Wednesday, 26 August 2009

when he bowed in Sajda

With tiny chubby hands folded just below his chest, he stood in line with the rest of the Namazis. The Talawat of the Imam swam in the windy night of Ramdhan. The green lights on the Masjid's minar against the backdrop of a purplish sky was the object of fascination for him. From time to time he lifted his prayer cap covered head towards the sky and took a quick glance at the softly lit up minar with loud speakers emitting the soothing talawat reaching the ears of the Momins.

He stood there in the front most saf (row) among men, some tall, some fat, some sleepy, some with tummies bulging out post heavy iftaari ritual and as a result stood there in a state of dreaminess. Alas everyone stood in front of his Creator. When everyone bowed down to prostrate to the Almighty, he got a little pushed sometimes from the tall man on the left and sometimes from the fat man on the right.

Someone in the masjid coughed constantly. His attention was diverted by the probably old man whose coughing got louder and louder. It agitated some when they should have been more concerned for the ill health of someone than being annoyed. The Imam's Talawat soared the starry skies and the Momins prayed. He could hear his grandma's voice in his unusually big ears. Quickly shaking his head like a child about to throw a tantrum he stood in respect with the rest of the congregation and listened to the message of God. He understood nothing like many around him but listened for it brought peace and harmony.

The wind blew from every corner, it criss crossed the Namazis standing shoulder to shoulder in peace and unity. Another gush of wind blew and the tent at a distance caught his attention. The tent stood like an old lady without a walking stick, wobbly and weak. With every flight of the night breeze, the tent danced back and forth and he wondered what lied behind the tent walls. On the other side of the floral green tent partition women, young and old, submitted themselves to their Lord.

On this side of the tent, where his world existed, once again while being squished between men who occasionally burped or felt itchy, his tiny, long eye lashed eyes closed. After only seconds he woke up to find himself the only one in Sajda. Embarrassed and shocked he adjusted his cap with one hand and pulled up his drooping trousers with the other, jumped onto his feet and joined the rest. For quite some length he didnt raise his head despite the minar's fascination. He felt ashamed of himself. He had fallen asleep while the Imam led the prayers. He had been absent while God looked down at his creatures immersed in prayers. How outrageous He must have felt to discover him dosing off in Masjid.

A delicate film of the purest tears filled his eyes. One drop glided down his bumpy cheek while the rest got sheltered by the long healthy lashes. When the imam and the rest turned their heads for Salam, he followed obediently and attentively. Cupped hands were raised in the air, some old wrinkly, some big, strong and veins protruding, some white, some brown, some rich and some poor, some joined together and some raised apart. Among the many sorts of hands he cupped his own tiny pair and brought them in front of his chest raising them in the air.

Thursday, 20 August 2009

another rain post....if love is shelter i m going to walk in the rain

Its morning and i wake up to a crowded gray sky. then the sky pours down its beautiful gift and rains. just the perfect start to the day in Lahore.

i couldn't resist it and went out. at length i stood there admiring the monsoon weather under my umbrella. the wind was welcoming and the rain inviting. the umbrella soon lost its company and rain found me to play with. soon i was under the out of the world rain shower, it grew faster and heavier, just the kind i was waiting for the entire summer. it got colder and windier and more rainy. the rain fell down generously and drenched me soon. every part of my clothes embraced rain and cling to me to never let go. the wind felt cruel for a while but i surrendered to it. i let it make me shiver. i let the rain overpower me. i stopped moving and stood there to have a rendezvous with the rain as it fell lovingly on me. i looked at the sky, eye to eye trying to figure out how rain traveled from up there. but nature has its secrets and all i could see was a magical appearance of rain out of no where, just falling down. i realised that rain was in love. it came rushing down to its beloved. wasnt it so appropriate for the rain to say "i fall in love with the land, the soil, the earth and kept falling until i embraced it and melted into it"

coming out of my pointless thoughts, i secretly prayed for my wish to come true. it is said that pray while it rains and it will come true. so i prayed and prayed until i felt exhausted by my own whispers. the rain fell and fell everywhere. the clouds above moved faster, like ghosts sailing through God's sky. i walked barefoot on the soft bed of wet grass. the paleness of my feet complimented the green of the nature. then i looked around me; my wet glasses resting on the lawn swing, arch wall darkened where rainwater had embraced it in a blot, wall cress flowers hanging down in a farewell to the dripping leftover drops.

it was a moment,
a moment reflecting divine power,
when the rain danced down,
the purest of winds blew.
it was the rhythm in the air
the thunder in the clouds
when a whisper was let out,
when the world came to a tiny halt,
and a shy breath escaped
from the slightly parted lips.
it met with freedom
to fly away with the winds..

Wednesday, 19 August 2009

the lemonade genius

My friend and I had this profound conversation on the above title. She was upset and thus the discussion went forth like this.

Amy: How hard is it to make lemonade ! ..

Mubi: it takes a newton, an einstein, a meera, an ainak wala jin and an amy to make a lemonade.. hm i say not that hard !

Amy: very hard ! .. do u have any idea abt my struggle today !

Mubi: no the lil birdy who delivers news got caught in an accident. what happened :p

Mubi: oh the lemons refused to get squeezed by you?

Amy: no it was horrible in taste mubi !

Mubi: then the following equation would work

amy + lemons + kitchen = disaster - amy - lemons= empty peaceful kitchen

the conversation followed but not in my favour. i also got to learn that there exists a Portugese lemonade :p

Monday, 17 August 2009

when the sky talks to you

Her feet sank in the green of grass, puddle of water filled her sandals. Rain drizzled down,a tiny baby drop fell on her forehead. She lifted her face up, tried looking at the magnificent canvas of clouded sky. The brightness above mighty as ever made her squint her eyes. She closed her eye lids and let the raindrops dance on her face. The sky began to let go off the long held rain. Then she heard the longest thunder in her life. A lightening might strike her. But the rain, it fell down with force and fervour to the preceding rhythm of thunder . It rushed down towards the thirsty soul. As the droplets fell down, everything brightened up. Everything came to live. The grass, the leaves, the lemon tree nearby, even the birds began to sing a little. The windowpanes glistened to their own lifeless tone that water slid down them.

She stood there, her wet feet rooted in the soft grass tickling her. She observed that her feet looked whiter, fairer, flawless. A tiny red ladybird gave company to the tiny finger of her left foot, like a thief hiding in a narrow alley, silently and invisibly. Oblivious of the tiny life by her foot,she looked at her hands and saw beauty. The wheatish complexion had transformed to a glowing white. The rain fell down on her clothes, absorbed into the fabric and disappeared making it see through. The rain fell on her skin and the tiny hair stood in welcome of it.

A streak of shiver ran through her body and emerged on her skin as goosebumps. She quickly rubbed her hands over her cold arms embedding the standing hair. The softest breeze blew and alarmed her. The rain had stopped. The sky had grown silent and the clouds had swam away to another destination.

Saturday, 15 August 2009

between the wish and the life lies waiting

i have been waiting. i dont like waiting but i have realised that is all we do our entire lives. just look at the oft recited phrase "umeed per duniya qaim hai" "hope keeps us going" indirectly its suggesting that we 'wait'.
we wait for so many things. as Pakistanis we wait 10 to 12 hours daily for this one thing: Bijli, angerzi mai bolay tu 'electricity'

my friend calls and says: whats happening
me says: umm waiting...
my friend says: my waiting just got over, lights back yay
me says: no no i was waiting for the washroom to get vacant :P

so yes, its all about waiting
we wait for electricity to COME and sometimes for it to go.

pop says: what are you doing mubi
me says: pa, waiting...
pop says: but the light is coming, what are you waiting for
me says: pa!! i m waiting for the light to go..
pop says: but why would anyone wait for it to go? we are supposed to wait for it to come to continue our electricity related chores/work etc etc
me says: no pa, ab zamana badal gaya hai :p the world is changing now :p actually i have to ring my friend, so i will call her when the light's out, best way of shedding an hour of load shedding!! :D :D

apart from all this
we wait in a queue
we wait for our turn in an interview
we wait for our favourite program
we wait for our new clothes that the tailor never stitches on time
we wait for a table to get vacant in a restaurant and then we wait for the order that we placed, we also wait for the delivery boy who happens to be lost though hes been to our place like only yesterday?
we wait for our o levels result, a levels, college results and so many other results
we wait for the new movie to release
we wait for some spicy gossip about our exes from our so and so friends
we wait to be logged onto facebook, even though the time span is a few seconds
we wait for the restoration of peace
we wait for the baby to come in the world
we wait for the leaders to change
we wait for our monthly salary/ stipend
we wait for the rain, its raining right now, the wait is over :D
'haan' ya 'naa' honay ka wait, then the girl/guy is engaged, phir shaddi ka wait.
chuti honay ka wait
weekend anay ka wait though we know exactly how many days and hours will it take to be a weekend but we go like this

friend: i thought you planned that...
other friend: i have! but i am waiting..
friend: for what?
other friend: the weekend!!!

we are always waiting. waiting for the right time to confess our love to someone, or to give an equally 'rude' reply to get even with someone.

in fact, the idiom, 'strike while the iron is hot' refers exactly to the 'waiting' bonus we get in life.

lately i was also waiting.i dont know for what but i was waiting. my friends asked why arnt you blogging these days. i didnt know. but i think i was waiting for the right time. hmm

sometimes, the waiting for something takes an entire lifetime. we wait and wait and wait for that one thing to happen to us but miss out on the little happy moments of life. sometimes we just go through life 'waiting' for something to happen instead of making it happen.

so basically, waiting is the transitory phase we all have to go through to reach our dreams, our wishes, our destinations. the waiting phase, however, is not void of thorns and ugly hindrances. getting through it, is like surviving through a war; losing a limb or two in the end.

i never thought waiting could do this to us !!

Tuesday, 11 August 2009

unheard voice

Every year on the 1st August we put up our flag on the roof top as a yearly ritual in preparation of the independence day. However, as 14th of August fast approaches this year, i am forced to think over a few things as a Pakistani. Do I really respect the flag that is my identity? Do I feel proud being a Pakistani at this time, when difficulties envelope us more than ever before due to the indulgent and laid back attitude of our caretakers?

I m not a coward to back out and declare I m not honest to my country but I certainly am tired of the games being played with us. I m tired of the politics of the politicians. I m tired of the world politics and the big evil schemes shrouded in the slogan of 'helping developing countries'. I m tired of justifying the killing of my brothers and sisters based on some conspiracy theories and that all will end in good. In the real picture, all the waiting for a better and 'peaceful' tomorrow are distant and blurry. It’s like 'waiting for Godot' something that we are expecting but would never happen. The entire episode of waiting makes fun of our helplessness, mocking us right in the face.

I don’t want to sound a cry baby, nor am I complaining about my fate for putting me in a country lacking in almost all comforts that a citizen has a right to. My agitation is constantly nagging me to find answers to the questions in the dark corridors of power, politics and our caretakers. My lost patriotism, with much shame and disgrace falls on the predators we assumed to be our caretakers. I use the word 'caretaker' because that is what they are who sit on the seats of power, who travel on the taxes we pay, who drive in VVIP cars, who live in huge mansions with continuous power supply, indulge in luxurious activities, dine with super powers while the 'taken care of' face constant negligence.

This is a voice of everyone who has been affected by the turmoil, directly or indirectly. Although I m much disappointed in the power of pen, this is my only outlet. I come from what is called the young generation, successfully hopeless and dejected. I grew up in the times of 9/11 and have continued to see occupation, arms and ammunition, mass killings and bombs almost every day. I don’t want my children to learn that A stands for ammunition, B for bomb and W for war. But despite all the bleakness and the dejection -following is all that I ask for on behalf of my fellow citizens.

I ask not more than is my right. I voice no more than there is wrong in the world. I bleed no more than the pain of my brothers and sisters victimized by random drone attacks, shellings and guns. I don’t want false promises of long awaited peace with rehabilitation plans. I don’t want peace with broken limbs, maimed souls, forgotten identities, lost relations, war scars embedded into my skin, blood dried up on the barren land.

All I ask for is what I deserve. I want to see a blue sky, the green grass, a night sky that I can look up at without the fear of being hit by an unknown war machine. I want to breathe fresh air; open my eyes to a beautiful Pakistan every day. I wish to move around freely without any fear of insecurity, or risking my life to a bomb tied onto someone else. I want a true promise that would put a smile on every face. Do I ask for a lot?


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