Bits and pieces of proses and thoughts, my diary. This will be updated once in a while.
6. What, when, where..?
2006, the first blast that I ever heard, when I was having iftaar with my parents, that killed the beggars under the overhead bridge who had hardly anything for their iftaar. This blast was followed by 100s of blasts. I've seen the destruction that these terrorists caused from half a km away. I've seen people burn and die. I've heard the cacophonies of those who were suffering and I'd to shut my ears because they haunted me. I've seen people cry because they couldn't find the dead bodies of the ones who were just hours ago chatting with them about how the weather was too hot or the tea was cold.
The blast in Moharram that killed the courageous Malik Saad(Shaheed) was very few kms away from my house. It took away the life of a friend's father who was 8 years old at that time. It orphaned her along with hundreds of other kids
The koochi bazar blast, I saw it. I was looking at the beautiful fort balahisar and I saw a yellow light over the fort followed up with a sound that shook the earth and turned many lives into debris.
The Qissa Khwani bazar blast that had burnt many young kids, boys, men, women and my brother had escaped the death in that blast.
When people were killed whilst offering Namaz in Sherpao's hujra in a blast on an Eid morning.
The PC blast that took lives of the people who were innocent and had no idea that it was the last dinner of their life. The PC blast didn't just kill the ones who were in there, but also many others who were near. 500Kg was not a less amount to take away lives of people. The window panes of my house were broken and we were deprived of electricity for days.
The Meena bazar blast, which killed 107 people including women who were shopping for their kids for Eid-ul-Azha, shopkeepers who merely earned 300-500 hardly, kids, infants, everyone who lived there.
The ISI building blast that killed the agents who were serving the country.
Peshawar highcourt blast in which my baba escaped death by inches.
I had heard the firing of bullets after the PC blast, I had heard the sounds of bullets when Sifat ghayyur(Shaheed) was operating against these pricks. And later he was killed too.
The SWAN hotel blast, saddar blasts, innumerable blasts in Imam bargaahs.
My school was threatened and was put to fire at night. We had to stay at home for weeks.
This is just about Peshawar. If I talk about Pakistan, I might run out of all the pages in this world. What did those infants do? What did those women do? Why were they judged? Who judged them? What did those men do whose life started at 6am and revolved around selling clothes and kehwa and ended on taking the famous qissa khwani sweets for their children? The father who was here to buy her little doll a doll for Eid? The brother who had six sisters and was here to earn for their weddings? The mother who wanted to buy his son a kurta for Eid-ul-Azha? Why did Huma's father leave her when she was 8 years old? Why did Rosemary aunty's brothers and daughter died in the church blast? Why did my parents rush to hospital everyday even they were done with their duties? Why I had no one to celebrate with? I WANT THE ANSWERS. But where do I find them? What will end this mystery that caused misery to thousand lives.
5. Shughla and Taqdees:
Four years back, I met two amazing people, a poet, and a counselor. I was known for prediction of personalities among my friends, but I always failed to analyze the mysterious personalities of these two. It took them an year to find out who I actually was, and it took me two months to find out who they are. And the relationship grew. One was the medicine to my misery, the other one was my confidence. The first year of my friendship with them was all about melancholy, failures, sadness, depression, because we lacked understanding, but the 2nd year brought us utter happiness, successes in rows, smiles, beautiful and unforgettable memories, understanding of this world, love, infinite love. The counselor needed counseling herself, the poet needed poetry. One was renowned for being strong and not crying, yet she was the saddest of all, other was known for her laughter and smiles, but she was deprived of happiness, and then there was me, who found solace in both of these beautiful people. It's been 4 years now, and it is very hard to believe, because it's as if we just met yesterday, and there's no single moment, when I don't miss them. I love you Taqdees and Shughla. I'm counting every second these days because I cannot wait to meet both of you. It's been very long and I need to see you two. And I've something very special for both of you. This is the 1am poem that I wrote for Taqdees but it's dedicated to Shughla as well.
"From the first tear,
to an eternal happiness,
the pixie dust of my mine,
adding glitters to the,
dullness I'm dwelling in,
and spreading curves on,
the emotionless face of mine,
someone who salvages,
my feelings into words,
better than anyone,
better than everyone,
who outdoes me in writing myself,
she understands the darkest,
tangled, deepest parts of me,
and makes me fall,
in love with her, every second,
every minute, every day."I can't wait to see you guys on 1st.
4. Will we ever report?
Pakistani women are deemed oppressed all over the world. But we deny it, by clearly saying, "We want to abide our life by the ways of religion". Are we really satisfied with this statement of ours?
The "catcall video" and "Harassment in LUMS" has made me ponder over this bitter reality and it is forcing me to deny this statement of ours. Yes, we are living our life according to the laws of our religion, but are we being treated in the same way our religion wants us to be treated in? Do we own every right that has been awarded to us?
It's saddening and at the same time appalling that the answer to those questions are "NO". We really are oppressed in many means, and abaya and hijaab are none of those. We're oppressed because we cannot raise our voice against harassment. We're taught to lower our voices down. We are told, "If you take a stand against this, you'll bring shame to our family". And we let these things seer inside our hearts because a Pakistani woman would not want to bring shame to her family.
Being working women and students, our days start with men of every class and culture staring at us, as if we are aliens showcased in a museum and ends with reading messages of people of the very same classes and cultures on social media, asking for friendship, and none of these acts are religious or moral. But we cannot speak against this, and when we choose to ignore these people, they spread rumors of us having affairs with other men, just to take their frustration out. Apart from this, they send us explicit and vulgar stuff to make us feel bad about "studying" and "working in offices". We're labeled "buri auratein" because we study and work with men. And all we do is endure this, because we cannot "bring shame to our families."
This is our idea of freedom. Tolerating every act of the men who ridicule us. Moreover, we do not want anyone to help us and those women, who raise their voices against such people, we, ourselves, label them with the same title, "Buri auratein", for bringing shame to our country.
The "2010 act against harassment" gives us a right to sue people who harass us everyday, but unfortunately, women belonging to "respectable families" do not make such accusations because at the end of the day, it's the woman who is on the "weaker edge". So the act is not a complete solution to this problem. We need more awareness on these issues. We need to make our society realize that when being harassed, a woman is not on a weaker edge, but a stronger one. This is not an issue which should be only discussed in whispers, this disgusting act should be discussed in louder voices, on bigger platforms, to help every Pakistani woman who suffers this, yet endures it, because she doesn't want to be labelled "Buri aurat".
3. Letting Go:
Some times, the act of letting go is what amends our life. We ought to let go to welcome more love into our life. There comes a time, where all the bonds you'd ever created become weak. I do not appreciate letting go, but what good does a corroded relationship do to you? Can you hold onto a corpse for eternity? No, you cannot. It starts to stink. These broken relationships stink too. And eventually, they become a cause of your sickness and they kill you in the end. Letting go of something can never make us weak, but holding onto an already dead thing can make us weak and weary.
2. Weak:
I've deemed myself a very strong person. I stood against the deadly winds and the gushing water. I outdid my demons and vanquished my enemies. I sustained calm and conquered my realm. But I discern myself losing it. I can't stand against anything anymore. The blows life is giving me is making me numb. I am sagacious person lulled to shallowness by the realities of life. My pen glitches every now and then. Words do not come out of my soul. I am going far away from everything. My existence is fading. And I'm scared. I'm weak and crippled. I need a hand to take me out of this vortex attracting me towards itself like a magnetic field would. I'm too tired of living on my own. My past haunts me like a deadly ghost. I can't seem to live anymore. The oasis looks like a desert to me. I see my kingdom rebelling against me. I can't fight. I can't stand for myself against myself. I've been betrayed by loved ones and I've fought enough battles to get them back, but all I have is scars. A lot of scars. And I am ashamed of it. I am ashamed of myself. I can't look into my own eyes. I can't. I need help. I want to be me, again. I've lost myself in this abyss and I want myself back.
1. Home, my city of flowers:
Almost 17 years back, I stepped into this city, with nothing but my parents and a sister. With no one by our side but just this little family. I, mere 2 years old, was having a hard time accepting this place as home. Who would have anyway? I had to leave my aunts and uncle in Lahore. My family. And my home. I LEFT MY HOME.
There was no 3 o'clock *barfi* or anyone to play with. At day, we had to stay with maids and at night, with mama baba who were tired after serving the mankind whole day.
After 17 years, I'm all grown up. Still having a hard time to deem this place as my home. But I have to. Everything is exquisite about this place and there's no denying the fact. But this is not home. Nothing like my home was, 17 years ago.
But this is my favorite place. Peshawar, also known as The city of flowers. Unfortunately, you won't get to see the flowers everywhere and it's pretty much like the other cities of Pakistan. Despite the factor, it's still known as THE CITY OF FLOWERS. And the flowers are us, the people. I didn't find home in this place, but I did, in the people. I did, in the unity we have here. I found my refuge in the hearts of people dwelling here. The aura and essence of Peshawar, it's felt when you enter here. You'll find home in the aroma of chapli kabab and the boards of Peshawri icecream. You'll see it in the people who are beautiful inside out. You'll find home in every "Za mara" and every "Pakhair raghlay".
This is the place, where I fell in love for the first time, and then again for hundreds of times thinking
"THIS MUST BE HIM, I KNOW". And it wasn't him. This is the place where I first experienced failure and where I first learnt how being popular feels like. This is the place where I was considered a Bad Girl and an Inspiration at the same time. This is the place where I found a best friend in every person at first and in none when I grew up. Bitter lessons, sweet love, 2am meetings, first chocolate, first hug, first heartbreak. The only place that earned me the most beautiful compliment of my life, "Madam, you're the most sober and decent girl around here and that intrigued me to meet you."-Chair KPK Tourism Dept.
I actually came to know how people were scared of diversity here and yet they never feared to hug a Hazarewal/panjabi and never failed to welcome a mahajir. I came to know how men direspect girls and how at the same time they won't let anyone touch you, because, "GHERAT".
I've found lovely people here, each and everyone of their own kind. And I've adored every one of them.
And that's the reason I can't give up on this place. On my home. On the hearts I dwell in. I have discovered a new life here. A beautiful one. And I can't and won't plan on leaving this place.
"Peshawar, my home".
