...so; the idea then is to teach the teachers to teach the program. You come highly recommended as the premiere individual to carry this off effectively.
We have the curriculum design. It needs to be tested in preparation for the piloting of The International Institute on Gender and HIV/Aids.
Of course, we seek your professional opinion as to the curriculum model. We welcome your advisement on presentation. The Atlantic Centre of Excellence for Women's Health will retain autonomy over factual content.
We are talking about a three day workshop in Halifax, NS, opening with a plenary session and then breaking out into discussion groups which will test and critique the program.
One of the key factors is that the modules have an extremely clean ability to translate and be teachable universally, without losing the essence of the vision and mission of the organization.
Dr. Chaudhuri, it is your international reputation and ability that lead us to seek you as our facilitator.
That was my first contact with Danyaal. Dr. Danyaal Chaudhuri, a well respected professor of modern communications.
Dr. Chaudhuri did accept our invitation, and in fact waived his usual fee, asking only for his accommodation, travel and meals. He felt our mission worthy, and donated his time.
This conference has been a good long time in the planning. I've been full focused at it, working from my home base: Toronto.
How easy these days to be in conference planning. The internet has made the world so accessible. My work has become quite enjoyable to me in its connection to the world through solitude.
Me, in my happy little office, a single room in my apartment; quiet, pleasant, and yet connected among nations. How different it is now compared to the past, when we needed to be forty or fifty in the same office, the same space, phones ringing off hooks, sharing fax machines, hard files and information.
These days my office is intimate. It works for me. My way is to mix my organizational ability with my true personality. So, along with my computer, books and manuals; there are flowers, incense, and decorations. It is a retreat. I am comfortable at work.
When I email back and forth, I am receiving in my intimate space. My mood: intimately matching.
Agendas, ideas for curriculum design, evaluation models, even those personal details of hospitality; all of these things I have discussed with Danyaal.
Yes. Danyaal.
It has been a long time since I have called him Dr. Chaudhuri. "I am Danyaal, Beverly. Call me Danyaal".
We, at some point; skipped beyond simple email, to telephone conversations. Those eventually became daily conversations. We developed a funny little routine out of a three day game of phone tag and increasingly teasing messages.
Danyaal, leaves some piece of voice mail for me: Any subject under the sun but for HIV/Aids. I return a voice mail in response. Day after day, the messages become lined with undertones. We hint to each other over and over in a hundred different ways without ever coming to the point. "I am romantically interested in you."
That, is understood.
I have adjusted my timing. I slept during my North American days, so I could be awake, there, in South East Asian time. Danyaal time.
He and I have developed a habit of speaking to each other. In fact, there is, at least in my mind, some odd sense of interdependence.
It was the daily conversations we had, that at times had little or nothing to do with the business at hand, which created this kinship.
"And how is the Tota? (parrot)" I might ask.
"Where were you today when I called at 11:00?" he might ask.
And sometimes, with the hint of a sigh or the slip of laughter, we might delve in deeper yet to our emotions as man and woman.
"Why the sigh Bev?" Danyaal would ask.
"A sigh of happiness Danyaal. You are a joy in my day."
Comments such as these became common in the last few months of our communications. Each of us felt certain gratitude in minutes spent together, and made no secret to the other of the pleasure.
Danyaal has a subtle way. His voice is at once commanding and gentle. He has an elegance he need not speak of, for it just is. I sense totally apparent elegance in a man who has never appeared before me.
When I first saw his photo, in the directory of public speaking professionals I was taken by attraction. I am a single woman with open eyes.
We have talked so often now; usually opening with a joke or two and then floating into business (almost as a premise at times). Our discussions have often entered the realm of the personal.
I know, Danyaal too, is single. Unlike myself though, who has lived a full married life; Danyaal has let me know that he has led a singular life, never married, and while at times attached, never completely bonded. Not bonded, as I had been in that so called "eternal" sacrament of marriage.
I cannot really say at what point it was that Danyaal and I crossed the boundaries of protocol, or who really instigated it. I can only say that we are beyond the professional. Together, our minds have danced in other realms.
We are meeting here on the train, from Toronto to Halifax, and to be sure, I will be on my best professional behavior, which is what I expect from Danyaal.
Yet, there are those things, those between the lines messages that tell me this train ride will not just be a final confirmation of planning and organization.
Completely unspoken: this train ride, is about Danyaal and Beverly meeting.
I boarded the train in North Bay, my home town. I wanted to take the time to visit my family. Danyaal was to board in Toronto.
He insisted, much to my dismay, that I not meet him as he boarded, but instead over dinner, in the evening. It was against my good manners to allow a guest to arrive ungreeted, but Danyaal has a very firm way and is practical.
"I will want to go directly to my compartment to shower and relax" he told me. "I don't want to be travel weary when we meet."
It made sense; as Danyaal always did.
The idea left me smiling. I am a romantic, and Danyaal, with gorgeous eloquence and true gentleman style has me smitten. I have spent many hours now imagining meeting Danyal over dinner for the first time.
I planned, for myself. I am used to this; dressing my skin, my hair and my body as if they were going to be discovered by a lover. It is private, for me; a silent promise to my imaginary Prince Charming that should he arrive, I will be ready for him.
Danyaal. Prince Charming. Not too far apart these two, in my mind.
I had reserved a dinner table and pre-ordered meals, according to the preferences Danyaal had indicated.
My dress was a simple doubled slip of a silk gown; blues and greens. Not one for the big flashy do, I have loose hair, and simple makeup. The jewelry is minimal, the shoes leather strapped mules.
And beneath?
Well; there is nothing beneath. It is because I have an imagined moment, and I prepare for imaginary moments.
Beneath my dress is naked skin and soft scent.
I will not go on about how Danyaal and I greeted each other personally for the first time (his kiss to the back of my hand, raising a burning flush in my cheeks) nor will I rehash the events and discussions during and after dinner.
The aura of the evening: I will describe that.
We had begun anew, as if we had not intimated at all.
Both of us represented ourselves first as professionals, in acknowledgement that it was professional association which had brought us together.
As the train rumbled beneath us, our hearts began to rumble within us. Flirtations began flying. Our eyes did a dance of domination and submission, sometimes wicked flashing, sometimes lowered lashing.
Although I was the official host, it was Danyaal who made the overt invitation.
"I am remembering a message from a while back Beverly. You described how you would like to receive your first kiss on the lips from me. Do you recall?" asked Danyaal, with seriousness of tone.
He made me blush by bringing up a subject I had teased and jested about. I had opened that door with a flippancy that was met by something quite unexpected. Danyaal took the idea of a kiss to the lips and went someplace I had never been and was shocked to go. The entire conversation flooded back to me and I was pulled into the abyss.
"I recall, yes." I spoke with a quiet nod.
Danyaal took my hand, and guiding me to my feet, drew me towards him: close enough for a kiss, but us both knowing it would not happen here and now.
"Come with me Bev. Come with me to my compartment. It is time."
My legs trembled as we walked. The motion of the train did me no favors.
Danyaal instinctively reached out and held me at the waist; his hand barely there, ready in gentleman fashion to steady me should I stumble.
And then, as we reached his door, he escorted me through, his hand slipping to the lower curve of my spine, applying a gentle pressure, which I walked away from.
Inside the compartment, it was a moment in time.
I turned and watched him, his back never to me. At the sound of the final closing of the door, we both smiled tremendous happy smiles.
I stood ground. He walked to me. The closer he got, the softer our smiles became. In five steps the smiles were off the visage and left in the eyes.
Within arms length, he stood, and said
"Tell me how I am to receive your first kiss to the lips."
"Oh!" I breathless.
"Tell me." He gentle but firm.
"I....I..." My vocal chords have disappeared.
Seconds span like centuries.
