Man Khushaal Hastam II - من خوشحال هستم

Continued from: Man Khushaal Hastam - من خوشحال هستم 

I went to meet her today.
I went to the same street I had first met her. I looked around. Found no trace of her.
I went to the other side of the building where I had started meeting her after her location was "changed" by her "chacha". Found no trace of her.

I went back to where I had first met her, the place where I kept meeting her for days. For months. For a year before I left.

I looked around. Disappointed. I shrugged my shoulders and stood there staring into the void of nowhere.

Projects changed. Interns changed. Even the guy selling sweetpotato at the roadside corner changed. My office timings more or less changed. Yet, each day arrived cloaked in the heaviness of corporate mundane routine which I had immensely fallen in love with. Ironically, each day was different. What stood different was her.  

Each day, as the evening breeze swept across, I sat on the stairs of Forum, chatting with her. About Afghanistan. About Chitral. About Karachi. About Sohrab Goth. About her weekends. About her family. Little did I know, amid all this, in her lively conversations about herself, she was talking to me about me.

I went back today to tell her how much she had taught me. 

Her words dancing across the evening breeze of Karachi, mixed with that faint smell of bhutta and vehicle fumes, still journey across my thoughts. Inevitably translating my unseen, unheard and unsaid thoughts. Thoughts that I eventually meet when I stare at the words in front of me. 

I desperately stare harder at these words, surrendering to my wonder of how does she still manage to let my thoughts be given words. So painlessly. So carelessly that half of the time I do not even realize it is happening. 

I went back today to make her meet my words that she can back trace to her stories. 

I went back today taking in my eyes the Silence of Definition. The Stillness of Now, that "pale blue dot" of my universe within which she existed. 

Many give words to your thoughts. 

Few give stories to your thoughts. 

Stories to thoughts that you only become aware of when you see them in the shape of words on screen. 

Many unwind your thoughts from complication. 

Few turn the complicated into stories within you. 

I went back today to tell her of Stories she had once taught me. 

I went back today to tell her of things happening in my life because of her. For she made me write. 

I looked around, regretting the fact that I did not ever even attempt to take a picture of her with me. Capture the moment. I have nothing of her to show. 

But then I realized, she was so independent of "capturing" the moment; for her, moments simply existed. She couldn't fathom the philosophy of capturing what resides well in stories. 

I went back today to tell her that "Man Khushaal Hastam". :) 

Perhaps, she would just smile and ask what is there to declare about it.  

For Joy and Happiness exists for her just as breathing exists for us. 

And in this thought again, she just taught me how to breathe again. 

Three seasons & more

Season I.
I stand at the fence as I see the other greener pastures. With my sad
eyes, I try smiling to avoid anyone catching the glimpse of my dismay.
I turn around to walk back to my garden, only to be pulled back again
and again by the lush greener fields on the other side of the fence.

Season II.
I stand at the fence today as I see the other pastures. However,
today, the owner of the field looks different. I stare into the
neighbor's eyes and see the familiar self. Today, the field across the
fence, his field, looks less green. Looks a lot like my side of the
fence. Or rather, worse. I realize how he has been standing at his
fence, his eyes speaking of yester years of joy. I feel sad. It hits
me. I gather some seeds, some plants, some grass and walk to his side.
I try and I try to complete his greener pastures like they were. I try
to complete him, only by casting his pastures greener.

Season III.
I stand at the fence, astonished, Rather surprised. I see, how today,
his fence is back to being green, as much as my sadness is back to
realizing how much greener is his fence compared to mine. I sigh and
watch in dismay with heavy sinking heart yearning to have as greener a
fence as his again.

In between these seasons and beyond, as much as the grass is dependent
on owner, it is dependent on the seasons that cast their magic on it. I
forget that both sides of the fence flirt with the clouds, get hurt by
the sun and healed by water. I forget how seasons have been making the
grass on both sides greener or less.

We all have our souls and we all have fields composed of our worldly
factors. Happiness and Sadness are seasons. Sighing over greener
pastures across the fence or giving grass to the other field cannot
stop the seasons from happening. At the end of the day, what matters
is the neighbor and not his fields. What matters is me and not my
fence. At the end of the day, we all put our things aside and walk
back alone into our own souls. And when it comes to the soul, Peace within is the
Absolute Greener side of the fence.

Amid all Apples and Oranges

My favorite camera lens died an accidental death in Oxford, few months back.
My favorite phone - which I proudly claimed as my camera replacement got hurt an hour before I left for Paris.

I decided to breathe without my incubators for a few days.

Few days into being smartphoneless - As my old nokia rings amid all Apples and oranges of this world and as three people turn around, amused, to look at me, I smile back broadly waving the phone at them, it ends up in a nice quick conversation with strangers.

Amid all these apples and oranges, for once, I see signs instead of googlemaps, I ask people instead of google, I notice the beauty of this happening city as people are busy capturing it.

I let go and enjoy as the world around me tries to seize the moment.

My hands instantly crave a phone and a camera as I see something festive, lost in the loneliness and inability to capture, upload and get some likes, I stand there enjoying the moment.

While I immensely miss my phone & can't wait to get it repaired, I realize how different the same city can be without it.

While for once, even before I had reached home, my mobile uploads would have told stories to the world, today, I return home eagerly to share the same.

I feel a little bit more human and less of an apple or an orange or that blue arrow on the google navigator.

Needless to say, I still miss that part of me. For now, when I'd have it back, I'd introduce my phone to the world as a human, rather than the phone introducing me to the world. For I'd know while everyone is busy capturing the tower bridge, there is an immensely colorful set of festive group sitting next to me - waiting for me to strike a conversation with them and as I do, I'd know I'd want to turn my phone's camera away from the bridge and towards them or maybe I'd enjoy the moment, while seize it later through my camera.

I guess I can't wait to introduce my phone to the newly discovered city! Amid all apples and oranges, I'll make my phone more human. 

Struggle.

Last night, around this time, he must have been contemplating death. If not contemplating, he must have at least been struggling. Struggling with his thoughts, with his life, with time, with his struggle. He must have been struggling with his struggle.

Whenever I have ever brought up the topic of death, of suicide, of self harm, or of depression - every single time, the person I have spoken to has paused and looked at me with a query. An expression of silence if not words asking me if it is about me. And every single time I have just felt disappointed. Talk of death, of suicide or active discussion of depression does not in anyway say anything about the one who is saying it. Against the naked backdrop of humans stripping down their clothes, nothing remains a taboo as much as such topics. We all seem self aware of everything yet we somehow like to believe in the nonexistence of personal struggle of others.

But then, thanks to him, there are millions discussing the topic today. Countless wrote about it today.

Struggle.

We all struggle. What makes pain and struggle worse is our exaggerated capacity to assume that nobody else is going through it. For us, we are the weirdest. For us, we are the most depressed, the most wrong of all wrongs. For us, we struggle while the world shines out there perfectly. For us, we seem to be the only ones in pain, complicated beings while the world out there is normal. We shy away from expression. We shy away from believing that the world collectively smiles but individually struggles.

We all struggle. Struggle makes us human. Sitting here at the bridge, I wonder, somewhere in the world right now, maybe just this person next to me, is struggling too.

What astounds me is how surprised we are when we hear of others struggles. When we realize that beyond our bubble of life, there exists others and their struggles. That beyond our capacity of living perfection, there exists an oasis of human pain and suffering.

Pain and Suffering, mind you, not the one attached to material or lack of material things.
Pain and suffering, mind you, not the one related to successes and failures of our concrete life.
Pain and suffering, mind you, not the one dependent on the arrival and departure of relationships.
Those are mere reasons.

Pain and suffering, mind you, the one that makes us struggle.

Pain and suffering, the one that remains personal to us.
Pain and suffering, the one we are most possessive of. Never admitting.

Pain and suffering, we deny, as we all struggle against the shackles of our thoughts that often confine us.

Somewhere, somehow, out there, in my sane mind, I wish I could hug and give out the Magic that keeps our struggles sane. I wish as much as we write and advocate treatment for clinical issues, I wish we could just look at each other,  nod and say the most cliched phase - we all suffer. Maybe we don't want to know that we all struggle. For that might just undermine our own struggle. But we all need that one hug of brutal honesty -  Knowing that we all have a mind that has thoughts which we combat.

The difference between a butterfly and a human is, a butterfly never regresses back to being a caterpillar. While for human, the struggle is constant. Fail. Fail again. Fail better. Become a butterfly, regress back to being a caterpillar. Become a butterfly again. Regress back. Struggle.

For Struggle keeps us alive.

Somewhere somehow right now somebody might be contemplating what he was contemplating yesterday.
Somewhere somehow right now, countless are struggling to become butterflies again.

I have nothing to give but a little prayer in the sky tonight, for I strongly trust the Magic that transforms a caterpillar into a butterfly.For I trust the Magic that motivates a caterpillar to try again, for it was once a butterfly. For I trust the Magic that inspires to Fail again. Fail better. For I trust the Magic that makes us Struggle and alive. For I trust that little hope that melts our ego, helps us shed the first tear. Even if it is just between us and ourselves.


For I trust Pain to be indicative of Life.
 

"A person like me.."

A person like me can never pay allegiance to a person like Yazid. - Said the Grandson of (all) Muslim's Last Prophet once. What followed marked a turn of political events in the Islamic history. 

Recently, there has been a strong debate about this line, for the line seems liberated from any cultural, timely or political context. Across centuries, it still holds true. For it depicts two sides. 

We often are asked, or often ask ourselves. If we were to witness and had to choose a side, which side would we have been on. It takes less than a moment to respond, of course the right side. It takes decades to realize the bitter reality otherwise. 

For the stance to stand with the Right, the Truth is beyond selective definition of Oppression and Oppressed or comparative misery. 

Sounding like an utterly whiny typical human with a typical complain, scrolling down my newsfeed on twitter & facebook, I receive countless requests daily requesting support in every way for Palestine. Which I try supporting..in every single way I can. 

Having said that, I pause and feel guilty. No matter how hard I try not to, I end up judging. I judge us. I judge us at our silence for one stance and extra enthusiasm for another. 

I judge our selective marketing of one human misery while ignoring another. 

I judge myself for writing this, because I am unsure if this judgement stems from the fact that my sect is attacked everyday or from the fact that I truly mean it. 

I am happy that we are feeling so much for Palestine, I am sad because we never felt so much for minority killings in Pakistan.

I am sad because no matter what we say, we are selective in our stance of choosing which misery to support. 

I am sad that an average Pakistani feels SO much for Palestine while feeling less (if anything) for minority killings back home. 

I am sad because the last time I saw similar vigor for my sect was at the peaceful sit-ins one year ago. A lot many humans from my community have been killed since then. We may agree and even accept the reality of these killings, but no, our vigor to support minorities in my country remains extremely weak and unsustainable. 

I am sad because our support for Gaza will die (hopefully not), just the way our support for minorities has died. 

Our expression and support for Justice and our Right to Stand against Oppression seems in a little wave. It comes and goes. Fad as they call it. 

     

This sadness in anyway can't underestimate what is happening in Gaza. But my selective silence and carefully choosing to support a misery seems as good as BBC's selective coverage of Gaza. 

We have always been told, there are two kinds of people in this world. Good or Bad. Hussain or Yazid. Gaza or Israel. I think, there are three kinds of people in this world today. Good, Bad and the one waiting to choose a side. Hussain, Yazid and people of Kufa. Gaza, Israel and people today.

We all choose to support causes based on what our friends, family and broader network has to say. We all influence each other's support for a cause. Ironically, we seldom critically assess our motivations for our support.

So don't give me your Gaza support, for I'll recall what your stance has been for minorities (including the sect you happen to share your religion with) in Pakistan. If your stance has been silence, I will judge your  support for Gaza as short-lived while praying for Gaza to earn some strong, sustainable and loyal supports who understand what Injustice, Oppression and Misery means across borders, identities and sects.

And don't give me Hussain's philosophy if your selective silence to killings back home have been reflecting your support for Yazid. And please don't give me numbers, for you will sound just like any other media house justifying their selective coverage.

Don't justify your niceness for it will only make your silence speak louder.

Aao.

Aao khamosh kerein.

Aao khamosh kerein her us soch ko.
us andr kay insaan ko.
un nafsani baton ko.
un khwabun ko. un sochun ko.
un khwabun mein palnay walay rangun k mirage ko.
un batun ko un cheezun ko.
un duniyawi hasratun ko.
un bemaani bebaat si ana k dard ko
Aao paar kerein androni paharun ko.
un jungalun ko..un sehra ko.
jo andr he andr paltay hain.
jo khamoshi k alam mein Khudi say Jung kertay hain.
jo aaj bhi hain aur kal bhi thay.
jo barhtay qadm ko, us azm ko, us muskurahat ko dard mein mubtila kertay hain.
jo apnay gham ko Khudi k saamnay laakr, Khudi ko behkaatay hain.

Aao khamosh kerein us duniya ko.
us waqt ko jo aaj is pal is waqt nahi.
us ehsaas ko jo ghuzra kal aur anay wala kal hai.
us darr ko jo masoomiyet k libaday main Khudi ko iztiraabi khaifiyet mein dalta hai.

Aao khamosh kerein khud ko. Un awazun ko. Un baatun ko. Un iradun ko. Un khwabun ko. Un sochon ko. Jo Khudi ko subkuch honay ka ghalat ehsaas deyti hain.

Tum ho bhi aur kuch bhi nahi.
aao bus khamoshi say jung kerein.
Apni khamoshi mein apni androni jung mein, subkuch bhool jayen.
Jo ho, woh sub kuch is maidan mein layao.
Aao apni ana ko, apnay dukh ko, apnay dard ko, apni umeedun ko khamosh kerdein.

aaao sirf Kuch bhi nahi bann jayen.
aaao har pal yeh khoshish kerein k hum kuch bhi na rahain.

Two.

There are two kinds of wine in front of me.  

One is good for me. It is pure. 

The other is not good for me. It is impure. 

Every second, I have to choose either of the two. 

The trouble is, both look the same. 

To the world, they may even taste the same. 

The only person who can differentiate between the two is me. 

However, both are addictive. Both taste well and both help me go high. 

One boasts my ego. The other boasts my soul. 

One is expecting and counting what others did for me, how much time they give to me. 

The Other is Living above it in the state of Stillness, and of Being and of Nothingness. 

One is fear. The Other is Courage. 

One is disagreeing endlessly to prove oneself as the right one. The Other is Meaningful Silence. 

One is vulnerabilities. The Other is Struggle. 

One is avoiding. The Other is acknowledging. 

One is denying. The Other is surrendering to Him and praying. 

One is shackles of my mind, darkness of my short shortsightedness. The Other is Vision and Liberation of thought. 

One is holding things down. The Other is letting things go. 

One is illusion of completion. The Other is Completion. 

One is addiction. The Other is Nothingness. 

One is rebelling, reacting by being a victim, by imposing on others. The other is Patience and Silence. 

One is naivety of suffering. The other is Beauty of Suffering.  

One is obsession to feel happy. The Other is Joy. 

One is gathering things. The Other is giving away things. 

One is my stream of thoughts, my ego, my world of whisperers that whisper Illusions of what I am and could be. 

The Other is a Struggle against all to remain as Nothing as possible. 

There are two wines in front of me. 

I choose. I decide. Every single moment. I decide which one to have and which one to ignore. For, "any wine will get you high, judge like a King and choose the purest"