Chapter 9: A Love Affair

In December 2001, I’m invited to participate in a conference in Moscow. I longed to see Moscow. Back in those days when I learned Marxism, I heard from Awais that Moscow is a beautiful place. Though he himself never had been Russia. The conference organizer says they will cover the accommodation and the school fee but not the air ticket. I get so excited as I receive the email and step out of the office to smoke. I head to chemistry hut, which is behind our department. At the entrance of the Physics Department, a group of girls crosses me. One of the girl says hi to me. The girls are coming from Electronics Department and entering the Physics one. The two departments are connected by a corridor. I look back, it is Haifa. I say hi back. I’m surprised why the most beautiful girl in the campus would say hi to me. For a moment, I forget about Russia and proceed to the chemistry hut. I sit on a bench in the lawn facing the Earth Science Department. To the left of me is Chemistry, to the right is Physics. I light a cigarette and order tea, but Haifa is on my mind. Does this mean she is interested in me? She has many lovers. One of her lovers stalks her to her doorstep every day. Many have proposed her, but she always declined. She’s never been seen with boys; instead, she is found in the group of her girlfriends. I shake my head to change my mind. Perhaps she meant nothing. Maybe, she said hi because I never bother her.
Next day I apply for the visa. The Russian Embassy is not far from the university. There is a hub of embassies on Diplomatic Enclave. The busiest one is the American embassy. Originally, the university busses passed through the American embassy. Later, the road was closed for public. Now the university busses use another route. After issuance of the visa, I also book a ticket in Aeroflot. I also need to buy warmer clothes as the conference is in February. When everything is ready, I receive another email from the conference organizer saying that unfortunately, they cannot invite me. The fund for the conference are cut. They are not inviting international students anymore. They also reimburse me the visa fee I paid for.

Haifa graduates a month later. Normally, most students return for M.Phil., but she doesn’t. However, she comes to campus every Friday to hang out with her girlfriends. She enters the campus via chemistry hut. I can recognize her from her gait, moving one arm like me.
I’m not really doing any research. Coming to the department in the morning, playing chess online, going to chemistry huts in and out, and waiting anxiously for Fridays. When I hear a feminine voice outside my office, it creates a lightness inside me. One day, one of her classmates gives me her MSN messenger ID. I add the ID to my friends list and check it every night if she’s online. I chat from my lab. One night the name pops up. I say hi. Instantly, hi back from the other side. She asks, “Are you Shahid Afridi in our department?” My profile name is Shahid Afridi which she sees on her screen. Initially, she does not believe it. After exchanging a few lines, she asks if she can meet with me tomorrow. I forbid her – people will make stories. It is a short chat. I don’t count on it as many people make fake ids on girls’ names.
In spring 2002, I arrange a talk on special relativity. This is an unofficial talk, just for few students I know. As I start the class, Haifa also comes in. She learns from someone although she’s not a student. The talk is in a classroom in the Physics Department. After the talk, I’m very disturbed thinking why would she attend my lecture. I get to Majeed huts and sit in a less visible place in the far end. I order tea, cross my legs and think. In a little while, I see Haifa and another girl coming toward me. The other girl name is Uzma. I know her. I taught her chess. They leave the place and come and sit with me. I order tea for them, but I don’t know what to say. They praise my talk. As they leave, I decide to go home. I do this most of the times, to pick up my bag anytime and head home. My favorite hobby is thinking. In the bus, I have more time for this.
Two days later when I come back, my engagement news is spread in the campus. Haifa is followed like paparazzi. People keep news about her instant by instant as to who she likes. One of her lovers come to my office congratulating me on my engagement with her which never happened.
After many thoughts, I finally decide to take the initiative to propose to her. I send her the proposal via Uzma. I ask Uzma to ask Haifa if she is interested. I’ll not bother her again. At the time, I’m in my office while Haifa is standing outside the physics seminar library. When Uzma comes back, she says that she was crossed saying how dare I propose to her. She’s crossed, I’m crossed too. For me what is important is that she is not interested. This clears my mind – end of story.
A few months later, I attend a workshop in ICTP. The ICTP is a physics center in Trieste, Italy, founded in 1964 by Abdus Salam, Pakistani Nobel Laureate, to provide education and skills to scientists in developing countries. In my absence, Haifa comes to my office asking for me. My colleague Zareena tells me this when I return from Italy. Zareena says that Haifa was very angry and wanted to meet with me to confirm that on what grounds I proposed her. To this end, Zareena was not aware of my proposal although we were good friends. Zareena also says that she might want to meet with you just to increase her importance. Whatever she meant, I’m again disturbed.
Over time my feelings for her settle down. Things change again when she returns for her M.Phil. in the spring 2003. I want to give an end to this. So I decide to talk to her directly, clearly and boldly. I again ask Uzma to convey my message to Haifa that I want to meet with her. A time is set up, and so we meet in the hallway behind Physics Office. This wing is quiet. The main entrance is on the other side. When I go upstairs, she is already there. My office is downstairs. I go close to her and stand face-to-face with her. I want to settle the matter once and for all. I ask her, “Am I Shahid, or Shahid bhai? Say it, Shahid or Shahid bhai.” I mean to say Shahid or brother Shahid. Girls add bhai with a boy name when calling just for protection so that the boy does not get any wrong signal. She goes from one side of the hallway to the other but does not give me a conclusive answer. It must end today, but she’s not ending it and will hang me for another two years, I say to myself. When I get no answer, I get closer to her and say, “I’m a frog and I like frogs.” From which I mean nothing. I use meaningless and irrelevant words when I’m very angry. I leave her there, go downstairs and head home to calm down.
**
In whatever way I change my mind, it does not help. I’m disturbed more than before. I confine myself to my office. Only I go in and out when I run out of cigarettes or need to drink tea. I have many associations with this office. On the door is a portrait of Einstein in which he is standing and thinking. His desk is full of notes. My desk is not like his. I have notes pile up on the corners, and the center is clear so that my arms have maximum freedom while writing. My drawers are never empty of alcohol. I buy alcohol in a Christian colony behind old MNA – a member of National Assembly – hostel. My office is also known to my friends as being a safe place for eating during the month of Ramadan.
When I become totally helpless, I decide to write her a letter. I write the letter at night in the office in solitude. I write the letter in Urdu. First, I draft the letter then transform it to another paper. In the original letter, I draw a slanted line at the corner before beginning the first word, by which I mean anything before this line is not mine. No names, the sender or the recipient, are used – hers or mine. I write:
“I’m writing you this letter to clearly tell you that I like you. You were wondering as to what signals you gave me. I’m telling you clearly that my love is not based on signals. Starring or smiling from a distance does not prove anything. I’m telling you in simple words that I love you. But today I want to give an end to this one-sided love, because one-sided love makes one crazy. I’m also writing this letter to inform you that my family wants to arrange my engagement. I’m asking you to please tell me if you are interested. I cannot wait indefinitely. My offer will expire after this date. I’ll not bother you again.”
I draw another slanted line at the corner after the last word, by which I mean anything after this line is not mine. The back side of the letter is empty. I fold the letter and put it in the drawer. The letter is intended to be delivered tomorrow. Whether I get a chance or not, the letter will expire after tomorrow anyway. I write it for my own satisfaction. The purpose is to avoid a situation when one day she comes to me and says, “I liked you, you should have waited for me.” More than a proposal, it is a retreat to free myself from this affair.
It’s next day – Friday, April 4, 2003. In the morning, I come to the department and go straight to chemistry huts where I also take breakfast. There are two lawns in chemistry huts. If students do not find a place on the benches, they also sit on the ground in groups. Rush hours are 10 to 11 a.m. Normally I have someone to sit with, but today I have no friends. My eyes are on the walkway between the two buildings of Chemistry Department. I know she will enter this way. When she doesn’t come, I realize that she may not be coming to school today.

Later in the afternoon, when the department becomes almost empty for the Friday prayer, I decide to go home. A good Muslim will not skip a Friday prayer. It replaces the noon prayer for the day and is prayed in the congregation. The prayer is preceded by a sermon by the Imam. The university mosque is by the boys’ hostels. I’ve never seen women praying in the mosque although Islam does not prevent them from doing so. In disappointment, I get my bag and say to myself it is over. As I exit the department, I see her sitting with Uzma on a bench in a lawn. In the front of Physics are two lawns separated by a sidewalk. They’re sitting in the farther one. I turn back to go get the letter. I remove the letter from the drawer and put it in a quantum mechanics book. I go past them and stop at the edge of steps. I don’t know why I feel like she wants to talk to me. I ask Uzma if she can come. I give her the book and tell her that there is a letter for Haifa if she can give it to her. She takes the book from me, while I proceed to Majeed huts in the other direction.
I sit under a thin shade of a small tree and order tea from Guddo. Sitting behind me is my advisor and his company taking lunch. A while later, Sheraz, a physics student, comes to me saying hastily that Haifa is looking for me. As I stand up, I see Haifa is also striding towards me. She is in a yellow dress holding the book in her hand with the arm folded to her stomach, her hairs on her face. Between us is the road. As she crosses the road, she throws the book on my face. She says, “What you think of yourself?”
I also say something back but do not remember my words. I may again have said something irrelevant. People also flock to the scene. My advisor picks up the book from the ground and then holds me. The earth under me is like fire. I wish to vanish. I try to control myself and walk with my advisor and his company to the department.
In department, we go straight to my office. Meanwhile, the Friday prayer is also finished. The department is full again. Standing outside the seminar library is Haifa and her classmates. She has already reached before us.
“What did you do to her?” My advisor asks me. Two other professors are also standing.
“I gave her a letter.”
One of the other professors open the book, which he takes from my advisor and reads the letter. He says there is nothing in it that might have offended her. My advisor says writing the letter was wrong in the first place. I should not have given her anything in the written form. Meanwhile, Haifa can also be heard talking loudly in our wing. I say to my professors that it is the end of my life. I’m going home to finish my life. During this, I change my statements several times. Sometimes I say I’m finishing my life then say no, no I just want to go home to change my mind. In reality, my decision is final. I’m ending my life, but I don’t want them to call my family to inform them about my intention. Apparently, I normalize myself. My advisor says he will drop me at the bus station.
Before leaving, I look at the university for the one last time. The steps, huts, friends, everything come in mind. Many times at night, I fell in the steps. One night while coming from the department, I started to fly all of a sudden. I didn’t anticipate there were steps down the way. Another night, my friend Iqbal and I brought a bottle of gin to drink it in my office. We were so thirsty for alcohol for many days that we could not wait to open it. In this business, the bottle slipped from my hands and the room got flooded with alcohol. I heard of canals of milk and alcohol in the heaven but saw a puddle of spirit in my office.
My advisor leaves me at Karachi Company. He also advises me not to return until I fully settle.
I wait for the Peshawar coach, but it’s running late. The shortage of busses is common on Friday. It is good to go to Pindi bus station which is bigger than the Islamabad one. Islamabad and Pindi are twin cities. I wait a little bit more then suddenly I recall that I’m going to commit suicide. Why wait; why not get a taxi; why save money. I have few thousand rupees in my pocket with which I can buy a pistol on the way at Wazir Dand weaponry market, Jamrud. I have heard that a suicide plan may change if you delay it. The more you think, the lesser are the chances you will do it. I need to shut my mind, get a taxi, buy a gun, and then shoot myself in the bathroom in my room.
There is also shortage of taxis today. Luckily, I find one. The driver in 50’s, black dyed beard and mustache, is standing outside his black Alto Suzuki. I talk to him for Peshawar. He says okay. Many local taxis do not go long distances. This man says, “I’m also from Peshawar and was looking for someone going to Peshawar. Other taxis will charge you double for two-ways because they come back empty.” I don’t care if you charge me double or triple, I say to myself and get on the back seat. “I work in a company in Islamabad and drive the taxi for extra money. On Friday, I go to Peshawar to spend time with my family. On Monday morning, I come back.” He says. This driver is very talkative. I just need a quiet time with mind shut. “You may like music.” He plays a cassette of old sad Bollywood songs. When I pay attention, it is about failure in love. I learn that failure is not uncommon. People do not finish their life. Then I say to myself no, no nothing can change my mind – I. Am. Finishing. My. Life. This. Is. It.
In an hour and a half or so we reach the Attack Bridge, the Border of the Punjab and N.W.F.P. provinces. The N.W.F.P. province will later be named Khyber Pakhtoonkhwa (KP). We are heading west. The river under the bridge is very deep, where the Indus river from the north-east and Kabul river from the west combine. Kabul river is muddy whereas Indus is blue. In fact, the Kabul river falls into the bigger and longest Indus river and running south. After crossing the bridging, we stop at a roadside tea shop. We sit in the veranda and order tea. The driver is very nice. He’s talking to me, but my response is one syllable. My mind is elsewhere. After tea, we continue to Peshawar. In this hour and a half, I observe softening in my plan. Now I think as to why spend money on buying a gun. I spend all my money on alcohol. Every other week I go home asking my brothers for pocket money. What will they be thinking of me? So I decide not to buy the gun but steal it from my Hafiz. I know his pistol will be in his room. Hafiz has recently moved from Teddi bazaar to our house in New Abbadi. In another hour or so we reach Peshawar. The driver drops me in Karkhano Market. Nonlocal taxis do not travel in tribal areas because of the fear of kidnapping or car-snatching. At the checkpoint, I take another local taxi and head home.
As I reach home, I go straight to Hafiz’s room but it’s locked. The lock is very tiny. If I try, I can break it with something. It grows bigger to my eyes and looks impossible to break it. I say to myself I’ll figure it out; let me first go to my room and write the suicide note. In the room, the letter confuses me, I cannot comprehend what to write. Should I write a long letter to summarize all my life or a short letter? In this business, I lie in bed and sleep. I get up a moment later. For a moment, I forget about the plan. I then recall that I was going to do something. Suddenly, I call my sister-in-law, Abdur’s wife. I just tell her everything: the today incident in the university and my suicide plan. I tell her that I was going to give everyone a surprise, but the story is spoiled. There remains no thrill in the suicide anymore. I’m not doing it. I must face the world.
A few days later I call Daud. I ask him if people know about the incident. He gives me a feeling like nothing has happened. He says to come back. I go back next day although my advisor asked me to stay longer.
Three weeks later, on April 29, there is shooting in front of the administration building. It turns out that a student named Ali Rizwan Kasuri shoots another student named Amina Gillani, and then shoots himself. The girl dies on the spot, while the boy is in a coma and dies later in the hospital. The police investigation suggests that it was a love affair. The girl had recently been engaged to some other boy by her parents. When the incident happened, many people thought it was me.