Earth, Fire and Water: Preface

They would meet at four almost every Friday afternoon of the year unless one or both of them were out of town. In the South east corner of Capocacia, Nayab and Ali would show up for their regular rendezvous’'. The last table on the South East side would be their place to eat, meet, greet and everything in between. In the short span of approximately a year, the two had grown fond of each other and had become 'best friends'. They talked about everything from life, to food, to books, to music, to people, to family, friends, clothes and even jobs. The funny thing was that other than passion, the two didn’t have anything in common. They had opposite views on everything, now be it food, clothes, books, music, women/men and even politics. Yet despite the deadly differences that led to heated debates, they still cherished the company of the other and stuck like glue to each other through good and bad times.

Friends, they were and adapted to every difference they had amongst them. Ali wouldn’t mind Nayab’s obsessive compulsiveness about table manners, anti smelly socks-ness and constant panic attacks, while she 'tried' to ignore him smoking during courses while eating, wreck less driving and even flirting with any and every woman in a 5 meter radius. In some ways, they were like a couple. They would finish each other's sentences, know exactly what the other person would say and look out for each other be it Sundays, Mondays or any days. They read to each other, be it menus, books, newspapers and even traffic tickets. To her, he was the only 'HE' in existence. To him, she was great. She knew he was the one for her but even after trying so much, she just couldn’t be that woman he wanted. That slightly older woman, who he longed for. That maturer woman, who emanated class, beauty, and success. To him, Nayab was a companion, a friend and no more.
Liza was the woman he wanted.

Liza, an ex-diplomat. Currently on self-proposed retirement, she was every aspiring economist's wet dream. With her petite figure, snuggly wrapped in white chiffon Saree, bronze colored stilettos, lush black hair tied poised in a French twist, and Smokey kajal smeared almond shaped eyes; she walked like she owned the world. Power-house woman she was, with men of all ages oozing lustrous gazes at her. She walked like Younge Street (the Manhattan of Toronto) was her runway and she alone was the one and only model on it. Her strut was uptight enough to show touches of finishing school, and showed enough pride as to not over-do and be seen as an ignorant rich snob. Using her brain as her weapon and her presence as gun-powder, she was the perfect-one-woman-power-house.

And of course in the midst of the hopefuls, stood Ali. The one who could punch numbers and theories in and out of the computer at the speed of light, with a show-man life style of any successful metro sexual twenty six year old. He oozed passion and drive, which showed all too much when Liza would be around. Of course, the ‘Eye-sex' thing she did with him got Nayab tied up in tangles and knots that would take infinity to untie. In Liza, Nayab saw competition; she saw both predator and prey. She saw what she needed to be if she wanted to be in Ali's world. But, alas, the irony of it all prevailed. The one that was everything he wanted vs. the one who wanted everything he was.

Ali, the love-struck fuck who was looking for that last inch of perfection in women that would make him drop to his knees and pop the question.
Nayab, the 'good-girl' with the bad-boy best friend/crush/first and last love.
Liza, the vixen as sleek and velvet and red wine. Let’s just say she won’t be running short of Chanel and Versace dresses and perfumes any time soon.

Toying with destiny and zodiacs, the three warriors representing earth, fire and water. There is much to come, much more than eye-sex, book-readings, brunches and day-dreams.