“Eh Ajnabi, Tu Bhi Kabih, Awaaz de Kahin Se”
I’ve written many letters in my life. This one is different. This one is for the ghost of a love I never met, and for the woman I have become because of it. Thank you for reading.
Dear Ajnabi,
Where do we begin when we don’t know if this is the beginning… or the end?
Maybe it is neither. Maybe this is just a reckoning… with everything I once held onto… and everything I am finally ready to let go.
It always feels like the end… doesn’t it? But perhaps that’s just the drama queen within me… Guilty.
I probably shouldn’t start there. You might run away…
Or maybe you’ll scroll down… see how long this is… and then definitely run away.
That would make you just like the rest of them… especially the desi guys. Some of them would run away the minute I’d mention I was pursuing a PhD. Lol.
Apparently, 9.96789 years is too intimidating. That’s what one of my epic Facebook statuses noted… almost four years ago now.
It was an incredible journey… a lonely one at times… a journey that may have taken me away from finding you.
Or maybe… that was it. That was the dream. This was God’s plan after all…
Maybe I have just been using my education, the PhD, as an excuse… to escape from societal expectations…
Maybe I had to make myself worthy in the eyes of this world before I could believe someone like you could exist.
I used to say… “Mera maqsat kuch aur tha.” My purpose was something else.
Just to console myself, knowing deep inside that we may never meet in this lifetime.
It was as if what I was seeking, what I was meant for, was something beyond what others may have assumed or expected of me.
When I could no longer use that excuse… the PhD… ironically, the “Your next” also stopped. But I knew the whole time… that I would never be next. That I was never really meant to be next to begin with….
What I was… was the “Girl Next Door.”
*******
I was always the girl next door… the invisible one, the safe one, the sweet one, the familiar one. Never the one who gets the guy. Never the one who gets chosen. Which is probably why I always hated rom-coms…
Because like most Bollywood love stories… they lied.
In real life, the “girl next door” doesn’t ever get the guy. Even if she’s half-decent-looking like me. Even if she has a soft face and a big heart…
Actually… especially if she has a big heart... especially if she’s different, authentic.
I actually don’t mind being called a bitch... but unfortunately… I’m just not a bitch.
It’s not that only bitches get the guys…the Prince Charmings, Raj Kumars, and Shah Rukh Khans…. But it feels like the world rewards a certain kind of hardness.
Perhaps a kind of measured “coolness” or “charm” I could never master.
Perhaps I was too open. Too earnest. Too weird. Too awkward… Or maybe I felt things too deeply. I had too much heart.
*******
If you ever read any of my honest, vulnerable, and unapologetic blog posts in the past, you may have noticed that I tend to write love letters. Always have. Since I was 16. And I threw most of them away.
I can be a cheesy old romantic, even while occasionally honoring the staunch radical intersectional feminist persona.
Honestly, it does feel like there isn’t much room for either in this world. Anymore.
On rare occasions, I would share a letter to a crush, knowing full well that I couldn’t pursue anything, partly because I knew the feeling wasn’t mutual.
But sometimes, for some reason, you just needed them to know. You needed to hear it, even if it hurt.
Or maybe you needed to “fit in” somehow… to remind yourself that you, too, are human… and you are allowed to feel things… like other humans.
And you don’t have to love someone back to write them into being. Sometimes, it’s about having the courage to say it anyway.
In recent years, here on Chronicles of a Warrior KQueen, I wrote a love letter to Pakistan before conducting my doctoral fieldwork, to my poverty after my doctorate, to the Children of Palestine, and even to the Buree Nazar (evil eye)…
And now… this. This letter to you. An Ajnabi (estranged lover).
*******
In some ways, it does feel like the end. Maybe because we are making some big changes in our lives. Maybe with everything having in the world, it does feel like the world is ending… that we are getting closer to Judgement Day… to Armageddon.
In other ways, it feels like the beginning… of something better… of deserving better.
For the past decade or so, I had been quoting Atticus the Poet… it is part of my brand now:
“She wasn’t looking for a Knight. She was looking for a Sword.”
Perhaps that one line sums up so much of me: A purpose. A mission. Neverending…
Especially if I couldn’t have just one “little Elsa,” to fight in the inevitable Political Revolution in America.
There must be a reason some of us miss out on such a blessing in this life.
There must be a greater purpose.
********
I have always been an Old Romantic... I know, it seems contradictory, doesn’t it?
I know some men, even just friends, find that off-putting.
They look at old romantics like we are dangerous or unhinged.
Or maybe just… “too much.”
Maybe I get it.
In my 20s and 30s, some desi guys would freak out when I would even smile at them. And that was when I was actually kind of attractive… even if not the “typical” kind of “desi girl” attractive.
I’m from Wisconsin. I smile at people. I say, “How are you doing?” That doesn’t mean I’m going to propose to you. Relax.
If we ever do meet… I’m sorry you didn’t know me at my prime. When I could have fallen in that “pretty desi girl” category.
That means I will have to win your heart through my intellect instead.
And boy…that is tough… especially for a woman who writes better than she speaks. And who is perceived as “incompetent” because of that. A woman who might look slightly better on paper than in person.
As long as I’m not the “angry brown woman” criticizing the Democratic establishment or urging neoliberals to pick up pitchforks for the Proletariat Revolution… maybe I’d be more convenient.
*******
There’s a strange symmetry between the love market and the academic market. I have noticed. I wrote about it recently. Here. Because I have felt it the past few years… in transition, trying to figure out my life… trying to save myself from becoming that “Damsel in Distress,” by standing on my own two feet. Still fighting.
No one read that piece, of course. Lol.
Maybe some people are afraid of the 40-something, unhitched, old romantic who dares to speak of the uncomfortable topic of love and relationships, publicly, once in a blue moon.
Don’t assume that old romantics are constantly in search. We are poets and observers of the love and hate in this world, but we aren’t assuming that every guy is “the one” for us.
We just feel everything…deeply. We observe. We analyze. We connect things. We write.
Okay, maybe if there is just a little chemistry, when we forget to “lower our gaze” for a moment… our mind would naturally drift into a fantasy world, thinking of “possibilities.”
But that’s what makes us old romantics, we don’t “assume”… even if there is a little chemistry.
I would not lie to you. That’s the problem, I guess. I am too honest. One of my college professors once told me that honesty was my best and worst quality.
I’ve written poems and letters to men over the years, partly because I knew nothing could ever happen. Some were non-Muslim. Some I thought were out of my league. Some were kind. Some were understandably uncomfortable.
It started young… I was 11. I met someone in Pakistan who became my pen pal at some point. The first time a boy ever told me that he wanted to be my friend. At 16, from another trip to Pakistan, I gave him a small note through a secret handshake that said, “Tum Dil Ki Dharkan Me Rehte Ho.“ A reference from a 90s Bollywood hit. (I know, very cheesy, very lame, but still a little brave, don’t you think?)
He wrote back an email, telling me that he felt the same…. but I would soon find out, after some exchanges and another visit to Pakistan, that he didn’t. It was one of my first encounters with “love.” A first devastating heartbreak.
I remember printing up all those emails from my Hotmail account and ripping them all up. Just for the dramatic effect. Lol.
But, I guess the habit of writing long letters never left me.
I won’t share more about this story, even as I know this letter, like most of my blog posts and letters, will not be read by anyone. Maybe one day it will show up in my novel or short stories, or an anthology of love letters from the Warrior KQueen.
*******
Perhaps because of the influence of Bollywood Romance at such a young age, I called myself the American Born Confused Desi (ABCD) for a long time. I stopped in recent years and then I was slowly transforming inside… all part the Inward and Outward Revolution.
As a brown girl raised on Bollywood, I imagined that one day, my body would transform into Juhi Chawla’s. My favorite actress. I thought when I grew older… maybe I’d look like her.
Maybe I’d find “my Shah Rukh Khan” eventually.
But life has a way of shattering those illusions.
If I ever do meet you… sorry. You did, indeed, miss me when my body was at its prime.
There was indeed a time when I was quite a hottie. I am glad I can say that now… now that I am no longer a hottie. Lol.
For a while, I couldn’t even look at myself in the mirror. Even when I was, in fact, beautiful.
Now that I can…. I may have lost my youth, but at least I see the beauty in my soul, radiating outward… even through all the scars.
*******
Rejection has become familiar to me… All kinds. The romantic rejections were quite interesting.
Among my favorite rejections was something that has been said to me not only in my personal life, but also in my professional life. That I am “too ambitious” and “good-looking”. And that he “preferred a housewife.“
What’s hilarious about this story is that a year later, he added me on LinkedIn.
So… I was “too ambitious” for courtship, but he still wants to benefit from my professional networks. Cute.
The unfortunate reality is that many men are intimidated by not only intelligent, but also ambitious, high-thinking women who have big, big dreams and goals. Some men need to be more educated than their future wives.
I have noticed most of the smart guys are all taken.
I’ve met men too insecure even to respond to a message. Men who didn’t know how to even have a conversation with a woman.
I remember one guy in a conversation say, “You think you’re better than me because you have a PhD?”
No. I don’t. But it is a huge part of me. And I won’t apologize for it.
My doctorate is part and parcel to my identity. It does not mean that I think I am better than those without PhDs. But sadly, I’ve met both men and women who think this way.
*******
Four years ago, around this time, I thought I saw you in Barcelona. I had just eaten at Alfonso’s, so I didn’t search too hard. I ran into a gastrobar called “Elsa & Fred.” But I was with Alfonso, so I couldn’t give Fred any of my time.
I now jokingly refer to you, my Ajnabi, as “Fred.” Just me being cute.
If people followed my story, they’d get it. The references. They’d laugh.
If they gave me a chance, they might find it amusing when I would reference it from time to time. Like here on Facebook. All part of the “Warrior KQueen lore.”
Here’s a photo of that little Gastrobar. Hopefully, I can make it back to Barcelona someday. I was there precisely at this time, 4 years ago, from today. During my 37th Birthday.
I would make jokes about the number of baby goats for my Mahr (dowry)...but I don’t think people got it. I never mastered the art of comedy, even though I am actually pretty funny. It’s all about the delivery… and confidence. Both written and spoken. But it’s also about how people perceive you, unfortunately.
The moment I can make someone laugh… is quite a triumphant moment.
*******
Anyway… I won’t “kiss and tell.” Just know I’ve had my share of encounters. I thought you might find some of those incidents amusing. I am sure you have had a share of yours too.
But I have changed. For the better, I hope. Searching for love and belonging in all the wrong places led me down a potentially miserable path. It wasn’t right for me.
I do want to talk about how much I have changed. And how I have been changing, in more ways than one. And I think it is positive.
Writing has become a part of who I am. I recognize the powerful craft of writing. It can be a weapon when needed. And it can also become a tool for justice, truth, and love.
In many spaces, I have been a bit misunderstood. But like many psychologists, philosophers, and great thinkers have concluded, we are in good company when we are misunderstood.
My buddy, Emerson once said, “To be great is to be misunderstood.”
I remind myself of that, especially as I strive on the path towards “Greatness,” whatever that may entail.
*******
This letter still feels incomplete. Even as I may have said too much. I may add more to this, as I continue my story… one that is still beginning, with so much more to be written, whether you are in it or not…
But I hope, wherever you are… you’ve found peace and happiness.
I’ll be okay too… Inshallah.
Because I am finding refuge in something so powerful, something bigger than you and me. Something that might actually even help me find you.
My mother would always tell me, that “Insaan ki sabsi achi dhost hai Kitaab.” Humanity’s best friend is the Book.
So I will surround myself with books, and I will write my own books. I feel I have already written so many books… one that will emerge even from this space.
But I will study that one Book more… for the remainder of this short life. That was always supposed to be my one true Friend.
Dr. Omar Suleiman (a role model and scholar I admire), once stated in a recent lecture that some Islamic scholars around the Prophet (pbuh)’s time, prioritized knowledge acquisition over marriage. That resonated with me in so many ways.
And maybe that’s me now.
It is relieving to know that if we never meet, that I didn’t necessarily miss out in pleasing Allah, that there are in fact other ways to please Allah. Even though marriage is half of our deen. Being reminded of this, felt like a burden off my shoulders.
My PhD became a stand-in for the wedding I never had. I called it my “PhD Wedding” for that reason. It was supposed to mean that for me… for many reasons. Reasons that no one else could understand.
I did consider it bigger than my future Nikkah with you. Sorry about that. Lol. But I hope you could understand. Especially that it must continue to signify that for me. A defiance of the cultural stigma that says if you don’t marry, you have no worth.
It felt like the statement against the cultural stigmas within Muslim and South Asian communities that I was trying to make with my PhD… as my PhD wedding… as an unconventional woman who could not fulfill half her deen in the first half of her life, (and maybe even the second half)… that the particular proposition, of the PhD being a substitute for marriage, was in fact, a divine orchestration of some sort… Allah knows best.
*******
I want you to know something.
I “saved myself” for you... All these years… I know…in part through Divine intervention, in part because I knew, deep down… if I was to love anyone... that love without a mutual love for Allah (swt) could not be true love. Not for the Warrior KQueen.
There was a time when I felt that I didn’t need to have that in common with my Ajnabi. But that is history now.
The world can throw shame if I cannot hide this truth... in my mission to cure stigmas… understanding how I must be the “Qurbani ka Bakara”… even though I didn’t always know what I believed…even though I tried to be someone I wasn’t.
Even as I had been “Questioning” for some time.
Maybe that was partly why I tried to end my life. Many times. But I am still here. And while I am here, while I am still breathing, I continue to persist and resist, walking in my story….just as I am…. and not like anyone else.
*******
Thank you for reading this far. Maybe I might have more to say. I always seem to have a lot to say. Maybe that’s why some people run away. Lol.
I hope that it matters that I am also a great listener. More of a listener than a talker. Perhaps that is why I write so much. Because I have never been fully heard. I am not heard.
People say I am a little too formal sometimes. I imagined if I were to have my wedding, after the Nikkah, I would approach the stage and shake your hands, and say…
“Nice doing business with you.”
We would have negotiated 12 baby goats for the Mahr (dowry). Well, it used to be 12.
Now it is just three baby goats. I can’t go any lower than that.
Come on, you can manage three.
*******
I should stop here.
And I ask for your forgiveness.
The Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) once said that if we do not meet in this lifetime, there is someone there for us in heaven.
Perhaps one of the many incentives to fight… to try to make it to Jannah.
What I do know is that I can’t keep saying the phrase I used to soothe the feeling of being supposedly “incomplete.” Tomorrow, I won’t be able to say: “Khadija met Muhammad when she was 40… so I still have time. I’m right on time.” That has been my go-to these past few years.
But one thing is for sure: I found myself again. I fell in love with myself… because I found God in my heart.
There was a Prayer I would say, since I was a little girl, after every namaaz:
“Oh Allah, I love You. I need You. Please come into my heart.”
And He did.
SubhanAllah… I wish I could express it in words. I wish I could tell you.
That’s what I was able to achieve at 40…
The same year, the Prophet (peace be upon him) received his Prophethood.
So I trust Allah… more than ever before. With everything. Including whether I am supposed to meet you in this life.
And I trust His timing is perfect. For everything.
And I trust that Allah will forgive us… if we were “Questioning.” And if that was wrong. To even question His word.
And I trust that Allah must be sufficient for me.
As the Quran says, “Hasbunallahu wa ni’amal wakeel.”
*******
Even if I never meet you in this life… know that I tried to love with courage.
I fought to stay alive. I fought for Revolutionary Love. I fought for the Truth. And I never put the Sword down.
And maybe this is among the many reasons we don’t just live for this life…we strive for the Next.
If we don’t meet here… maybe we’ll meet there.
So… maybe you and I… we can try to be good, no?
This is not an invitation to come find me.
But if one day… you want to “enjoy some caramels” (a nod to my favorite movie, Good Will Hunting)…
I haven’t said F*** off just yet.
Even if I’m still gripping this Sword.
With heart,
Your Warrior KQueen,
Elsa
(aka Dr. Elsa…but you don’t have to call me that)
“She wasn’t looking for a Knight. She was looking for a Sword.” – Atticus
*******
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