To Ayesha...with love

The story is dedicated to all those women who are trapped by traditions and yet smile only to defy this world. It is also a message to women who undervalue the essence of freedom and love.


Dear Ayesha
I know this would be like a shock to you. Its been long since we last met. In fact, you would wonder right now as to how I managed to get your address. Thank or blame this technology age, I can even trace Hitler's address when he was a child. Something has propoelled me to write this one.Well,its more of guilt accompanied by a curioisty to know how you have been. That night when I hung up on you, it was probably one of the coldest days in London and I felt colder as the feeling, that I had let you down, wrapped around me. I’ve always been ashamed I didn’t speak to you, and this letter is an attempt to rid myself of that feeling.
I cant forget the day when I saw you at the swimming pool. You were with your friend, all gigglining and splashing the water at each oother. Jordan was not for bold women. You stood out. Your eyes spoke millions about the revolt you felt within as a modern women living within an orthodox country. I noticed you and I shall admit that it was lust at first sight. It was the skin I remember clearly and the droplets of water that clung to your skin. They shined under the sun creating an aura. You were clad in a yellow bikini and at the moment I really desired you Ayesha. I did not know the consequences then.
Jordan was a break away from the hectic schedules of life. Mr. Hamid along with Mr. Ali accompanied me to the hotel. They were my travel guides and had been arranged by my company, Some of the perks I "suffer" for beig in the the IT industry.
I saw you at the lounge of the Meridian in a while again and this time I could not resist. I came up to you and asked you your name. You smelt of liquour and you were high and still giggling about something. You looked at your friend and pronounced your name shyly with a typical arabic accent that really turned me on.
I went back to Mr. Hamid and told him that I had dinner plans. I told them that I was going out with you girls. He looked at me suspiciously and angrily both. "Who are these girls?", he asked. And then came a barrage of questions. Are they Jordanian? Are they students? How old are they? Give me their surnames.
I just let them know that it was none of their business. I just came out of there.

We decided to go for a drink, an activity which in my ignorance I assumed was acceptable for young people in that tourist town. We sat upstairs on a restaurant terrace and I ordered a beer. You asked for one too. The waiter, a young toughie with an adolescent moustache, shook his head and tutted. You and Maryam spoke sharply to him in Arabic. Reluctantly he brought bottles and glasses. See how we are living, you said. Even this guy thinks he can tell us what to do, how we should behave. In a while your hands rested on my leg and squeezed it. That look. I cannot forget that look. I wanted to make love to you that very moment. I just wished for a moment that the restaaurant was dested and I could lay you down on this table and make love to you on it. What had you done Ayesha?What had you done to me?

I noticed others staring coldly at us. I didn’t feel we were doing anything wrong, but I began to feel nervous, as if I were walking through customs or talking to a policeman. We chatted a little, finding out about each other. You told me you were twenty-one, studying literature. You wrote poetry. Your parents wanted you to get married to a banker, the son of family friends. Reading between the lines I realised you were a rich girl. Rich and bored. Then it all tumbled out, how you were sick of living in Amman, sick of being told who you could speak to and what to wear, sick of being called a prostitute just because you were having a conversation with a man. Is that what the waiter said, I asked. You shook your head angrily. He didn’t like it that Arab girls were with a foreigner. He didn’t like it that we were drinking alcohol. What did his honour have to do with anything? What business was it of his?
I sympathised with it all and yet I felt petrified somewhere within. But there was something about you Ayesha that made my heart feel warm. Your eyes. They twinkled irrespective of what you thought or did. It was like a sincere effort to be happy and gay all the time. It was like you tried all your best to keep the sadness hidden inside. Niceley and Tightly tucked. Yet I could see it.
Lets go and dance you said. You teased me saying that the british were a bunch of hags all born wih two left feet. It was again the same scene there. The guards had a constipated look again. They whispered to each other about your outfit and the look turned shameful. We danced till we could not anymore. You, I and Maryam finished an entire packet of Marlboro in a span of 30 mins.
Maryam decided to drive me back to my hotel. She drove as we lay cuddled behind, all sloshed. I kissed you fiercely and you reciprocated. Maryam turned a blind eye to all of it though I felt emabarassed at one point.
It was the next day that really turned it around. We walked all along athe beach, kicking sand at each other. We talked and talked. You said you hated that the world was inching towards a technological revolution. You thought it was alienating people from nature. For a moment I wanted to argue, but I let go. It was all so beautiful. You, the sea, the light around.
We returned to our room from the backdoors. I did not want Mr. Hamid to catch us both going into our room. It was then things changed. We kissed passionately. We had stripped each other of all clothes. It was when I pulled out the condom from my purse that I saw you expressions change. You asked me with surprise and fright whether I always roamed with one in my purse. You asked me how many women I had slept with. You asked me whether she was just one of my deals as usual. I was not ready for this. Somehow, then suddenly you yourself let go and called me towards yourself. But by then the damage had been done. The questions ashamed me. I was not serious about you and I realised that even though you were wild by nature, you yearned for love.
I asked you to wear your clothes and told you I could not do this. That is when you started crying and asked me if you were not good enough for me. I could never explain it to you. You left and left your number. The next day as I was leaving, I really thought you would come. you did not and it was over. I thought I had buried you Ayesha, somehwere deep in my heart. But after months the phone rang and it was you . Your voice asking me if I recognised it. I hung up.
I apologise Ayesha. I really do.
Love"You know who"

V.V.Vikram