Seven years ago
"How is attending a protest at Jantar Mantar considered a date?" I asked as we exited the Barakhamba Road metro station in Connaught Place and began walking toward Parliament Street.
She tied her hair up into a bun. Holding a hairpin between her lips, she said, "Thanks for coming. It really means a lot."
"What's the protest about, exactly?" I asked. On the phone, she had said it had something to do with Kashmir. After Rendezvous, I had finally gathered enough courage to call and ask her out. She had teased me, asking if I was actually asking her on a date. I took the risk and said yes. I told her she could pick the place. She chose a protest.
"It's about the Indian Army committing violence against civilians in Kashmir. We're gathering to speak out against that."
Like most people around me, I barely understood the Kashmir issue. All I knew was that Pakistan wanted it, India wouldn't give it up, and some Kashmiris didn't want to be with either country. Honestly, it didn't matter to me. I just saw this as a way to skip class and spend a day with Zara Lone—the smartest, most stunning, and eloquent woman I had ever met.
When we reached Jantar Mantar, about fifty students were gathered outside the monument, holding up placards.
"Stop Innocent Killings in Kashmir."
"Pellet Guns Blind Protesters. Stop Using Them."
"Indian Army, Stop Atrocities on Kashmiris."
Zara walked ahead, confidently, and greeted a small group of protesters with hugs. Then she introduced me.
"This is Afsana, Zaheer, and Karim," she said. "Meet my friend Keshav."
I shook their hands. I don't consider myself biased, but I'll be honest—this was different from what I was used to. Back home in Alwar, people don't typically mix across religions. My mother might have fainted if she saw me here. My father's entire circle was part of a certain conservative ideology. So, growing up, we didn't really interact with Muslims.
"Razaq, Salim, Ismail," Zara continued. I greeted each of them politely, though I noticed the surprised expressions when they heard my name or saw my earring. One of them handed me a placard. I picked the safest one: "Peace in the Valley." I sat down with the sign across my lap.
Zara smiled at me.
"What?" I asked.
"Thanks. For being here and supporting me."
Yes, I was supporting her. But was I supporting the cause? I wasn't even sure.
"What exactly happened?" I asked.
"Last week, the Army used pellet guns on protestors in Kashmir. One person might lose their vision permanently."
"That's awful," I said, genuinely shocked.
"Yes, it has to stop. Kashmir needs peace."
"But why did the Army fire at them?"
"Because that's what they do," Ismail interjected as he and others went to join the chants.
Zara turned to me when no one else was listening.
"It's not that simple," she said. "The protesters were throwing stones at the Army."
"Why?"
"Because they don't trust the Army."
"But why not?"
"The Army's job is to find terrorists in Kashmir. But those terrorists blend in with civilians. In the process of trying to find them, civilians often get hurt. So, the locals resent the Army."
"What else can the Army do?"
"Not hurt innocent people, for starters. Why use pellet guns?"
"What would you do if someone threw rocks at you?"
"You don't get it," Zara said. "The Kashmir situation is complex."
I really didn't understand. I could have argued, but:
a) I didn't know enough;
b) Zara was a champion debater;
c) I didn't want to ruin my chances over politics.
"You're absolutely right. Maybe you can explain more next time… if we meet again?"
"We will," she said, squeezing my hand.
As the slogans grew louder, she leaned over and whispered in my ear.
"Listen, all I want is peace. Violence is never the answer. I love India. I love Kashmir."
I nodded and smiled.
"Kashmir needs progress. That's why I want to finish my studies and teach there. Education will bring peace. Nothing else."
"You want to go for a peaceful dinner later?" I asked.
She laughed. I took that as a yes.
Three Months Later
"Did we really have to wake up at five? I'm still hungover. How far is this place?" I asked, panting.
"Shh. See that statue at the top of the rocks? That's where we're headed. Ten more minutes," Zara said.
We were in Goa for New Year's, and she wanted to see the first sunrise of the year from Dona Paula. We carefully stepped over the rocks toward the cliff's edge, where two rivers meet the sea.
"I came to Goa to relax. Isn't it illegal to be up this early here?"
She laughed.
"Come on, we had such a magical night," I said. "And now this feels like punishment."
We had made love the night before—our first time—and I had hoped we'd spend the whole day wrapped in each other's arms. Instead, I was stumbling across sharp rocks before sunrise.
"It will be worth it," she said, a few steps ahead.
We reached the Dona Paula statue, where the Zuari and Mandovi rivers meet the Arabian Sea. We sat on a rock. The sky was still dark.
"We're facing west. The sun rises in the east," I pointed out.
"I know," she said. "Still, it's a new year. I want to see daylight with you—hand in hand."
She laced her fingers with mine. I thought about the night before. It was the best night of my life.
As the sky began to turn pink, she whispered, "Happy New Year, my love."
"Happy New Year, my love," I replied, and we kissed until the sky was bright.
I looked at her, mesmerized.
"Why do you love me?" I asked.
"What? Are we fishing for compliments now?" she said, laughing.
"No, really. You're beautiful, brilliant, and amazing. You could have anyone. Why me?"
"Well, I think you're handsome," she said playfully.
"I'm serious, Zara."
She paused, then answered.
"It's hard to find a guy who respects a woman's intelligence without being threatened by it."
"What?"
"I mean it. And I love your simple approach to politics."
"But I don't even like politics."
"Exactly. You're not left-wing, right-wing, or obsessed with any ideology. You're just a good person. Not sexist, not communal. Just a kind soul."
I nodded, smiling.
"But the real reason is the earring."
"What?"
"For some weird reason, I find it incredibly attractive. Come here, you."
She reached out to kiss me again, and I swear the statue of Dona Paula gave me a wink.