Whispers of Soul

Dear Mother! I love you, and in you, I have come to respect your gender

2011-08-11T11:13:00.003+05:00

I don’t know what actually is responsible for this but unfortunately, I couldn’t respect womankind enough; I could never accept them as equal to men. They were lesser mortals for me, and I had repulsive feelings for them as softer creatures though I am straight, not a gay and dependent on them for copulative needs, and that’s where their existence seemed justified to me. I don’t know why despite being friends with many of them, I couldn’t actually bring myself to respect them enough, not as much as I would have respected them if they were men with same qualities. It might be in conformity with the popular norms of the society I have been living in; maybe it is because I have always been fascinated by strength and hated weakness, and I ascribed women with weakness, frailty, hypocrisy, and imperfection!

I have never been able to understand them because deep inside I have not ever wanted to understand them for their existence has never interested me except for the natural attraction of opposite gender and in this I find myself equal to the ancient men of dark ages. It’s pathetic of me but it’s true that for a long, long time, their only function seemed to me to serve the men, to please them and gratify them! And in doing this, they never seemed heroic to me despite all their service to manhood! In my university days, I have found them frail, manipulative and un-heroic. Am I a bloody male-chauvinist (Though ‘bloody’ doesn’t have a bloody meaning)! I wouldn’t ever weigh my female friends as much as I weigh my male friends if I ever considered them worth comparison at first place! To me, as I said, they were lesser mortals.

There must be very rare times when I have written positive things about them and very few times when I would have written about them at all despite the fact the women who have touched my life, one or the other way, have been the best of humans if humans could be termed as best, but I could never see their goodness! I am such a wretched thankless creature for not being able to acknowledge the comfort they have given to me. I could never see that not all of them are frail, weak, hypocrites and manipulative, especially those with whom I came into contact and who happen to grab some space in my life!

I dedicate this small piece of writing to womankind, especially, to those great women who have touched my life, one way or the other, be it my mother, sisters, teachers, friends, internet friends, my blog followers! I find them as quintessence of dignity, love, care, affection and all the goodness on the earth if I look at them putting off my miserable dark biased glasses I have been wearing all these years! I find if men are strong and heroic, so are women; it’s not only men who love and die for it, it’s also the women! But what has been the greatest revelation for me in the recent times is that men never knew and may never be able to know the intensity with which a woman loves a man or anything they may fall in love with be it their pet cats, birds, dogs, or dolls!

I have studied in a boarding college. Whenever I visited my home, my mother and sisters- especially my mother- would care so much about my sleeping, eating and everything that I would get irritated, unable to understand why she has to show so much care! Wretched me! I would never understand! I would never put off my bleak biased glasses! What irritated me the most those days was the departing time. My mother, with sad helpless eyes, asked me to stay for a little longer and irritated I used to ask her what good a little longer staying would do to her if my 10 days stay could not do it? But she insisted to stay just for 10 more minutes and I would, with a long irritated face looking at my watch again and again to see when the ten minutes were over. I would walk towards her to say goodbye after 10 minutes and she would tell me again that the day was long and I had to travel just for three hours, maybe I could stay a little longer but I would give her such an angry look that she would give up, hugged me, kissed my forehead with tear in her eyes and walked me to the door. I could see her staying at the door looking at me going away, disappearing, and I used to get upset by this too! Why doesn’t she get in? What good would it do to her see me going?

Maan! I am sorry for not being able to see your love, I am sorry that your asking me for staying a little while more irritated me! I am sorry when you called up and I used to have nothing to talk about after five minutes, while you insisted on talking more and irritated I told you what I should talk of when I had nothing to talk! I am sorry for considering you weak when you have been as strong as Baba! I am sorry for getting irritated of your love, concern and care! You have always given it so much that I was not able to absorb it; I had not had enough space and capacity to absorb it! I am sorry for making you feel that I love Baba more! For the first time, it has hurt me deep inside that I have cared less about you than I care for him. I am sorry for making you feel miserable when I called you last month and you were admitted in hospital to get your backbone operated, and you murmured that I have always loved Baba more!

Maan! I want to tell you that I would do anything on earth to repair this hurt which I have done to you unconsciously! Maan! I am sorry, for your sake, to womankind for not being able to give them the respect they deserved! I am sorry for considering them weak, frail, hypocrites, manipulative and lesser mortals! I wish I could reverse the wheel of time and go back when you may have asked me for first time to stay a little while more before departing and if I could go back in time, I would sit by your side as long as you might want and never leave! But it’s my well deserved suffering that I can’t reverse the wheel of time!

Of all the things I may want to do in my life, I want to re-live my life with you! I want to undo what I have been doing and want to do what I couldn’t if only Baba’s God could allow me! I want to sit with you in winters by the stove and help you cook food! I want to clean floor with you! I want you to give me a bath and tickle me! I miss the hair style you gave me; I couldn’t get it ever again since I started combing my hair myself! I want you comb my hair and tell me to stop looking into mirror again and again! I want you to dress me and tell me not to drop ink on my white shirt at school! I want you to tell me that I have a heart of a bullock when I am depressed! I want you to tell me that my ribs are funny and I should put on some weight! I want you to tell me that I have your eyes but mine are brighter and yours are bigger! I want you to tell me that girls are more sensible than boys. I want you to come and pick me from bed to brush my teeth at night when I wouldn’t and pretend as if I were fast asleep. I want to get annoyed with someone at home and boycott dinner but at the same time hoping you wouldn’t let me sleep hungry; and then telling you that I don’t want to eat when you come to me beseeching to eat dinner! I want to wipe your tears when you are distressed but I want to break all your china pots again! I want to catch frogs in rains and frighten you. Maan! I want to consider your reasons affectionately when you had any disagreement with Baba instead of turning away from you for not being absolutely submissive to him. I want you to oil my hair and pick lice even when I didn’t harbor them. I want to massage your head when it aches. We may even go for walks like I went with Baba and I would ask you to tell me stories as Baba told! I want you to stop telling me that I would miss you and look for you in madness when you would be gone! But Maan I know nothing much of the sort is possible now! I have lost my chance and the worst part is that I can’t even set anything right! But is it meaningless to apologize? Am I too late to say I love you and you matter to me as much as Him! I love you Maan and I am sorry for everything I should have done for you but I couldn’t! I have always loved you but I am sorry I couldn’t express enough! I want to tell you, despite all our disagreements of any nature, I would love to be born as your son if there were another life!

God of Godless!

2011-07-02T02:35:00.000+05:00

“Repent!”

“Only if You send me back in time and reconnect...
where Your wise ways broke me off!”

“It can’t be so!”

“Then I am guilty of defiance!”

“You would suffer always!”

“I would meet him in my death then,
We wud be together like good old childhood days,
Have long walks and never ending conversations
...by the wheat and corn fields,
I would ride his shoulders;
And he would kiss my forehead,
Hide me in his shawl in winters
...and tell me stories!”

“Even if death is far and life is suffering?”

“No Objection, my Lord!”

“All those who love you...
  Would suffer too...
Because of you!
They are innocent,pure and true
You think as once were you!”

“Ain’t you their God!
  Or they are Godless,too!
You have abandoned them
Or they have given up on You?
  Wouldn't You show them the path of peace,
  And be merciful to them,Would'nt You?”

Of Disobedience

2011-03-07T03:48:00.000+05:00

Of disobedience, father!

To your God

As that of Adam

To his Lord!

Justification I have none

It has your boy

Turned untoward;

I took a path

That was not yours

Nor mine or ours!

Took it in defiance?
No, not!

I was tempted

you were far,

And it has led me

Where I am

At war

With myself

And your God!

Not in contempt

But in dissent

Of His wise ways

To test His men

Fall them apart

Smiles up above

Watches them suffer

And enjoys His art!

Happy Valentine!

2011-02-14T03:34:00.001+05:00

I am
where I was
With you then...
Now, a pause!
It's dark
As night,
Alone I am
Sans thy sight!
In the years between
I have worn
Impurities along
And a new song!
But, here I am
Unchanged and true
To myself
And to you!

Rain and Fire

2010-12-31T03:22:00.000+05:00

The raindrops caress my window pane

With passion and fit, Ah! December rain,

The gust of wind fervent, fiery and fierce

Thumps in heart dead paralyzed drains

Shaking to life hard and mild

The cold run in my bones to veins

Howling desire violent and wild!

Of ungodly embrace, lips locked insane

Winter melts the ice, passion burns the rain!

Ah! I am robbed by the December's last dame!

The Girl,Once she was!

2010-11-23T02:20:00.000+05:00

Out beyond the world

Where there it is quiet

And Peace at fight

With Loneliness and pain...

Where it's just she, the 'Herself',

The wrinkles on face, the hurts inside

The years between and life!

Yes, out beyond there...

I saw her communing with the girl

That once she was!

Soul Whispers...

2010-10-27T02:24:00.002+05:00

Aankh macholi kheltay kheltay

Ik din mera bhola bachpan

Chhupa tha ghup andheron main

Dhoondh raha hoon Behaal pareshaan

Maazi k konoon khudron main

Bekhawab syaah see raaton main

Par naa janay kahan...?

Aankh macholi kheltay kheltay

khoya hai mera bhola bachpan?

Tumhain milay to os se kehna

Aisay bhe koyi kerta hai?

Ujli seher ki raushan kirnain

Andheron main ghum kerta hai?

Jeevan ki iss dhalti shab main

anjaan se konon khudron se

jhatt se mujh pe jhapat pado

aur dekho, koyi apnay...

Bachpan se bhe derta hai?

Aadhi raat ka dhalta chand

Kalay gehray sannatton main

Takta hai aur hansta hai

Veeran galyion main bhatakta Suraj

Bachpan bachpan kerta hai...

Laut k aao pal bhar ko

Aur dekho Sab ki jan k totay

Vo sabz shrarti raushan aankhain

ab kesay jalti bujhti hain

Vo nanhay munnay nangay paaon

jo sehan main dauda kertay thay

Kesay... bojhal bojhal padtay hain

Be-maani qalqaryian teri

nerm ghulabi honton pe

Ab hain kesay maand padiin

Baba k vo ubhray kandhay

Tu jin pe sawari kerta tha

Kesay hain veraan paday

Aur maan k vo haath keh jin main

din bhar khela kerta tha

kesay hain be-jan paday...

Pal bhar ko tuu soch to maahi

Aisay bhe koyi kerta hai?

Bholi bhali chheen k khushian

Koyi gham se daman bherta hai?

Sadoooo de Gorgeou

2010-10-15T03:50:00.000+05:00

Dreaming the Ideal

The beauty with brains!

Driving me insane!

Her thick, wavy, long hair brown,

Gracefully exquisite face surround.

The slayer mark under the chin,

Adding to her beauty, the actual sin.

The golden suntan,smooth, clear complexion,

Slightly arched chestnut eyebrows drawing attention.

Dark deep black eyes sparkling bright,

Reminiscents of a deep sea on a stormy night.

Eyes large,not too large, with thick eyelashes,

Taming the ebb and flow behind the ashes.

Her nose straight and sharp,

Mouth! delicate and devine;

Her lips! rather thin, not too thin,

Soft and filled with heavens’ wine!

And her smile! teeth white and bright,

Litting her face exquisit delight!

I love you, sweetheart, mad and true,

Oh, all I ever dream is a dream of you!

Living the Reality

Ah! It was a dream, or it was you?

You are so indifferent, so untrue!

Are you changed, or am I changed?

Ah! the meadows are fresh and green,

Your love is now but a static routine!

Your heart aloof, your eyes estranged.

Bright as ever is your divine face,

Bright as ever shines the sun,

But alas! it seems to me

Not the ‘You’ that used to be,

Not the heart that was the one!

Disillusioned

I am done with truth and lies,

Done with broken hearts and guilts inside!

Done with the world and its noble guides,

I am done, oh God! I am done with this plight!

Love is but a dream, a foolish man’s dream,

The dame exclaims with a wistful sigh!

The little willows, young buds and I,

Her words repel, her eyes deny!

The Sun rises devoid of light,

The moon without litting the night;

The static sterile earth keeps circling in vain,

I am done, oh God,I am done with this bloody plight!

Nightingale Sang in Autumn and Died

2010-10-13T01:50:00.000+05:00

Love’s aloofness now matters naught!

Sensations are dead, life denied.

Roses withered, Passions forgot

Hearts cried, she lied deep inside!

In dark, lonely heart memories brood;

Like March winds filch into the blood,
Driving the pulse its coolness protrude;
As fiery sun unsheathes an opening bud.

What! Shall I ever sigh and pine?
Have I no harvest but all thorns!
No smiles, no flowers, no rosy lips’ wine?
All aloofness, neither love nor scorns!

I loved, I bled, I cried,
Nightingale sang in autumn and died!
Love’s aloofness now matters naught
Sensations are dead, life denied!

Spies of Winter Nights

2010-08-25T02:40:00.000+05:00

One of the dark, cold winter nights of Gilgit. Snow has painted all houses white so much so that they seem part of the mountains. A stout middle aged man is walking slowly as if lost in deep meditation. As he takes turn in the street, he looks carelessly over his shoulder behind him. The street is desolate at 2 a.m. He approaches a door, unlocks it and enters the house drowned in darkness. Without turning lights on, he passes through a big hall and reaches a small dark room. Away from the window, in the other corner of the room is sitting a young boy vigilantly in front of a TV. The stout middle aged man approaches the sofa behind the boy and sits there silently. The boy keeps looking at the TV without paying attention to him. The man lits a cigarette and addresses the boy:

Man: You want to smoke?

Boy: No, thank you sir, I don’t smoke.

Man: Drink?

Boy: No sir, I don’t drink either.

Man: (surprisingly) You sound like a straight going school boy!

The boy looks at him, smiles and looks back at TV.

Boy: What should I call you, sir?

Man: Call me anyone, I don’t mind!

Boy: But you do have a name, Don’t you?

Man: (pause) I have so many names in all theses 20 years, like the name you have told me,that I don’t even remember exactly what’s my real name!

Boy: Okay, sir.

Man: What’s the position?

Boy: Three men in the building including one foreigner, one on roof covering the backyard and one on the main gate. We have three cameras installed in the house: one in each room and the fourth one inside the main gate.

Man: Hmmm, Any movement?

Boy: No, sir.

Man: Spying is a dirty job! Isn’t it? Look at you! Your shave is over grown like a wild thistle bush and you have not been asleep for 24 hours. You should have been enjoying with your girl friend in a cozy room in such a freezing cold night!

Boy: No sir, the job is fun!

Man: Hmmm 2 years in service… yes, it sounds fun at your age!

Boy: My duty is my passion sir. I am proud that I am doing some service to my nation and the motherland.

Man: We don't become a spy because we want to serve and protect at your age. We join the agency because they let you do whatever way you want to do it, till you get into trouble and once you get into some shit, your people don’t know you... thus the first and last rule for spies is that 'Never get caught'!

Boy: (Not turning away from the TV) It’s a sacred job, sir.

Man: You don't get it, do you boy? The people in that house are our job. They are what we are paid to do. They are as mysterious to me as a blocked toilet is to a plumber. But if they tried to take one step out of this building tonight, I am going to put all my bullets in their head. Who cares for the reasons for doing what they are going to do? Or what we are going to do to them? There is nothing sacred in this. Twenty years, neck deep in shit! Did I do my job? I ask you: you do your job? I hand you the target, I tell you who and where. All you got to do is act. What do you do? Do you do your job? No!

Boy: Why haven’t you slept for last 24 hours if it is just another ‘job’ for you?

Man: A good spy can't sleep because he's missing a piece of the puzzle. And a bad spy can't sleep because his conscience won't let him.

Boy: You are a good spy; I have heard people quoting you as model but What does your conscience say? Are you a good human being? I know how you use people. It's no secret you're a womanizer. You drink too much. How do I know that you haven't gone completely over the edge? How do I know what you're capable of?

Man: (smiling playfully) Being a good human being and a good spy are two different things boy! (singing)

We trade in sin,

We distribute flesh,

We pick our fruit,

When it is fresh.

Women and beer keep me going. Women that come in my life are not meant to satisfy my animal instincts primarily; I get to such people as are in that house through women.

Boy: (sarcastically) Thus you use them one way or the other!

Man: (Mockingly) I serve the nation, as you call it. (singing sarcastically)

A righteous man before me stands,

A naïve hero in the filthy lands.

Boy: Would you consider yourself subjectively firm or objectively flexible?

Man: I don’t judge myself at all! The way you wouldn’t after 20 years of service.

Boy: (Sarcastically) I am not you!

Man: (Smilingly) But once I was you. We become the same in the long run!

Boy: (Surprisingly) The whole Agency is filled with guys like you, you mean!

Man: Maybe!

Boy: You always served in the operational unit?

Man: Maybe!

Boy: You like putting bullets in your targets’ heads?

Man: Maybe! but I finish my job before washing my hands.

Boy: You are callous!

Man: I am anonymous pride of the nation!

Boy: That is because they don’t know the dirty life you live!

Man: I ensure their protection at cost of my life then!

Boy: Why can’t you live without women and drinking?

Man: Because I am honest to my job and to Nature!

Boy: The seniors know about your moral character?

Man: (Laughs loudly)

Boy: You didn’t answer?

Man: You already know, don't you? That's why you're sitting here. You want answers; you're in the wrong car, kid. I only have secrets. But In the real world, when you get to where I am, there are other considerations.

Boy: Like what?

Man: I'm talking about when you're nearer the end of your life than the beginning. Now, what do you think you think about then? The future? In the future I'm going to do this? Become that? What future? No. What you think is "How will I be regarded in the end?" After I'm gone. Now, along the way I suppose I made some minor impact. I did Iran-Gate and the Ayatollah, Malcolm X, Talibans, Saddam, Sadat, etcetera, etcetera. I showed them traitors in suits. I've spent a lifetime doing all that. But history only remembers most what you did last. Does it give someone at my time of life pause? I don't know what to say, really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives. All comes down to today, and either, we heal as a team, or we're gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play. Until we're finished. We're in hell right now. Believe me. And, we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb out of hell... one inch at a time. Now I can't do it for you, I'm too old. I look around, I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I've made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. I, uh, I've pissed away all my life for this country of mine, believe it or not. I chased anyone who's ever intended to harm this land. And lately, I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror. You know, when you get old, in life, things get taken from you. I mean, that's... that's... that's a part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losing stuff. You find out life's this game of inches. Because we know when add up all those inches, that's gonna make the fucking difference living and dying! I'll tell you this, in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I'm gonna have any life anymore it's because I'm still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that's what living is, the six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You've got to look at the guys in that house, look into their eyes without bothering about morality. That's all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?

Boy: Are you exhausted?

Man: I'm exhausted from being exhausted.

Boy: (Looking closely at the TV screen) They are taking two young girls inside the house!

Man: Hah! They would celebrate the night with these Russian or Egyptian or may be local girls and in the morning a stupid patriotic boy like you would go to the market for them and blow himself up along with dozens of innocent people.

Boy: Why would he do that for them?

Man: Nothing... is... what it seems.

Boy: (teasingly) So what? They are doing it your way!

Man: No. There is hell of difference. They have got the girls to celebrate and enjoy; I approach the women when I have to.

Boy: It doesn’t make much difference. It doesn’t make you a more righteous person than they are.

Man: You're very, very young... and you are very, very stupid.

Boy: Why didn’t you marry?

Man: In assignments like this, events have duration of seconds, sometimes minutes. But what we go through goes on day in and day out. Whether you're ready for it or not, week in, week out. Month after month after month. Whether you're up or whether you're down. You're assaulted psychologically. You're assaulted financially, which is its own special kind of violence because it's directed at your kids. What school can you afford? How will that affect their lives? You're asking yourself, "Will that limit what they may become?" You feel your whole family's future's compromised, held hostage. I do know how it is and I couldn’t play with life of an innocent lady and kids!

Boy: Wow! The man has got a heart!

Man: I have lived for this land and I will live for it though the choice has been imposed on me! This is my life, and this is going to be your life. None of us can change it. We live like anonymous heroes and die like dogs; No one would mourn you nor would they fire 21 cannons on your anonymous death.

Boy: (reporting) They are busy in playing with girls, even the local man wearing that long beard. I think it is the best time to get them. Give me cover,sir.

Man: You shouldn’t. They are not clean and they don’t even know that. Someone from the nearby houses would blow the house as soon as you enter it.

Boy: But my orders are clear,sir, they should be caught alive.

Man: You wouldn’t get them and you would lose yourself!

Boy: I am not afraid on the call of the duty!

Man: Don't get too cocky my boy. No matter how good you are don't ever let them see you coming. That's the gaffe my friend. You gotta keep yourself small. Innocuous. Be the little guy. You know, the nerd... the leper... shit-kicking surfer. Look at me.

Boy: I don’t want to be you.

Man: Still you would be.

Boy: (Stares at the man)

Man: Don’t you have a girl friend with whom you would like to spend the cold nights of this deadly winter?

Boy: (Silently keeps staring at him)

Man: What are you, a monk?

Boy: I have a girl.

Man: What do you tell her?

Boy: I tell her I do a marketing job that involves a lot of travelling.

Man: What else do you say to her? A promise or anything?

Boy: I don't even know what I'm doing anymore. I told her life is short, whatever time you get is luck. You want to walk? You walk right now. Or on your own...you choose to come with me. But all I know is...there's no point in me going anywhere anymore if it's going to be alone... without her. For me the sun rises and sets with her.

Man: You are quite a lover, heh! Women! What can you say? Who made them? God must have been a genius. The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert.I need a drink. Yes, there's only two syllables in this whole wide world worth hearing: pu**y. Hah! Are you listening to me, son? I'm giving you pearls here.Go and sleep with your girl tonight and then every night before you lose her, lose yourself. I told you spying is a dirty job; it would take everything that matters to you and would give plenty of them but not exactly what you want.

Boy: I love her, I never thought of having sex with her!

Man: (laughs loudly) You are not even a Monk; even Monks enjoy these 'sacred pleasures' since the times you may count!

Boy: (looks at him and turns away)

Man: I would go out, You would stay here and watch my back. They would blow the house when I enter it, but then you shouldn’t worry about me; you should worry about yourself and leave the house in 60 seconds. A guy told me 20 years ago, "Don't let yourself get attached to anything you are not willing to walk out on in 60 seconds flat. Remember that when you are with your girl.

Boy: Why should I run?

Man: Oh, uh, my boy - about your little problem - there are two kinds of people in this world: those who stand up and face the music, and those who run for cover. Cover is better. (He winks to the boy and leaves.)

Boy watches him disappearing in the darkness. He watches the man on TV screen approaching the main gate of the house. The man inside the gate was down the next moment. After a while a big flash of light appears with a bang. The house was blown up! The TV screen turns blank. The boy rushes to the door and disappears in the dark street. A few moments later three men with guns approach the house. One of them slids the door open and they enter the house cautiously. Bang! This house is blown up too. The valley had got the fire to warm the deadly winter night.

Far in the streets, the boy is walking calmly now with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He feels vibration of his mobile phone and picks up.

Boy: Yes!

Man: There are times when I wish I hadn't lived the life I am living: The life of a bad human being but a good spy!. There are times when I feel compelled to do it. If you asked me, would I live this life again, do I think it's worth it? Yes I think it’s worth it. (sings):

It's a great day for singing a song

It's a great day for moving along

It's a great day for morning to night

It's a great day for everybody's plight.

The boy smiles and turns off his phone…singing… It's a great day for singing a song!

The Fairy and The Winged Sculptor

2010-07-23T02:59:00.000+05:00

The winged sculptor had given his whole life creating her, carving her every ethereal feature, sitting by her side telling her stories of unknown realms, carrying her on his back and arms. He often kissed her exquisitely luminous forehead. The model was in the making and her sculptor worked on her days and nights. He was so much in love with her that nothing else seemed existing around. She was all he had, she was all that mattered. She was all worth his sweat and blood. For full twenty and five years he worked on his model… taking care of minutest details, breathing life in every limb, he created her! He was ecstatic the day he unveiled his model and could not stand the sight of celestial being he had brought into being. It cost him his life to see what he had created in a quarter of a century but it took the whole life of the model to find its creator in a world known for its unknown strange callous ways, that it gives you everything except for the essence, it gives you clothes but not a dress, breath but not life, comforts and care but not love. The winged sculptor left the fairy in such a world and flew back to heaven. The fairy opened its eyes to the world, she was not created for, and roamed helplessly, and plaintive numbers flowed from her lips that none could understand. Everyone looked at her with awe and inspiration but none could love her. The fairy roamed but the winged sculptor, the one whom she belonged to and who belonged to her, had disappeared. The world put her on the highest pedestals, looked after and worshipped her but the fairy wept her silent tears for the winged sculptor.

Her thick, wavy, long brown hair gracefully fell down to her shoulders and surrounded her exquisite face with a mark under the chin that added to her beauty. A golden suntan highlighted her smooth, clear complexion. Her slightly arched chestnut eyebrows drew attention to her deep black eyes, which reminded of a deep sea on a stormy night. Her eyes were large, but not too large, with thick eyelashes. They were mysterious eyes taming the ebb and flow behind them. Her nose was straight and sharp. And her mouth! It was a small mouth that looked delicate and feminine. Her lips were rather thin, but not too thin. When she smiled, her well-formed and even white teeth brightened up her whole face but there was something behind that smile which was mysterious and that left a color of its own on her face. There she was… alive in worldly wilderness, beating everyone in the race… even herself!

She talked of the world she had mastered but which didn’t belong to her, exactly the way she didn’t belong to it. She won the world but lost the meaning of her Being, the success, the happiness, the life. The conquest had charged her with her life. She was robbed of the essence, the moment she was given what they call life and what everyone aspire for so desperately. Standing alone in the wilderness of success, she was wondering if anything was worth! Any simple man would find her crazy! She had all that you could wish for: a loving and caring husband, the little baby that completes every woman’s life, the love of in-laws and warmth and mirth of brothers and sisters, the comforts and luxuries. Everything was there; complete in itself yet unable to complete her Being. Her mysterious black eyes fighting the ebb and flow betrayed that she was not saturated by the happiness of what she had… it seemed she found no happiness in them at all… a mystery she was! Everything joined together under the sun couldn’t make up for what she had lost; it couldn’t bring her Being back to life!

It was him she missed, her winged sculptor! The void that was created due to him being taken away seemed unbridgeable. But who he really was? What was he like? We have been designed to remember the abstract, not the man, because a man can fail. He can parish and be forgotten, but the abstract of him can still change our whole world, the meaning of existence and the being. But you cannot kiss an abstract, cannot touch it, or hold it... abstracts do not bleed, they do not feel pain, they do not love... And it is not the abstract that she missed, it was a man... A man that made her what she was. A man that she would always look for, and the quest often took her from physical to metaphysical and to delusional and then back again but she found him not. He was all around and yet nowhere to be found.

“Babaaaaaaaaa!” the wilderness inside her cried aloud in the darkness of sleepless nights. The child in her never grew up with her. The master of the present couldn’t help living in the past. Sitting by the table, she was waiting endlessly that Baba would come to tell her stories of the good old days to make her sleep. She waited everyday… Baba didn’t come.

They were best friends. He would come home from office and talk to her for hours about unknown strange lands and heroic deeds and she waited for him impatiently every day. Nothing else existed but them. Autumns routed springs, and the springs conquered the autumns, years passed by and he carved her every inch she was, with love and care, till he unveiled her as a lady so graceful as to overshadow all that came her way. She was the way he had wanted her to be, the perfect model of her sculptor!

The day he betrothed his model to the most desirous, the most suitable, He died. He was so happy that day that ecstasy took his life. He had given the world his masterpiece and nothing beyond was left. The fairy took her first breath in the strange world all around of which she was acquainted not and her winged sculptor took his last! “Baba!” she cried but… Baba was gone.

It was the abstract, not the winged sculptor that had stayed with her. How many times, in dark, lonely, sleepless nights, she had tried to put the abstract on her most ardent worshipper who had brought the whole world to her for her comfort and happiness, but the abstract didn’t fit in. The husband couldn’t make for the father and the fairy roamed restlessly.

It was one of those dark sleepless nights when she saw the moon glowing at her window. She looked at it with ebb and flow in her mysterious black eyes and wondered what had made that lifeless piece of stone gleam like that. The fairy walked to the window and opened it. The gush of cool breeze kissed her face ecstatically and she looked beyond that shining lifeless piece of stone. She could see the winged sculptor burning and emitting light to make that lifeless piece of stone gleam. Overwhelmed by rapture, the fairy approached the centre of the opened window, smiled, released her ethereal body in the air and flew to the burning winged sculptor.

Apology

2010-07-07T03:59:00.000+05:00

“You belong to me, my son! When you were born to me, they said you had my eyes and they were right but what they didn’t know was that you had my spirit. My happiness knew no bounds. I woke up for you for days and nights but I was never tired. I never took my eyes off you; I looked at you and smiled. You were so cute. I remember when you smiled for the first time; it was the cutest smile I ever saw on any face. I loved the way you touched my face with your tiny little hands and smiled carelessly. They were the most beautiful days. I was completed in your birth.”

“You crawled around the whole courtyard and I ran after you. I had always been afraid of lizards and frogs but you were not. I remember it had rained that day and there came a frog leaping from the main gate. You were just three and you caught it in your hand. I had uttered a frightened cry but there you were holding it in your hand and smiling. You were innocently cruel too. Once you held the new born chicken and it was dead when you released it. You frightened me but at simultaneously, I found my strength in you.”

“Your father often complained that I had been ignoring him since you were born and maybe he was right but I never bothered about such things. My whole world was you. I clothed you with the best available fabrics and fed you with the healthiest foods and you grew more handsome with every passing day. My friends who visited me looked at you in surprise and asked me what I did to you that you were so cute and handsome and I felt proud.”

“You may not know, my boy, but all these years I have lived and died for you. I found my happiness in your smiles and my worst nightmares in your pains. When you started going to school, I used to sit awake by you till you slept peacefully and woke up hours before you to prepare your uniform and lunch box for school. We had two maids but I always did everything for you myself. I gave you this hair style which you like so much. I combed your hair after giving you bath everyday and watched you going to school, with your father, standing by the door, and already started waiting for your return the time you left for school. My maids used to laugh sometimes but it didn’t bother me ever!”

“You have always been the reason of everything I do. My son, you are the reason I am. You are all my reasons. I dreamt of you growing and glowing in life, outshining all the dazzling and the fascinating. I saw my dreams in you and dreamt of nothing else all these years. I relished you growing more handsome every year and look you were five and twenty now; very well groomed, smart and attended carefully all these years. I saw the girls chasing after you and being the centre of attention of the all. You were my pride, my son.”

“I had always dreamed of your kids playing around giggling. I wished you married a woman who was tall and beautiful like you and who could love you and care for you like your mother. My son, I searched every where to find a girl worthy of you but I could find none. It was not that God had not created girls in last five and twenty years who could take a man’s breath away but he surely had not created the one who could be as beautiful as my son. It was not, my son, that I didn’t want you get married but it was just that I was choosy about you. My son, you are the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me and this was what made it hard for me to choose the one you had chosen. You were young, my son, and naïve too. I didn’t find her equal to you in any way. She was good but she was not equal to you.”

“You fought and fought with me for the girl who had come to your life just months ago. I felt as if someone robbed me off all I had! I felt as if my love for you had fallen insufficient suddenly. My son, you fought with me for a girl who loved you for months. Those days and nights stretched long for me and my eyes flowed like rills. I felt jealous and vindictive. Someone was robbing me off all that I had and you had turned me helpless, my son.”

“I am sorry, my boy, for doing all that I could to prevent your marriage with your newly found love. I couldn’t see you going away and I was desperate. My love and hers for you had no comparison, neither in facet nor in intensity, but still I was jealous just because for the first time in your life you had excluded me from your decision and thus secluded me from your life and in my dreams.”

“I realize that I did wrong to you in not acknowledging your 'self '. I am sorry for imposing my 'self ' on you .I didn’t know I was trying to live your life too but I didn’t mean to. I just loved you and I was possessive. But I did hurt you and I hurt myself.”

“You married and you left! Your mother was shattered!”

“My life was exhaled away, my son, when you went away. I am waiting with my desolate eyes wide opened. Your mother is dying a slow death. I am dying to feel my baby’s tiny little hands on my face. Your weak, old mother is not strong enough to stand by the door looking your way home now but my eyes are fixed on the door believing you would appear from the door now and hug your dying dear mother. Son! Return a dying mother’s baby to her… Come home.

Woman: The goddess

2010-06-15T02:55:00.000+05:00

If you were an outsider and had visited the D Block of F.C. College in recess time, it might seem to you as if half of the boys of the college had gathered in the lawn in front of English language and literature department. It could be any day of the week, except for Sunday indeed, because they gathered there ceremoniously with fervor and zeal perplexing to the strangers. But it was nothing new for an insider. They gathered there to steal a look of the Venus of the college. She was fair and tall, the tallest girl of the college, beautifully created in proportions unknown to Pygmalion, the Cypriot sculptor. We, the junior students of English literature, felt exasperated at their gathering there and humiliated for not being able to stop them doing so. But, no one had ever dared to say things, bubbling and boiling in their wishful hearts, to her. She had that grace which could stagnate you, and till you regained consciousness she would have gone too far to hear your tumultuously thumping heart. I have not met a woman who could carry herself with grace like hers.

Had she not been there, many of us would not have understood a single metaphysical conceit of John Donne. She made John Donne a fellow for us whom we understood since ages and had an ever ready thesis on his works which many of us discussed emphatically with the ignorant beings of Math, Economics and other Science departments. Even the dullest of us had learnt by heart and could sing to you:

I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I
Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then?
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?
'Twas so; but this all pleasures fancies be;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee.

We were in final year of graduation that had given us the privilege to attend our English language classes in D-57 on first floor of D-block: the best post in the college to keep a vigilant eye on the movements of the, so called and self-imagined, rivals and also for feasting our eyes on the Venus! She was in final year of Masters but it never occurred to us that she was older than us nor did we, the devoted worshippers, ever bothered about such useless petty externalities. Her class room was exactly under ours on the ground floor and we hoped that she listened to the sounds that we created by tapping the floor with our leather shoes. She never listened to it, perhaps. But, to our bad luck, the Chairman of the department, Sir Ejaz Zia Qureshi did. No one ever bunked Sir Tanvir’s class in D-57, and it was not merely that Sir Tanvir was an excellent teacher but credit also went to the windows opening in the front lawn where the Venus could be seen sometimes standing with her Bob-cut pretty friend, named and popularized as Munna by me.

My favorite pastime in recess was to tear pages from my and other’s notebooks, form them into shape of a ball, and to aim at the Venus while Shahzad stood nearby and watched. I never hit her as I was more focused on hiding after taking the aim so that I were not caught red handed but I were. Her Bob-cut friend had spotted me.

I was drinking water from the water-cooler installed on the ground floor when I heard a sharp voice right behind my back, ‘Hey you! Come here.” The fair, Bob-cut girl was pointing finger at me and all of a sudden I turned pale. Shivering, I went to her. She took me to the Veranda in front of her class and ordered me to sit which I did obediently. She sat on my one side; on the other was the Venus. I was perspiring sitting between the two. “So! It is you who throw paper balls on us from the balcony,” the Bob-cut girl asked me in seemingly harsh voice and I told her stammering that it was not me. “Hey, look how cute he is; it must be someone else,” The Venus came to my rescue. I took a long breath after which a never ending interview started about me and I had bathed in sweat when it ended. I was happy, excited and nervous simultaneously. That day I flew in heavens. The next day I was a hero in my class. Everyone wanted to know what the Venus had said to me and I boast off as much as I could. Then I often went to them in leisure to seek guidance on Keats, Shelley and Shakespeare. But sitting with her inspired in me respect for her, not love. Her dignity, her grace was craved on every word coming from her mouth, on every gesture she made, and on her every movement.

She had many proposals that year but she refused all. One such proposal was made by one of our handsome young lecturer. The lecturer- he, later, taught us in Masters- spoke very high of her even after being rejected. One day, I asked the Venus whom she was waiting for that she was rejecting everyone. “I would marry someone who needs me in the real sense,” she replied and I couldn’t think of any man who didn’t need her. The year passed by, I joined Masters in English Literature program on completion of graduation and the Venus passed out her Masters the same year and left the college.

I was in the final year of Masters and sat in the same class where the Venus used to sit. I never had a contact with her since she passed out. It was after one and half year that she returned to the college one day as beautiful as she was. It was recess time and she was coming out of the Chairman’s office holding a blind young man’s hand. I rushed to her and asked how she was, doing what and where, in one breath. She smiled and said, "Meet my husband, Faisal". I shook hand in a trance with the blind young man. I looked at him from head to toes. He was not at all good looking; in fact he was ugly though he wore a neat and decent dress, and his hair were nicely combed. He had very dark complexion, very dark. His eyes must be horrible behind the dark black glasses but I didn’t want to see them. I looked at him… and I looked at her. I wanted to say so many things but somehow I couldn’t. But there she was standing in front of me holding hand of that leaper-looking guy whom she claimed to be her husband. I heard her telling me that Faisal had done M.Phil in English Literature and was joining our department as lecturer. I was thinking of all those handsome, macho men who were mad for her and could provide her all the comforts of life if she had only married any of them. I thought about our lecturer whose proposal she had rejected and who had still not married and talked of her very high even now after two years . I looked at her… and I looked at him but I couldn’t stand looking at him and left saying that I was to attend the next class.

For the first time, she had inspired in me something more and beyond than respect for her. I thought, even the Roman goddess Venus would be jealous of her. I wanted to call her by her own name for the first time instead of calling her the Venus.

Shattered Small Pieces

2010-06-10T03:33:00.005+05:00

Long way to home

Restlessness, excitement

Long long thoughts

Smiles...

Smiles! which have lost

Dimples,colors ,spark

Everything they had...

The meaningless smiles!

Memories of good days,

Never ending days,

Which ended... at once!

Tit-bits, mischieves,

Late night stories,

Concocted stories!

Of us...together!

Long way to home

Is a long long way

Never ending, winding

Always tempting...

But never ending!

It is years...

It is the road,

It is Me,

And memories!

All together into pieces,

Shattered... small pieces!

Point-Blank

2010-06-10T02:37:00.000+05:00

You see

The pale fusing Sun

Far away

Drowning into darkness?

That's me!

Without you.

I am Allergic to Chocolates

2010-06-10T02:02:00.001+05:00

I am allergic...

To chocolates

Since the times

You are gone!

I don't sleep

Or may be

I wake up late

Since I am alone!

Life goes on

Just I am lost

I don't cry

Since You turned into stone

Come fast, at once!

O Sweet of the sweets

I am allergic to chocolates

Since you are gone....

Woman: The Incomprehensible

2010-06-06T02:36:00.000+05:00

“Jam, you know what! He kept pursuing me hopelessly, for almost a year, to marry him before I gave in! But I had realized the very first week of our marriage the blunder I had committed marrying him. He had affairs with other men’s wives. It is enough to kill any woman when her husband, leaving her in the king size bed of a three star hotel’s comfortable suite, masturbates in washroom while talking to his girl friend on phone.” The woman exclaimed. Her head was resting on his bare chest. She was clothed in a neat blue sleeping gown. She was tall and beautiful with soft features even in late 30’s. The boy seemed half a decade younger than her. He had dark brown complexion, broad shoulders and his strong muscular arms were bare like his chest. The lower part of his body was covered with blanket. The night had crept away with her sobs unfolding her bleak life.

She had met Jamil at her store. He was a university graduate and had come there for the job of accounts officer. Though, he was over qualified for the job, he was ready to do it as he had no job for last six months after passing out from university. She took him and Jamil worked really hard and diligently on keeping the store’s records. He had to come to her home daily after the store was closed to give her payments and discuss the daily sales. Sometimes she would ask him to stay for dinner that he used to take with her little son, Fawad. Her husband often came late or even if he were at home, he didn’t ever take interest in her work. He was a sort of care free man who enjoyed his life to its full in whatever way he wanted. Their son, Fawad, was 10 years old and he liked Jamil’s company very much. Jamil often helped him with his home work and sometimes would tell him interesting stories. Sometimes, she would also sit by them and watch them playing. She had never seen Fawad so much comfortable with anyone, not even with his father. One evening when Fawad had gone to bed early, they were sitting by the table after the dinner, when Jamil asked her with a noisy heart why she always looked sad and alone. He was looking deep at her face. She tried to avoid the question but she couldn’t, and she wept silently. Jamil got up from his chair and went behind her. He placed his hands on her arms and almost pulled her up from the chair tenderly and quietly. The next moment she was sobbing furled in his arms. The intimation grew stronger and intense with every passing day. After putting Fawad into bed after dinner, they would sit and talk for hours but she made it sure that Jamil left before her husband came back.

That evening her maid was on leave so she had to cook food. After Fawad had gone to bed, She went to kitchen for making coffee for them. The winter was at its ripe and she was wearing a warm Brandies blue top on white trousers. Standing by the stove she was lost in her thoughts, when she felt two hands around her waist. It was Jamil who had come there after her. She stood quiet. He pushed her tenderly to walk and took her in front of the gigantic mirror placed in the lounge. Still holding her from the waist, he put his chin on her right shoulder.

“Look at us, don’t we look perfect with each other?” he whispered in her ears. She put her both hands on his and pressed passionately. He turned her face towards his and kissed her on lips but she moved away. He was surprised. “Don’t you like me?” he asked. She sat in the chair and looked at him quietly. “I can give myself to you, but only if you marry me,” She murmured, “will you marry me?” He was stunned; perhaps he was not ready for the situations. There was a long pause. “Yes, I will,” he finally uttered. He went closer, pulled her up from the chair and kissed her.

They started meeting in her bedroom after her son went to sleep and Jamil left before her husband returned. Sometimes he would stay for the whole night when her husband had gone out station for some work. The day they could not meet somehow because her husband returned earlier, It used to become very difficult for jamil to control himself. His passion would drive him crazy. Another thing that grilled him the most was the feeling of unknown rivalry. The whole night he wouldn’t sleep imagining her in her husband’s arms. Such nights used to be hell for him. But the rare nights when her husband was away seemed to him the whole universe. And all he craved or prayed for were those nights.

It was one such night. He had asked her how things went wrong between them: the husband and the wife. “How it is possible that he pursued you madly for marriage and he was involved with other women simultaneously?” he was surprised. “I don’t know but he says that I was his passion; if I had not given in, he would have beseeched me his whole life.”She uttered in agony. “Why did you not leave him when you had found out that he was involved with other women?” He asked. She took a deep breath and held his hand, “I was pregnant in the very first week of our marriage. He told me to see a gynecologist and drop the baby but I refused. I told him to divorce me if he wanted but I firmly refused to lose my baby. He didn’t divorce me and I gave birth to Fawad. He didn’t change even after Fawad’s birth but I had found new hope in my baby to live. I started teaching small kids along with an old friend at her place and kept saving money. The year I admitted Fawad to school, I opened up this store with the money I had saved in four years, besides I sold all my jewellery, borrowed some money from my friend and the rest I took from him. The store became profitable even in the very early months of its opening and I was relieved that I could bring up my son nicely at my own even if we break up.” She paused. “You gave me a new life,” she continued, “I never knew why they call it ‘making love’ until you came in my life. You have put breath in my dead body. You can never know what you mean to me! I love you so much.” She turned and kissed him. “I can also not live without you,” he whined, “Get divorce from him and let’s get married.” “But you told me that you wanted to go abroad for higher studies,” she inquired. “I can’t live without you,” he emphasized, “ I would not go abroad for higher studies; all I want is that we get married, life without you is hell.” “ Okay sweetheart, I would talk to my brother about us very soon ,” She kissed him.

Her brother had met Jamil at the store many times. When he heard his sister’s plans, he was enraged, “you should have thought of your son. Do you think your husband would let you go so easily? No, he wouldn’t now. He would do all that he could to break you. He might take your son away. He can even harm Jamil. I admit Jamil is wonderful boy but he is about eight or ten years younger than you. He is young and emotional at this time but what if he regrets his decision after some years? His parents have passed away but what his relatives would say about this marriage? What if he goes away then? Have you thought about your son’s future? Have you thought how people around you would make his life hell teasing him that his mother left his father for a younger boy who worked at her stores. How can you be so naïve? Look, it is not good for your son, it is not good for that boy and it is not good for you or anyone related to you. Take some time if you want but get over with it. You know what you should do and if you couldn’t, I would do.” He looked at her firmly.

It was afternoon when her brother left her weeping. Fawad had returned from school and was sleeping in his room. She entered his bedroom quietly and went over to his bed. She kissed his forehead and lied there with him looking blankly at the roof. She was thinking of her son, of Jamil, of them together… and then she was thinking of her son and Jamil. She was not thinking of herself. She was thinking of the wrong that could have been done to Jamil which she would never wish. She thought of him and then of her son but herself was nowhere.

It was Sunday the next day so Jamil was not to come. When he came on Monday eve, she appeared light and happy. Jamil kissed her and inquired about the meeting with her brother. She kissed him back and told him that her brother had given his consent. Jamil was so pleased hearing this that he hugged her tight. When he released her from his arms, she looked at him and told him that they had to do it wisely according to her brother’s plan. Jamil was keen to know the plan. She told him on dinner, that she would sponsor his studies abroad for two years and in the meantime she would get divorce, and when he returned from abroad, they would get married. She told him about the lengthy and tiresome legal procedures involved in the whole thing and she told him that she didn’t want that her husband harm him any way. Jamil was so happy; he didn’t suspect the practicality of her plan, not even for a while. He was ready to do anything to get her… and she was smiling and smiling all the time as if it were the biggest day if her life.

Jamil got admission in a Canadian University. It took them four months to arrange for his admission, visa and other formalities. She had deposited his fee for the first year and had placed the fee for the next year and his expenses for two years in his bank account. She had come to the airport to bid him farewell. He was dressed in a neat white shirt and blue jeans and looked quite handsome. She was wearing a deep lilac Saarhi. She was looking at him so deeply and he was blushing. They got out of the car and she hugged him and kissed him on cheeks. He left for the boarding pass and she waved to him going away.

Going back home, she thought of Canada and of the new friends Jamil would make there. She thought of a pretty girl who would eventually win his heart some day. Dreamily, she parked her car at a less busy side of the road and wept wildly. She kept weeping losing sense of time and space. She didn’t even remember how she had got home. When she regained consciousness, she found Fawad, her son, standing in front of him and asking her to take him to his friend’s birthday party. She got up, arranged herself and they both left for the party.

Numbness

2010-06-03T02:59:00.000+05:00

I hear you calling my name but who are you! Are you that small kid with whom I used to play in the streets, always afraid to be caught by my brother or father. They didn’t like my playing in the streets like that… and believing that you instigated me, they didn’t like you. But I did. We were not in the same school. I don’t remember what happened in the years between when I got into high school. I think you had left school and you had disappeared. We no more played in streets and I had grown wiser and, so called, well mannered. Then one day I learnt that you had committed suicide for a girl! I was shocked. You were just 17 may be: not even grown up enough to get married. Your brother said you had taken poison because you wanted to prove to the girl that you really loved her. I took you for a hero at that time but Baba said it was all because of those idiotic romantic movies which had inspired you to do what you did, though I thought it was really brave of you! Your younger brother gave me a letter that you had written for me in which you wanted me to go and tell the girl how much you loved her. Being true to our childhood friendship, I went to her place and rang the bell. Her mother opened the door and I told her that I had come to tell them how much you loved their daughter but her mother didn’t like it and before I completed all that you wanted me to convey, she had figured out whose son I was. She confirmed from me in a threatening tone whose son I was taking my father’s name. I proudly admitted. She delivered me a small lecture pondering upon my family’s nobility, contrasting with my frivolity. She told me to leave before her husband- your not would be father in law- comes out and gives me a thrashing. I was surprised what I had done for which he would have given me a thrashing, but thinking the lady was very angry with me and that I had done my duty to you, I left. But when I returned home in the evening after playing football, Baba seemed infuriated. I tried to be thoughtful and asked him what had made him angry, he gave me your letter that I had delivered to your Not would be mother in law. He just stared straight in my eyes and said that he was not expecting it from me. The next day, on my way to college, I saw your lady love going to college with her friends and I searched for your letter in my bag. It was there. I took it and handed over to her. I think she didn’t tell her parents nor did her friends because they didn’t complain again.

But I want to tell you that the girl hadn’t come to your funeral or threw her on your dead body and I had really felt bad that she didn’t come. May be she would have wept for you in private. Did it bring you peace? But, I had not finished college when she was married to her fat cousin who had a big general store. I think it was just a year after you died for her.

I met her in Washington, D.C. the other day by chance at Macy’s Men’s clothes section. She recognized me. I wonder she knew my name. It took me sometime to recognize her. She is now a woman with three kids. Her eldest son is now 8 years old and she has not named him after you. She introduced me to her big fat, half bald husband. But she told him more about Baba instead of me or you. She didn’t even mention that how did she actually know me. I think she is very wise. They have moved to DHA Lahore now.They had gone to Washington D.C. to see her husband’s family, she told me. I told them that I would go back in a week and if they wanted me do something for them – I thought it may give you some comfort- but they thanked me and I left. I tried to look in your girl’s eyes before leaving to see if she remembered you but she didn’t give any such expression. We bid farewell to each other and she got busy selecting some shirts for her husband. To me they appeared a very happy family. Are you happy too? Do you still believe she was worth your life? Do you regret?

Confessions

2010-05-03T04:12:00.000+05:00

His sweetheart, The Best person he ever met, was hit by the hard times which have the power to take away all it wants. She had hundreds of different smiles. They could light up your life. They could make you laugh out loud, just like that. They could even make you cry, just like that. That's just with her smiles…. You'd have to see her with her friends. You'd have to see how they look at her, when she's not looking….

To think of all the things she was living through, and he couldn't help her… he couldn’t and it is not that he didn’t want to or he didn’t try but he could do nothing to relieve her. Maybe helping wasn't his job. Well, it wasn't. But, see he loved her and he tried everything… except really listening, really listening… and that's how he left her alone. He was so ashamed of that, he couldn't even tell her. Maybe if he told her she'd love him anyway.

It's horrifying how much you can hate yourself for being low and weak and he couldn't save her from that. So she turned it on him; she tried to empty it onto him. But there was always more, you know. When he tried to help, she told him that he made her feel small and worthless. But nobody makes us feel that, we do that for ourselves. She shut him out because she knew if he ever really saw who she was inside, that he wouldn't love her.

And they fought and fought over nothing, he moved away...and it was so hard for her not to beg him... to stay and they don't know if they were going to get a second chance but I believe that they deserve one. Because we all do.

Belonging to You Forever

2010-04-21T01:45:00.001+05:00

I am a man from the land

Where grow the Wheat grains,

Green eyed, golden, tall and proud they stand

Undeniably, to be slashed by the blade….

And before death takes me down

I am rising up from the sand.

With the poor of the land,

As the oak tree in the town, I stand.

I wish, whenever I die,

To see demolishing the traditions’ wall,

A bouquet of red flowers by you on my grave…

Myself covered in my father’s winter shawl.

A Date with Fate

2010-03-28T10:23:00.004+05:00

She wanted me to marry...

That was normal.

...to another girl

That's abnormal.

I didn't want to.

I understand.

When am I going to see you again?

Not for a long time.

I had refused many

One refused me,

And once was enough....

I wish I were creative.

You're great at creating difficult situations.

Get out of my life,

You're too good for me.

When am I going to see you again?

Not again.

What's the last thing that you remember?
My self...
That's sweet.
...dying.

Memories hurt!

They would heal too.

Free your mind,

Reality is a thing of the Past!

When am I going to see you again?

Never.

A Moment with Myself

2010-03-28T02:18:00.004+05:00

Life seems losing all its colors in this moment. Every meaningful is meaningless... The realization has struck that you are away, all of a sudden, when I am out of the worldly chores...Baba! I am with me in this moment, whatever is left of me. All familiar faces around seem crowds of people... who are irrelevant... or who matter not. Sinking into this feeling of being alone- when so many human bodies are around which seemed important a while ago- I am making desperate efforts to find you but I find you not. Baba! I find you not...and my heart is sinking, I feel my lips getting wet salty. Babaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I miss you. Hug me once, pleaseeeeeeeeeee, like good old times.

'Rhapsodized'

2010-03-25T22:22:00.002+05:00

Clasped hands
Bound to part
Or maybe not
(Or so I prayed)
Did they? Or did they not!
I can still feel
Like a breeze, trotting past,
Playing with a cloud,
Your aura around…

OSI # 108 - 'Aura'

Child Abuse

2010-03-05T00:14:00.002+05:00

“Dad what is the problem with him?” she implored, “he is educated and doing a decent job. Why can’t you approve my marriage with him?”

“Did you consider his family background before deciding to marry him?” Mr. Naeem taunted his daughter, “Did you consider his family lived in slums of this vey city just 3 years ago and shifted to the new place after he got this job and what is he? A customer representative at telecommunication service centre? Can a customer representative be equal to us? Whatever he does, he cannot be equal to us.”

“You have really disappointed me, girl.” Mrs. Naeem who was silent till now pronounced verdict, “I am feeling sorry that I convinced your father to send you to the university when he didn’t want to. It is seven years that you passed your university exam and yet you are ridiculous and absurd.”

Shazia kept arguing but of no use. No one was ready to listen to her. She was doomed once again. It was the second time in seven years since she passed her university exam that her parents had refused her to marry the man she wanted to one after the other just because of their high social standards. They were always bothered by the social and economic considerations. Their riches and status didn’t permit them to marry their daughter to a person coming from a family that was not equal to theirs.

Shazia was 29. She was fair but of average height. Being the only child, she had no one to play with at home in her childhood except for the maid’s daughters, as her parents were always busy in their social chores. Her old maid, Sakina, had two daughters and a son. Shazia was a few years older than the girls whereas the boy was fairly 15 years younger than them. She used to play with the girls the whole day after coming back from school. Years passed by and Sakina’s daughters were happily married, when She was studying in University, to their cousins who worked in a textile mill. This deprived him of the company of the girls and she had no body around to keep company with.

After the marriage of Sakina’s daughters, only Sakina, her husband who was their driver and her son were left behind. Shazia had completed her university education and was at home for almost seven years. She had few friends, and fewer outlets for creativity or entertainment. Bored with her life, she met Murad at a shopping centre. He was tall and handsome, and worked in a boutique. Afterwards, her visits to the shopping mall had multiplied. She was fascinated by the mirth and liveliness of Murad and they talked for hours sitting in a café near the shopping mall. They had been seeing each other for six months when she talked to her parents for marrying to Murad. Mr. and Mrs. Naeem were shocked at their daughter’s choice and they emphatically refused to throw their only daughter into abyss of social degradation, filth and humiliation.

She experienced severe psychological pain and felt as if her parents would never agree to her marriage with anyone. She tried to lose herself in reading books, magazines and watching movies which threw her in the background. She had lost interest in everything. Then she met Faisal. She had gone to the service centre of a telecommunication company to claim warranty for her newly purchased expensive mobile which had got out of order. Faisal worked there as a customer representative. She returned home after depositing her mobile which she was advised to collect after four days. She called up on the service centre number on the fourth day to know if the mobile was repaired. A pleasant voice welcomed her warmly, “Good evening, this is Faisal, how can I help you?” When Shazia told him her name and the receipt number, he replied in the same pleasant manner, “Ms. Naeem, your mobile has been repaired; you can collect it anytime between 9 am to 6 in the evening.”

When she reached the service centre the following day, she was welcomed by the customer representative, neatly dressed in a white shirt and blue suit, “how can I help you, Miss?” Shazia told her that she had come to collect her mobile and gave her the receipt, he looked at it and addressed her smilingly, “ Ms. Naeem give me two minutes, please.” and directed someone on phone to bring the phone to the counter. Shazia collected her mobile and left.

It was after two days that she started receiving messages on her cell number from the Customer representative requesting for friendship. Jaded by her loneliness, Shazia responded agreeably and this lead to long sessions of messaging and late night calls. Faisal lived with his parents and had recently moved in their new home from suburbs of the city. They started meeting after a few weeks of their close association. Faisal talked a lot about her beauty and heavenly appearance. It sounded strange and sweet to Shazia and she felt like sitting with him the whole evening and listen to the sweet, melodious, nightingale-like numbers. She was charmed, ready to be conquered.

One evening, when she was sitting with Faisal in a public park, putting her head on his shoulder, he moved her face towards him and held in his both hands; she was red with passion. Faisal’s hands were trembling slightly, his eyes burning red; he put his lips on hers. Shazia felt something strange and exciting, and she lost herself in the moment. She held him passionately in ecstasy and pressed hard against him. She wants it to last but one of the park wardens had spotted them and they had to leave. She returned home that evening, burning with desire.

They days passed by and they came closer with everyday passing. They wanted to be together forever and Shazia felt she could not wait anymore. She decided to talk to her parents finally. Her parents were busy in a chit-chat on business after the dinner when she told them that she wanted to marry Faisal. She told them about him and his family in quite a detailed manner, trying to highlight all the good things about him. Her parents had infuriated after knowing his whereabouts. She was imploring, “Dad what is the problem with him? He is educated and doing a decent job. Why can’t you approve my marriage with him?”

Mr. and Mrs. Naeem who had not forgotten her earlier inanity, decided to shut their ungrateful daughter in house after taunting for an hour or so. Her mobile was confiscated and all the servants were ordered not to let her go out of the house without their permission. She cried, threatened to commit suicide but couldn’t melt her parents’ heart. Shut in the four mighty walls of her house, she missed Faisal and the sweet times when she could see him whenever she wanted. Faisal had put life in her lifeless body. She felt her helplessness fighting her wild and uncontainable desires. She felt torn apart. She wanted to commit suicide but she could not. Days turned dull and dreary but nights were the real torment.

It was a cold morning and she was still lying in her bed feeling severe headache. Raju, her maid Sakina’s fourteen year old son, knocked at the door. “Come in.” she said. Raju had brought her breakfast as usual after his sisters’ marriage. He was returning, after putting breakfast on the side table when Shazia asked him to knead her head. Raju adjusted himself behind her and started massaging her head. His young, soft but warm hands gave her comfort. She was losing consciousness. She caught Raju’s both hands with hers and placed them on her burning cheeks and started caressing them. Her eyes were closed, her body stiffened, and she felt sitting in the park. Her grip on Raju’s hands got strong; she pulled him down and slid in her warm quilt. Raju felt the warmth of her arms around him and something burning wet on his cheeks. Shazia was nibbling him ecstatically and he was lying there breathless and still….

It was after a while that Shazia regained her consciousness. Raju was looking at her like a ghost lying in her stripped arms. He got up mutely, put on his clothes and left the room without saying a word. Shazia kept lying motionless for a long time, trying to collect herself and, perhaps, making sense out of it, looking at the roof with big bewildered eyes, but there was not the roof she was looking at; perhaps she was looking beyond the roof, somewhere unknown, unacquainted of what she was looking for.

Nostalgia

2010-02-26T13:17:00.003+05:00

Give

the strength

what

I was
...

Forgive

me,

for

what

I am.