Sunday, May 22, 2011

Zindagee bin Laden

They say that when someone dies
His soul just flies
Free from this world of lies
Into the skies

“So finally Osama bin Laden is dead”. This is what I heard a few days ago. Some 3 trillion dollars had been spent on killing him. "3 trillion dollars! Man that’s a lot of money. An African country would have totally revived itself with that amount of money. Or, what if that money had been given to me?" These were some of the thoughts that were bouncing in my mind as I was walking along the bund. The wind was quite strong and the mighty chinar’s all along the bund were dancing, as if they were rejoicing over my idea of getting 3 trillion dollars or were they just laughing at my foolish thoughts. I would prefer to go with the former assumption; after all, it’s a matter of self-respect!
As I was walking, the 3 trillion figure was still resonating in my mind. In a way Osama bin Laden was the most expensive man in the world. Imagine dying with the satisfaction that you cost your enemies 3 trillion dollars. Bill Gates and Warren Buffett are not even close! In my dictionary that’s an achievement.
Remembering Osama bin Laden, firstly I found that both of us have one thing in common, we are both engineers! Secondly he seems to have been a good man or why would he have come to Afghanistan, giving up all his millionaire luxuries, to fight against the Soviets. I too am a good man or so I suppose (second similarity). At that time he was portrayed as a hero, because he was fighting against the communists and communists “by default” were the bad guys. The communists left and shortly afterwards the Americans too, but unlike them he did not leave the Afghan people, he helped them with his Arab money. No one seemed to have problem with that. But then he became anti-American and a villain. Why? That’s a 3 trillion dollar question. The media never answers it, but maybe it’s because we know the answer!
As my mind was wandering with Osama bin Laden, I did not realize that I was sitting beside Jhelum. I didn’t know how I reached there but as I looked around, I saw ripples on the surface of water. It appeared that Jhelum was passing waves of smiles. I could not understand the reason for his smile, so after greetings of Salaam, I straightaway asked the reason. He had been reading my mind. I wasn’t surprised to hear this, because talking to a river is a bit more surprising. He told me, “Osama died & he died for what he believed in. He had the character to stand up against the forced diktats, occupation and slavery of humanity by people who portrayed their cause as otherwise. Maybe the way he chose was wrong or it was portrayed as wrong.” Then after a short pause it said, “I have looked around myself for ages, and I have seen this nation in slavery for a long time. And by slavery I don’t mean being ruled only. When a child is born in this land these days, he is put in front of the TV. So naturally he grows up following what he sees on the idiot box, thinking they are superior because even his definition of superiority is borrowed from the TV. Thus he is made the devils slave from birth. He is made a slave ethically, morally and culturally. Being ruled over and being treated like a slave is just a consequence. First it was the Afghans, the Sikhs, the British, and the Dogras and now it’s someone else. What difference has it made? Ahhh…Slaves remained slaves, only masters changed! A few people raised their voice against this oppression. They became leaders who were never followed. People were always skeptical about everything. They just couldn’t phantom that someone had really stood up for them. When a nation has lost the battle of “hearts and minds” what can the leaders do? All that people do, is point out the faults of leadership. It appears they can’t think like free, honorable men with a positive outlook. They just don’t have the character.”
I thought that he would go on for an hour, but thankfully he stopped. I guess this was an overdose of slavery for me. I had always thought that I was free, but alas! Imagine my disappointment, arriving with a dream of trillions and leaving a slave!(please don’t laugh)
Walking back towards home I realized that my “Zindagee with Laden” was no different from “Zindagi bin Laden”. His death had just added a few news headlines to my mind and all I had learnt was that Abbottabad is the name of a place in Pakistan. Rest nothing had changed. We were still slaves. We always criticized the leaders and pointed out their faults and judged them on mistakes they committed, not their merits. And if they were/are wrong none of us has the character to stand up as new leaders, because we are too selfish to live a life for others. What a bunch of hypocrites we really are! It’s easy to Tweet about a problem but it takes character to deal with it. We need to change… nay, I need to change…. By now, I realised that the wind had calmed down, there was silence everywhere or was it “calm before the storm?”
In my heart there is a thorn
Maybe since the day I was born
But if this sorry state needs to change
It really has to be torn

Monday, May 2, 2011

A strange marriage…

There is joy in life
And also there is strife
Somewhere we need to strike a balance
Because without balance life’s just a menace

It was a sunny day and sunny days in Kashmir are considered good for a marriage. Rain on a wedding day suggests that someone used to lick the spoon (actually Choon’chas Le’waan is the term used). It sounds strange and funny, but in this part of the world this is what it means! I was eating Wazwan and just checking whether there was any corner of my stomach (Yed actually), where I could accommodate more. To my great disappointment there wasn’t, and all I could do was stare at these delicacies and see them go waste. After the meal (Sa’le Ba’te) I went out for a walk along the riverside, but my walk was cut short due to pain in my stomach. Walking with a fully loaded belly was not that good an idea after all. So I just sat at that very last step, where a fortnight ago I had had a strange experience. I always had thought that it was a dream, but if it was true I didn’t want to look stupid. So casually, I said Salaam.

To my surprise my greetings were answered! I sat silently for a while not knowing what to say. Suddenly I burped.

“Seems like you have eaten too much for a meal”, he said. “Ya, a marriage ceremony and wazwan of course”, was my reply. “How many dishes were there on the plate (trami)?” was the question he shot at me. Now what type of question is that? Does it appear that I count? However, remembering that last time we had met I had offended him, I politely replied that more than thirteen. “And how many did you eat?” came the next one. Actually after seven I was full, but we Kashmir’s like to boast regarding our meat eating appetite, so I said ten. “So what happened to the rest? Thrown away, I presume”, he said answering his own question. “What about the house, is it decorated?” “The house is beautifully decorated with lights and would look beautiful at night when the groom arrives”, I said, controlling my anger and cursing myself for taking a walk along this path, because I was having a conversation which old women have with each other. And seriously, I never have been a big fan of such conversations. “Seems like a rich family is having a marriage”, he said. I however made the point clear that it was an average middle class family whose daughter is being married.

“Ahh…”, he sighed and after some time said, “I would tell you about a girl named Neelofar, whom I had known since her childhood. She was an innocent, charming nice girl. Being the only child of her parents, she was given all the care and love by her poor parents. Her father was a labourer, and throughout his life had worked honestly, only to save for his darling daughter’s marriage. Now he was old and had collected enough money for her marriage. But he fell ill. Doctors said that he suffered from cancer and the high cost of medicines began to diminish his life’s savings. He now prayed for death because only then he felt that his daughter could be married. This plight of her father was too much for Neelofar. She came to sit by my side that day. There seemed to be no charm, no joy on her face. She took a few pebbles in her hands and throwing them into water, slowly started counting one… two… three… four… five… as if she was counting the death of moments. Then she got up and walked right into the water till she was no longer visible.

There was no news of her in the newspapers because she did not jump from Amira Kadal. Nobody knew what happened. Some said she ran away and some said she was kidnapped. However nobody knew that she had married that day. She had married death, handing over all her troubles to it.”

There was silence between us for some time which I broke saying “goodbye”. There was some moistness in my eyes and I did not want to show it. As I left, I realized that I had come with a stomach ache and left with a heart ache. Who was responsible for all this, I kept asking myself. The Wazwan did not seem so tasty now. Suddenly I noticed a few raindrops falling. The weather had changed within an hour. All seemed to be gloomy. Walking a few steps further it began to rain heavily. It was hard to comprehend whether the skies were crying for Neelofar, or over the fate of this nation which had killed so many Neelofar’s, or was it just that… someone used to lick the spoon!

O you with a wretched soul!
Is this your goal?
You just didn’t impose wrong customs
It was someone’s life you stole!


P.S:- I am in no way trying to portray suicide as a solution to life’s problems. Suicide is haram in Islam and also the worst form of Zulm a person can do upon himself because after this act, there is no room left for Taubah. This was just used to portray the sorry state of marriage affairs in Kashmir and how extreme can its effects be.