Category: Fragments

Sadness is saddening. But lucky are those sad women on whom men write words and pages and books and poems of sadness.

For a sad man, there’s no one. Just like there are words and pages and books and poems on motherhood, but almost nothing on fatherhood.

He would be eating a sandwich on a lone bench in a lone park and someone would take his picture that would make some rounds on social media and that’s all.

Unlucky sad men. They have to write sad words and pages and books and poems for themselves; as well as for women.

No one’s going to write on him except himself. And that’s how, men become a tragedy. Either for themselves or the entire society surrounding them.

میں بھی بہت عجیب ہوں اتنا عجیب ہوں کہ بس
خود کو تباہ کر لیا اور ملال بھی نہیں

Then comes crime. And punishment. And abusiveness. And suicide. And harm. And chaos. And a death. Of a filthy man.

Ideally, everyone should have a manuscript written by someone else. A manuscript written individually for each person by the opposite gender. A manuscript of sadness.

For instance, His Highness writing Marla’s sadness in his words for her in her scenario. Giving his words a voice of hers. Marla would be happy with this sadness. Isn’t it? No. She may not. She may not like a certain chapter of the manuscript and that’s how it would go in vain.

But then, someone would find that manuscript after years or decades and that discarded piece would become a classic piece of literature. With that same chapter to be considered as a magnum opus.

However, the reality of the two remained sad regardless of the millions that publishing houses are going to make on their suffering. Because they… got nothing.

And perhaps you got nothing as well.

Being a man is a tragedy. Either for himself or for the society around him.

Being a woman is also a tragedy.

Being a non-binary is another kind of a tragedy.

In fact, being is a tragedy. To be is a tragedy. Only not-to-be is not a tragedy.

Singles are unhappy.

Doubles are also unhappy.

Triples are happy though, but that’s not a long-term setting. Why did I mention that?

Anyway, married ones are definitely unhappy. Everyone’s unhappy. So, everyone is relatable. Socially.

And with that, nothing. I forgot the eulogy. Sorry, epiphany. I forgot the epiphany I had at Jumma. What a miss!

Every summer, I imagined tilting the earth. Like spinning the earth a little – like you off spin in cricket – shifting the southern countries more towards the equator. Resulting in north and south poles – both – moving closer towards the line of equator.

A little more into this and there will be heavenly weathers here. Longer summers in Scandinavia and Europe – imagine beaches of those races, jeez – and people here suiting themselves more into abayas.

The tragedy of insanely hairy people in hotter countries would also be over with this off spin. For heavens! All genders have moustaches here. Duh!

Then I imagine a little more… but comes back to the basics. What is stopping the earth from a little off spin? No one. I’m not.

This was supposed to be the plot of my book. With a little off spin, the whole dystopia was transformed into utopia. It was going to be His Highness’s 2084 after Orwell’s 1984.

But then, who would like to waste words over a herd?

And what if the earth is going to have a little off spin someday; without a plot and a book?

There are 2 scenarios:

1 : Why didn’t you say anything?

2 : Why did you say that?

And in case 1 and 2 don’t apply;

3 : It’s not what you said. It’s how you said.

A lot of facilities – tangible and intangible – that you have today, were once prayed for madly.

You have a handful of things today that you begged for secretly a decade back.

Since, we grow by forgetting us and our previous surroundings, we keep on asking for more. Without being thankful. Without being happy. And without being at peace.

But then, there are those who have nothing. They are on the greenbelts. Getting injected. Snorting. Snoozing. Haven’t had a bath for months. Totally in a mess. Have you ever seen them sleeping?

They sleep like babies. Even in cold and scorching weather. In sunlight in summers.

Some questions and doubts rise. Are they better or us? Are they having a better sleep than us? Are they at a higher level of peace? Are their dreams as nightmarish as ours?

And now I am wondering not what I am writing, but why.

How ironic are the cases when people die in stampedes for free food or zakat? A classic yet sad tragedy of dying while struggling to live.

Dying in the process to survive a couple of days more.

It’s so ironic. It’s so sad. As sad as rains consistently falling on wheat crops so that suffering may sustain another season.

The continuous moments of pain without a break for months. And when the prayers will be answered, I will not forgive. I may not forgive. I will not be able to forgive. Maybe I’ll forgive.

Or maybe I’ll be forgiven.

Maybe He wanted to save someone from murder. So He jolted the earth to change the plans.

Or maybe He saved a child from abuse today. 10 is our daily national average. 9 for today. 1 saved because the abuser panicked because of the earthquake.

Or maybe He wanted to put fear in the heart of that shopkeeper to sell honestly today, as one of the buyers coming today is His special.

Or maybe He wanted to save the lady from domestic tortures from tonight. Who knows?

Or maybe He wanted to give a short break to that guy who was having a very hard and long day at work.

Or maybe He wanted to put fear in the heart of a mob who was going to burn down a temple tonight.

Or maybe He wanted us to call our parents today.

Or maybe He wanted us to have a cigarette break.

Or maybe He wanted us to talk about jeans again.

Or maybe He just jolted the whole region just to make us afraid.

Or maybe He was having fun with our big egos. Mild jolts without a string attached.

Well, dear Lord! These tricks work for a couple of hours. We go back to our baseline within 24 hours.

And – even though we know You can do things – such manoeuvres are not appreciated. Thank you.

She wished to be a punk rocker with flowers in her hair.

He prayed for her to be the one, so he could listen and see her daily.

But then, the residents of the world don’t live by their wishes. They rely on prayers.

How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!

The world forgetting, by the world forgot.

Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!

Each prayer accepted, each wish resigned?

Herd!

His Highness gets your attention when he calls you an idiot. Or dumb. Or herd.

It’s like Jerry Maguire’s “You had me at stupid”.

The fault definitely isn’t in his stars. It’s the other way round. Around.

It’s nothing personal. It looks like but it isn’t. Just want you to read a couple of small paragraphs. So you may disagree. Or even hate. But you may not be able to ignore.