If I could get you!
I had just returned from a week-long trip with close friends. Iram had joined us despite her busy schedule of running a school for young children in her neighborhood. I knew of her through another friend, but we had never met before. When Alex told me she would be coming along, I didn’t think much of it since I didn’t know her well. Who knew of an untold intense, modest, and purest platonic bond then?
The trip was filled with joy, intense moments, long drives, and unforgettable shared experiences. Although everyone was open and friendly with one another, I couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous whenever I was around Iram. My heart would race, and I had a sense that she might have noticed. She, too, seemed a little less at ease with me compared to how she interacted with the others. By the end of the trip, an unspoken but strong mutual fondness had developed between us.
The day I returned from the trip, I called Iram on her landline in the afternoon from a nearby PCO. Back then, mobile phones weren’t part of our lives, and making a phone call felt like an event. Luckily Iram picked up the call.
‘Hello…!’ she said, unsure of who was calling.
‘Iram, it’s Sarwar,’ I replied quickly.
‘Oh… how are you?’ she asked, her tone shifting to one of excitement and genuine care.
‘I’m fine… how about you?’ I asked, eager to hear about her.
‘Hmm… well… all okay,’ she said, though her voice lacked conviction. ‘How are you doing?’
‘I think I’ve got sunstroke. It must have happened during the trip, probably that day at the seaside,’ I explained.
‘Oh… where are you now?’ she asked, her concern evident.
‘I’m outside, at a PCO, just to make this call,’ I said.
‘Listen… don’t move in the sun…,’ she said, her words filled with so much care that they have stayed with me ever since. Even now, whenever I step out in the sun, I hear her voice echoing in my ears: ‘Listen… don’t move in the sun…’
We started connecting more often over the phone, bridging the hundreds of miles that separated us. Whenever I felt the urge to talk to her, I’d head to a PCO and spend long moments on the call. If she wanted to reach me, she’d call my friend’s mobile—the only one among us who owned one.
One morning, my friend approached me with a message.
‘Iram wants to talk to you,’ he said, handing over the phone. We waited anxiously for the call. Soon, the mobile began ringing. It was her.
‘Hi, Sarwar!’ Iram’s cheerful voice greeted me.
‘Hello, Iram! Tell me, how are you?’ I asked, curious if there was something unusual.
‘I’m good… listen, my elder brother is getting married. Alex, Sunita, and Maya are attending the ceremony, and I strongly feel you should join them,’ she said, her excitement was palpable.
‘Oh, that’s great news about your brother’s wedding!’ I replied, feeling genuinely happy for her. But before I could continue, she interrupted.
‘Exactly! That’s why I’m calling—to invite you,’ she said, her tone turning serious yet warm.
‘I see. I’ll need to talk to my parents about this and make travel arrangements, including booking the ticket and all,’ I said unsure of what was going to happen.
‘Whatever it is, you’re required to be here. That’s it!’ Iram declared firmly, more like an order.
Deep within, I knew I was yearning to meet Iram, and I was certain she felt the same. However, traveling beyond my state was no easy feat for me. I had only ventured outside my state once before. Financial constraints loomed large as I was pursuing my bachelor’s degree at the time, and the situation at home left no room for expenses beyond the bare essentials. Despite this, I couldn’t quell my restlessness and I desperately sought a way to obtain the permission of my parents and figure out the ways for arranging for the tickets and everything else.
As requested, I called Iram in the evening. The first question she asked was about booking the tickets. I did not have a satisfactory answer and replied, ‘I’ve spoken to my parents, but they haven’t given me a response yet.’
‘I hope they’ll agree. Please be ready for traveling,’ Iram told in a convincing way. ‘Please keep me in your prayers,’ I added before quickly wrapping up the conversation.
The entire night, my mind was consumed with thoughts of how to persuade my parents to let me attend Iram’s brother’s wedding. Coming from a conservative middle-class family, every decision involving purchases, expenses, and particularly stepping out of the house to attend any functions required navigating through a strict and thorough approval process.
Iram understood the challenges I faced, as she was well aware of my circumstances. The next morning, she called me on my friend’s mobile.
‘Sarwar… Alex and Maya will be passing through your station, so I’ve asked them to book a seat for you as well. Be ready with your packing. I’ll share the train details and timings by evening after the booking is confirmed,’ she said in one breath, not giving me a chance to interrupt.
Her arrangement left me feeling extremely uncomfortable and deeply shy about accepting her offer.
‘Iram, what have you done? Why didn’t you wait and ask for my permission first?’ I said, genuinely embarrassed.
‘Sarwar… don’t I have any rights over you?” she countered, leaving me defenseless.
“It’s not that… I was planning to make the booking myself. You should have waited. This makes me feel incredibly uncomfortable,’ I tried to express honestly.
‘Sarwar, I understand how you feel. But there’s nothing wrong with Alex handling the booking. If it’s delayed, the seats might not be available, and that was my concern,’ she explained, trying to reassure me.
Reluctantly, I had no choice but to accept her offer. Iram was extremely protective of me. She would patronize me often. I loved that.
We arrived at Iram’s house the day before her brother’s wedding. Her family was very welcoming and courteous, a truly civilized and respected household. Iram seemed to be the happiest person on earth, her face glowing with joy. In fact, I felt exactly the same way.
Iram’s hometown, Gulner, was a small town with all the basic amenities. Yet, it still preserved the charm of a village, which I really loved. Her relatives and neighbors welcomed us warmly, and I immediately felt at home. Iram’s parents took a liking to me from the start, especially her mother. Her father would invite me to join him for morning prayers, and we would engage in deep discussions about culture, religion, and society. Iram loved the fact that her parents liked me. She would often bring us tea and refreshments whenever her father and I were in the middle of our conversations. I could catch her stealing glances at me, trying to look at me whenever she thought no one was watching her.
The day after the wedding, Alex and Maya had to leave for some important events at their homes. Sunita’s brother came to pick her up the same day, as their place was about 50 kilometers away from Iram’s. Iram’s parents insisted that I stay a few more days, promising to handle the ticket arrangements and asking me to stay comfortably. Despite my insistence on leaving, they wouldn’t allow it. Iram, from the corner of the room, teasingly mocked me during the discussion. Later, she confessed that she had prayed for it.
Five days passed by swiftly. Iram took every opportunity to serve me in the best way possible, preparing or arranging delicious dishes for me each day. Her entire family would be after me to savor the foods. One afternoon, we visited her orchards and agricultural fields with many of her cousins and relatives. We walked together, admiring the beauty of nature and engaging in lively conversation.
‘I love the village. Do you think it would be possible to live a good life in a village after marriage?’ Iram asked, her voice tinged with nostalgia.
‘Well… I also love the village. But whether you can live in a village after marriage depends on your fate and the person you marry,’ I replied, leaving her puzzled.
My father would frequently call me from PCOs and one of my uncle’s mobile on Iram’s landline to ask when I would be coming back. After much insistence, Iram’s family booked my return ticket. From that moment, a fear of leaving Iram overwhelmed me completely. A week was far too short for us; we needed much more time—maybe even a lifetime together. A sense of melancholy was evident on Iram’s face and in her words since then. She was a deeply mature girl, deft at hiding her emotions up to a great extent.
On the evening before my departure, Iram and I had a long conversation. It was a beautiful evening, with the cool breeze of early April sweeping through the village. We found solitude on the terrace; the sun was setting, casting a golden hue across the sky, adding to the romantic yet melancholic atmosphere of the moment. The rose and lily plants on her terrace were enhancing the moods with their beauty and fragrance. Tall trees in her backyard and across the campus swayed in the cool breeze, their branches and leaves brushing against the edge of the terrace. Iram was wearing a yellow salwar suit with a shawl draped over her head, leaving her pinkish-white face gently exposed. She looked like a youthful bride preparing for her wedding, with modesty and gloom on her face and hope and dreams in her eyes. I felt an overwhelming urge to embrace her tightly, graciously, and gently, but I knew it wasn’t legitimate for us and we couldn’t do that. We sat in silence for a long moment before Iram finally broke it. Girls have a remarkable knack for igniting meaningful conversations and steering them with ease and charm.
‘My brother is very happy about his wedding…’ Iram said.
‘Yeah, it’s a matter of happiness, indeed…’ I replied with an intent of propelling the conversation.
‘Yep… but the reason for his extreme happiness is different…’
‘Oh… what’s that?’
‘Both knew each other, and they liked each other…’
‘Means, they loved each other…’
‘Hmm…’ Iram’s face turned red with shyness.
‘Lucky souls…’
‘Indeed…’
Iram was trying to convey something to me in her modest and mature way. I was starting to understand it completely, and she knew that I was able to decipher her message. Not only did I understand, but I also wanted to hear it, which made our conversation even more intimate.
‘Did your family resist their proposal?’ I asked, curious about her family’s perspective on such matters.
‘My father wasn’t ready at first, but my mother stood by my brother. The girl is also my mother’s distant niece,’ Iram replied, her tone upbeat.
‘Okay… I see…’
‘My mother supports our decisions and feelings.’
‘I see…’
I found myself inadvertently imagining our future and picturing the roles our parents might play.
‘What happened?’ Iram asked, noticing my deep thoughts.
‘Nothing…’ I was startled, caught off guard.
‘So, what have you planned after your MCA course?’ Iram tried to steer the conversation in a direction we both wanted to explore.
‘Hmm… I’m thinking of going for an MBA program.’
‘Why an MBA after MCA?’ Iram asked, clearly puzzled.
‘Well… good question! I’ve lost interest in coding…’
‘Surprising… but won’t it prolong your studies even further?’ Iram asked, her concern evident. It wasn’t just about my financial situation but also whether this would delay any future we might have together.
‘I know. But I have one year left in MCA. So, one more year for an MBA. Nothing longer…’ I tried to justify my decision and ease any concerns about delays.
‘Hmm… may the Almighty make it easy for you!’ Iram sighed deeply, staring at me without blinking for an unusually long time. I tried to hold her gaze, but I couldn’t sustain it.
Our conversation flowed effortlessly—I wished time would halt right there so we could remain together forever from that moment on.
We realized it was too late when her Grandma called us downstairs. All of them were waiting for us for the refreshments and tea. Everyone talked about my departure and sought for my plan to visit their home next. There was a lively and cherishing atmosphere – all of them were enjoying except for one…yep…Iram. I, too, had a similar situation, but I was obliged to engage with everyone.
The night was far from easy for me. I woke up early, as my train was in the morning. I could see the sleeplessness in Iram’s eyes and on her face. After breakfast, I stood to say goodbye to everyone. Iram’s brother was going to see me off at the station on his bike. All of Iram’s family came out of the campus to bid me farewell, making me feel like part of their family once again. Iram stood behind them, her eyes fixed on me. As we drove off, I glanced back—everyone was heading back to their home, but Iram stood alone, watching me. When I saw her, she waved her hand until I disappeared from sight.
We continued talking to each other over the phone for the next one-and-a-half years. We did not get any opportunity to meet again. I had planned to seek Iram’s hands after my studies from her parents for our marriage. We never expressed our thoughts to each other explicitly, but we were all prepared from within to live a life together. She would care for me, scold me, guide me, and patronize me over the phone when I was in the hostel for my Master’s program away from my home. Iram had begun a course in journalism. She was interested in investigative journalism.
I was out of the country for nine weeks on an academic exchange program in Malaysia. Only three people from the university were selected for this program: two from other departments and me from business school.
Towards the end of my trip, Sunita emailed me to ask how I could be connected. I replied that I would be back in the country in two to three days and that we could connect then. Her email made me a bit worried. Still, I couldn’t continue the discussion as accessing the internet abroad was not easy at the time. There were no frequent or affordable internet packages available, which made it difficult to stay connected while traveling.
Upon returning, the first thing I did was call Iram’s number. However, I couldn’t get through to her directly. Each time I called, someone else would answer and go to call her, but she never came to speak to me. It was both disturbing and frustrating. Since everyone knew me, I couldn’t keep calling her number frequently, which only added to my unease.
Then, I called Sunita, sensing a connection between Iram’s unusual behavior and Sunita’s unexpected email. Sunita was well aware of the special bond Iram and I shared, as she often met Iram since their homes were close to each other. Without hesitation, Sunita revealed the entire story of Iram’s unexpectedly quick engagement.
‘What? Are you serious?’ I was stunned.
‘Yes, I am,’ Sunita replied calmly.
‘Please, tell me the entire story,’ I asked, feeling restless.
‘Iram shared everything with me,’ Sunita began. ‘Her grandmother and father were eager to get her married soon. Her grandmother said she wanted to witness Iram’s wedding while she was still alive,’ Sunita explained, her tone laced with sadness.
‘I see… But why didn’t Iram connect with me?’ I asked, still trying to make sense of it.
‘She wanted to tell you everything,’ Sunita said. ‘But she knew it wouldn’t change anything. Besides, she was deeply concerned about your studies and the responsibilities you carry for your family. She asked me not to disturb you.’ Sunita said plainly. Her words left me feeling deeply unsettled and helpless.
‘Iram resisted as much she could do. She made the point of her studies and journalism after that. She wanted to buy time so that your studies get finished,’ Sunita added.
I knew my position clearly. I was still a student and not in a situation to stake a claim or propose to Iram’s family. Back home, marriage wasn’t an option so soon, with so many responsibilities waiting for me.
For one last time, I decided to try speaking to Iram and called her home number. Her father answered the call. After exchanging greetings, I asked for Iram. He called her to the phone, and soon she came to attend to it.
‘Iram… Iram… Sarwar here…,’ I said. There was no response. She didn’t say a word, but I could hear her breathing clearly. It was Iram.
‘Iram… please speak… how are you? Iram…’ I pleaded. Still, she remained silent. She did not speak. The phone was hung up after a while leaving me like a fish without water.
That was the last time I heard her – though not her voice. She remains with me in my heart, just as she was with me then. Whenever I step out into the sun, I can still hear her voice clearly – ‘Listen… don’t move in the sun…’ And when I turn back, I see her waving her hand at me – that beautiful, fair, slim hand.
I haven’t been able to find her since. That was Iram – a pure soul with strong moral values. But even now, I often see her – waving her hand, telling me not to step into the sun, and reminding me of her breath sound.
That’s the life, after all! We don’t get everything we wish for. Not every story can reach its conclusion; this is not possible (Har afsaana anjaam tak pahunch jaaye ye mumkin nahin…). I often wonder If I could get you!