Around 12 million migrated during the Partition of 1947. Roughly, 6 million had to leave Pakistan and 6 million had to leave India. Most of the migration happened within Punjab – that was once undivided. (The numbers vary according to different sources).
That wasn’t a happy migration.
The painful stories are part of our literature. Those tragedies lived for decades. Pick any Urdu writer and you will find the stories of painful migration. Manto, Shahab, Mumtaz Mufti, Ismat Chughtai, Intizar Hussain (my favorite short story writer), Ashfaq Ahmad, etc. all wrote in bits and pieces about the lost world.
Boota from Toba Tek Singh was not a Boota from Toba Tek Singh as he remembered but as you read in the story.
Apart from literature, there have been movies and dramas on sad stories of migration. An Indian movie titled ‘Garam Hawa’ (1974) captured the trauma in a very painful way.
Remember. Even when Prophet Muhammad PBUH had to migrate from his home city Mecca to Medina, He experienced sadness. He longed for his home in Mecca.
Today, we are seeing two tragedies. One is more painful for us than the other because of our bias.
People of Gaza are being forced to leave their homes. They are being killed. Their homes are being destroyed. Their entire neighborhoods have been bombed out, along with hospitals.
Thousands are dead and thousands are wounded. Even the memories of homes and streets and markets are being erased by Israel.
The other tragedy is of forced deportation of 1.7 million Afghans. They are being thrown out. They can’t carry cash more than Rs.50,000 to Afghanistan. They are selling their homes at cheaper prices as the deadline has already passed. Their businesses are being taken over at throwaway rates by their Pakistani facilitators.
Even those who lived here for two, three or even four decades are being deported. Their memories are being taken over. Their schools are no longer their schools. Their homes are no longer their homes.
After living as a second class citizens here in Pakistan, they are being displaced. To a land where no one wants to live under the Talibans.
If you compare the two, 0.7 million Gazans are suffering compared to 1.7 million Afghans. A million more. Obviously, the modes are different – as one is violent and the other one is physically enforced – but the sufferings are after all, inhumane.
Such are the tragic times. There are more tragedies too but these two are at a massive scale with millions involved. Condemn both with whatever mode of condemnation you can afford.
Badnight!
Author: Saki Nama
Writer.
Bureaucrat, Lahore & the Smog – 2023
Smog covered Lahore for the first time when PMLN was in power. It sustained during PTI’s tenure. And then continued through PDM’s episode. It’s been a decade; got uglier this season.
Today, it covers three divisions. Like 9 cities. Successfully.
Do you know who remained constant all this while when political pawns were being placed and replaced? Bureaucracy. The suited booted CSS babus. Looking nice, intelligent, philosophical, and literary with only an iota of functioning brain.
‘Hierarchy of Bastards.’ In simple words.
Every season, the Chief Secretary calls a meeting. Before smog. During smog. Afterwards. Meetings and more meetings. And they end up as clueless as they always are.
And every season, we have a new Chief Secretary who doesn’t know what the previous one said in golden words. So, the same episodes are telecasted each season.
It is like joining a new department after messing up the previous one without any strings attached. Working hard and hardly working. That’s what CSS is about and that’s why people aspire one to be. Have all the resources with zero output, ignominious corruption, and no punishment.
Sky is the limit.
But they do have a comedic sense to the crises.
For instance, if you ask these bureaucrats how are they going to manage this smog, they may come back with out-of-the-box comments. They can tell you it is their “Family Planning” initiative to manage the challenge of population in the long-run. They will elaborate how it will reduce 7-years of people’s life and how it will resolve issues of crime, pension, food scarcity, and obviously, population.
They will brief the timeline. Like it was in a pilot mode a decade back, and now it is in Phase-II with three divisions covered.
Jokes apart, they can utter the same in public if they are given such notes by their subordinates. Remember that speech in 3 Idiots? That guy on dice reading whatever was in front of him could have been the most suitable candidate for CSS.
Anyway. Do you know how bureaucracy is overseeing Smog?
Multiple projects for the elite are in progress. DHA Lahore will be connected to Gulberg and Jail Road – signal free. Cavalry is closed for an underpass. Walton Road is closed for a bridge near Cavalry, while the nullah of that road is flowing on the road along with the traffic. Looks so nice.
Akbar Chowk is all messed up with an under-construction bridge for months.
Central Business District (CBD) – or you can call next level real estate work of civil and military establishment – is in full progress. This should have been the Central Park of Lahore to mitigate smog, but boys thought to make money out of it. They even threw Walton Airport out of the city for this billion-dollar business. For elites. Not you. A new road will connect Walton from Packages’ side to Kalma Chowk.
More concrete is being laid in the city. More and more. Less space for trees. Less space for oxygen.
But worry not. The bureaucrats are managing it will. Some decades down the road, people will remember how population crises was handled. With smog.
Hear My Plea!
Hear My Plea:
The hypocrisy at national level is not hypocrisy. Apparently. It’s state policy. And its worse than hypocrisy because it leads to bloodshed. But it is hypocrisy. Nevertheless.
Ukraine was owned and helped by the West. America felt the pain in particular. But Palestine didn’t ring a bell to them. Not even in western mainstream media which kept on showing the butchered as butcherers.
This weekend will tell the American Government how bad Biden has messed up this time. It’s like Vietnam’s time: Stop the war. People are coming to Washington. And people will demand the government to stop being an Israel’s puppet. Bad days for Biden. The only good thing he had was his inaugural speech after being elected. Since then, tripping and falling. With bad policies all over the world and at home, Trump is rising to haunt him.
Meanwhile, the noise in Pakistan has its own hypocrisy. They are pushing 1.7 million Afghans back to Afghanistan. Including those who are born and raised in Pakistan. These people will definitely suffer for a long time, wherever the road will take them to settle. Or unsettle.
Israel is invading lands and homes of the Palestinians.
Pakistan is organizing a mass exodus of Afghans after doing all the pimped jobs.
I know you can’t compare the two, but you can. Deep down you can. Unsettling and displacing a family to an unforeseen world is nothing less of a tragedy even if you compare.
Yet, we don’t feel the two pains. One remains numb. In fact, makes us happy. The other hurts us. The one that hurts us, is the one we cant do anything about. Except… some noise.
We all have our biases. We all have our compromised ethos, pathos, and logos. Governments work that way. Militaries too. And we too.
But I do wish.
And pray.
For the arms to be twisted.
For the armies to be demolished.
For the murderers to be murdered.
For the unsettler to be unsettled.
For the civilians to rise.
For the missing ones to be found.
For the slogans to be raised.
For the fights to be won.
Against any arm. Against any military.
Be it Israel.
Or be it…
Ending this for all the tragedies, anywhere in the world with shikwa of Faiz:
موری ارج سنو دست گیر پیر
hear my plea – O protector, O Pir!
مائی ری کہوں کاسے میں اپنے جیا کی پیر
O mother, how do I describe the anguish of my soul!
ربّا سچّیا توں تے آکھیا سی
O true Lord – well, you had said
جا اوئے بندیا جگ دا شاہ ہیں توں
go, O servant – king of the world are you
ساڈیاں نعمتاں تیریاں دولتاں نیں
my bounties are all for your benefit
ساڈا نیب تے عالیجاہ ہیں توں
my viceroy and of exalted rank are you
ایس لارے تے ٹور کد پچھیا ای
after this false promise, did you ever take any notice
کیہہ ایس نمانے تے بیتیاں نیں
what a miserable time we have been passing through
کدی سار وی لئی او ربّ سائیاں
did you bother to ever inquire – O Lord Master
ترے شاہ نال جگ کیہہ کیتیاں نیں
what the world has done to your king
کِتّے دھونس پولیس سرکار دی اے
in one place, there is the menace of police and state
کِتّے دھاندلی مال پٹوار دی اے
in another, there is cheating over land and money
اینج ہڈّاں چ کلپے جان مری
my very being aches to the bone in such a way
جیویں پھاہی چ کونج کرلاوندی اے
as the Koonj (crane), caught in the snare, shrieks!
چنگا شاہ بنایا ای ربّ سائیاں
a fine king you have made – O Lord Master
پولے کھاندے وار نہ آوندی اے
keeps bearing the humiliations of shoe-beatings
مینوں شاہی نئیں چاہیدی ربّ میرے
I don’t want kingship, my Lord
میں تے عزت دا ٹکّر منگناں ہاں
I ask just for a piece of bread, honorably-earned
مینوں تاہنگ نیئں، محلاں ماڑیاں دی
I have no desire for grand things like palaces
یں تے جیویں دی نکّر منگناں ہاں
I ask just for a corner to subsist in
میری منّیں تے تیریاں میں منّاں
heed me and I will heed you
یری سونہہ جے اک وی گلّ موڑاں
I swear to you that I’ll never refuse a single command
جے ایہہ سودا نیئں پجدا تیں ربّا
if this bargain is not acceptable to Thee, O Lord
فیر میں جاواں تے ربّ کوئی ہور لوڑاں
then I shall go and get some other Lord
موری ارج سنو دست گیر پیر
hear my plea, O protector, O Pir!
اس صورت سے
in this manner
عرض سناتے
presenting the plea
درد بتاتے
recounting the anguish
نیّا کھیتے
rowing the boat
مِنّت کرتے
making entreaty
رستہ تکتے
waiting expectantly
کتنی صدیاں بیت گئی ہیں
so many centuries have passed
اب جا کر یہ بھید کھلا ہے
at long last has emerged this secret
جس کو تم نے عرض گزاری
the one you had petitioned
جو تھا ہاتھ پکڑنے والا
the one who used to grasp your hand
جس جا لاگی ناؤ تمھاری
the place your boat found its mooring
جس سے دکھ کا دارو مانگا
the one you sought the cure for grief from
تورے مندر میں جو نہیں آیا
the one who came into your temple not
وہ تو تمہیں تھے
that was none other than you
وہ تو تمہیں تھے
that was none other than you
Suicide
Welcome to the abyss!
Before we shall be released.
Or not. Who knows?
But welcome, nonetheless, my fellow human!
When I departed, I had a grin.
But when I witnessed my funeral, I saw harsh gazes.
Unusual inquiries and cruel remarks for me.
Although I simply cut my wrist. Not someone else’s.
I didn’t explode myself in the market.
I didn’t steal anyone’s possessions.
I had a kaleidoscope of images in my mind.
Projected onto my wrist.
I just wanted to release the blood.
From all the burdens of my heart.
Flowing inside and out.
Pulsating regularly.
Generating a series of signals.
To dismantle my brain.
I simply liberated myself.
But I regretted it the moment I saw my funeral.
My parents were blamed of their failure.
My relatives were informed of their lack of relation.
My friends were explaining me to those who already knew me.
And those who were supposed to handle my funeral religiously,
Were telling everyone how I will suffer in hell.
Forever. For eternity. By cutting my wrist.
Again and again. In a loop.
I knew that.
I read that.
موت کا منظر، مرنے کے بعد کیا ہو گا
That was the first time I questioned my existence.
Why be here to endure?
Here and hereafter?
Then neuron signals started to create frantic signals.
To the beautiful world.
And flowers.
And children.
And smiles.
And skies.
Except my wrist. That I desired to cut. And explore. And liberate.
And I did.
And endured even more.
With more accusations.
With more people envisioning me suffering.
With more people raising their hand but not offering peace for me through lips.
With more people pretending sorrow but feeling disgust for me.
Even death didn’t erase existence.
For once you exist. You exist. And suffer.
But my dear friend! I’m at some peace now.
You are a victim, like me, of your own thoughts.
A beautiful kaleidoscopic mind.
And people are not condemning you as they did me.
They are conversing. Trying to comprehend us.
And our agony of doing what we did.
Just to ourselves.
To relieve ourselves.
From ourselves.
For ourselves.
Even the bearded ones are softening their tone.
And leaving everything to us and our God.
Thank you, my dear friend.
And welcome aboard.
The Natives & The Palestine
There was an Australian Indigenous Voice referendum on 14th October. For aboriginals – the natives who have been living in Australia for centuries. The referendum rejected the voice. No to aboriginals from Australians.
This is a story like Native Americans (Red Indians) in America but a little better. At least Australians are having a debate. Or referendum. Regardless of the results.
Similarly, Canada issued regret and apology for the crimes their ancestors committed against the natives of the land.
Why these issues? Why these questions? Why now?
In the history of humans, the powerful have always captured the weak. It has always been like that. And it has always been glorified. Alexander. Saladin. Genghis. Richard. Leonidas. Babur. Napoleon. And many more.
That was the world order that has expired. With the Treaty of Westphalia in 1648, a new way of diplomacy was formed and the world gradually turned into nation states.
But in any world order, in any war or crusade or attack; natives remained natives. Even if they migrated, they were not replaced forcefully. The idea of replacing the natives through power and changing the demographics of an area is one of the ugliest crimes in modern history.
Native Americans were replaced.
Aboriginals were replaced.
And that’s why true historians and people of conscience are sorry.
The same is the story of Kashmir where India is replacing the natives. Settling outsiders there. Changing the demographics with a plan and force. Hence, committing the ugly crime.
And that’s where Israel comes too. Settling foreign Jews in the land. With a purpose. With an idea. And with violence. Step by step, making the majority a minority. And turning the whole land into a war zone for the natives.
This is the crime. This is the controversy. And this is where the two – Israel and India – share a common ideology based on forced settlements.
Condemned.
Crusades happened but no one tried to make settlements through force. Whatever happened, happened organically and naturally.
Caliph Umar conquered Jerusalem in the year 637. He didn’t plan to make forced settlements. He respected the worship places of other faiths and Muslims were barred from not harming them. A treaty was signed for peace and people. Hence, a conquest ended.
Crusades happened. And the crusades ended too. Sometimes Christians won and other times Muslims. Ottomans made a long rule. Then came British rule. And then came the plan to make forced settlements. Hence, it’s an ugly human rights violation happening since 1947-48 and it’s not ending.
That’s the crux. That’s the crime. That’s where Israel becomes one of the ugliest villains in the history of humankind.
And that’s where come people of conscience who feel sorry for the natives of Palestine.
Rest, is a debate. Of faiths. Of power. And a land that has been bleeding since the first message.
Melting Smoke
There’s a version of me. That wants to melt. Not like a molten lava cake served to you. But like a smoke. A melting smoke. You won’t get it. It gradually flows towards the destined slope where it touches the shore of the ocean and enters indistinctness.
Without a want.
Without a need.
Without a consent.
There’s another version too. The one that is visible. Shallow. That never melts. That stands like a rock. Can’t melt like smoke. Only – once in a while – when lava inside gets intolerable, it explodes and shakes the earth around – trembling while faking jolts – and is visibly melted in the sky with smoke. Making a point. Without a sound. Without any further jolts.
In between the two resides the existential crises of being. The philosophy of life.
That’s cringy sometimes.
Adorable other times.
With that… comes… the art… of spreading… love… and… venom. And venomous love.
The Missing
She can live,
Without him.
Like she did before,
Without another him.
And the one,
Who is about to come.
No one dies,
When someone leaves.
Parents survive,
When the children grieve.
And children divide,
When the parents leave.
The affairs evolve,
And companions are swapped.
Life partners are changed,
While tracks in the park, remains the same.
With the autumn’s death of flowers,
The grass stays and prevails.
But deep within,
Within the empty homes,
in the dark nights,
In between the vessels around the heart,
There is an absent voice.
A void.
A missing whisper.
A missing heartbeat.
While the life walks and breathes.
Its finesse diminishes.
The moments it could have embraced,
Become the moments it could never attain.
Yet, no one dies.
Except a voice.
A whisper.
A beat.
And a void.
Vengeance
#JusticeForAmmar reminds the following rules of the world:
1. There is no karma. There never was. Except for some random incidents that happened randomly to make people believe otherwise. Else, million dead bodies don’t kill a single tyrant.
2. There’s only power and nothing else. Those who can exercise power, can exercise anything to attain it perpetually – from one generation to another.
3. Power doesn’t die with a person. It shifts from one generation to the next. People in power gather wealth for their generation. As their fathers did for them. Like Mughals ruled for at least 300 years with utmost glory. If you actually had to take power from someone, you had to annihilate the entire lineage.
4. A single death doesn’t matter. Even a million doesn’t matter. In the end, one of the two oppressors or tyrants wins. Not the oppressed. Hitler killed millions for his power in the name of glorifying a single race. Nothing matters in this game. By the way, Hitler is the person who gets more movies, novels, and books to his name than anyone else. Every year. Consistently.
5. Sometimes, the masses are fed up. They stand and retaliate. Even that doesn’t matter for the masses. When Louis XVI dragged people to hunger, people killed him and his royal family. Maximilian Robespierre stood tall with the revolution, only to be beheaded by the revolution itself. And the revolution ended up in the hands of Napoleon Bonaparte. It was just a journey from one tyrant to another. Nothing else.
Mind you, this is that French Revolution that is romanticized by everyone. Just like Foucault romanticized Iranian Revolution in the beginning only to end up in silence later.
6. Prophets came. And the ones we remember were themselves in the leading game of power. Had followers. Had wars. Had leadership roles. For a common person like you there was nothing except to follow the orders of the one in charge at that time. Or death awaits you. Or gallows of fire after death.
7. 144 were killed once. In daylight. In school. Telecasted live. What happened? An escape. Any karma? No. Any vengeance? Nothing. Don’t be an idiot. Have faith. Sure. It helps to keep going in dark tunnels. But even faith doesn’t matter in these bigger games except to keep masses silent and hopeful for as long as it can.
If 144 dead bodies couldn’t do anything, 1 won’t do anything either. Have faith. Sure. Have hope too. And when you recover, I pray you may neither have faith nor hope. Only vengeance matters. Be it for a couple of days. Because that’s the only dish that tastes better when dripping and cold.
P.S. I know that’s not the way I was back in the days. But the days also are not the way they were back in the days. If the days can change, thoughts can change. Nights can change. If pen won’t kill the thirst, something else will. Be it vengeance.
The Year 1984
In defiance of George Orwell’s 1984, originally published in 1949, Steve Jobs came up with a new marketing idea. A crazy one. To introduce Apple’s Mcintosh. With a Mcintosh and an advertisement, Jobs’ intended to turn dystopia into utopia… “and you’ll see why 1984 won’t be like 1984”.
But we are not here for another advertisement.
Or another Mcintosh.
We are here to know that 1984 was utopian after all. She came that year. Opened her eyes. Her own world may have been a roller-coaster between utopian and dystopian world, but her smile was utopian. Her eyes were utopian. Even her shouts were utopian. With a clear message. A clear advertisement. A clean service for humanity. Even in her dystopian times, that we don’t know of.
It was 1984 but it wasn’t Orwellian.
The Year 2033
It was a sunny winter day. He was waiting for her in the park. On their fixed bench. A slightly cold breeze disrupted the leaves from trees time to time. He had the tea pot ready, as he always brought a tea with him and a pack of cigarettes. After waiting for her for over half an hour – that was typical of her – he saw her coming. He smiled. She smiled too, with her teeth and gesturing apology for being late, but actually not apologizing. Never did. That was her way of existence.
He stood up for her and they shook hands. She sat down and the two hugged. Reluctantly, like always, but longingly. Making sure the other one knows that the other is there for the other one. No scent, as usual, he thought. Though Jasmine was there, he felt.
She brought homemade sandwiches. He always loved her handmade tasteless stuff. However, while sipping the tea, she always thought the same. A terrible teamaker.
She undid her shoes and felt the grass under her feet. He looked at her from time to time. After thinking for ages, he took her hand in his and caressed her the way grass was caressing her feet. He always held her hand. She never resisted. He always thought about it before moving towards her. She never hesitated. Yet, there was this awkwardness, that remained even after the embracement, between the two. And perhaps, that was the beauty of the two. Always thinking of the other one first. Always being present for the other.
Knowing each other for years – directly – and being connected to each other since forever, the two had exactly the opposite roles to play to each other. In her down days, he gave hopeful speeches to her. In his down days, she would stand for him likewise. One was always leading the other. The two had a spectacular way of existing in each other’s lives.
The two talked about their lives. Their stories. Their moments of happiness and how they missed each other in different times. The two shared all the details about their unparallel lives.
He slightly moved close to her and put his arm around her shoulder. She sneaked in him and tilted her head on his shoulder. This is not even a shoulder, she thought while resting.
After sipping tea, he lit a cigarette. One cigarette at a time for the two. They exchanged turns and talked about their past. The past was not a haunting story for them anymore. It was passed. Long gone. They made fun of their past traumas and how bad moments shaped their lives to this.
After all, the two were sitting there in the park in a good sun with a nice grass under her feet. The two were having a good time. Both were well settled in their careers and had a joint account too. For a future destination to travel together. The money was there, enough for a long local trip or a short foreign trip, but the two kept on delaying it due to different domestic reasons.
He kissed her forehead from time to time. Arranged her hair behind her ear. Never missed a chance to touch her. They kept talking. Argued. Fought too. Did all the coupled things.
Before sunset, after it was getting too cold, she stood up. He too. They packed things and both started walking towards the parking. Towards another short break. They will meet again. Next week. Here on the same bench till the end of the winters.
He stayed and looked at her while she reversed her car and left. The new car. She finally had one last year and it is as impeccable as her. He stood there watching her and then her car and then nothing.
He stood there a little longer and tried to remember her. Was she there? Did he actually talk to her? He tried to remember the whole conversation, like he remembered the first conversation in the secluded park. He looked into his hand and tried to remember and feel if his hand held her hand, touched her hair, her ear, her cheek just a little back? He tried to remember the kiss he gave her on the cheek just before she left.
He stood there till darkness. Smoked two more cigarettes in the complete existential crises. The headache was pinching more and more. He was total clueless about his present – the future – there in the parking lot.
He pulled his phone and checked the last messages and the call he made on the bench. He looked at the screen for some seconds and then smirked. Perhaps. The whole existence is an illusionary delusion.
For you, a thousand times over.
For me, never.