You

I can’t, with any speck of honesty, say that I remember the very precise moment I found you to mean so much more than I could have imagined at the beginning. I can however, unequivocally say, that you make me think, you make me happy, and you make me access places I feel to be natural, yet secluded and rarely tapped. It’s important for me to thank you for what you do to me, even if your intent is as simple or as complex as conveying nothing at all. For the simplicity of the meaning, thank you.

Remembering my grandparents

26^th October 1999….how well I remember that day…it was an hour or two after noon when my father returned unusually from his work in a very sorry state indeed, crying all over himself. I was bewildered because I had never seen my father lose control of himself like that before. He was sobbing incoherently and in dreadful blast of realization, waves of truth came crashing down on me like a tsunami, engulfing me, drowning me. The reason became all too clear …Just hours before, my grandfather had been rushed to the Liaquat National Hospital when he had complained of a severe throbbing in his heart. There was instant commotion in the house. Everybody was praying albeit my grandmother, who just sat there, too dumbstruck to say anything…but my uncle who had gone to the hospital along with my grandfather, phoned to tell that the pain wasn’t a big deal and all was ok….i had come to peace at heart.

Yet the agonizing reality couldn’t be denied; my grandfather; my beloved, caring, sympathisizing, nurturing, kind, bespectacled grandfather was gone for well, never to return. I remember feeling lonely and out casted, as if a huge part of me had been chucked off. Some parts of me kept hoping that he would spring back up and tell me that it was all a big joke but yet my mind told me otherwise. He had gone on to where none of the sufferings of this world would hurt him. Time wore on and yet not a day passed when my thoughts didn’t dwell on him. I used to be his favourite grand kid and still am; of my grandmother.

My maternal grandfather had died when I was only 1.5 years old and so I remember very little of him. He lived in India as my grandmother did too, until 4 days ago, when she too, crossed the threshold. The news fell like a bombshell on my mother in particular who had just returned from India in July after having had visited and cared for my depreciating nani. Her health had been worsening for quite some time now and every one of us had growing concerns about it. Thankfully my mamu got married 2 months earlier, bringing gallons of joys for her, for she was always talking of not being there when her son would tie the knot.

My family goes there every alternative year but due to some reasons I haven’t been a part of that trip on the last two occasions. My nani in particular used to scold me off over the telephone by saying that I had lost all my love for her and others and that I didn’t care for them. She made me ashamed every time I talked to her yet I couldn’t do anything about it….and now she has passed on too…leaving me all miserable and disturbed for I feel guilt in my heart that can’t be described even in thousand words…I wanted to tell her that I still loved her and adored her just the way I used to when I was a kid and that every bit of me longed to be there, to be at her bedside, cherishing the togetherness but alas it was not to be.

Those of you out there who still have got their grandparents…please do spend some time of your day with them cause a man only truly appreciates the worth of something when it is finally out of his reach.

 “Only a life lived for others is worth living”

A VERY MERRY HAPPY EID MUBARAK TO EVERYONE

So I had a pretty awesome Chaand Raat with my family. Went shopping at the most craziest of hours and returned at a more crazier one. duh. Anyways. The malls were lined with a beeline of enthusiastic customers. people were laughing, joking and having one crème de la crème  of a time. there weresmiles all around. it felt amazing. 

had a stupid bomb alert notice announced earlier. But who cared. this night wasn’t supposed to be spent indoors. and hell, who gives a darn to that shit anyways. time and happenings have changed so much that no one knows for sure what’s true and what’s not.

Wish you people could have been there as well. it wasn’t just about having a truly joyous time with one’s family. it was about relishing the moment too. for we people have had had pretty low reasons to smile about recently, haven’t we?

Bottom-line: HAD A BEAUTIFUL CHAAND RAAT.

FELICITATIONS at its best.

A bleak scenario indeed

Disorderedness, panic and their beleaguered sister violence, have callously made our lives, as that of living in a hell. No matter which channel you log onto on your television, you are bound to come across a headline entitled ‘a bomb explosion’ or ‘a suicide attack’. These racketeering’s and explosions have become so common that  one wonders if there is something much more to them than meets the eye; something that maybe increases our bank balance or brings stability to one’s poverty stricken, drug afflicted and food deprived family. But sadly there isn’t. These guys are aimlessly blowing their brains off and in the process leaving dozen a families grief-stricken and heartbroken.

Not so far behind is the day to day mobile and wallet snatching incidents, the car and the bike jacking phenomenons and the trade of the mill kidnap for ransom case. We, may Allah forgive us for our numbness, have become so accustomed at hearing about these events that they tend to have no effect on us. None at all. That is, until and unless, it befalls upon us, or at those who are close and dear to us.

One might have hoped for a reduction in these crimes, since Ramadan is around. But there seems to be no holding back. Those devils of a people, with minds mundane and hearts selfishly darkened, apparently don’t have any respect for any kind of religious, cultural, historical or traditional festivities whatsoever.

A friend of mine, along with his father (aged about 68), was going to see an aunt of his. Iftaar was just around the corner. They had travelled a few paces, when they found their way blocked by two motorcycles. The occupants motioned them to stop and move over to the side of the road. My friend, his heart throbbing fearfully, did as he was told. The men took away his wallet and the mobile phone and then moved over to his dad’s side, to threaten for more. Now it so happens that the mirror on the side of my friend’s father was not in a working condition and since the car was an automatic one, it couldn’t be scrolled down. The thieves wouldn’t take anything else but an obeying command as an answer, and seeing no response from the old men, fired once, twice, three times into the mirror, blowing it to smithereens. It ruptured strikingly, shards flying everywhere and hitting both my friend and his father painfully.

The robbers fled off, leaving behind an injured old man, a sobbing and panicky young lad, a bullet riddled car and an aunt who was waiting somewhere unknown, happily anticipating the arrival of her beloved relatives.

The father got a bullet shot at his hand. It had passed right through the flesh and the wound bled endlessly. (Noteworthy is the fact that he was a patient of sugar already, and had had a heart attack once before). He was in so agonizing a pain that his son couldn’t stand the side. Thankfully though he recovered his composure, drove off to a nearby hospital, where after bandaging and minor cleansing, an orthopedic surgeon took over the matters. Sharpenals were removed, all but one, which seemed to have been lodged in a critical area and couldn’t be operated upon. Praise is to Allah though, for he miraculously saved both of their lives or who knows what might have happened. The father is recovering well. (It needs to be mentioned here that the entire family had suffered a rather grievous tragedy just a year back. The eldest of my friend’s brother’s, a pilot, had died in a plane crash, leaving behind a young widow, a 6 year old son and a 8 year old daughter).

I remember crying inconsolably at his brother’s funeral though I don’t know why. I wasn’t friends with him and had hardly met him. Maybe it was just the way he died or his mother’s heart wrenching wails that had me weeping copiously.

The system it seems has failed to deliver. It has been at fail since times unknown and would continue to do so miserably until and unless there is a miracle. Yes. A miracle. For sorely enough, I must concede that there isn’t a single individual in sight who’s got what it takes to curb this lawlessness and instability that has engulfed our nation. Internal strives, calls for new provinces, ethnic prejudices, raucous blackmailing and fraud and humungous induction charges don’t portray a bright future, do they? The end is nigh.

Or is it?

Are we willing?

Willing to sacrifice our causes for the sake of our country? Willing to embark upon a mass uprising for freedom? Freedom from the plethora of corrupted politicians, bribed bureaucrats, a sold and fraudulent constitutional hierarchy and above all, freedom from ignorance and an apathetic mindset. Are we willing?

Maybe what we all are waiting for is a brother to die, a sister to get wounded, a father to be bullet riddled and a mother to weep and shriek incoherently. Maybe then we’ll realize what’s at stake. Maybe then we’ll retaliate, and maybe, just maybe, RISE for a change.