I woke up to an aroma of spicy curries and freshly baked naan wafting up to the second floor, through the corridor, under our door and into our room, drawing us out of bed. I pulled the crumpled white sheets over my head willing myself to go back to sleep. I heard Poh Ling climb out of bed and then the sound of the shower running.
I buried my face in my pillow, smiling. It was all still hazy but I remembered him smiling. The warmth of his embrace enveloping me like a new born wrapped tight in fresh woolen blankets. A gentle sigh escaped under my breadth, wishing that it was more than a mere dream, reminiscing the sweet memory of a night of passion, still fresh in my mind.
“Hey, wake up!”
The hot water gushed out of the shower. Soothing, massaging. As I soaped myself, I thought about the journey. Nine or so hours spent on the plane and in transit. Hours I spent thinking about what lay ahead in Lahore, indulging on long day-dreams of him. How much I missed his smile, how the pillow was a poor substitute for his shoulders and how he would frown when I told him I watched ‘Walk the Line’ on the Kris flyer screen without him.
I reached for the towel and proceeded to dab myself dry. I made a mental checklist of the itinerary today. First breakfast, then sightseeing to Lahore Fort, the Shabadshi Masjeed, lunch, shopping and then the
Wagha border.
I buried my face in my pillow, smiling. It was all still hazy but I remembered him smiling. The warmth of his embrace enveloping me like a new born wrapped tight in fresh woolen blankets. A gentle sigh escaped under my breadth, wishing that it was more than a mere dream, reminiscing the sweet memory of a night of passion, still fresh in my mind.
“Hey, wake up!”
The hot water gushed out of the shower. Soothing, massaging. As I soaped myself, I thought about the journey. Nine or so hours spent on the plane and in transit. Hours I spent thinking about what lay ahead in Lahore, indulging on long day-dreams of him. How much I missed his smile, how the pillow was a poor substitute for his shoulders and how he would frown when I told him I watched ‘Walk the Line’ on the Kris flyer screen without him.
I reached for the towel and proceeded to dab myself dry. I made a mental checklist of the itinerary today. First breakfast, then sightseeing to Lahore Fort, the Shabadshi Masjeed, lunch, shopping and then the
Wagha border. I was excited. Pakistan had always been a destination I knew I was destined for. I can’t quite explain it but from the first instance I read South Asian history- the separation of 1971, the 3 wars of liberation and independence fought on this sub-continent, I had felt the strongest desire to see India, Pakistan and Bangladesh. A desire that runs deeper than that of a tourist wanting to enjoy exotic sights, it was a desire that signaled deeper linkages of fate and destiny.
All through breakfast, I thought about how I had already fulfilled my dream of breathing thick spicy Indian air, when I spent a month refurbishing a school in Ludhiana in Winter of 2004 and, a year later, building a school in the middle of lush Patiala fields. Now, in a completely different phase of my life, I was staying at the Pearl Continental Lahore. It was a far cry from the 3 bedroom house I shared with 19 other Singaporeans in Patiala, India. I was here on business, not for volunteer work. I was here for a mere 5 days and not 21 days. I had grown, but I had not grown out of my love for South Asia.
I stepped out of the doors of the hotel. The dusty roads of Lahore beckoned, inviting me to partake in its revelry…but not before I send him another sms…
