A proposal
It was late September, the winter had just texted through the subtle chill in the air, the winds were cooler and calmer than the previous month, the yellowness was taking over the helpless chlorophyll turning petals to dead husks, the roads were more busy, the city was charming, washed by recent monsoon, like a toddler freshly bathed by his mother, every street seemed to glow, the sky was clear, a piercing Blue, more blue than any other time of the year.
Tulip was standing on the Bus stop waiting for the electric-blue buses, new buses by the government, that crawl across the city, seeming like an elephant walking in the herd of sheep. After 4 minutes of waiting, the Bus appeared, Damn-e-Koh glittering on its forehead in yellow colored LED lights, its head slightly above the other vehicles, visible from far. He sat in the Bus which headed towards Damn-e-Koh.
The bus was more crowded than Usual, a kid crying in his mother’s lap, an old man wearing heavy, thick-rimmed spectacles was sitting calmly on the seat designated for elderly people, a newlywed couple was sitting close to each other, their arms intertwined, the boy wearing brown sunglasses, his hair neatly combed, the girl’s face covered by Makeup, her hands dyed dark brown, Henna, a ritual in east during marriage. Both were talking slowly, nearly whispering, and looking at the bright city of Islamabad. A conductor, wearing a yellow transparent jacket, a boy of 17, with a newly appeared beard on his brown face, was busy collecting money, handing everyone a paper ticket.
The bus crossed the straight-lined road and headed towards a zig-zag road in Margalla, its engine putting in more effort now. After 15 minutes of slow uphill movement, the bus stopped at the spot, the last point of Damn-e-Koh. He placed his right foot on the road, followed by the left one. He put the phone out of his jacket, and the screen announced 4:47 PM. The sun was standing on the western edge, after completing its daily labour from Dawn to Dusk, a few inches away from drowning.
After a while, at 5:11 PM, Daisy was standing on the Taxi Stand. She was waiting outside the taxi, a white Suzuki Mehran by Uber, with Bold UBER entitled on its back glass in Green. His gaze fell on her; she was waiting for the driver to return her change. The traditional yellow taxis are being swept away by the new modern Uber and Indrive taxi services, endangering the lives of hundreds of old taxi drivers, who are mainly from this city. In a minute, he was standing in front of her. She took the money, a hundred and forty rupees, and put it in her purse.
Her rose-oil fragrance welcomed him, and a fresh sensation ran down his nostrils to his lungs. He felt the air with a heavy inhale before muttering “Hi” to her. She was wearing a rose-hued top with waves forming along her neckline, the bright color complementing her bright pink cheeks. The top was contrasted by a white, elongated Frock– floral designs drawn artistically on it. A white necklace with a green pearl was guarding her swan-like, fairly stretched neck. The necklace was matched by white earrings, dotted green beads clung to it. A ring with a “TULIP” imprinted on it was crowning her fingers. She was wearing a pair of traditional green shoes, which Tulip had gifted her on their Dosti anniversary.
Tulip said “Hi”. A warm, welcoming greeting. With the words, a smile formed around his lips. She responded with the same energy and politeness, a politeness of love.
They stepped ahead, in unison, like army soldiers, and went past the kids’ play area, which is adjacent to the car parking. Two mighty jumping bags filled with air were occupied by kids, playing for fun.
They came and stood at a small shop, a cabin-type shop, built to facilitate the visitors and tourists who plunge into the spot. They stood in a queue, in front of them was standing a heighted man, wearing newly sewn, neat, Blue color Shalwar Kameez, a balloon-shaped shalwar– seeming he’s from Balochistan Province of Pakistan.
He was a man of impactful demeanor, his neatly kept beard, his red-brown cheeks, his big black eyes, his muscular shoulders, three inches taller than Tulip, a gold colored watch, an expensive one, graced his wrist. He was in his late 40s, a few wrinkles had appeared on his pluffy, handsome face, his hairs were cut artfully, adding to his allure, and he was uttering words with politeness and proper care, giving thought to every word before spelling.
Two kids were standing on each side of him, seeming like they were guarding him. After brief negotiations with the shopkeeper– a young, tall, skinny man of late 20s– he bought two juices for the kids, one small water bottle, and one large-sized Green Bottle, Sprite, written on it. The shopkeeper handed him a Bumper, a large packet of Lays, Chili flavour, the packet nearly the size of his little son, who was excitedly holding the packet to his belly, both his hands hugging the air-filled packet. The Balochi man handed a shiny 1000 PKR note, took the change, and moved ahead, leaving space for Tulip to shop.
Tulip advanced, frown lines formed across his forehead, either impatient or angry at the person for taking so much time. He took a water bottle, a Chocolate Bar, and two peach juices, which are favorite of Daisy.
They headed on the footpath, fingers interlaced. The footpath was adjacent to the upper side of the wide road between the bushy trees. After 100 steps, they reached the deck. Their eyes fell on the only empty bench in the deck, so they went and sat there, both cross-legged.
The viewpoint of Margalla is a point from where the whole of Islamabad, the green, smartly planned city, the marvel of modern human infrastructure, is clearly visible.
The Centaurus mall and the adjacent towers, some under construction, were visible, the fog dancing in the air between the viewpoint and the city.
Tulip sat cross-legged, his newly polished red shoes waving in the air. A couple was standing in front of the railings, taking pictures, half their faces, half the city. On their left was Parliament Enclave, where the Parliament House, the Supreme Court, and the President’s House stood with demanding authority, overlooking the city, like the king and queen of a chessboard.
The capital city is like a chessboard, the people like pawns protecting the king and queen. Every angushing flood of furious protestors, lawyers, political workers, or social activists encounters the long-stretched highways and infrastructure of the city. The Islamabad Capital Police are like pawns, deployed on important choke points– on black squares on the board.
A group of kids were playing in the wide space with newly bought elephant, peacock, and star-shaped balloons that they might have got after a crying resistance to their parents. A group of elderly ladies, dressed in expensive clothes from Bonanza and Al Ahmad, reflecting their fortune, were calmly sitting on the side benches, discussing the family matters. Their old, pimpled-stained faces were covered by a thick layer of makeup, on which they must have spent a lot of time.
Daisy asked him about his past week, his job, his events, his recent visit to the Development Minister’s Office, and his upcoming business plan. During the flood of questions, a hanging strand of her hair fell behind her ears. As her finger slid across her earlobe, Tulip noticed her earrings, the half-globe-shaped earrings that her sister had gifted her on her last birthday. He calmly praised her in a low voice. Cutting his gaze, she shyly looked away, stopping the heating romance between them. With a stern look, she brought the discussion to professional matters.
Tulip inquired about her last trip to Kashmir, the beauty Queen of the region. Excitedly, she started the story, her gaze fixed on the two little kids playing at a distance, muttering every detail, from her planning to enjoyment on the trip day, her visits to the beautiful meadow of Toli Peer, the entangled scenic lake in Banjosa, Pir Chanasi, and the Bagh district. Tulip’s ears and eyes were fixed on her during her account of the trip, listening carefully, not going to miss any details.
Half an hour passed, and Daisy was softly talking, her lower lip moving in perfection as every word escaped her mouth. Tulip, all this time, was staring at her like a child looking at the moon. Indeed, she was his Moon.
Daisy Pointed to a couple who were resting on the bench, an old couple, the man probably in his 60s, the woman in her 50s. Their skin wrinkled, soft, their hair white, their eyes shining like emeralds, they may have spent 30 to 40 years together, Tulip Thought, the satisfaction in their eyes was reflecting how satisfied and loved life they may have spent. The pluffy, old, antique hands of the women were resting in the bony, weak hands of the men.
“One day we will also be like them, sitting on a bench, overlooking the grown city, thinking about all the beautiful moments we have spent together,” Daisy whispered in his ear.
In an attempt to resemble the old couple, Tulip silently took Daisy’s hand, palm to palm, and rested both hands on his knees. Daisy blushed in response, letting her fingers stay there.
The sun glided down to the horizon, half-dipped in the western shore, forming an orange amber on the foggy west side; a flicker of evening was arising from the eastern side of the city. Like the rest of the crowd, Daisy and Tulip went to the edge of the Deck, placing their hands on the steel Fence, the roundness of the fence comforting their palms.
Daisy opened her phone, swiped the camera open, an iPhone, considered best for photographs. Tulip slid towards her, closing the gap between them, his face on her shoulder, leaving a small gap between their ears. He could hear her breathing, slow and calm air leaving her nostrils.
She held the phone to capture their faces and the bleaking multicolored background. A faint shutter sound escaped from the phone, confirming the photo.
On the surface of the city, the lights glow, like stars in the sky, turning the modern city into a Milky Way. Daisy took the Tulip’s hand and rested on her shoulder, her warmth sipping his palms, their eyes fixed on the constellation of lights. The rest of the evening passed, they both standing close, their shoulders brushing, the lights in the city resisting against the engulfing darkness.
The people flocked to the deck, more heads now, charming eyes, wrinkled old faces, young energetic couples, a group of adolescent boys; their lips stained with a sharp red colored energy drink, Sting, sunglasses hanging from their pockets, their left hands holding red cold drink, their right hands busy in taking photos, some of themselves, some of the beautiful girls around, secretly.
Daisy and Tulip stroll down the path towards the jewelry shops, taking slow, measured, harmonious steps. Fingers clutched in each other’s, swarming the ocean of people, dim lights casting on their faces.
The small shopping area of Damn-e-Koh, where few shops lined on one end, a governemnt toilet on far end of it, with separate signs of Male and Females on different doors, a mosque on the other end of the shops, a wall-less mosque, just a furnished flor covered by cieling, its west side covered by bushes and trees, beside the mosque, a narrow path head towards the otherside of the mounatin, a small deck, where rarely people visit during day time.
They stopped in front of one of the shops, all shops similar in outlook. They stood in front of a shop, visibly more attractive. Tulip’s eyes rested on a bracelet hanging on the outside corner of the shop, a bracelet for men. He pointed and asked Daisy whether she liked it or not. With a nod, she affirmed and asked the shopkeeper to hand it.
The shopkeeper handed her the bracelet, she pulled the plastic cover with both fingers, pulling with slight force, and tied it on Tulip’s left wrist, right beside his black watch. Her lips spread in a smile, confirming she liked it. Tulip responded with the same rejuvenated smile.
I will pay for it, Tulip, she said, accidentally, leaving Tulip’s eyes unblinked.
A small gift for Mah Tulip, she added, picking a crisp note of 1000 rupees, the Quaid’s photo glittering on it under the bright shop light.
It’s 750 mam, the shopkeeper said.
She furtively responded, I will give you only 650, Bass!! The last word echoed her firm Commitment.
The shopkeeper, defeatedly, took the 1000 rupees note and handed her back 350, old, rotten notes.
Daisy gave him a last stare, her I-Will-See-You stare, and took the rotten notes.
They both spent some moments strolling in the front of the shops, observing people, holding icecreams, and talking about random things.
Tulip tightened his grip on her fingers, her ring leaving a mark on her skin, told her in a warm tone, not meeting gaze with her gaze, I have a surprise for you, Dost. Let’s go to the viewpoint. Daisy’s eyes widened, a Surprise?? Why haven’t you told me before?
How could it be a surprise, then, he responded, authority in his voice. Their feet advanced towards the viewpoint.
The moon had taken the centre stage in the sky, a full round moon, casting golden light on the city, the shadow of Margalla visible. A zig-zag line of road lights can be seen in the middle of the hills, giving the trail of the road that leads to Monal, Dino Valley, and beyond.
They were heading slowly, with every step forward, Tulip’s nervousness intensifying, his heart pushing against the walls of his chest.
A slow romantic music of traditional Rabab was coming from a corner, a person busy with strings, playing for his beloved, a group of girls busy taking selfies in front of the main light.
With every step forward, Tulip’s grip on Daisy’s hands increasing, he can feel the wetness between his fingers. The viewpoint appeared in front of them; this time, it felt heavy for him.
It felt like he’s standing at a pavilion, heading towards a ground, with 80,000 crowd screaming and shouting his name, like he’s playing at the iconic Sharjah ground, like he’s Maindad, a six needed on the last ball.
He was standing there, right on the spot, in the middle of the viewpoint, facing her, the moon right above him, smiling at him. Daisy was unaware of what the upcoming moments would unfold. He slowly loosened his grip on her hands, leaving them freely hanging in the air.
His left hand went deeper inside his pocket, and a small box clung to his fingers as he pulled his hand back. He slowly went on his one knee, lowering his body, his every muscle facilitating his movement. He felt the burden of the crowd around him; it felt like everyone was eyeing him, 80,000 crowd cheering, shouting, filling the space with “Go Tulip Gooo”
He steadily unboxed the box, his hands trembling, sweat beads on his forehead, his lips frozen. A small ring with a green pearl was shining under the moonlight, and his fingers were holding the ring.
His lips moved, a few words uttered from his mouth, filling the whole space, alphabets mixing in the air, dancing in the void between them, “WILL YOU MARRY ME, DAISY?”
Time stopped, everyone paused, dead silence, every eye on them. The words reached her ears, hitting her earlobes, entering the narrow path, crossing her eardrum, like a current hitting his limbic system, then cortex. She felt a shock, a strange current run down her body, leaving an abrupt reply on her lips.
Spontaneous, cold response, words heavier than thunder, hit back his ears, “WE ARE ONLY FRIENDS, TULIP!!”. With these, she left, tears in her eyes, current in her body, disappearing in the darkness, beyond the ocean of people.
With a ring he left, down on the ground, his both knees forcing the concrete floor, silence around, thickness in the air, the moon disappeared, tears trailing down his cheeks, feeding the ground.
