Posted:
As I walked home one sunny day, I stumbled on a wallet someone had lost in the street. I picked it up and looked inside to find for some identity so I could call the owner. But the wallet contained only a few currency notes and a crumpled letter that looked as if it had been in there for years.
The envelope was worn and the only thing that was legible on it was the return address. I started to open the letter, hoping to find some clue. Then I saw the dateline–1978. The letter had been written almost 35 years ago.
It was written in a beautiful handwriting on a blue Paper with a little flower in the left-hand corner. It was a "To My Dear JSP(Jahapana Six Packs)" letter that told the recipient, whose name appeared to be Asad, that the writer could not see him anymore. Even so, she wrote that she would always love him.
It was signed, Zoya.
It was a beautiful letter, but there was no way except for the name Asad, that the owner could be identified. Maybe if I called information, the operator could find a phone listing for the address on the envelope.
"Operator," I began, "this is an unusual request. I'm trying to find the owner of a wallet that I found. Is there anyway you can tell me if there is a phone number for an address that was on an envelope in the wallet?"
She suggested I speak with her supervisor, who hesitated for a moment then said, "Well, there is a phone listing at that address, but I can't give you the number." She said, as a courtesy, she would call that number, explain my story and would ask them if they wanted her to connect me.
I waited a few minutes and then she was back on the line. "I have a party who will speak with you."
I asked the woman on the other end of the line if she knew anyone by the name of Zoya. She gasped, "Oh! We bought this house from her. But that was 10 years ago!"
"Would you know where is she now?" I asked.
I remember that Zoya is much involved in service activities at shelter home and she used to spend her most of the time serving them.Maybe if you got in touch with them they might be able to track down.
She gave me the name and number of the Shelter home and I called the number.
Nevertheless, I called the Shelter home in which Zoya was supposed to be living and the man who answered the phone told me, Yes, Zoya is staying with us.
This whole thing was stupid, I thought to myself. Why was I making such a big deal over finding the owner of a wallet that had only few currency notes and a letter that was almost 35 years old?
Even though it was already 10 p.m., I asked if I could come by to see her. "Well," he said hesitatingly, "if you want to take a chance, she might be in the day room watching television."
I thanked him and drove over to the shelter home. The night nurse and a guard greeted me at the door. We went up to the third floor of the large building. In the day room, the nurse introduced me to zoya.
She was a sweet, silver-haired old timer with a warm smile and a twinkle in her eye. I told her about finding the wallet and showed her the letter. The second she saw the blue envelope with that little flower on the left, she took a deep breath and said, "Young man, this letter was the last contact I ever had with Asad."
She looked away for a moment deep in thought and then said softly, I loved him very much. I was 25 at the time and I left him due to my father who spoiled his entire life. After knowing the truth, I was not able to hold myself and not able to face him. He was so handsome with a well-tonned body. He was my Jahapana Six Packs.
"Asad Ahmed Khan was a wonderful person. If you find him, tell him I think of him often. And," she hesitated for a moment, almost biting her lip, "tell him I still love him. You know," she said smiling as tears began to well up in her eyes, "I never did marry. I guess no one ever matched up to Asad…"
I thanked Zoya and said goodbye. I took the elevator to the first floor and as I stood by the door, the guard there asked, "Was the old lady able to help you?"
I told him she had given me a lead. "At least I have a last name. But I think I'll let it go for a while. I spent almost the whole day trying to find the owner of this wallet."
I had taken out the wallet, which was a simple brown leather case with red lacing on the side. When the guard saw it, he said, "Hey, wait a minute! That's Mr. Khan's wallet. I'd know it anywhere with that bright red lacing. He's always losing that wallet. I must have found it in the halls at least three times."
"Who's Mr.Khan?" I asked as my hand began to shake.
"He's one of the old timers on the 8th floor. That's Asad Ahmed Khan's wallet for sure. He must have lost it on one of his walks." I thanked the guard and quickly ran back to the nurse's office. I told her what the guard had said. We went back to the elevator and got on. I prayed that Mr.Khan would be up.
On the eighth floor, the floor nurse said, "I think he's still in the day room. He likes to read at night. He's a darling old man."
We went to the only room that had any lights on and there was a man reading a book. The nurse went over to him and asked if he had lost his wallet. Mr.Khan looked up with surprise, put his hand in his back pocket and said, "Oh, it is missing!"
"This kind gentleman found a wallet and we wondered if it could be yours?"
I handed Mr.Khan the wallet and the second he saw it, he smiled with relief and said, "Yes, that's it! It must have dropped out of my pocket this afternoon. I want to give you a reward."
"No, thank you," I said. "But I have to tell you something. I read the letter in the hope of finding out who owned the wallet."
The smile on his face suddenly disappeared. "You read that letter?"
"Not only did I read it, I think I know where Zoya is."
He suddenly grew pale. "Zoya? You know where she is? How is she? Is she still as pretty as she was? Please, please tell me," he begged.
"She's fine…just as pretty as when you knew her." I said softly.
The old man smiled with anticipation and asked, "Could you tell me where she is? I want to call her tomorrow." He grabbed my hand and said, "You know something, Mister? I was so in love with that girl that when that letter came, my life literally ended. I never married. I guess I've always loved her."
"Mr.Khan," I said, "Come with me."
We took the elevator down to the third floor. The hallways were darkened and only one or two little night-lights lit our way to the day room where zoya was sitting alone watching the television. The nurse walked over to her.
"zoya," she said softly, pointing to Asad, who was waiting with me in the doorway. "Do you know this man?"
She adjusted her glasses, looked for a moment, but didn't say a word. Asad said softly, almost in a whisper, "Zoya, it's Asad. Do you remember me?"
She gasped, "Mr.Khan! I don't believe it! Asad! It's you! My Jahapana Six Packs!" He walked slowly towards her and they embraced. The nurse and I left with tears streaming down our faces.
"See," I said. "See how Good Lord works! If it's meant to be, it will be."
About three weeks later I got a call at my office from the shelter home. "Can you break away on Sunday to attend a wedding? Asad and Zoya are going to tie the knot!"
It was a beautiful wedding with all the people at the shelter home dressed up to join in the celebration. Zoya wore a red saree and looked beautiful. Asad wore a black suit and stood tall.
The shelter home gave them their own room and if you ever wanted to see a 60-year-old bride and a 63-year-old groom acting like two teenagers, you had to see this couple.
A perfect ending for a love affair that had lasted nearly 35 years.
Seher Hone Ko Hai
47