the wall painting

Enveloped by an invigorating breeze and a frigid silence, he stood on the roof top for reprieve which surprisingly seemed to evade him. Harder he tried not to think anything, harder he got collided by random thoughts. Harder he tried to inhale and wear the calm, harder the strain squeezed him."Excuse me! Dwayne is attempting to reach you on your phone" His new caller tone played. "Excuse me! Dwayne is…TAP! He rejected the call and switched off the cell slipping it carelessly in the pocket. Not getting what he came for, he decided to abandon the breeze.

Even the splendid decor of his room failed to compensate for the breeze; he still rummaged for inner peace. "You turn 30 tomorrow" someone whispered. Discarding any such possibility he focused on his favourite wall painting. Moving his eye balls from the chamfered ends of the wooden frame to the canvass showcasing the gallop of a horse, he paused. The smile which would instantly come in appreciation of the painter and the dignity of the horse didn’t come. He didn't know how many seconds or minutes his stare swallowed except that his innate affairs were every bit the same at the end of that period. "Half of your life is history now. You do not have much time left", came the whisper again and strong enough to make him leave the chair he was sitting on. His heart skipped a beat and forehead caught sweat. The struggle between his heart and mind could not be veiled, it was more than evident. "Yes I'll be 30. So what? Everyone gets old and dies. That’s how it goes" he jabbered to himself needing to get rid of the anxiety which was multiplying. For an instant he thought of lying on the bed but a brief look at the mattress perhaps communicated that even it cannot offer him that moment of calm he was looking for. With eyes closed and cerebrospinal fluid rushing at its peak, his resigned heart begged for respite. As he turned, the wall painting captured him again but this time overwhelmingly.

His vision had discovered what he never noticed before; a wasteland hedged by trees. On that ground was the horse, running towards an unknown and unapproachable destination. The trees seemed to be getting blurred but the horse didn't seem to reach anywhere, his gallop never finding rest. Realization struck!

The wall painting was his life in a miniature. He was the horse who had been galloping for the past 30 years leaving incalculable things behind him but still nowhere close to his destination, his aim of life. He hadn't done anything for humanity or for his small community. He had been overlooking the injunctions of his religion and commandments of God in pursuit of a journey which had imparted him after 30 valuable years that it has no end and no reward for that matter. He didn't even know how much more time he had and the inevitable accountability of his deeds and his purpose of life had come to jolt him. The idea of exhausting, falling and dying for nothing in a wasteland after running so hard was the reason of his inner discord. A drop of tear rolled down his cheek followed by the normalcy of his heart beat and the long awaited and enlightening moment of serenity. Ding….Ding….Ding….called the wall clock. He was 30.

I was...

Not long ago, when technology had not made such pregnant advancements, when money was not the most sought after entity, when joint family system oozed greater enjoyment and support, when marriage ceremonies were only meant to bond two families and not to flaunt the status one holds, when children would go to zoo on a taanga and play in public grounds,  when newspaper was the most dependable source of everyday affairs, when the  decoration of houses with patriotic phrases and hoisting of national flags came right from the heart, when sending Eid cards and letters by post was in vogue, when people would eat oranges on their roof top in winter afternoons, when having the latest mountain bike and playing in rain was one of the most wistful cravings, when social networking had not transpired and when sanity was still galore, I had a meaningful existence.

With the emanation and conscious dissemination of privacy, liberalism, professionalism and enlightened moderation, with the idea of old age homes, assimilation of more Western material in our academic system, the standoff between Muslims and their religion, the degeneration of morals and with the transition of that time into today's, I gently got buried under the superficial glare of these concepts and mutated into an onus in these times of inflation. I did remonstrate and struggle against my dwindling position and this staid injustice but sometimes got snubbed and disdained while at others, callously ignored. Painfully and impotently, I had to succumb at large.   

  

I was a legacy; transferring from one generation to the other. I was waited for on a dining table, venerated and visited when the spirit of Eid was untainted, the pride of a son and security of a daughter, a repository of wisdom, an advisory at crossroads, a haven in inclement weather, a channel of uninterrupted blessings and anecdotes. I was that 1st plant  which an innocent child would procure to see  maturing into a tree; I was... the "elderness"  of a family.

Ali Bhaees

Every co-ed institute has a multitude of characters. There are book worms, there are movie buffs, there are wrestling aficionados, there are drug addicts, there are electronic gadgets freaks, and there are automobile lovers to mention a few. But among these easily recognized figures is a class which is not so popular. Not so because they come to this co-ed environment for the 1^st time and tend to be a wee bit shy to conduct themselves. People of this class can be from a small town or city or from a boys' school/college. I call them "Ali Bhaees".

Although an Ali Bhai is reluctant to mingle with girls he does bring with himself a lot of pleasant fantasies, desires associated with the feminine breed and a thirst waiting to be quenched. It's in their blood just like everyone else, to follow the right path and succeed. The right path has a different meaning though. 5 important steps they take to put themselves on the right path are as follows:

1)      Seeking a girl's attention: 

To all Ali Bhaees, getting a girl's attention is as important as catching the hen with the golden egg when you are in a hen coop enclosing hundreds of them. Whether it's donning a red baggy trouser, coming in a half-sleeved pink t-shirt in December, a desperate attempt at generating a hysterical laughter on a petty joke (PJ) or broadcasting their dry humor, Ali Bhai's intention is to seek attention. Just like a miffed, emotionally wounded kid laying prone on the floor after his mom refused to buy him an original Nike and unleashing his tantrums, Ali Bhaees too don’t seem to worry even a shred about how irritating, ridiculous and sometimes cheap they look in an attempt to let everyone know that they do not like going unnoticed.  But who likes to miss the opportunity to put himself on the right track??

 2)      Making the dame smile/laugh:

The next important thing after shamelessly yet successfully grabbing the attention of a girl is to make her smile. And if an Ali Bhai manages to see a set of teeth that’s even better because when a girl smiles or laughs on his efforts (however genuine or below the belt they are) it's Nirvana for him. Big word, I know. Some chronic losers simply assume that THEY are the reason for a girl's smile mercilessly overlooking the fact she did so on another girl who looked horrible in red nail paint.

      P.S: seeing their teeth while they are standing in girl's washroom in front of the mirror ensuring no food particle is stuck or when they yawn during lectures not covering their mouths in a disgusting sight does not bring Nirvana to any Ali Bhai.  

3)      Lending a helping hand to them:

This certainly is believed by Ali Bhaees to be the most potent weapon in their arsenal. It gives immense joy and strong hope to an Ali Bhai when Shakeela calls out her friend Rukhsana for help and he jumps in like batman to do the honours. Floating an offer to a colleague or a friend to do his/her assignment is still a rational thing but Ali Bhaees authoritatively declare that THEY will do Shakeela's assignments providing her ample time to concoct gossips. Girls will never understand that doing so improves the blood circulation, tones up the muscles, refreshes the mind and raises the vitamin content of his body like no Energy drink or tablet on earth can. It doesn't matter whether an Ali Bhai  can actually fulfill the task and help her or not, he mandatorily has to jump in and say "well I can do that for you". Some Ali Bhaees are so steadfast in helping girls that even when they say they feel nauseated and might vomit these obedient creatures repeat the "well I can do that for you" phrase.

4)      Making an effort to exhibit their knowledge:

This is the easiest part of their job. All they have to do is to keep a tab on the girls. The moment they see any girl or a clique coming their way or sitting close they switch to the intellectual mode talking about the political imbroglio, America's true motive behind everything or how philosophy governs one's life because for majority of the girls these are the darker sides; these do not give instructions on "how to get a cheap pedicure" or any updates on the "latest lawn prints".

All Ali bhaees don't necessarily have a sound knowhow, many talk too shallow like just repeating what sheikh rasheed said in a recent talk show about our foreign policy or telling a friend that 206 bones constitute a human body. Now that’s some info!  

5)      Pretending to be happy go lucky:

To pretend that you are a cool, fun-loving guy comes next for an Ali Bhai  in the journey of success. Every time a girl will tell him that he should button his blue jeans with yellow embroidery below the navel so that nobody gets a chance to ridicule him, he replies "I don't care about people, they are only people". Every time a girl will mock him saying he's so slim that he looks like timon (from Lion King) followed by "I am just kidding, I am sure you didn't mind", Ali Bhai  would smilingly say "Oh no, not at all, why would I?? In fact I like your sense of humor".

Truth is that he gets hurt. Truth is that after getting the 1^st compliment Ali Bhai wants to tell the girl that her moustache and hairy arms look disgusting. It's time for waxing so that nobody gets a chance to ridicule her. Truth is that after being called timon he wants to beat the sh*t of the girl, give her bruises, shave her head off and then say "You look like a victim of domestic violence whose head got shaved off. Oh I am just kidding, I am sure you didn't mind". However, doing this would derail him from the right path so all he does is "try" to be happy go lucky.

I want to tell all Ali Bhaees reading this that doing all this makes you look stupid and desperate (which you actually are to be honest). Being desperate is a normal thing but what's important is to keep it covert and not make it public. It's clearly not a politic thing to give these girls the leverage to control you. Stop carrying a rainbow with you in the form of clothes. Cracking stupid jokes all around the clock is not required, quality of the joke matters, not the quantity. Do help, its encouraged but do not tend to be officious or slavish towards fulfilling a girl's desires. No human has ever been able to comprehend a girl fully, so stop running after them and striving to make them happy; a happy woman s a myth. When someone pillories you, it's alright to vent your emotions and sometimes remind the other person of his/her limits. These are the things you'll mostly laugh at and sometimes regret not doing because they make you lose your ethos, your real being. Act as you are and if you lack something or need help, ask for it; do not keep hiding. Most importantly, enjoy life and not make it difficult for yourself.

NOTE: Writer is fully aware of the fact that every person who comes to a co-ed environ for the 1st time is not an Ali Bhai. Some already possess the smartness, confidence and the wit to get going just the writer himself.

Retrospection

I entered my college as I would always; the only difference was that this time some teachers were also waiting for me apart from my friends. Math's teacher stepped forward with a beaming face and embraced me like nobody had before in the entire college. As we separated, more hands approached and congratulating remarks greeted me. I had not witnessed anything of this sort before. I knew my heart beat was not normal. The principal, the accountant, students, everyone met me saying that It’s a priceless achievement and that I've brought a great amount of pride for this college. And finally I meet the lady who was on cloud 9, my Urdu teacher. Patently exuberant, she said to me the most satisfying and refreshing words I had heard in about 2 years.

"I cannot tell you how happy I am, getting a distinction is no child's play and it hasn't been done by any of our students, from O-Levels or from A-Levels. You are the 1^st one to do so and getting it in my subject makes me even more proud. Many congratulations and may Allah bless u always."

I didn't even know how to react fittingly; I was just a little more happier than I would be every time Roger Federer pocketed a Grand Slam. A form was then given to me which I happily filled and submitted.

I went home to tell my parents about it handing them the invitation card (for me and my family) to "Brilliance in Pakistan Awards" at Aiwan-e-Iqbal for all the distinction holders (in GCE O-Level and GCE A-Level) from Lahore and that precisely was the moment it had all happened for. The sparkle in their eyes, the uncontainable smile and effusive emotions were an alien sight. This was followed by calls to relatives and family friends, as one would expect and all my efforts to stop them from doing so ended in smoke. How would I know their feelings??

The atmosphere of the big day was thrilling. Ushers showed us the way to our seats. All parents were seated in a separate section while the students had a separate one in the same capacious hall. With palpitating heart, I listened to the instructions on when to leave the seat and which path to follow when my name would be called. Nerves played and I suddenly lost my confidence to a silly thought. "Everyone has a distinction in either Science subjects or mathematical ones. There are people with distinction in English, French, Business Studies to name a few while you have it in Urdu, a subject simpler and easier than all others". For some seconds which followed, I had ungratefully dubbed myself subordinate to all other distinction holders. It was highly likely that I would choke with unworthy and unjustified embarrassment when someone hammered it into my brain that subjects do not matter, what matters is that all of us are here for excelling in what we studied regardless of whether it was difficult or easy. Calling a subject easy or difficult is purely subjective. To stand where I was standing was only because Almighty Allah wanted me to. People spend their entire lives yearning for a proud moment of public acknowledgment and there I was on the brink of experiencing it. Confidence struck back and right then I heard my name getting announced.

As I walked down the passage leading to the stage, looking at the huge screen behind the stage made me smile. My picture and the details I had happily provided on the form were there including my "favourite saying" which read "As u sow so shall you reap". Amid an uproaring audience and a heartfelt round of applause I received the certificate of distinction from a higher official of Cambridge University (the name and post I didn't consider important to remember). Stepping down from the other end of the stage, I looked at my family whose expressions were that of pure pride, unadulterated joy with faces shinning like anything. It was then when I admitted having achieved something extraordinary. The crowed didn’t stop clapping until I had taken a complete round of the hall and was back to my seat. It was incredible, more so for my parents whose exact feelings are ineffable.

I know now and I knew back then that distinctions and such honours cannot be aimed for. These are solely a gift from Allah Almighty and only come to those who are the chosen ones. I cherish this memory from 2005 the most because it gave my parents that delectable moment of elation which ALL parents dream of but only a handful get.

(Akif A Khan)

Duracell

My peers are delighted on the arrival of Shahbaz Sharif to Lahore for the distribution of laptops to "worthy scholars". Although I am also getting one I am completely unenthusiastic about it because summer has just pressed the bell. Laptop is a machine which runs neither on cells nor on oxygen (which we still have, FORTUNATELY). It runs and operates on electricity. Yes, electricity! Which fears summer so much that if someone luckily espies it in human form, it'll appear with pupils dilated and dried poop sticking to its mouth. Scary summers.

I leave home every day at 9am when light goes out and return at 2pm. Nothing changes; no cleaning of house, no food ready and dirty dishes still begging for a wash. I am sorry you have guessed it wrong, we do have a Kaam wali maasi but  there is no electricity before 2:30-3:00 pm and electricity and water are Siamese two inseparable twins, so when one goes out its other's moral and relational obligation to go missing. Unluckily for me, she isn't Gillani's or Zardari's family otherwise I wouldn't have any electricity issues. Imagine how it feels looking again at the mess u left in the morning, how it feels to know with a growling stomach that the lunch couldn't be prepared because there's no water, how it feels to realize that even being the privileged doesn't help you. I am an educated grown up so I unwillingly wait and exhibit patience to the best of my ability but I pity and empathize with all those innocent kids returning home who can neither eat nor wait while their helpless mothers try to assure them that they'll be cooking something in a minute. Poor mothers do not realize that they are already cooking excuses.

At this moment of epiphany, Government's salient motives have unveiled themselves. First, it wants all mothers to start getting up 3am in the morning and cook everything so that lunch could be done on time. And if it's still dark, quit sleep and look to seize the right moment. Secondly, as a summer gift, the government wants us to spend our upcoming 4 months in university because university has its own power plant. It also wants the infants and little kids of the destitute and lower class to sleep nude, walk nude and if possible, talk nude. Perhaps the government also wants to glorify itself in the Hereafter by proudly declaring that it made 18 crore people FAST 365 days a year by hiking the prices so much that every eatable becomes a desire to be fulfilled. It seems that Government aspires to see every Pakistani to either enjoy being a pedestrian or travel by car because if you're on bike, it won't matter then whether you stand on the right side of the road or the left side, whether basheer are wearing a helmet or Shakoor, what must matter then is that YOU are on bike. It's tantamount to trampling Tommy's tail, your neighbour's irascible dog.
  

Well in this case I definitely need to inform our Government that it’s the ministers and the officials who are always sleeping. Wake THEM up, not the mothers. Every woman is not an insomniac.

I need to tell the Government that empty sanitation and sewerage pipes are good at nothing; we need water to run through them not air because air cannot clean dishes, human bodies, floors and clothes. Did I mention shit??

I want to tell the government that we now dread the university because it's long neglected angry and dilapidated walls have become cruel. They can crush u at will as a reminder to higher officials that they need repair. Not only Achu at canteen, insentient structures need money too.

I want to tell the government that Banana leaf is firstly very difficult to find, secondly, out of fashion and thirdly, impossible to carry gracefully and purposefully. Letting our children roam nude is not an option, can you even imagine how demolishing it would be for their self-esteem to hear someone say that "he is the one who never wore a diaper". Therefore, please lower the prices of garments including the baby diaper and a normal UW which, at present cost about Rs. 30 and Rs. 80 respectively. We can afford it but proletariat cannot.

I want to tell the government that you won't be glorified in the Hereafter for what your doing, you will instead be hurled in front of the same 18 crore people who would spank and whip your filthy arse so flamboyantly and so craftily that it would carry the stripes and stars of USA, a country you wallow at the feet of. Apart from the Holy month of Ramadan, fasting is an act of volition.

I want to tell the government that it's just impalatable to "walk" to your destination always . Keeping a car is also not possible for everyone; so we have to mount a motorbike to fulfill our errands. Riding a bike is not a transgression; it doesn’t make the rider a pariah. It would be a laudable step to stop the traffic constables from handing out traffic violation tickets to every bike rider. If they are not differentiating between basheer and shakoor they can at least spare those who are in Superman's outfit.

Oh well! Where was I? Yes, water and electricity. I just want the government to provide me water (not in bottles of nestle and kinley) so that I could have lunch on time and attend nature's call on time without the fear of u know what. Also, to either provide me electricity so that I could use the laptop it's awarding me or make it work on Duracell because "when you're facing a massive test of endurance, one by one ordinary carbon batteries fall victims to exhaustion but Duracell goes exactly where it belongs, ON TOP!! Duracell lasts longer, MUCH LONGER".