deciphering silence

Pakistan offers a future to women?

We’re fair or dark. We’re tall or short. We’re skinny or plump. We’re rich or poor. We’re nice or evil. We’re pretty or ugly. We’re too young or too old. We wear niqaabs or we adorn the skinnies. We are only allowed to become doctors or we choose our own careers. We have men in our lives or we only know our husbands. We’re bold or we’re scared. We sit at dhabas or we are only allowed to go to school. We’re jailed in custom/tradition/values or we’re free to do whatever. We work all day or we sit at home. We marry the men our families select or we choose our own partner. We sheepishly struggle everyday or we embrace the challenges head-on. We succumb to societal pressures or we stand tall on our own pair of feet. We’re ‘sughar’ or we’re ‘bigri hui’. We spend the dad’s money or we’re earning for our families. We’re shopping for ourselves or seeing others shop right before our eyes. We’re driving past red signals or we’re waiting there to beg for alms. We’re smiling or we’re weeping. We’re partying all night long with friends or waiting for boring family dawats for the sake of recreation.

 

We are all in the same boat. Nothing is ever changing for any of us.

 

If one Zeenat can get beaten up and burnt to ashes for marrying her boyfriend without the parents’ consent, so can we be beaten up and so will we be beaten up.

If one Maria can be set ablaze for refusing a (marriage) proposal, so can we be set ablaze and so will we be set ablaze.

If one Memoona’s entire life is as handy as a little bottle of acid, so can our lives be attacked with acid and so will our lives be attacked with acid.

If one woman can be filmed in her own house when she changes her clothing, so can we be filmed inappropriately in our own houses and so will we be filmed inappropriately in our own houses.

If one activist gets abused on national TV by a politician, so can we be abused anywhere and everywhere and so will we be abused anywhere and everywhere.

 

And so we should be.

 

If raising a voice against such appalling acts of the society is considered digital media feminism and hiding behind screens, we all need to go through all this to realize what it actually feels like. If we’ve sadly become this insensitive to these crimes, we need to experience them personally. And that needs to happen Now. If there’s absolutely nothing done to save the Zeenats and the Marias and the Memoonas on the state level, if the ever-so-convenient dharna rule does not apply to these issues, if the Islamic councils and political parties do not believe they need to bring in religion to these matters instead of the ‘halka phulka’ beating part, if there’s no law enforcement for these crimes, we will all continue to witness these crimes.

We should and we would.

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Does not? Does not.

Beliefs. We all carry inside of us. Beliefs are what we grow in to. Bit by bit moment by moment in perfect fragments. They’re our building blocks. Our little mental building of ideas and facts that keeps growing taller with every passing birthday, ever passing blowing of the cake candles. They keep growing. Taller and taller. Making us proud of how much we’ve achieved and learned in life. Level by level. We teach them preach them summon them. On ourselves and onto others. We reach them like they’re ours to use. They’re our stack of accomplishments. Our pride. They’re what keeps us going yet what holds us in one place. Beliefs.

Known and unknown. Big and small. Rigid and unstable. Weak and stone cold. Beliefs.

But.

there comes a time when everything that has ever reached atop fumbles and stumbles and makes the foundation burst into a thousand million trillion uncertainties.

There comes a time it all breaks.

It stays like that till we cease to live.

The Rescuing Part.

Im still there. Im still in the process of saving the bud. Im still unresolved with what needs to be done and what should be done.  Im there somewhere yet very far away from my lamp post; far from where the light comes. I’ll reach it someday.  I’ll rescue the involved. Ill someday become the saviour and undo it all for them. The faces. The questions.  Ill answer them all. Ill save them.
I’ll have to.
There’s a reason to the growing up, to all the learning,  to all the exposures, to all the drama. A face to all the realities. Ill find it all. Ill fix it all. I’ll be the hand. Ill ask, ill give.
It weakens me yet becomes the strongest of all my strengths. It haunts yet boosts up my courage. It drowns yet saves. Its like an entire life revolving around two flip sides of an irregular coin.

Like the answer being the question and the question – the only answer.

Let Another one fall

Its times like these when you see things falling into an order that has nothing to do with your life-the one you think you live. No more. Its this stuff that life always does to make you revisit your shizz and see for yourself how fragile and insipid logic (and in turn life) is. How uncontrollable is control. How one morning defines a lifetime. One jolt and theres a happily ever after looking you straight in the eye.

And this time its yours.

The Shift.

Not easy. Nope. The shift. The sudden pulling up and throwing away. The process of detaching something swiftly enough to not damage it and pin it all on a replacement. Not done. Its a constantly playing circular move. Its never ending. You may be able to trick the mind but would it be anything other than losing to the misery? Giving it all up? This sudden bout of recognizing that you’re done with the cycle yet not there completely. Its a delusion. Its a mere way of the head giving up because its lost all hope all logic to the process and the possibility. It isn’t that easy. Its as difficult as is the attachment. The willy nilly state of the heart when its hanging between pulling down the flimsy barriers or extending them up with rock solid bricks.
Its not that quick. Nor is it that detailed. Its a state. A medical condition that is strictly monitored and treated yet unknown in some of its aspects. Its not happening. The shift. The attachment is always in the roots. Replace, shift, switch, transfer. No its staying where its rooted. We may twist and turn and flip the shoots to our liking but there’s no moving the root. There’s no pulling up and throwing away. There’s no pining happening to a replacement. The replacement is just a dummy. Playing at the hands of an insolent heart. A heart that knows just the root of the attachment. There is no connection with where the shoot’s gone. Its least bothered. Because somewhere high up there in the shoots is nothing but a mirror-image of the root. And that, my friend, is all that matters.

klee-300x250                                  You’re stuck in it.

winners

Shes changed. A lot actually. She’s dropped in and out of too many waves. Too many perfectly segmented tests. Shes given in and given up – a lot. Shes been young and old both at the same time. Shes acted her age and then ten times her age and then forty and up to a […]

No deadends

Life has its own ways to ways. One path leading onto another. One direction pulling you off to another. There are always choices to choices and options to options. The right ways to more wrong and rights and the wrong ways to another set of the same. Life’s brutally set at variance in between loops. Its an on-going cycle of tests. An obdurate succession.

 

Journey to the End

There are destinations. To everything. For all living entities, there are goals. Goals that we run after. A destination that we pick and strive our entire lives to reach out to and feel what we’ve dreamed of feeling. The heart definitely knows no limits huh. But then there are spaces. There are spaces to everything. There are aspects all destinations lack. You lose something to get something? Ahan something of that sort! There is never completeness to the reaching. No sense of fulfillment at the goalpost. 

There’s always something lacking.

Or may be that is one more way of being ungrateful and unsatisfied.

Deep waters have their own traits. They teach and learn different things. The shore is always one place that looks the calmest yet upon reaching it the hard waters are what seem too hard a road to the little fruit that the shore becomes. The shore does not know how hard it has been to tread the waters. Reach out for it, touch, and return. The destination. Its always smaller once its reached. Always a little less satisfying than how we imagine it.

May be its not about being ungrateful.

Its about how our humanness fails to gulp down the pressures of the roads. The transitions. The levels of the games. Its may be about how the paths to glory reek of failed attempts. How reaching the destinations is often about falling down and standing up and limping your way to the goal. About gasping for some air and finally breathing it once you reach your Purpose and Intention and Plan. 

It may also be about losing charm. Missing the outburst of adrenaline, missing the hippy happy uncertainties, missing the way that unintentionally created more room for joy and pleasure than the destination.

Its about how we’re created may be. A little bit of everything is what keeps us going. a little uncertainty, a little sense of achievement and a little loss of hope. We’re mechanized this way. Its how our minds work. We need a little breaking of the heart to feel what mending it up is like. We need a little black to be able to distinguish a white. We need a little sorrow to see light. Its may be this helplessness that makes the journey worthwhile – that makes the Reaching worthwhile. We need a little chaos on the road to celebrate reaching the destination.

to be continued..

A Year Gone By.. 29th April

Its been a year – yes, stating the obvious. A Year to the day when a lot stopped. A day that crashed all notions of fantasy and hope and slammed onto life’s face the fact that its now darker, gloomier and more complicated. A day that broke lose all faiths and facts that believed there’s nothing positive waiting ahead. 

The day right before my graduation into the world of spirituality and light.

I was unprepared, as we all are all of our lives. Unprepared and unarmed to face the truth that now dawned upon me – now wide and clear. Just like everything else, it passed – the moment- but what stayed and has stayed the entire year is the outburst of emptiness that fills me in when its least needed and (least) manageable. 

The Year That It was.

It was a beginning. Like every other chapter in life. Every other instance man has created to make ado about. It was a new set of days and nights. It was usual. It was black and white – and grey too. It was all normal. Like most people say, it was like normal passing days, except for the fact that something changed along the lines. Something rigid and consistent. Something very dear. Slowly, step by step. It was like a storm approaching. Making no noise at all yet preparing to unleash the worst. It was all sudden yet very prolonged. It was surprising but also like it had been waiting forever. It was a lot like life. 

Bit by bit, it made me learn. The worst ways ever. It made me realize there’s no other option. It made me learn how to live with the memory. It made the difference very clear. It took everything away. The year that it was. It took all that held significance. It took it all away in the snippet of a memory. Like deaths happen. The way they take a part of you with them – the way they leave a part of them within you. To live on the scraps of your wounded memory and mind. To bit by bit nurture their ulterior motives. To take away what little is left. It knew everything. The year that it was. 

People, memories, lives, smiles and emotion. Swept away like a teenager falling in love for the first time. Like a fading memory right before the start of a seemingly new life. Like the knowledge that there’s nothing you can do about the stuff that your heart talks about. Like there’s just no option. It effortlessly took everything away. 

 

It showed me death, abandonment & a shallow surface.

Abby Norman

Former Teacher. Current Preacher. Frequently Opinionated

The Neighborhood

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