Fire, Water And Humans !

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A fire festival in Fukushima.

Fire and water, two opposite forces forever lost in epic revelry. Fire seems to be the destructive one, which strangely proves out to be  the most fruitful while providing food to humans. Water be the constructive one, floods away civilizations with it. Isn’t it strange ? What force urges these to change their entire nature ?

That was the question that hopped into my mind a couple of weeks ago. It was 7 in the morning and I was sleeping in my room with air conditioner turned on when suddenly a pungent smell entered my nostrils and woke me up. It took me a while to figure out what had forced me to wake up and when I recognized that smell, I turned my neck back and here it was. With all it’s glory it was fiercely shoving it’s orangish-yellow sparks up towards the roof as if it will consume everything coming in it’s way and turn it to black ash.

I hadn’t seen such a big fire live in front of my eyes before. I am so afraid of fire that I had never lit up the stove for cooking food by myself ever in my life. Witnessing this kind of fire that closely was a night mare. I got up and ran outside shouting for help. My room was all covered in thick black smoke and when I opened the door that smoke started spreading all over the TV lounge. My dad figured out what has happened and turned the main switch off. My mom and brother filled up buckets with water but when electricity supply was cut off, the fire extinguished slowly by itself. I stood there with shivering legs and thumping heartbeat and it took me some hours to get back to being normal.

Our Ac got burnt but there was no other loss by the grace of God. The story may be told dramatically, but it is hundred percent true. That scene still give me shivers whenever it flashes back into my mind. If I wouldn’t have got up that time, the smoke would have made me unconscious and I might not be with you right now, telling you stories.

The Pakistan Floods

Children affected by flood in Pakistan, waiting for the rescue teams.

On the other hand, there is water, which has recently played havoc and drowned whole lot of  villages and cities in Pakistan. Watching footage of families standing on roofs of their destroyed homes, waiting for getting rescued, watching their animals and luggage flowing away with water. Watching a mother crying for her daughter whose dowry flooded away– It breaks my heart. Army troops are still busy rescuing hundreds of families affected from this devastating flood.

We sit here and watch them suffer. Say some sympathetic words and change the channel. And we are Humans.

What force urges things to change their nature ? I have no idea but, if this force is strong enough to change HUMANS, It sure can prove out to be a weapon of mass destruction.

 

Once In A Blue Moon

Pain_mle46-vThis world’s pain, so intense and vast

My pain seems very little in contrast

I forget my pain as I start to mark

Human’s wounded soul & bleeding heart

Every once in a blue moon, a phase comes in everyone’s life where they have to stop and look back—To compare what they had with what they have and to assume what they will have in future.

This phase comes in my life very often. A crucial time when a sharp beep echoes in my brain and urge it to think day and night without taking any rest. This beep cuts my nerves and bleeds them to death. Leaving me no choice but to cry it out for hours to get rid of it and then my mind goes back to being numb and dumb.

This phase has left me with a question this time, ‘Is Love necessary for a successful relationship?’

I put care, respect and fondness in one plate of the measure pan and Love in the other but nothing seems to be heavier than the other. One of them has to go down….

At this point, Love brings a slight sadness in my heart. Sadness that gives me a feel of warmness and care. A feeling that assures me of being special. An emotion that still awakes every sense in me and digs up every cornered grave in my heart. Love, that is abandoned but still lit up a candle of hope in me…. Hope that never sees whether it is needed or not.

On the other hand care, respect and fondness—as much they appear to be a permanent part of my whole life, seem valueless. As my mind gets lost while wandering between these, my heart drags itself along.

My absurd philosophy makes sense only to me but let me say, Love brings expectations with it and coping up with the expectations is very hard. Without love, you accept whatever life offers you. So for me, Love is not necessary to have a successful relationship, though I would never say a dear and a peaceful one.

As I would be busy straightening up my tangled emotions right now, this world would be grieving–over the deaths of loved ones, over living under the line of poverty, over suicides, over corruption, over terrorism, over being divided into sects, over unemployment and low literacy rate and over dying because of hunger.

Is my pain really worth getting written here? I don’t think so.

 

 

Cracked Pink Mirror

girl-in-mirror

Holding a small cracked pink mirror in her right hand she would stare at her bald head for hours. Her lifeless stone eyes would feel focused and concentrated as if they were trying to break the mirror into pieces with their melancholic gaze. Left corner of her bottom lip was swelled with bruises and clogged blood on it. A similar kind of wound could be seen at the center of her neck near the collar bone. Sometimes when she couldn’t stare at the mirror, her hands could be seen scratching her wounds with her sharp nails. It was impossible for her to rest her hands even for a few seconds. That’s what her Mother would say, three years ago, when she would keep herself busy in doing unnecessary chores along with the necessary ones. Three years later, her habits were more or less the same.

Close your eyes and think about the happy moments in your life if you want to end your depression, a voice would echo in her head. She would close her eyes but she could see nothing except the haunting black darkness. You come alone in this world and you have to return back alone. At some point in life, every relation fades away from your life. It is you who are left, hanging alone between the sky and the ground. Just start living for yourself, the voice would continue. She would look around gently and smile. He would smile back. She never was alone.

Thick tear drops would come out of her stone eyes and get absorbed in the pillow when she would yell and cry her throat out. Her feet could be seen rubbing against the hospital bed. Her fists clenched, struggling with immense pain. Eyes, closed so tightly as if they would crack themselves from inside, like her cracked pink mirror. She had to go through the same, everyday for three years. Her cracked pink mirror wasn’t broken yet. He always gives you the amount of pain that you can bear. She sure was made tough enough.

It spread in her blood through her veins, like the same way love spread once. Suffering was the same. The only difference was that love used to kill her everyday while this would kill her once and for all. Waiting for death is awful. Waiting is always awful. Death on the other hand is comforting. It gives life. It completes the cycle.

Love was necessary, so were the departures.

White is life, black is death. Living in the shades of grey is always painful.

She has Him. Who knows He would hold her hand gently and walk her to the black meadows or He would let her rejoin white.

Only in the darkness can you see the stars.

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‘Ishq’

Mevlana_Wajd Ecstasy Sufism

As drops of summer rain plows her barren land of heart

Desire of ‘Wisaal‘ sprouts; years of ‘Separation‘ cut apart

Renunciation of will, ecstatic pain of love’s desire grows

With the light ofIrfan, ruptured veins of her soul glows

Self is abandoned; dew of ‘love‘ turns her dust into mud

From the very bosom of self, arises the scent of beloved

This tightly coiled fire of love is neither requited nor denied

Conventional ‘wisdom‘ reverses, ‘Junoon‘ cries out with pride

Shackles of ‘reason‘ are broken, It’s wise lectures are declined

Wish to become dust of His feet echoes in her oblivious mind

Then crushed soul leaves the body, far away from time and space

It becomes One with beloved while ‘Nafs‘ drowns in His grace

Human unites with God, Divine unites with Man; a bridge is done

Rhythm in the cry of Hu‘ merges with the melody of ultimate One !

Secrets are unveiled, paradoxes solved, mystical assent completes

Levels of ‘Ishq‘ conquered, Mortality and immortality finally meets

Annihilation, Fan’a; Death is all left behind, nothing to be afraid

Contentment in non-existence, euphoria from the death of blade.

(Wisaal:Reunite, Irfan:theological philosophy which seeks to describe being, Junoon:Madness, Nafs:Ego,  Hu: Sound that imprint marks on heart, part of Allah’s name, Fan’a: Ultimate destruction)

 

This poem is dedicated to all the lovers of Allah, experiencing Ishq-e-haqiqui. Love is just a primary stage in the journey of Ishq. I have tried to explain all the levels of Ishq in my poem, through which one passes to reach the ultimate level, the level of death. May Allah blesses us with His Ishq.

In My Dreams….

hidden-falls-natural-scenery

In my dreams I envision a place. A place that is not a magical wonderland nor it is a place where possibilities meet impossibilities. It is a place where I can do whatever I want, outside the walls of my home, and there is no one to judge me. Where cultural narrowness widens up and embrace me in its arms. Where I can breathe freely without heavy burden of boundaries occupying my mind.

Religion is never the problem. Religion is just a code that defines an individual’s life. Culture and traditions are what define rules for free societies, just to abandon them in an eternal invisible dungeon.

In the society where I live, I can’t step outside the walls of my home without a male person with me. Not because anyone of my family forbids me to do so. But because my society forbids me. Once a girl of my age steps outside, people start judging. They start binding their darkest thoughts with our emotions which results in massive destruction eventually. This isn’t happening all over my country. Their are many modern areas where going out alone is nothing like a problem for a girl. Girls appear to be satisfied with these cruel set of invisible rules but I may have a problem as I have proved to be weird in every sense.

When going out with my husband or father gives me a sense of protection and security, it also makes me valuable and respectable in the eyes of society. It makes me feel comfortable and I don’t have to worry about anything because taking my care is their responsibility then. And I admit, I wouldn’t be able to fight with the abnormalities that would have flourished in my society if girls would have been going out alone. This balance in nature is essential and here in my society, the balance come just like this way. Sometimes restrictions are good.

I can’t think about changing the norms because I won’t be able to handle the abnormality in balance of nature. I can just talk about my wishes and dreams. If I don’t like one thing out of many good things in my society, I have a right to express it but still, at the end, I end up loving it more. After all, no matter how many bad traits your beloved posses, you can’t stop loving him.

In my dreams, when I feel lonely, I want to go outside a take a walk instead of siting in my room, crying like a baby. I can’t go out in the morning to jog and I can’t throw out my frustration by running hard. I can’t wander in the city, I can’t stare at the birds and trees while sitting in a quiet corner. I can’t listen to shouting kids while passing by them and I can’t be a part of those silent sea waves that touch the beach. I am free but I feel like I was born in a prison and since then, I have been living in it. I know how beautiful the world outside is but I can’t go and feel it. I want to enjoy my loneliness instead of detesting it.

In my dreams, I just see that when I step out, people don’t judge me. Women don’t roll their eyes weirdly and men don’t start whispering and staring. I just want that people consider me as respectable as they do when I am with my husband or father. I just want that they clear out their minds and eyes of bad judgment and let me do my work. I just want a society where no one feels a need to poke into the lives of others.

We are beautiful, we just need to apply the rules of this society in a positive way rather than being negative. I guess this little wish of mine isn’t that bad. Or may be, that wish will remain in my dreams forever.

 

 

 

Just Sorting It out.

Screenshot-2014-02-12-08.44.29

Why can’t I think like normal people ? Why can’t I behave normal ? Why can’t I pass my day and nights the way normal people do ? What is NORMAL?

People change with time. No, actually their perspectives change with time. The way we see the same simple normal things in our lives. The way we react to the same familiar situations and the way we think about the tiny little details of life. Perspective is all that matter.

I was tired asking myself all these questions some time ago. I was mad for being normal. I was jealous of normal people. And now when my life has turned into a usual normal life, it feels boring to me. Now I have come to know what I have lost. I gave up a life of awareness and enlightenment for a so called casual NORMAL life. Huh.

What normal life is actually ? A life passed in a conventional way. A life in which you don’t question what, why and how. You just do what others have been doing for thousands of years, you just follow the rules. You run behind life without any aim and at the end you end like a puppet in the fingers of nature. When you don’t feel the craving to look behind things for their logic, for the reason of their existence. When you lose the purpose for which you were born at the first place.

I have seen people living that way, very happily. I mean they have their lives all settled and families to share their achievements and problems. People who lay down to enjoy a good night sleep at 9, at night and wake up at 6 in the morning. People who don’t need to cry every other day and people who can share their things with anyone they find. People who are friends with many people and they don’t have time to figure out who is the best one of them.

I am that kind of people these days. I mean not completely, but more or less the same. My mind don’t feel connected to the weird and supernatural feelings and my heart feels hollow and dead inside my body. I wake up, pass my day doing nothing and then I stare at the dark and sleep in the morning. I don’t think…. I seriously don’t. Not about who am I, not about why am I like this and not about should I live or die. And I don’t cry, literally I don’t !! I feel like my body has been boiling with thick foggy clouds and it will burst out one day. And…. I am bored ! Fed up of this life where nothing at all seems to be making any sense. I don’t want to be a puppet. I don’t want to be NORMAL.

Allah was the solution of every problem I had for the past few years but He has stopped looking at me. I may be responsible for that but now when I need to get out of this cursed life, I find no help. My hand is being rejected by Him since long. And I am tired.

This post was the only way for me to sort out what I really want and what is actually going on in my mind. My mind don’t talk to me these days either but I can trick it into writing everything down, which I just did. Sorry for what you had to read. Just forget it.

And yeah HAPPY INDEPENDENCE DAY to all my Pakistani friends.

The Realistic Fiction – A Memoir

One of the other gloomiest nights wears on to a morning. She rolls her fingers over her already half-opened eyes and pulls her husband’s arm softly aside to get out of the bed. After a while, she was fastening the laces of her pink Nike trainers and ready to jog ! She knew, she’d run so hard today that her feet would feel wounded and her legs would hurt like hell. Her breath would feel irregular for hours and her heart would beat in her ears for long. And after all that, she won’t still stop. She’d jog until all the energy inside her body would be drained out. And today wasn’t different from the other days that had been creeping slowly.

Why such torture on her own self ? She had no concrete answer.

With his head filled with confusions, he turned the page. He had started reading this fiction written on a beautiful white leather covered diary but after reading only the first page, he felt some things strangely familiar. As if, he actually knows the heroine of this story…. As if….

May be, to trick her mind into thinking about her tired body rather than her ruptured heart full of fears of the future and guilt of the past. May be, to get rid of those painful anxiety attacks and depression disorders. Or maybe, just to distract herself from her own self. Sometimes, the un-satisfying reasons you give yourself are not important enough.

“I can’t have a child. I am not able enough to bring a new life into this world. For all my life I have done nothing but to hurt my loved ones. I can’t be a parent I am a total mess”

For years, these small sentences were often followed by painful cries while she’d go to sleep at nights, with needles tingling all over her body and rapid breaths getting out of control. Her husband would sit aside holding her hands and pushing her head against his chest. Sometimes, silent presence of a loved one is better that a thousand empty words. He was her doctor, her friend and her faith.

The day when their baby was born, her eyes smiled while staring at his eyes with pride. The pride of winning the battle against anxiety and depression while fighting together, the pride of loving and being loved innocently and purely — and most importantly, the pride of being a Mother !

He couldn’t find himself strong enough to read another hundred or more pages. This fiction was not a fiction, as this diary was not just a diary. 

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I am sitting in my bed today watching Mother’s day programs on Tv. He comes rushing towards me and hides himself  in my embrace, as he used to do when he was a kid.

I love you, Mama ! I won’t be able to thank you for the priceless love you have given me in all these years, and I want to tell you that you are important to me more than anyone in the whole world. Everyone loved you mama, they just didn’t express their love the way you needed. I don’t want to be like them

Saying these words, he hands me over a copy of this famous magazine. I open that half folded page in curiosity and there I see, my 25 year old story published in a neater version with my name.

I recalled, I was scared of writing diaries because the thought of getting exposed and judged frightened me. That’s why I started giving my daily anecdotes a color of fiction.

He understood my ‘fiction’ when nobody could. I wonder, how many more strange habits had he taken from his father ?

Inspired by The Daily Post.