Healing

I fled to the state where my tears ceased coming. I kept myself on the floor-motionless. My head; dripping blood. I kept myself this way for a long time. My eyes like a statue, centered on the girl who had crushed my head with a stone, she was holding.

I stared at her face, how it was glistening with joy at her own death. Now, my eyes lingered here and there with envy; she was swaying and swaying- celebrating my death.

And then…I shifted my gaze from her to my own being. My heart skipped a beat at the sight of a stone, resting on my hand. I noticed she has stopped dancing and she is looking at me, like a lost woman, who has found her home. I, quickly, let go of the stone, I was holding.

I felt as if I was not holding a stone but a ball of fire. A fire, burning not only my hands but my soul too.

The girl started uttering words with her eyebrows stretched in rage. As she showed her words a window to escape. A door cracked open with a light. A light, like rain dripping off the sky.

I looked at how she laughed and laughed until her scar got healed. I looked and looked until I realized she is me. She is ‘who I am’.

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Somewhere…

I was standing right in the middle of a narrow road of a Bazaar. There were different shops on both sides of this road. Electric wires hung, like a complex maze, not so high from the ground.
Terraces of buildings were unique. Their wooden fences were handcrafted, their paint faded, their pillars cracked.
Aged houses on the top floors; little mod shops on the ground floors. The contrast was striking, yet beautiful. Everytime, I took a glance of people, shops and carts; I found myself falling in love with colours, diversity and simplicity of my surrounding.

I kept walking; camouflaging myself into the crowd. Vendors were selling fruits. Men were pulling carts. Women, holding bags. Children, holding their mother’s hand.

I had never felt this much peace and relief before, in an unruly and noisy place. Maybe, it matched my inner chaotic world. Maybe, those roads had same stones, same patches like mine. Maybe, the surrounding had disguised itself into the same concrete wall like mine. Maybe, it had sung the same song with same melody, like my heart once had, with its full tranquility.

Fractured walls and broken mirrors seem beautiful to me because I find myself in them. I find my reflection in them, I find my soul in them, which I might have lost somewhere between living my life and breathing just to pass the number of days.

My Birthday

So, today is 7^th May, 2017. Today is my Birthday. Today is the day I turn 21. This day I owe myself an apology. A letter from a girl, I used to be, to a girl, I am now. Today, I owe myself a celebration. I should thank my God for the life He has given me. I owe myself all the happiness, which I made myself deprived of. I owe myself peace, for I have given myself a hard time.

I want to pour my heart down on this paper for those who are having a bad time, a bad day, a bad semester, a bad job or a bad year. I want to tell you, for all the times, when you put yourself into sadness, you commit a crime against your beautiful soul. Yes, my friend! Sadness is a choice. One of the lies “misery” tells you is that, “You can’t get out of this gloom”. But, I want you to fight this hopelessness. Now I know, it takes courage to get out of your bed every day, even if, you feel like there is no point in living. It takes strength to stand and talk, even if, your body aches. It takes a big heart to start your life again, even if, you have zero energy. You owe yourself care, protection and all the sunshines of this world, because you are a warrior. Fighting the fights, you yourself know about. Look at your scars and take pride in your bravery. Next time, you fall, make sure, you fall gracefully. Next time, life knocks you down, make sure, you stand up more confidently than before.

With every tick of a clock, each part of my soul becomes closer to my destiny. With each passing day, life prevails to me a new reality about itself. And, with each passing night, I become nearer to the meeting, which is with my Lord. I would keep smiling and struggling, until I meet Him, who is the Most Merciful. I would keep improving myself, so that, I could stand in front of Him and say, “Here I am, Rabbi. Look Rabbi! I made it through this life.” 🙂

Just a Story!

“Article seven: If you have no reason or ability to be, then just endure. If you have …no…reas. If you….”, sitting crossed legged on a cushion, lost in a corner of a room-which she secretly calls her ‘sanctuary’ ,a cup of tea in her hand has turned into a sweet cold cocktail ,while she unconsciously repeats the same sentence, may be, fifth time in a row from a book. The entire world could pledge that she is reading a book and that the wrinkles on her forehead are changing briskly, likewise those fluctuating ups and downs in a story. But, NO! She is somewhere else, might be taking a flight for another country while sitting on a same cushion for almost one hour. “Day dreaming is good for health”, she whispers this sentence to herself, whenever she gets worried about her opaque imagination.

HAREEM! HAREEM! , someone was shouting her name, only God knows for how long they have been calling her. She shuffled some pages, found what she needed, placed that book mark and stood instantly. A total black-out in her vision, she continued walking, and just when she reached mirror, her eyesight decided to return- this is what she always declared as wrong timings. She took a glimpse of herself, averted her gaze, gasped, and pressed her lips together tightly, made some heart wrenching faces and went away. ”Tsk tsk! Remorse? Anger? What was it Hareem?” “There is always this voice.” She said to herself, “It interrogates me, struggles to make me feel worthless with its suspicious and pitiful talks, always trying to add fuel to the fire.”

The sun was at its highest, showering all its glitter upon the earth, melting everything with its harsh existence. There she was, flying in the middle of a boiling road. Hareem has this new habit of walking anxiously. For instance, she might be going to her kitchen, but she would stand up hurriedly, make grim faces, and take steps in such speed that people around her would imply that she is going to wage war against this entire universe. Absent-mindedly, out somewhere in space, she was mumbling some words “like a small boat in an….in an…..” She goggled at her shoes and then, her eyes went to focus the road-this is what she always declared as stupidity. Paused. A breath skipped. A moment paralyzed. It felt as if Earth has stopped revolving. Her veins could burst in any minute now. A tinge in her whole body. And, now she has decided to walk again, but this time with more cloddish manner. “Tsk tsk! Anger. Isn’t? You don’t like your own shadow? ”. “Ignore. Ignore.” Hareem started whispering to herself until the voice accepted her defeat.

Tick tock, Tick tock. Lying on a bed. Changing sides. Tick tock, Tick tock. Closing her eyes. As if, shutting one’s eyes has always helped shutting one’s mind too.

Voice: If you don’t hate yourself, then why you keep running away from yourself.

Hareem: I don’t run away. Understand? I DON’T. I just don’t like ‘shadows’ and ‘reflections’.

Voice: Ahhh!! Right! And, what is reflection? A replica of your own self. What is shadow? An idea. A mere sketch of your own being.

Hareem: What do you want from me? WHAT’S YOUR PROBLEM? (She was shouting at the top of her lungs)

Voice: Why you hesitate to own yourself? Why you ignore yourself?

Hareem: STOP THIS NONSENSE!! OK?

Voice: Why don’t you look straight into your own eyes and say yes, I own these scars. Yes, I am not perfect.

Hareem: I DON’T WANT TO LISTEN TO YOU .STOPPP.

Voice: Yes, I make mistakes. Yes, I am a human. So what?

Hareem: You’re funny! (Laughs)

Voice: You torture yourself .You think yourself as a victim. You are not weak.

Hareem: Who do you think you are?

Voice: I am you. I am your reflection. I am your shadow. I am your everything, which you always deny to own.

Hareem: Why can’t you just leave me? Because ….because!! When I look at you, I feel worthless. When I hear your footsteps, I feel ashamed. When I look at your actions, I want to suffocate myself to death. I can’t even stand your presence, singing praises for you is as hard as trying to remove that venom showered by you in the last two minutes.

Voice: Have you ever seen broken pieces of a mirror? Do you know, despite of the fact that it is shattered and inadequately laying on the floor, it is brave enough to reflect back.

Hareem: Have you ever seen a hopeless pebble resting on a pathway? People look at it and hurl it away with their feet!!

Voice: There was this girl. You know? I have known her for many years. When she was trying to walk for the first time in her life. She took few steps and stumbled on the floor. I got nervous. But, her infectious smile was enough to make me believe in her.

Hareem: I buried her with my own vicious hands.

Voice: She still waits for you. She still loves you. She might be somewhere in your memories. She is somewhere locked in the rooms, where you no longer wish to go. She is somewhere in the highlands, flying, believing, dancing and singing.

Hareem: Where can I find her?

Voice: In the little moments, where the sun rises and tears off darkness. In the little moments, where you step forward and dare to fight. In the moments, where you dream what you want to dream. In the moments, where you say farewell to your fears; where you spread your wings and love yourself.

She did not know how to answer it. She got up. Ran upstairs. Sat beside the window; cried until her eyes got exhausted and pleaded her to stop. She wiped her own tears off; looked at the sky full of stars. Smiled at the beginning of a journey full of roses and thorns.

To the ones who are still awake.

 

It’s 3:30 AM. People are in a deep slumber.

Trees are envious of earth for its ambiguity and depth. Flowers are revolting against their own fashion, ungratefully, wetting their eyes with gloom. The air is fresh and in an impulsive mood; hitting everything that dares to block its way.

That bottle, you left outside, in the hallway, is now brutally dragged, here and there, on the floor. The continuous rattle produced by it is a prevailing proof of air’s insanity.

People, still sleeping.

That door, you left ajar is now being, indecisively, opened and closed by a surly gust of wind. It is opened against its own will and then slammed, facing rage for being too flexible. The raucous screeches coming from it welcomes nothing, but fury.

People, still sleeping.

Rain steps in with blood in its eyes. Wind stares at its opponent and roars like a brave lion. They both fight against each other, causing havoc. They wash away everything that stands in dismay. Tress, walls, bushes; now they all wish to dance in harmony.

The rattling, the shrieking, the rustling, the drum roll of raindrops, all sing along; composing a perfect melody for an imperfect world.

Alas! People, still sleeping.

Memories

 

“They’re climbing that wall”, someone said it with excitement. Me and my cousin, the tomboys, rushed towards it ;frill of our frocks swaying in air; running with our tiny feet , taking big steps ; assuring to the carefree world of ours that we are little ,yet monstrous.

We started clambering up without any fear of falling .Bravery dripping off our foreheads. Our knees and hands grazing against the wall. Those scratches and bruises couldn’t stop us from reaching the rooftop of a quarter— located in our neighbor’s house. This entire struggle was for a jamun tree, which was standing, high and tall, in our neighbor’s lawn. Picking up a fruit directly from a tree, and then eating it right away has its own charm.

I found myself suppressing a smile. The distinctive quality of such memories is that they convince you to open more doors to the past; it often leads you to haunting rooms, which you have to unlock with a throbbing heart.

And, there I was, standing on a boat. My two or three friends from university were standing behind me in a queue. Apparently, I was blocking their way. I was scared from a small gap between the boat and a wooden platform. I tried to avert my eyes from the water beneath the boat and the slightest glimpse of the wavering water surface caused my adrenaline to run swiftly. My friend on the other side of the boat was asking me to hold her hand and step forward. All I had was embarrassment and fear.

As I write these sentences, I am soaked in guilt from head to toe. The two rooms, I had visited was part of me. These memories belong to me and only me. But, if one is sky, then the other is a deep well. Both connect themselves to the two different sides of a dice. If one is still standing on a rooftop eating jubilantly fruits, then the other is sitting in a corner of a room, fighting with herself, writing her feelings out. They both are inhabitants of two opposite shores, evidently, hostile to each other.

The lost piece of a puzzle is courage; it is standing on a fragile bridge, and still struggling to make things work out, just because there is no single speck of doubt in your heart. It is looking at your wounds, and still continuing to climb rather than shivering from inside at the sight of a tiny blood drop.

 

 

A burning thirst for escape…

Lights off. Dark. She has made herself familiar with an unusual rhythm of silence. She loves pouring it into her heart. She unconsciously hides herself in the world of phantasm. Sometimes her spirits take months to sail back home.

But right now..I guess.. she is hanging somewhere between her thoughts and …reality!?!

The surrounding is quite blurry. The pace with which everything is swirling around her is outstandingly fast. She tries very hard to catch a dubious stream of mysterious objects encircling her. Colors are submerging into one another making an obscure picture.

Her eyes! Zoom in. Zoom out. Zoom in. Zoom out. It’s pretty hurting but still she can’t conceive what’s around her. Her whole body is tired. She can’t do this anymore. But, she can’t move herself either. She feels as if her whole body is tied with ropes. She feels as if she is being forced to see illusions. Her eyes are still zooming in and out.

She strives to speak “Where …..a..m I? No one replies. Her throat is dry. Her body,stiff.

Again dark. She gasps. “It’s over”.
She opens her eyes.
What?? Water?!?

She is baffled by this sudden change.

The depth of sea has always send shivers down her spine. She exerts her full energy to swim. She moves each and every muscle; each and every bone. She moves her whole body abruptly. She does every possible thing to escape. She could see death knocking at her door. Eventually, she surrenders. She had never been so coward in her entire life as she is now. She gives herself to the depths of water. She hands herself to her fate. Everything turns into slow motion. She has always been fond of listening. Ripples; she can hear them. She is drowning. Her skin has turned into cotton now. She is fading. She keeps herself this way. She keeps herself drowning. This is how death feels like —slow and dreary. She smiles at the end of her own story.

Again Dark. She gasps. “I know it’s not over yet.”

I Don’t Care!

Sometimes leaving a mountain untouched is better than trying to lift it up to some place.

You have to leave some affairs to nature’s flow. Some words are precious when they are still in your mind. Some relations are more respectable when they are neither too close nor too distant. Some matters hurt less when they remain unquestioned. Sometimes unsaid words which still sparkle in your eyes hit more than any other speech.

One must be cautious enough to know that not everyone and everything needs his supervision. Height of absurdness is beating your brains out in order to know what people think about you or trying to hush every mouth which speaks against you. All of the claptrap makes you forget your real aim.

I am not telling everyone to stop trying. I am not against speaking up. I am against misusing your confidence, bluntness and strength. Your guts are of no use when they only speak when your ego is hurt. Your bluntness is of no use when it can’t support a right cause. Your strength is of no use when you waste it on senseless activities. You waste your good skills when you don’t know the difference between the things which are facilitative and things which are destructive.

Always being a control freak would give you extra tension on your shoulders. One must stop paying heed to the matters which are not in his own hands. Rather one must determine the value of each jigsaw puzzle which life throws at him and decide whether it is worth solving or not.

Hold on to the matters that are significant and exert all your strength on them. Wise people don’t bat an eye on what people think about them, they look down, humble and modest. They keep working hard. They keep on improving. They try to keep their intentions pure. And leave the result to God.

Write! For your own peace “Write”.

Give your hand a pen. Turn your thoughts into a voice. Sink your screams into a language. Show your light a door. Write your heart out.

World is a strange place. Isn’t it???

 

Life goes on with all its impediments and amusements. The cycle of never ending miseries, enjoyments and perplexities keep on going. And you, this beautiful soul, keeps on facing them like a warrior.

As I try to encapsulate whole chain of events in one box. As I try to measure the vastness of the things which life throws at me .I become shocked that how all the things, all the events of blissfulness or wretchedness around me become worthless. The cycle of sadness and happiness is destined. None of the bad days last longer and same goes for the good days.

Life is not about all of this .It has more meaning .It has more deepness .It has more doors which are still locked. All of the bitty matters, glittering objects and troubles around you become meaningless when you realize that this life of yours has more worth. All of the nonsense around you doesn’t bother you anymore when you realize, that you are here in this world for a mighty purpose which is still to be explored. These shiny little things are just hurdles on your way to your destination. You have to fight till the end with a smile on your face, because none of these things are going to be with you for the rest of your life.

Here I go, falling down!

 

We get used to the pain. First, we reject everything, we feel miserable about it, but eventually, we give up and accept the things the way they are. Sometimes, our hearts don’t get completely satisfied and there is always a void which we find difficult to handle.

Humans have childish nature. We think that shutting our eyes down from the reality would make things better .We try to fill voidness with things which seem beautiful from the outside only. We tend to make ourselves happy with ephemeral objects.

We think that we could forget our inner loss with something deceitful in nature. We don’t stop ourselves from going into the pit of materialism. The more we become empty, the more we try to lean against the cracked walls.
And, finally those walls knock us to the ground. We start blaming the walls for our downfall. But, no one takes the blame .We have to stand alone in the hell which was created by our own hands. Life becomes the only reason we start loving death.

Everything fails to satisfy us. Numbness creeps into our souls. In a chaotic crowd, we stand alone, deaf and blind. It seems we don’t belong to any place or to anyone. Our souls always drag us to somewhere else. We keep on wandering until we find a path where there is some hope and some light. This is the time in our lives, when impossible becomes possible.

We find our Creator. Each one us stands alone in front of Allah. Everything starts revolving between us and our God. It is us and The Healer. It is us and The Giver. That’s how we get to know the boundaries of our vision and intellect. That’s how we all get to know the limitedness of our world and infiniteness of His kingdom.

Mujhe Yeh Shikwa Ke Tu RuBaru Kyun Nahi,
Usse Yeh Maan Ke Mujhe Dhoondh Ke Mill.

Oblivion

I am standing in front of a picture. A beautiful picture of a girl. She is drenched in happiness. Her eyes, watery, filled with joy. Her cheeks, red. Her face, fresh and charming. I make a disapproving face. My chest aches now. There is something about this picture, which makes me feel like shattering. I don’t want to see her. But I couldn’t resist myself. I try to look at her from the corner of my eye. I raise my hand to set my hair. The girl does it too. A tear drop rolls down on my cheek. The girl starts crying too. I come closer to her. She does the same. My hands! My hands are not empty now. Anger –I can feel it .My blood boiling inside my veins. I am trembling inside. I gawk at the stone I am holding. I raise it just above my head. My eyes welling up with tears. Shutting my eyes down as hard as I could. And then …and then ….I…I drop it on my head. The girl falls down. I can feel that….she is struggling to breath. Her head soaked in blood. Her eyes wide open. She is looking at me; like a prey looking at her hunter; like an innocent asking for her fault.
I laugh and laugh until I realize I have killed the girl in the mirror!