Beyond factual imagination

Sheer boredom and nothing else would have prompted me to check random profiles on orkut. I already had three cups of coffee , was done with the little work assigned to me to make sure that I deserve some of the huge amount given to me as a salary (you see I am still in my training so am still ‘learning’), and Harry Potter fan fiction stories were finally looking naïve and juvenile to me.
Spinning around in my chair had also given me a headache, so I decided to give my head a rest by not using it for a while. And that’s how I ended up reading random profiles on orkut. I must admit orkut is one place which if not cure your boredom, can definitely reduce it. I am a member of the Ayan Rand community on orkut. So I decided to have a look at my fellow members. While browsing through some boring, some weird and some really hilarious profiles, I came across this profile of a guy who’s about me was really interesting (Yes, I am not shallow like most girls and don’t just look at photographs of men. I read their profiles as well. At least sometimes.) So anyway his profile was very interesting and so were his testimonials. His friends really had a high opinion about him. I saw his profession, engineer, not bad, our choice of books and music was almost similar. By then I was so impressed, I wanted to know where he is from.
I checked his location and paused. Literally I mean. He was from Pakistan, Lahore to be precise. To tell you the truth my first reaction was surprise. My mind forming images of all the news clipping about Pakistan’s internal war, a Quran, a bearded terrorist with a gun in his hand standing alone in the darkness , brownish mist all around a mullah, who was standing around ruins of old buildings and had a long dark beard and beads in his hands wearing a long and very loose light grey kurta and even more loose dirty grey pajama with closed boots with heels, he was talking something rapidly in Arabic. I could feel the gaze of that mullah on me. The intensity behind those kohl lined black eyes stirred something inside me. Something that could be called fear.
I snapped out of my stupor and felt absolutely stupid and shallow. Of course Pakistan wasn’t all about poverty and terrorism. Of course there were people who had a normal life like me. People who laughed when they heard a joke or cried when they their heart was broken. People, who fretted about their exams and enjoyed family dinners. Youngsters, who played cricket, and felt butterflies in their stomach when a smile played on the lips of a secret crush. They spent more time in their college canteen, than in their classroom. And of course their mother’s shouted at them when they come late at night with a vain attitude and a silly excuse. They ate and slept, and read and smiled like us. They even spoke like us. Using the same lingo and expressions.
I felt embarrassed for being so small-minded and sent this guy a friend’s request. He accepted and we started chatting on g-mail. I was eager to learn about Lahore and Pakistan and his views over politics and Islam. He listened to everything patiently and answered all my questions with such clarity in thought, that he might as well have been a professor in a university explaining in detail, things that his excited student knew and understood little. And he was my age! He didn’t discriminate people on the basis of their religion and was quite open about subjects like sex and girlfriends. He was sure he was going to have a love marriage and didn’t believe in the alternative. He had a girlfriend in the past with whom he broke-up recently. But he was still hopeful about the existence of love and was ready to take the jump when he met the right person. He had just taken a trip with his friends, whom he absolutely loves and was preparing for his final engineering exams.
Later that evening, while walking back home from work, I asked my friend if she could imagine a Pakistani engineer, she also paused for a moment and then said, “It’s hard to imagine”. I smiled and said I met one.