Hide and Seek

5 May

 Was never fond of it as an infant. It’s alluring as an adult.

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I hide my flaws, those puny cracks that propagate finely through my soul. I curtain my faults, because I am so white for the rest of the world, a black stain would ruin that deception. And I love myself too much for that. Ouch! I sound self centered.

Once upon a time, my name wasn’t a success story. In fact, I had a feeble account to narrate which was illogical, unreasonable and boring. I use to begin with an admixture of all the known emotions and pitches, but no one hanged around for long. One breath, one blink, one sentence for the most. I mastered new arts of delivering, because I was helpless with the content. Monotonous much, it was MY story. Seeking an ear to hear me, I learned a new reaction, a new expression…. being cold, being numb.

Eventually, I gave up. Curtaining reality, I added everything that people appreciate and wanted to extract from a story. False emotions, tales of sleepless nights, amusing hobbies, sarcasm, failures, successes and what not. Results were instant. Attention, appreciation, companionship, everything knocked doors! I was overwhelmed. Years past by, and I kept on investing in this mysterious skill of transforming bad news into good news.My social media flooded with recognition upon partial truths. Hiding my true self, I was proud of the fake and diabolic me. And I never knew I was.

Now, when I am handful and practically have gathered enough. I seek my true story. All those hidden realities that I never confronted. My honest feelings, my genuine failures, my fair successes. Perfection doesn’t have a threshold, false perfection does. And I’ve reached that. The best and the worst thing about time is that it can’t be reverted back. There was a time when things were so vivid, that there was no room for confessions. Today, it’s other way round.

Like me, everyone else is playing hide and seek with them selves. Ironically, with no opponent. Either way, we win. Either way, we lose. I can’t ask you not to play this game. Because Darwin was accurate in putting forth his theory of the survival of the fittest. But I can confess and share – in the process of seeking my pure story. To be confident in calling it, MY STORY!

 

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Tales.

26 Jul

Fancy fantasies with speculations, In quest of solace, arranging all the behaved books in the dimmed romantic shelf, forging the menace to the tiny hopes that reside in our eyes – we move. They tell us, that’s life. It’s no different. Hopes and expectations are not naive, history absorbs greatness of people who’ve had beyond the tiny fence of their eyes. Crediting luck, family support, hard work and all those good things. History never talks about those who were weak, yet good. Those who’ve had there first fall with no one to lift, Those who were agonizingly wounded, and although their hopes never died, they could never rise. At such moments, they don’t expect miracles. They certainly don’t. Sadly, I haven’t known words enough to describe what they wish. For now, It’s just ‘someone’.

And when they don’t see it coming, all those lessons of positivism and rosiness, collapse. In the end of the battle, you either settle with what you have burying what you’ve always wanted, with a smile because everyone repeats the old rotten lessons of bitter experiences. Accepting what you never wished for and stay happily ever after. Inclusive of the word ‘ pretend’ in spirit and latter. The ending remains the same, the story changes.

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“I start to see that I surround myself with broken people; more broken than me. Ah, yes, let me count your cracks. Let’s see, one hundred, two… yes, you’ll do nicely. A cracked companion makes me look more whole, gives me something outside myself to care for. When I’m with whole, healed people I feel my own cracks, the shatters, the insanities of dislocation in myself.”

When no one hears, someone reads. Even the burned stale bits are read as manuscripts. Is the tale of broken expectations and hopes worth enough to be read? That’s on readers. Everyone don’t wear there grief on sleeves.

Day 3 – Lend a hand

22 Jun

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There are some people who’re so abandoned, that God can only appear to them in the form of a lending hand. Whatever tales they’ve always taught their kids about, stories of kind people, compassionate folks, charity, they seek for live examples. There are documents repleted with the facts of what a poor country Pakistan is, and there are plenty who reserve hope in their eyes as they stare their doors, clean their ears, in anticipation of footsteps, of help, of a helping hand.

Contrary to it, let’s appraise our lifestyle. The other, tiny part of our crowd. We spend thousands every day on food streets, buy clothes worth valuable bucks, pay thousands for movies and what not. When you have money, when you work hard, it’s actually fair to spend on self-luxuries if we’re not fond of charity. It’s okay, only after we’ve fulfilled our spiritual responsibility. Our religion ensures circulation of wealth by enforcing the healthy system of zakaat. How may of us are actually conscious about it? For materialistic eyes, it’s a decline in bank balance. For noble hearts, it’s elevating the lifestyle of that poor little fella up there.

Even if you’ve fulfilled your religious responsibility, please think about these people who have seen the worst form of life. It hits hard! Every day, I see people coming on air, pleading for help. They need money for medical problems, to get their daughters married, to build a house, to earn a loaf of bread and what not! Don’t you think that there must be times when they get to enjoy healthy safe food like us? At least in the month of Ramadan?

A little compromise can buy us good will. Please do something for them, as much as you can. And so I’ve decided that I, myself would reserve some share from my pocket money every month. I want their smile back!

Ramadan trial day 2 – Heat reminds me, I am blessed.

20 Jun

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Who didn’t came across the colloquial headline of the week? Karachi breaks it’s former 10 years record by letting the sun boil our land up to 45 Celsius. That’s too much, Eucharistic-ally as we say. We have ran out of options. We can’t keep ourselves hydrated through out the day, can’t stick by the Air conditioners all day long, Can’t even ask for electricity 24 hours round the clock (That’s way too much to ask for) ! Complaints never cease, but I paused and questioned my self, Is it really the peak of distress?

As I strolled down the shy lane by my apartment, I lifted up my gaze to catch a glimpse of the wrinkled Gola Ganda wala, who preserved hope in his eyes as he witnessed little kids craving for what he carried in the cart. The fierce Sun, equivocally distributed it’s scorch and warmth over him, but he continued smiling, guarding his hope. Will he have air conditioner at his residence? I thought. And gradually let my self, gaze the ground, because I knew that he barely might have a standard fan to fight swelter.

Where am I standing? Where are we standing? It’s much more than being thankful to God, it’s about adjusting the word ‘ADJUST’ in our lives. Adjust to the everyday deductions in our luxuries, may be demotions, changes which may not be the best for us, but they occur anyway. Quit trying to control things which aren’t meant to be controlled. It gets so much easier!

So, this is to the Summer Solis-tics and the temperature out there. I might burn my color and strength under you, but perseverance lasts. After all, I want to be stronger than many out there!

God Bless.

Ramadan trail day one (2015) – Crowning our martyrs

20 Jun

It is an intrusive thing, the cessation of a loved one. We all know that we reside here for a limited time and one day, we might end up in a Cemetery, underneath the calculated depth of the ground, covered in a white sheet. Yet it hits us as a surprise when it comes to someone we know. It’s like climbing up the stairs in the dark and thinking there is one more stair, but there isn’t. We cripple, fall down, and then there is a moment when you try and readjust the way we thought of things.

But sometimes, it’s more than a moment that you require. Specially when you’ve lost your school going kid, who fell victim to the worst form of terrorism, it may take a lifetime. It’s about 16 December, APS Peshawar attack. We can condole them, send in a million messages of hope and solidarity, but that void stays there. The only thing that gives there family strength is the promise that divine has given, that they’re alive and are in the most pacifistic of place. But when these families see us weeping and rising for the call of justice for their lost kids, they envision there Shaheeds being crowned for awakening a nation who has been deaf to plenty of attacks and losses.

I will take the revenge, I will fight with my pen, I will fight with my spirit never to bow down in front of terrorism. – It’s not the army, it’s Pakistani common man rising.above his deluge that he isn’t in the state of war and he isn’t meant to battle. He is on the battlefield now, geared up to fight for his kids. Terrorism HAS to leave Pakistan.

On the first day of Ramadan, I learned never to forget our martyrs when we count our Heros! May God Bless them all. Ameen

On

I own it, Do I?

15 May

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Early teenage years entertain it’s own perks, At 16, I was sure that I am made for something in the world. My life constantly planned encounters with people who would lift my morals, who’d encourage me to seek for a spark that is restless to ignite, own it, change it. And I bloomed in that cloud, high.I thought that I owned this beautiful world, I have the right to speak, fight, change, alter, recommend, make anything that I think is best for humanity. I Looked for opportunities, grabbed them utilized them. Making the best out of my life. It was wonderful, wonderful indeed.

Then?

Then I grew up. Teenage ended. And I came across, what I now call, the stubby truth.

There is nothing that I own completely. I am not an origin for any horizon. I am not a harbor for any ship that sails in infinity. There is nothing that welcomes my label, there is absolutely nothing that accepts to remain within the constraints of my fence. I know it, I’ve always known it. Then why was I always stupid enough that I kept trying? Hoping? and even hating the world for not being under control? I was silly, that I thought that if stars can be named after people, I’d have something too. It’s nothing. Nothing.

Having accepted that, I have silenced many questions. Questions like, Do I deserve what I got? thoughts like, People should make efforts to accept me, comfort me. That’s all a fat fantasy. It never happens.

It will never happen.

I am living in someone else’s world and I have to follow all the rules. Without questioning. It hurts, I wish someone would have explained me all of this earlier, but I guess, it’s synchronization of life.

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Blending

27 Feb

Things run parallel in life. Hatred, with an inch of love. Failure, with a touch of success and likewise, plenty opposite virtues tend to streak along, as we stroll around the edges, closing and opening new chapters. Life goes on, the niche stands.

What’s immensely amazing is how we brew ourselves as we approach the poles of change. Our transitions from teenage to adulthood, from colleges and schools to universities, promotions in our relationships, new jobs, surrendering and losing a life in the face of death, acceptance and denial, all these latitudes seek for flexibility in one’s virtues and personality, and surprisingly, it’s not a different  ‘one’ confronting these phases of life, it’s just one US with the art and science of blending in.

It has it’s unique solitary flavor. Exploring new opportunities to learn and embrace our 24 hours distributed with equity to mankind. The swift mutation in our perspectives, our routines, likes and dislikes, they don’t set reminders. No bells ring, and we don’t get to know that we’re changing, blending. Rules are not beautiful, this one is an exception.

Some people call it a compromise. I’d say, it’s just mixing.

Happy Blending.

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