پیاس اور سوچ کی قلا بازیاں۔۔۔

پیاس کا خوف

اور تھکا دینے والی سوچ۔۔۔


بے تکی، بے لگام دِماغی گردِشوں میں


رگڑے بے معنی الفاظ

 
اور پیدا کیے نئے الفاظ

 
جیسا کہ


سوچ اور پیاس کی مدہوشی


لیکن گردِش ہے کہ پلٹتی ہے


اور پھر معنی کی تلاش میں دور نکل جاتی ہے


پر لفظ کہیں ختم نہیں ہوتے


نئے لفظوں سے ڈر آتا ہے


کہ یہ اِختتام کو کہیں دور لے جاتیں ہیں


پیاس، سوچ، گردِش اور الفاظ


سب گُڈ مُڈ ہو جاتے ہیں


لفظوں پہ ٖلفظوں کی اُلٹی کیے جانا


بے معنی ہے


اور پھٹ جانے کی حد تک محدود


لیکن معنی کی تلاش کسے کہتے ہیں؟


گردِش ہے اِک بس


پلٹتی ہے


بل کھاتی ہے


اور ایک چھوٹی سی قلابازی کھا کہ


اپنی راہ کو ہوتی ہے۔۔

Imran A. Vahidy (1966-2011)



I am probing my fingers in a great deep vacuum which has came into being all so sudden; huh! vacuum coming into being, isn’t it sounds so absurd? But then what should we call which is left behind when a being –a human being with whom we once lived and shared all sorts of awkward silences, roof whooping laughters, tensed moments and the times which passed so swiftly and happily that they left no traces in the minds– took his last plight, where would he go? One cannot know but what he left behind is surely a great vacuum in which even our sighs do not echo back. The struggle he did and what he had achieved in life is still very meaningful for us and present around us in every physical shape and form. But this vacuum is beyond my comprehension. Only the flashing memories juxtaposing with each other are the last resort. In the home, when I see the spaces and objects which had been once taken up and touched by him I see the time rewinding itself and showing me the images of us living together happily and also sharing moments of grief now and then. But these sorrowful times are hardest of all as he had already flown to some unknown skies…

Imran A. Vahidy
(1966-2011)

Toothpaste Ideologies

Living in Pakistan, one often encounters statements that contain no real substance other than an effort to ram a particular point of view down someone else’s throat, no matter how oblique or convoluted their perspective. Any recourse to nuance, balance or alternative arguments is largely absent, with only a dogged determination to emphasize a single worldview. Such statements are symptomatic of the fact that most often, Pakistanis tend to talk at each other rather than to each other; we tend to be so convinced of our own opinion that the views of others can only be counted as nonsense and thus, dismissed.

The statements that can be heard as a result of this mindset - in our media, in the speeches of our politicians, in our educational institutions and workplaces, and in our social circles – stem from what I like to refer to as ‘ideological toothpaste’. Any particular brand of ‘ideological toothpaste’ may have several ingredients, just like a brand of regular toothpaste has various ingredients such as calcium, fluoride and chloride. However in my concept of ‘ideological toothpaste’, the ingredients could be described as historical narrative, world-view, goals, ambitions, factual information, rebuttals. All these ideological ingredients are then perfectly compressed into the shining brightness of the ‘truth’.
Now, it is a common belief that two contrary ‘truths’ cannot exist, so if you are used to brushing with one ‘ideological toothpaste’ you tend to find yourself in a conflict with someone who uses a different brand of ‘ideological toothpaste’. But in all these conflicts and ideological clashes over the right brand of the ‘truth’, we forget that we are reducing what should be a rich, diverse and engaging dialogue into something like a childish and stubborn fight between children about whether Colgate is a better toothpaste than Pepsodent or not.
 
Over the course of the last few decades and in the contemporary context as well, whenever leaders or public representatives in our country attempt to build a mutual consensus through public opinion and dialogue, they tend to directly import ‘ideological toothpastes’ which have evolved and developed in other parts of the world, with diverse historical backgrounds, and in completely different contexts. By this I mean that, instead of evolving and developing a mutual consensus on issues concerning Pakistan and instead of initiating and supporting a naturally evolved public dialogue, we are given imported ideas, concepts and remedies that have been implemented elsewhere, without any attempt to make them locally relevant to Pakistani history, culture and society.

Our inability to understand that there is no universal solution, and to realize that we cannot generalize and implement the exact same model across different contexts, sometimes makes us waste our resources on the wrong ‘brands’. Our apathetic attitudes and unwillingness to work hard on initiating and developing novel, local solutions to our needs, along with our tendency to adopt such ready-made ideological brands with little self-reflection, often results in our failure to see the underlying essence or context of those imported ideological brands. We start advocating and advertising them so fervently that it seems as if we have no other options before us. In the heat of the moment, we forget that this is just another set of farfetched ideologies which we have adopted without serious thought of dialogue for the sake of our own convenience. In turn, this unnecessarily rigid stance leads to us developing inflexible attitudes and behaviors. I truly believe that the root cause of the lack of any ideational consensus amongst us is due to our habit of turning towards foreign toothpaste, without any reflection or dialogue over how that ‘ideological toothpaste’ could be adapted for the Pakistani context.

Some of us emphasize paranoid ‘toothpaste’ slogans such as “War against the West” and “Western hypocrisy and prejudice” or propagate other brands such as “Arab Imperialism,” as a friend of mine recently thought it would be cool to rant about. To reduce complex historical and social developments to such token phrases is short-sighted and dangerous. One of the major hazards of using a particular brand of ‘ideological toothpaste’ is that people tend to ignore their critical and analytical capabilities and keep using ready-made token slogans just to reaffirm that we are good Muslims, Pakistanis or whatever simple label one may like to attach to oneself.
In my opinion, the greatest tragedy to have befallen us is that we really do not know how to deal with a diversity of thoughts and how to appreciate the multiplicity of human conditions and thoughts, as opposed to enforcing a narrow one-dimensional perspective. This simplistic and indeed, tokenistic way of thinking is a serious malaise for our country and shows both our apathy and our appetite for myopic ideologies.

My toothpaste analogy might seem sarcastic or childish but perhaps we can extend it further for the sake of variety and replace our ‘toothpaste’ with ‘chewing gum’. As Ayn Rand said in her wonderful novel, The Fountainhead, “Sentences have been used like chewing gum, chewed and re-chewed, spat out and picked up again, passing from mouth to mouth to pavement to shoe sole to mouth to brain…” Chewing gum then can serve as an excellent model for the dissemination of narrow ideologies, which move throughout society and are recycled repeatedly. Chewing gum also comes with an extra metaphorical quality that is, the more you chew it, the harder it gets, which is also the case with narrow ideologies. Of course, before anyone raises a question about the ‘foreign’ nature of chewing gum, we can see the same munching and chewing tendency in Paan-Supaari which not only lingers in our mouth but also leaves red stains behind. 

[First published in Laaltain]

Erratic


The bank of the river was shimmering and brimming under the gloomiest shadows of the day. The view had the certain streams and radiations of agitation which were gushing out of the scene like tangerine rusty water revolting out of the fountain which was never supposed to function due to the poor manufacturing. But still the whole environment was up beating under a strange singular flux. No boat was ready to go across the river. I had to wait, a long interminable wait which was allowing me to imagine every possible tragedy which should happen to my town from where I flew a long time ago. I just wanted to see those tawdry little buildings where I spent the worst years of my early life; they were still stood there in their jostling uprightness.
I started strolling across the bank; a boat was getting ready to set off but three more passengers were needed to make that little journey economical and commercially possible and there was no such hope of these three people showing up at that particular space and at that particular timeline of human history. But one person showed up and all the torturing memories of my primary school English classes started bubbling in my mind. God knows what made Sir Ishtiaq Din to faint over that muddy bank, all drenched and wretched. I went near to him held his one arm and in an artificial cheerfulness I asked; “Sir how do you do?” Just like the way we used to do in the school.
“Who???” A shattered voice came from nowhere just like some squeezed air puncturing out form somewhere.
“Sir me, the Lambo of your class.” I replied obliquely.
“And do you know who am I?” The same voice again transcended from somewhere. “I am a stagnant pool on whose shore still there are lots of disordered and jumbled ripples appear time and time again.”
“Sir what?” I tried my best to make some sense.
He opened his eyes at once, “don’t look at me,” he mumbled while some bubbling white fluids were flowing out his mouth. He held my hand and asked, “Do you know how to pronounce ‘rrratik’; ‘E-double R-A-T-I-C’, rrratik.”
Now he was smiling and shrinking himself, he gripped me tightly, his words were rolling and fainting over his tongue; “you know son! God never gave me the ‘A’ he started my life directly from the ‘X’ then he never turned it to ‘Y’. He tortured me with this randomness, the ‘K’ after bloody ‘S’ and then a lingering ‘H’. He messed it up, messed it all up so neatly that I can never make anything out of it. But there is still an intense desire in me, which is constantly yearning and longing for the climax and the whole "me" always wishes for an undecided end.”
Somehow, now he was making perfect sense. Everything seemed like the way he was describing. Although, that was another matter that my natural dumbness and inability to comprehend such things was again overlapping and I couldn’t make any head and tail of it or I think I was not supposed to do such a thing. The essence of the time and the place was speaking directly to me. There was no way I should think about any regularity in any thought progression because there was none.
Then the boatman started shouting; “Bao gee! Don’t pay any attention to this goon he is nuts you know.” He twirled one finger around his head, tried to give me the common signal about such people. “O.K Bao gee quick, we have to leave now.”
I tried to stand up and told Sir Ishtiaq that I would see him again. He didn’t let me go easily, it looked like he was searching for something around me. However by force I got up and started running towards my boat. The boat set off toward that strange town of mine. Air was freezing me and the water was rippling randomly around the boat. I inserted my trembling hands into my pockets and a sudden electric shock ran all over my body. In a sheer frenzy the only thing about which I can think of was my purse, I have certainly lost it. That was the most hostile irregularity which can ever happened to me and almost pushed me in the blind alleys of trauma.
When my nerves calmed down I understood everything. I had been mugged under this emotional erratic wisdom. There was no way I could see the bank but I could imagine the enthusiastic dances of my English teacher who just taught me how to pronounce ‘rrratic’.

---END---

-

 جعالی عذاب

ایک دن ایسا بھی آَئے گا
جب سوچ کے سب رستے بند ہونگے
حیرت کے تمام دور بے ہوش ہونگے
جب ممکن ہوتی منزلوں کے نقشے
میں اپنے ناخنوں سے رگیدوں گا
جب الجھے ہوئے سلگتے دھاگے
گھٹتے چیختے دم توڑیں گے
جب اُدھڑے ہوئے مردہ جسم پہ
سوئی کا ذندہ ناچ ہوگا
 اورایک دن ایسا بھی آَئے گا
جب کسی شرمندہ سی فالتو رات میں
میں پھوٹ پھوٹ کےرُو دوں گا ۔ ۔ ۔
 

Dishonesty


I love the great despisers, because they are the great adorers, and arrows of longing for the other shore.
Nietzsche
Thus Spoke Zarathustra

The day is a ridiculous one when both the passionate believers and non-believers call each other dishonest. It seems like they both despises dishonesty. For being honest implies that you are doing the right thing and both love the righteous way.

Hermann Hesse's Goethe!!!

While reading some book, some lines may creep under your skin. You try a lot to avoid them, resist them and forget them but they pop up again and again at the oddest timings. That is what exactly happening to me. I just read the Hermann Hesse's one novella 'Steppenwolf' and the following lines were dazzled me a great deal. You can't really understand anything when some spiritual 'voice-over' so persistently annoying you. The subject matter is not new but its presentation (means the linguistic mechanics) is really disturbing. Just have a look at what he wrote:

You take the old Goethe much too seriously, my young friend. You should not take old people who are already dead seriously. It does them injustice. We immortals do not like things to be taken seriously. We like joking. Seriousness, young man, is an accident of time. It consists, I don't mind telling you in confidence, in putting too high a value on time. I, too, once put too high a value on time. For that reason I wished to be a hundred years old. In eternity, however, there is no time, you see. Eternity is a mere moment, just long enough for a joke.

Just to give you an idea what he think about humor and eternity:

Humor alone, that magnificent discovery of those who are cut short in their calling to highest endeavor, those who falling short of tragedy are yet as rich in gifts as in affliction, humor alone (perhaps the most inborn and brilliant achievement of the spirit) attains to the impossible and brings every aspect of human existence within the rays of its prism. To live in the world as though it were not the world, to respect the law and yet to stand above it, to have possessions as though "one possessed nothing," to renounce as though it were no renunciation, all these favorite and often formulated propositions of an exalted worldly wisdom, it is in the power of humor alone to make efficacious.


....... I was particularly thankful to her for having expressed the thought of eternity just at this time. I needed it, for without it I could not live and neither could I die. The sacred sense of beyond, of timelessness, of a world which had an eternal value and the substance of which was divine had been given back to me today by this friend of mine who taught me dancing.
I was forced to recall my dream of Goethe and that vision of the old wiseacre when he laughed so inhumanly and played his joke on me in the fashion of the immortals. For the first time I understood Goethe's laughter, the laughter of the immortals. It was a laughter without an object. It was simply light and lucidity. It was that which is left over when a true man has passed through all the sufferings, vices, mistakes, passions and misunderstandings of men and got through to eternity and the world of space.
And eternity was nothing else than the redemption of time, its return to innocence, so to speak, and its transformation again into space.



God save me!!! This grueling!!!!!!!

YAKAANGAT

Following is a very beautiful poem written by Meera Gee. The amazing thing is its language. All the words and phrases are very simple but still they convey some of the most intricate matters of our existence. Not only it shows us a very chaotic glimpses of the world around us but it also try to encompass its basic essence in a very hypothetical way.

یکانگت

میرا جی

زمانے میں کوئی بُرائی نہیں ہے

فقط ایک تسلسل کا جھولا رواں ہے

یہ میں کہہ رہا ہوں

میں کوئی بُرائی نہیں ہوں، تسلسل کا جھولا نہیں ہوں

مجھے کیا خبر کیا بُرائی میں ہے ،کیا زمانے میں ہے' اور پھر میں تو یہ بھی کہوں گا

کہ جو شہ اکیلی رہے اس کی منزل فنا ہی فنا ہے'

بُرائی'بھلائی' زمانہ' تسلسل --- یہ باتیں بقا کے گھرانے سے آئی ہوئی ہیں

مجھے تو کسی بھی گھرانے سے کوئی تعلق نہیں ہے

میں ہوں ایک' اور میں اکیلا ہوں' ایک اجنبی ہوں'

یہ بستی' یہ جنگل یہ بہتہے ہوئے راستے اور دریا

یہ پربت' اچانک نگاہوں میں آتی ہوئی کوئی اُونچی عمارت'

یہ اُجڑے ہوئے مقبرے اور مرگِ مسلسل کی صورت مجاور'

یہ ہنستے ہوئے ننھے بچے' یہ گاڑی سے ٹکرا کے مرتا ہوا مسافر'

ہوائیں نباتات اور آسماں پہ اِدھر سے اُدھر آتے جاتے ہوئے چند بادل۔

یہ کیا ہیں؟

یہی تو زمانہ ہے ' یہ ایک تسلسل کا جھولا رواں ہے

یہ میں کہہ رہا ہوں

یہ بستی' یہ جنگل' یہ رستے' یہ دریا' یہ پربت' عمارت' مجاور' مسافر'

ہوائیں ' نباتات' اور آسماں پر اِدھر سے اُدھر آتے جاتے ہوئے چند بادل'

یہ سب کچھ'یہ ہر شے مرے ہی گھرانے سے آئی ہوئی ہے'

زمانہ ہوں میں' میرے ہی دم سے ان مٹ تسلسل کا جھولا رواں ہے'

مگر مجھ میں کوئی برائی نہیں ہے

یہ کیسے کہوں میں

کہ مجھ میں فنا اور بقا دونوں آکر ملے ہیں۔

Ants and frogs

‘Hey Sussti! Come over here!’ Kaami was shouting at his full volume and trying to gather as many buddies as possible and the folks started gathering around him. We were there for our regular Sunday morning cricket match and Kaami had ruined it by introducing an eccentric apparatus of round glass fixed with a metallic stick.

‘I have got a magnifying glass, you know.’ He was a hell of a bragger, showing it to everybody but didn’t let anyone to hold it.

I was not particularly showing any interest in it. Though, I wanted to check that thing out but even in childhood you may possess certain stubborn egoistic characteristics. “Ok, your Uncle brought it from Germany, not a big deal! It is worth nothing,” I said that to Kaami.

“Ok guys! Just start the match.” I yelled over them, but nobody listened.

“Anyone has a piece of paper,” Kaami was at the height of his enthusiasm and he was behaving like a stage actor, “I am going to show you guys a magic.” He got the paper and started focusing the sunlight by magnifying glass over the paper. That was a hot August morning and the ground was very dusty. It was actually a plot of a plaza which was supposed to build last year but the contractor didn’t get enough funds, so, its parking lot and half built grey cemented walls gave us some wonderful opportunities to play around.

“Hey it’s burning,” the folks were amusing over a piece of paper which was burning due to the concentrated sunlight. I still believed that it was worth nothing and we should rather play our match. So I was watching them from a distance. Meanwhile, Pappo shouted, “Burn her! Burn her!” I was curious to whom he was referring. I went near to them and saw that they have burnt an ant which was now look like a minute black dot sticking to the wall. They all jumped over a five feet wall and were looking for the colonies of ants. Kaami focused the sunlight over a running ant and within few micro seconds it turned into a black dot.

“You guys are pathetic.” I was upset and sat at the edge of the filthy brown water in which all the rainy water had been pooling since of the first rain. A certain breed of tadpoles were growing there and lots of frogs had already grew up and jumping in and out of the water. I got an idea; jumping frogs were looking great and could be a nice distraction. I tried to catch a frog, filled my hands and clothes with dirty water and at last succeeded in grabbing one poor frog. It was small and looked like a prefect driver for my dinky car. I opened the front door and tried to push it in the car. He was moving his legs madly and while putting him in the car I almost broke his one leg. I dragged the car backward over the wall, gave it enough mechanical energy so that it could reach to the ant burners. Car ran straight to them hit a brick and my frog driver jumped out of it and laid in front of them helplessly. He couldn’t run. I don’t know whether it was devil which came over all of them; they grabbed the frog and started laughing. Kaami was prepared with his magnifying glass and he burnt the frog two times after that the frog died. The black blisters appeared at his skin and he looked shattered. When they burnt him he showed very less resistant. I don’t know about the high school laboratory labs where they cut the frogs out; but to me that was the most horrible event in the frog history as living species.

TAO'

I couldn’t understand why some people always find a small corner in your head. Though they never speak anything but they rest there and make their presence felt. I am not talking about memories. Memories are intangible; you can only feel them emotionally. But that presence is a tangible feeling of somebody’s existence in your head. Tao is one such person in my life. With unexcited eyes, trembling hands and bony structure, all he could do was sit and gaze. Gazing just like a cool and tranquil lake stares at the sky. You can hardly saw his eyelids because he tempted to not to use them. His eyes were always open and attentively searching some point around his vicinity to knot an invisible cord between his eyes and that point. The cord vibrated and produced beautiful rhythms. To me it seemed a sin to break that knot by passing in front of his eyes. Though I doesn’t mind passing in front of my grandmother when she offers prayers. But Tao’s attentive and constant gaze always seemed more sacred to me than my grandmother’s prayers.

I don’t know whether or not he practiced some kind of meditation in his room. May be he didn’t even know how to pronounce the word ‘meditation’ but I guess he naturally established a kind of harmony with that small space around him. May be that’s why I never found him out of his room. Either he was hanging his eyes on some unseen hooks or playing with lots of winding wires, used speakers, small electric motors and lots of junky mechanical parts of different household machines. He was good on technical stuff. He could tell you the diameter of a steel pipe by just holding it. My father, in other words Tao’s brother used to say that there is a great engineer in Tao but others just gave him the status of some technical worker who can tell you how to install a ceiling fan or give you an advice about what things to check while purchasing a new washing machine.

That day, however, his technical expertise frightened me a lot. I was in 7th grade and working on an assignment. I had to draw the famous Minar-e-Pakistan (Minaret of Pakistan) on a big chart paper which I completed without adding any creativity on my part. I still couldn’t figure out what thing brought Tao in the living room that day. He just sat over a sofa and started staring at my ridiculous version of Minar-e-Pakistan. Some kind of tension started growing in him. His muscles were stretching and he seemed bit confuse. At last he spoke;
“Where is the lift, the elevator?” He was repeating the same line with the constant frequency and his confusion was transforming into anger. He was furious but still repeating the same line;
“Where is the lift, the elevator? Where is the lift, the elevator?” I grabbed both of his arms and shook him a little bit, as waking him up from an uncomfortable sleep.
“What’s this heck about the elevator?” I asked annoyingly.
He lapsed right away. Like a tide falls after a very high rise. After the twitching of few muscles and some synchronized movements of his head and hands he mumbled something;
“I installed the elevator in that tower, and it has vanished now. I did that with my own hands, we all,,, we all put it in that high tower…” And then he recited all the names of associates and subordinates who finished that uphill task of installing the elevator in that strange tower. The recalling of that event brought a strange shine in his eyes. From that day I know it in the time line of mankind there exists a particular series of events which resulted in the fitting of an elevator in our national monument and my Tao also played some sort of undefined role in it. After a tough negotiation and sketching few lines over my drawing he satisfied that the elevator still exists in it and running perfectly fine. Now when I recall Tao I want to be in that elevator, the elevator which might be another focal point of his steady and holly gaze.