The Phenomenal Woman

From the moment I have stepped onto the threshold of this dusty planet to gradual maturity, in addition to numerous blessings, God has laid his hands on me with a fringe-benefit in the unique shape of my maternal Granny. To the best of my recollection, I have always found this wrinkled woman with me exactly in the manner we carry breaths inside our bosom; holding me in her luxurious lap, singing lullabies to me in the times of melancholy, washing my soiled stuff, taking care of my belongings and narrating bed-time tales of Shal-kak and Hemaal – something, at least in what I believe, the luckiest grandson on this earth.

The amount of her love I have felt myself engrossed in is simply irreplaceable. She is the treasure in the cradle of life, a kind word uttered to me by deity, a star from the heaven, a droplet to drown my child-like thirst, even as I have grown through many summers now. It feels like God has used her rib to create me like Eve was created from Adam’s rib. It feels like I’m the fruit and she is the forbidden tree and nobody shall detach us.

Not only to me but all around she has remained eternally nice, sympathetic and ready to lend a hand to the deprived folks, to her fellow citizens, to every needy person who comes her way. A very plain, down to earth lady who had no extravagances – only fathomless necessities, I can still reverie in my head that in the catastrophic times how she would conceal her glumness behind the wide smiles.

After every dreadful moment she would assure her family that God will consider her every sacrifice and tear yonder – while rolling her eyes heavenward – he will bless us with fortitude and aid. Being unlettered woman, she would occasionally preach like a thinker, “and whosoever suffers the obstacles while fulfilling the responsibilities handed over by him [God]; whosoever plant tears in his [God’s] way will harvest smiles”.

In her wise counsels, one goes like this “never get afraid if you fall short in one subject it doesn’t mean you failed your life, conquer and triumph over all the hardships of life, they will enrich your strength that will assist you to complete the voyage of life. My prayers are with you my son”.

Besides my mother and the rest of affectionate members, granny has gifted me with a pair of lovely women –maternal aunts; who have had nurtured me like a monarch, who have endured my every bitter nature, who have taught me the world and the life we breathe within its confines. My granny would be the cause behind all my victories – more than for myself, I have always wanted to win for her.

In her mid-sixties now – the once energetic and lively woman, has now been enduring with a brain tumor, the extra mass the family would never have imagined she would need to carry one day. Doctors seem to have given up, medicines go ineffective, and prayers –bunch of which she once showered on everybody – also seem to be going unheard.

This unkind malady is dragging her towards the door of death and I’m standing here unarmed before God’s will. It feels like my world is falling apart gradually and I can do nothing to prevent the arrival of an impending catastrophe.

I have neither any courage nor any strength to give in return something to a woman from whom I have always been receiving, without questions asked, which is why I am penning down this half-penny’s worth write-up, an outburst of intertwined emotions, as a tribute to the only gracious woman who has been in my life. I still have faith in prayers, yours might help. Do please pray for us

A version of this article was also published on the print edition of Greater Kashmir on Friday 13 March 2015, http://www.greaterkashmir.com/news/2015/Mar/13/my-ever-loving-and-caring-granny-15.asp

Nocturnal Melody

The night begets,
the melodious pitter-patter
of rain - a mercy
the bald moon
sent shadows beyond,
the dark mountains and
melancholy to earth;
and disappears
behind the fleet of clouds.



Etching the lines of irk,
on the fine surface
of star-spangled firmament;
resigning to its fate
that couldn't glitter
the braids of night.



Moon laughs at night
and men
in the shattered houses
on the hearthrug,
facing the glum hearth.
And the sheen of,
half burned candle -
dances on their dismayed faces.



Envy of rain
moon;
as droplets raise the Jhelum
night befriends dark
and moon remains alone.

Vulgarity Of Indian Cinema

Being a Kashmiri and member of a self-effacing and religious family, I have always found it ill at ease and uncomfortable to watch movies with elders. Gone are the days when parents had no objection in watching movies with their children just for a change. With the intolerable increase of western exposure in Hindi movies, it has become achingly complex for us to accept anything like these that is served in the name of entertainment.

The depiction of blatant and disgraceful scenes of indecency in Indian movies is highly nerve-racking. Such scenes, whether or not the story demands them, are dovetailed at every peculiar place. Whole crew feels that their film shall thrive only by a liberal inclusion of scanty-clad actresses in all kinds of crude ways. On account of this most of the Indian movies are proliferated with disgustingly lewd scenes and are utterly indecent for mass screening. The behavior of producers and directors in Indian cinema of making money at the cost of our social and cultural ethics is indeed objectionable.

Indian cinema is making bad impression on our society and is a great reason behind the engulfing rise in rape and murder cases by contaminating the sensibility of youngsters. The incessant unravel of decency by Indian cinema has corralled the youngsters in the vibes of negativity. It is rare now to find films based on any cultural and intellectual notion through which one may get to acquire something good from.

The onus is on Indian cinema to encourage and educate the youth about their ethical and cultural beliefs, values of life and the status of woman rather to discourage them by never-ending interpretation of vulgarity every time. It should highlight cultural, religious and moral values and way of life so as to spread positive instead of negative vibes, so that our modern generation can come to know the basic values of being in the human life.

And at last, if we are serious about to give woman respect and to treat her the way she justify to be treated, all an Indian cinema has to do is just to illustrate these immodest scenes and violence in such a manner that it should seem hateful rather than glorious.

A version of this article was also published in the print edition of Daily Kashmir Monitor on Friday, 13 February 2015

This Winter

This Winter I yearn for snow
for disarray snowman
to witness the agony,
for icicles to trickle gently
the heavenly soup
and drown my aged thirst,
for snow coated clothesline
to be the footbridge for birds.

This winter I dream of snow
of opaque white maples
to trade their auburn with alabaster
and to spell the rain of snow crumbs.
Of the bullion sun
to splatter its golden grime
on the snow crowned Mountains and roofs,
of sundown’s
to serve white nights
and the tales of unbridled slumber.

This winter I plead snow
to swathe the scarlet Jhelum
and sponge down its blood smudged shore.
To hide the crimson firmament
in the shroud of clouds,
to conceal the perished graves
to pray for demised ones
and bring soothe to living corpses.

This winter I witness the Jhelum
flowing in the opposite trend
falling and craving for snow to come and raise it.
I witness mountains and maples
shrieking and longing for snow as well
surrendering before sun and the sheen it serves.
I witness birds down in the dumps
moping around,
from tree to tree, from bough to bough.
I witness my heart and eyes from the attic
mourning in a deep grievance,
making yen of watching the world to turn into heaven.
I witness my pen bleeding and urging snow anew
through silent words and emotions
oh! Snow fall and attire,
my valley is naked.

Love, Religion and Family

He threw his marker pen at him which exactly hit at his Adam’s apple when he caught him inattentive and swaying his head from north to south and south to north while facing the east of classroom. Tutor: What are you doing Saif?
Saif: hesitantly, na… nothing sir, when he found that every student even all girls just two rows ahead of him are casting stern backward glances at him, his face turned scarlet in a flash
Tutor: why are you moving your head then?
Saif: Trying to assemble words in his mind. Lost in meditation – Lie needs rehearsal.
And he replied; while passing on the marker pen to his mate sitting ahead of him. – Just to get a clear view of board sir;

Saif [escorted by science stream and dispassionate in Math’s though his focus lies on Literature] was in fact struggling to land his soft gaze at a girl’s left rosy-cheek he had fallen head-over-heels for.

Nowreen, a medium stature, whitish girl with a round winsome face and a heart striking dimpled smile was a Sikh girl before she fell in love with Saif –  in a day five times Nimaz offering boy.
You are affectionate, pious, my would-be better-half and above all you have depicted me a path leading to heaven, this answer she often came up with whenever he had asked her the reason behind such an intense love for him?
Sehar was her new name drawn by her Saif – Because it was his favorite among female names.

Saif who belongs to a middle class family in Baramulla district is confined in the countless parapet of expectations but he was indeed full of spirits and joy since he had done something best in view of his Almighty and his beloved Prophet Mohammad s.a.w – he had turned Sehar’s religious creed and because of the thought in dreams he frequently find himself enjoying the mere company of Sehar [as if he had said Almighty not to send any HOOR for him because he is with his HOOR] resting on the coverlets of snow on the verge of milky creek, drinking beverages, in the once garden of Adam and Eve eating the fruits of forbidden tree. And Sehar instead of living a luxurious life is good-at-heart girl. But she was afraid lest her family snuff her out, particularly by her own grandfather (who loves her most) – a patriarch in nearby Gurduwara, in case they came to know about her embracing the religion Islam. Sehar would lock her room and recite the Quran – she cautiously kept concealed in the inner most packet of her college bag. In every prostration she would plead to Allah to make Saif her other-half. In a state of trepidation she had to frequently visit her neighborhood friend Fatima’s home so she could make a recitation of Quran in front of her and offer ZUHAR and ASAR nimaz right next to Fatima and Fatima would point out her mistakes and encourages her, most significantly she would cuddle her on narrating the whole verse in the appropriate manner.

Saif had taught her Quran narration, ablutions, Nimaz as well as other fundamentals of Islam besides making her memorize all six kalimah plus fifteen surah excluding surah yaseen (heart of Quran) and surah Ar-Rehman. Truly Fatima also did her best in teaching and proper pronunciation of her Quran.

One morning of September, night has surrendered and sun had come out from behind the dark mountains with a bright sheen, and prickly rays that would make an acute angle of reflection when striking any luminous body, birds had left for chow singing love chorus while flying to far-off places and disappeared so as the acoustics of their chorus. Farah – [ Saif’s younger sister stepped onto the threshold of this dusty world right after two years the entry of Saif and a person in family he loves the most and had shared everything with her related to Sehar] came in and took the quilt off his brother without letting him know because it was quarter to nine, so late according to his daily routine, and Saif with agar eyes, stretched his body and telling Farah to let him sleep for a while.
Biaya No, you’ve already waken up so late today. Get up Papa was looking for you Farah replied, while removing the curtains off the window panes and the shower of golden rays landed inside the room.
For what? Saif replied.
You have to come with me;
Er………. With you!
Yes, I have to do some Eid-shopping.
Saif still leaning on bed,
Please Baiya get up now, see your room – error written papers lying allover on the floor, I have to see if Mummy needs any help in the kitchen too.
He didn’t tell her that he was wide awoke writing his story – Love Religion and Family. He didn’t tell her that he also mentioned her in it.
When Saif was on the verge of leaving the room for ablution, his cell-phone on the nightstand played a nice tune.
Your Butterfly is calling you Baiya. Farah spoke along with a mouth-closed smile.
He has named her by a sobriquet “BUTTERFLY” in his phone book.
Saif made a call in which a second-hand of a clock would have hardly strolled a journey of semi-circle. Farah was behaving like a statue of liberty. He dropped his cell on the bed and left for bathroom.
Baiya is everything fine? Why did Sehar DI ping you so early today?
It’s not early this time Farah, it’s too late you just told me. Didn’t you?
By the way; Your Sehar Di and I had decided to keep a rendezvous and now you have come up with your shopping drama.
We can have that tomorrow; you should go and meet your butterfly.
 You brutes, I love you.
I love you too Baiya.

Crispy autumn was serving the breeze with a scent of woods and flowers mingled in it. Nearby waterfall and birds were producing finest tunes in the background and sun was showering its beams of golden dust chains. At the top of a nearby foothill [that in fact separates their villages] they were leaning against the maple tree and Saif was recalling her all the kalimah’s and surah; she had already memorized. On inspecting that Sehar is on the road to recovery, he gave her a slight embrace and shoots a loud kiss on her temple.
Saifu, I am so scared of getting killed by my own family. While hiding her head in his bosom, they aren’t going to accept SEHAR, they only want NOWREEN, and they love Nowreen not Sehar. Isn’t my love enough for you? Saif retorts
Yes of course it is…. You are everything I could ever have. But I want to see a bride of yours in me, I want to spend my life with you, I want to see our children’s growing. I want to see you right next to me in every situation, holding my hand and clasping and kissing my brow in times of melancholy. I don’t want to be with you just for a wee time. I don’t want this meeting to be the last one. I am not afraid of death Saifu, I am afraid of losing you. I am terrified of the word “separation”. Your absence will make me suffer more than the death.
Saif you know what truth means for me? And how I see the lie?
For me the truth is you; your love; your presence and the rest of everything is lie.
Saif cupped his hands around her face and plant a kiss on the tip of her nose. Do you know why I picked a name SEHAR for you?........... It means SUBHA a bright dawn when nobody dares to cease the finite beams of sun to shower upon the world, when stars and moon who invites every dark night disappears and sleeps in the slumber and when birds bring a new song to the world and world comes to life in all its glory. Tell them you aren’t going to change your mind, in fact invite them towards Islam and narrate them its fundamentals I have taught you, if they’ll not accept you and if they’ll kill you, don’t afraid, don’t lose your heart, trust Allah; Allah will reward you a martyrdom. You’ll be named as MARTYR. A beautiful tag every Muslim wants to earn, but only fortunate lot manage to get. Sehar you know tomorrow a martyr will tell Allah to bring him/her back to life, and let him/her die again as a martyr.  And Allah say’s that martyr’s bodies will remain intact because I will feed their souls with the heavenly fruits. So my love, why are afraid about, about our separate? Don’t be; we will meet up there in the heavens. Look at these waterfalls, these birds and these beautiful green pastures and mountains. They are dazzling with perfect splendor. Aren’t they?
Yes they are, because they are free…. Birds free to fly, waters free to fall and mountains free to rise. Saifu, I want to build a fixed abode here for us after our matrimony, see we would be first to meet the gold-silver sun beams and near to stars and moon during hours of darkness. I want these mountains to guard us and these birds I want them to sing for us. They embrace and attired a lip-zipped smile.
Soon after their graduation results were announced, Saif applied for Masters in Literature at JAMIA MILLIA ISLAMIA central university of New Delhi. Sehar hardly wanted now anything for her, all she wanted to get married and learn Islam, but Saif forced her to pursue further studies. While Sehar applied for Master in Physics at Kashmir University. Luckily both made it in their respective subjects.

Saif went to Delhi and Sehar remained here half-hearted, reading Quran slyly and his poetry that he wrote for her – grinning and giggling and reading again, but now she didn’t have to worry about being caught while offering nimaz, as she could offer it comfortably at girls hostel, Fatima was also with her in Physics block. They shared room with another girl Meher – a tall lean girl, with brownish tresses hails from Srinagar.

On some weekend when Sehar at her home, in her brunch drinking coffee from balcony of her room lost in natures eye-catching beauty, thinking about Saif, coiling and uncoiling her scarf at edge, meantime her mother crossed the threshold of her room and unzipped her bag of cloths that had to be unavoidably washed. Lost in obsession, she didn’t sense her mother’s coming and her apparently all off a sudden, as her eardrums felt a harsh yell of her mother, she lost her control and the goblet she was drinking coffee from fell down and shattered in pieces. In an attempt to regain her lost composure she cast a look at her mother only to find the Holy Quran in her left hand.
What is this Nowreen? Her mother in a high-pitched voice!
Her heart made a rush of beats inside her bosom. Her shivering legs started to make a voyage of yards towards her mother. Her lips start to mutter tremblingly.
Mu,,,Mum,,,,Mumma! Please don’t call me Nowreen.
What the hell are you talking? Mother shrieked again,
My name is Sehar and I have changed the story of my palms, I don’t belong to your religion anymore, I am a Muslim Mumma, I am a Muslim!
Without thinking for a moment, her mother slapped her left cheek noisily. Tears began to flow and Sehar finally assembled courage inside and spoke; Mumma, Islam is a perfect and noble religion, there is nobody else but Allah we have to drop our heads in prostration for. We have come in the world to praise him, accept his instructions, to love his last messenger Prophet Mohammad s.a.w and to spread his religion far and wide. Mumma please accept the Islam; tell Papa, Dadu and others to accept it. Instead of letting her speak further her mother started to thrash her ruthlessly with a steel rod her papa had brought for her room to hang curtains between balcony and her room on. Her mother snatched her phone and pushed her on bed and locked the room. Sehar feeling terrified, afraid, broken and helpless wishing her Saif would be here right next to her. After a short while her parents and Grandfather all suddenly entered her room and locked it inside and the door of balcony too.
We can’t let you be a Muslim, you have to return to your religion – Sikhism, we are your family, this is your religion, I love you Nowreen my daughter, did you forget my love and the chocolates and teddies I used to bring for you? Did you forget all those lullabies I used to sing before your going to the bed?  His grandfather said.
I love you too Dadu, i.e. why I am asking you to accept Islam, I want to see you in heaven. And I am not going to change my mind; I am not going to accept any other religion. I am a Muslim, I’ll live as a Muslim, and I’ll die as a Muslim. The unleashing layers of rage started to burnish on his grandfather’s brow. He brought out a cane of kerosene oil that he had concealed behind his back.
So you are not going to accept me.
NO, Sehar replied.
He uncorked the cane and asked again
Sehar a headstrong girl replied with the same answer.
 Going past the bounds of heartlessness he splashed the oil over her, over the base, over her bed and the couch.
Get out of the room he hurled to his son and his daughter-in-law.
They left without uttering any word back. Her mother with teary eyes was eavesdropping at the door, bawling, giving non-stop thumps on the door.
For next ten minutes the sound her parents perceived were her screams only and a Kalimah she mumbles in her last breaths.
Next day her family publicized her death was fortuitous.
At the night of the next day, Saif was trying to ping her but it was on switched off mode.
With the arrival of dawn he again tried but operator came up with the same response.
Fortunately a thought crossed his mind that Sehar once saved the number of Fatima in his cell phone just for safety measures.
He moved the cursor down and down and down in the valley of numbers.
He found it – Fatima –
He dialed…. Ring… Ring… Ring….
Hello, a numb female voice appeared on the other side.
Hello, Fatima there?
Yes; I am Fatima.
I am Saif.
Fatima burst into peals of cry.
Hey what happened? Are you fine?
And where is Sehar? Her phone is off.
She is DEAD Saif – she is DEAD.
 They killed her – they burned her and announced her dead as a case of accident nature.
Saif turned deaf and frozen; he was lying bolt upright on the couch in his room with his chum Huzaif, surge of tears made a rush along his cheeks, his phone fell down and went into divisions from his hand. Saif fell unconscious. Huzaif fell in the state of chaos; he cupped his head in his hands.
Hey Saif, giving slight slaps on his face.
Hey! What happened… tell me.
Saif! Saif!
Huzaif’s figure gradually vanished from his retina.
Huzaif spattered the water over his face. After a quarter past minute, Saif slowly unlock his lids, Image of his friend start to come into view. Tears dangling on the curvature of his lids,
Huzaif again; will you tell me now what happened to you?
Saif Lost in meditation was shattered, his hopes and dreams were wrecked, his world broken.
Saifff! Huzaif hurled.
Saif replied, while the tears dangling fell down.
Mountains are calling me. I have to go.


- FICTION -

After Tomorrow

After Tomorrow
I may not see you,
your dazzling, gorgeous face
your priceless smile
I am ready to die for
your presence,
I cherish the most.
Your ogles
beautiful thing happend to me
and after tomorrow
I may not see you
or else
I may not see me.

After Tomorrow
I may not be amid you
and I'll miss you - Achingly
let me scribble it
let me speak my heart out.
After tomorw,
distances'll fall
and
each second'll turn into a century
every dawn'll bring poignant sheen
days'll be down in the dumps
and dusks'll bring insomniac nights.

After tomorrow
you may never hear my name
never you hear my poetry
I WRITE FOR YOU.
but remember,
i'll never halt my pen
to bleed in your gratitude
I'll never cease my heart,
from loving you-unconditinally
I can never stop my mind
from your reverie.
And I may never restrain my eyes 
for searching you everywhere.
Remember
I'll love you
till - I'm above the earth
and the day is I'll mourn
when I breath beneath it.

After tomorow
I'll love you even more
I'll make odes
in your tribute
without thinking about
metaphors and similes
without rhymes and limits.


After tomorrow
I'll look for you
behind my back
in my room,
listening to my poems
(smiling, raising you eyebrows in reply)
I'll search you
in my books
in Agha's splendid poetry
and when
Rumi's ravishing verses
dance in the silent chords of harp.
And in the whole obsession
I'll forget to search you In ME.

Nature Wants Us To Introspect

Since the flood fury, a drizzle send shivers down the spine of Kashmiris. Whether it is the result of our deeds or “test by God”, in both the cases we aren’t ready to change ourselves. The sad part is that we don’t even bother to think whether we should mend our ways or not. The rain, which frequently enriches the beauty of meadows, forests and fields, has come with devastation to the disturbing limits of unattractiveness.

A well known Kashmiri proverb goes “huen’ lot tra’yaak khumbs, tat’ ti dra’aaw huen’ lot uy “ – which means bent tail of a dog was kept under the soil, but it couldn’t get rid of its curviness. I mean from the preceding catastrophe in the form of earthquake of 2005 it is clear that we did not learn any lesson and if we fail to learn anything now then above mentioned saying suits us better.

Think it this way. When everybody was shouting pick up and run away with whatever you can, look for a safe shelter wherever possible, when everybody was beating his/her bosom and was enchanting the holy verses of Quran and repenting for his/her hidden and apparent sins, and when some others were shrieking that Jhelum has breached its borders; nature above there must have mumbled, ‘you ruined and wasted my beautiful resources, now face my wrath’.

“Poz chu toth” – truth is bitter and the reality is that Jhelum was not breaching its banks but it wanted to reclaim its original limits; looking for what once was its own and what people had usurped now to build beautiful concrete. Of course in the search of its limits, Jhelum destroyed whatever came to halt its march – mostly the illegal constructions along the threshold of Jhelum. It is a clear indication that nature unleashes its rage not at all by itself but when it is compelled to do so by the greed of a man.

Yot tam poz pazi, tot’tam alam dazi – “until the truth is revealed, the world would have burnt to ashes. The recent catastrophe in the valley undeniably exposed the undue interference of humans in nature, which otherwise must be allowed to take its own course. Whether it was because of heavy rainfall or anything else, if we had paved way for overflowing Jhelum waters to ease itself, we could have saved ourselves. Now even if we are ready to greet its pact but it would be like “shaal tchlit bath’n lor’I” – To beat hedges after the jackal has run away.

William Ruckelshaus once said: “Nature provides us a free lunch but only if we control our appetites.” Alas, for our materialistic lust we have destroyed it all!. We left it with no option but to destroy us. It merrily did. It rendered us helpless, so helpless that we didn’t even know where to run for. Doesn’t all that call for some introspection? Introspect, we must!


Aversion of this article was also published in print edition of daily Kashmir Reader on Thursday, 13 November 2014 http://kashmirreader.com/nature-wants-us-to-introspect-25512