Suicide is a cowardly act. Until I, or someone very close to me, commits it.
We are the strong ones – men and women. We don’t fall. Not just because we don’t have an option to, but because we can’t. We are invincible. Unstoppable. And we roar like a tiger in our inner jungles – where we rule.
With materials around us, success on our badges, trophies in the cupboards, degrees in the drawers, and a sexy profile picture liked by hundreds – we are the warriors.
But we are the losers too and only we know that. Dancing and singing crap of the world. Our bank accounts. Vehicles driven by us. Tyler Durden…
Another CSP officer commits suicide only to tell you that CSS is not the end of the world. It can be the end of life too. But that’s not the point.
The point is: suicide – a beautiful way of leaving the world, but not the ideal one. I know.
Once upon a time, I wrote an application to my higher ups – a chain of CSP idiots. That application became a joke. The reference to the suicide of Bilal Pasha in that application became a laughter, and they all giggled, even made things harder for me for daring to question the ugly rotten system.
WhatsApp has ruined employment. Bosses keep a 24/7 tag on you. They text you anytime of the day and weekend, and they expect a swift response. They don’t care about you, your family, your mental health, your personal time. Nothing. They only care about the
And what does this 24/7 check achieve? Nothing. It’s like the civil secretariat of any province. Everyone is running, everywhere are meetings, and nothing is happening. That woman, yes, the one sitting on the bench in the shade of the British Raj’s tree, came from Rahim Yar Khan for creation of an OSD post of her dead husband. Yes, she took a loan to buy her ticket to Lahore. And yes, sahib ji is not available, and she may have to wait for eternity.
The applicant – His Highness, mind you – got reflected as “emotionally unstable being” on the ACR by the officer who was known as scum in the civil services among his own fraternity of scums.
Imagine how ugly and toxic these people with government provided car, petrol, chefs, servants, homes, electricity, etc. turn out to become in the end. For them, death of Bilal Pasha was nothing more than a joke – though they cried out loud on their social media and public gatherings.
Now come to civilians. Like you. Like me. And suicides that are young. Too young to be employed and gagged before burial.
Abdullah from Jamshoro committed suicide just like that 15-year-old boy from Chakwal – probably named Shaheer – who decided to depart this world on his own terms. Both were tired. Both had their own philosophies, which by any means were neither ordinary nor apologetic. Those words could be blasphemous for you, but they were sweet. They could be rebellious but peaceful. They had queries, anger, struggle, and nothingness. A void where they departed on their own terms.
I only wish they had lived longer so that they could’ve contributed in this rotten society by their words and poetry – and may have caused some damages for the betterment.
I don’t hate suicide. I can’t condemn it – even though it leaves painful relatives behind. Sometimes, the only cure is death. And committing it yourself is a victory over life in itself. Can’t condemn it. Can’t feel bad about it. Can’t empathize with it either.
How can you beat cancer? How can you beat leukemia? How to live forty years of your life on dialysis? Sclerosis. Parkinson’s. Arthritis. Weak heart. One leg.
Or.
The demons inside. Schizophrenia. Bipolar disorder. Nightmares. Anxiety. Trauma. Personality disorder. Insomnia. Mental masturbation. Blasphemy.
There are some glitches in humans that everyone around you knows that you don’t know. Like the beautiful souls with down syndrome. It’s fine.
Then there are some glitches inside that you know but others don’t. And sometimes, they get out of your hand. The rope slips under your skin, and your hands are torn, and the pain kills your guts, yet you can’t cry.
In such a scenario, there’s this option of death – by choice. Why to live on knees for decades than to die on your own terms? Why not?
[Half of the passage is deleted here. Apologies for that. I can’t make sense, and you can deliver verdicts instantly.]
I know. You disagree. I know nothing. You know everything. But let me try one more time with some old words of mine:
‘My Lord! You don’t know how much I’m going to love You and You cannot imagine the passionate sajdah that I will offer right on that moment of reunion… that sajdah which is better than a thousand nights of worship.
With all due respect my Lord! You cannot imagine it because you are not me.
Because you are not a human being
Because you are not in pain
Because you are not me, like I’m not You.
This is a relation between You and I
I ask,
I bear,
I cry,
I serve,
I accept,
I bleed,
I weep.
And You?
You give,
And forgive.
Just give me!
And forgive me!’
If that’s that, that’s fine. If that’s not that, then let me take what’s mine.
#SakiNama