Rejoice?

Reasons to believe in Pakistan was posted a year ago with a hope of struggling against the bad and forwarding the positivism, but in a year nothing changed, even worsened, there’s nothing to write over a deteriorated state trying to celebrate its foundation day, but is unable to find a caretaker prime minister from past 7 days. Echoing of police mobiles, rapid march of ambulances, woes of grief and fear, burning homes, unresponsive eyes, creased foreheads, faded laugh lines, thunder of fire shots, miserable lives, fear-free ammunition display, hidden police officers, buried government is a sketch of a country laid on a dream of something that we've lost in decades and it seems there’s no way back. Along with the government, we all are equally responsible for what is happening and have to accept this bitter truth now.

A poem by Ahmed Faraz perfectly suits the situation;

I am a Hazara.

Perfect round face, a face like a Chinese doll chiseled from hardwood; pointed stub of a chin, flat, broad nose, tiny low-set ears, slanting, narrow eyes like bamboo leaves and thin lips. Nothing distinct. I was born sharing the same features in my race and the area I was living in.

Leaving the house, ma whispered some prayers and bid us farewell. I grasped Ali’s hand. My ten years old brother and we started walking to his school. It was at the other end of the main road. The broiling sun stringed up spreading rays over balmy Quetta. Everyone engaged in their daily chores. Jubilant and hyperactive kids clad in uniform scampering shop to shop for their desired candies where debilitated fathers were yelling behind and hoping after them helping with their bags and lunch boxes. We crossed the road and met with Raza, next-door neighbor and only son of a middle-aged couple, who was holding his college bag and straightening his tie, skillfully set on his creased white shirt waiting for the bus at the bus stop. We moved further, herd of office goers gathering around the roadside hotel and ordering for a cup of hot doodh-pati where some of them instructing for an extra layered paratha and a half-fried egg, a teenage boy dressed in a tee and shalwar noting the orders and forwarding them to the head chef. Ali wants to buy a box of color pencils for his drawing assignment, I stopped at Rahim’s shop. I meet with him till Ali picked on his favorite box. I mocked about his sky blue shirt perfectly set in his black pants. He giggled. We walked more. A green grocer wearing white shalwar kameez, gray hair and white beard, eyes encircled with wrinkles and a thin body, sitting on his chair with the road, reading the newspaper with spectacles resting on his nose, anyone can judge the genre of the news by the expressions he give. Every twenty minutes, he stood up, put his newspaper aside and water the vegetables and fruits on his barrow. It was his habit. We moved further. Ladies covered in shawl and veils striding to the nearby bus stop for their colleges. Some good-for-nothing aged men strolling by the shops to poke their nose or to talk about anything. Further we saw Abid uncle, who was swiftly walking to the same school we’re heading for, holding her five years old daughter Zaineb’s hand. I shouted, he stopped and asked me to drop Zaineb to the school and pick her up by the off time as he’s getting late for his office and Abida aunt, his wife is unwell. I agreed and seized Zaineb’s hand; she greeted us and begins narrating stories of her math class. We enjoyed all the way and later I handed Ali and Zaineb to the gate-keeper of the school.

On my way back I met with Khailda aunt, who was returning from grocery, but stopping every inch of minute because of the over-weighed basket. I offered her my services and collected some prayers, but maybe today was not my day. I returned from her house to the main market. 

I put my key in the lock and released the shutter with a shrilling noise. Turned on the lights and sat inside waiting for today’s fortune. Hours passed and it appeared to be a good day with a healthy business selling general household stuff. Rahim came and asked to look over his shop as he’s getting late for an interview. I assured him and diminished his stress. There’s a rush in the market like all other days and I thanked God for restoring peace in my area after a panicking period of horror and dreadfulness. Mic sat, and Muezzin started reciting Azaan. Rahim would have come by now, but he didn't show up. I lowered the shutters and went to offer prayers. Almost 02:30 noon and I was preparing to pick Zaineb and Ali from the school. Herd of laborers, employees and students returning from school and colleges started gathering around the roadside hotel for lunch, where the usual day-to-day dealings were still in progress. I moved for Ali’s school. I saw Khalida aunt again moving to another shop for some shopping. I smiled. She is a widow and a mother of four, usually found in market shopping for bare necessities. The gatekeeper handed me Ali and Zaineb and we started moving to our way home. At the bus stop I saw Rahim and Raza unloading, I stopped to hand over his keys. He catches my glimpse and started walking towards me. Within seconds I heard a deafening noise, felt sizzled metal balls getting within my body, ripping my skin. I felt some liquid in my hands and all of a sudden everything blackened. 

It was an enormous bomb blast that shudder the city and its residents. It was blood and dead bodies everywhere. Ali was resting on my chest with his eyes closed bleeding red liquid from his head. His color box was lying few inches away. A strap of Zaineb’s bag jammed between my right hand and her feet that were lying on the other side of the road. She was sleeping in the middle of the road. An aged man was resting near a barrow with his spectacles crushed under his body and white dress turned red. Rahim flew away and ripped apart and his sky blue shirt seems nowhere. Raza’s body was resting by the bus’ tyre, but a leg near Khalida aunt’s body and his other leg hanged in the electric wires. The teenage waiter of the roadside hotel was resting with his manager on the footpath near the hotel and the head chef torn apart and lying at various spots. In half an hour, ambulances, media, police; everyone gathered and put our dead bodies in the ambulance and shifted the injured to the nearby hospitals. 

I was distinct. Even we all were. We were Hazaras. Our features distinct us from others and made a way easier for our antagonists to notice and split us apart. Honor our wives as widows. Wrench our parents’ hearts. Reward our children being orphans. We were the most rewarded and notable Pakistanis by these blood drinking contenders. Even our PM and President always notices our presence and condemn the gifted brutal act. For a moment think of the family members who are going to suffer this grief now. 

A Zaleel Friend.

After all the evil grins and anger burning my soul into chunks, I clicked on the tab indicating a green circle notifying he’s online and with no safety measures, set in motion my word-gun. Again *reasoning reasoning reasoning*. Though boiled my blood, but again it was he. Muhammad Hassan bin Iqbal. Despite of all the tensions, clashes and disputes, I didn’t blow his ass farthest. Everything settles as soon as it starts between us, believe it or not, the actual brothers from another mother/ and father are we. He was introduced to me by a friend years ago (actually 2), but we try to heap in so far as 20 years. Keeping all the heated discussions aside we always gather the happy-go-lucky moments at the end of a day. Though IoBM proved to be another scar on his skin like a person he is aware of well enough. Sorry, ethically I can’t name him. To me at least. Once you start loving someone for who he is and the way he is, it took time to accept him as a new him eventually, but still I tried my best and here I’m keeping all his batamizees, nalaiqiyan, and carefree-ness aside writing his birthday post. I once told him how hard is it to write on someone you love more than anything and trying to select most suitable words to describe, but here I’m up to no good q k no words can describe the inner feelings and love at any cost. But still I tried and come up with this ajeeb si post, though I’m not itna bad writer. He is one of those introverts jo k buhat ghaday hotay hain. They are those masoom and seedhay loug who in their innocence ruins everything. Lekin khair, he is not that masoom aur shareef. Kameena aur Zaleel hay poora. *Don’t forget this is his birthday post* islie achi batain ziada. Anyways! Simple is that I’m failed writing something on this bastard, but just after my confession I may say he’s more than a friend or a brother to me. We are gays you know. Homosexuals. We respect each other the way koi bacha 14^th August anay ki khushi me Pakistan se karnay lag jata hay. And love the way ek starplus ki maa apni bahoo ko neecha dikhanay k liye apne betay se achanak shadi k ek haftay baad karnay lag jati hay ya jab ek Pakistani drama maa ko apni behen ki beti se apne betay ki shadi karani ho tab jo feeling ati hai na Love ki buss wahee we love each other itna. Khair! Enough of this self praising stuff, I want to congratulate him his day. The day he hatched. The day amma ko dard dene ka. Birthday that is, Happy Birthday, chappal k moo walay.

No hard feelings writing this post. Maafi tw jooti mangay gi meri isme kuch bura laga ho tw. Saaf baat hay is kameenay ki shaan me main aur sanjeeda hokar kuch nahi likh sakta. Andar se wo hi nai hota WO u know *samajh tw gaye hongay aap*

Khair, ab thora Rafi ki awaz me gaana hojaye

Baar baar din ye aaye, baar baar dil ye gaaye

Tu jiye hazaaron saal, ye meri hai aarzoo

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you

Beqaraar hoke daaman, thaam lun main kiska

Kya misaal dun main teri, naam lun main kiska

Nahin, nahin, aisa haseen, koyi nahin hai

Jis pe ye nazar ruk jaaye, be-misaal jo keh laaye

Tu jiye hazaaron saal, ye meri hai aarzoo

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you

auron ki tarha kuchh main bhi, tohfa leke aata

Main teri haseen mehfil mein, phool leke aata

Jinhe kaha usse chaaha, phoolo ki zaroorat

Jo pahar khud keh laaye, har kali ka dil dhadhkaaye

Tu jiye hazaaron saal, ye meri hai aarzoo

Happy Birthday to you

Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you

 Dua time: 

                 ………………………………….. Ameen J

My birthday was on 26 and this kameena didn’t wish me not belated, na itna zaleel honay k baad, abtak nai. But see my zarf I write a blog post for his birthday. Beth jaein Beth jaein, Peechay walon ko bhi dekhnay dain! 

PS I deliberately avoid numerous sentimental and emotional stuff in this post cuz I don't want to open the sweet bond between us publicly. We are far more closer than this post. Proud. 

Ajeeb sa. A zaleel friend. 

A Hate Story.

 A Hate Story (Pageview)

“She was wearing red hood with blue jeans. She combed her golden hair in a bun and tied them untidily. Some fringes were resting on her shoulders and few were annoying her by coming back over her face. She keeps on fixing it behind her ear while picking on the flowers she wants. She polished her nails red. There was no use of cosmetics on her face. Her skin was milky white with a touch of pink on her cheeks. Lips were pinkish red and blue eyes. She was stunning. I was enthralled studying her features that end on embarrassment when someone tapped me from behind. I startled. The girl was now handing me the money for the flowers she bought. She handed $30 and left. When I turned to put cash in drawer, Mr. Collins was staring at me with an evil smile. I was so mortified. Anyway, the girl was dazzling.” She turned the page.

Mr. Smith died in an accident later the year he got married with Julia Bennett. It was a month after Mr. Smith’s death; Julia started feeling some hormonal changes within. She was expecting. When this announced every other person of her family blamed her with disgrace. The situation worsened. Everyone denied accepting the child as Mr. Smith’s heir. Few months later she leaving all her belongings, but a bit of cash left the town and moved for Southampton. She heard of David Collins; a close unmarried friend of Smith inhabited there. David Collins pay heed to the situation and agreed to help Julia. He assigned her to one of his flower shops. Worry and fear of her upcoming life with a baby that caused problems in her pregnancy period. She delivered a premature baby boy with a patch of black hair next to his right ear as a birthmark on June 15’ 1986. She named him Joe Smith. Julia, in the same year diagnosed with blood cancer at a critical stage, due to the same disease, she kept on loosing her health. Mr. Collins started taking care of her and Joe more than before, but alas she died when Joe turned 7 months. Mr. Collins aggrieved a lot. He, then become whole family for Joe started growing up. Mr. Collins loved Joe more than anyone. He admitted him in a school near to his flower shop. Mr. Collins was the only child, and so inherited every tits and bits. He owns some houses in the same locality to collect rent from, with that he was the only owner of 5 flower shops in Southampton. Time passed. Joe turned 18 in 2004. He was fair in complexion, dark brown hair, black eyes, light shaved and a slim body, average in height, no broad shoulders and the birthmark still near his ear. He was of a nice and sensitive nature. Everyone loved him much because of his friendly attitude. Many of them knew him as Mr. Collins’ son. He rides around the town on his bicycle with a cowboy hat on his head or sometimes tied to his neck. He dressed every time in a loosen tee-shirt and jeans with sneakers. He had no friends. Girls did not like him due to his birthmark and nonchalant appearance, but he never cared. He respect Mr. Collins more than anyone and started working in one of his flower shops on Lisbon road when he was 16. 

“She along with a woman revisited our shop today, but this time she waited outside fiddling with her blue gown that was looking elegant in the glass. A little makeup really did prominent her beautiful features. She highlighted her eyes with a little use of dark blue eyeshadow and peach-pink colored lipstick. She curled her hair and left them untied. The woman with her seems like her mother, she was a little overweighed with the same milky white skin and red cheeks. She was showing dimples with her laugh lines on her aged face. She was picking on the flowers for a bouquet for about 15 minutes that evidently shows her interest in flowers. I was all the way watching that girl from the corner of my eyes. The woman finally pulled out the flowers she want and left handing me the cost. A black Toyota Prius parked down the road, a guy picked both of them and the car left.” Another page turned. She heard a crisp of something on the next page.

Mrs. Peters announced a college graduation party for her son, Eric Peters in end of July, 2004. Eric; a handsome personality with broad shoulders and chest, black hair, white complexion, hazel eyes with a piercing on right eyebrow, wearing black suit tonight. Mr. & Mrs. Peters were eminent personalities of Bournemouth. Mr. Griff Peters, a successful business person died off early at an age of 48 when Eric was 14 in 1999. Mrs. Peters, a notable advocate of the town. Mr. Samuel Grace, another lawyer worked for years in Bournemouth, now moved to Southampton with his family; a good friend of Mrs. Peters. They too were especially invited. Mr. Samuel was not in good health to travel, so Mrs. Grace and her daughter joined them to celebrate. Eric went to pick both the women himself. All the way Eric was staring at Angela. Mrs. Peters was so delighted on the arrival of Mrs. Grace and Angela. She always loved Angela for her looks. Angela was honestly a plastic doll; a beautiful doll, milky white skin with pink cheeks, golden hair and blue eyes. Tonight wearing a blue gown and curly hair untied. Actually, Mrs. Peters saw her after a long time and enamored with her charisma. Mrs. Grace handed the bouquet to Mrs. Peters and congratulated her. Angela too hugged and kissed the woman and greeted. They went to join other guests inside. Passing by the door, Angela noticed a missing earring. She kept on looking for it, Eric accompanied her, but they both failed. She baffled at an immediate glimpse with Eric and felt ashamed, but they both laughed hysterically. Eric and Angela met after a long period. She was a year younger than him. They both went on discussing their lives, inside.

“I shut the shop down, but saw something shiny on the floor. I sat on my knees to pick that up. It was a blue earring. I felt butterflies in my stomach; it surely was of the same girl. My lips curled and I felt an unknown gladness. I put that in my pocket and left. Arriving at home, I put that earring in a small plastic bag and attached it here.” She touched that earring and detached the plastic bag. She smiled and turned the page.

Arriving back, Mrs. Grace talk nineteen on the dozen about the joy and pleasure she felt in Bournemouth. She personally liked Eric a lot. Even Angela couldn’t find herself irresistible about Eric. Days passed, they both talked and eventually Eric started dating Angela.

Joe felt some changes in himself and affection towards that earring, he thought of returning it, but never did. He already started loving Angela, but she did not even know who Joe is. Once, Angela revisited his shop with Eric. Eric waited outside smoking where she picking on the beautiful flowers. Joe was constantly staring at her that Eric noticed from behind the glass that leads to a brawl. Angela first time noticed Joe and hated him for his looks first and then for his deed. Eric punched him in his face and then both left abusing Joe.

“Today was not a good day though, but I come to know her name when the boy hits me and asked her to come along. Angela, beautiful. She notices me for the first time today, that too a delight. I know I’m being nutty, but I love her. She is just . . . ahhh! outta words.” She felt ignominy and thought for a second, what she did that time.  She managed to turn the page.

They discussed about the incident. Angela astound over Eric’s reaction. She felt the way usually girls do. She thought about that douche bag too she never noticed in the flower shop. “He was such a pig, what was that black mark on his face. Urgh! Creepy people all the way.” uttered Angela. She thanked Eric. She loved him more after this day. She did not tell her parents about the incident.

Days passed, Mrs. Grace visited again the shop, but this time Angela waited outside deliberately. Joe along with helping Mrs. Grace in choosing flowers asked for her permission to talk with Angela. She permitted. With his head lower and eyes on ground apologized Angela for his deed that day. She yelled and abused at him, for his looks, standards and acts that gathered Mrs. Grace and Mr. Collins’ attention. Mr. Collins makes an apology to his customers and brings back Joe inside. He inquired him about the matter. He told everything honestly. Mr. Collins put in plain words about their class and Mrs. Grace’s class. He listens to the concern wordlessly.

“What if she hurt me today? She still is the beautiful creature on this planet and I still love her wholeheartedly. She hates me for my looks, my class, but this is not handmade and I’m no one to do against this. God gave me this and I’m thankful to Him, because I’m better than many. And I believe Angela too would agree with this soon and loves me back. Well, honestly speaking she was looking stunning today. Black suits her. Mrs. Grace too is a sweet woman. Well, I’ll look over Mr. Collins’ concern and try not to bring any shame or disgrace to him.” a tear rolled down her cheek; with nose reddened she turned another page.

Joe was riding on his bicycle delivering flowers to the customers at their places including Mrs. Grace in the list. He ringed the door bell. A servant asked him to come inside as Mrs. Grace wants to talk. He hesitated. Unwillingly he nodded to come inside. Entering the house, he saw Eric standing at a window nearby. He didn’t recognize Joe. Angela greeted him and they both left from the same door he just entered. Angela stared at him unlikely. He turned his head and gazed at them blissfully. Servant recalled. “I was thinking to talk with you about that day’s incident”, Mrs. Grace started. “Being honest madam, I was just apologizing for a past deed to Angela, but she misunderstands and all that happened”, Joe clarified. “I didn’t ask her for what happened, but want you to tell me how you know her?” questioned Mrs. Grace. Joe was about to answer, but a servant informed about Mr. Samuel’s sudden heartache. She left hurriedly. Joe panicked. All in a while, he was with Mrs. Grace moving to a hospital nearby. Angela stunned on his arrival at the hospital. He didn’t talk to Joe about her father’s health; Mrs. Grace too got admitted for her sudden reaction over Mr. Grace’s heart attack. Eric left at midnight taking Angela along. Joe called Mr. Collins and informed him. Joe went into Mrs. Grace’s room to ask about her health. She was fine by now. He slept on the couch nearby. Following night was horrific. Joe called Angela reporting the sudden bad condition of Mr. Samuel and his immediate bypass. Angela arrived alone at this hour, revealed later about her mishap with Eric. Operation ended with no good news. Mr. Samuel passed away. Doctor aggrieved informed Joe and Angela. Joe asked them not to tell Mrs. Grace about the loss. Angela in shock agreed. He went inside the room and sat by the bed of Mrs. Grace. He holds her hand in his hand and started, “Madam, I respect you a lot and I felt maybe somewhere you count on me too. I’m here with a no good news, but promise me you’ll not break after hearing it” his eyes became wet. He continued, “Mr. Samuel has just passed away.” Mrs. Grace’s hand fell down. He holds that again. She started crying. Angela recovering from shock called Eric. Eric was not picking up the phone. She was weeping badly. Joe after an hour came to her for the condolences. She hated his sight and left. He sat in the waiting lounge sobbing noiselessly. She came into her mother’s room and they both wept for an hour. Joe informed Mr. Collins; he visited the hospital early in the morning, but not forced Joe to come along knowing his affection towards Grace Family. Eric too visited the hospital lately; Angela hugged him tightly and cried for couple of minutes. Months after this loss, Angela asked Mrs. Grace for continuing her studies with Eric in Bournemouth. She wanted to get rid of this troublesome and aggrieved atmosphere.

“Past months were hectic as well as upsetting. I’m done telling Mrs. Grace about my interest in Angela. She has no problems, but all depends on Angela. Aside, Mr. Collins contented on my activities and connections with Grace Family. I feel sorry for Angela on bearing such loss at this stage of her life and for her mother to handle everything alone. Whenever they need me I’ll confirm my presence. Angela went Bournemouth 4 months 5 days ago and is now admitted in Bournemouth University with Eric. They are having good time together. Mrs. Peters is feeling all low at the moment and is on a complete bed rest. I miss Angela a lot. Wish to see her soon.” She recalled every possible memory, became gloomy and turned the page.

Mrs. Grace asked Joe about his studies. She assured him of bearing all the expenses for his undergraduate studies in Southampton University. Joe told Mr. Collins about the news; first he differed, but later agreed. With this, Joe turned another chapter of his life.

In Bournemouth, Angela and Eric were living their lives merrily. At times they fight for silly reasons, but settles as quickly as they start. Mrs. Peters wants to arrange their engagement ceremony and wedding after their bachelors. She called Mrs. Grace for the same and she agreed. Angela excited to tie her nuptial knot with Eric, but he doesn’t want any ceremony at the moment, but after endless insist of her mother, he agreed. Mrs. Grace left Southampton for a week. She asked Joe to come along, but he refused.

“18 months 17 days, and now Angela engaged with Eric Peters; a handsome, upper class, rich man with good looks. They both made a beautiful couple. She visited Southampton once in this period. I’m contented she still remembers me and hates me the way she does before. When she came taking Mrs. Grace along for her engagement ceremony, I was at her place. She bellowed me ghastly, but I did not mind. At least I caught her sight after a year. She was as beautiful and lovely as always. Mrs. Grace ceased her anger and asked me to leave. She later asked me to come along to Bournemouth with embarrassment, but I prefer not to humiliate Angela anymore. She is now happily committed with Eric. I wish they would live happily. It has been almost a year in my University; I have no friends yet, but hope to have some in future.” With lips curled, she read the page and turned. She felt some crisp on the next page.

Eric always hated restrictions over him and that continued after his engagement. Angela avoids the same, they have had tits and bits, but that is natural in any relationship. They are going to complete with their studies soon and Mrs. Peters is not well enough to live more. She has a month or two. She called Eric to discuss the lengthen matter of his wedding. Unwillingly he agreed. Mrs. Grace and Mrs. Peters decided the dates. Angela left for Southampton after her convocation. Joe is going to complete his undergraduate studies in 4 months. Mrs. Grace discussed Angela’s wedding matter with him, but he did not react and happily greeted her. This time he left her place before Angela arrives. Mrs. Grace ordered bouquets and flower arrangements from Collins Flowers. Joe did not accompany Mr. Collins to Bournemouth neither he insisted. She got married in couple of months and Joe completed his studies with a multinational job in hand. Mrs. Grace returned with Mrs. Peters death note. She was happy on Joe’s job and celebrated his graduation party inviting some close acquaintances and the newly wedded couple. Eric refused due to his new job and Angela, after a lot of insists from her mother, agreed to come.

“I couldn’t believe Angela attended my graduation ceremony. She was looking as spectacular as anytime. She did not greet me directly, but I‘m putting this flower from her bouquet as a memory. She came only for two days, but made my day. Luckily, no bitter tribute this time, but the hate was there in her eyes. Never mind. I am glad to have Mrs. Grace and Mr. Collins in my life. They always helped and supported me. Tougher years are coming; I will try to give my best.” She took that withered rose in her hand; touched it and put back.

Angela got pregnant at the early stage, where Eric was not able to cope up with a child. Due to his negligent behaviour, he loses two jobs. Angela was about to deliver her baby, but Eric was out of money. Situation worsened with his anger and stress. She tried not to over react and asked Mrs. Grace for some money. She agreed. Angela visited Southampton with her daughter Jennifer. Joe too greeted her, but she did not react. He noticed something, but kept himself quiet.

“Jennifer is as cute and beautiful as Angela. I greeted her today, but she did not react. I saw the level of hate in her eyes descended, but what worried me was that mark on her cheek, she keeps on hiding from everyone. It was something disturbing. In addition, she was not as cheerful as before, maybe I am thinking a lot. I pray to God for her happiness.” She got astonished on this. Even her mother did not notice that mark, but he did. She felt an inner twinge with a shame, but with a glee.

When Angela returned, Eric’s behaviour towards the baby and Angela was immature. He started beating Angela for no reason, but she did not complain to handle the situation and to save her love marriage. In addition, she does not want to disturb her mother, but when the situation aggravates she filed divorce. Mrs. Grace was unaware of all these happenings. Angela luckily got her baby girl’s custody and she left Eric’s house for good. Eric was gnashing his teeth. She started doing job in Bournemouth and made excuses to her mother not to contact her for few months as she and Eric is planning a trip to U.S.

Mrs. Grace asked Joe to visit Angela when he leaves for Bournemouth. He agreed. Arriving there, he did not find anyone on the written address. He asked neighbours, they informed him that Eric Peters left a month ago. He inquired about Eric’s wife and daughter. No one knows anything about Angela and Jennifer. This terrified him. He kept on searching for them, but did not find any clue. Coming back to Southampton, he discussed this with Mr. Collins, he asked him to tell this to Mrs. Grace. He did. She kept on calling Eric’s number, but nobody ever picked. Joe kept on investigating about them.

Within a month, doorbell rang at midnight. It was Mrs. Grace. Joe asked her to come inside, she told him about Angela’s arrival a night ago at her place with Jennifer and everything she have had in her married life. Joe felt distressed. He asked her to talk with Angela about the situation. She permitted.

“Why did not you come right away when he first beat you?” asked Joe.

“It is none of your business,” Angela replied emotionless.

“When did you file divorce?”

“10 months ago”

“And what were you up to for this period?”

“Worked in a firm and brought up Jennifer”

“Then why did you leave Bournemouth now?

“Who are you to ask this? My mother lives here and I’m not going to ask anyone visiting her.”

“She is like my mother too. And she is the one who wants to know all this.” Joe controlled his anger this time.

“I’ll tell her when I want,” she replied.

“Why do you hate me much?”

“Your looks, your standards”

“I will ask Mrs. Grace to ask you further.” Joe ended.

“Sure.”

Mrs. Grace asked her about her sudden arrival. She asked if it is a burden on her so she will leave, but a mother’s heart melted and asked her to stay.

“She never smiled in my presence. She hates me wholeheartedly. I know this, but I could not help. It has only been a year maybe after some time she will stop reacting like the way she do now. She is not creating any panic, but is not behaving normally. I still love her the way I did when I fist saw her. God please instruct her. Jennifer is a sweetheart. She is growing up beautiful and cute. Mrs. Grace and Mr. Collins are happy and contented. I am trying to keep things smooth. Maybe tomorrow something changes. I wish. Amen.” She felt ashamed, turned the page. Blank. It was the last page.

After few months, Mrs. Grace asked Angela to marry Joe. She accepted. About a year passed, but she never treated Joe as her husband. However, she being mortified a bit, but her standards was not allowing her to accept him. Jennifer was growing up fine and loved by both equally. Joe never treated Angela badly, but always gave respect. It has been a year today. Angela was cleaning her room, where she found Joe’s diary in the drawer, she sat there reading it, she felt guilty of all her deeds she did in her past. For all the disrespect, she showed to him even after getting married in a condition when acid patches on half of her face affected her beauty and good looks thrown by his ex-husband. After all those arduous months of unemployment, Eric was announced publicly a depression patient with the acts of immorality and maliciousness. Not a single day in a row of three he beats or thumped Angela and Jennifer. Angela was forbearing, but a day arrived when she announced to file divorce and leaving him for good. The news outraged Eric and a day he tried to assault Angela by hurling acid into her face, but she helped herself and only few patches damaged her skin tissues. Later she filed a case against him; Eric caught by the police and sent to jail until further notice issues. She wept bitterly and asked for her forgiveness first to God and then to Joe when he arrived with bouquets, gifts and cake. He placed the stuff over the table holds her hands and kissed them, took her face in his hands, fixed her fringes behind her ears and kissed on her forehead. She upper herself a bit, held his face in her hands, kissed his cheeks, his birthmark and hugged him tightly. Jennifer came in and Joe held him on his lap. Hugged both of his assets and thanked God for making inner beauty wins over external beauty. 

Breath of blood.

Power always assaults with ideology, power may win outwardly, but ideology never dies. And keep in mind, war of beliefs and ideology may take a decade or two or even hundreds of years to end, but you may kill an innocent being, but not his/er faith or ideology. Ideology never dies with one’s soul. Quoting from history;

“In the battlefield of Karbala, Yazeediyat bumped into Hussainiyat; Hussain is still alive leaving trashes of Yazeed not a soul knows where?!”

History demonstrates that the evil always fight with the brood of his enemy and so is happening, but still the hopes of right are high. Sometimes, it seems useless and ineffectual preaching about forbearance and endurance among your people against atrocity and barbarism, but that’s all we are consent to. Power is against our ideology and satisfaction is that we are with haq.

“In the battlefield of Karbala, after back to back entries of opponent’s troops, Ali Akbar s/o Hussain asked worriedly, “Father? Are we on the right path?” Hussain s/o Ali replied contented, “By the grace of Almighty, Sure son.””^{[Valid history books]}

Today’s oppression is not new; we have always been dismayed and exploited by this world –referring malicious beings. When they didn’t leave Prophets and Infallibles for preaching peace and harmony than who are we? When they didn’t listen to the holy and virtuous beings than who are we?

On what we are at ease is that we have faith that our Imam is alive and is keeping an eye on what is happening. This is certainly a war of beliefs, faith and principles. Because no one kills an innocent kid, women in a literate society and cream on top is lack of media coverage for this genocide. Everything appears crystal clear. No political pronouncement or pasquinades in our favor heals the unnoticed dehshatgardi.

What to note is; we are making a history, we are getting oppressed yet are stronger enough to fight and historian is writing all this. Upcoming generations will be reading us in history as how the people being dominated by the cruel world stay stiff and didn’t surrender just to protect their right beliefs and patrimony.

Always remember “Hussain inherited and completed the mission of Adam, Noah, Abraham, Moses and Muhammad” and we are chosen to protect Hussain’s mission. Luckily, we are elected to save this patrimony. Because Hussainiyat is not under someone’s command and nobody is dare to banish or expand it. HE is the one who has all the rights to do so.

Noting from 1960’s; few independent nations were commemorating Ashura gatherings and processions, but notably about 150 countries marked Ashura gatherings and 110 countries Ashura processions in 2012, that means oppressors are losing and we are winning. This is our reward. Precisely, there are many things that are not suitable to discuss publicly. But after a long period I opted to write over the issue when I saw some of my people spreading provoking and embellished statements in favor of picking a weapon against the evil. We are not allowed to do Jihad, armed struggle till Imam reappears even breathing blood.

“During the time of occultation of Imam the followers of Ahlubayt are instructed to observe Taqqiya, remain quiet, without involving in government/political struggles and wait until there is a call from the Skies and the earth shows signs of splitting-up.” ^{[Reference to this context; contact me in personal]}

And still if someone feels this is all futile, go and find some other place that is better than Hussain and Hussainiyat.

P.S. This post is especially referring my Shi'ite community. Ideology and faith is of a simple Shi'ite Muslim. Queries welcomed. 

                                                                                                                 

Wall chalking.

 “Zaroori hay zaroori hay, Mahajir sooba zaroori hay”

“Koi dekhay na dekhay shabeer tw dekhega”

“Ek se barh kar ek zaleel, amreeka aur israeel”

“Dunia ka pehla Perfume Chowk, khushboo sub k liye” etc etc etc…

Yes, you can find out these kind of chalking everywhere in Karachi.

In January, 2012 we heard of a law being introduced against the wall-chalking in the city by Karachi Metropolitan Corporation (KMC) Administrator Muhammad Hussein Sayed. Later in April, 2012 we see an announcement to ban wall-chalking and hoisting of party flags and banners across the province with an immediate effect that imposed under section 144 CrPC and remained in force for 30 days God knows where. Anyway, my point is not to ask my government’s integrity on keeping an eye on this issue too (they already have their own problems) and so I’m not questioning them, but the political parties and stake holders that actually are administrating my city. 

I too get enthused by the lyrical flow of “Chalo Chalo Nishtar Park Chalo” or “Amreeka ka jo yaar hay, ghaddar hay ghaddar hay”, but after developing sense and deeming over the issue I found it quite harsh and dual standard that all my citizens are aware of. But getting into the details of this wall-chalking, I’ve no glee attached to it. Tell me? Whatever a kid sees in the environment, s/he adopts the same na? I too just repeated what was written on the wall in public, but everyone stern on me, I don’t know what is bad calling this publicly when we see this everywhere “Kuttay ka bacha kachra phenk raha hay”or “Gadha peshaab kar raha hay”. I mean this is our level of teaching everyone out there on common grounds “Haq ki khulli kitaab, Altaf Altaf! Hum na hon hamaray baad, Altaf Altaf!”or anything alike that creates a sense of what is going around the city. We aren’t among those nations who keep on spending their money over institutes and universities or colleges, but that nation who already is literate and educated enough to write on the notebooks, but on the walls so that each and everyone get a benefit of whatever one has learnt (either good or bad).

Contradictory to the sectarian fights and taliban’s roar “Kafir kafir shia kafir” or “Gustaq-e-Rasool wajib-ul qatal” I saw a campaign going on couple of months back; their motive was to use the same walls for conveying peace and tranquility by painting some artwork around the city, but I guess that did not work because there’re still people getting killed everyday.

Quoting an incident that happened nearly three weeks ago when I was passing by a mosque; I found some real impressive quote written on the wall and was quite lengthy so I stopped and started reading and when I turned after reading that there was a flock standing and reading the same. After that I read all the quotations written there and that flock followed me. This is what I wanted to point out that we are the quotation people now who set their lives according to a quote. They are our last mentors to judge our credibility and writing them on the walls is more beneficial than to paint them with “Masjid hay horn na bajaein” or “Masjid ki deewar k sath motor cycle khari karna mamnoo hay” or painting them with the upcoming religious activities or events. Writing quotations of religious scholars and Sufis on Masjid’s wall and that of the worldly advisers on the remaining walls of the city is more gainful and helpful in promoting education and code of conducts because we know we aren’t able to get rid of them and that everyone will keep on reading them then why not promote something constructive. In the same context I saw a wall of some bridge recently marked by the words of Abraham Lincoln and Ashfaq Ahmed by our famous political party of Karachi. At least a good step. 

One on One with Sean Ali Stone.

As now all that blood boiling situation of my brothers and sisters over the disrespectful movie about Prophet PBUH has come to an end or seems like. Here’s the interview I took a couple of days back by the famous and controversial William Oliver Stone (born September 15, 1946. An American film director, screenwriter, and producer)’s son Christopher Sean Ali Stone (born in New York City on December 29, 1984) who in early 2012 embraced Islam in Iran.

One on One with Sean Ali Stone. 

Q1. Not by a common view; like merits and demerits of a religion, but by a personal view. What turned your heart to religion Islam? We see people embracing different religions, but what was that point that turned your heart completely?

Islam means submission. In a moment in Isfahan, I saw myself bowing in prayer to the one God. So I realized then that I would accept Mohammed (PBUH) as a prophet, and thus say to the world what I believed in my heart already.

Q2. It’s not an easy thing to convert to some other religion and it surely takes a long time. Since when you started feeling that turning within your subsistence about conversion to Islam when there’s not a so-good picture of the same on common grounds?

I have always said, I did not 'convert' because I have always worshiped the one God, the creator of all men and all thing. But to accept the prophet is to accept the continuation of the living word of God from Judaism through Jesus Christ (Isa) to Mohammed (PBUH).

Q3. When we want to do something alike, we research for it and you too did that for sure. Which main point of religion Islam amazed you and it develops which sense of feeling within you?

I love the feeling in Islam that God is with you always, in every moment of struggle and silence, as well as in your success. There is a feeling of total devotion to God which I believe to be the only truth of life. Any religion that asks you to pray five times a day is making a good point to remember God constantly.

Q4. Everyone sets a role model in their life, after embracing Islam or in between the struggle for same. Which personality you set as your role model and which particular thing attracted you the most of the same personality?

Around the time of accepting Islam, I was amazed by Mohammed Ali, the great boxing champion. He really inspired me in his courage to embrace Islam, as well as denounce America's imperialism in the Vietnam War, and still become the greatest fighter in the world at that time. He is not my only role model, for in truth, Imam Ali is a role model in Islam whom I find more and more fascinating as I learn more about him.

Q5. You surely did read different books to research for the same, which book; other than Koran helped you most and which describes Islam to you the best?

I would especially recommend the "Peak of Eloquence" (Nahjal Balagha) byImam Ali.

Q6. You embraced Islam in Iran. Did you go to the Holy Shrines located there? If yes, then how did you feel going there and what good thing you find in Iranian Islamic culture?

I went to Joshua's tomb in Isfahanjust before converting; I felt the legacy of the prophets of Judaism at that moment, and that helped me make the decision to embrace Prophet Mohammed (PBUH).

Q7. I saw your pictures in which you’re wearing a locket of Zulfiqar (Holy sword of Imam Ali), in reference to the same how much do you know about this personality of Islam and about Zulfiqar?

I am always learning more, but I very much admire Imam Ali's humility. If the Zulfiqar was indeed given to Ali by the archangel, then there are few men greater than Imam Ali.

Q8. When you decided finally about choosing Islam for your life and what was your family’s reaction on this conversion?

My family accepts who I am and my faith in God. They have no ill-feeling toward Islam.

Q9. What troubles you gained in common by your family, friends and Hollywood industry and by what you contented them? 

I do not feel discriminated against now; at the time there was some concern perhaps, but I do not fear the enemies of Islam; even within Islam I may have enemies, as there are Muslims who hate Shias for example.  You cannot be afraid of any humans; God uses humans as he wills.

Q10. Allah surely is kind to you so He gifted you this opportunity. Which Islamic principle contents you the most?

I feel very close to God in my heart. I believe that is the most important thing in life.

Q11. When we see in public, we see hundred faces with hundred words. On your conversion to Islam, your statement “I am a Jewish Christian Muslim” created a hassle between a sect and two. Will you please clarify this and announce your identity just as a Muslim?

To understand Islam is to know that you are actually a Jew and a Christian. What is the Koran if not the continuation of the Jewish holy book? Did Mohammed (PBUH) not refer to Abraham, Moses, and the other Jewish prophets as prophets of God? Was Isa not a prophet of God? So to be a Muslim is to embrace and respect all the brothers of the Book (the Bible), while also embracing the last prophet Mohammed (PBUH).

Q12. If you consider the current position of Muslims in the world and the tactics Jews and a sect are playing against Islam and Muslims. What in your view is the best answer to you aiming your own experience of being a controversial mortal?

Humans worry too much about naming themselves. I do not like labels; and because of that, I suppose I am controversial.  But I know that God created all things, so he created differences in colors, just like he created differences in humans. What matters is if we can laugh and joke at the differences rather than trying to fight about them. Most of these wars are a waste of time and energy that can be used toward raising our brothers up and creating a better future.

Sean Ali Stone about the Mahdi:

"The Qur'an is a beautiful text and the hadiths, you know, they will, insha'Allah, prove that Mahdi is here on earth, he's coming with an army of Light, Light from God, Allah, and it will transform the world, insha'Allah, this year, these coming years, the next century will be a tremendous time to live; I'm very excited to be alive in this time."