A Consequence of Destiny
I clearly remember the look of amusement on his face as he tried to recollect his memory while shaking my hand firmly,
‘Maria Ajmal…You are the girl who submitted the entry five minutes before the deadline, isn’t it?!’
I looked at him surprised that he remembered and recognized me. Coming from a man of his stature, I was a little humbled by this question.
‘That’s right’, I replied. ‘You remember’, I added after a moment meaning to ask as a question only to hear it coming out as more of a statement.
‘Ofcourse!’, he interjected excitedly. ‘I believe people visit places because they are meant to. They meet people because they are supposed to. That is why, you asking me three days prior to the extended deadline about the exact time of submission and then submitting 5 minutes before it stood out to me particularly’, he explained.
How could I forget that last day hustle? I still had to give final touches to the essay entry and had messaged Dr. Hossain asking about the time deadline. And getting a prompt reply from the Director of Solid Waste Institute of Sustainability saying that I still had time and must submit the entry quickly had been a huge encouragement in that moment.
‘I believe you are here for a reason’, he added as a matter-of-factly breaking my chain of thoughts.
I wondered about what he had just said and tried to shake away that childish romantic fantasy in my heart that I have been holding dear since forever of everything being a consequence of destiny.
‘I hope you like your room-mate’, he changed the topic cheerfully.
I hoped so too as that was one of the concerns. It was one thing to live with 5 different families up till now in my life. But sharing a room with a person from a different country with their own culture, values and lifestyle was a different story altogether.
‘Which one is it’, I asked curiously recalling all the faces on the scholarship winners list.
‘Its Giovanna’, he confirmed my worst fear.
‘Giovanna? From Italy?’, I asked the obvious that was evident by the name itself.
‘Yup’, he chirped.
I clearly remembered her to be the prettiest girl in the list. Her straight brown hair, neatly buttoned sweater and a quick dash of blush-on and mascara that only accentuated her already perfect features was a complete opposite of my description.
‘The pretty one’, I said in a timid tone, mentally bracing myself for two weeks of inferiority complex.
To this he roared with a thunderous laughter and then as if to boost my confidence added, ‘Yes. The pretty one with the other pretty one’.
After this, Dr. Hossain and I dived into the first of our several conversations briefly touching on subjects such as community service, role of youth in developing countries, purpose, impact and legacy. A perfect discussion, with my favorite topics where each was discussed with just the right amount of priority and time.
But at the end of the day, it was not Dr. Hossain or Giovanna who I was ‘supposed’ to meet. Not that meeting them was futile either. Everyone I met there, particularly Shiza, Muhammet, Ves, Waqar, Aditi, Kamal, Ketan, James, Jos, Alex, Richa, Soria, Thiago, Rosabelle, Shahadat, Emanuel, Arely and so many others, have helped me look at the world in a slightly brighter light. Even looking at all these names and mentally pronouncing them in my head in their respective accents gives me pure joy. I definitely feel extremely lucky to have met such a diverse group of people. However, in addition to the amazing learning experience with all mentioned above, the most significant of the meetings was the one with Sir. Atif: CEO of the company that I have joined this very month.
It was a tiring Saturday Excursion day and we were just returning from the mall after spending hours looking for gifts for loved ones back home that won’t make us sell our kidneys. Hungry and already thinking of the warm bed I felt a tiny forefinger politely nudging at my shoulder. It was Shiza. Between my snoozes I tried to make-out what she was saying. It was something about meeting a certain Sir. Atif she knew who worked in the solid waste management industry. She was going to meet him and wanted to know if Waqar and I would also like to join. Not willing to stir my decision-making powers that were on hibernation mode, I said I will let her know when we get back to the hotel while mentally thinking of a polite way to decline last moment. But as I lay back my head and closed my eyes, my guilty conscious starting elbowing my laziness.
‘Is this why you came all the way from Pakistan? To throw away a potential opportunity to learn about your field? How many hours of extra sleep will you get anyway after declining the invitation? These 2, or maximum 3 hours will never come again. C’mon! You can sleep plenty when you get back home.’
So by the time we reached the hotel, a sulky me was ready to go with Shiza just to save myself from the regret of not making the most of my trip.
Sir. Atif came with his wife to pick all three of us. Since I was the first one to get into the car, I became the victim of small talk as Shiza and Waqar were winding up some stuff. But strangely enough the small talk did not feel like small talk as we hit it off with discovering that we had quite a few things in common. The conversation, interjected with several humor-filled intervals, quickly changed course several times within those 10 minutes covering a diverse range of subjects. The couple took us to a famous halal eat out where we had biryani punched with a great conversation about our field. As we talked about the industry with all its challenges, I felt the fatigue washing off and found myself having the time of my life!
But not in my wildest dreams had I imagined that while I gobbled up the biryani hungrily dropping bits and pieces here and there, I was mentally being considered for a role in Sir. Atif’s own solid waste management company. About 9 months after I returned from USA, I was politely asked if I would like to work for one of his projects. So here I am at the end of my first month, the only woman in the middle of a heavily male dominated industry consisting of mechanics, truck drivers, waste loaders and dumpsite supervisors. And strangely enough, they already feel like family with the way they respect me and take care of all the protocols associated with my gender. It may not fulfill the society’s criteria of an ideal workplace for a Pakistani woman but I cannot let the society swing me around with their own very much unambitious set of standards that have nothing to do with my pleasure and peace. I must not.
Also, in the end what I have realized is that it is not just a job. It is about that dream that you see a decade ago and work hard for consistently and with determination. It is a result of a long chain of events that begin with just that dream. A dream so strong that it does not let you rest in spite of you having the whole world at your feet. It is not just the job but the whole bunch of treats on the way that lead you to it. And when you finally achieve the dream, it takes you by surprise for somewhere along the way you had forgotten the dream because you were so deeply satisfied and joyous simply in its mere pursuit. That is when every blessings starts to seem an add-on. And that is when you become beyond grateful to God for His countless favors that He bestows so graciously and generously upon you. And you wonder what your undeserving self did to be on the receiving end of such benevolence. You realize that that slow but steady pace as you crawled your way towards liberation is witnessed, acknowledged and appreciated by God with undivided attention and rewarded by not only material things but something much bigger and better like spiritual satisfaction in the form of certainty, alignment of thoughts and contentment. He has seen your efforts and intentions and it begins to seem like He has molded the whole plan to make all your wishes come true.
So, it is not just a job. It simply cannot be. With the last minute entry, a reluctant acceptance to a random invitation and the perfect timing of everything falling into place, I cannot help but believe it to be fated. And I am sure there is at least one person in this world who agrees with me. And right now I can bet he is shaking somebody’s hand, calling their meeting a consequence of destiny.
