“I saw the most beautiful dream today”.
It was around 7am in the morning in Switzerland and I had just woken up in tears from my dream. I looked over to my friend Naweed’s room to see if he was there. He wasn’t. So I called him. And I said: “I saw the most beautiful dream today. Sit down, close your eyes and listen to it”.
He complied.
“In my dream our friend Vidya, you and I set out on a journey from our residence city in Switzerland, to New Delhi in India. What started out to be a tedious journey from Europe to Asia by train got surprising when the train broke down at Kabul. We were told it would take five to six hours for that to get fixed. We saw this as the perfect opportunity to visit the city of Kabul.
Travelling back home has a different feeling. Having spent a year away from it in a far-off beautiful yet empty country like Switzerland, the dusty lanes of Kabul left like a warm welcome to all of us. But to one person in specific; Kabul is Home: You.
We knew there were safety concerns and that we couldn’t go around some parts of the city. As beautiful as it looked, we knew the city was dubious for travellers. But we knew one place we could all visit. Your parents house. But you were reluctant. You knew that this unplanned visit would call for an emotional upheaval for you parents and for you. We understood your reluctance. We insisted upon you going to visit instead of us all crowding your house. After some negotiation, you gave us the coordinates on how to find you later, and set out on your way home”.
When I paused for a bit, with a soft tone in his voice Naweed said, “And how was Kabul Anagha jee?”
“Walking down the streets of Kabul, I noticed a lot of little things. The busy lanes of the city, the crowded and well lit sheesha shops, the curvy lanes, the giggling women and the laughing men struck a chord to my heart. A chord of warmth.
As we walked further into your city, the moon had just begun to come out. I was awed by the walls covered with mud and wood, narrow but ancient streets, the green gardens and the beautiful mosques. Even in our alarmed state, we couldn’t help but notice how beautiful the city was. People greeting each other happily, shops with TVs blaring music, the clicking of the evening tea cups and the aroma of sweet delicacies being prepared in the streets. Kabul felt mesmerising. Kabul felt surreal”.
I paused for a moment before I went on.
“Slowly as the evening began to turn into the night, we decided it was time to move back to the train station. It was inching to the time to leave. Upon reaching the train station, we noticed that you weren’t there yet. We were confused. Leaving Vidya at the train station, I started walking towards the street where you indicated your house was. Looking for you. Walking down the lane, I saw children playing cricket in the street. All of them set glee at the sight of me approaching. After sharing shy smiles, I walked past them into a row of houses. I didn’t know which house was yours and had no idea as to where you were. So I walked on. And then I saw them.
In the garden of one of the houses, a couple sat with cups of tea in their hands. Talking about the day, laughing at some joke. They looked distinctly happy, and yet, their eyes glimmered with a tinge of sadness. It didn’t take me too long to know who they were. The elder man had greying hair and a pair of glasses and the woman? Beautiful as she was, she was smiling widely with innocence that sometimes mirrors on your smile as well. In a heartbeat, I knew who I was seeing. I ducked low, to hide myself below the hedge. I didn’t want to alarm them. They looked very happy”.
I hear Naweed say “oh”. I pause to pour myself some water to drink.
“I was surprised when I couldn’t find you with them. After watching your parents take their tea and talk about their respective days for a couple of minutes, I decided to walk around the house to find you. I saw two little girls playing hopscotch with another teenage boy. I assumed they were your siblings. I was still wondering where you were when I noticed movement inside one of the rooms in the rear end of the house. And there you were! Sitting alone in what looked like a small room full of books and clothes. I waved at you. Like I do here in Switzerland. You noticed me standing there. Perplexed. You signalled for me to climb my way into the room quietly. As I neared you I noticed tears in your eyes. I asked you what you were doing there alone in this part of his house. To my persistent enquiry you said, “I did not meet my family. I don’t think I will”. “Why? I think you should. We have very little time, you know?” I asked. And your reply was where my heart began to break. You said “I have come home after a very long time. I don’t know if I will be able to bid farewell to them again”. You paused for a bit, fighting your thoughts. “I don’t have enough time to spend with them. If I meet them, they will not be able to let go of me. They will not be able to say goodbye this soon. They will insist on me staying. And I cannot risk doing that”.
On the other side of the phone, I heard Naweed totally abandon his usual calm demeanour. He broke down.
“Looking at your teary eyes, I understood your conundrum. Your position. You were torn between your own heart to stay a little longer at home, and that of the responsibility you felt towards the safety of your loved ones. And for the first time in my life, I knew what pain was. What separation and helplessness truly felt like. After a brief pause, I got up and strolled around what looked like your old room. The bed had not been slept-in in days. The walls were covered with some old pictures in wooden frames, clothes lay in a pile on one of the chairs in the room, and there was a desk with some books and papers. I picked up one of the papers. Found a pen. Gave them to you and said “I think we should head out soon, but I think your family should know you were here. Amongst them. Write to them. Tell them you are here. Tell them you are happy to see them”.
There was absolute silence from the other end. Naweed asked “do you know what I wrote in the letter?”
“After a few moments of reluctance, you got up from your slopped stance on your bed, walked to your desk and sat down to write. You quietly turned to me and whispered “This is going to be a while.. I have to ask them how everyone is doing. I have to leave something for everyone in this letter”. You smiled at me and then got to work.
While you wrote, I picked up a few things I could carry for you as memory. I picked up a photo of when you were a kid and one with your family. All of you smiling at the camera. I placed the pictures in my bag.
As I finished collecting things for you, you stood up from your seat and handed me the most beautifully worded letter I have ever read. You have a very simple style of writing. No big fancy words. Just very simple words, arranged perfectly to convey the words of the heart. And the letter went like this:
“Dear ammi, kaisi ho? Are you taking care of your health and eating food on time? how is my father? and my brother? has he been working too much? Do not let my sister forget her dreams and I hope she gets to study. Not a day goes by without missing you guys.” “
As a detailed the letter out, I hear my friend sniffling in tears on call here in Switzerland. “Naweed? Are you still here?” He doesn’t say a word. I only hear him breathing. I know by now that this dream of mine was lifting his pain. I continue telling him about the dream because I feel like I have taken him to a different world. I tell him how in my dream we left his letter there on his desk for his parents to find it after we were gone. I tell him of how as we walk out of his house, I see tears streaming down his cheeks as we take one final glance at his parents from our hiding position before turning around.
We head back to the train station and meet our friend Vidya there. One look at us and she knows exactly what needs to be said: “We will be back here again. Very soon. And this time we will stay”.
As I reached the very end of my dream, I take a deep breathe. There is absolute silence at the other end. None of us spoke. And then Naweed said “take me of Kabul, Anagha jee”.
Poetresque 