Adieu, 2014

It was a week ago while traveling through the cantt area an intriguing scene caught my eyes and remained in my mind for the rest of the day. It was a silhouette of crowns of smoke embossed at the amber canvas of evening sky. Rising from behind the bushes, trying to reach up, almost touching the burning sun. To grab and bring back what's been lost. So close... You think you could reach out and easily touch it; only to realize the elusive nature of the whole scenario. Each cloud of smoke would follow in the same trail of its preceding cloud, and eventually disappear into thin air. It is only if you discern the turn that they appeared separate, else to begin with, they were one... How I'd wanted to paint the scene on a real canvas if only my artistic abilities were limitless. It was simple, but the symbolism was striking. It's crazy how every year life brings us back to where we'd begun from a year ago. Simple little things that meant so much, but are no more. Amazing how your world can take a complete turn within a matter of three sixty five days.

This is the first when I don't know what my End Year's post must look like. This is the first when I have no coherent reflections on the year that's gone and absolutely nothing to look forward to from the year that's right around the corner. Winter has made itself comfortable. Cold fingers, frozen toes, and a numb heart. 2014 was the year I was at my most vulnerable. I lost my way over the course. It is so easy to lose your way, don't you think? One moment you are here, strolling through a lane you have so fondly built, so sure of where you're heading; but then the paths suddenly change and it is no longer the place you used to know. You are sighing in the quietest of nights, groping in the dark, trying to find a way. A way back. A way forward. But there's nothing anymore.

2014 was the most decisive year of my life. I completed my three year Honors program. Yep. I am finally a graduate. When I had entered university I thought it would be one hell of a journey. I wouldn't make it. But it's crazy, how we go out among total strangers, and little by little, we discover them. How they are, how they think, what they like, what interests them, what irritates them. And before we could realize, they become an integral part of our lives. Life is like that in many ways; only a lot more complicated. But of university, I made it. After three years of assignment pressures and exam anxiety, of early morning classes and boring Linguistic lectures, of hilarious laughter and countless tears, of petty arguments and heartwarming smiles, I finally made it.

In another news, my treatment finally ended. No more follow ups, no more medicines, no more hospitals. I feel... Free. Literally. November was the last time I had to go for a follow up. My fever lasted almost for more than a week and I thought here I go again. But thankfully, that was it. I cant believe I wouldn't have to take any more medicines. Not that I was punctual with them anyway, but yeah. It's only sad that my hair is now falling like crazy 'cause of the fever and antibiotics. I remember how I had given a million excuses last year just to avoid a damn blood test. Little did I know, that right ahead a whole series of pathetic blood tests awaits me. And this time I wouldn't have no excuse. Now that I think of it, I realize how I had spent a substantial part of my year in a hospital. The nurses and even the receptionist would recognize me, and it wasn't even funny.

I also, after much delay, at last winded up Euphoria. Winding up Euphoria meant bidding final farewell to a memory I was so scared to let go. I might also post a final epilogue, but that would be later. It's like my mind keeps suggesting ways of holding on to it, in whatever subtle way I could. I knew it had to end. There was nothing left of it, but the thought of putting an end to it was daunting. What would I hold on to once Euphoria is practically gone? It used to provide me a chance to revisit a sweet agonizing memory every once in a while. But I guess this is it. Would be throwing out the fifth part probably in a couple of days. 2014 took away my Euphoria which had begun a year ago. I entered this year with so many people. Not knowing that by the end I'd have to leave a few behind. My only regret is that I didn't even get to say goodbye and the last link was broken. And then it settled in... Isn't it insane, how things we haven't thought of since quite some time still have the ability to make us cry?

There are events in my past which look grander in my head than they really were. Fragments of childhood memories, school days, family time. And I didn't even notice when they were happening. But there are also certain events, which I knew were already so grand while they were happening. And I savored every moment. I always knew there is a consequence for every action, and you have to deal with it. But if 2014 taught me something, it was that sometimes you have to bear consequences even for someone else's actions. 2014 taught me that there aren't many sure things in life. I was living in a lie all this time. You know how you are mostly numb but then every once a while a wave of realization hits you and you know it's real. You know it deep inside your chest. In the pit of your stomach. From the crown of your head to the tips of your fingers, you know that it was real and it happened. And you've got to face it. I knew it's hard for people to accept their mistakes, and keeping myself in there I understand how it is like. It's natural to be scared and make mistakes; but you don't get to blame others for that. But people... Well. People will disappoint you. People you stood up for will not necessarily stand for you. People you defended all the while they were absent, will not necessarily acknowledge it. People will walk out on you having you believe that it was something you had done. It is plain silliness to even draw a limit and think people wouldn't go beyond that. Accusations, lies, blue, green, more lies, and what not. Just to save their faces. How I had believed in everything I was told. It's bizarre. It totally is. I also learned that all those sayings and maxims I grew up listening to, were actually very true. You can invest all your faith in someone; but when the time would come... It will all be ruthlessly disregarded. There is a reason why your elders claim to know better. Because they do know better. 2014 also taught me that time unravels everything. Everything. It is all to time that different instances, little by little, came to make connection all by themselves at the most unexpected places and then it all made sense. Only my reaction was late. I took time to completely register it. And then came a slow, melting realization... There was one of Imam Ali's quotes which I'd often come across. I never truly understood what it meant until now. Now, I don't know where the limits are anymore. I cannot differentiate lie from truth and truth from lie. I was denied the right to truth. I was denied my right to decide for myself. I have had ample occasions to think how life would have been had the nature of my choices was slightly different. But, I don't. Because despite everything, and contrary to what many around me believe, I don't regret my choices. See when you make a choice, you ought to stay by it. Your choices and how you deal with their consequences define you. Because dreary times come, and that is when you are being tested. I was tested. And while taking that test, I discovered So. Much. So much of myself, and so much of my life. In the silence and even in false projections, I learned one thing: that which requires you to explain yourself all the time, isn't worth it. I also learned that it is insanely easy to stay by choices you make by will; regardless of what people mumble. Because sure, people talk, but do they say anything? Hardly. I made a decision of which I was perfectly sure. And despite how momentarily I was let to live the feeling, it was beautiful. It was mine and it was true as long as it lasted. And I cannot let anyone take that away from me by repeatedly telling me that I was the one at fault.

In a more cheerful news, I dreamt my first dream after almost eleven months! (doesn't sound like a big deal, isn't it? Well, shut up. It is). A series of images after months of darkness. It does not matter what it contained. I kind of already knew what I was likely to dream of, if ever I dreamt again, the good part was totally in the fact that I dreamt again. And although it reflected images from my recent past, for once I had a sound sleep. No more falling out of slumber anymore. The same images continued for a certain period, but then it started changing. I don't remember my dreams as clearly now as I used to, but I somehow do manage to recollect enough details. And it has, thankfully, gotten regular now. I had completely forgotten what it is like waking up from a continuous, unbroken sleep. It is true that time happens to heal almost about every wound; but it cannot alter certain feelings or remove certain memories. It can only conceal. I cannot remove from my memory the three-month long period of wait I had to go through. And so, this year I learned, that there is nothing more tormenting than the act of waiting. The worst you can do to damage someone is to inflict upon them an unconditional wait. I was damaged deeply, but then I found my cure. In  Dua-e-Kumayl. It has healing powers. Literally. It brings you right before God and you realize how all that world's 'glitter' is nothing more than a dupe. It makes you realize how insignificant we, the humans, are. And that there is a Source who can exempt you off all afflictions. I may not be very religious, but I am very proper in terms of knowing who I am and where I am from. Hence, with that, I learned that it gets a lot easier to deal with the dreariness once you make God your witness.

A year ago I had a perfect picture of today and the days to come. Today? Nothing in particular. I had imagined two severe possibilities in my head when 2014 had begun. I knew this year will change my life. Either it will take me where I want to be, or it will take me where I ought to be. Right now I have two jobs in hand and a decision made. A week ago, I had none. It's ironical how the flames we particularly want to avoid in life are often the flames we eventually end up dealing with. I got a call from two places for work to which I had very randomly applied to. I never planned on working. But well. I have, however, decided something else: to continue my studies and begin with my Masters program. The story of this decision is an interesting one. It was a year ago when I had confidently announced that I wouldn't be coming back for Masters, entirely because I had my priorities sorted. I had given up my plan of studying further because I thought someone needs me more, and it can't wait. Or so I was told. I was reading into someone else's words. I wouldn't have to come back for Masters. But what do you know, here I am, setting about for my Masters in Literature. It's funny how life works out sometimes. Really.

Wouldn't it have been great, if every new year would've provided us with a blank memory like a fresh new page? No previous stains. Nothing. Like how a friend said, "new year, new beginning". Sigh. I wish it was that easy. You were tough, 2014. I will remember you. I can picture myself standing at my old terrace, on New Year's eve, sending up my earnest prayer and excited to begin with this year. It feels like yesterday. I don't know where did the time go. But I am not going to rant about that. Although this wasn't so much of a good year for me, I am still thankful, for a plenty of better reasons. We moved to our new house. Family members reunited. Friends separated years ago came back together. I thoroughly experienced the transition in life. So of 2014? Amen to fate's design. Amen to friends who didn't give up on me and family, which was ever so understanding. Amen to life. And amen, to the guidance Lights provided me with. The Lights accepted the inherent meaning of my prayer that night, even before I could even understand it myself. I learned only later. Only now. And of 2015? I am not sure what's ahead, and for the first time, I am not concerned. But no new year eve wishes this time. For a change. I will just be. I am no butterflies and unicorns right now. But I am OK. In fact, quite at peace. It feels like I have come a long way. So here, a very happy new year to all the beautiful, genuine people. And Eid-e-Zehra mubarak! I don't think there could be anything better than entering the new year celebrating such an auspicious occasion.

Adieu, 2014. Adieu...

Faith.

We all believe in a set of certain beliefs to keep ourselves going, running in one piece. We look into our lives, and retrace the steps that got us here. What was that one force which drove us through the tumultuous waves of time and dreary lanes of life?  What fueled our genie lamps and we survived even through the darkest storms? It may be termed differently by different people belonging to different schools of thoughts, according to their experiences; what remains constant is the affect it has on all of us. Some call it Dharam - belief in the divine force that makes universe possible. Some call it Saddha - confidence based on knowledge, while some call it Eemaan - Faith.
Lets talk about faith. I have always had trouble defining faith just as much as I have trouble defining religion. You know what it is and what it means, what you don't know is how to fathom it into appropriate words. How must you define that which defines you?

Faith, is what governs you. Faith is silence; just not the kind which breaks you, rather a kind which keeps you together. Faith is a memory; just not the one which keeps you entrapped, rather a one which sets you free. Faith is time; that which unravels answer to every why that kept you restless. Faith is a saving hand which holds you from drowning; it is a ray of light which shows you way when you are groping in the dark. Faith is fate. It is not a coincidence. There is always a story behind how a belief was established, how a faith was developed. There is pain. There is hope.

~ ~ ~

I am tied in shackles of a memory which I force back in my head every second of every day. But there comes a time when I lose the battle and it comes gushing, filling my senses. I let it flow, and wallow in the sorrow it brings. I feel it closer than usual. I suddenly hear from my past. And it doesn't happen only once. Reminders lurk in simple little things. An association triggers the memory, I fail to hold myself together. I miss that which is gone. It's natural. I cry myself to sleep. I wake up and I see a message... That, too, doesn't happen only once.

*

Since my childhood, I would hold my breath to capture time. The longer I'd hold my breath, the slower would the time pass, and the more will I get to savor moments. I grow up. I hear talks pertaining to severity of the illness my paternal grandmother is going through. I hold my breath to freeze the time. It doesn't work. My paternal grandmother dies.

Always do good. Always be honest. Don't ever hurt a soul. That which you do, shall sooner or later get back at you. I am told that everything which happens, happens for a reason. A belief is established. I start reading signs. I start judging my life according to these notions.
My imaginative faculty is highly receptive. I dream a lot and remember each of it. My dreams are always pleasant. My sleep relies on my dreaming ability. I read about the interpretation of dreams. Another belief is established. Every dream means something. I cannot think they will ever cease to appear.

I overhear my father's grandmother repeat certain words to find something which has been lost before looking about it. I memorize it. I say it when I lose my things. I always find them when I do. It works for me.

I have an Aqeeq studded silver ring. It is a tangible souvenir of my faith. I wear it all the time. I lose it one day. I solemnly say those words again and again. I search and search but cannot find.

I forget about the ring eventually.

I observe the water coming down from the sky... I am told the sky showers the water of heaven. It is a blessing. I soak it in my bones. It makes me happy and reinforces my intuition of life. It inspires me at so many levels. I associate rain with spirituality. It will always be a good sign for me.

A friend is leaving for Damascus. She asks me to write an areeza. I don't know what it is. The idea of it fascinates me. She teaches me to write one. I neatly tear a paper from my notebook. I write Bismillah and offer Salaam to Sayyedda Zainab with my favorite pen in nastaleeq Urdu. I write a couple of lines, asking her to call my maternal grandmother at her Shrine.

My maternal grandmother leaves for Damascus a month later.

I check in my drawer for something. I see my Aqeeq ring resting beneath my accessory box. I close my eyes and hold it between my hands for quite a while. The need to wear it is no longer felt.

Muharram moon is sighted and my grandmother repeats to us tales like every year of how Muharram was commemorated back in her times. The simplicity of it all charms me. Muharram has begun and I feel like I have finally gotten back to where I truly belong. I feel completely at home. I weep at the tribulations of Ahlebait; the household of Prophet. It enlightens my faith.

It is the 8th of Muharram. It is important for me to attend tonight's majlis. There is haazri at home. We cannot go. My heart sinks. May be Hazrat Abbas doesn't want me to attend his majlis. I get a call from chaachu asking me if I need a lift. I am there sitting in the majlis, under the soothing silver light of the moon coming down at us from the open sky. I look up straight at it. The Moon of Hashmiites wanted me to attend his majlis. My faith is strengthened.

We go to attend the Ashura procession. We leave for home earlier than usual. I am very upset about it. We are preparing for  faaqa shikani, when suddenly there is news of a bomb blast targeting attendees of the procession. I experience so many emotions at once.
The turn out for Chehlum procession that year was however greater than ever. It doesn't matter what the funny looking Jihadis preach. They do not rule our faith.

I am starting college. I want to study Literature. My father wants me to go for Pre-medical. I cannot say no. I take Pre-medical. Three months later I realize it is not my field. I tell my mother. She asks me to switch to Literature if that's what I want. I am confused. What if I make a wrong decision? I take eight chits and write lit. and med. evenly in four each. I recite Naad-e-Ali three times and then pick a chit. It says literature. I repeat. I get literature again. I pick a chit for the third time. It's Literature.
I switch my subject.
I score second highest in my finals from Literature group in the entire college.

I believe in the power of words. I remember what people say. I store it in my memory. I safely keep the letters and cards and notes and messages that people give me. They give me something to remember. I treasure it. Keeping their words close is my way of keeping a part of them with myself.
I write a folder of letters to a friend who is moving to America. The letters will work as a reminder. I will remain with her as long as she keeps them.

I measure life in terms of months and years. I keep track of time. It gives me an illusion of being in control of my life. New Year eves make me nostalgic. A sun goes down, taking away tiny parts of me that will only exist in my memories. I recall little details and events that went through the year and look forward to many that the time ahead have in store for me. I bid adieu to the year bygone. I attach hopes with the one that will follow. I say Amen as the sun sets; I make wishes as it prepares to rise.

It will soon be 2012. My university will begin in fourteen days. I am an adult. I am excited. This year will be wonderful.

2012 turns out to be a mess. Family issues. I have trouble accepting that blood relations can abandon each other. I don't know what went wrong and I lost a friend. An acquaintance has wronged me to such an extent, I will never forgive that person. I write an areeza to Imam Hussain. I ask Him to answer me before the end of 2012.

It's New Year's eve. I shall not make any wish. I must not expect anything from 2013.

It is the 31st of December, 2012. I don't have my answer yet.

It is the 5th of January, 2013. I have my answer.

Five extra days. My faith is strengthened.

The acquaintance suddenly shows up after a month and apologizes for everything. I look back. I don't even remember it anymore. The disappointment is long over. I forgive.

I forgive because I have forgotten.

I wake up one day and I hear my mother cry over phone. A relative is shot dead in the wave of Shi'a Genocide. I lie back and tell myself it hasn't happened to us. I realize it has happened to us. We go to attend his funeral. To die for Hussain is to live for eternity. I stand amidst the chants of Labbaik Ya Hussain, my faith is strengthened.

I take a leap of faith. It is raining. I revere and hold close the promises I am given. 2013 has brought me a sacred euphoria.
I appear in someone's dream. The person explains the dream where we both walk along the shore and discloses something which upsets me. Something which the person cannot quiet recall. The dream proceeds as I begin to walk away; the person runs after me and convinces me to stay. I am convinced. The dream ends. I wonder what could it be that had me upset? It doesn't matter. I stayed. I know it's real.

Two weeks later, the same person reveals to me a reality. The same which had me upset in the dream. It was a sign. I am shocked. I go out under the vast sky, face up, I close my eyes and let the silver streaks of moon fall on my face.
I am scared.
I say nothing.
And then I pray.

I wake up the next morning. Everything is still the same to me. I know its genuine love, the kind which doesn't change with circumstances. I am enthralled by its purity. But distracted by its fragility. I need to be careful. I don't have a legitimate right. I must observe caution, I must not say everything that I feel. I must wait. For the right time.
It's drizzling and I am walking down the parking lot towards the one who has come to me. I am reading the sign. I know what I want. I make a choice. It is difficult, I know. But I will remain by it. I pray punctually. Everything is clear. I have faith.

I have to go through a trial. I cannot tell it to the one who needs to know the most. I cannot worry someone who I already sense is through a hard time. I rely on my faith, I rely on my prayers. I raise my hands and say, "You know the purity of my intention, be my witness. Save my heart, save my soul. Save me from ruin."

The result comes out in my favor. I take it as a sign. I know where I'm heading.

I see a person in my dream. I wake up happy. It's a sign. I must capture it into words before it slips away. I type down the entire dream and email it to the person it involves. The need to share it is strongly felt. I get no reply. I understand. It doesn't affect my short-lived happiness. I know I will always remember it.

I detect traces of lies and contradictions in statements every now and then. I don't take it as a sign. Everyone makes mistakes when they are scared. It does not matter what has been beside of what will be. I will make it happen. I send an areeza beseeching both my Masters resting in Karbala. It has my deepest prayer. Later that day, I fall asleep and see a dream where I am prostrating in haram of Hazrat Abbas, weeping bitterly and repeating to Him that He knows what my heart desires. I wake up with tears in my eyes. I am reading the sign. It is like I have conquered every blessing.
The latter part of the dream is not very satisfying. I cannot interpret its significance. I choose to ignore it. It continues to bother me. I pray hard.

I read somewhere that reciting Dua-e-Tawassul fulfills every legitimate prayer. I listen in majalis that no prayer is denied when you pray through Waseela-e-Abbas. I have strong faith. I sit under His Alam and punctually recite Dua-e-Tawassul every Thursday. It does wonders for me.
I will not immediately understand when my most earnest prayer will be denied. It will come to me only later.

The year is coming to an end. I reflect upon 2013. This year changed my life. It will be Twenty Fourteen in a little over a month. Two Thousand and Fourteen. I have a lot of expectations from the coming year. It will decide the course of my life. I shall not say it out loud. It will jinx it. But I have faith.

It's New Year's eve. I feel something slipping away. I express myself out loud and vow to stay by through all which would follow. I get no reply. But I know love better. It does not need to be proven. I have felt it and I know it is there. I have faith.
The year ends.

2014 begins. The world flips upside down. I am lost in the middle of nowhere. I suffer in silence. I revel in my pain. I become immune to it. I spend nights wide awake in a hope. A wait permanently settles into my subconscious. The dreams stop appearing to me and I fall out of my sleep at intervals. I get no answer.

I jinxed it.

I still pray regularly.

It's been a couple of months. Why is my faith taking so long? I log in my email account after ages for an assignment, I find another email instead. My faith has been in constant action even when I thought it isn't. It gives me hope. I get to exchange only a couple of emails with the sender. He disappears again without completing the discourse.
I continue to intuitively check my mails till this date.

I am told a million things. I choose to register none. I am told how I have been hurt. I am explained the 'nature' of betrayal. I continue to wash my faith with my tears. I fall sick. I have lost my ability to dream.

I give up all hopes and condition myself to go with the flow. The one who had disappeared suddenly shows up. I am told another long tale as a closure. I am too numb to react. I promise to keep it a secret, and I let the person go. I wallow in my sorrow. My story comes to an end. I pray harder.

I move to our new house. I have trouble letting go. My faith tells me it is for the better. I make peace with it.  I delete every word that I had kept close. The memory remains. I still cherish it in my wandering thoughts.
Inside, I am a mess. Outside, I am beginning to improve. The one who had presented closure, shows up again. I am hearing the voice after so long. It swells my heart, but I cannot say. I think this is the last time; but the broken bond is suddenly revived. I am perplexed. Is it that easy? It makes no sense. How can I go back being the same person that I was? Where do I find compensation for that which is lost? My wounds are deepened, but I do not say. My silence is misinterpreted like all other times. I am accused of insincerity. The person abandons me again. I have never hurt anyone. Why did it happen to me? I pour out all my grievances in an areeza to Imam Hussain. I make Him a witness to every tear I have shed in the quietest of nights. I tell Him to remember all my vows I had made and from Him I seek justice and from Him I expect comfort. My faith is intact. I still pray.

I get to receive numerous remarks. I stay silent because I am still just numb by how much it hurts. I tell myself that one who has hurt me would have by now realized. I will forgive if forgiveness be asked. I am proven wrong when the person shows up yet again only to tell me that it was all my fault and I am remembered as someone who withdrew. All my efforts so conveniently disregarded. It tears me apart. I choose to stay strong on the surface.

I fall sick again.

I see my family worried. I see my friends distressed. I question my faith. I get no answer. I stop praying.

I am in a hospital. A friend comes to see me. She holds my hand and asks me to have faith. I cannot hold my tears. We both cry. I feel something break inside me. I think I have lost connection. My prayers are returned unanswered.

I remember listening in a majlis in my childhood of how God doesn't forgive the one who has hurt you as long as you don't. I remember how I have always fancied myself as someone capable of forgiving. I realize now that I am not. I choose not to forgive. It fuels my fire. It keeps me going.

I receive a call from a friend living across the seas. She tells me she has finally got the answer to her 'why' after three years. I am happy for her. It gives me hope.

I have no plans. I continue my semester. I am 21. My family has other plans for me. I don't have the capacity. I tell them I need time. They understand.
It is the same time of the year. One year behind the line, I wasn't broken. Now I need every piece to run right again. I still don't have my answer. I am searching for a lyrical poetry, I come across a Persian Nasheed of Bay Taha Bay Yaseen instead. I internalize it in my bones. The sound of it comforts my shattered soul.

The one who was gone, showed for the nth time dragging me back yet again. I am exposed to the number of lies I was ever told. The person knew all along that it was never my fault, yet the accusations. I don't know where the limits are anymore. Love. Shock. Disgust. Pain. Anger. The possibilities life could have touched had truth been told earlier. The battles I would have taken had this love been just as honest as true as it said it was. There is so much that can never be said again. I have a number of questions to ask, a number of things to tell; I say none. It is ironical how something that I had so earnestly longed for at one point, has arrived so late, that it doesn't even matter anymore.
I am slowly joining the dots... The necessity to forgive is not felt. The pain lives - but I know now.
I have my answer.

For although I had stopped praying, I still had my connection. It was never lost, only disrupted. Neither were my prayers returned unanswered nor denied, only delayed. This calls for a prayer. A prayer of gratitude. My faith has won.

*

The Euphoria was mine all along. I will keep it. I get a part of inspiration for the fifth and final sequel of my Euphoria from Abbas Ali Khan's rendition of a Sufi kalaam composed by Baba Gulzar Sabri. Of all the contemporary music I have listened to, none of it can beat the gravity and soulfulness of this song.

 Nah hai ibteda mere ishq ki, nah hai inteha mere ishq ki.

Mera ishq hee hai mera khuda, mujhay aur koe khuda nah dey.

Mujhay baar baar sada nah dey,

meri hasraton ko hawa nah dey.

Mujhay aashiqo'n mei shumaar kar, mujhay aashiqi ka sila nah dey.

(Neither does my love have a beginning, nor does my love have an end.

My love alone is my God, don't give me any other.

Don't call me to yourself again and again,

don't inflame my hopeless longings.

Consider me among the noble lovers, do not reward me for love.)

~ ~ ~

I adhere to certain values. I do what is right. It is faith.

* * *

It happens again. I find myself thinking of the time gone; I rejoice in my pain. Ten minutes later, I receive a message... I hear what I had yearned to hear at one point.
The second day I am composing random rhyming couplets about a lost golden butterfly. The memory is active in my thoughts. I receive another message. The pain is reinforced. It angers me. It also compels me to do what I may have done had it not come this late.
What do I do? How do I escape from it? Help me, God. It does mean something. Show me what has it come for? I have faith in You.
It is the third day, I subconsciously anticipate for yet another message. And as I type this down, I receive a notice - and not a message - that my number has suddenly been blocked. What is it, a sign? It is God's answer. It is Him telling that the time to let go of the hurt has finally come. The last link is broken. I will not hear from the one gone ever again... It's beginning to settle in. It is finally time to let go. My chest hurts, and down flows the stream of tears. It is beyond my control. I must heave out all my pain in this one last lament.

My faith is renewed.

Euphoria: IV

Read Euphoria III here.

The hailstorm was fierce in the immediate days after he left. And yet, it failed to scare her. She had chosen to wait for him right where he had left only so he could find her easily on his return. She remained there, under the storm, unmoved, unshaken. It was after all in the wildest storm of July when she had taken his extended hand, should a fierce hailstorm really scare her? He must not think she’ll fear away from the unforeseen hurricanes when she outstood the unexpected tempest of August. She didn’t let go of his hand even in the most unfavorable weathers, this was no challenge either. The external voices had a lot to say, she chose not to listen to them. She had given her head the permission to follow the heart; she was to remain by it. He might have had a reason, he might be through something. He’d come. She’d gaze up at the grey sky, praying with all her might, hoping to see signs of Light. Hoping to see the birds again that migrated away along with him. Only she didn’t know the grey was here to stay. Longer than she had thought. Long enough, to change her world; and everything she had ever known.

Her heart had been replaced. She was no longer in possession of something that once belonged to her. The void he left between her fingers ached like a wound that deepened with every passing day. His fragrance was fading, so was the memory of his voice. She’d often hold her breath to let it from slipping...

But for how long?

There was so much she wished to say. So much she couldn’t. She kept waiting for the right time. For the time when he’d place her above all his priorities. When he’ll give her full access to his heart. For the time when she wouldn’t have to fear his departure. When she’d finally have a rightful claim on him. The right time, that wasn't ever meant to come... Only she was yet to accept it.

The nature always reflected back how she felt. Day after day, her longing grew, he never came. And the weather worsened… The river failed to bear the pain any longer and out came its emotions with a sudden gush. The current of desolated river was so strong, it pulled down the Great walls, and ruined everything that it contained within and across its radius. The grand fortress of Euphoria was reduced to rubble right before her eye, and all she could do was stare blankly. Miserably. Helplessly. The miniature elephants, the butter lamps, the color trays, all had flown off with the current and were lost somewhere under the debris of what was fondly built… The city where months ago a sacred commitment was celebrated was now abandoned. Ruined. Reduced to nothing. Under the ruins lied the fine sheesham carvings that were now moldered and left like driftwoods after flood… the festivity was long over, she barely got the chance to completely register it...

He was too many miles away to see for himself how she reveled in the misery he had inflicted upon her. Devastated and overwhelmed, in her melting numbness and hopeless denial, she chose to remain by the promises he had made, and held close the memory of words he had given her. He would come, she'd whisper his name in the quietest of nights, hoping that he'd hear her –but so much at a distance was he; he knew nothing.

The mighty Moors have, however, always known. The Moors could always see him; they, of all, knew he wasn't showing up.
... And there was no going back. How was she supposed to find her way back when she never attended to the pathways she’d been crossing all this way? And why should she have bothered anyway? He was holding her hand all along, what else mattered? They had walked together ever since the journey had begun, or so she always thought. He had offered his hand, he had pledged to guide her through all crossroads under all weathers. But now he was gone. And she was lost in the middle of nowhere. It was no longer the place she used to know. She'd often dwell in her sorrow, wondering why must an emotion, so powerful, so huge, be offended by being confined in a box of definition? He had walked by her side, and what was a joy for her greater than that? Walking in silence together with him, saying so much without saying anything at all. Weeping in his tears, smiling in his laughter. Dreaming in his sleep, musing in his speech. He was her first and only memory in this realm, she felt him better than he thought. She had clung to him in a way he never really noticed and cannot ever really know. So much it meant, if only he had understood.

She had so many questions. So many questions, answers to which were all gone with his acquaintance. And all that remained was unidentified pain somewhere in her empty chest...

The pain was a reminder of simple little things. It was a reminder of all that was once said. The why's have successfully consumed her, and over the course, something sank so low, she failed to find it.

But despite the burning agony he left her in, she continued to wait. For something, ANYTHING, that was to ensure her survival. It was a need. A need to belong. She needed a few words; a few words that will pave way for her. She still relied on him. Only a few words from him, so she could go about finding her way on her own. She longed, to hear his voice for one last time… for one last time to hear him speak, she longed…

But that was then. The longing had switched to dread, she was yet to realized.

*.*.*

The time was moving slow… It was only after she had given up all hopes, when the birds returned. It was sudden. It was unexpected. It was a regretful realization. The snowy Egrets came gracefully fluttering their delicate plumes. The moment their shadows fell on her, a petrifying sensation went down her veins. It weren’t the birds alone. It was him. It was he who had come back. Or so she thought at first.

It was only to his arrival, that she realized she no longer had the courage to face what she’d been waiting for since so long. The birds brought with them what at one point was all she wished for; they brought with them, what she no longer needed.

It was him. After seasons of heart wrenching silence, he had returned.

What for?

She couldn’t follow.

Had he brought cure?

Time would unravel.

He wasn’t the same. She could hardly hear his voice. He was cloaked in a familiar blue robe which he had worn that evening when he had first come. He spoke to her, staying at a distance, unrevealed by the shadow of a tree. Barely visible. When he spoke, he spoke in a hurry. He spoke strangely with a retreating edge to his disembodied voice.

It was clear, he hadn’t come to stay. He had come to lessen his burden and finish the business he had begun a spring ago.

He had a separate city where his Euphoria lived; of which he never fully told her, of which she learned in his absence. He had his own fortress where he originally belonged, long before he crossed her way. He had his own stories, –of which she had no knowledge, of which he had hardly ever told her.

He went on, making no reference to what he had done. He spoke of his pain, which was probably too engaging for him to even notice hers. He showed no regard to the magic they shared. She hopelessly hoped, he was too occupied. He remained behind the shadow, hidden, oblivious of her situation occupied by his own. It was yet another blow to her shaken soul. She didn’t know how to deal with it. It was a broken heart’s misery; the kind of where it was hard to decide what ached more; the knowledge of her broken soul, or the image of his anguished spirit. How was it that a few words washed away all the anger she was fostering ever since he had left? How was it, that now when she finally had the chance to release the rage of despair she’d been holding inside, she felt too weak and vulnerable?

Would hurting him when he was already wounded make her feel any better about her own misery? Was it really so easy, to hurt the one she’d loved so much? It was pain, and who else but she would know better of its torment?

Having said all he had come to say, he waited with subtle impatience for her to believe --all together, all at once. A decision was to be made --one that was to set her free and bring her peace; one, that was to decide the course her life would take from here on.

Believing was a choice she had made a year ago. She made it again.

She made herself realize his pain. She realized he had his own stories of which he never completely made her a part. She let herself follow her heart, once again –for one last time… For the sake of those hollow words that were gone with the wind; for the sake of those forgotten promises that evaporated with the first ray of the burning sun; for the sake of her own self, which was too frail, and yet too strong; but most of all, for him. She realized he had his own miles to travel and his separate wounds that he no longer needed her to cure.

Would not one have asked, who gave him the right to break her in the process of mending himself? There was no denying that he was in pain, but she was in no less. The nature of their pain was different; and it was unsettling for her on several levels. But quiet. It is hearts who have held love close, that remain quiet and let their tormentors walk away, if that is what they desire; regardless of whatever blow they may have dealt.

But no later had she answered, that he returned back from the shadow into the mysterious abyss where he had come from, showing no regard to the journey they had covered together. Too engrossed in his own justifications, too occupied by himself, he didn’t even once look up to see how she was keeping up… He didn’t waste another second and disappeared back into the realm of his own. He disappeared, again, without even giving her a chance to say proper good bye. He hurried back, without letting her bid proper farewell. Why, was the need not felt? Did it not matter? Such was his notion of love; easy to walk in, convenient to walk out… To her, however, love had not come easy, like some sweet feeling bound to come and go away quickly. To her, love was a sacred state. It was an inspiration. To her, love was a fixed mark. It was a defining force that had given her wings; she flew as high as she could, assured that he wouldn’t let her fall. It was faith she was holding close. A faith that he had given her himself. He walked out of her life as conveniently he had walked in.

His delay didn’t hurt as much as his disregard did. His turning away without even looking back at her for the last time explained how much she concerned him. He was gone, with the wind… Gone as if he never existed. Having her deeply diseased in the process of finding cure for him, he was gone…

***

Holding her heart with both her hands, she sat by the river side, wallowing in her sorrow. The prayer she had sent was returned unanswered in the form of heavy sleet.

It was a dream. A dream so fragile, she shouldn’t even have whispered it.


Read Euphoria V here

Too many ice cubes in my Pepsi!

... But, I am going to talk about milk, and cookies. Cookies and rusks, to be specific. But more about tea.
We have this special tradition of relishing cookies and rusks on weekends in the dining hall with milk after dinner around 11. I usually skip milk and get myself a cup of tea, for reasons I will happily reveal some other time. Often our conversations take a very interesting turn; we shift from general topics to personal opinions to political debates to historical analyses to past recounts. The number of quotable moments is plenty, and it's funny how I never thought of keeping a proper record of all of them.

It is an utterly carefree and comfortable feeling, to talk about whatever you wish with people who know tiny little things about each others lives and recall and laugh about it all. My mum getting annoyed 'cause of us getting into useless debates, my brothers pulling my leg, my father teaming up with me in teasing mum, my unrealistic and inconsequential musings... My father telling us all for the millionth time how he felt when I was born and he held me in his arms for the first time. My mum recounting how difficult I was when my twins brothers were born. Oh I remember that. I always wanted a sister, and so I was greatly disappointed knowing I am going to take home TWO brothers with me. We used to fight like arch enemies. They were hell naughty twins, and extremely evil.

Recently we have been having heated political arguments over Pakistan’s current chaotic situation. All of us agreed how illogical the call of civil disobedience was; my father said Qadri’s speech relatively made more sense than Imran Khan’s. He however thinks somebody’s backing him. Well. He also reasoned with me that army may seem a good option right now but has its adverse affects in the long run. I was mildly convinced. None of us is a PML-N supporter, but my mother argues over what is constitutionally correct and what isn't. She says nobody should be allowed to sit in the state capital and direct mayhem across the country on his whim. She also finds Imran Khan's contradictory statements unsettling. My father of course presents counter arguments trying to describe IK’s agenda, which is honestly still not-so-clear to me, and then it gets interesting.

I remember a couple of weeks ago the round of hilarious laughter over an incident of my sloth-lazy brother wearing dirty socks to school and the confusion that ran through over who-stole-the-socks-from-the-washing-machine. When even one of us three siblings is being laughed at, it is a must for the remaining two of us to be sequentially targeted as well. The topic of course shifted to my other brother, consequently leading to me.

Conversations shift to considerably serious topics too. A week ago we got into discussing how everything that God does has good in it, only we don't know it at times; and sooner or later, we get our answer to almost every 'why' we had initially deemed unanswerable. It was in context to a message from a close friend who found the answer to her 'why' after almost three years. Strange how life works out sometimes, no? My mum generally said -which wasn't said in general, by the way; I knew it was specifically for me - how we should focus more on what can be rather than sulking over what could have been. She said everything that happens has a reason behind. My father, quoting a different incident from his experiences said, 'Allah ki karni sab se behtar hoti hai.' I literally had to fight back my tears, because it made so much sense! I wouldn't have agreed with this had I been told this a couple of months ago. Now I do. Wholeheartedly.

Sometimes the rounds begin with Abbu sharing stories from his childhood and the ones his parents had told him. I love such sessions the most. He shares with us tales of people who are now dead; which is our way of keeping from completely losing them. Isn’t it amazing, how we learn to love people we have never met just by listening to their stories? Isn't it like, having closely known them? Feels like I saw them when they were happy. I felt it when their heart broke into two. I was there when they secretly cried, and I was there when the universe chimed with their laughter. From being able to listen, to being able to share; I impatiently look forward to these two nights of the week that we all get to spend together. That is when every other thought process in my head is at halt. I can be extremely silly and nobody would judge me. I can share the deepest of my crazy concepts and laugh about them. Home. I can be anything at home. I can dance at Honey Singh’s crazy music or sing a Himesh Reshamiya song in my husky voice. I can go around all day in my PJs watching Phineas and Ferb, and nobody would tell me that I shouldn’t be watching Disney cartoons at the age of 21. I am home and with people who know tiny insignificant things about me. At home I feel like a complete kid again. And that’s the best part.

Family, I believe, holds you up safely. You may never know what they endured. And it is a mistake, to keep things from them. Because nobody, nobody can give you a better advice than them. Or if nothing at all, at least you’ll know that there's a place called home, and there are people in it, who will keep your back, no matter what trouble you get yourself into. They always have, and they always will.

My father had told me, in one of our milk-cookie sessions, that you will end up wasting your entire life should you keep waiting to be ready. Ready never comes because ready doesn’t exist. Everything is now. Do it today, do it now. Be what you want to be and set about getting what you want, now in this very moment; because that is all you have. He said that we should act fast, because now, too, is constantly slipping. I nodded. Nods could be distrustful. My father seems to know that too well. I nodded nervously, because:

What if you don’t know what you want anymore?

I have roughly 4 months to figure out and decide.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps, I just want to be. Perhaps I want to enjoy my final few months as a student and let paths unfold all by themselves.