Imran's Unlikely Encounters

It was one o'clock... Fayaz dropped Imran near his bungalow and left. The garden gate was closed! Imran started shaking the gate... The drowsy guard shouted to ask who it is.

"Dear guard... it's me, your servant Ali Imran, MSc, PhD London."

"Who, young sir?" The guard came near the gate and said. "Sir, it's difficult."

"Every great man in the world has said that nothing is difficult if it becomes easy."

"The elder sir has ordered that the gate should not be opened... now tell me."

"Convey Confucius's message to the elder sir."

"Yes sir!" The guard said, flustered.

"Tell him Confucius has said to open your doors for the honest ones wandering in the dark night."

"But the elder sir has said..."

"Ha... elder sir... he should have been born in China. Anyway, make sure to convey Confucius's message to him."

"What can I say," the guard said in a trembling voice. "Where will you go now?"

"This fakir will spend this pleasant night in a graveyard."

"What can I do for you?"

"Pray for forgiveness... alright, goodbye!" Imran walked away...!

And then, half an hour later, he was entering the Tip-Top Night Club, but as soon as he stepped inside, he bumped into a Deputy Director from the intelligence department who had also been a classmate of his father.

"Oh! So, young man, you are now seen here as well?"

"Yes! I often come to play flash," Imran said, bowing his head with great humility.

"Flash! So now you even...?"

"Yes! Sometimes, when I'm in the mood under the influence."

"Oh... so you've started drinking as well."

"What can I say--you can swear that I've never drunk alone. Often, drunk courtesans also come along who won't agree without drinking....!"

"Oh my... so you're slandering the reputation of Mr. Rehman these days."

"Now you tell me!" Imran said in disappointment. "When a decent girl isn't found, what should be done.... But I can swear. When I find one, I curse the courtesans and thank God."

"Perhaps Mr. Rehman isn't aware of this... well...."

"If you meet him, repeat this saying of Confucius: when an honest person doesn't find shelter under his own roof, he makes deals with the dogs barking in dark alleys."

The Deputy Director glared at him and walked out.

Imran pursed his lips as if to whistle and surveyed the hall... his eyes stopped at a table where a beautiful woman was sitting, a bottle of port in front of her, smoking a cigarette. The glass was more than half empty.

Imran approached and stopped near her.

"May I sit here, Lady Jahangir?" he asked, slightly bowing.

"Oh, it's you," Lady Jahangir raised her right eyebrow and said, "No... absolutely not."

"No problem!" Imran smiled innocently. "Confucius said...!"

"I'm not interested in Confucius..." she said irritably.

"Then listen to a line from D.H. Lawrence."

"I don't want to hear anything... move away from here," Lady Jahangir said, picking up her glass.

"Oh, consider that you were once my fiancée..."

"Shut up."

"As you wish! I just wanted to tell you that since this morning, the weather has been very pleasant."

She smiled.

"Sit down!" she said and emptied her glass in one gulp.

For a while, she kept her intoxicated eyes fixed on Imran's face, then, taking a long drag from her cigarette, she leaned forward and said softly,

"I still belong to you."

"But... Sir Jahangir!" Imran said in disappointment.

"Bury him."

"What... has he died?" Imran stood up in shock.

Lady Jahangir laughed.

"Your foolishness is quite endearing," she said, winking her left eye, and Imran shyly lowered his head.

"What will you drink?" Lady Jahangir asked after a while.

"Buttermilk."

"Buttermilk!... He... he... he... he... you must be drunk!"

"Wait!" Imran said, flustered. "After one o'clock, I only drink coffee... from six in the evening until midnight, I drink rum."

"Rum!" Lady Jahangir wrinkled her nose. "You don't seem like a man of taste. Only bumpkins drink rum."

"In a drunken state, I forget that I'm not a bumpkin."

"What are you doing these days?"

"Being patient," Imran said with a long sigh.

"You can't be serious at any point in life," Lady Jahangir said with a smile.

"Oh, you think so too?" Imran's voice became extremely sorrowful.

"What was so wrong with me that you refused to marry me?" Lady Jahangir asked.

"When did I refuse?" Imran said, making a pitiful face. "I just recited two or three verses to your father... how was I to know he wasn't interested in poetry? Otherwise, I would have spoken in prose."

"My father thinks you are an utter fool and rude," Lady Jahangir said.

"And since Sir Jahangir is his contemporary... therefore..."

"Shut up," Lady Jahangir said, irritated.

"Anyway, I'll just die suffering like this," Imran's voice turned sorrowful again.

Lady Jahangir was closely observing his face.

"Do you really regret it?" she asked softly.

"You're asking this?... And in such a way that it seems you doubt my words." Not only did tears well up in Imran's eyes, but they also started flowing.

"Oh no, my dear... Imran darling, what are you doing!" Lady Jahangir handed him her handkerchief.

"I will die from this grief!" he said, drying his tears.

"No. You should get married," Lady Jahangir said. "And I... I will always belong to you." She was filling another glass.

"That's what everyone says... there have been many proposals... a few days ago, a proposal came from Justice Farooq's daughter... the family refused. But I quite liked that proposal!"

"You liked it?" Lady Jahangir said in surprise. "Have you seen his daughter?"

"Yes!... The one who styles her hair like Rita Hayworth and usually wears dark glasses."

"Do you know why she wears dark glasses?" Lady Jahangir asked.

"No!... But she looks good."