~ * ~ * ~ * ~ The Librettist ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Then I did get a chance to visit the fourth Metro – Chennai. Hyderabad does not have a US consulate, and I had to go to Chennai for the visa interview. And this visit turned out to be a dream come true from more than one perspective. It was an official visit, fully sponsored by my company. My visa interview was scheduled at 2.15 PM on April 10, 2007, and I left Hyderabad for Chennai on April 9, 2007. The flight was good; Jet Airways has the credit of making its passengers feel good always. I landed at Chennai at around 6.45 PM. My cab driver stood at the arrival entrance with my name written on a placard. This was the first ecstasy; I had seen so many big, fat, and rich people being received by such cab drivers – and this kind of spelt their prosperity. Experiencing the same thing personally was an incredible thing indeed!!

The difference between Hyderabad and Chennai was instantly apparent. The road traffic was comparatively much much more decent and demure. One of the traffic signboards actually caught my cognitive attention – Avoid aggressive driving! Indeed, aggressive driving; that is the exact phrase to describe it. If you ever happened to travel on the roads of Hyderabad, you would understand what I intend to say!! My accommodation had been arranged at the Residency; a premium four-star luxury hotel in Chennai. By the time I arrived and checked in, it was already 8.45 PM. I had a quick shower, a light meal, and then smoked a couple of cigarettes. By 10.30 PM, I was asleep (something that doesn’t normally happen, since I normally go to bed by 12.00 AM only). The Residency is famous for its lavish complimentary breakfast buffet. I did have the privilege to feast on it; however, the impounding tension of my visa interview was surmounting and I ate just for the sake of eating. I will probably visit the Residency once again for the sake of this breakfast.

The tension was building up. I smoked a few cigarettes after breakfast and decided to rest a while; it should be fine if I left the hotel at 1.00 PM for the interview. The US consulate was a 10 minutes drive from the hotel. I cautiously avoided a lunch, and decided to have something from the complimentary fruit basket at the Residency. The cab was waiting and we were at the US consulate by 1.15 PM. A queue of all kinds of people was moving slowly towards the entry gate of the consulate. There were actually two queues, and I joined the one at the main gate entrance. The weather was warm and humid. While standing in the queue for almost 40 minutes, I experienced many different kinds of people. An elderly lady was in the queue just before me. She was probably expecting to visit her son and his family in the US. Then there was another elderly gentleman with a seemingly decent personality. Ironically, I found him to be the most unconfident and nervous person in the queue. Interviews normally give a creeping feeling to anyone, and when it comes to something like a visa interview, it sure has a greater impact. I had no reasons to be nervous; I was here for a business visa, which had the highest probability of getting approved. Above all, I trusted Almighty Allah and believed that I would get through if it was in my benefit.

The queue kept on moving and I saw people throwing away some of the restricted belongings such as water bottles. The consulate has a tight security and not many things are allowed inside the building. I was aware of this and had locked my mobile phone in the locker of my room before coming here. Suddenly a small chaos broke out; and I found out a few moments later that the lady in front of me did not have a photograph that was required to be pasted on one of the application forms. She was swiftly guided by the security personnel to a nearly photo studio where she could get an instant photograph. The elderly gentleman behind me was more nervous than ever. He had asked me if this queue was meant for all the applicants, and then had asked the same question to, I believe, five other people in the queue. He was pretty nervous to pass on his nervousness to a lot of ignorant applicants. Ironically, his nervousness kind of boosted my own confidence there!

I finally entered the main building where we went through a thorough security check and were then guided to a hall with numerous counters. This was the area for document verification. A volunteer guided me to one of the counters and I silently stood and waited for my turn. When I was close enough to the counter, I could see the plush and swanky young Indian lady besides the counter behind the glass window. She must have been in her late twenties or early thirties, but her persona spelt the air of superiority complex. I suddenly didn’t like myself standing in that queue. When my turn came, I handed over my passport and the required documents for verification. The lady did her job efficiently, but went over my passport quiet a few times. I could feel what she intended, since I was a Muslim and Muslims are not much welcome in the United States. The verification process was finally over and she handed my passport and documents back to me. I then entered the other building where the interviews were being conducted.

There were numerous counters in this building as well, and we first had to undergo finger printing. I queued up to get my finger printing done, while closely observing the process. The person at the counter asked the applicants for their documents. Then he asked them to first place the left index finger, then the right index finger in the slot meant for capturing the finger prints. He then took some notes on his computer, returned the documents and asked them to join a line at the other counters for the interview. When my turn came, he took my finger prints but did not return my passport and documents. Instead, he asked me to wait at the back of the building for some time. I knew this was again another instance of cross verification probably for a Muslim. It was the second time I felt my visa would not be approved.

I finally got my passport and documents back and was escorted to join a line leading to one of the counters where the interviews were happening. I peeked and tried to look at the person behind the counter; people had suggested me to avoid female officers as they are kind of indecisive. I could finally see the person behind the counter, and he appeared fair and decent enough as compared to his counterparts. Then my turn came and I went to the counter. I tried to feel my pulse but could not! However, I was quick enough to return back to normal.

Everything went on swiftly as the officer flew questions to me and I kept answering them to the best of my ability. I could feel that the difference between success and failure was really narrow and thin here. “Tell me about Progress, what does it do?” … “Why do you want to visit the US?” … “Please give me the invitation letter from your company.” I handed him the invitation letter from the company headquarters at Bedford. He had a quick glance at it and felt convinced. He then looked at the application form. “Oh! You worked for TATA earlier. What was your profile there?” That was perhaps the most crucial question, since TATA has a great brand image in the US, and for the first time ever, I felt my short stint of three months at TATA Interactive Systems paying off in some way. “Show me the appointment letter from TATA.” I fumbled here a bit, and asked, “Do you want the appointment letter or the experience letter?” “Both,” came the instant reply. Then I instantly realized I had committed a blunder, I did not have the appointment letter, I only had the experience letter. Let me face it, I said to myself. I confidently handed him over the experience letter, while framing the answer to the next obvious question about the appointment letter. He seemed a bit lost in his computer, had a quick glance at the experience letter from TIS, and then handed it back. My heart beat was at its highest now, and I waited if he would also return my passport – signifying that my visa application has been rejected. “OK, your visa is approved; you will get your passport within a few days.” The next thing I saw myself doing was thanking him profusely with the broadest grin on my face, and collecting my documents folder. I scrambled with the folder; once, twice, then again. Finally, I somehow managed to collect the folder and dashed out of the counter!

Stephen was my cab driver, and he had promised to take me round the city after my visa interview. I had not said anything at the time, thinking if I would be in the mood to see the city (depending on the results of the interview). Now, I was much relaxed, and I told Stephen to take me back to the Residency. I would make a few calls; take a shower, and then checkout. My return flight was at 9.30 PM, so I had enough time. I could then visit the city with Stephen and then go to the airport. We visited the much talked about Marina Beach. It was an ecstatic moment for me as well as Stephen, when I offered him a cigarette packet and took his photo in my mobile. On the way, Stephen also took me to numerous historical places, such as the museum, the secretariat, and the Ripon Building (which serves as the Chennai Corporation). We also happened to cross the old, historic building where Lord Curzon had stayed for some time. Stephen showed me a high flag post with the tricolor proudly hoisted on it. He said this is the highest post in India that hoists the tricolor. On our way to the airport, we crossed the San Thome Basilica, which is named after Saint Thomas. It is believed that Saint Thomas had come to Chennai in 52 AD and was killed at St. Thomas Mount just outside the city in 78 AD. We finally stopped at a small roadside tea stall and had tea. It was now almost 8.40 PM, and we rushed to the airport. I thanked Stephen and walked towards the entrance. Before long, I had my boarding pass and was waiting for the departure announcement of my flight… Back to Hyderabad… Home Sweet Home??!!

One thing I had always been confident about was that I could never fall in love, come what may. Moreover, there were sufficient reasons to be so confident about this fact. One reason was that I had other more important destinations to reach in life. Prime among them was to prove my worth to everyone. I had failed miserably in doing that till now; let me list some instances – I was not very good at studies, I was not very good at sports, I had dropped a class during my school days, I had to give up science stream after my intermediate because I could not secure enough percentile to get admitted to a science discipline in graduation, and the most important, I could not qualify in the pre-engineering test. Then, with all these censorious “achievements,” how the hell could I think of falling in love?

Being an astute fan of Allama Iqbal, love always reminded me of his great and famous couplet:

Nahin tera nash-e-man Qasr-e-Sultani ke gumbad par;

Tu shaahin hai, basera kar paharhon ki chattano par.

It's not among the Domes of Kingly Palaces that your abode lies;

For you are the Falcon, so make then your abode, among the high peaks of the lofty mountains.

So, well, love was like the Domes of Kingly Palaces for me, which obviously did not resonate anywhere close to my abode!! My abode – and my motto in life – was to gain recognition, to achieve greatest heights, to carve my own personal identity. Maslow might have placed self-actualization at the highest level of his hierarchy of needs, but for me self-actualization was the first and only need. To reach that level of hierarchy, I had to struggle really hard, and leave aside anything else that might have the slightest possibility of interfering in this tread.

These were my thoughts when I found myself failing again, this time in the MBA entrance exams at AMU. Not only that, I could not even qualify for the Mass Communication entrance exam, which was the first step to a career so close to my heart, soul, and perhaps my existence. My graduation was complete, and I had nowhere to go now, except for taking admission in post graduation (in Economics, the subject in which I graduated). I had never liked the idea of dropping a year and engaging in preparation for a competitive exam, unlike most of my friends. Dropping a year – and if I don’t succeed even then?? That would simply mean waste of a complete year (this was so innately inscribed in my thoughts perhaps because of the fact that I had experienced what dropping a year meant at school). On the contrary, if I did not drop, I would still move ahead and reach somewhere in the end. Maybe not at the point where I wanted to be, but perhaps somewhat closer to that destination. These perceptions made it pretty easy for me to decide and take admission in MA Economics.

Post graduation at AMU was co-ed. Wow! Girls!! Girls from Women’s College would be coming for classes, and they would attend classes with the boys. This was not my motivational factor, unlike almost all of my friends. So strong was the motivation for them that many of them would eventually end up with more than 85% of attendance, something really really uncommon in the AMU of my days!! Moreover, I had studied in a co-ed convent so girls were not at all something crazy new for me. This being at the back of my mind, I had decided to maintain least possible interaction with the girls. After all, they were not my destination. Classes started soon, and I suddenly eyed one girl who was of “my size”!! Well, yes, for me, size is all that matters!!!! I knew it was infatuation, something I had experienced OFTEN during school days as well and knew to tackle quite easily. But I had to do something to come to terms with the infatuated feeling. So I took one of my friends into confidence and made him a partner in a crime that would create history in the Department (Our faculty offered various courses in countless subjects, and each subject generally had a separate department. When I say Department, it should mean our Economics Department) for the months to come.

Me and my friend prepared a list of hot pairs in the Department, one boy and one girl in a pair!! This list had nothing to do with the reality, but we made pairs after closely observing the girls and boys in the class. Then the two of us stealthily made enlarged copies of the pairs list and stuck it on all the walls of the Department on the night after February 14^th. Nobody knew who was/were behind this mischief, but this pairing list served as the foundation for many couples that were formed in our class!!! And to avoid any suspicion on me, I had put my name at the top of the list, paired with none other than the same “my size” girl!! And my partner in crime thought I was in love with her and did all this to express my love!! I knew my truth quite well – infatuation was not love.

Now, don’t start jumping to conclusion that my infatuation turned into love. No way. I have always had my priorities right, and would never end up so pathetically. Love happened to me one day, withholding the old Hindi adage (or is it Urdu??) – Pyaar kiya nahin jaata, buss ho jaata hai… And did not just happen in one day – I am a strong disbeliever of love at first sight. There was another girl whom I had not been attracted to, either because I had stayed put on my resolve to maintain the least interaction with girls, or perhaps more because she was rather simple, serene, decent, modest, and demure compared to all other girls. (Hehehehe, my adjectives do tell a lot about her, don’t they??)

The more I observed her, the more I started liking her. Then we had an outing together and went to the International Trade Fair at Delhi, the whole class. We spent a lot of time together; the two of us had some conversation together for the first time. I started observing her even more acutely and every observation lead to an increment in my liking for her. Something in her was terribly close to my dream girl. If I ever fall in love with anyone, she would be like her, I told myself. It was difficult for me – no, actually impossible – to accept at that time that I was in love. My destinations of life were still far far away, and I did not want any interference with those. So, I solemnly continued to march towards my dreams of creating my identity in this despondent world.

The final year of my post graduation was about to start, and this time round, I had to compete for admission to one of the professional courses. With all my might, I struggled; I knew this would be my last chance to prove myself. If I failed, I would end up doing PhD and taking up a teaching job somewhere, which I acrimoniously hated at that time. I tried hard and succeeded in qualifying for Masters in Mass Communication at AMU and MBA at Hamdard University. Taking the expert advice from friends, philosophers, and guides, I finally ended up doing MBA at Hamdard University, New Delhi. It was a bit of a disappoint to leave my friends at AMU and my post graduation in the middle, but the enthusiasm of pursuing MBA and then making a new and distinct identity of my own was too overwhelming for me to think of these things.

During the first two semesters of MBA, I was a frequent visitor to Aligarh. Of course, I had a whole bunch of friends out there, who were still pursuing their MA in Economics. Since I had achieved the first step towards my goals, I had the time to sit back and retrospect. It was then that I eventually realized and acknowledged it. With all my past experiences, I could differentiate between love and pure infatuation. It was love, for sure. And after all, some say that sometimes distance does make you fall in love. So, now I was preparing myself for the great test – expressing it!

I geared myself up several times to express my heart to her. But it was not going to be easy. Not that I lacked the courage or feared rejection. Or maybe yes, I did fear rejection to some extent. But it was worth it to at least try and get rejected than to live the whole of life anticipating if she would have really accepted or rejected. But before making up my mind finally, I still had to ponder on the present circumstances and future consequences – retrospection and introspection being the most decisive tool for me in every walk of my life.

I was not intimidated by the thought of rejection at the first instance, so thought on the acceptance side. If she accepted (which seemed as an obscure reality), was I ready to shoulder that responsibility? I was pursuing MBA, right, but was there any guarantee that I would be able to achieve a decent job eventually? What if she would be put to undue test and trouble because of me? How would I ever convince my family (My mother and siblings would not question it, I was sure. But what about the rest of the family, whom my family and I were so much dependent on? And once family struck me, I suddenly recalled my biggest responsibility towards my family – my sister. How could I become so selfish, uncaring, and inconsiderate and think of my own personal self before my sister was married and decently settled? If I somehow decide to take on this relationship, what is the guarantee that circumstances would favor me to shoulder the great responsibility of my sister? I got a big NO as answer to all these questions. Then, what if she actually rejected me? Would I be able to maintain my self-confidence and stride towards my goals with the same fervor and zest, as I should? NO again.

Expressing love at this point simply meant losses at all fronts. It was because of these reasons that I never expressed my heart. I burnt within my own self without letting anyone know about what was going within. Life was not easy for me with this decision, but it was my own personal decision and I respected it. I had my goals in front of me and continued to stride towards them. Then I heard from someone that she had got married. That was a kind of good news for me, at least I would not be bothered with her anymore, her marriage signified the end of any road leading to her. So now, I could fully concentrate on my goals. Fair enough, I kept on striding towards my goals, and time went by. Now in the present, I stand to retrospect on my past – what did I lose and what all I gained. I did gain a lot, no doubt about it, but lost equally the same. I will end my discussion here, because the remaining part of the introspection is too personal to be left open.

The thought of writing this came to me when I had a short discussion with one of my colleagues on whether love is equivalent to compromises. I believe against it - friendship and love can never be compromises. If we express our love, and get acceptance in return, it is sure triumph. If we express it and are rejected, it is destiny. For me, it is triumph even in this case, because we then have the courage to at least face the destiny. There is this third possibility, that is if we choose not to express it. Well, that maybe a compromise (as in my case), but a compromise not with love, but of evading and eluding the reality. This is defeat, in my terms. I accept that I have succumbed to defeat while coming to terms with love and the reality of my life. I don’t know if ever I will be able to come to terms with love and reality of life again. This is one reason why when now I should be supposedly getting married soon, my mother asks me about my preferences for a girl, and I don’t have any answers. I cannot imagine nor expect anyone else to replace my love, though someone might come very close to her (or probably transcend her, who knows!). But love has no comparisons as such. You love someone not by measures, but just for what he/she is. Love happens only once, the rest, they all say, is just life (thanks Saurav for this quotation of yours, I really liked it!).

“He is my friend…” These were the words of the then principal of my school, Sister Ann George. She had cited these words to my mother, but it would make a lasting impact on my life. Teachers, like my friends, have played an underlying role in defining my existence. My weaned childhood was boorish and ignorant about this fact. However, in retrospection, I do realize this inevitable fact. Sister Ann George remained a friend of mine until the time she served as the principal of my school. An equally significant role was played by Sister Eugenia. Sister Eugenia had the incredible ability of remembering all her students by their names even if she met them after long intervals. Those were my school days; a majority of which I do not wish to reminiscence – purely because of the fact that the majority of these days were neither encouraging nor good enough to remember. However, the few days that have made me what I am today are worth remembering.

In continuum, I recall another teacher who made a lasting impact on my life. She is Mrs. De, our English teacher. She never advanced any special favors to me, in spite of the fact that she was a good friend of my mother (who is also a teacher in the same school). However, her mere presence was encouraging enough for me. I remember looking into her eyes and getting the greatest sense of self-confidence during those days. English as a language was supposed to be my indispensable distinction; considering the fact that this was also a hereditary potential. I remember when Mrs. De came to our class one day and announced that we will be having our Essay Writing competition soon. She said she believed that her students would be the frontrunners; and then she looked at me. I was expressionless, and though she didn’t say anything by words, she had said everything. Yes, I would be one of the frontrunners, I said silently. Then that became history; I was awarded the Certificate of Merit in English Essay Writing competition, and so began my triumphant journey towards success!!

During my days at Aligarh Muslim University, I came across many teachers; and I recollect Dr. Abdul Azeem Islahi sb as one of them who have made a never-eroding effect. Well, the greatest paradox about Islahi sb is that he never taught me (he was never assigned as my official teacher)! When I joined MBA at Hamdard University, I got another teacher of a lifetime; Asad Rehman sb. I respect Asad sir because he is not only a good teacher but also a good philosopher and guide. When I was struggling to get a Summer Industrial Assignment, he was the one who helped me get one. He is one person I have admired when it comes to struggling and achieving heights in one’s career.

I thought of scripting these thoughts while I am watching “Black,” a Bollywood movie about teacher-student relationship between a challenged teacher and a challenged student. “Let her fall, she will rise to greater heights with every fall.” This is what Mr. Sahay (played by Amitabh Bachchan) says to the mother of Michele (played by Rani Mukherjee). And this reminds me of that greatest teacher of my life, my grandmother. No written or spoken words would ever equate what she was for me. She did not give birth to me, but did all other things to ensure that I hold a wholesome and salubrious persona. May Allah grant her a magnificent heavenly abode, Ameen!!

Today would also be the last Teachers’ Day for my mother, as she is resigning from her services on the 15^th of this month. I can empathize with my mother, what it means to depart from one so significant role of a life and start anew. “Well, Mummy,” I told her, “you will remain a teacher and will find a special place in all your students in their lives.” Happy Teachers’ Day!!