Chapter 3
"How do you love someone without seeing them?" I asked Sir Ahsan Shah.
"By remembering them," Sir Ahsan Shah replied. "Well, when you start a friendship, you have to start meeting that person, and love develops from there."
I was still confused.
Sir Ahsan Shah was our 11th grade teacher. We didn't call them Mister so and so. Our teachers were either Sirs, or Madams.
I got out of the classroom, and headed for the bicycle stand. I used to park and lock my sports bike there. It had ten gears, and very thin tires. Unlike my friends' bikes. They rode locally-made Sohrabs, with big handles and stiff breaks. Their breaks were not of wires, they were sheer steel starting from their hands going all the way down to the breaks. One got a better work out riding a Sohrab, which was heavier and unweildy. We rode our bikes back to our house every day after school. When it rained, I would take a Suzuki to school. Most of the times, the Suzuki would be full of people and we would hang outside the cabin. We never thought how dangerous it was, or it could take our lives if we fell. We rather enjoyed it.
On Murree Road, just before Committe Chowk, there was a big graveyard. It was called the graveyard of Shah di Talian--Shah's branches. It had the grave of a sufi saint with a big tree trunk lying on the ground. People said that Sufi Shah had brought it with a miracle from the jungles of Kashmir. It sounded true too, as there were no such trees in that area.
Sufis preached love. They preached the love of the unseen god. They said you could see him if you really tried. They said love was made to be given to him. I would always get confused on this. That day, I somehow articulated my question and asked my teacher. His answer didn't really satisfy me. I wanted to ask him a few more questions. I wanted to ask him why is it that I can fall in love with a pretty girl without any effort, and falling in love with god was so difficult. Maybe Sufis had the answer. I wish the saint of Shah di Talian was alive. I wish I could ask him this.
They said love was of two types. One was for the mortals, and the other for the immortal. The love of mortals is mortal itself, and the love of the immortal is immortal. One makes you mad, while the other takes you to gnosis. One blinds you, the other opens your third eye. I kept thinking of this as I rode my bike back to Chittian Hattian.
Just before making the last turn into my street, there was the house of our local sourceress. She had her sign boards outside her house. "Black Magic--Your beloved will be in your feet instantly." The lady of the house used to offer her services to people. Everyday, many a customers visited her place. She had more women customers than men. Most of the women came there to seek help in their troubled marital relationships. They bought Taveez's from her. They also paid for magic. I always thought she faked it. I knew her son. He flunked school many times. How could she help others when her own household was crumbling.
"By remembering them," Sir Ahsan Shah replied. "Well, when you start a friendship, you have to start meeting that person, and love develops from there."
I was still confused.
Sir Ahsan Shah was our 11th grade teacher. We didn't call them Mister so and so. Our teachers were either Sirs, or Madams.
I got out of the classroom, and headed for the bicycle stand. I used to park and lock my sports bike there. It had ten gears, and very thin tires. Unlike my friends' bikes. They rode locally-made Sohrabs, with big handles and stiff breaks. Their breaks were not of wires, they were sheer steel starting from their hands going all the way down to the breaks. One got a better work out riding a Sohrab, which was heavier and unweildy. We rode our bikes back to our house every day after school. When it rained, I would take a Suzuki to school. Most of the times, the Suzuki would be full of people and we would hang outside the cabin. We never thought how dangerous it was, or it could take our lives if we fell. We rather enjoyed it.
On Murree Road, just before Committe Chowk, there was a big graveyard. It was called the graveyard of Shah di Talian--Shah's branches. It had the grave of a sufi saint with a big tree trunk lying on the ground. People said that Sufi Shah had brought it with a miracle from the jungles of Kashmir. It sounded true too, as there were no such trees in that area.
Sufis preached love. They preached the love of the unseen god. They said you could see him if you really tried. They said love was made to be given to him. I would always get confused on this. That day, I somehow articulated my question and asked my teacher. His answer didn't really satisfy me. I wanted to ask him a few more questions. I wanted to ask him why is it that I can fall in love with a pretty girl without any effort, and falling in love with god was so difficult. Maybe Sufis had the answer. I wish the saint of Shah di Talian was alive. I wish I could ask him this.
They said love was of two types. One was for the mortals, and the other for the immortal. The love of mortals is mortal itself, and the love of the immortal is immortal. One makes you mad, while the other takes you to gnosis. One blinds you, the other opens your third eye. I kept thinking of this as I rode my bike back to Chittian Hattian.
Just before making the last turn into my street, there was the house of our local sourceress. She had her sign boards outside her house. "Black Magic--Your beloved will be in your feet instantly." The lady of the house used to offer her services to people. Everyday, many a customers visited her place. She had more women customers than men. Most of the women came there to seek help in their troubled marital relationships. They bought Taveez's from her. They also paid for magic. I always thought she faked it. I knew her son. He flunked school many times. How could she help others when her own household was crumbling.
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