मैं.
एक अनूठा अनोखा शब्द “मैं”.
कभी मेरी सक्शियत को सवार्ता,
कभी उसे दूसरों से जुदा करता है यह "मैं".
कभी ख़ुद मैं इतना घुल जाता की
ख़ुद से हे डर जाता है यह "मैं"।
कोई इसे मेरा स्वार्थ कहता
कोई इसे मेरी अस्तित्व की पहचान बताता
मगर इन सब से जुदा है मेरा "मैं"।
यह एक साया सा है,
अपनों को पराया करता,
और परायों को अपना करता,
शायद एक माया सा है.
मैं ख़ुद भी नही जनता की "मैं" क्या है।
अकेलेपन का डर,
या उसका एक अंश.
भीड़ से अलग एक पहचान बनने की कोशिश,
या उसी का हिसा बनने का प्रयत्न
बस इतना जनता हूँ की मेरा हमेशा साथ देनेवाला साथी है यह,
मेरा आनेवाला कल और मेरा माजी है यह।
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
A Childhood Destroyed
Picture this. A 12 year old girl is sitting and watching TV alone at home. The shadow of a man falls on the wall opposite her. Her body tenses and she sits up a bit straighter. She prays it isn’t a repeat of last night. It felt like her body would explode and she wouldn’t be able to get up again. She starts crying and begs God to make her mother return at that very instant, but her father has already begun to unzip her dress.
Incest between fathers and daughters is far more prevalent than most middle class Indians would care to admit. The word in the popular mind might suggest consensus: the more accurate meaning in these circumstances is the rape of innocents in your care.
“A 16- year old girl child was being abused by her own father,” says Father Edward of BOSCO, an NGO dealing with street children. “An NGO member came to know about it and had the child agree to file a complaint against her father. When the family came to know about this, instead of helping and supporting the child, they deserted her. Similarly in another case, seven boys abused a 15-year-old girl child after giving her drugs. When we contacted the family, the members refuse to either talk about it or file any complaint.” Child sexual abuse according to him is a growing problem and a concern.
Child Abuse: India in 2007, a report prepared by the Department of Women and Child Development defines sexual abuse as inappropriate sexual behavior with a child. It includes fondling a child’s genitals, making a child fondle adult’s genitals, intercourse, incest, rape, sodomy, exhibitionism and sexual exploitation. To be considered child abuse, these acts have to be committed by a person responsible for the care of a child (for example a parent, baby sitter, etc.) or related to the child. If a stranger commits such acts, it would be considered sexual assault.
According to the report, 53.22% of all children in India were sexually abused. Andhra Pradesh, Assam, Bihar and Delhi reported the highest percentage of sexual abuse among both boys and girls. As many as 21.90% of child respondents reported facing severe forms of sexual abuse and 50.76% other forms of sexual abuse. 50% of the children were abused by a person known to them or in a position of trust and responsibility. Most of these children did not report the matter to anyone.
In a study conducted on the same issue of child sexual abuse by Anita Rattan of Samvada, an NGO, she notes that 47% of the respondents were molested or experienced sexual overtures, 15% of whom were less than 10 years old. 15% of the respondents experienced serious forms of sexual abuse including rape, 31% of whom were less than 10 years old.
Says Father Edward of BOSCO, “We don’t have data to prove this. But out of 4,500 children that we get every year, 60%-70% of them are sexually harassed. Street children, mostly girls are more vulnerable to sexual abuse. Although, boys are also not free from such abuse.”
“The people the children trust the most harass them, for example father, mother, tuition teacher, a close relative, neighbour, or just an older friend.” He continues, “In case of street children, the younger kids gets sexually harassed by the older ones. For example, a child who comes to Bangalore from let’s say Mangalore. The child will befriend some older kids, who will gain his trust and then after a few days will start sexually harassing the child. These kids live on railway stations, bus stations, etc. This is the problem that exists in society. The physiological and physical health of the child is not considered in face of the social stigma that will be attached to the girl if the word comes out about her sexual abuse.”
According to a report in citizenmatters.in, Dr Shoiba Saldanha, a gynecologist and counsellor by profession, who is active in Enfold, a Koramangala-based NGO creating awareness of child sexual abuse, says that 30%-40% of the patients who visit her are sexually abused children. Dr Shekhar Seshadari of the National Institute for Mental Health and Neurological Sciences, Bangalore, in a study conducted in the late 1990s on 146 boys found that 15% had been sexually abused by family members, friends or neighbours and the abuse started as early as at 6 years of age.
In an article on Boloji.com by Aditi De (and Nazu Tonse), who set up Askios, a local self-help group for woman survivors like her in Bangalore says, “I don't remember most of my childhood, except for brief flashes of when I was about three. I blocked out the experience of abuse, as many survivors do. I was 13 when I spoke to my parents, who got upset, made sure the perpetrator didn’t visit us any more and told me to get on with my life,” she recalls. “It was only in my mid-30s that I found it impossible to ignore the sexual abuse I had undergone as a child. In about the year 2000, a psychotherapist in Bahrain worked with me for almost two years to help me to heal.”
According to a report by United Nations Children’s Fund or Unicef on child sexual abuse in South Asia, in India victims of sexual abuse were abused by family members, relatives and close friends. Says Binoe Manuel, a social activist working with Save India Family Foundation, “I had a case where a divorced mother of an 8 year old daughter remarried. This girl was excellent in her studies before the marriage, good at elocution, extra curricular activities. She was the life of her class. Then she started lagging behind. Her attitude towards life changed. She even tried to commit suicide. When counseled we discovered the reason for the sudden change was the sexual advances by her stepfather.”
He adds, “Sexual harassment is not restricted to girls, even boys are victims of such abuse. I had another 10th Std student, who was brought for counseling due to numerous complaints of his sexual advances towards the girls in his class. We discovered that he had been forced to have sex by his paternal uncle’s wife.”
According to a report by UNICEF, sexual abuse of children severely undermines the notion of ‘personhood’. Its psychological and emotional impacts include depression, fear, mental disturbances, sleeping problems and low self-esteem. Says Mr. Manuel, “The child looses confidence in everyone after they have been sexually harassed. The child then just stops trusting anyone and everyone. Kids like such, lose faith in wholesome relationships. They find it extremely difficult to believe that people can actually like them for what they are, and not seek any sexual pleasure or don’t have any ulterior motive behind their actions. However, if counseled properly, they might be able to get over their past.”
We believe that our children are our future, so how can we allow so many of them to tortured in this way? Says a victim, “I want to challenge this world and ask people how they can continue to let things like this happen? How can they allow children to live unprotected while those who commit violent crimes against them go free? How will the world take the responsibility for children and protect them from violence, sexual abuse and exploitation?”
Incest between fathers and daughters is far more prevalent than most middle class Indians would care to admit. The word in the popular mind might suggest consensus: the more accurate meaning in these circumstances is the rape of innocents in your care.
“A 16- year old girl child was being abused by her own father,” says Father Edward of BOSCO, an NGO dealing with street children. “An NGO member came to know about it and had the child agree to file a complaint against her father. When the family came to know about this, instead of helping and supporting the child, they deserted her. Similarly in another case, seven boys abused a 15-year-old girl child after giving her drugs. When we contacted the family, the members refuse to either talk about it or file any complaint.” Child sexual abuse according to him is a growing problem and a concern.
Child Abuse: India in 2007, a report prepared by the Department of Women and Child Development defines sexual abuse as inappropriate sexual behavior with a child. It includes fondling a child’s genitals, making a child fondle adult’s genitals, intercourse, incest, rape, sodomy, exhibitionism and sexual exploitation. To be considered child abuse, these acts have to be committed by a person responsible for the care of a child (for example a parent, baby sitter, etc.) or related to the child. If a stranger commits such acts, it would be considered sexual assault.
According to the report, 53.22% of all children in India were sexually abused. Andhra Pradesh, Assam, Bihar and Delhi reported the highest percentage of sexual abuse among both boys and girls. As many as 21.90% of child respondents reported facing severe forms of sexual abuse and 50.76% other forms of sexual abuse. 50% of the children were abused by a person known to them or in a position of trust and responsibility. Most of these children did not report the matter to anyone.
In a study conducted on the same issue of child sexual abuse by Anita Rattan of Samvada, an NGO, she notes that 47% of the respondents were molested or experienced sexual overtures, 15% of whom were less than 10 years old. 15% of the respondents experienced serious forms of sexual abuse including rape, 31% of whom were less than 10 years old.
Says Father Edward of BOSCO, “We don’t have data to prove this. But out of 4,500 children that we get every year, 60%-70% of them are sexually harassed. Street children, mostly girls are more vulnerable to sexual abuse. Although, boys are also not free from such abuse.”
“The people the children trust the most harass them, for example father, mother, tuition teacher, a close relative, neighbour, or just an older friend.” He continues, “In case of street children, the younger kids gets sexually harassed by the older ones. For example, a child who comes to Bangalore from let’s say Mangalore. The child will befriend some older kids, who will gain his trust and then after a few days will start sexually harassing the child. These kids live on railway stations, bus stations, etc. This is the problem that exists in society. The physiological and physical health of the child is not considered in face of the social stigma that will be attached to the girl if the word comes out about her sexual abuse.”
According to a report in citizenmatters.in, Dr Shoiba Saldanha, a gynecologist and counsellor by profession, who is active in Enfold, a Koramangala-based NGO creating awareness of child sexual abuse, says that 30%-40% of the patients who visit her are sexually abused children. Dr Shekhar Seshadari of the National Institute for Mental Health and Neurological Sciences, Bangalore, in a study conducted in the late 1990s on 146 boys found that 15% had been sexually abused by family members, friends or neighbours and the abuse started as early as at 6 years of age.
In an article on Boloji.com by Aditi De (and Nazu Tonse), who set up Askios, a local self-help group for woman survivors like her in Bangalore says, “I don't remember most of my childhood, except for brief flashes of when I was about three. I blocked out the experience of abuse, as many survivors do. I was 13 when I spoke to my parents, who got upset, made sure the perpetrator didn’t visit us any more and told me to get on with my life,” she recalls. “It was only in my mid-30s that I found it impossible to ignore the sexual abuse I had undergone as a child. In about the year 2000, a psychotherapist in Bahrain worked with me for almost two years to help me to heal.”
According to a report by United Nations Children’s Fund or Unicef on child sexual abuse in South Asia, in India victims of sexual abuse were abused by family members, relatives and close friends. Says Binoe Manuel, a social activist working with Save India Family Foundation, “I had a case where a divorced mother of an 8 year old daughter remarried. This girl was excellent in her studies before the marriage, good at elocution, extra curricular activities. She was the life of her class. Then she started lagging behind. Her attitude towards life changed. She even tried to commit suicide. When counseled we discovered the reason for the sudden change was the sexual advances by her stepfather.”
He adds, “Sexual harassment is not restricted to girls, even boys are victims of such abuse. I had another 10th Std student, who was brought for counseling due to numerous complaints of his sexual advances towards the girls in his class. We discovered that he had been forced to have sex by his paternal uncle’s wife.”
According to a report by UNICEF, sexual abuse of children severely undermines the notion of ‘personhood’. Its psychological and emotional impacts include depression, fear, mental disturbances, sleeping problems and low self-esteem. Says Mr. Manuel, “The child looses confidence in everyone after they have been sexually harassed. The child then just stops trusting anyone and everyone. Kids like such, lose faith in wholesome relationships. They find it extremely difficult to believe that people can actually like them for what they are, and not seek any sexual pleasure or don’t have any ulterior motive behind their actions. However, if counseled properly, they might be able to get over their past.”
We believe that our children are our future, so how can we allow so many of them to tortured in this way? Says a victim, “I want to challenge this world and ask people how they can continue to let things like this happen? How can they allow children to live unprotected while those who commit violent crimes against them go free? How will the world take the responsibility for children and protect them from violence, sexual abuse and exploitation?”
Monday, June 9, 2008
Before the meeting...
A few days ago, I had my first meeting with my editor, with three other new recruits. One of them was a friend….no an acquaintance, and the other two completely unknown to me. We were sitting in a close room which looked like a typical cabin in a typical corporate house. The walls were white in color; the door made of light steel, a light shade of grey, with ‘Conference Room’ written in white, on a dark blue board. The room itself was not big. It was one-half of a long room, and was divided by a partition of sorts. It had a wooden table in the middle of it, which looked like someone got bored while in the process of making it, and therefore decided to leave it half-way. The result was it could neither be called a long table, nor could justice be done to it by calling it small. It served the purpose of both, depending on the role it was called to perform in different situations.
There were five seats around it. Two on each side and one on the far right of it. The seats were in blood red color and black handles, which rounded around them on both sides. They were the typical corporate sorts, which gives your back a very good reason to complain about the discomfort it endures while sitting on it. Also, when the message of such sorness is sent to your brain, it helps it in revising all the forgotten notes it took in profanity in your not-so-classy circles.
There were large windows in the room, on the left hand side of the wall, and were hidden behind shades. They were fitted in and therefore could not perform their duties fully, adding to the expenses incurred by the company on electricity bill, as the sole savior of the people in the room was now an A.C. The A.C also was not an ordinary one. It had a mind of its own and I think that it was tired of people asking for its services too often. So it switched off the moment it saw that the people in the room have stopped wiping the sweat from their foreheads and have just started heaving a sigh of relief.
The four of us took our seats, two on both sides. Whether, it was the conspiracy of the forces of nature or the company’s unconscious effort to balance out the different temperaments, I don’t know, but it so happened that there were two girls and two boys each on either side of the table that day. The boys were being chivalrous (quite surprising as most of you will agree with me that finding chivalrous boys these days is like finding a pin in a haystack.),and remained quite for most of time.
Now, Sneha being a shy girl isn’t really comfortable talking to guys. And I, although the word shyness rarely ever crops up in my dictionary, wasn’t left with much to say, as I was surrounded by people who by the looks of it, had sworn never to open their mouths ever again. So all of us were left to dwell on random deliberations that came to our minds as we were not forced to stir our thought process in a specified direction.
So, I started my favorite activity. Observing my colleagues. I love observing people. It’s so much fun to just sit quietly and see how people react to their surroundings. Saurabh, one of the boys (the more chivalrous one) and the quietest of the group was sitting on the edge of his chair. He appeared to be devouring an article in the ‘TOI’. His position was quite precarious and a sudden movement or a frightening ‘boo’ from behind could have landed him right on the cold floor. I imagined his embarrassed faced on the floor and a clumsy effort to get up, and silenced a giggle that was threatening to come out any moment. I looked at his hunched shoulders and his extremely formal attire (very much unlike me) and thought about this t-shirt I had seen the other day in ‘Westside’. It read ‘Be nice to nerds, they can be your future bosses’.
Now I shifted my gaze to the other character sitting next to him. It was easy to recognize that he was the extrovert and the outgoing one of the duo. He was comfortably seated and was half-spinning in his chair. Although he was wearing formal clothes, he was wearing it with an air of a person who was used to wearing casuals more than formals. Therefore the formals that he was wearing transcribed its basic nature of authority and discipline into a relaxed and laid-back one. He looked like a guy who was uninterested in any kind of sermon to be given to us by our seniors or the editor. One peculiar thing I noticed about him was that he was mostly always smiling with his eyes half closed. It looked like he was a saint giving gyaan to his disciples about the various complicated situations that one faces in his or her life. I was quite amused by him and smiled at his laid-back attitude, not unlike mine.
Then my attention turned to Sneha, who was sitting right next to me, I was pretty sure worrying about anything and everything in this world. She was quite unsure about meeting the editor and this was written all over her face. I could actually see her mind racing, thinking about thousand different things. What will the editor say to us? Why are we here? What will he make us do? I don’t know anything about technology. What if he asked me something about some latest technology? How will I answer him? What will these guys think? They are surely more proficient in this subject that I am. I knew I should have read more in the technology. I wonder how I will catch up with all this tech jargon and latest tech news. I also wonder whether this will help me if I want to change to mainstream. Will the mainstream guy’s prefer me if I come from such a niche background? But GP sir said they will. So, maybe they will. I hate the food in my PG. I would like to have some north Indian food. I wonder why these guys took up this job. Are they interested in the mainstream? Maybe they are. It’s quite late now. Where is our editor?
I was enjoying myself seeing Sneha play with her hands on her lap and her body stiff with tension, when the door opened and a kind smiling face entered the room. I turned my attention to our editor and like a good gal ended my interesting journey, where I so unceremoniously threw my fellow colleagues into my own imaginative mind-reading fantasy.
There were five seats around it. Two on each side and one on the far right of it. The seats were in blood red color and black handles, which rounded around them on both sides. They were the typical corporate sorts, which gives your back a very good reason to complain about the discomfort it endures while sitting on it. Also, when the message of such sorness is sent to your brain, it helps it in revising all the forgotten notes it took in profanity in your not-so-classy circles.
There were large windows in the room, on the left hand side of the wall, and were hidden behind shades. They were fitted in and therefore could not perform their duties fully, adding to the expenses incurred by the company on electricity bill, as the sole savior of the people in the room was now an A.C. The A.C also was not an ordinary one. It had a mind of its own and I think that it was tired of people asking for its services too often. So it switched off the moment it saw that the people in the room have stopped wiping the sweat from their foreheads and have just started heaving a sigh of relief.
The four of us took our seats, two on both sides. Whether, it was the conspiracy of the forces of nature or the company’s unconscious effort to balance out the different temperaments, I don’t know, but it so happened that there were two girls and two boys each on either side of the table that day. The boys were being chivalrous (quite surprising as most of you will agree with me that finding chivalrous boys these days is like finding a pin in a haystack.),and remained quite for most of time.
Now, Sneha being a shy girl isn’t really comfortable talking to guys. And I, although the word shyness rarely ever crops up in my dictionary, wasn’t left with much to say, as I was surrounded by people who by the looks of it, had sworn never to open their mouths ever again. So all of us were left to dwell on random deliberations that came to our minds as we were not forced to stir our thought process in a specified direction.
So, I started my favorite activity. Observing my colleagues. I love observing people. It’s so much fun to just sit quietly and see how people react to their surroundings. Saurabh, one of the boys (the more chivalrous one) and the quietest of the group was sitting on the edge of his chair. He appeared to be devouring an article in the ‘TOI’. His position was quite precarious and a sudden movement or a frightening ‘boo’ from behind could have landed him right on the cold floor. I imagined his embarrassed faced on the floor and a clumsy effort to get up, and silenced a giggle that was threatening to come out any moment. I looked at his hunched shoulders and his extremely formal attire (very much unlike me) and thought about this t-shirt I had seen the other day in ‘Westside’. It read ‘Be nice to nerds, they can be your future bosses’.
Now I shifted my gaze to the other character sitting next to him. It was easy to recognize that he was the extrovert and the outgoing one of the duo. He was comfortably seated and was half-spinning in his chair. Although he was wearing formal clothes, he was wearing it with an air of a person who was used to wearing casuals more than formals. Therefore the formals that he was wearing transcribed its basic nature of authority and discipline into a relaxed and laid-back one. He looked like a guy who was uninterested in any kind of sermon to be given to us by our seniors or the editor. One peculiar thing I noticed about him was that he was mostly always smiling with his eyes half closed. It looked like he was a saint giving gyaan to his disciples about the various complicated situations that one faces in his or her life. I was quite amused by him and smiled at his laid-back attitude, not unlike mine.
Then my attention turned to Sneha, who was sitting right next to me, I was pretty sure worrying about anything and everything in this world. She was quite unsure about meeting the editor and this was written all over her face. I could actually see her mind racing, thinking about thousand different things. What will the editor say to us? Why are we here? What will he make us do? I don’t know anything about technology. What if he asked me something about some latest technology? How will I answer him? What will these guys think? They are surely more proficient in this subject that I am. I knew I should have read more in the technology. I wonder how I will catch up with all this tech jargon and latest tech news. I also wonder whether this will help me if I want to change to mainstream. Will the mainstream guy’s prefer me if I come from such a niche background? But GP sir said they will. So, maybe they will. I hate the food in my PG. I would like to have some north Indian food. I wonder why these guys took up this job. Are they interested in the mainstream? Maybe they are. It’s quite late now. Where is our editor?
I was enjoying myself seeing Sneha play with her hands on her lap and her body stiff with tension, when the door opened and a kind smiling face entered the room. I turned my attention to our editor and like a good gal ended my interesting journey, where I so unceremoniously threw my fellow colleagues into my own imaginative mind-reading fantasy.
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Beyond factual imagination
Sheer boredom and nothing else would have prompted me to check random profiles on orkut. I already had three cups of coffee , was done with the little work assigned to me to make sure that I deserve some of the huge amount given to me as a salary (you see I am still in my training so am still ‘learning’), and Harry Potter fan fiction stories were finally looking naïve and juvenile to me.
Spinning around in my chair had also given me a headache, so I decided to give my head a rest by not using it for a while. And that’s how I ended up reading random profiles on orkut. I must admit orkut is one place which if not cure your boredom, can definitely reduce it. I am a member of the Ayan Rand community on orkut. So I decided to have a look at my fellow members. While browsing through some boring, some weird and some really hilarious profiles, I came across this profile of a guy who’s about me was really interesting (Yes, I am not shallow like most girls and don’t just look at photographs of men. I read their profiles as well. At least sometimes.) So anyway his profile was very interesting and so were his testimonials. His friends really had a high opinion about him. I saw his profession, engineer, not bad, our choice of books and music was almost similar. By then I was so impressed, I wanted to know where he is from.
I checked his location and paused. Literally I mean. He was from Pakistan, Lahore to be precise. To tell you the truth my first reaction was surprise. My mind forming images of all the news clipping about Pakistan’s internal war, a Quran, a bearded terrorist with a gun in his hand standing alone in the darkness , brownish mist all around a mullah, who was standing around ruins of old buildings and had a long dark beard and beads in his hands wearing a long and very loose light grey kurta and even more loose dirty grey pajama with closed boots with heels, he was talking something rapidly in Arabic. I could feel the gaze of that mullah on me. The intensity behind those kohl lined black eyes stirred something inside me. Something that could be called fear.
I snapped out of my stupor and felt absolutely stupid and shallow. Of course Pakistan wasn’t all about poverty and terrorism. Of course there were people who had a normal life like me. People who laughed when they heard a joke or cried when they their heart was broken. People, who fretted about their exams and enjoyed family dinners. Youngsters, who played cricket, and felt butterflies in their stomach when a smile played on the lips of a secret crush. They spent more time in their college canteen, than in their classroom. And of course their mother’s shouted at them when they come late at night with a vain attitude and a silly excuse. They ate and slept, and read and smiled like us. They even spoke like us. Using the same lingo and expressions.
I felt embarrassed for being so small-minded and sent this guy a friend’s request. He accepted and we started chatting on g-mail. I was eager to learn about Lahore and Pakistan and his views over politics and Islam. He listened to everything patiently and answered all my questions with such clarity in thought, that he might as well have been a professor in a university explaining in detail, things that his excited student knew and understood little. And he was my age! He didn’t discriminate people on the basis of their religion and was quite open about subjects like sex and girlfriends. He was sure he was going to have a love marriage and didn’t believe in the alternative. He had a girlfriend in the past with whom he broke-up recently. But he was still hopeful about the existence of love and was ready to take the jump when he met the right person. He had just taken a trip with his friends, whom he absolutely loves and was preparing for his final engineering exams.
Later that evening, while walking back home from work, I asked my friend if she could imagine a Pakistani engineer, she also paused for a moment and then said, “It’s hard to imagine”. I smiled and said I met one.
Spinning around in my chair had also given me a headache, so I decided to give my head a rest by not using it for a while. And that’s how I ended up reading random profiles on orkut. I must admit orkut is one place which if not cure your boredom, can definitely reduce it. I am a member of the Ayan Rand community on orkut. So I decided to have a look at my fellow members. While browsing through some boring, some weird and some really hilarious profiles, I came across this profile of a guy who’s about me was really interesting (Yes, I am not shallow like most girls and don’t just look at photographs of men. I read their profiles as well. At least sometimes.) So anyway his profile was very interesting and so were his testimonials. His friends really had a high opinion about him. I saw his profession, engineer, not bad, our choice of books and music was almost similar. By then I was so impressed, I wanted to know where he is from.
I checked his location and paused. Literally I mean. He was from Pakistan, Lahore to be precise. To tell you the truth my first reaction was surprise. My mind forming images of all the news clipping about Pakistan’s internal war, a Quran, a bearded terrorist with a gun in his hand standing alone in the darkness , brownish mist all around a mullah, who was standing around ruins of old buildings and had a long dark beard and beads in his hands wearing a long and very loose light grey kurta and even more loose dirty grey pajama with closed boots with heels, he was talking something rapidly in Arabic. I could feel the gaze of that mullah on me. The intensity behind those kohl lined black eyes stirred something inside me. Something that could be called fear.
I snapped out of my stupor and felt absolutely stupid and shallow. Of course Pakistan wasn’t all about poverty and terrorism. Of course there were people who had a normal life like me. People who laughed when they heard a joke or cried when they their heart was broken. People, who fretted about their exams and enjoyed family dinners. Youngsters, who played cricket, and felt butterflies in their stomach when a smile played on the lips of a secret crush. They spent more time in their college canteen, than in their classroom. And of course their mother’s shouted at them when they come late at night with a vain attitude and a silly excuse. They ate and slept, and read and smiled like us. They even spoke like us. Using the same lingo and expressions.
I felt embarrassed for being so small-minded and sent this guy a friend’s request. He accepted and we started chatting on g-mail. I was eager to learn about Lahore and Pakistan and his views over politics and Islam. He listened to everything patiently and answered all my questions with such clarity in thought, that he might as well have been a professor in a university explaining in detail, things that his excited student knew and understood little. And he was my age! He didn’t discriminate people on the basis of their religion and was quite open about subjects like sex and girlfriends. He was sure he was going to have a love marriage and didn’t believe in the alternative. He had a girlfriend in the past with whom he broke-up recently. But he was still hopeful about the existence of love and was ready to take the jump when he met the right person. He had just taken a trip with his friends, whom he absolutely loves and was preparing for his final engineering exams.
Later that evening, while walking back home from work, I asked my friend if she could imagine a Pakistani engineer, she also paused for a moment and then said, “It’s hard to imagine”. I smiled and said I met one.
Numbness
An empty cup on the working table,
And a few pages of thoughts strewn around.
A lone hand on my lap, waiting for someone to hold it and turn around,
My fate from this dreadful numbness,
Numbness that is thick and dense like fog on rainy days,
Numbness that takes me to a land where only dead reside,
Numbness that has withheld within itself all my emotions,
And thoughts that it stole from me.
I have been robbed off my feelings,
Robbed in a ruthless manner by this cold numbness,
My head aches when I think,
And my mind buzzes when I hear,
Voices, meaningless voices,
Screaming my name, calling for me,
I don’t know who they are,
Or what they want but my numbness doesn’t allow me to get up on my feet and move.
But this numbness feels good.
It’s deeper than anything I have ever experienced.
It’s cold and bottomless, and makes everything else shallow.
It makes me more independent as I don’t have feelings anymore,
I can now look at things and not feel anything and so I can look and think about people and situations, which had me crying at the mere mention of them.
I can now close my eyes and not dream or have a nightmare.
Maybe I am not happy, but I am not sad either.
It’s simply peaceful in here.
And a few pages of thoughts strewn around.
A lone hand on my lap, waiting for someone to hold it and turn around,
My fate from this dreadful numbness,
Numbness that is thick and dense like fog on rainy days,
Numbness that takes me to a land where only dead reside,
Numbness that has withheld within itself all my emotions,
And thoughts that it stole from me.
I have been robbed off my feelings,
Robbed in a ruthless manner by this cold numbness,
My head aches when I think,
And my mind buzzes when I hear,
Voices, meaningless voices,
Screaming my name, calling for me,
I don’t know who they are,
Or what they want but my numbness doesn’t allow me to get up on my feet and move.
But this numbness feels good.
It’s deeper than anything I have ever experienced.
It’s cold and bottomless, and makes everything else shallow.
It makes me more independent as I don’t have feelings anymore,
I can now look at things and not feel anything and so I can look and think about people and situations, which had me crying at the mere mention of them.
I can now close my eyes and not dream or have a nightmare.
Maybe I am not happy, but I am not sad either.
It’s simply peaceful in here.
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Random
I was walking down a street which was dark as sin,
I didn’t know where it ended neither did I know where it began,
It didn’t seem so bad in the start, but then I wasn’t sure when this mirage would blow apart,
I thought I saw shadows of friendship in a semi-dark lane,
But as soon as I was put under a spot-light, the shadows would disappear in the veil of fallacy and behind it, they lain.
Sometimes I thought it was a nightmare and sometimes I thought it was a dream,
Sometimes it made me lonely and sometimes queen of my realm.
I used to fear loneliness before, but later it became my friend,
It was the only thing constant in my life and something that stuck with me till the end.
A ghost of a smile would linger on my lips when people around me would pretend,
Their pretense seemed so foolish when I looked at the darkness within,
This darkness which I had accepted was what they were running away from.
But this darkness was a friend and not a foe as they thought,
This darkness did not seek for a source of light,
Neither did it require one as it was soft like velvet
And when it engulfed me, my life looked more bright.
They were afraid of losing themselves in this darkness,
While I danced around in it, extinguishing every source of light.
As it seemed like it was not illuminating my darkness but rather penetrating it with its harsh notions of truths and lies.
I didn’t want any myths to be a part of this stretch of soothing darkness, which was devoid of any notions of truths and deceit.
It only understood and responded to emotions and only them did it wish to receive.
I didn’t know where it ended neither did I know where it began,
It didn’t seem so bad in the start, but then I wasn’t sure when this mirage would blow apart,
I thought I saw shadows of friendship in a semi-dark lane,
But as soon as I was put under a spot-light, the shadows would disappear in the veil of fallacy and behind it, they lain.
Sometimes I thought it was a nightmare and sometimes I thought it was a dream,
Sometimes it made me lonely and sometimes queen of my realm.
I used to fear loneliness before, but later it became my friend,
It was the only thing constant in my life and something that stuck with me till the end.
A ghost of a smile would linger on my lips when people around me would pretend,
Their pretense seemed so foolish when I looked at the darkness within,
This darkness which I had accepted was what they were running away from.
But this darkness was a friend and not a foe as they thought,
This darkness did not seek for a source of light,
Neither did it require one as it was soft like velvet
And when it engulfed me, my life looked more bright.
They were afraid of losing themselves in this darkness,
While I danced around in it, extinguishing every source of light.
As it seemed like it was not illuminating my darkness but rather penetrating it with its harsh notions of truths and lies.
I didn’t want any myths to be a part of this stretch of soothing darkness, which was devoid of any notions of truths and deceit.
It only understood and responded to emotions and only them did it wish to receive.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Only for a moment.
“Lets make a night to remember….”, was playing on the radio that day.It was raining; she had a cup of coffee in her hand and was waiting for the bus. The dual effect of the rain and the song opened the door of her favorite fantasy. Tom cruise singing this number for her.
And then her eyes fell on him. He was dripping from head to foot. Wearing a white shirt with blue jeans, eating American corns from a nearby shop. Hmmm…he doesn’t look bad , she mused. Although I prefer fair guys, his skin tone is quite nice. A bit too tanned maybe. Also I wish he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous earring. I mean what’s this entire theory of metro sexual men anyways?
All these thoughts were swirling inside her brain when suddenly he looked up. Oh my god! He has brilliant eyes, she thought. Neither brown, nor black. A color that will change according to the will of its owner. I wonder what his smile is like? Is it as cute as him? If I marry him, will he live alone with me or will I have to live with his family? Does he have a joint family? How will his mom be? I guess we will have two kids. One girl and one boy. Oh hell! What am I doing? I am literally drooling on this guy. Don’t I have absolutely any dignity left? Staring at strangers like that. And where the hell is this bus? It just had to be late today.
Then suddenly he started walking towards her. A hundred thoughts started attacking her at the same time. Oh man! Why is he coming here? How do I look? Will he try to talk to me? Will he like me? What will I say if he tells me to come and have a coffee with him? I think I will go. But should I? What if he is a thief or a hooligan? Or worse he is a rapist? Maybe he is that murderer I read about in newspapers today. The one who woos women with his good looks and then kills them. Maybe he is a psychopath. Why isn’t there anyone here? This bus stop is usually so crowded. Over-crowded infact. I don’t even get bus at times. Oh Christ, he is here! Shit! This dammed rain must have washed my make-up away. Why is it raining today anyway? I know why. Because god hates me. He just won’t like me to look good on a day a handsome guy is standing next to me. I know this is his way of telling me that I can look at a pie but cant have it. Hell, why am I so NERVOUS?
The guy by then was standing next to her and eating his American corn, waiting for the bus. He looked at her and thought, hmmm not bad. Casual dressing sense. I like her t-shirt actually. And she is wearing my favorite color. light blue. She has a good figure too. Very curvy. I like her hair as well. Long and wavy. Her eyes are very pretty too, jet black. Her hands are beautiful. They look so soft and tender. I would like to hold them. And kiss them. They will handle a man with care. She looks like a good girl. Doesn’t look dumb either. I hope she is easy to talk to. I hate girls who cant understand cricket and don’t know that formula 1 is a racing car. Should I try and talk to her? I can ask her what time it is? No, god! that's so lame. How about starting any general conversation. Maybe I can talk to her about how heavily it’s raining today. Then I can offer to drop her to her place. No, she looks from a good family. She might just get offended. Or maybe she has one of those over-protective brother or a father who will beat me if they see me with her.
But she does seem like a nice girl. Her lips. Wow, they seem to be…well…sensuous. I want to know how they taste. I think they will be a bit salty, a bit sweet. Her neck, its really beautiful as well. It’s so thin, and looks so vulnerable. It will be like holding a precious wineglass. I think I will talk to her. I want to know if her voice compliments her body. And who knows, I might get lucky.
He turned towards her and asked, “ Excuse me what time is it”?
Honnnnkkkk………..just then the bus comes and the girl gets on it and says, “5:30”.
“ Thank you”, the guy replies. She smiles and the bus leaves.
' Her voice did compliment her body'. ' His smile was as cute as him'.
And then her eyes fell on him. He was dripping from head to foot. Wearing a white shirt with blue jeans, eating American corns from a nearby shop. Hmmm…he doesn’t look bad , she mused. Although I prefer fair guys, his skin tone is quite nice. A bit too tanned maybe. Also I wish he wasn’t wearing that ridiculous earring. I mean what’s this entire theory of metro sexual men anyways?
All these thoughts were swirling inside her brain when suddenly he looked up. Oh my god! He has brilliant eyes, she thought. Neither brown, nor black. A color that will change according to the will of its owner. I wonder what his smile is like? Is it as cute as him? If I marry him, will he live alone with me or will I have to live with his family? Does he have a joint family? How will his mom be? I guess we will have two kids. One girl and one boy. Oh hell! What am I doing? I am literally drooling on this guy. Don’t I have absolutely any dignity left? Staring at strangers like that. And where the hell is this bus? It just had to be late today.
Then suddenly he started walking towards her. A hundred thoughts started attacking her at the same time. Oh man! Why is he coming here? How do I look? Will he try to talk to me? Will he like me? What will I say if he tells me to come and have a coffee with him? I think I will go. But should I? What if he is a thief or a hooligan? Or worse he is a rapist? Maybe he is that murderer I read about in newspapers today. The one who woos women with his good looks and then kills them. Maybe he is a psychopath. Why isn’t there anyone here? This bus stop is usually so crowded. Over-crowded infact. I don’t even get bus at times. Oh Christ, he is here! Shit! This dammed rain must have washed my make-up away. Why is it raining today anyway? I know why. Because god hates me. He just won’t like me to look good on a day a handsome guy is standing next to me. I know this is his way of telling me that I can look at a pie but cant have it. Hell, why am I so NERVOUS?
The guy by then was standing next to her and eating his American corn, waiting for the bus. He looked at her and thought, hmmm not bad. Casual dressing sense. I like her t-shirt actually. And she is wearing my favorite color. light blue. She has a good figure too. Very curvy. I like her hair as well. Long and wavy. Her eyes are very pretty too, jet black. Her hands are beautiful. They look so soft and tender. I would like to hold them. And kiss them. They will handle a man with care. She looks like a good girl. Doesn’t look dumb either. I hope she is easy to talk to. I hate girls who cant understand cricket and don’t know that formula 1 is a racing car. Should I try and talk to her? I can ask her what time it is? No, god! that's so lame. How about starting any general conversation. Maybe I can talk to her about how heavily it’s raining today. Then I can offer to drop her to her place. No, she looks from a good family. She might just get offended. Or maybe she has one of those over-protective brother or a father who will beat me if they see me with her.
But she does seem like a nice girl. Her lips. Wow, they seem to be…well…sensuous. I want to know how they taste. I think they will be a bit salty, a bit sweet. Her neck, its really beautiful as well. It’s so thin, and looks so vulnerable. It will be like holding a precious wineglass. I think I will talk to her. I want to know if her voice compliments her body. And who knows, I might get lucky.
He turned towards her and asked, “ Excuse me what time is it”?
Honnnnkkkk………..just then the bus comes and the girl gets on it and says, “5:30”.
“ Thank you”, the guy replies. She smiles and the bus leaves.
' Her voice did compliment her body'. ' His smile was as cute as him'.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)