For My Girls

Iss waqt to' yu'n lagta hai ab kuch bhi nahin hai
Mahtab na sooraj, na andhera na sawera

Aankho'n k dareecho'n pe kisi husn ki chilman
Aur dil ki panaho'n main kisi dard ka dera

This semester was difficult for most of us.

Some of us lost people we loved. Most of us didn't want to. =]

Some of us had to take difficult decisions, decisions that are going to affect the rest of our lives. Decisions that took a lot of soul searching, and sheer guts.

We cried a lot, this Fall 09. There were moments where we despaired of life. There were moments so dark, so lonely, we couldn't imagine we'd ever be happy again.

For most of us, Fall 09 was the end of a life time. The end of love, a relationship, student life or single life.

There were moments that will stay with us for the rest of our lives. Pain that will fade, but never vanish. Dreams that will never come true, but come to haunt us when we least expect them to.

A name. A color. A scent. A lost dream.

Secrets that we'll stash away, but never be able to forget.

Shakho'n main khayalo'n ke ghanay paerr ke shayad
Ab aa ke karay ga na koi khwab basera

Ik bair, na ik muh'r, na ik rabtt na rishta
Tera koi apna, na paraya koi mera

But in the last six months, we learnt some valuable lessons too.

We learnt not to depend on someone else for our happiness. We realized no one and nothing is forever.

We learnt to accept that life isn't going to be how we thought it would be. There are millions of roads, millions of unmarked streets we could lose ourselves in.

We learnt not to dream and plan too much before time, because then it hurts all the more when they can't come true. We learnt that we have to take life as it comes.

We came to understand that practicality comes before love every time, at the end of the day.

We learnt that we can't dig in our heels and fight life. But we can fight despondency. We learnt how to dress up, smile pretty, and pretend to be happy when we least felt like it.

We learnt that we can only be as awesome as we think we are. =]

In the last six months, the test of time also separated the friends from the not-so. There were people, from whom we never expected it, who stood by us when we needed someone the most. It brought us closer.

For that, we'll always be grateful to Fall 09.

And we made some decisions. We decided to be happy. We decided life isn't going lay us low. We decided we are going to be a success in our own lives. Because failure is only in ones mind. All the hurts, all the falls, made us stronger. More resilient.

We learnt that nothing is the 'end of the world'. That we can survive pretty much anything. That heart-break doesn't kill anyone. That life will always still go on.

And that a life time is a very, very long time.

Mana k ye sunsan gharri sakht karri hai
Lekin meray dil ye to' faqat aik gharri hai
Himat kero, jeenay ko to' ik umr parri hai.*

We're ready for the new year. And the start of a new us.

Let Spring 10 bring what it may.

*[This moment of loneliness is tough, I know, but, O Heart, this is but a moment. Have faith, there's a lifetime to live, still.]

Urgh!

I'm so angry right now. I had to write a piece, but this is clouding my emotions!!!! Ufff!!!!

Sheesho'n ka maseeha koi nahin

She's like a zombie.

She smiles, but she doesn't mean it. She goes about life, but she's not really there. Nothing interests her. There's no one she cares about any more. She just wants to run away, fly away somewhere where none of these people who profess to love her can follow.

Away from the plans and dreams they're dreaming for her. Away from the people who took away her right to decide for herself; her will.

It's what happens to a lot of women. But I've never seen it upclose before. I've never seen someone I love go through this.

This is not a love marriage/arranged marriage debate. This has nothing to do with parents wanting the best for their children. I don't negate that. But sometimes parents are too blinded by their own righteousness to see what's under their own noses.

There's nothing wrong with this guy. There's nothing wrong with his family. Except he's not who she wants. This isn't the life she wants to live.

And she's trying, but she isn't able to accept him. She cried, she begged, she rationalized, she argued; They didn't listen. They quickly got the nikah done, fearful of her rebellion. Took her on an umrah, with the whole family, and surprised her with nikah plans at the house of God. "You're so lucky", they gushed, "only the khushnaseeb get such an opportunity!".

We're all trying to make her comfortable with this new life of hers. The wedding is within six months. The guy wants to talk to her, the families push them together, try to coerce her into going out with him. She can't bring herself to. It's as if her heart shut down.

We lecture her, we patronize her, we hold her close and soothe her; we tell her this is it: this is how life will be, she has to accept it somehow, so she can move on. Her parents call us up, ask us to "talk some sense into her". "This is her life; she has to marry him, whether she likes it or not!", they declare, "it would be better if she just understands that. She's ruining her life!"

She's ruining her life?

Dig a hole, throw me in, and then demand I make myself comfortable. Accept my fate. Because otherwise I am ruining my life.

We're making plans for her wedding. What will we wear, what will we dance to. She sits there, quiet. Angry, sad, but silent.

My heart hurts when I think of what she has to go through.

"If, Allah na karay, you're ever at the point in life where I stand today, know that I'll be there to hold you, and to give you whatever comfort I can. If you're ever at this painful juncture, know that I'll understand what you're going through, and you won't be alone" she wrote.

Tum nahaq tukrey chun chun kar

Daaman mein chupaaye bethey ho

Sheeshon ka maseeha koi nahi...

Kya aas lagaye bethey ho?

Regrets

I'm never going to regret anything. I decided that a long long time ago.

Winning and losing in life is all in our own minds. It has to do with being content in our own skin; being satisfied with what we have, what we've done, who ever we've become. Two people exactly in the same positions (which is impossible, but hypothetically speaking) will have different ideas, different beliefs about whether or not they achieved that elsuive "something".

That "something" that, in the end, justifies our life.

To be satisfied, at any point in your life, it's important to not have regrets. And that is what I'm aiming for. I refuse to wallow in self pity, wondering where I went wrong, enumerating the "what-if"s and "what could have been"s. I'm not going to "try to forget" like everyone is always telling me to.

I've told my self, in no uncertain terms, that whatever choices I have made and will make, what ever decisions I took and will take, I'm going to take full responsibility for them. And I'm not going to regret a single moment.

Because with the bad are the good memories. When you look back with regret because of all the things that went wrong, you're belittling all the good that came about.

The bad memories are winning, and you're the only loser.

When I was about fourteen, my great grandfather died. He was more than a hundred years old. On our way back home, my father sighed and said "well, that's another story closed". That got me thinking.

To me, it's like every person has a book of their own. And in this book, every person this person comes in contact with, throughout their life, has a chapter. This chapter may be short and simple, or convoluted and lengthy. But it encaptures every angle of their relationship, every shade.

And when comes the time to part, be it due to death, or in life, that chapter is closed. But it’s always there, for us to leaf through when the mood hits. It’s always there to remind us of all the people who shaped our lives and made us who we are. It’s always there, with the hurts and the joy, our private time machine.

At the end of our life, He’s going to end our story, put an end to our book. Perhaps file it into His library, already chock full of old books, lives gathering dust.

But while we're alive, I think we should go back often, reading through our life, to revisit our old friends.

And regret not a word.

This September

Na deed hai na suk'han, ab na harf hai na payaam
Ko’ii bhii heela-e-taskeeN nahiiN aur aas bahut hai
Umeed-e-yaar, nazar kaa mizaaj, dard kaa rang
Tum aaj kuch bhi na pucho ke dil udaas bahut hai

You've finally left.

It's so strange: To have mattered so much for so long, and then to not matter at all. All these years I lived for "us". Every nuance, every shade of life, every scent was colored by "us". Every dream I dreamt, every emotion, every milestone; I associated it all with you. You were what held my life together. You were my rock: I depended on you so much, I forgot how to depend on my own self. I didn't even realize I was doing it, but I cut away from every other circle. I left debating, I forgot theatre, I abandoned my friends. Nothing mattered but "us".

I'm lost. I don't know how to deal with being on my own. I changed so much, in the last three years. I changed so I'd fit into "us". Now that there is no "us", I don't fit in anywhere. This not fitting in really hurts. I don't belong any more. And you don't belong to me. That hurts too.

I'll always hate September. I wish I could hate you.

[A rough translation in prose:
There is nothing to give me hope any more: no action or comfort, no word or message. There is nothing that would satisfy me, yet hope and need abounds.
Expectations of my lover, expressive eyes, the color of pain: Ask naught today, for my heart hurts much.
p.s. My apologies to Faiz
p.p.s. can someone come up with a better translation for "umeed-e yaar"? ]

Nasir Kamzi: New love

Those who sang by the riverbanks - what happened to them?
Those who sailed their boats - what happened to them?

The sunrise that almost dawned, where is it stranded?
The caravans that were to come - what happened to them?

All night long I await their arrival.
The ones who lit the path - what happened to them?

Who are these people who surround me?
Those who preserved friendship - what happened to them?

Those eyes that pierced the heart - what happened to them?
Those lips that smiled - what happened to them?

The buildings have burnt to cinders.
Those who would rebuild them - what happened to them?

Misery questions the lonely house:
“Those who lit your lamps - what happened to them?”

You and I are but burdens on this earth.
Those who shouldered the earth’s burden - what happened to them?

Translated from Urdu by Debjani Chatterjee

Realities

Sometimes we meet new people purely by mistake. You come in contact though some strange workings of fate, and you simply click. It doesn't have to be a romantic click. It's just two personalities that fit together. And there's chemistry there.

But often it's not meant to go beyond those first few days. Why? Usually because both of you have different expectations from the relationship. And because you weren't together long enough to know each other well enough to cope with the parts of your personality that do not click. It doesn't work out because you haven't known each other long enough to trust blindly, and because both of you assume some things which turn out to be untrue.

I made a new friend. I thought we'd talk about work, but we didn't. We discussed Reality and Perception and Time, and our dreams. In the first three hours of our friendship. =)

It didn't turn into "Friends Forever". Because "Friends Forever" probably doesn't exist. But also because our realities were different. Our perceptions were colored by our individual experiences, our stand points. And we hadn't known each other long enough to be able to understand those stand points.

It didn't turn into "Friends Forever". But I'll miss my friend for a long time.

Make-believe

When I was nine years old, I acted in a television serial. I was this little girl who's sent to live in Pakistan, without her family. Her parents are in Canada, where her mother is undergoing treatment for cancer. Then her mother expires, and her father comes back too. The serial, among other stories, followed the course of her life getting used to living without her mother, and later, how she sets up her father with her teacher.

For the most part, there was tragedy. I had to cry a lot. When I came to live alone. When I missed my mother, and when she died. The scene where my father comes back and we meet for the first time after my mothers death was my favorite. I remember I was crying so much, I could not stop myself to deliver my dialogues.

Yup, I did all of the crying myself. No glycerin, or any such crutch. My mum taught me how to do it. Before the shooting started, she took me to a number of her friends, people who'd lost a parent to cancer. And they told me how it was towards the end, what they saw, heard, and felt. And mum told me to absorb all of that.

She told me to recall it when I needed to call up those same emotions. Mum taught me how to put myself in that precise place, and imagine how I'd feel if it was actually happening to me. So I'd think, and feel. And deliver.

My first (and only) TV serial, I was awarded the regional PTV award, and nominated for the Nationals.

Why am I telling you all of this? As a disclaimer.

I write when I'm upset about something. When I'm in the grip of some strong emotion. So it comes out exactly like that: emotional. It does not mean I have a death wish, or I'm aimless, or that I need severe counseling. We're all lonely sometimes. We all get depressed.

I'm just thinking, and imagining, and feeling; and whatever I feel, I'm expressing it in my medium of choice: words.

It's not all make-believe. It's not all real. But then, how can we ever differentiate? =]

Sad Skies

Some times the sky makes me sad. I don't really know why. It just is so damn beautiful. Maybe it's the clouds. Maybe it's the knowledge that what is there today will be gone forever tomorrow. Like those clouds, constantly forming and reforming, changing shape, dissolving into sheer nothingness. Maybe it's just me being silly.

"We have a short time to stay,
As you, or anything, we die
As hours do, and die away
Like the summers rain;
Or as the pearls of morning's dew
Never to be found again"
("To Daffodils")

After the rain. (Mine, Islamabad)

Dolly's photography (Suburbs of Islamabad)

Doors and Keys

That's life. The answer to life, the universe and everything. Its all doors and keys. The doors are generally inconspicuous. The keys may be hidden. You can stand outside, kicking and screaming, getting angry and frustrated that you're not getting what you want. You can even act unaware, and deny that there's anything on the other side of that closed place. You may believe that getting through is impossible, or that it's someone else's fault that you can't get through ....

Or you can look for your key ... and walk right in.

Pentonville Road, Islington. (Catherine Cartwright Jones)

Written and Published March 2007

Justice is said to be blind. Unfortunately, when we’re talking about Pakistan, it also happens to be deaf, dumb, and slightly retarded.

Perhaps that is why, over the decades, we ourselves have become our worst enemy. A long time back, Faiz Ahmed Faiz penned a beautiful piece of poetry: “Hum dekhein ge” {We will watch}. He talked about Indian occupied Kashmir and how he hoped we would watch it liberated one day. On Friday, the 16th of March 2007, this rallying cry rang out over the radio, as our press was attacked by our very own “saviors”, the Punjab Police.

Sab Taj uch’halay jaein ge, sab takht giraey jaein ge,
Hum dekhein ge…

{All kings will be dethroned, all rulers ousted; We will watch…}

Haven’t we remained silent long enough? We slept through the war in Wana; we slept through the American “operation” in Bejaur; and we slept through Bugti’s murder. We even slept as our “agencies” kidnapped our own people and gave no explanation. When will we finally wake up?

Now, even our freedom of expression and freedom of press is threatened. The common man has no rights, for any minister, or a minister’s family member, might fanicfully humiliate or assault him publicly while he performs his duties (case in point: Federal Law Minister who beat up a waiter at Marriot, Islamabad and his son beat up a fellow passenger on a PIA flight). And why talk about the common man anyway when the country’s chief justice has no protection, no standing?

It is time to stop waiting for someone else to take charge. It’s time to take a stand for what is right. It is time to bring a revolution in our own lives; to think like a nation, rather then individuals. It is time to fight for Justice.

Aur raj karay gi khalq-e Khuda, jo main bhi hoon aur tum bhi ho
Hum dekhein ge…

{And the men of God shall rule, for you are one, and I am too; We shall see…}

Memories of Me

My biggest fear is being forgotten. Abandoned. Not "belonging". My biggest fear is that once I'm gone, no one will ever remember me. My biggest fear is not mattering enough to even warrant a memory.

The "Happy" incident reminded me of something else, and I set about rooting through the boxes I've made for myself.

I call them "Memory" boxes. There are four of them now.

I have everything. Amusement park tickets, Bus ticket stubs, memorabilia from every trip we ever took as a family. I have every card, every letter I ever received. Even little notes passed in class. I have the sash I wore, and the tiara thingie, the "Lady of the Evening" award from our high school "Farewell" Party. And I have the (still plastic wrapped) gift from the first McDonald's Happy Meal I ever had, when I was six or seven years old.

But that's not the interesting thing. What's interesting is that there are post-it notes (or little bits of paper) stuck on and around most of these things I've collected. Penciled onto them are comments like "Meenah wore this..*blah blah*...on..*date*", or "...gifted this to Meenah Tariq on...". These are mostly on the stuff that dates to when I was around thirteen, and before that.

I seem to remember reading somewhere about "Time Capsules", around that time. What you do is, you put stuff that matters to you, with notes explaining, and dates, into a non-perishable container. You then bury it in your garden. And you wait for someone, some day, decades hence, finding it, and being awed by the person you were.

I think that's where it started. I didn't bury my memories in the garden. But some one, some day, when I'm gone, will go through my boxes. And from "My Memories", they will become "Memories of Me".

This diary belongs to Happy

I saw a store named "Happy". Kitchen ware, decoration pieces, and lights. It took me back in time, to what seems like ages ago.

A precocious child, I was the center of my universe. I thought a lot of my self. Who I was, who I'd grow up to be: not in terms of professions, but the person I would be.

When I was twelve years old, I decided I'd always be happy. If not inside, then definitely on the out side. Anyone who would ever look at me would think 'there goes a happy person'. I'd never let anyone see me down, or sad. I'd never let anyone guess what I was really thinking. I'd never let anyone in that close. I would be the target of their envy, for always smiling thus.

Notice all the "would"s? I was twelve, for Gods sake!

On the first page of a miniature diary, I printed neatly: This diary belongs to Happy.

No shit.

Of Rose Gardens.

I'm a fighter. Yes I am. But sometimes, you just get tired of fighting and wish you'd get something good from life without having to work so hard for it. You wish you'd get something easily. So many people do. Why does everything have to be so complicated?

Some of us lose our rose tinted glasses early in life, and grow up too fast. Once you stop being a kid, it's just the same old thing over and over and over again. You look around with your cynical eyes and you recognize the patterns: the same hurt, the same pain, the same bloody vicious cycle. You realize there's nothing at all glamorous about anything in life. It's all a grand theatrical performance, and we don't have the script, but there's nothing new to the plot.

Yet, we're taken in every time. Average life expectancy is sixty years, generally. Half this time is enough to absolutely tire you of everything.

It disillusions you so much. You trust neither your own emotions, nor any one else's expressions. It all seems to be a sham. There are no dreams left, because you're afraid you'll get hurt if you let your self dream; if you let yourself hope; if you have expectations from people. There's nothing to look forward to in life. And there's no one you can blame.

Nobody ever promised me a rose garden.


May, 2007.

[Inspiration: "I never promised you a rose garden. I never promised you perfect justice and I never promised you peace or happiness. My help is so that you can be free to fight for all of those things. The only reality I offer is challenge, and being well is being free to accept it or not at whatever level you are capable. I never promise lies, and the rose-garden world of perfection is a lie . . ."]

Spent and unspent

Gone are the people who rocked and rolled in the world of music two decades ago. Gone are all the Pink Floyds' Kurt Cobains' & Elvis Preisleys'.
The birds that made us dream yesterday, the fears we had of failing school tests we never prepared for, the sunrises we hated to see at the strip of dawn when the alarm clocks sang go-to-school-another-day-awaits-you, the sorrows we shared together.. the games we played and loved - the victories we pondered about for days and months; the passions we had for little things like chocolates and group appreciations; those moments are now all dead, all long gone.
Dying with our emotions, we are mortal again, mortal as we were.
She said that he said live like there's no tomorrow. - A.K

It's sad, is it not? But if you hold on tight enough, some part of it all remains with you forever. The whiff of a smile, a sliver of sadness, a trickle of love. A taste of the passion, spent and unspent- all that remains of a grand feast. All our dreams photocopied black and white. Not as good as the original, but better then nothing.

Someone said that with searching comes loss, and the presence of absence. Well said, I say.

But nothing is ever gone. Not totally. The shadows remain. Often to haunt us. Memories lurking in the dusty halls of our mind. Sometimes I wonder whether it wouldn't have been better if they just left.

Maybe then we would have peace.

Confusion Reigns Supreme

Another April is almost upon us, and when I look back, I wonder what I should do.

No doubt, the journey was something I would not have missed. I got so much I never imagined I'd get. I belonged. I liked that. There was appreciation (at least in the beginning). All those heady experiences. I had a rock to cling to. I had support. I had promises.

I began to trust. I thought it would never be taken from me.

It has changed me in a thousand ways, not all of them positive. When the 'old' me looks at the 'new' me, I barely recognize myself. This is not what I signed up for, this isn't what I wanted.

If I could, I'd quit in a trice. If I didn't care. If I could stand not having my dreams come true. If I could stand knowing I'm a quitter.

Sometimes I wish I hadn't had those dreams at all.

Remember my songs...

A crowded garden, a thousand lights. Countless people, countless voices: a multitude of emotions.

An old man in a black tuxedo, playing the piano and singing old, sad songs. "For the price of a smile", he says, "all for a smile".

So we sit around the table, smiles upon our faces, tears glistening in our eyes, and the foreboding of loss heavy in our heart. And we pay for the songs with smiles and we sing along, each of us trying to make the evening memorable.

Chaltay, chaltay, mairay ye geet yaad rakhna...
As you move on, remember my songs...

It was definitely memorable. That walk, the play of emotions across a face, the confusion, the shy smiles; the hesitant admission, the laughter and the tears. And the promise to remember forever...


28th April 2007.

The presence of absence...

When someone dies, we all know what the waiting and mourning period is. It’s like an in built program. We cry the first day and it hurts like hell. We cry the second day too. By the third day, a sort of hysterical relief kicks in. We find our selves laughing crazily at stupid things. Then slowly but surely the storm starts to pass. We get comfortably numb, and yet, we never forget. A little gesture, a forgotten scent, anything can spark a flood of memories and the dull, silent ache is right there, in your heart.

It’s all right. Like I said, that’s how we’re programmed. We learn to accept death. We know how long to mourn, how long it’s supposed to hurt; how long it’s acceptable to cry about it; when the broken heart should mend.

But what is the mourning period for a loved one lost, not to death, but in the countless unmarked streets of life? How long should we hurt? When should the heart forget? Should we wait, clasping the hurt to ourselves, or should we give it up and accept the absolute presence of absence?

I only wish this was an inbuilt program too.


“With searching comes loss, and the presence of absence.”

We'll go down fighting...

Life is so vast, we never know what is significant in the grand scheme of things, and what is not. What should matter and what doesn’t. What should hurt and what shouldn’t. What we should remember and what we should banish to the dark recesses of our mind.

So we live it like we would live a moment. We live so everything is significant. Everything hurts, and every little joy is bliss. And we forget nothing, and remember forever. And in that one moment, we live eternity.

Life’s tough. Fortunately, we’re tougher.

Some where beyond the heart

Aur kuch dair main jab phir mairay tanha dil ko
Fiq'r aa le gi ke tanhai ka kia chara karay
Dard aaey ga dabay pao'n liey surkh chiraagh
Woh jo ik dard dharakta hai kahin, dil se paray

Dil se phir ho gi mairi baat, k aey dil aey dil
Ye jo mehboob bana hai tairi tanhai ka
Ye to' mehmaa'n hai gharri bhar ka chala jaey
Mushta'al ho ke abhi uthein ge wehshi saa'ey
Ye chala jaey ga, reh jaein ge baqi saey....


And in a little while, when my lonely heart will, once more,
Be distraught with worry, to find a solution to its loneliness
Pain will steel through me, glowing lantern held aloft:
The pain that beats somewhere beyond the heart;

And to my heart I'll say: O' heart,
This alleviator of your loneliness, your companion in solitude
Is, but the guest of a few moments, he will leave.
And clouds of gloom, banked down, will ignite again;
It is shadows that will remain; he will be gone...


So there it is. Love and betrayal. Reality barging in, to drag us out, kicking and screaming, of our love induced stupors.

Until it's just "me" again. And a memory of "us".

I don't believe in "happily ever after"s. Not for Romantic love, or any other kind. It's a wave, not a tide. It doesn't last a life time, or even half a one. It's a crazy little see-saw, where all the "downs" hurt like hell.

And yet, if you look back, when the pain has dulled a little, and if you really really try, it will let you look beyond the heart break. That's where the beautiful memories live.

So we march on to the beat of our hearts, knowing how it will be, ignoring all the warnings of our calculating brains. We march on, because it's the memories that make life worth living any way.

[It's Faiz again. I can't imagine how one person could express every one of the emotions we experience in our lives, with such soft poignancy. I wish he was still alive and I could meet him.]