Must Read: The Silent Lover - Season 1 - Episode 8

7 years ago

Must Read: The Silent Lover - Season 1 - Episode 8

“So, excited?” Sheeba shifted her car into reverse gear.

“Obviously, and not just me, I guess there will be thousands of other poeple out there who must be as excited as I’m.” Deeba saw her own image in the small mirror present in her makup kit, giving a final shade of maroon lipstick to her already pink lips.

“I know that girls must be calling him day and night.” Sheeba said with disinterest. “But know what…..I think he’s nothing. He just poses and that’s all.”

But Deeba didn’t pay much attention to her last comment; perhaps she was too busy in giving final touches to her makeup.

“There’re rumors about him. Some say he’s a play boy. Some say he has a dark part. Many think he’s a womanizer.” Sheeba commented with much interest.

“I don’t agree.”

Sheeba grinned, and looked at her sister sitting on the passenger seat beside her but said nothing.

“As far as I have observed him, he looks like a dry lost-in-himself man.” Turning the steering wheel to the left, Sheeba made a big bubble of the chewing gum she was continously chewing for the last half an hour.

“For God sake Sheeba. Would you stop babbling?” Deeba joined her hands in front of her sister in an ancient gesture of asking for forgiveness.

“Nobody has actually explored him. No body knows him.” Deeba added thickly. ” What he really is, only I can tell”. She closed her eyes.

“I think you’re just euphoric about him and that’s all.” Sheeba made a bad mouth. “I have heard a lot about him, especially from the female gender.” She winked naughtily.

“Oh really? Like what?” Deeba gave her a challenging look.

“He’s psycho” She smiled.
He’s weird.” She giggled.

“He’s ice. Solid and cold.” She laughed.

“Aha. What else have you heard about him?”
Deeba turned her face away to look at the row of palm trees that grew along the narrow service road.

“A lot.” Sheeba increased the speed of her
car. “You’ll find out soon.”

Deeba took a short breath and took her hairbrush out of her purse.

“When did you last attend a poetry gathering?” Sheeba inquired.

“Umm, I guess it’s been more than two years.” Deeba combed finely through her black hair.

“I see.” Sheeba put the car on the ling, smooth road. “By the way, don’t you think these poetry gatherings are getting fairly common nowadays in Pakistan?”

“Yes, and some of these poetry functions are fairly big and thousands of poeple gather to attend such meetings from all around Pakistan to enjoy and have appropriate fun. But that’s something positive and healthy.” Deeba told her thoughtfully. “Atleast I’d personally prefer going to such poetry contests instead of attending some musical concert” She added.

“I love concerts. I love music. It’s my soul, my life.” Sheeba said aloud, smiling.

“Come on Sheeba! What else is there expect some cheap hooting, vulgar comments, out of control dance and stuff?” Deeba questioned.

It’s our age and time to enjoy Deeba. Don’t you see how much frustrated, materialistic and mechanical our lives have become? And yet you don’t want to give us some right to enjoy and have fun?” Sheeba asked emotionally,
glancing over to the passenger side where Deeba sat.

“I feel sorry for those who think that ‘this’ is the way to have fun and enjoy.” Deeba shook her head in disbelief.

“Everyone has his own views and preferences.” Sheeba said in a way like she didn’t want to continue her talk on the topic.

Getting her message, Deeba didn’t say anything then. They finished the rest of their journey in complete silence.

As they reached the main event area, Sheeba slowed the car to search for a parking space.
There were literally hundred of cara. Easing the car into a suitable place, she brought the vehicle to stop.

The place had already been filled with a lot of public; majority of them was, ofcourse, female.
Families, married ladies, young teenage girls, everyone was there.

The place presented an excellent view of some huge, big festival. Colorful cloths, royal curtains, thick printed red carpets on the floor, all presented an ideal, fantastic look for such a traditional gathering.

Even the cutlery and the sittings were purely eastern. Big traditional Indian pillows were neatly placed on the floor for the poeple to tap their backs. Fine crystal chandeliers, shiny lamps and colorful bulbs were throwing light on every part of the place.

By the time both sisters entered the main event, the function was about to start. The surroundings around the big, high stage were fully loaded with thousands of poeple, including students of various universities and colleges, press photographers, and important government officials were also there, waiting anxiously for this awaited and interesting poetry function to begin. Every seat was occupied, and even the galleries and concrete boders were jammed with chattering youths, their spirits lifted by the thought of upcoming, thrilling event.

And then, the function began. Poets and poetesses began to come on stage one by one.
Some were getting more than they expected and some were facing intense hooting from the massive audience. In between the loud noise of whistles, clapping, hooting and applause, everyone was enjoying the gathering to its fullest. And then, after a couple of hours, the final moment came, one for which everyone had waited so long.

The anchor came on the stage for one last time, holding the wireless mic in his right hand.

“And now” His voice echoed loudly through the surroundings. “The moment for which all of us have been waiting so anxiously. I’d now like to invite a young poet, who has been unique in all aspects. Whether it’s poetry, or personality or nature or manners, he has been different. Within a short period of just two years, he has given us some real poetry masterpieces to enjoy. Poeple say he rules on the heart of Pakistani youth but I’d say that he’s not limited. Too bad he doesn’t come in front too much but the wonderful thing is that each of us know him. We’ve read him, we’ve heard him but not many of us have seen him. Well, here’s the chance for those who wanted to see and meet him.” At this sentence, he paused to take a short breath and to look at the curious, thrilled poeple all around him.

“And last but not the least, your favorite poet has promised to read his latest poem to you.” Anchor announced excitedly, his own voice shaking with anticipation and emotion.

“Ladies and gentlemen please welcome, the one and only, AARIZ ALI.”