Crackling

My thoughts try flapping their arms, kicking their legs to escape from the walloping tides of the energy generating engine roaring to inundate them. I sit here in my dark room reminiscing massive chunks of past, the conscious bits that seem stretched over a preposterous abundance of events making seven thousand nine hundred ninety four days of my life so long, flamboyant and sufficient, alhamdulillah. In the midst of the smoke of these occurrences stands a wooden cupboard with its essence ever so powerful yet the source of the most mesmerizing element forming the basis of it was never witnessed by my consciousness in the past, only felt in my present. An enduring piece of my history associates itself to the unseen bondage. I tend to be affected the most by the unseen aspect that was once in the form of living flesh and now living imagination.

As new letters chase the blinking cursor at the mercy of my dancing fingers, the wooden wardrobe continues to maintain its position emitting invisible rays that move me for reasons known and unknown. Initially, it seemed that it is asserting its importance silently, independent of any of the inherent five senses and is merely a play of over thinking, psyche, emotions and soul. And being moved can’t always be preceded solely by the understanding of familial network that is exclusive to the human race. Unseen bonds send out callings that make a good use of our faculties of sense. Had it not been for them perhaps I would have remained ignorant.

I have always had some unexplainable recognition coated with dearness toward the piece for I have seen it to be under Nanu’s dominion which is why we had asked the other members of the family to grant it to us after she had made way to barzakh. The freshness of a blood-tie that was deprived of living flesh at one of the ends even before its discernment was found to be contained within an antique piece of furniture the day it snapped and cracked capturing my attention. It is a matter of pertinence to the ordinary that wood often inflates and deflates with seasonal changes in the city along with cracking and crackling. Although, having Nana Abu’s cupboard to have spoken with me had only made it crystal that it was his to begin with. It was the association of the piece with him that gave the essence about it so much more than what my conscious self had seen.

It began to fit so perfectly in all the stories that I have heard of my Amma’s childhood that was blessed with the shade of his presence. I would picture the soft spoken, elegantly handsome tall man dressed in his creaseless clothing walking up to his wardrobe, working around it. He would flip it open only to retrieve his hands after bringing one half of the wooden door to a firm halt and a ten year old Amma would stand still for a second to deliberately sniff on his rich cologne exuding out followed by continuing with her chase of her younger siblings. He would relax on his bed with his right Achilles’ tendon placed on his left knee next to his wooden possession and cause a brouhaha by announcing going out for dinner. He would ask Amma to go fetch his vest from the wooden almaaree; the same almaaee that stands here in front of me witnessing his existence that I never had the chance to observe, but know that he did.

May Allah Subhanahu wa Ta’ala bless the both of them with a place in Jannat. Ameen.

Unnumma Jhoot Mat Bolo

She had always been an introvert and was going through another one of those deplorable phases that one constantly comes across while pacing down the clock.

"I wish to go back to being an introvert," she exclaimed sounding woeful.
"No, it is an incredible change to see you engaged in conversations," I explained to her.
"I can't deal with it. I am so all right being in my little dark corner."
"No, why don't you live in a transparent marble, and roll around people that way?"
"Yea, thank you for your lateral thinking," saying that she placed the washed dishes in the cabinet.
"No, seriously you'll feel protected pretending to roll within a marble!"
"Why don't I just pretend to not listen to you and disappear in my little dark corner?"
"No. You should pretend to be invisible and still go about people doing what you have to. That little dark corner must die!"
"Oh yea! I'll just walk up to people's face and say "BAH! You can't see me" and then roll around pretending to be invisible in my marble." She walked upstairs.
"Nice. It's all in the head," I yelled to her.

In the midst of hooey

Our days have been incredibly monotonous since the past few days. Then yesterday happens providing us with an avalanche of happenings to talk about.
It started off with a random day with Amma calling out to me from the kitchen in an attempt to rip me out of bed.
"Sana, utho bhaee."
"Uth gaee hun," I replied to her sinking a little deeper into my bed.

The day as it was happening, I decided to give one of my seniors a call to catch up on the up coming year. She explained to me how it wasn't that bad and having the Professional years now broken down into semesters has made the deal a more digestible one. I felt relieved and at the same time excited and an unidentifiable energy made me nicely arrange some books that my other senior, who happens to be my best friend, had given me out on the table where I usually carry out the process of erudition.

In the evening Hanif made his daily visit to our place and the moment he had left we received a call from my sister's friend informing us of her aching stomach. So, Amma and I had to go pick her up from the institute. It is somewhat a maximum of ten minutes drive but during this time of the year Karachi seems to be diverted to a direction that must pass traversing us. Upon reaching her coaching center I found out retrieving my sister wasn't as easy a job as I had imagined it to be. The guards, laalay, stopped me, I ran to the owner who might remember me from the time when I used to be a student there; he sent me to the principal who I never really fancied. The principal annoyed me a little for he wouldn't stop responding to everything I said to him in a "Hain?"

Any who, we drove all the way back home, said Isha and cuddled in Amma's palang. We talked and  watched some T.V. After the show was over we had some food and scattered about the house doing things that interest us. Wandering in the house as I often do which is one reason why I am titled Behr ul Kaahil, I reached Amma's room and just as I had walked through the door something made me look downward and a little behind and right next to the blue dustbin there sat a full sized fine and fair lizard!

At that very moment  the square of floor that I was standing on see-sawed and toppled me with my scream onto Amma's bed; with my eyes closed I managed to say something like, "Wahan chipkali hai, dustbin kay paas."
Amma got up looking very alert and uncomfortable, "Where? I don't see it."
"Woh itni cheekh o pukaar kay baad bethi thorhi rahay gi, bhaag gaee," I tried managing myself out of the shock I was in.
"Kis taraf gaee hai?"
"I don't know where it went, I wasn't looking Maa."

All of us took a deep breath. Amma phoned Mania who was downstairs and asked her to bring the jhaarhu and some anti-crawler spray. Very cautiously we transported ourselves to the living room, hoping that none of us would step on the animal. We cleared the living room and grasped anything that could serve the purpose of a weapon.
Mania came with her weapon and a confusion that questioned my sanity.
"Who saw it?"
"Sana ne dekhi hai," Amma told her.
"O! SHE saw it. It must have been a hallucination," she concluded very casually.
"Dude! I am serious, I saw it."

Just as I was attempting to make her believe, something rapidly came out from behind the flower pots in the alley and entered the next bedroom. Mania decided to believe me. My biggest apprehension then was that the color of the lizard and the carpet matched! Genius camouflaging freaks.

Now picture this: One coward to the next being only a bigger monument of cowardice standing shoulder to shoulder armed with sandals, cricket bats, spray, jhaarhu and hangers. After a good long period of contemplation we decided to spray the room up. Nothing popped out of no where. As we teamed up we also became comfortable and ready. I wouldn't be dishonest if I say we were no longer afraid.

Amma stepped inside to meticulously examine the room. Nothing. I stepped closer to the threshold and probed the cushions lying on the floor. Nothing. Saria gathered a little more courage and jumped on to the bed and started scooping shoe-boxes from under it. Nothing. I watchfully delved the curtain. Nothing. We then sprayed the room some more and came out to wait for the animal to come out. And there it was dizzied and scared, crawling in between the side of the dressing table and the wall. Since it didn’t move for the longest time, we sprayed it on the head; it then literally flew and jumped and scrammed its way out of the little hole in the net over the window, rendering all of us to relax. We obliterated the hole with some stuffing.
*phew*

Team?

As life moves on we come across a lot of new words; some cause a shrill to run down our spine, others make our skin go bumpy, then there are ones that explain why the inside of our throat shrinks and also those that are succeeded by somersaults in our gut region. It's impossible for me to provide justice to the delineation of inception of all such troubled, fearsome and pleasing situations. So, keeping it short, the most horrific word that I have come across so far happens to be one from Urdu being "Hum". Entertainingly, it is one of my favorites to use except I don't, any more.  

Hum is Us, Hum is We.
Hum is You and Me!

*It rhymes! It rhymes!*

Hum is Us, Hum is We.
Hum is You and Me!

I stand at a point where every time I hear somebody include me in Hum on an every day level something sinks inside, consumed by the whirlwind of diffidence that expresses itself as crooked creases on my forehead. It wasn't always like this. There used to be jolly days when Hum was radiant and blossoming. I never could have dared to imagine Hum being one of the most grotesque disappointments. The rapturous beauty of Hum cannot be denied, but the nefariousness you and I disfigure it with dragging it to the zenith of morbidity is grievous and only more outrageous.
 
The fact that Hum can obligate you to be a part of something you are actually not a part of is the horrific element. Since Hum has the power to drown you to the depths and deprive you of your essence, it can be damaging. Hum isn’t for extenuating uniqueness and distinction. It is for accentuating individuality through contrast while engendering progress by constructive interference. Hum is about invigorating diversity. On the flip side, deviation from the soul of Hum while being Hum is a downright assault to the phenomenon.

Constituting Hum is like the genesis of a family; a demanding assemblage that extracts peace off of conflicting personalities. Hum is an oxymoron or it's like a molecule that is the bearer of tightly bonded opposite charges. The delicacy about it is that it gives you a reason to strive for someone other than yourself by enabling you to be larger than yourself. Very human thing to do. Very rightful. The only condition that needs to be met is: Hum needs to be Hum and not a parasite.

I use the word with sensibility. I do. I try. I think. Blah! I want to.

Asr

The overcast-ed frowning sky is one of my favorites. The Azaan for Asr makes it only more pensive and mesmerizing. The call for Falah spreads its wings five times a day bringing a new mood to the environment each time. In school days I would miss the Azaan for it while napping. Listening to the Azaan for Asr spreading over the limitless canopy of the winter sky is bliss to the highest degree. The quieter the late afternoons the deeper the impression of the Azaan for Asr.

Listening to the Azaan for Asr spread its wings across the limitless canopy of the see through ozone is a phenomenon restricted to holidays in my life. In school days it would beat me by some thirty minutes as I would breathe through my final quarter of after-school-nap. Today, the call for Falah during late afternoon has melted me down while I sit here recalling the experience. As much as I speak in negative about winters, the overcast-ed frowning sky with the perfect balance of the call for Asr has left me mesmerized.

The late afternoon of solitude immersed in silence, the lazy cluttering of cutlery downstairs, the semi quiet taste of the street I live upon, the slackened fussiness of human beings going about their business and the children waking from their naps causing the bustling to raise by a decibel or two.

Peace.

"When the Wrong One Loves You Right"

It wasn't long ago when it occurred to me that approval was perhaps many radians greater than affection. Let's face it, what good is love without an approval? I am sorry. Affection and approval aren't always a 'buy one, get the other one free' deal. And babbling about my raw emotional turmoil isn't one of my favorite things to do but how to restrict the bubbling storm of my human-ness?

There stands a mother with yearning drenched eyes, waiting for her babies to return.
"Maa, main hun na," I would tell her kissing her hands.
Unfortunately, she and I both know how haqeer I am. How faqeer I am. She would embrace me in her arms; comb my hair, give me a chaadar, give me water, feed me roti. She is anemic. She is Arz-e-Watan.

The Arz-e-Watan is anemic. It is a perplexing thought because one thing that the seed for the attainment of this piece of land was helped to germinate with was blood. It is agonizing to witness the reducing amount of living blood in her vessels today. Living blood that walks and talks. It is clear why she is anemic because her children suck on her blood to become some bodies and on sprouting legs ditch to never return. Interestingly, they also never back down from claiming to be the epitome of patriotism. But lacking an approval to be a place on earth that deserves to be inhabited by the now-civilized-former-leeches and not just leeches decorticates her. The purpose for the existence was for her to be treated as home. We fail to do that.

Perhaps it's meant to be a fine combination of both affection and approval. Looking at today, I am bound to declare approval slightly more mandatory than affection and rightfully so as we are in dire need to concentrate parha likkha aadmi here. Our man that abandons us needs to either stay or come back and treat home as home.

Warna main to hun hee! 
Jab tak hun, tab tak to hun hee.

"Tujh ko kitnon ka laho chaheyay ay arz-e-watan
Jo teray aariz-e-berang ko gulnaar karain
Kitni aahon se kaleja tera thanda hoga
Kitnay aanson teray sehraaon ko gulzaar karain

Hum to majboor-e-wafa hain magar ay jaan-e-jahan
Apnay ushaaq se aisay bhi koi karta hai
Teri mehfil ko Khuda rakhay abud tak qaaim
Hum to mehmaan hain gharhi bhar kay, hamara kiya hai"
 

Unexplained

At times incessant repetition of a phrase that hits unexpectedly to your face each time helps you recognize a flaw pertaining to your being or just helps you discover something about yourself. Now, I know people that have helped me recognize one such freakishness about myself would never read this but anyway; one such phrase cum question that I come across all the time is none other than;

“Why are you always in a rush to go?”

Modified forms:

“Jaldi kya hai?”

“What are you always going away for?”

“Why are you so anti-social?”

“Hain, ye achanak kiya?”

“Why are you so against communication?”

Then there are:

“Sun to lain pehlay baat!”

“No, don’t you go ahead start giving me statements to leave.”

“Wait, listen. Hold your horses.”

“Abhi baat khatam nahi howi.”

O and then my favorite one:

“Nafsiyati ho tum thorhi.”

Hahahahaha.

BLAH!

And the craziest thing about this is that all of these people objecting upon my, this specific behavior have at some point declared me to be tenacious, boisterous, redundant, friendly, approachable and WHAT THE HAY not. Why O why must I be struck by questions over and over again that are so contrary to the very presence of all these people posing these questions?

CONTRA-freaking-DICTIONS!

Now, moving on with life, it seems pretty clear to me that I do not have a legitimate answer to these questions. But, I can try advocating for myself,

Loooooook! Sit down.

Firstly, I am never in a rush to go. I just go. 

Secondly, isn’t it always better to have some unexplainable demeanor associated with yourself get into the limelight and have it accepted by the people? It is.

Now, the problem here is the “getting it accepted by the people” part. Even if they do accept such a behavior or anything for that matter, they will never and I repeat NEVER stop questioning you on it. 

This isn’t helping, is it?

Hey!

But having people question on a peculiarity of yours earns you the kind of popularity that saves you from giving explanations to the random stuff that you go about doing!

*smiles furtively*

Liberty.