Love Across Borders by Naheed Hassan, Sabahat Muhammad Page B

cover themes of social change, culture
and literature.
    Zaffar works at the Thardeep Rural
Development Program, an NGO which strives to bring about changes in
the lives of the dwellers of the Thar Desert—a Pakistani part of a
desert that spans both countries—India and Pakistan. He also
teaches and conducts workshop at national and regional levels.
    He lives in Hyderad, Sindh
along with his wife Rozina and three children—Elsa, Maghana and
Sudharath. He can be reached at: [email protected]

 
    The Old Willow
    ADIANA RAY

    Brattle Street was deserted even though it was
just seven in the evening. Rocky turned his collar up against the
sharp December cold as he made his way down Massachusetts Avenue to
the welcoming beacon of Café Crema. A blast of hot air hit him in
the face as he walked in, and the savory smell of pizza made him
realize how hungry he was.
    “Hi, how can I help you?” asked a disinterested
girl behind the counter, not even bothering to look up from her
contemplation of the chipped red nail polish on her nails. Rocky
grimaced inwardly to himself - his charm was obviously wasted
here.
    As he walked to a table with his tuna-melt on
rye and cappuccino, he couldn’t help empathizing with her though.
Working on the twenty-sixth of December, when everybody was at home
with their families; must suck big time. Even Crema was pretty
empty and that was unusual to say the least.
    “Hi, do you mind if I join you?”
    Rocky glanced up at the short, stocky guy
standing there, bundled up as if he were catching the ferry to
Alaska. A maroon Harvard sweatshirt was just visible below his
coat. The familiar accent caught his ear.
    “Sure,” he moved his stuff to one side.
    “Thanks.” The guy extended his hand, a warm
smile on his face. “Hi, I’m Imran.”
    Rocky shook the proffered hand as Imran sat
down.
    “Rocky. Where are you from?” Rocky’s tone was
reserved. Usually it irritated him when desis just assumed
an instantaneous connection and latched on. On the other hand he
was feeling a bit lonely too. Holiday blues he thought wryly
to himself.
    “I’m from Karachi, first long holiday alone and
I can’t believe how cold and depressing it can be.”
    “Yup, everybody just takes off. What I wouldn’t
give to be able to take a walk down Marine Drive today,” said
Rocky, a nostalgic expression on his face.
    “You live in Mumbai?” Imran was excited. “Have
you seen any film stars? Have you seen Aamir Khan? That guy is
amazing; loved his Ghajni .”
    Rocky couldn’t stop his short burst of laughter.
“Why does everybody assume that just because someone lives in
Mumbai they are always bumping into film stars? As a matter of fact
haven’t seen a single one, not one, in my eighteen years of living
there.” He leaned back in his chair a slight smirk on his face.
    Imran’s excitement abated a little at Rocky’s
mocking tone. “Well if I lived in Mumbai, I would have definitely
gone to see Aamir Khan,” Imran continued after a minute. “He’s
really good, though sometimes I think a lot of it is media hype.
But, I am a fan, a big fan,” he reiterated again, in case Rocky
hadn’t gotten the idea the first time around.
    “Media hype,” sputtered Rocky his chair hitting
the ground with a thud. “What do you mean by that?” He couldn’t
believe his ears.
    “It’s the well-oiled Bollywood machine, janaab . All Aamir has to do is to announce that he’s
launching a new movie and it’s certain to be a blockbuster,”
alleged Imran matter-of-factly. “Now we have a fabulous director
called Shoaib Mansoor. That guy makes great movies, but who’s ever
heard of Lollywood?”
    “Lollywood? What on earth is that?” asked Rocky,
confusion written all over his face.
    “Exactly,” said Imran smugly, his fingers
beating a tattoo on the table. “You don’t even know that the film
industry in Lahore is called Lollywood. Proves my point.”
    “What point? That Bollywood is just marketing
hype?”