The Girl from Napoli

“God is Beautiful and He loves beauty”—that is a famous sacred hadith qudsi and it went through my mind many times from the moment I, by chance, laid eyes on her. It had been a fairly typical morning to be honest up to that point: I had probably woken, performed by ablutions in my little room in the Hall of Residence, and prayed my Fajr namaz before making my way down to the dining room where, alongside throngs of hungry undergraduates a few postgraduates (like myself), were queuing to be served breakfast by the moody dinner ladies. Grabbing my breakfast, I was thinking of where to sit, scanning the room for empty seats, when suddenly, my gaze fell upon a vision of incredible Beauty.

Thinkers throughout the ages have commented on Beauty and its aesthetic appeal to, and effect, on a sensitive soul and, of all things, nothing can approach the devastating beauty of human beings. Beauty, is, of course, subjective but there are some beauties who are so perfect, so alluring, so mysterious, so flawless, that one can imagine them as being mirrors of the Divine Beauty. There may well be other people more classically good looking but a few chosen individuals are gifted with an additional ethereal quality which, though defying description, is felt and experienced when one encounters them in the flesh but which is impossible to put into words. Many men would happily give up all their wealth and kingdoms for such a one! It is these rare jewels who have inspired poets, writers and philosophers throughout the ages. It was my good fortune to glimpse such a Beauty on that auspicious morning.

As soon as my eyes fell on that Vision, my heart was ensnared and my mind made up in the few nanoseconds it took me to decide whether I should sit near her or not! Since she was sitting by herself, and the adjacent seats next to her were empty, I decided to sit down on the chair one seat away from the empty one.

Please allow me to describe this beauty as far as it is humanly possible to put into words. For as anyone who has witnessed such devastating beauty will agree that to describe it accurately is not really within the realms of possibility simply because that nameless, ethereal, other-worldly, metaphysical quality cannot be put into words. Al Ghazzali said that it is impossible to describe the pleasures of orgasm to an impotent man no matter how much one tries. Some things have to be experienced. Tassawuf has been defined as zawq (tasting).

She had olive skin, a perfectly oval face, shining black tresses which fell in curves to her shoulders, a fine straight nose, dark red lips like the buds of a rose with the lower one slightly full, a dimple on her chin and her figure was curvaceous. Her face too was very slightly chubby compared to what is en vogue in this day and age. What gave her that special ethereal quality though were her eyes. They were large, doe-like, lustrous, black with thick lashes and finely shaped brows. That is a physical description of them but it cannot but fail to convey the intoxication they contained. Overall, the affect was devastating to behold. I have seen prettier girls before and since but no girl has come close to having the affect she had on me with her sheer physical presence. Cupid, it is fair to say, had struck!

So it was that, whilst I was pretending to eat breakfast, I internally argued with myself over how to start a conversation with this beauty. Finally, with great trepidation, I turned around, gave her my best smile, and said, “Hi!” To my delight, she smiled back and returned my greeting. That was the opening I needed and so I began to chat to her—my breakfast forgotten!—who needs to eat?!—and got some information about her. She was Italian. From Naples. Was in England on a year exchange programme. And her name was D*******. (I will keep her anonymous).

Best of all as far as I was concerned, she was also staying in the same block of the Hall of Residence I was in with two other friends of hers, also Italian. After some more small talk she finished her breakfast and smiling, said ‘Ciao’ and left. I was too dazed to eat but I did force some mouthfuls of cereal down my throat and, at last, finished my breakfast. Though I had been one of the first to arrive, such was the reverie I was in that I was amongst the last to leave the dining room. I spent about two hours just thinking about her.

This isn’t a love story though and it was a long time before I saw that girl again. I never stopped thinking about her though. Just the coincidental sight of her around campus had the effect of lighting up my whole week. Eventually, emboldened by Ghalib’s couplet,

Dil phir tawaaf e ku e malaamat ko jaaye hai
Pindaar ka sanam-kadah veerana kiye huwe!

[My heart again goes to circumambulate that lane of reproach
Leaving the temple of my self-respect desolate and empty]

I decided that I would ask her out. It so happened that there was a house party organised in our block for the end-of-year celebrations. Now, as a rule I never go to house parties (or any other parties) because of religious reasons but when I heard she would be there too I resolved to go.

There’s not much to tell really. I spent most of the evening standing in the corner of the noisy, darkened, common room, my ears aching with the loud, noisy, high-bassed ‘music’ which was played, feeling both ashamed of myself and also elated that I could see the Italian beauty in the room, dancing away seductively like Salome in the court of King Herod, taking away the faith of many with her glances of sheer poison.

When the party was coming to an end I finally had gathered up enough courage to go and talk to her by myself and ask her to dance! I through caution to the winds, strode up to her, smiled and, with my heart beating furiously, said, “Hi!. Wanna dance?” (At this time the music being played was quite slow and people were pairing up and dancing closely). She said, “Yeh” and, for a while at least, I became an infidel, lost in her presence to all else. Due to the noise we had to get really close and whisper in each other’s ears which gave me a chance to get near her and, after a while I noticed my arms were around her slender waist. I could also smell the delicate fragrance of her mouth and I was very tempted to kiss her but a sense of shame held me back. I managed to ask her out during the course of that song but she only smiled, called me a gentleman and said she had a boyfriend in Italy whom she really loved. After the dance finished we did sit around laughing and chatting but the spell was broken.