Solemn Advice

The Catch

Real Women

How real do I need to get
To conform to your definitions?

Real women are silent,
Real women are loud,
Real women don’t care about the crowd.
Real women shed tears,
Real women stay stoic,
Real women do whatever is their choice.
Real women show emotion,
Real women show restraint,
Real women can easily smile through pain.
Real women are decent,
Real women are wild,
Real women can let go once in a while.
Real women wear make up,
Real women can also not,
Real women never really have to be taught.
Real women are honest,
Real women tell white lies,
Real women are worthy in their own eyes.

How much more do we have to define,
When there never really was a fine line?
Real women exist wherever they please,
Real women live within you and me.

The Full Circle of Morality

Our society is in a tacit race with itself. Opportunities to stop and reflect are hard to come by. We are left with no choice but to prioritise. All of us have something to strive for and that ends up becoming our target, our mission. It shapes itself into the one thing that matters the most.

Seep into the mind of a father of three who works endlessly to feed the children he brought into this world through a woman he promised all the happiness she deserved. Empathise with his disappointment when he is handed his measly salary and he heads home to his children’s cries for the toys they’ve been eyeing for months or his wife’s latent expectation of the long overdue anniversary gift. His means are limited but his dreams, constantly being thwarted every day, seemed boundless at the same time.

He tries to make a little money on the side. Is it dishonest? Yes. Does he care? He has stopped caring. He stopped when he had to say no to his children repeatedly or when he had to take the frustration of a menial job out on his wife. He needs tomake ends meet and he sacrifices his morals and integrity to do so. That’s what he’s been striving for. His reflection in the mirror mocks him with its blackened hands and dirtied face, but he has learnt to shy away from the mirror. The picture engraved in his mind is of his beautiful babies and the woman he loves. This picture urges him to push forward and continue, regardless of what road he takes. Because this is what matters. Morality can take a backseat because his priorities are different. Perhaps, God will understand and forgive.

Imagine what goes through the mind of the barely pubescent boy who works his fingers to the bone at the local run-down cafe? He knows his baby sister will starve if he doesn’t earn enough to pay for her meal. He is all she has, and she is all he’s left with. He knows accidents happen every day, which is why when his parents met their death in one, he was quick to accept it. His sister, however, is alive. He has to make sure it stays that way. Because, after all that he’s lost, this is what matters — building a new life for himself and the only person he has left to love and call his own. He keeps at it, his once snow-white smooth palms, rough now and covered in blisters. He simply can’t stop, can he? Stopping won’t buy his baby sister sufficient milk. And so, he continues.

What about the infamous politician, with his beautifully crisp, ironed suit and his fancy black, bulletproof Vigo with numerous others as adornments of protocol? He is what he is. Risen from the ashes, an embodiment of one of the lesser known rags to riches stories. He feeds himself with festive feasts and exotic women alike, throwing gratitude out of the bay window overlooking countless other fortunes in his possession. For a man with decades of power under his wing after being miserably devoid of it, his body is programmed for one thing — satiating hungers of all kinds. Why shouldn’t he? Because, for him, this is what matters — his need to reach that point of completion and fulfillment and his want to abuse the drug that is power.

The religious scholar limps into his place of worship with a deceptively warm and welcoming smile. His eyes fall upon the herd of young men, waiting to be shepherded under the promising umbrella of religion. He begins his sermon — a speech that has extracts from holy scriptures, which the scholar deems suitable for use, along with numerous interpretations he has extracted himself. Who will know? These men visit this place of worship simply because they are devoid of its knowledge and history in the first place. They need guidance, and guide them he will. He guides them onto the path he deems correct, for in his mind, the path he follows is the only way of life. It is how one must practice their religion — by submitting completely to its deepest folds and meanings. In his mind, he is right. It is what he has been taught and he will continue the teachings of those who came before him. Thus, he spreads it far and wide through every means possible. Because, for him, this is what matters. Uniformity and rigidity are, for him, essential pillars of life and so he spreads what he knows to ensure the continuation of his own legacy and that of those before him.

The local tutor heads to the school where numerous eager faces await his arrival. To call this set-up a school would be an act of ridiculing institutions all over and to call it run-down, an understatement. Yet, the children brave the scorching heat and challenging terrain with their bare feet, only to spend three hours with this miracle worker who imparts unto them gems and pearls of wisdom and knowledge every day. They must do so, for they have the burden of the dreams of their families upon their underdeveloped shoulders and the will to carry on and succeed. They can call it a day whenever they wish to for no one will question their absence. They do not, however. Because, this is what matters — the hopes, dreams and aspirations of their elders that they need to fulfill.

The very same is fuel for the tutor’s fire. With the dreams of numerous families dependent on the education he imparts, he simply cannot give up. He has the ability and the credentials to move to the city and seek a real job. But he does not do so. Because this is what matters. Not only to him, but to the little boy who plans on being a doctor when he grows up and the little girl who smiles at him every day and tells him she wishes to be just like him. It is what he must strive for.

Finally, we arrive at the nondescript office desk of a worn out activist, his voice sore due to his protests against evil of every form that has invaded his haven — his motherland. He quietly pens his next motivational speech down in this dimly lit, soul-sucking cubicle that had shaped its way into his daily routine for the past decade. His motivation is at an all-time low and why wouldn’t it be? He was a single individual dreaming for a nation that had potential and power, which it overlooked and underestimated. He was a man dreaming for millions and at times, that seemed much too large for his own well-being. He has started to think that perhaps, certain dreams are much too unaffordable and the price one pays for them is much too high with no guarantees or security. However, he has to try and he will keep trying till his last breath. Because this is what matters — the lives of millions restored with the still-alive but diminishing dream of one man who has a lot more courage and valour than he believes is possible for a person to have.

The world comes to a full circle. People find what matters most to them and they do whatever it takes to make that materialise. They make mistakes, they lie, they cheat and they hurt others. They opt for underhand tactics or the path less travelled. Most importantly, they get over it and move on.

Is it right? I am no one to judge. Perhaps, those priorities can merge to pave way for an easier path where morals are of the utmost importance. Maybe, if we took a step back and gained an overall view of the aspirations of those around us, getting to our destinations would be that much easier. Maybe we need to stop racing against time, against society and against our own personal strength. If we are on this uphill trek, we might as well seek help and offer it to our fellow hikers. It’s a long way up to our goals. And that is, after all, what matters.

Published in The Express Tribune, March 15^th, 2015.

http://tribune.com.pk/story/853370/the-full-circle-of-morality/

Chasing Power and Love

Growing up with cousins who were huge Bollywood fans, I was bombarded with Bollywood movies, songs and dialogues. I watched Shah Rukh Khan make the promise of love to several actresses in different movies, I watched Salman Khan try to dance with all his leading ladies and I watched the cliched concept of love overpowering all else being eternalised on screen. It was then, I suppose, that I conditioned myself to believe that love and power were the two main driving forces behind the universe, with love overpowering the latter all the time. As I grew up, this belief started to give way when I realised that love wasn’t enough to buy lunch or new clothes. Money was a necessity and whosoever possessed it, possessed an incredible amount of power that could, at times, buy love as well.

This constant chase for love and power puzzled me, but I decided that power always gave you the upper hand. I focused academically, solely for this purpose. Every time I excelled, I would be rewarded with money that I would save up. I did, momentarily, feel powerful and extremely important, but I wasn’t happy. Something just didn’t make sense. One day, I was going through my e-mail inbox, when I came across something a friend had forwarded. There were pictures of the solar system, comparing the earth to other planets and stars. In the vast entirety of the universe and all its galaxies, the Earth was nothing more than a mere pixel on a large digital canvas. To an uninformed 15-year-old, this information didn’t mean much. Back then, all the middle school drama, dealing with people I assumed were friends and keeping up my grades were the issues I believed mattered. It wasn’t until much later, when the sun had set on insignificant things like grades and keeping up with appearances, that I fully grasped the essence of that e-mail.

The human race, in all its glory, amounts to nothing. In the grand scheme of things, the planet we live on does not amount to the size of an ant compared to a human. How is it, then, that we consider ourselves the epitome of all things important and assume that the sun, in all its magnificence and splendour, revolves around us? Numerous writers have penned their thoughts on this matter, highlighting human insignificance, the fragility of our narcissistic minds and our eventual fate. How many times have we been told that we will take absolutely nothing with us to our graves? It is an oft-repeated and oft-ignored phrase because we consider ourselves invincible in our journey to find power and materialistic control.

Perspectives that talk about living an immaterial life and renouncing the chase for power and love are often dismissed as being impractical or naive. We are socialised to chase power and love, the lines between which have become incredibly fine, making it hard to distinguish one from another. Everything translates to power, be it success, fame or solace. We believe that possessing all that we wish is what true happiness and peace is. Thus, we blindly set out on our respective journeys to find power, be it in any form, without truly finding ourselves and our niche in our small worlds.

The fact is that the people behind these dramatic Bollywood stories have pockets and stomachs that have been satiated with years of power in the form they desired. It is easy to create a story, but it is unimaginably hard to live it. When screenplays choose to scribble ‘three months later’ after the character comes face to face with a tragedy, they choose to ignore the depiction of inextinguishable pain, making the journey seem a lot easier than it really is. The immensity of that pain, the failure of its depiction, the people embarking on that journey — all are, as a friend of mine once put it, “mere electrons compared to vastness of the world”.

My perspective could, of course, be completely off the mark. Perhaps, a lot of us will read this and disagree altogether. We are our own priorities — be it due to narcissism or self-love. Perhaps, that is our role in this universe — to create, to destroy, to seek power in all its might. After all, it is that thirst for power that helped us discover the colossal, undiscovered bits of faraway galaxies. Perhaps, if we keep looking, we might find the answer to our purpose and actual significance as well. Are we forever doomed to live self-involved lives with selfish motives and an imminent desire to have our name on neon signboards, or are we here for some greater purpose, such as that served by the incredulous might of the stars and galaxies around us?

Published in The Express Tribune, August 26^th, 2015.
http://tribune.com.pk/story/944678/chasing-power-and-love/

Making Amends

Settlements

They would have never taken her seriously. It had become engrained in their minds that she was nothing more than an attention seeking egotist.

People misunderstood her, though, as people often do. Her silence had been due to her inability to put her thoughts into actual words. She was labeled arrogant and obnoxious by people who didn’t know better. Then again, people never do.

The same pack of wolves that had made her life a mockery showed up to pay homage to her remains.
“She was such a beautiful soul.”
“She didn’t talk much, but she was very important to me.”
“I miss her already.”
These words were lost on the still carcass, broken internally by the world’s labels and externally by the self inflicted fatal wounds.

“Why would she take her own life?”
“What drove her to this? We were always there for her.”
“She has doomed herself for eternity in hell.”

But they had already put her through hell everyday. With a single dismissal of her departed soul as that of a sinner’s, they answered their own queries, leaving behind the pale form of a dead daughter, a dead sister and a mutilated existence.

They had not run the knife over her veins physically, but her blood stained their hands equally.

Reminder

Matching Up

I may not be able to write half as well
As the words you string into pieces of art,
But if you could glance inside this heart,
It aches for you, it wants to scream
All that you have ever meant to me.
The rhythm with which it chooses to beat,
Is a sound you consider a melody.
And oh, the way you smile in the morning,
I wish I could describe the butterflies.
Yet, all I do is wait for you
To comprehend words I cannot write.
We’ve both built walls, but that’s clichéd,
We don’t have time for a shovel or spade.
Claw in, dig deep, you’re all you’ll find,
Engraved deep within my mind.
I wrote your name on my arms
With pencils that could not erase
The mockery I was turned into
But all of that seems like a waste.
I see my name on your skin,
Trailing down your arms with ink
That bleeds the same colour as I,
That is how we know it’s real.
I could make you my place of worship,
You could be the shrine I visit.
Your body could be my holy temple,
But your are much more than that.
If I could only verbalise
All this in front of your eyes.
Make this music to your ears,
Like your voice is music to mine.
And here I try to write for you,
No Shakespeare, no sonnets,
Just the simple, raw truth.
And it may not be half as well
As the art you could conjure so soon,
It is my heart bleeding out on paper,
I’d do this all my life for you.

For The Win

How many times
Have we been baffled,
By drunken mistakes
And after shots kisses?
The alcohol slipping down our chins
And all we wanted was a win.
So we shed our scarves
For short skirts.
Put pictures up
Our friends thought the worst.
And the boys we posed with
Had their hands on our hips
While they waited, silently
For their turns on our lips.
What did we know,
Painted in shades of rebellion?
With fifty shades of mistakes
That we woke up to
The morning after.
Walks of shame, showers that claim
To wash off last night’s sins.
And are we really to blame?
When all we sought was a win.
Trashy hotel rooms,
Passing off as adults.
With people we knew
We can’t really trust.
Coming from a small town,
It all means so much
That you forget when the music plays,
This isn’t who you really are.
Back then, how would you know?
You’ve never tasted anything whole.
Not wine, not vodka, not alcohol,
How can you learn if you don’t go
Ahead and make your own mistakes.
So we walk back with tear-stained faces.
At least we know, at least we’ve learned.
And now we know
A lot better than before.
We’ve grown up in months
When we couldn’t back home.
And we waited for all this to begin.
Indulged ourselves,
All for the win.