Monday, January 24, 2005
It's Not Easy #2
Went to the nearest phone and rang Azima.
This time last year Azima and I were flatmates. She was a flatmate who would never refuse a day out, always complimenting on my incorrigible cooking, always too happy to go to the gym with me and rang me in Malaysia when I went home for a holiday just for a chat and to catch up. How many people do that?
She is a British Born Pakistani and simply beautiful in a big big Bollywood way. I'd say she's absolutely gorgeous. Very demure, softly spoken and would make a man fly off to the moon and orbit a few times before coming back down again, with happiness. I was meeting her for dinner.
Sorub approached again and asked if I was going home straight away. Not a lot of luck again mate. Felt very guilty for abandoning him after promising that I'd give him a lift and now this. It's not like I was avoiding him. I gave up explaining. Hoped he was fine and find the bus journey a pleasant one. Buses go slower on the Humberbridge because of the wind and gale lately, so he would be able to see the beautiful coast.
We met up in the cafeteria as she was on call. Her hug was tighter than usual. I saw tears.
She started telling me how things have changed since I left. Another girl called Charlotte is now staying in my room. My previous room.
It's not like Azima to say something plain about a person. She would find at least one good point about a person and glorify it to make up for the shortcomings in the person. Because we're all human, she always says. She didn't have much opinion about Charlotte so I knew she doesn't like her.
When I was there, there were 2 boys in the same flat. Imran and Haris. They, fortunately were muslims as well. Haris, a married man with beautiful eyes. Very funny budding opthalmologist and a loving 24 yr old husband. Sometimes his wife Saima came to visit and we all got fed extremely well by her, she cooks well, no doubt.
They gave me a pot plant for my new flat as a farewell gift and this plant has superseded all other plants in my care in terms of lifespan.
We could just see that Imran and Azima were a perfect match. Imran is a cross between Dr. Ross and Dr. Carter from ER, with a big pakistani nose and thick sticky but sexy Scottish accent. He is a perfect gentleman, firm but horribly horribly sweet. They are both doctors, both are muslims and from respectable families. A matchmake of the year.
Haris and I thought that they were just going to hit it off, move out to a house, leave us all to have lots and lots of babies.
That wasn't what happened. Imran got married last month to a pakistani girl from Pakistan itself. I couldn't comprehend. He left 2 weeks ago for Pakistan to fetch his bride, and there I was trying to patch the disaster I caused over a plate runny, bland pasta bake and a cappucino.
It 's her 26th birthday that day and I wished I could make it nicer for her. The fact that she had to be on call didn't help. It felt like old times only this time one of us was crying.
This time last year Azima and I were flatmates. She was a flatmate who would never refuse a day out, always complimenting on my incorrigible cooking, always too happy to go to the gym with me and rang me in Malaysia when I went home for a holiday just for a chat and to catch up. How many people do that?
She is a British Born Pakistani and simply beautiful in a big big Bollywood way. I'd say she's absolutely gorgeous. Very demure, softly spoken and would make a man fly off to the moon and orbit a few times before coming back down again, with happiness. I was meeting her for dinner.
Sorub approached again and asked if I was going home straight away. Not a lot of luck again mate. Felt very guilty for abandoning him after promising that I'd give him a lift and now this. It's not like I was avoiding him. I gave up explaining. Hoped he was fine and find the bus journey a pleasant one. Buses go slower on the Humberbridge because of the wind and gale lately, so he would be able to see the beautiful coast.
We met up in the cafeteria as she was on call. Her hug was tighter than usual. I saw tears.
She started telling me how things have changed since I left. Another girl called Charlotte is now staying in my room. My previous room.
It's not like Azima to say something plain about a person. She would find at least one good point about a person and glorify it to make up for the shortcomings in the person. Because we're all human, she always says. She didn't have much opinion about Charlotte so I knew she doesn't like her.
When I was there, there were 2 boys in the same flat. Imran and Haris. They, fortunately were muslims as well. Haris, a married man with beautiful eyes. Very funny budding opthalmologist and a loving 24 yr old husband. Sometimes his wife Saima came to visit and we all got fed extremely well by her, she cooks well, no doubt.
They gave me a pot plant for my new flat as a farewell gift and this plant has superseded all other plants in my care in terms of lifespan.
We could just see that Imran and Azima were a perfect match. Imran is a cross between Dr. Ross and Dr. Carter from ER, with a big pakistani nose and thick sticky but sexy Scottish accent. He is a perfect gentleman, firm but horribly horribly sweet. They are both doctors, both are muslims and from respectable families. A matchmake of the year.
Haris and I thought that they were just going to hit it off, move out to a house, leave us all to have lots and lots of babies.
That wasn't what happened. Imran got married last month to a pakistani girl from Pakistan itself. I couldn't comprehend. He left 2 weeks ago for Pakistan to fetch his bride, and there I was trying to patch the disaster I caused over a plate runny, bland pasta bake and a cappucino.
It 's her 26th birthday that day and I wished I could make it nicer for her. The fact that she had to be on call didn't help. It felt like old times only this time one of us was crying.
