Was it a dream?

We left Gulberg after stalking all its elegant streets, meandering past its mightily rich shops and stores. Heaps of luxury all around yet there are faces devoid of life, as if searching for some semblance of meaning to their clueless lives. A curious void. Something tragically amiss. Like a ghost in an exciting feast that constantly preys upon the peace. We are now back on Mall, the asylum of all dreamers, the refugee of all romantics. We worm our way ahead, past Anarkali, past NCA and now the signal somersaults into yellow before finally turning into red. We halt in our tracks. Suddenly a motorbike grinds to a stop adjacent to us. A man with his wife leaning on his shoulders, and two children tucked in between. Out of nowhere, a person with gajras, this oracle of love, appears and nibbles his way through. The man on the bike is dazzled and delighted by the sight of gajras. He broods on, hoping to end the day on a happy note. He rejects the simpler ones and demands the one blended with roses and chambelis. We look towards them. They turn thier gazes towards us. The wife visibly transported with joy, hesitates to exhibit her emotions. She smiles with an innocent and tender shyness. The husband’s face radiates a triumphant satisfaction. Love lurks within the orbit of that motorbike. The air is arrested with the scent of roses. That little orbit, that small patch of earth seemed protected by the blessing of the gods. The signal gushes into green again. We part our ways and march ahead on lower mall, leaving behind those fleeting moments of mystery and joy. We had left everything behind yet in the heart of our hearts, we were deeply convinced that happiness lies somewhere else, beyond the gilded luxuries, past the dazzling riches, far way in the simple, tender and seemingly insignificant joys of life.

-Fakhar