Wednesday, 11 July 2018

HEAR, HEAR!

Even if you do enjoy your reputation as a mysterious Pandora box, at some point in your life you’d want to be understood or accepted or at the very least, heard. And it’s a beautiful feeling knowing that there is someone you can rely on, to shower down your banters on, because you know they’d listen, they’d understand, they won’t judge. As a return, you’d offer them your ear. In short, you’re there for each other. But are we though? (If you don’t get this reference, I hate you.) Anyway, the point is, why are we all so miser to offer our services to a limited few? The world is in chaos. Moral, psychological, emotional chaos. You’re not the only damsel in distress. There are ones who are suffering and they don’t have the kind of support you do. Maybe you’re one of them. See the point is, we are so drenched in our own oceans of tears, we barely notice someone who is one step away from tearing apart. We might assure someone we are there for them, we may even listen to them, but why do we keep failing to hear it? The desperate need to be actually heard? To be helped? To be held together?

We are losing too many precious people. Because we didn’t see it. They weren’t the type to do such a thing as to kill themselves. Hey, you know what? Maybe they weren’t the type, but we weren’t the type to kill people either but our actions, our neglect did let someone to take their life. And we are okay with it? Because we have ourselves convinced it wasn’t us. It’s like handing over a loaded gun to someone and saying it was them who pulled the trigger. So your honor, might wanna consider hanging their dead body for it?

Yes, suicide isn’t the solution. It’s not the answer. A person committing suicide is as much responsible for his death as are the other people. When you let your thoughts strangle you, choke the life out of you, when you swallowed the pill of your self-created poison, when you removed the safety from the gun, knowing that there is a weak point. Maybe you self-designed that bullet of your doubts; maybe you polished the blunt of your knife with the edge of your self-esteem. Now I apologize if I sound too insensitive towards your struggles, or depression or anxiety. I am not being insensitive. There is an underlying truth. And I apologize for being carried away from the point, it just seemed important.

Okay, let’s just leave the worst case scenario behind. There are lots of reasons we need to hear out other people. If you wish to be understood, try to understand other people as well. In that inside out world of yours, maybe you’re always the right one, but let’s face it. There are times when you are wrong. Stop being so rigid and take other people’s point of views. And respect them enough to at least agree to disagree. Trashing people around for having different views than you is not making you a better person. In this world of social media addicts, it’s so cool to be a savage troll. Oh, you don’t care about other people? You must be awesome. And stop. Just stop fooling yourself by saying it’s just a joke. If you’re leaving behind respect, going around telling people what ignorant fools people are for holding a different political perspective than yours, you're a horrible person. Because they don’t support your leader, it’s okay for you to bash them with anything that comes in your mind. Oh, they are not even real football fans. Well, congratulations, 10 points for your originality. No, STOP! Shut up and let people live. Stop being such a bully. HEAR THEM OUT. 

And when you start to actually hear people, when you respect them enough to try to see the point of view from their perspective, life would be better. I mean you’d be willing to do it if it was your crush, wouldn’t you? Hell, you’d even hang upside down from a tree branch to see it from their perspective. Why not let it sink? If you still don’t accept it, respect it enough; at least tell yourself they are different. Hear them out. Hear yourself out. When your own soul is screaming for attention, not of others but yours? Give it the freaking attention. And once you start hearing with an intention to understand, you’d even hear the silence. 

Sunday, 18 February 2018

SILENCE

In the sky rose the screams,
The shrill wails roared,
A drop landed on the soil,
Another,
And another,
A blotch appeared,
As if a painting,
All in red,
The evil shrieked somewhere in the background,
A chaos broke,
The buildings crumbled,
An image of a broken land appeared behind the dust,
The dust trying to mask it,
Humanity suffered another blow,
Its roots staggered once again,
And long after, silence prevailed,
Everything appeared to be normal
yet nothing was normal,
When the cries faded,
Silence echoed,
Louder than the howls of evil,
The silence screamed,
And when nothing spoke,
Silence did,
The tales that vanished,
Silence carried them all.
When there was nothing to say,

Silence said it all.

Friday, 2 February 2018

THE UNDEAD

In the dimly lit room she sat, her eyes gazing in the dark as if it carried all the wonders of the world. Anyone entering the room would have suffered from a sheer sense of claustrophobia but somehow the boundaries didn’t seem to bother her. She sat so still as if posing for a portrait, or if she were a statute. She was a piece of art, so magnificent that she carried a thousand tales within her. It’s not always the words that dictate the stories, sometimes it’s the silence. Sometimes the silence screams louder than the words. Sometimes not saying says it all.

The absolute stillness was broken by a loud thud at the door. Someone had brought her back to the reality as if some paint splashed over the portrait, or the statute came crumbling down to the ground. Her eyes widened. An expression crossed her face but lasted only a moment. Silently, she slipped out of her dungeon into the living room. It seemed like someone had tried so hard to give it signs of life, all the artificiality failing to provide so. Twenty seven years!

Twenty seven years ago, she had decorated this very room with her beautiful bony hands. Even when everything seemed to be falling apart, even when her dreams shook under the immense weight of the reality, even when every promise, every hope seemed a fallacy, she worked. She worked to beautify her castle, the castle she was a prisoner of, the castle she was meant to never leave again. Somewhere in the darkness, she waited like a princess, like Rapunzel hidden away from the world. The only difference was, there was no one coming for her rescue. Twenty seven years ago, if you had seen her, you’d be baffled. If you had bumped into her younger version of twenty seven years ago, you wouldn’t have recognized her. Twenty seven years!

Pacing into the kitchen, she turned on the stove, her hands following the rhythmic patterns as if encoded to do so. The spark of the fire lit her eyes for a moment and faded. In the background, someone was loudly talking. Provided she was the only other person in the house, it was directed to her. Her demeanor didn’t change. Her hands worked at the same pace they did before. Years ago, she would have panicked, her hands would have moved faster, her heart would have thumped louder, but now, there was no rush, there was no panic. The speaker was standing in the doorway now. He did not look happy but her serenity never broke.
The steam escaped the kettle as she poured the tea in the cup and at the moment, it was the only thing that seemed free.

Some order had been directed to her, to which she had silently complied. She was back in the dungeon which was now lit with much more light than the tiny room could afford.

Her now wrinkled hands reached the cup-board, flashing it open like a gateway into the past. The red dress glittered before her eyes, hitting her with a sheer nostalgia. Twenty seven years! Twenty seven years ago, when she had first set her eyes on this dress, she had beamed with such pleasure, she could have gone hysteric. Her mind had wandered off, far away into the wonder land. She had so excitedly chatted about her wedding day, and the life she had planned afterwards that her elders had to silence her.

On the day of her wedding, she had carried this dress like she had carried all her dreams, fancy and sparkly. She had been, without a doubt, the prettiest bride there ever was. Not because her beauty was unmatched, but because she had that glow, the spark of life. Her smile had shone brighter than the jewels around her neck.
A curt voice shook her out of her memory lane, the very voice that had shaken her out of her dreams years ago. There was no evidence of violence because she had never been physically hit. And that was enough for the world to confirm her safety. Because invisible scars, no matter how deep they penetrate, never burst out on the surface, because no one wants to see them. Her hand shifted from the red dress to a dull grey one. She closed the cupboard shutting with it, the small hints of life.

Once again, she had to go out pretending to be alive, because to the world, she wasn’t dead, not yet. Because to the world, she was still scar-less, bruise-less, only old, withered out lady. The world was only willing to declare her dead, once she would stop breathing, once her heart would stop beating. Little did they know, she had stopped living a long time ago.

Saturday, 18 November 2017

BLISS

Amidst the dust,
And the foul stench,
The loose torn clothes hanging on their bodies,
Strained to the very core,
The cold breeze waves past,
Yet unlike the others,
They seem unbothered,
As if their bodies are immune to it,
As if they're cold blooded,
Their tiny hands gripping the plastic bags,
Like there's some treasure hidden inside,
A cherishing laughter echoes in the street,
As they run after each other,
Their eyes lit with excitement,
A smile brighter than the stars,
They break into run, then walk,
Playing around never minding the surroundings,
The cars honk, the people stare,
Complain as to why they stand in the way,
But they never care,
Neither do they easily scare,
There is never a truer smile the world has seen,
Never a truer form of bliss,
The rich doesn't know it,
For he runs away from the foul stench,
For he masks away from the dust,
For he runs after the worldly wealth,
For he thinks he's acknowledged,
But the truth is,
He is as ignorant as the poor,
Maybe even more,
Little does he know,
The happiness he's running after,
They've already had it,
Look at them laughing around,
You'll know it's pure bliss.
Because their hearts are pure,
It's not the unclean clothes,
It's the dirt in hearts that's a problem,
Look at their crystal clear eyes,
Followed by a sparkly smile,

You'll know it's pure bliss.

Sunday, 1 October 2017

THE BEARER OF THE BAD NEWS

I have been hated and worse.
I have been despised.
Remorse,
I have been forced to feel,
For not who I am as a person,
But for what my job demands me to be.
The bearer of the bad news,
The partner of the grim reaper,
Are the names they call me by,
And I am no bad guy,
I tell you.
I am not the enemy,
If it wasn’t me,
There would be someone else,
‘cause someone had to step up.
To bring home the news,
That no one wants to carry.
I am, indeed, the bearer of the bad news,
As entitled by the haters in my common views,
I had thought to have seen,
The worst out there that’s been,
When I told the widows,
Their husbands couldn’t make it,
And watched them fall to the ground,
Like a damsel in distress,
Or when I told the parents,
About the burden of carrying,
The heaviest of the coffins,
Their own blood,
Their own child,
Over their own shoulders,
The silent tears rolling down the cheeks,
Choked me up at nights,
As I gasped for air,
The atmosphere didn’t have to offer.
That one time I had to tell,
A dreamer,
His dreams had fallen,
That he had to call it off,
The wedding, a day before,
Because his dream breathed her last.
She was there but in the past,
But the worst of it was when,
I brought along the news,
To the child who clung to me,
As soon as I stepped in,
Her little beady eyes,
Beaming full of hope,
As she whispered in my ear,
That broke me down to tears,
And even though it was a whisper,
It echoed in my head,
The words that slipped her tongue,
“DADA” she said,
Repeatedly,
That was the day I broke,
Into pieces I couldn’t collect.
My heart splintered open,
Splashing far away,
The only thing that remained,
Was an immense darkness
And pain,
The pain like nothing before,
The agony there was,
The despair I felt,
Shook the last of my courage,
And I knew it in my heart,
I would never be able to do this again,
As I walked back home,
With a heart so heavy,
I stooped under the weight,
I wondered why it had to be this way,
A human killing a human,
Freeing the soul of the other,
While having his own trapped,
In the darkness of the evil.
I pondered as I passed,
A Street that had bathed,
In the blood of a thousand fallen souls,
And in a distance the gunshots echoed,
The war was carried on,

The war of nothing.

Sunday, 17 September 2017

THE SOUL THAT WE SOLD

Can you hear the screams and the wails, those helpless cries that fill the sky with the first ray of light at dawn and echo when the dusk settles in? Can you see the now spotless streets still bathed in the blood of the innocent when you walk on them? Can you feel the gloom in the aura even though the trees appear to be dancing with the wind? Of course, you don’t. Because the mother nature does its best to mask the brutalities of mankind. The sky absorbs the grieving yells before they could travel a distance. The earth sips in the blood so that no trace of oppression remains. Maybe because the nature is more ashamed of a man’s crime than a man himself is.

I was startled to find out how easy it was for a human to numb the pain, even easier to block it before the wound even gets the chance to settle. Shield: what a glorious invention or must I say, a discovery? Because a physical shield might stop a physical injury, but the emotional shield shelters you from the fatal blows to your soul. Or apparently, it’s what it seems.

The world, my friend, is a dark, dark place. Sometimes, the darkness consumes every bit of the hope. There is no light. And in times like those, it’s the best to block the thoughts because the pain would be too much to bear. Nobody likes the feeling of helplessness and that is exactly how we feel when we look at the world.

I thought immunity was a gift till I discovered the cost that we had been paying to have it. We have been trading the bits of humanity to keep the peace of our mind. So now when the bodies fall in front of our eyes, we are too blind to see them. And when the wails echo in the sky close enough for us to hear, we are too deaf to listen. And when the humanity is at stake, we are too dead to care.

As Muslims, we are supposed to be a family, a family that shares the pain of its members. Yet we scattered and divided ourselves because apparently our differences mattered to us more. How do we expect to unite ourselves when we part our ways when going to bow to the same God? We are too busy judging each other for sinning differently. Nowadays, we get to decide who is going to heaven and who is going to hell. Wow, sit down- you self-appointed judge. It’s the matter of that person and Allah. But you know what your matter is? That you are so negligent of? Helping your brothers in pain.

It’s happening in Kashmir, in Syria, Palestine, and now it’s happening in Rohingya and half the places that we are unaware of. And what did we do? We turned a blind eye to it. Why? Because it’s not us? But it is us, isn’t it? It is our family. And our family is suffering and we are doing nothing about it. Because we can’t. For the love of Almighty, there are so many Muslims in the world. If each state starts contributing, I don’t believe it would be that hard to free them. If Muslims of the entire world unite, who would dare to harm them again?

We sat back and watched the world bash us as terrorists and the world got silent when the actual terrorists attacked Muslims. And yet we are too blinded to see the obvious strategy lying behind. Kudos to our ability to ignore. Imagine having to answer in the court of Allah, why did we let our family die? Imagine having to answer at what cost did we buy our immunity? Imagine having to explain why we thought selling our soul for some apparently peaceful moments was worth it? Just imagine.


Friday, 25 August 2017

THE TRASH BASH

Have you heard that really great joke about women? Yes, I am talking about whichever came to your mind. Funny, aren’t they? Stand up against one, and suddenly you’re a feminist- the most loathsome thing there is to exist out there. No, I am not saying there are no jokes about men. Of course, there are, just not as many as for women. Do you know how easy is it to set a man off? Say the three magical words, “fragile male ego” and boom, you’re golden. You could, of course, use the alternate three words and say, “men are trash” – the explosion effects are pretty much the same. And now that I have established quite the reputation of a feminist, hate to break it to you- but you’re wrong.

It’s dark ages. We are at war. You’re not doing social media right if you don’t indulge in one. It’s either men are trash or feminists are trash. It’s either the fragile male ego or stupid feminist thinking. I mean, come on? Why do they ask for gender equality when they can’t treat men the same way? They can’t stand in the bus, and they want to demand equal rights? For the love of God, they can’t even open the jar lid by themselves and they want their names put in with the jobs alongside men? Such dull-witted creatures they are, women. They are better suited in the kitchen, and can’t they just stick around their gossips? Their arguments are pointless anyway.

You know who else loves to shop? Men. Go on, call me a liar. Maybe they are not as indecisive as girls; maybe they don’t melt over the things they weren’t supposed to buy, maybe they don’t buy the things they surely didn’t need- THAT FOOTBALL JERSEY WAS IMPORTANT. Do you know whose mood is unpredictable as well? Men. You can set them off by something so little, you wouldn’t understand. You think all men make sense in arguments? Whatever lies get you through the night. Do you know who else likes to gossip? Men. Of course, they are not as such tattle tales and they have the bro-code so they don’t go stabbing their fellows in the back and plotting evil strategies, but don’t tell me they don’t gossip. Who do you think has spread all these things about women? Their gossiping, shopping, mood swings and on and on? MEN. But, of course, as long as it’s the truth- it shouldn’t be rendered gossip, right?

It is cool to say you hate everyone and there is a generalized understanding that exceptions are made even in that case, but not when a gender is involved. It’s stereotypical, it’s racist, it’s sexist. There is so much hate in this world. I haven’t seen as many feminists out there as much I have seen the haters of it, the anti-feminist club.

Women should not take offence of all the jokes because they are just jokes (with the hint of truth obviously). I mean, come on, where that sense of humor at? Laugh it off, be the laughing stock. Shouldn’t hurt your feelings, because seriously, girls- you know you can’t drive, you know you’re shopaholics, you know you are dull-witted, you don’t know your way around the car’s engine, you don’t know the specs when you buy your gadgets. You do betray men with all that make up, and you do look like a man because you don’t keep yourself groomed. No, I am not body shaming you; I am just saying you’re not curvy enough for my liking. Why do you complain about your weight? Nobody’s calling you fat, (well, not out loud, at least).

Am I a feminist? Well, if all men are trash is the new definition then I most certainly am not. I don’t hate men. I honestly find women more evil than men. I do envy the bro-code and the friendships boys have and damn, I love those side hugs. I know how it sounds. But see, I am not taking any sides. I don’t believe all men are horrible- I have seen otherwise. The world is a diverse place.

Here’s the thing- there is no such thing as gender equality. Genders were not created equal; the differences were created to complement each other. I believe there was a time when feminism meant for something. There was an agenda, not hatred. It’s not about gender equality, it’s about gender equity. It’s not the similar treatment, it’s the treatment deserved by each.

Tell you what, if you’re offended by something as pointless as a statement like fragile male ego- YOUR EGO IS FRAGILE. You’re not supposed to empty your seat for a girl if you don’t want to. You don’t do it because it’s a custom, you don’t hold a door for a woman to be a man, you do it because you are one, you do that because you’re a gentleman. And if you wanna go rub it in the faces, please don’t do it. And if you wanna question why that had to be the grounds for being a gentleman, again, don’t do it.

Not all men are same. I have seen men accepting the shortcomings of their gender. I have seen men being protectors just like I have seen women accepting their mistakes and apologizing (though once in a blue moon). I find it adorable that girls have to go ask boys to open up the lid, yes, because that’s complementing the shortcomings. If the male gender is blessed with greater physical strength than the female, there is no need to boast about it.

Enough with the stereotypes of the society, when are we gonna get past those? Stop bashing each other with labels. Crying is not for the weak, a man can cry and a man shall cry when he wants to. A girl can parallel park if she’s into driving. Stop being so obsessed with your narcissistic self. Get over yourself, there are a thousand better than you. Get out of that small little box in your head, learn to think beyond it. Don’t make a girl wish she were a boy, make her feel safe. Don’t plot your evil strategies to get the guy or his money; he did not earn it for you.

Everything is not a joke. Why is to so easy to label and bash women and joke about them? You know why women started asking for equality? LOOK AT HOW YOU TREAT YOUR WOMEN. They are not objects of your fascination. And most certainly, they aren’t your house-elves. They have desires that are often masked by the fragility of their own gender. If women had been treated the way they deserved to be treated, they wouldn’t rise up against men. They wouldn’t have to feel harassed enough to develop hatred. Joke about it when you know they have been treated the same. The whole lot of you, none of you would make it out sanely if put in their shoes. Joke about it when that little girl did not have to mask her desire because she was a female. Joke about it when that girl did not longingly wondered that she were a boy.

HEAR, HEAR!

Even if you do enjoy your reputation as a mysterious Pandora box, at some point in your life you’d want to be understood or accepted or at ...