موہے اپنے ہی رنگ میں رنگ لے نی جام
تو ہے صاحب مورا، محبوبِ الاہی
سرمئ شاموں سے مل کے
سترنگی سپنوں میں سل کے
تجھ میں ہی میں گھل جاوں رنگریزہ
ہولی میں عشق کی کھیلوں
گر بے پروائ جھیلوں
تجھے پاوٴں خود کھو جاوٴں، رنگریزہ
رنگریزہ، رنگریزہ
تھامیں جو شام کی باہیں
دن رنگ دے رنگ دے شامیں
ہر پہر رنگیں رنگین رنگریزہ
بس رنگ اب مجھ کو رنگ دے
مورا آنچل دامن رنگ دے
موہے خود سا کر دے مورے رنگریزہ
رنگریزہ، رنگریزہ
موہے اپنے ہی رنگ میں رنگ لے نی جام
تو ہے صاحب مورا، محبوبِ الاہی
As soon as the song started to play, Ayesha skipped to the next immediately while driving.
“Hey, wait, let’s listen to that, are you the vocalist, you did it?” Abdul Qadeer went really excited.
“No way, Abu, it’s Zara, the songbird. She's got a voice that could charm the stars out of the sky. Sends me her tunes all the time. Usually, I swipe away our chats, so the voice notes vanish too. But she sent this last night, and it's still lingering in my playlist. Haven’t hit delete yet.” Skipping back to it, the melody started anew.
“Zara sings so beautifully,” Abdul Qadeer, Ayesha’s dad, couldn’t help but praise as soon as it stopped. Indeed, she was always a natural on stage, but then something happened in those early days of which Ayesha had a flashback.
“Why don’t you want to perform anymore?” Ayesha asked, feeling puzzled, her brow furrowing with concern. She was almost angry.
“It's simple. Can’t you see? I'm just not feeling up to it.”
“I see alright. I have got the picture. You're scared of singing for people you barely know, scared of their negativity. I don’t get why you care so much about what Khadija said.” Ayesha’s tone was a mix of frustration and curiosity.
“Nah, it’s not that.”
“Sure, tell me another one.”
“I just don’t have the guts; can’t you understand?”
“As if we are talking about someone else, and I don’t know you.”
“She criticized my singing, Ayesha. It got to me, she said my singing don’t sit well with some ears.” Zara finally admitted.
“And you swore it ain’t about that.” Ayesha tried to nudge Zara into realizing her reticence indeed stemmed from Khadija’s words.
“I don’t know, but her words keep echoing in my ears.”
“This is the second time you are shying away. Everyone's asking me to get you to sing because they love your voice. But you've let Khadija's words get to you. Remember how Professor Huma praised you the next day? She said you were amazing and gave you a chocolate. Didn’t you see how everyone cheered? But all you remember are Khadija's words.”
“I didn’t care.” Zara murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze casted downward.
“Sure, because you were too busy shedding tears for two hours straight.” Ayesha became reckless.
“Ayesha, you’re not being understanding.”
“And where do you stand? Care to shed some light on that?” This time Ayesha’s tone was gentle yet probing.
“Khadija’s words were daggers. Never had anyone take a swipe at me, but when I overheard her, those words pierced one part of mine that was merely constructed by my confidence, that’s what she could do and I’m trying to patch up the pieces she shattered, I am gathering my strength that is what I can do. But it takes time. Can you hold my hand through this?”
After that heart-to-heart, Ayesha was left speechless. Zara knew and she was fully aware that she was in the process of healing. People have their own quirks and sensitivities, and nobody should be forced to change their reactions or suppress them. Ayesha realized she needed to embrace this truth and stand by her friend’s choices.
“But you’ll be back on the mic, right?” Ayesha asked hopefully, her voice infused with encouragement.
“Of course, I love singing. You know it’s my lifeblood.”
“Next time, I want to see you on stage.”
“Next time, I'll be front and center." Zara appeared to promise and with that, they shared a warm hug.
But from that day forward, they never talked about it and skirted the topic. Ayesha gave Zara space, knowing she needed time to shake off the impact of Khadija’s barbs. So, Zara never sang again after that, and Ayesha felt sad, knowing how much singing meant to her.
Ayesha pondered Zara's tendency to take things personally, not knowing that it was a deeply ingrained trait within her. Sometimes, no amount of external reassurance or advice seems to make a difference. Taking things to heart was part of Zara's nature, something woven into the fabric of her being. It wasn't a matter of simply being told to toughen up or let things slide—it was a fundamental aspect of who she was. And while Ayesha wished she could ease Zara's burden, she also needed to respect that changing such a deeply rooted aspect of oneself was not something that could be achieved overnight. It required patience, understanding, and acceptance of one's own nature. And foremost of all, it was Ayesha’s decision whether she wanted to change it.
And then Ayesha remembered her own note from her app.
"What would you say about a girl who once loved the stage?
How would you encourage her to love it again?
Be lively as she was
Walk through it
Walk through the audience
Walk towards the aim
And perform
Make it her home
Where she was happy
And did whatever she wanted
The speech that would give goosebumps
Motivate and provide realization
Transferring the energy needed to change the world
Through love
Or
When she danced with expressions that spread magic among the audience
Making them move and forget everything else
Or
made everyone laugh with her silly talk
And inspired people to be their true selves in her presence
Or
Just stood there, radiating rays of energy, making any place a self-made stage
Moving it wherever she went
How would you unlock her magic when it's confined within a box?
In a corner, unapproachable
when she knows she can't help but avoid
The stage
Though she longs to live there her whole life
To be its Queen
And love it again
Maybe let her hide
From fears
Insecurities
And the never-ending overthinking
Until she rises again, but,
How would you make her appreciate herself once more?
How would you make her lively again?
How would you ask her to spread her magic again?
What would you say to a girl who wants to love the stage again?”
“Yes, Abu, her voice is soulful.” Ayesha said, snapping back to the present moment where she was learning to drive. Her tutor was her father.
“Be careful, Ayesha. You need to signal before changing lanes.” her father said firmly, his eyes were scanning the road ahead.
“But Abu, there's no one behind us.”
“That doesn’t matter. You need to build the reflex so that every time you move to the other side, your hand automatically signals first.” he insisted gently but unwaveringly.
“Abu, your rule book is a bit much.” she said, rolling her eyes.
“You have to follow my rule book if you want to be a good driver like me.” he responded with a proud smile, Ayesha could see a twinkle of humor in his eyes.
“Ami will never agree to that.” Ayesha countered, giggling.
If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“Yeah, I know. She never agrees with me anyway.” This was enough to make Ayesha laugh harder, feeling a sense of camaraderie with her father.
“Now, ease off the accelerator as you approach the stop sign.” he instructed, watching her intently.
Ayesha nodded, concentrating hard. “Like this?”
“Perfect. Remember, smooth and steady. No sudden movements.” he praised, nodding approvingly.
“But Abu, what if I have to stop suddenly?”
“Then you brake firmly but not abruptly. Always be aware of your surroundings so you can anticipate”
“Okay, I’ll try,” she said, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“Good. Now, when you turn left at the next intersection, make sure to check your mirrors and blind spot.”
Ayesha glanced at her mirrors and turned her head to check her blind spot, then turned the wheel. “How was that?”
“Excellent! Just keep practicing, and it will become second nature.” he said with a proud smile.
She grinned, feeling more confident. “Thanks, Abu. I think I’m getting the hang of it.”
“I knew you would. You’re a quick learner.”
“Well, I wanted to discuss this in front of your mother, but since we’re having such a great time, I’ll tell you now.” he said, his tone becoming more serious, yet still warm.
“What is it, Abu?” Ayesha asked, sensing something significant.
“Do you remember Uncle Zia?” her father began, hinting at familiar territory.
“Yes, your friend, Uncle Zia.” Ayesha replied, already guessing where this was heading. Whenever her father talked about his friends and their sons, it usually led to proposals.
“He’s sent a proposal for you. His son, a doctor, just returned from the USA after completing his post-graduation. He wants to live in Pakistan and is currently looking for a bride.”
“So, even the USA isn't for everyone.” Ayesha quipped, raising an eyebrow.
“Haha, yes. Few Pakistanis go abroad, and even fewer stay. After all, Pakistan isn't a bad country.”
“Pakistan isn't bad, but the people here can be challenging.”
“Pakistanis are the most lovable people; you won't find anyone like them anywhere else. Your generation undervalues our country due to current circumstances, but one day, you’ll realize the freedom you enjoy here is unmatched.”
“Abu, your love for Pakistan will never change.” Ayesha said, shaking her head with a smile.
“It should never change. It is my homeland, it the place where I opened my eyes, where you were born, I’m very thankful for my country. But your generation…” he trailed off.
Ayesha interrupted him before he could start taking liberties with her generation habitually, “Abu, I’m patriotic too. I respect my country and the sacrifices we learn about in our history books. Why are you pointing fingers at me?”
“Not just you, but your whole generation. You’re all so ungrateful and lazy, glued to your phones, complaining that nothing can be done to save Pakistan. Yet, it’s the youth who have the energy to change the fate of our nation. They suffer from Peter Pan Syndrome, never wanting to grow up or take responsibility. Always blaming others.”
“Abu, times have changed. This is the technological era. But I agree, we’ve lost hope in making Pakistan better. We don’t see any chance for positive change.”
“Hope is the essence of life.” her father said earnestly.
“Hope is dangerous; it clouds judgment.” Ayesha retorted, quoting her favorite series.
“Hope gives you reasons to live, wings to follow your heart.” Abdul Qadeer countered, not ready to give up.
“Hope is a lie. An illusion. All in good time. Eliminate hope. You gain clarity.” Ayesha replied, quoting another line, hoping to end the debate.
“Hope…” Abdul Qadeer started again, refusing to concede.
“Abu, I get your point. Can we stop now? I need to focus; we’re on a crowded road.” Ayesha said, using the situation as an excuse.
“So, what do you say then?” he asked, not ready to let the matter drop.
“Well, maybe one day when our generation…”
“Not that. About Waleed.” Or Maybe he wanted to talk about the main topic, that’s when Ayesha realized.
“Waleed, who?”
“The doctor, Uncle Zia’s son.”
“Oh, yes, Uncle Zia’s son.” Ayesha behaved as she understood.
There was a silence for a moment, she didn’t realize that they have jumped to other topic so fast that main part remained yet to be discussed.
“Abu, the decision is yours and Ami’s. If you both believe it’s a good match for me, then I’m prepared to accept whatever you decide.” she said calmly.
Abdul Qadeer, only could smile looking at his daughter who grew so fast, that it was difficult for him to find a suitable person for her future could be secured and so she could make her own family, stirred emotions in him that any father would understand, Yet, Abdul Qadeer was always composed. Despite their debates about their respective generations and the uncertainty they faced, he knew Ayesha embodied the spirit of a typical Pakistani girl, and he expected nothing less from her response.
“Just know that we only want your happiness.”
“I believe that, truly. You don’t need to explain that to me.”
“And Just promise me one thing.” he added, his tone lightening again.
“What’s that?” she asked, curious.
“Promise me you’ll always use your indicators.” he said with a wink.
Ayesha laughed, the sound echoed warmly in the car. “I promise, Abu.”
“I just can’t believe this. He seemed so innocent that day. I had no idea he would turn out to be so cunning.” Zara murmured, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Haha. Is that your definition of cunning? Merely wanting his son to marry into a respectable family?” Ayesha quipped, arching an eyebrow teasingly.
“Well, my definitions are always subject to change. You never know! But his sharpness is quite evident.” Zara’s replies could be brutal sometimes.
“Zara, what’s the harm if he sent a proposal for his son?” Ayesha really wanted to know why Zara was so tensed.
“What’s not wrong? He’s scouting for the cream of Karachi for his son.” Zara retorted, clearly exasperated.
“Usually, friends are happiest and thrilled when their besties receive proposals. But look at you!” Ayesha teased, genuinely entertained by Zara’s reaction.
“Look, I’m not your average best friend, for starters. And honestly, maybe nothing is amiss here,” Zara admitted, feigning a mournful expression.
“Hey, what’s the matter? I’m not tying the knot tomorrow. It’ll take months to sort everything out.” Ayesha reassured her.
“No, it just feels so sudden." Zara sighed, her concern palpable.
“Haha, relax, girl. I’ll keep you informed every step of the way, don’t worry,” Ayesha said with a reassuring smile, trying to lighten the mood.
All this conversation took place in the cafeteria, much to Zara’s surprise. She had been rehearsing everything she would say to Ayesha to hint that their family was interested in her for her brother. However, all her efforts seemed in vain when Ayesha informed her about the proposal discussion with her father.
“So, do you think they’ll say yes?” Zara asked anxiously.
“I don’t know. I can’t say for sure.”
“And what about you?” Zara wanted to know her views of it.
“I’m not sure either. If they both agree, then I’ll get married.” Ayesha responded casually.
“Just like that?” Zara exclaimed
“Yes, just like that.”
“Don’t you want to meet the guy, get to know him a bit?”
“Maybe someday, if things progress. Right now, I don’t know anything, Zara. Besides, appearances…”
“Yeah, yeah, looks don’t matter to you, as per your age-old saying,” Zara could not stop herself to continue what she guessed Ayesha was going to
say.
“And as for getting to know him, what’s the use? I just don’t want to get involved in that part.”
“I think that part is important, though,” Zara insisted.
“No, it’s not important to me.”
“If looks don’t matter to you, and getting to know him doesn’t matter, then what does matter to you?” Zara questioned.
“Many things matter to me. His character, his values, particularly his respect for Islam, his relationship with his family and friends, and how he conducts himself at work, how he behaves with women in his life and others.” Ayesha said thoughtfully, simultaneously doing analyzation of what was on her list that she never had thought before actually.
“But how will you know any of that if you don’t want to get to know him?” Zara had many questions and she was very curious.
“I’ll leave that to my parents. They’ll only say yes if they believe he’s the perfect match for me.” Ayesha stated calmly.
“Okay, so basically, you don’t have an ideal person in mind, but at least you could try to envision it? Like what qualities would you look for when saying yes?”
“I can’t really picture anything, to be honest.” Ayesha admitted, finally.
“Oh my God, what kind of girl are you.”
“You never really know a person until you live with them. Even then, people evolve. Human nature isn’t static,” Ayesha paused. “What if I start getting to know someone and it turns out my perception was wrong? People change.”
“So, what’s the solution then?”
“It’s quite simple. I’ll marry the person my parents choose for me. They’ve seen the world and know me well enough to choose someone who will be compatible. After marriage, I’ll try to get to know him better, and we’ll both adjust where needed. The key to a successful marriage, in my opinion, is teamwork and equality. There should be no dominance; rather, the husband should see his wife as his partner, someone who holds an important place.” Ayesha ended.
“That sounds like the 19th-century girl in you speaking.” Zara remarked teasingly.
“Call it what you will, but that’s how I want things to be. You’ve known me for years; I can’t take the risk of falling in love with someone. It’s just not in my nature. I’ll opt for an arranged marriage, no ifs or buts about it.” Ayesha affirmed as she was so sure of it.
“Fair enough. You’re a good person with a kind heart; you’ll find the right person. That’s what you deserve. I’m glad to be your friend; you don’t have unrealistic fantasies like some girls our age, waiting for a fairytale.” Zara herself was very ambitious, so it was good for her to know that her friend also is mature enough to take her life’s decisions and stand by them. She never liked the girls chasing boys or being in their fantasies about their life partners.
“Believing in fairy tales isn’t a bad thing. Maybe some people pursue them, and that’s why they come true. It can be a reality for some.” Ayesha lead the conversation towards optimism.
“Actually, you’re right. Every girl’s fairytale is different. You know, deep down, I have a feminist streak, and it’s so fierce that my fairytale starts and ends with me.” Zara declared proudly.
“That’s my girl. Just don’t let that feminism stand in the way of making major decisions in your life, if you know what I mean.” Ayesha was cautioning gently since she had seen Zara for a long time, and she knew that the feminist in her always muzzled her all decisions whereas the decision of committing to someone needs a lot of compromises especially on behalf of women, naturally. And she had her own views of Zara that she was not very good at compromises.
“I’ll consider that when the time comes. And yes, I know exactly what you mean.” Zara replied with a wink.
Usually, they didn’t have much free time, but since Professor Ashraf's departure to Canada after retiring, Professor Sher Shah had taken over their Urdu department class, giving them a rare opportunity for breaks for he has not begun lecturing them yet, as demanded by him that he wanted to understand the syllabus.
“Love, if in your favor,
Can give you a glow
That is new
But my darling, if love turns against you,
You may gradually become Someone the world never knew”
“Why my university and why my class?” Abdul Hadi questioned.
“Why do you give yourself that much importance?” replied Sher Uncle, teasingly.
Abdul Hadi remained silent, unsure how to respond to his uncle's playful banter.
“Okay, let's say I'm joining the department to keep an eye on you. What's wrong with that?” Sher Uncle continued, undeterred.
Abdul Hadi chose to keep quiet again, feeling uneasy about having his uncle as his teacher at his University.
“I've taught you since you were little; I'm already your teacher. So, what shame do you feel having me on board at Karachi University?” Sher Uncle persisted.
“Sher Chachu, I'm not a child anymore.” Abdul Hadi only could think of this personal reason for his Sher chachu to join the same university.
“But sometimes you still act like one.”
“Maybe my kind of people never want to grow up.”
“A twenty-eight-year-old man with all his muscles shouldn't say things like that. Even if I joined to look after my nephew, what's wrong with that?” Sher Uncle countered.
“I'm fine on my own, and just to correct you, I'm twenty-six, not twenty-eight.” Abdul Hadi clarified.
“Seriously?” Sher Uncle seemed surprised.
“Yes, seriously” Abdul Hadi affirmed.
“It seems I'm getting old. I remember when you were small enough to sit on my lap. Time flies, my son; in two years, you'll be twenty-eight and looking like this.” Sher Uncle gestured with his hands and made a funny face. “So, maybe it's time we start looking for a girl for you.”
Abdul Hadi rarely spoke much, and his silence often left those around him guessing his thoughts. It was his way, possessor of a silent strength even if he didn't fully was aware of it.
“Have you seen a girl already?” Sher Uncle inquired showing a genuine interest in knowing if that was the truth.
“No, and I've told you, I'm not getting married.” Abdul Hadi stood firm.
“Yes, not now, but...” as soon as Sher Uncle began, “Never” Abdul Hadi interrupted making his stance clear.
“Abdul Hadi, you must understand that your past should not dictate your future. You need to overcome the fears it has instilled in you.” Sher Uncle advised.
“Why didn't you get married then?” Abdul Hadi suddenly asked, catching Sher Uncle off guard. The room fell silent, Abdul Hadi waiting for an answer.
“My situation and yours are different. I've walked a different path. Why would you want to walk in my old shoes when you have better opportunities? I've made choices in life; not marrying was one of them” Sher Uncle explained.
“You had me back then. You sacrificed a family for me, and now I only have you.” Abdul Hadi couldn’t say more to share his deepest feeling of how much he cared and loved his uncle, the most, in this world.
“What family? A family that was never meant to be? Who put that thought in your head? You need some clarity; I won't let you make foolish decisions.” Sher Uncle tried to led him to the practicalities of life.
“Chachu, I'm fine. You've been a major part of my life, the only person I can rely on. I can't disobey you after everything you've done for me. But please, let me live my life the way I want to.” Abdul Hadi said, standing up and moving towards Sher Uncle, taking his hands with respect.
“I know your intentions for me are pure, and your love for me is truest. You want me to be happy, and I'm trying. But right now, I need to find myself. There are bigger questions I need answers to before I think about marriage. Someday, I might consider it, and you'll be the first to know.” Abdul Hadi assured him, kissing his uncle's hands.
“Foolish boy! You always know how to tug at an old man's heartstrings.” Sher Uncle chuckled softly. “You're making me emotional.”
“No, you're as young and handsome as you were twenty years ago. I can get the photos of all those time to make it evident, don’t you worry.”
“Yes, that's true, I am old and very much healthy, battling all the diseases in snaps.” He flicked his finger. “But if one isn't healthy without any medical condition, they need to reflect on what's troubling their mind” He indirectly hinted him to take note of his condition, wondering how he could be so melancholic at such a young age.
“I'm okay, don't worry about me.” Abdul Hadi said, smiling.