The Magician.

Gather around everyone, I am going to show you a trick. In front of you lies a coffin, next to it a set of nails and a hammer. Don't be fooled by the rags I wear, I can truly make things disappear. It's not an illusion, its not a trick. It's real magic. 

I am going to lie in the coffin, I want you to shut the door, don't panic if I shriek a little, it gets pretty dark, pretty quickly, and I am a little claustrophobic. You might wonder why I am doing this if I am scared of this grim box. It has to be done, the box will take me to salvation, you will all see the magic I hold. 

I want you to nail the box shut. My breath is probably going to be getting shorter and faster, I might knock a little, ignore it. Its time to lower the coffin in to the ground, I have already asked someone to dig 6 feet deep. There may be screams and pleads by now, but that's just animal instincts, I know this has to be done to make you believe me. Start putting the dirt back in, the screams will slowly get in audible, its basic physics you see, the sound waves have more mass to travel through, creating vibrations through this amount of mass dissipates more of the already limited energy- considering I can't breathe properly any more- Keep listening though, Its going to sound like I seriously want to be let out now, but wait. 

We are reaching the finale now, drum roll, wait for it, wait for it. The screams end. Did you see that? I made the pain disappear. 

The Game of Hope.

As custom dictates, I should be acknowledging the fact that this is my first post this year, so I hope every one of you is having a good year so far, and will continue to do great things, which are worth remembering. Forgive me from diverting from the norms and not listing down the new year resolutions that I have so thoughtfully made, which will probably not materialise. Instead this post is about a feeling that seems to be an integral part of everyone's life and yet is so intangible and multi-dimensional that I fail to understand the extent to which one should let it bloom. That particular feeling is of Hope. There's an old saying in Urdu, امید پہ دنیا قائم ہے (umeed pai dunya qaa'im hai),  which translates to the world is existing on hope, that explains how important hope is for mankind. From serious things like hoping to be alive the next moment, to trivial matters like hoping to get more of the purple jelly beans in a box, we all need hope. But I am here to figure out when one needs to stop hoping. 

Understanding when our hopes and expectations become unreasonable is beyond me, fine rationale can be a guiding compass but at times one needs to defy logic and act upon faith alone to get by without being depressed, or even worse, suicidal. So at those times, hope is good, hope is what we need. But as every businessman knows oh so well, with every venture there is a probability of loss, and the successful businessmen are those who take smart risks realising these losses. Similarly, when you hope, surely there is a part of you that is expecting heart break, yes they say that having complete faith can(or maybe they use the word 'will') get you what you want, but I have my doubts, don't get me wrong, faith is good, but for something you believe in a hundred percent, whilst accepting the underlying possibility of heart break.

Now I believe that one can only take so much heart break, and thus it will be wise to not make hope one's first step when doing things, instead it is better to do all one can before hoping for things to turn out in their favour. So how do we know when hope is vain? The best way to learn something is from experience, so from experience I can say, that hoping for someone you love, to love you back in the same way is one of those times when one needs to stop hoping. If you think about someone all the time, it'd be nice to know that they think about you too, but its foolish to hope for such things to happen, because then you're just paving your way towards depression. Another one of these instances which perplex me too great degrees is, when is the right time to stop hoping for someone to come back and just let them go? 

When you love someone, and I mean truly love someone, if they leave you, how do you not hope for them to come back? But then comes the time when this hope makes you dysfunctional, it disables you to love again and when that time comes, I think its best to say that hope is not your friend anymore. Here too the same rules applied in the beginning, when to hope was equivalent to breathe, but now its doing the opposite. Here, I want to mention something which was actually the reason why this particular thought process began in my mind. This isn't about loss of love, its more about life, or lack thereof. 

I have a cousin, who is battling Cancer, and its been such a roller coster ride for her, with many lows and a few highs, and for those who know her, especially her mother, hope is all that there is, the doctors say they are trying their best, some treatments show results, others don't. Several times has she come to the brink of losing this battle and the last time that happened, which wasn't too long ago, talk became circulating how 'there was no hope for her' and at this point.... (I don't think I can get myself to say it) things didn't look too good. I personally didn't go to see her in ICU when she was on a ventilator, but from those who went I heard how there was pain in her eyes, how she was suffering and while she was unable to move tears rolled down her cheeks. It was a decisive moment for her husband, the doctor suggested an expensive treatment, which had a very little chance of being successful. He had to decide if it was time to let go and end her suffering, or go with the treatment. And I am glad he made the decision he did. 

He decided to go with it, and in this matter hope did take us through and even though she isn't in a good condition yet, at least she is not in the hospital anymore. This got me thinking. I really want to tell you that I have a better conclusion for you, but I don't, all I have are a few questions so take it for what it is. When do you know it's time to let go? How do you pull the plugs on someone's life and then live with it? and perhaps the biggest question yet, When does hope become the enemy? 

P.S. This one is for my cousin, Zehra Sajjad, she's 32, has a 6 year-old son and is still battling. She needs all the prayers she can get, please pray for her. And while hope still keeps us afloat, I am confident prayers will propel us ashore. 

غمیں نہ ہو کہ بہت دور ہیں ابھی باقی

نئےستاروں سے خالی نہیں سپہر کبود

  داکٹڑ علامہ محمد اقبالؔ 

(Don't be sad that there is a long time to go

The blue sky isn't short of new stars

Dr. Allama Muhammad Iqbal.)

Untitled.

Where am I? 


What is this place? 


How did I get here?


I can hardly keep my eyes open, the lights are too bright, I can hear the air conditioner running on full blast, that should explain the goosebumps on my arms. 


What's that smell? Smell's like the balm I use when my nose is blocked. 


My cheeks hurt, hmm cracked skin, have I been crying? My eyes are strained too, I probably was, but why? 


Dad's on my right, he looks sad, why is he looking at me like that? My brother's on my left, but he's not looking at me, What's he looking at? 


Mom? Why are you lying there? Get up! 


Maa please, it's getting dark.

آسماں کی حماقت۔

An Original Piece, my attempt at urdu poetry. Please read and comment. 

آنکھیں موندے شام کو لیٹا میں سونے 

سوچا کےدو گھڑی آرام کر لوں میں 

چلتا رہا ذہن اپنے آپ کیا کاروں؟

گھڑیوں نے بھی پکڑی رفتار کیا کروں؟

سب چھوٹا تو نیند کی پریوں نے دستک دی،

بولیں کے رات آن کو ہے، اب سو بھی جا تو!

اب جاگا جو میں نیند سے حقیقت کچھ اور تھی

سویا جہاں تھا میں، وہ خاک نا تھی یہ

سورج چمک رہا تھا شفق لال تھی وہاں

ہیرت بھری نگاھوں سے میں دیکھ رہا تھا

اتنے میں اچانک ایک ٹھوکر مجھے لگی

دیکھا جو مڑ کر میں نے اک ضعیف تھا کھڑا

آنکھوں میں اس کے خوف تھا ماتھے پہ تھیں شکن

آنکھوں میں میری دیکھ کر اس نے بات کی شروع

کہنے لگا، "میاں یہاں کام کیا ترا؟

اندھیرا آرہا ہے ترا چراغ ہے کہاں؟

بھاگو یہاں سے یہ تاریکی ہے ٖطویل

نہ ختم ہونے والی رات آئی ہے

سورج جو دوست تھا، روٹھ گیا ہے

فلک نے چاند سے جو دل لگی ہے کی"

کرا سوال میں نے کہ،" کیا کہا جناب؟

آسماں کو کیا چاند کی حقیقت نہیں پتا؟

آتا ہے ایک بار مہینے میں وہ نظر

ورنہ جھلک دکھا کے تڑپاتا ہے ہمیں

سورج ہے اصل دوست جو نہ چھوڑے اپنا ساتھ

رہتا وہیں پر ہے چاہے دنیا پلٹ لے منہ

چاند کی چمک ہے ادھاری کی روشنی

آفتاب نہ ہو سخی تو پھر چاند ہو کہاں؟"

بولا بزرگ چیخ کر، "احمق ہے آسماں،

چار روزہ چاندنی پہ ہادی بھلا دیا۔"

آئی آوازِ غیب کہ،"احمق نہیں ہوں میں،

جلتا ہوں ہر پہر، سورج کی آگ تلے میں!

چاندنی نے مجھ کو ہے آگوش میں لیا،

ٹھندک نے اس کی مجھ کو سیراب ہے کیا۔"

سرخ آندھیوں نے افق پر گھیرا بنا لیا،

روشن خواب دکھا کے گھمرا اسے کیا۔

اتنے میں ہے سورج نے الوداع کہا،

پلک جھپکتے ہم سے رخصت وہ ہو گیا۔

ڈوبتے سورج کو دیکھ مرا دل بھی ہے ڈوبا

اب آنکھوں نے میری صبر کا دامن چھڑا لیا

روتا رہا اندھیر میں کہ عجب رات آئی ہے

جانے خدا کہ کب ہو اب روشن یہ گلستاں؟

کہنے لگا آسماں،"گھبراوُ نہیں تم

آئے گا چاند، میرا محبوب جو ہے وہ۔"

گھنٹے گزر گےُ نہ آیا کچھ نظر مجھے

پوچھا اس سے میں نے کہاں ہے یہ چاند اب؟

بولا کوئی کہ "پاس ہی تیرے کھڑا ہوں میں

لیکن جانے کہاں روٹھ کے بیٹھی ہے مہتاب؟"

کہنے لگا ضعیف کہ مغرور تھا آسماں

اپنے ساتھ تجھ کو بھی ویران کر گیا۔

برس پڑا اب آسماں پھر آندھیاں چلی

گش کھا کے وہیں خاک پر میں سو گیا

ٹوٹا جب یہ خواب مسکرا رہا تھا میں

شاید آسماں کی قصمت پہ ہنس پڑا

سوچا پھر یہ میں نے کہ پروا نہیں مجھے

سمجھا نہیں جو تو، تو میں کیا کروں؟

محمد حسن خوجہ

Daring to Dream.

عمر دراز  مانگ کر لاۓ تھے چار دن 

دو آرزو میں کٹ گۓ دو انتظار میں 

بہادر شاہ ظفر

(Asking for a long life we got four days,

Half went away in wishing, rest in waiting.)

{Find the complete ghazal by Bahadur Shah Zafar here}


They say, "it isn't over till it's over", perhaps the same is also true for beginnings too. This post is about what happened to me when a dream I so lovingly nursed for for years now, blew up in my face. I apologise to all my readers(as few as they may be) and myself for not writing, but I preferred to be numb than take the heart ache head -on. Now I feel disappointed in myself for giving up a passion to a loss that has already taken so much from me, that I must visit that box in my head labelled; 'Do Not Open'.


What happened I think was quite big, as far as I am concerned, but I will not trivialise my post by making it about me, I have considered this a sacred place where the purest of my emotions get to free themselves, and not a place to vent. So I shall try and manoeuvre my feelings towards a general outcome, that can (hopefully) benefit those who might know what it feels like. 


When you have a dream, something that you really want, and in quite attainable, it hurts when that dream doesn't come true, even though you try your best. The first instinct is to hibernate, switch off everything and go in to a deep sleep where you don't have to feel anything else. Makes sense why sleeping a lot is a sign of depression, why wouldn't you want to sleep a lot when that is the only solace you have? When you are done with sleeping, there comes a point where you start wondering what's next, and as you pick up the pieces, you want to just move on. Moving on isn't the easiest thing to do. How can you when it is something that has occupied much of your thoughts for quite a while? I feel like I need to give out a scream, a very loud scream, that should go unheard. I don't know if it makes sense, but in the technical sense, when a sound's frequency gets too high the human ear cannot hear it. That's what I need to move on! 


I haven't moved on, and I don't think you should either, if you feel like you really want something to happen, then take a step back, analyse what the cards in front of you say, maybe you can try again? Third time's the charm I think. But do not put all your eggs in one  basket, have a back-up plan, set your self a deadline, have a project meanwhile. When everything fails you, which I sincerely hope doesn't happen, just know that there is someone or something looking out for you, if you have been earnest in making your dreams come true and things don't work out for you, do not take it as your failure, you tried, maybe the time wasn't right. I am not saying you should take no for an answer. I guess what I am trying to say is, that perhaps the time wasn't right, and when the time is right you will get what you want. Just hold on long enough and not make this one dream the central goal of your life, it is healthy to have other projects, other passions. 


Personally a part of me is some what happy, because I have always wondered how can a sheltered upbringing such as my own, foster true artistic genius, not to say that I have reached that point. But these punches life gives you, help add to the book of experience, which I can hopefully open one day and find enough source material to shape my masterpiece. Although being so empathetic can work for me but I long for first hand experiences, like so many of the work's I enjoy reading.


I open with a verse from Bahadur Shah's ghazal, a man who was destined to rule but was tied with strings and forced to be a puppet. The verse says so much about life, his and ours, and how some of us spend it. I would love to say that we are so empowered as to decide our own fate and nothing's impossible but right now I feel there is an undertone to these seemingly uplifting statements. Nature plays on us perhaps trying to teach us a lesson that is the hardest to learn. Patience. 

Quel est L'amour?

So I was having this invigorating conversation with my friend on the phone discussing the abstract thing known as 'Love'. We tried defining it, categorising it, quantifying it and finally summarising it but to no avail. Love in my head is still a very intangible amalgamation of emotions and experiences which can run in to infinite loops and even though a definition could be correct for you, or even be accepted by the masses, someone refusing to accept the norm is still entitled to call what they feel, love. Another friend of mine said, writing gives clarity to ones thoughts, so here it goes. 


Let's first talk about love as a verb. In the general sense I guess its the superlative form of the word like. When you like something or some one more than the rest its love. But again how do you measure it. Who are these others that you like but not love, and how do you differentiate. Perhaps there needs to be some sort of exclusivity for the action, cream of the crop so to speak. Here I think I should mention why I think Love is a verb, I believe the mind plays a huge part in loving an object, whether it be the aesthetics stimulating the brain in all the right ways or overlooking the short-comings to create an image* that is almost perfect(a very obscure word do grant me the license to use it in this sense) and thus worthy of loving, the brain is actively playing a part. Even on a subconscious level there's the obvious attraction when you really like something but cannot understand why. I think this definition loses all the fireworks attached with love but there are other definitions too.

What about love as a noun? Well the clear case of it would the object one loves, as in "my love". But then there's the abstract feeling Love. For many it's the intense feeling of joy mixed with trust. But I know many a situations where love entails sorrow and pain. So how do you know you are in love when you don't even know what it is? Perhaps the answer is when you don't know what you're feeling whilst being attracted to someone its love.

Moving from that my friend and I talked about the kinds of love. The main categories(as we see them) are Love of God(beautifully put in Urdu as Ishq e Haqiqi {عشق حقیقی} meaning real love) and Love of World(Ishq e Majazi {عشق مجازی} meaning metaphorical love). 


I would like to discuss the latter first. Love of world, is the love you feel for something you see. There are ideas of 'true love' and 'the one' which I honestly find ludicrous. For most of us statistics and science play a huge role in determining who that one person is, the affect of surroundings on ones individual self, the psychological void that is created by what ever one grows up with turns in to desire, and if you are in love, then odd's are the object of your love fills a part(how ever big or small) of that void creating all the feelings and experiences typically called love. Now when I say that I don't want to sound dull and de-romanticise love, for I do think there is something there, something that science cannot explain, a supernatural element perhaps but there is something. This something unfortunately I think isn't the case for most of us. What I am talking about is the love that poets like Mir and  Ghalib talk about, the kind of love that is said to be the love a moth has for a flame, the kind of love that burns you up inside the feeling of longing and incompleteness. That I think is love in it's extremist form, and even though there might be some melancholia associated with this kind of love I find the feeling of being engulfed by the aura of the one you love as something very rare and bittersweet and there is a sense of pathos that I may live my entire life without truly knowing what love is;

جدھر سے میں گزرتا ہوں نگاہیں اٹھتی جاتی ہیں

مری ہستی بھی کیا تیرا ہی عالم ہوتی جاتی ہے ؟          

  جگر مرادآبادی              

(Where ever I pass from people start looking at me

Is my personality turning in to your aura?)

 {Find the complete ghazal by Jigar Moradabaadi here}

According to some schools of thought thats not real, its just symbolic of something else, I have a theory which may link to love of God in the end. I have talked about there being a part of God in every one of us, and the eternal longing to return to the source of that particular part that's a compound in our creation. In simple words The Quran speaks of making Adam(and consequently mankind) from a part of God's divine light, and many literarians discuss how the human spirit long's for the source of that light, that is God. So perhaps this longing translates in to man's need to love, to connect with any glimpse of that light, which exists in fellow beings although getting to the source requires leaving the physical realm behind. Perhaps that's why poets draw parallels between a moth and human beings, they chase after a light they cannot get, until they let it surround them entirely, and burn to death in the process. 

There is one more kind of love, the kind that I think is the purest form of love. This came up in my conversation with my friend when we were wondering what the 'extent of love' can be. We remembered the saying that God loves for you is equivalent to seventy times the love your mother has for you. To me this says that the extent of love in this world is the love a mother has for her child. For example, if I were to explain the amount of a 'Million' to a person who only understands numbers under a 'Thousand', I would say that a Million is a Thousand times a Thousand, as in I would use the biggest quantity comprehended by that person. Similarly the love a mother has for a child is the extent of love a human being is capable of feeling in this world. Another noteworthy deduction can be the nature of this love. Where as worldly love may be classified as metaphorical, This kind of love is 1/70 times the love God has for mankind, that is considered real. So maybe this is as real as it gets here? 

When you think about it, you realise what a blessing motherhood really is. And I feel unfortunate that this is a feeling I will never experience. So no matter how patriarchal this society gets, Love; the thing almost everyone strives for, is entitled to women in all its strength and purity. 

*Image is a topic I have left for another post, but food for thought could be that we live our lives like an optical illusion. We are the only ones who know ourselves, rest of the world just knows me as the illusion it sees. 

Helplessness.

Something horrible happened today, and I would like to share it with the world. Firstly I do not think I can describe what I feel right now but the tears rolling down my face are testament to the fact that what ever this particular emotion is, it is quite strong. 


So there is this sweet little girl that helps around the house, she's quite young and its one of the issues in Pakistan, i.e. child labour, and an ideal situation would be one in which we don't have to employ such young children to clean up after ourselves, but for now I console myself with things which may or may not be so substantial. I tell my self that if she doesn't work here, her mother will make her work somewhere else, and we are good people, we clothe her, feed her and give her shelter so essentially we're offering her a better lifestyle than what she has at home. That suffices for now. 


Any way, somewhere around 5 p.m I thought I heard someone cry outside my door while I was in my room, I shook it off thinking it was the TV, and I so wish that was true, but it wasn't. Well I had to leave my room for some reason and as I passed by the kitchen I saw some red blots on the floor. I thought it was red chili powder and dismissed it. Moments later the little girl was running down the stairs with tears in her eyes and holding a blood drenched tissue in her hands. My first thoughts, shock. I asked her what happened and before waiting for a reply I ran upstairs to call my mother. We asked her to sit down, gave her rolls of tissue to press the wound and cleaned up. I cannot emphasise this enough, the floor was RED, it was a dreadful sight, I cry as I recall it, but in that moment, all was calm, we got her to eat a little while we mopped the floors and drained it with water. After that, mum took her to the doctor and the poor thing got around ten stitches on her fingers. She was doing the dishes when she accidentally broke a glass and cut herself. 


I try to block out the images of her standing there bleeding and crying in shock and pain whilst I thought it was the TV, and some how I feel responsible. This is so unfair, if something like this were to happen to me, I am so sure I would have my family around me all the time, and although we try to keep her happy by taking her out and asking her not to do any work, it cannot substitue the need of her family, she needs her mother right now, and the worst part is she doesn't realise that, I guess she is stronger than I am, she giggles and smiles like nothing's wrong while I am clearly traumatised.


I think I would like to do something, something to help her and perhaps feel a bit less guilty than what I do right now. So we feed her, shelter her and clothe her, but that isn't enough, it's time we took responsibility of educating her. I would like to teach her how to read, I know mum has tried to find her a tutor but not hard enough, not like its her own child and so I think for now I would like to make myself useful by teaching her what I can teach her. Illiteracy is a huge issue that needs to be dealt with, just because we were born in privileged houses doesn't mean we have all the rights to every thing good. Education is a basic human need and its the right of every person to get an education, and if those in power aren't doing anything about it, let us use, the little power we have, to try and make a difference.


p.s. Getting it out there makes me feel better, well my nose is still running but my cheeks are dry so thats a good thing. 

The Inconvenient Truth.

Happy Sunday everyone! hope the week-end's going well and the following week is tolerable. So today, I went out with my dad to take care of some household chores and get a haircut (personally I hate getting haircuts, but for some reason those around me force me to go). While I was en route the meat shop I looked around to see hundreds of faces, and I mean actually looked as in creepy stalker looked. What I saw was a shocking revelation, the people in this city have forgotten how to smile. Out of a sea of some hundred people I think I detected a slight grin on two or three faces.


Makes me sad really, all I could see were vacant eyes and wrinkled foreheads, here I would like to add that personally I think wrinkles are a great thing, they give character to your face, but in this particular case wrinkles around the eyes would have been better news than what I actually witnessed. Now its not a discovery I have made, its all around us, the people of Karachi can very well see what I saw. So as we were driving along and I was forming this post in my head I remembered that amidst all the brain activity, I myself had raised brows and an intense look on my face, so here I took a pause and smiled. 


When we reached our first destination, dad got off to do what ever it was he had to do, and I sat in the car with the AC on, listening to Abida Ji and trying to figure out what the real problem was, well there are moments where I would like to think of my self as a deep thinker, but I have been told my mind in most cases comes to a quick outcome and that's what happened in this case too. I listed the causes of this perpetual frown that plagues our society as follow; depression, poverty, tension, frustration, sense of helplessness, heart ache, etceteras , etceteras. 


Our last stop was the Hair Dresser's Salon. As the car parked I remember thinking, 'I hope the AC's on' and as we got towards the door I realised the generator was on and in fact the AC's were not working. With no hair dresser free we sat ourselves down and waited our turn, at that very moment, with the sweat running down my face I had an epiphany, the heat made it impossible to smile. When for a second I felt bad for those who didn't enjoy the privileges I got, I decided to try and not look pissed. So I guess that was the answer I was looking for, people don't smile because they cannot. Yes everyone has problems, big and small, but one thing that everyone on the streets shared was the unbearable heat that surrounded them. So it turns out that apart from everything else that is screwing us over even mother nature is not on our side. 


The heat does not take away from the fact that our society has some deep psychological issues, major depression keep us in the dark and makes us bitter, with everything working against us perhaps it is God's wrath or just plain bad luck. But I would like to say that take a break, remember those things you learnt when you were young, about less facial muscles being utilised to smile, and what you learnt when you grew a little older, that smiling makes you look better. I know I wouldn't write if I didn't have something to say so I could be très dramatic and exhort you to smile and make someone else's day brighter(not literally, the sun's bright enough Thank you!) but I will put it in simple words, please smile as much as you can. 

'Smile though your heart is aching
Smile even though it's breaking
When there are clouds in the sky
You'll get by'

 John Turner and Geoffrey Parsons

Life's Grave Ending.

The biggest paradox of life is death, in fact that is the only certainty, the only guarantee we're given when we come to this world, that you will leave. Sounds like a mean prank played by someone, you come here, you build a life, you build relationships and before you know it, you're lying in the dark waiting for yourself to decompose (burning to ashes and being eaten by fish is also a possibility). I am distressed as to how seriously I should  take the ordeal of death considering its so common that each and every one of us gets it sooner or later. I remember this play of Shakespeare in which he builds it up to the point the protagonist's love dies and without giving the audience a real chance to grieve for the loss of poor Ophelia he employs clowns as grave diggers putting in comic relief at the expense of her death. I thought hey, maybe death isn't that serious of a matter, but upon close scrutiny I found otherwise. 


I have lost people in this life and so I understand that it doesn't matter how certain death is, its still sad business and perhaps Shakespeare was mocking society for making such a joke of the situation, for they discuss something that was earlier soliloquised with utmost seriousness and now he injects dark comedy in the play. So as "all the world's a stage" I guess there are those amongst us who decrease the intensity of death, by making 'logical deductions' which to me seem most illogical, for even logic accepts the fact that to those close to the deceased an integral part of  their life is gone and it's a normal reaction to be upset and grave. Here a verse from the poetry of Khwaja Mir Dard comes to mind;

درد دل کے واسطے پیدا کیا انسان کو

ورنہ طاعت کے لیے کچھ کم نہ تھے کروبیاں

(Dard-e-dil kai wastai paida kia insaan ko

Warna ta'at kai liyay kuch kum na thay kar-o-byan)

This roughly translates to; the reason why mankind was brought to this world is to share each other's heart aches, since there are enough angels for worshipping God.

This could be referring to the philosophy that our soul being a part of God's 'Nur' (Light) longs to go back to that source and thus the life of this world is a constant heartache for the soul. It could also be talking about the expulsion of man from the Garden of Eden mentioned extensively in a lot of literary works such as in Milton's "Paradise Lost" or in Iqbal's countless poems. But not going in to the philosophy in literal terms the verse talks of man's duty to be there for one another in time of sorrow, and I cannot think of  a greater sorrow than death. 

There's a law of science which states;  what goes up must come down. And so is the case with us, we have to go back one day (unless of course for you this world is IT) so before we go let's make most of it. Now making money could be one goal in life, but I have noticed, those who worked on their people skills more than their earning skills are revered by all left behind. We lost one such man recently, my cousin, my brother and honestly a true source of knowledge and inspiration. The man had very little flaws if any and left us too soon, his departure has left a hole in a lot of people's hearts' and we are grieving, and though his absence will always be felt I have faith that he is in a better world now. 

In the Loving Memory of;

Ali Asghar Khoja

24.12.1979 - 16.03.2011

The Pieces of My Heart.

Gloom

My first post this year, I hope there are many to follow, and something worth reading too. Previously I have written out of anger and I have written out of guilt, today I write out of sorrow. With a sunken heart and swollen eyes I can't stop my fingers from shaping the words as you see them. So what is this about? Honestly, even I am not sure what it's about, but I know this much I need to get it out. Perhaps nostalgia is the strongest catalyst right now, and there is this strong sense of stagnation that breaks me up inside. 


Nostalgic am I, for I feel like I've lost so much already that the damage it has made is irreparable. I would like to think I am above it all and now its time to move on, but every time I take a stroll down memory lane it stings me to the core. The loss of innocence, loss of morality, the careless routines, the trivial pursuits, the friends, the enemies, the frenemies and things you held most dear to you at some point in life are either not so important any more, or gone to a place not known and all that is left is some electrical currents in my brain which retain all this to make me miserable when I am down. One particular thing that is lost (for what seems like)  forever, is the distinct taste of a bar of Dairy Milk. They just don't make them like that any more. My mouth waters and I can almost taste it but I can't taste it and that makes me sad. Here I must pay my respects to the human brain which can not only retain images, but sounds, tastes, smells and touch as well, that's pretty impressive, don't you think? 


Although I don't feel as sad as I did when I started writing, the pathos here is the fact that to all these memories I have given a part of my heart. And to some of them a huge one, and no matter how much I try to get on with what ever I have left (for that's my best chance of survival) it's like there is an invisible force that wants to pull all the pieces together, and at times the force from my side is so weak that I feel my incomplete heart trying to break free of the casket of this body, which creates excruciating pain and that is pain I'd have to live with. Now I don't want to sound petty and it's not about the chocolate but that was just an analogy, its more about what I feel than what I tasted,  what it invoked in me than the satisfaction it gave to my taste buds. Similarly there's a piece of my heart which I entrusted in a friend, a friend that proved to be negligent and wholly inattentive to my favours, and as much as I try to forget about............ I think I should let Wordsworth speak for me;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

That is in a way exactly how I feel right now, no matter how much I try to forget I may never get that piece of my heart back, but try I will, and succeed to a certain extend I must. Since the future seems so appealing that despite the occasional weep, I can and will be happy, everything's in my favour. The sun will come up tomorrow, the air is still fresh and my heart (however broken it may be) still beats, I don't see reason to give up. And to all those readers out there, yes its a sad reality that these little things from the past, you may never get back, but let's try and not succumb to them, we might just miss another moment pass us by in the grievances. 

This poem pretty much sums it all up;

Ode: Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood 

By William Wordsworth

There was a time when meadow, grove, and stream,

The earth, and every common sight,

To me did seem

Apparelled in celestial light,

The glory and the freshness of a dream.

It is not now as it hath been of yore;--

Turn wheresoe'er I may,

By night or day,

The things which I have seen I now can see no more.

The Rainbow comes and goes,

And lovely is the Rose,

The Moon doth with delight

Look round her when the heavens are bare,

Waters on a starry night

Are beautiful and fair;

The sunshine is a glorious birth;

But yet I know, where'er I go,

That there hath past away a glory from the earth.

Now, while the birds thus sing a joyous song,

And while the young lambs bound

As to the tabor's sound,

To me alone there came a thought of grief:

A timely utterance gave that thought relief,

And I again am strong:

The cataracts blow their trumpets from the steep;

No more shall grief of mine the season wrong;

I hear the Echoes through the mountains throng,

The Winds come to me from the fields of sleep,

And all the earth is gay;

Land and sea

Give themselves up to jollity,

And with the heart of May

Doth every Beast keep holiday;--

Thou Child of Joy,

Shout round me, let me hear thy shouts, thou happy

Shepherd-boy!

Ye blessed Creatures, I have heard the call

Ye to each other make; I see

The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee;

My heart is at your festival,

My head hath its coronal,

The fulness of your bliss, I feel--I feel it all.

Oh evil day! if I were sullen

While Earth herself is adorning,

This sweet May-morning,

And the Children are culling

On every side,

In a thousand valleys far and wide,

Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm,

And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm:--

I hear, I hear, with joy I hear!

--But there's a Tree, of many, one,

A single Field which I have looked upon,

Both of them speak of something that is gone:

The Pansy at my feet

Doth the same tale repeat:

Whither is fled the visionary gleam?

Where is it now, the glory and the dream?

There is more but till here serves the purpose of my writing.