident. An hour went by as they waited on tenterhooks for the scandalizing pictures to go viral on the Internet. They were not sure if the mystery cameraman had actually been able to capture any concrete evidence of their liaison.

  ‘Zoya, let’s hope for the best now,’ Kabeer murmured, his warm hand covered hers. ‘There’s no point in worrying ourselves sick now, we just have to wait and watch,’ he stroked her hair comfortingly.

  Zoya sighed, ‘You’re probably right.’ She kissed his cheek, ‘Just so you know, I plan to join you for the rest of your tour. But, this time around, you get to see my country through my eyes and when you go back home, you’ll have only good memories of Pakistan. We leave in fifteen minutes.’

  CHAPTER 24

  July ’16

  ‘Whatever be the outcome of this match, the spirit of the sport will prevail,’ an anchor proclaimed as the crowd erupted with cheers.

  Three days after the Indian team reached the National Cricket Stadium, Karachi, escorted by a horde of security personnel bristling with weapons and hand-held shields, both inside and outside the stadium, to prevent a repeat attack, the T-20 match was all set to begin.

  India won the toss and opted to bat first. After congregating for the national anthem, the players dispersed to their positions and Kabeer went in to bat along with Shaurya, another strong opener. He glanced at the pavilion and spotted Zoya in the crowd. She blew him a kiss.

  Over the last three days, Kabeer and Zoya’s romance had become the hottest topic for the media. Indo–Pak friendship had new poster children—Kabeer and Zoya. Some said they were dating since they had last met during the friendly match in Pakistan; others claimed that they were getting engaged soon and some were of the opinion that it was just a phase and would soon be over. None of this worried Kabeer, though. Something else gave him sleepless nights.

  ‘5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Kabeer on strike will face one the deadliest of bowlers in the world, Nadeem. The countdown begins!’ came the voice of an Indian commentator as Kabeer skilfully placed the ball for a quick four to the off side, inaugurating the innings in style.

  The match grew heated as the Pakistani team failed to come up with an adequate response to Kabeer and Shaurya’s aggressive batting. India was sixty-three for no loss after six overs. Every time Kabeer hit a sixer or boundary, the videographers deliberately zoomed in on Zoya’s reaction in the stands as she clapped and punched the air. Kabeer completed his quickest fifty in just twenty-three balls. He kissed his bat and pointed it towards Zoya triumphantly.

  When drinks were served to both the teams, Pakistan’s captain, Nadeem, approached Kabeer and asked, ‘So, how was your exploration here?’

  ‘I haven’t really seen much of Pakistan,’ Kabeer smiled. ‘Not enough time.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about Pakistan. I was talking about Zoya; you seem to have explored her quite a bit. What was better? The north or the south—’

  Kabeer furiously launched himself at Nadeem, before Shaurya, who was at opposite end of the pitch, ran over to hold him back.

  ‘You come here and fuck our girl, do you think we’d keep quiet?’ Nadeem shouted, his face red with rage.

  ‘You bastard! It’s your girl who spread her legs!’ Shaurya hollered at him, which didn’t help at all and Kabeer glared at Shaurya.

  ‘Who cares who did what first? He’s well aware that she’s an heiress,’ Nadeem jeered from a distance. Kabeer charged at him again, but this time the fielders and wicketkeepers converged along with Shaurya to form a wall between him and Nadeem, while a couple of the senior Pakistani team members tried to calm Nadeem down.

  When the match resumed, everything seemed normal on the surface. However, a taut tension stretched between Kabeer and Nadeem. Nadeem bowled an excellent in-swinger that hit the middle stump and Kabeer was clean bowled. Nadeem jumped up and down with unholy glee, gesturing aggressively at Kabeer, who bent his head, keeping a tight lid on his rage.

  As Kabeer returned to the pavilion, Arko emerged with Kishor, a debutant. He passed Kabeer with a bitter look that spoke volumes.

  ‘What happened there?’ asked Zoya, looking anxiously at Kabeer, who, still seething, shouldered his way into the dressing room.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘It didn’t look like “nothing” from where I stood,’ she snapped.

  ‘How does it even matter?’ Kabeer asked tiredly as he tucked his bat under his arm.

  ‘So, whatever happened there doesn’t matter to you? Do you think people will just forget what you did today on the field?’

  ‘And you think what Nadeem did was fair?’

  ‘You were the one who attacked him, not vice versa.’

  ‘After what he said about you, I’m only sorry that I didn’t get to beat him to a pulp.’

  ‘In a match that was a peace deal, your only regret is not hitting someone,’ Zoya said sarcastically, ‘that’s fair.’ She clicked her tongue and shook her head sorrowfully at Kabeer, ‘such a shame.’

  ‘Why do I get the feeling that this is a Pakistani talking to an Indian?’ Kabeer asked with a sidelong glance at her.

  ‘There was much more to this match than just nations, Kabeer,’ Zoya sighed. Kabeer chuckled. Zoya realized for the first time that she didn’t like the sound of his laugh.

  ‘Wearing a Pakistani T-shirt, cheering for an Indian guy and supporting a Pakistani cricketer who slut-shamed you,’ Kabeer mocked her. ‘Do you still think I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did? Sorry to disappoint you, ma’am,’ Kabeer walked past her and into the dressing room where his team was waiting for him.

  ‘You know, Kabeer, there’s a difference between aggression and being plain dumb on the field?’ the coach said expressionlessly.

  ‘And you know pretty much everything that happened out there?’ Kabeer challenged, flinging his bat into the equipment trunk and slamming down the lid. He sat down on the bench and unbuckled his batting gear.

  ‘I know what people will think when they watch the reruns of the footage on TV. And what will the headlines be—“A Star is Born” or “A Brat with a Bat”?’ the coach replied stoically.

  ‘Wow! And here I was thinking that it was hard enough convincing the Pakistanis about my integrity, but my own coach has labelled me a brat.’

  ‘I think you’ve been out in the sun too long today, kid. You need to lie down and take it easy,’ the coach replied, patting Kabeer on the shoulder.

  Arko looked uncomfortable at the crease initially but, as the game progressed, India comfortably secured 183 for five wickets in the stipulated twenty overs before they dispersed for a break. Kabeer remained dourly, dwelling on the confrontation on the pitch. He looked around for Zoya, but she was nowhere to be seen.

  Completing the innings and making a mature half-century for India, Arko walked triumphantly back to the pavilion and immediately started issuing instructions to his team.

  ‘Shaurya, you’re at the slip; Raman, you’ll start the bowling because the ball is spinning a fair bit; and Raman-Ricky, you cover the first four overs,’ Arko had all the flair and panache of a skipper and everybody automatically looked up to him.

  ‘Arko, where do I field?’ Kabeer asked.

  Arko avoiding his eyes. ‘You’re injured for the next few matches, including this one,’ he de
clared and left the pavilion with the team.

  CHAPTER 25

  July ’16

  We’re all destined to play certain roles in our own love stories. Sometimes we find ourselves playing the role of a friend who supports the other even when they are wrong. At other times we want a friend understand our angst even when the whole world turns against us and stand by us in the teeth of opposition. If that doesn’t happen, we begin to doubt ourselves.

  Three days after India A won the first T-20 by fifty-three runs, the evening skies lowered in Multan where the second T-20 international match was scheduled to take place.

  ‘After a huge win over Pakistan in the last match, Pakistan is all set to take on India today! The conditions already seem to be favouring Pakistan as India’s star player and vice-captain, Kabeer, is still injured and unavailable to play for this match,’ declared former Pakistani captain Jalal Maqsood as he gestured towards the grounds, beaming into the camera.

  ‘The skies are leaden and a storm seems to be brewing. But even if it holds off, a storm is sure to break out on the grounds of Multan today,’ countered the Indian commentator beside Jalal.

  Tension crackled in the air like never before. This series was clearly anything but peaceful.

  Pakistan won the toss and elected to bat first. Kabeer, ensconced in a plush sports café, drained his cup of coffee and watched the match begin.

  ‘Just because I tried protecting my girl on the field, you ejected me from the team,’ Kabeer recalled his conversation with Arko from the previous night.