The land of Metaphors

Oh welcome! After so long, finally you got the time to arrive here and hear my plaints of grief and loss!

Daikh kar pooch liya haal mera                                                                                          Chalo kuch to khayal kartey ho…

As you sit by me here, on turning around do you observe these taciturn, sapphire mountains entwined by the silver becks, do you feel the hazy gusts,  blowing from the Peer Panchal ranges ( so many names and legends), slashing at your faces, do you hear its agonized sighs, aimlessly wafting around in the troubled air. These lofty, Himalayan peaks, that silently witness the turbulence in their folds, are tired of heralding the legends and tales that once marked this happy valley;

Lot jaati hai idhar ko bhi nazar kya kijiye                     
Ab bhi dil-kash hai tera husnn, magar kya kijiye

They say I have a legendary provenance, so my children do you now contrive for me a hostile end? You will hear of the names and legends from every corner, every bend, if only you all listen! My dense and lush meadows, the azure lakes, that once were mirrors, the numinous springs, the tuneful falls, the deep woods, that echo the verses of the saints who loved them so much, and the sanctified Vitesta, that you also call Jhelum  (so many names and legends, I tell you), it was a revered flow of harmony to exorcize evils, though profaned now, and as I look, I can’t help but weep, drowning my own existence, yet being a mother, I designed that haven on Taqt-i-sulemaan for you (so many names and legends). The H’ari parbat (so many names and legends) bears the testimony, that I welcomed every faith with open arms, generation after generation, I epitomized composite cultures and rich traditions (some have put that in records too, for which God be praised!), and those kings that made me proud, such spirits they breathed in my burly arms, that for centuries together you had them as celebrated legends, that was a time!  And I remember having taught the sages and pupils from across the borders, long back. The saints who practiced penances in my entrenched caves, holding my hands, how they travelled and prayed, and blessed me as well and may be that is why I am still alive, with my tulips and roses and Chinars and embers.  And did you learn of those tales about the women, they were not just women, they were pious souls, who loved to divulge all their sufferings to me, although they never complained openly. I remember the poets of their lands, and their verses in that language of peculiar vowel intonation, that no other language has. But peace is a harbinger for inexplicable turbulence and I always apprehended that. My anxiety made me to weep, and bawl each time, and there were times when my tears dried up, I was too tired to cry, my parched body, and the cracked crust, huh! You ask me what makes me sob now:

Shaher-e-dil mai ye udaasiya’n kaisi                                                                           Ye bhi mujh se sawaal kartey ho?

But it is not the anxiety that makes me weep anymore. I feel forlorn and sad now. How did you allow others to drive a wedge between you all, why did you part your ways, are you not ashamed of the segregations? Has the festival of unity declined? Have I lost my healing touch? So, I am not surprised by any sell-outs now. After blazing the shrines afire, you attempt to murder me too, I am not surprised!

Dil ki takleef kam nahi’n kartey                                                                                   Ab koi shikwah hum nahi’n kartey

My clammy soil smells of blood, now my waterfalls are turbid with ruby clots. Only I know how I had to enshroud slaughtered hearts, fractured bones, and carcasses with marks of slugs, such blood bathed carnage of innocence! I ask you, has anybody tied the threads at the shrines for peace lately? Will you all let the names and legends die? All seasons look plain to me, for you do not welcome transitions now, hence I weep in every season. I had cradled you in my lap, humming the melody of morality and now, I see you decorating the hearse for me; is this something to see, that with the fading breaths of mother, how the children rejoice! After silently witnessing this profanity for near about a century should I not cry now? Your reflections have rendered my tears murky and I feel helpless.

Muntazir merey zawaal ke hain                                                                                     Merey apney bhi kamaal ke hain

With my shroud will you bestow the honour of martyrdom upon me, or is that too much to ask from you. I was called Satisar once, the world calls me paradise on earth, I am the land of Sufis and Saints, and with each name I baste a legend, because with each name, I am subjected to a new ordeal since centuries, and I still have the strength to endure, for I lead by example. Every corner in me, has a name stitched to a legend and has a story to narrate, I am that legend no one can disclaim, and all my names are no longer names, they are the metaphors, yes -the extended metaphors, that bespeak the beauty, humility, gratitude, humanity, love, unity and peace garnered by me, and then divisions, trials, torments, strife, pain, loss, endurance, fortitude and tenacity impelled upon me. With every martyr touch, I am martyred again, and my arm though frail now, will yet embrace the destiny; see how, each time I burn and rise again from my own ashes like the phoenix. Thus, I am the morose but proud land of metaphors, not just in legends but in history, for I am kashyapmar (ka-shimeera), I am the Kaspeiria, I am KaShi-Mi-Lo, I am Cashmere, I am kasheer, I am Kashmir:Yes- I am Kashmir…..

The day we were born

Blowing off the flame of my yet another precious year, I slash asunder a piece of my ecstasy from the rest of my life, organically manifest by the cutting of this three-tiered chocolate cake, amidst the resounding claps of the people flocked around me in this large festooned hall. The guests come up to hug me, shake hands with me and invariably smother me with expensive and lavish gifts, congratulating me on my birthday as they say. Letting out a wistful sigh, I try braving up a genial smile, in the depths acknowledging my own endurance, having crossed another year of trouble, agony and pain; perhaps the most difficult year of my life would be history now.  The sickly sweet gathering of guests, busy in pompous show of their accessories, with none clad in anything less than a classy brand from head to heels, the rush of the waiters carrying the platters of exotic savouries, the flashing chromatic lights on the floor, the pulsation of the loud music, the fancy buntings adorning the vibrant ramparts, the glittery optical fibers, embellishing the giant pillars and palisades of stairways in the hall and the constant natters of the crowd, cannot be a pleasure to the heart that craves for solitude, longing to be left alone- entirely alone!                                                                                                                          Tired of floundering from one place to another, deprived of the inner peace, on my birthday, today I decide to give myself the gift of solitude or rather loneliness. Nudging my way out through the crowd, I with difficulty manage to get out of the crowded hall, into the adjacent balcony. And here I am- out of the profligate clique of people, now finally alone, with the blazing sun, which is preparing to sleep in the lap of night. The scarlet ball, painting the canvas of horizon with chromatic shades of red, is allegorical to the oblivious carnage of hearts. I breathe in the fresh air, as the placid breeze gently blows against my cheeks, wafting some message, in a muffled tone that perhaps will never reach my ears. I observe the stretch of swaying grass in the verdant field before my eyes, as if acclaiming my presence after such a long time, weaving the ambience of inexplicable delight blend with remorseful despondency, drifting my senses in the state of awe.
The natural aura, lingering in the air around me, has the similar semblance of that bright evening when my eyes first caught your sight, and now as the curve of my lips widen on recalling those memories, symbolic of a smile, is not because I am happy standing out here alone, but because this loneliness has still reserved for me the right to reminisce and inspirit our treasured memories, that lure me into that dear old game, where I still lose in spite of a win, hence today, is such a day that marks your absence for my realization.
Just a year ago, on this day you were standing by my side, nostalgically counting on our promises, errors, reconciliations and happy moments, although since we first met, every time it was I, who had to remind you of my birthday, as your presence was my best gift for this day. It is really funny to see how fate can change the entire pace of life, not only perceptions but dimensions of the life as well; and therefore, I soon found myself wretched in just a night. It was like a steaming volcano that finally erupted to destroy the beautiful city in its fold, without any warnings and the next day-it was all desolation!

Abaadi bhi dekhi hai, veerani bhi dekhi hai                                                                  Jo ujdhey aur phir na bassey dil voh nirali basti hai

I regret not our estrangement now, but my insensibility to foist you in the realm of dilemma, from where even I could never return. I now have discerned that signing some stamped documents in emerald ink can finish the bonds but never the feelings that garner those bonds. So yearning for the impossible, all that I have been doing since a year is befooling my heart and ironically my heart has grown sensible enough to understand that it is being fooled by me, but for how long! Lolling my body over the banisters edging the balcony, I contemplate that how a rose, so alluring to the heart that loves it so much, can hurtfully prick the fingers on being plucked out in oblivion. Why do the intangible feelings, that unite the minds after being blindly bonded, later on allow the prudent minds to question over and again, after pushing the sublime souls in an abyss? And as only the rational minds are left to recuperate the wounded hearts, they work in to diminish the abstract feelings to nothingness.
How I recall, each year you always forgot my birthday but I remembered your birthday, yet you kept on proving the sublimity of our bonding by celebrating everyday with me like a birthday; like our special days. Honestly, I never expected you to remember my birthdays, for I was not so touchy about it, nor did you ever ask me to celebrate your birthday, (Though, I would always pop up at your place with a cake) because somewhere deep down, we both knew, that our love rose above the superficiality of the “days” and the “formalities” that followed, rather it rested on the foundation of a committed feeling of concern towards each other. But when a dream made of glass is broken, whom do we blame- fate, circumstances, void in compliancy, etc, etc; hence, every celebration down the lane of memories is ransacked to a street of desolation, spared only with the cracked windows of pain, the empty cupboards of grief, and the smashed doors of separation.
Enviably the sun never sets alone; for the night will console it and comfort it in its lap- but the expanse of darkness, after the sunset, corroborates the proof of the emptiness that the sky will be impelled to gasp. Although the clouds do not enfold the sky this evening, thus apparently the sky must be smiling as it silently witness the sun leaving its country, but this never means that the sky is not lamenting the separation- The sky must have been tired of crying every evening, just like me. The sky has realized that excessive tears bring only floods and devastations that harm those around us; hence we put up a brave and warm smile that at least will not harm anyone, even if it annihilates us from within. This smile, not only epitomizes the level attained after such an arduous struggle, with which I have reconciled as any other normal occurrence, like the sunset, but also anything below this level will be sheer insult to the degree of our grief, loss and parting.

Ujaaley apni yaado’n ke humarey paas rehne do                                                         Na jaane kis galli mai zindagi ki shaam ho jaaye…..

After you parted your ways with me, many people of great calibre extended hands to hold you firmly, I felt like some queer creature, which on being exiled, had to harmonize with the veneer of the other world. And in this exile, a crowd of familiar faces appear strange to me; so I can’t be consoled now and I am at peace to know, that this strangeness with the outside world will drive me nearer to my inner self. For some time, now I have been looking for the rainbow you gifted me with- the miracle of that rainbow; in one instant cry, bawl, weep, and shout, the next instant smile, smirk, and sigh! The sands of our memories, is gradually shifting loose and may be the tide of time will wash it away soon and I will watch helplessly, as it will be done.

Mat pooch kaun hai; kyu laachaar baithey hain                                                  Mussaafir hai, safar karney ki tamanna haar baithey hain

I wish the best to the lonely night sky, with the stars mocking at. And regrettably, I will have to break my soliloquy, as I see the guests leaving now.                          

After the commotion dies down, my dad calls me to see the gifts I got, as they are unwrapped by the butler. I sit on the chaise lounge, across my parents who are dressed in the daintiest manner. With each gift unwrapped, they sigh in wonder while I maintain a constant smile, hardly looking at the gifts. My gaze shifts to the side table, which supports a pretty net basket, with large sized greeting cards shoved inside it. I pull out one card, and on opening it, a loud birthday tune fills in the room, as everyone is taken aback. I keep it aside in disgust. I pass my time shuffling the greeting cards, reading out the sophisticated surnames of the guests, written on the envelopes. One envelope did not have any name of its giver. Tearing the envelope out of curiosity, I lug out the card. I open the card to read the message inside it. Surprising, rather shocking my senses, I read the name of the person written inside, on the corner at the bottom of title line- a simple card that read just this: WISHING YOU A HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Regards……her name.
Lo abhi jalney ko kuch baaki tha….                                                                               Aur hum samjhey; vo aaye’n hain maatamgiri ke liye
Yes- it was her name! I almost fumbled, feeling all choked up and messed up again; I remembered, that I did not wish her this year on her birthday and she instead had wished me on my birthday, contravening the usual trend! I swallowed! I was confounded by all that I had just read, seen and felt. I felt numb and to be honest, my current position failed any reaction. Standing up, holding the card firmly, I start advancing towards my room upstairs, in a half-absorbed bent of mind, asking my parents to excuse me. I enter my room and dive on my bed, reading the card again, rather that one line again… Tears start to stream down my face and I want to shout, but that rainbow! The next moment I feel inexplicably calm and peaceful. Clasping the card (My best and worst gift that I ever received) close to my chest, feeling morose for the unthinkable that just had happened, I close my eyes on hearing the clock chime at the stroke of midnight, which marked the end of the day we were born!                                                                                            

                                                                        --BY SANA SHAH

A Blank sheet of paper

(First published in ‘The Indian ruminations’)

Being in the prime of my youth, not able to think and contemplate vividly, never was I to be blamed for this. All day locked up behind the doors of my room, trying to discern and comprehend the words of my text books, mistaking information to be the genuine knowledge concomitantly mindful that knowledge transcends the very brim of human reasoning! Knowledge never ends, thus I closed my books and reclined against the back of my revolving chair. Some kind of inner call resonated within, all day long, all night long, while I worked, while I slept, while I dreamt.
Some abstract and intangible questions were tolling my mind over and again. Perhaps thinking; a departure from me would pave the way for the arrival within myself. Being a recluse, demanding constant solitude, sitting alone in the crowd of millions was of no avail, until a journey was to be taken up within the depths of the soul, yes it was like jumping into an abyss without any solid end that my apparent insensibility would land me into!
What baffled me even more, not generalizing though, was the question that will this ever tangled materialistic world, spinning in disarray allow the extraordinary ambience to unveil the ordinary mind. Ambiguity grows in a journey without a preset destination that could ravage the very human existence, which is akin to more of a deep sea oblivious of the treasures hidden in its depth.
Self-contemplation, self-introspection, self-realization; perchance are the concepts of high philosophy, not meant for a child who has not even learnt to walk properly, but closing the eyes, just to believe that, what you see is not there is like a trick devised to delude the illusion itself.
Sitting all day long, not being able to focus and yet focus on something that hardly exists, staring at the walls, cramped up in the chair, hearing the tick-tock of the wall clock trying to douse some invisible fire all in vain, transcending the mediocrity of information crippled in the definition of “knowledge” might be of high relevance and aesthetic sense to some, will yet suffice to spark the excruciating pain, making me to scream helplessly but in the language of silence, if only someone would just listen, someone would just help…..I let the seconds slip into minutes and minutes aggregate into hours. With the gradual darkening of the room, at dusk my eyes open to find myself cramped up in the same surroundings, those same books that I left untouched, that concrete sturdy wall, that peculiar sound of the wall clock indicating something that is running out, connecting the bridges of my identity, explored if not today then tomorrow, I let out a wistful sigh!
With the first light the next morning, those same questions haunt my soul, pounding against my mind as I somehow manage to leave for the jobs of the day in my vehicle for a short journey to my work-place, well mindful of the actual long journey that I am in, a tiring yet a refreshing journey in a way.
To the people I confide in, I ask them those questions that perplex my being, even though knowing that none would be able to satiate my wants, no one can quench this thirst of mine which is not known to them. But yes- the only thing they could do was to distract me from the distraction, may be that was the best thing to do or may be that was the only thing left to do! As the day progressed, I searched for my answers on a map devoid of directions and the best answer I found to my question came just before the closing hours, from one person that led to the articulation of this narration, not accurately forced upon the hearts yet in a way imposed upon human minds, not a piece of blasphemy yet challenging some faith yet to be established, to which we all have reconciled with, incorporating it as an integral part of the answer-seeking temperament of humans.
To all my queries that answer puts an end, yes; she bluntly said to me, “Stop thinking so much for a while!”

Hence I reflected upon……….. I, in a half absorbed bent of mind walked to the main library, believing that all the questions would end if only I would stop thinking for a while and start writing in that while and was I not pondering about my identity, thus my question reduced to only one line: WHO AM I?
And as I entered the library, on the reading table I found before my eyes- a blank sheet of paper!

(For someone who has taught me that over thinking at times will kill you and on my own I realized that it might kill us at times but ironically it might be of help to others. ;) )

--SANA SHAH
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sunny786shah@gmail.com

                                                                                                   

The meeting with his director

He walks in the air conditioned, deluxe room of his opulent apartment again, that stands tall in the soaring building in one of the posh areas of the country. Slamming the door behind him, he halts in the centre of the room, his gaze keenly scanning every corner of his plushy bedroom. He nods, as his glance passes over the oak ledges that circle the textured walls of his room; and adorning those ledges are his numerous trophies, medals, accolades and shields that stare at him perpetually, somehow reminding him that he had everything, yet deserved more and more. He habitually feels that inexplicable uneasiness on realizing that he is being contritely stared at by those typical, familiar eyes, which unravel his concealed, voracious plans under illumination of the dimly lit up room, reflecting his gorgeous looks and elite grace, which the world craved for. He murmurs to himself that if he looked so stunning, then why did not his mirror compliment him ever; and are those dim gaze that stare at him, set to shatter his pride tonight and break his heart to a million pieces again, just because he is impelled not to break it. The parallel image, which is so known to the world outside still, was unfamiliar to him. If he waved the right hand, why did this man waved the left hand against his will, if he was alone, was this man in front of him also lonely, deep down in the heart...or wait- Did he have a heart? If he was the hero for the world, was he then a villain for this man? With the brightness of his eyes, will this man perceive a world of grim darkness...or wait- Did he have a vision at all? Through his moist blue eyes, did this man plot to flood the world? When he did not ask any questions to this man at all, then why did the man impose his answers on him, he never wanted to listen at all. At the junction of fates pretence vanishes, so did that mean he lived in pretence, so was this man original? Did he not once encourage him to rule the world or was he trying to cage him in himself? But he did physically exist and this man did not! He had no dilemmas at all, he was at once decisive, so then was this man confused? The world eagerly awaited his arrival and this man in front of him always loved his departure; Then why? Then why did he always return to this man? Perchance this man was innocent, and he was his criminal, yes- he, a criminal, whose crime can never be proved in any court of justice and no court could ever summon him, let alone convicting him. This man had his own laws, own rules to shatter his existence again. How could this man shout at him like this, when he did not utter a single word? How could he allow this man to summon him, when the rest of world yearned for his appointments? How could this man keep him wide awake the entire night, when the guards outside his room kept a watch for his peaceful slumber…peaceful?
No, peace was a word so alien to his soul now. But he had everything for an ideal life, for his utopia! That is what all kept on telling him, then why did peace evade him. He had a huge bank balance; he owned grand estates in almost every continent, his wallet was invariably ballooned with cash and cards, in the garage he was greeted by the stretched line of lavish cars of all types; he felt he had everything and did not wish for more. He had a job fetching him fortunes, but he wanted to retire, he had friends in outlandish taverns to cheer him up, but he had none to console his miserable instincts. He had a small family across the oceans to make him feel cared for yet could not make him feel missed or loved. And may be that is why peace continues to play ‘hide & seek’ with him.
Hence, this man glaring at him, continues to antagonize him, with his sinister smile…Oh, why on earth, did he not talk to him properly, settling the accounts once and for all, what else should he provide him with, he thought. He never liked to quarrel, but this man instigated that demon in him, when he had entitled himself to the faith of humanity.
Was he an envious lover? But this narcissism irked him and not fascinated him. He was confident enough to conquer the world, then why did this attractive man created barriers for him. Did this man envy his success, or did he envy the peace this man had. If he made this man, then why did the man wish to ruin him? With a broken heart, he was already grief-stricken, and now the little that remained will be shattered to shreds soon, by this man who plotted to bury him alive…alive? Everyone said, he lived the life on his own terms, but he never had any terms or conditions…or they fooled him for the ‘business clause’. And enviably this man, unlike him, was free of any conditions, not expected to follow any ‘business clause’; he was not alive and yet he lived like he never could. With the incinerating sensations, did he not feel his pain?
So what should he do, given that his surroundings, the smothering crowd that flocked around him, the limelight thirsty monsters around him and the snobbish soothsayers entering his house freely, will never allow him the chance to satiate the needs of this man standing in front of him; they will never ever allow him to be driven out of the glum whirlpool. Does that imply he is helpless? No, how dare this man pen down such a mutual consensus without his consent; how dare the man reflect, what he did not emit?

No, no, never…no, no, nooo…noooooo!!! And CLANK, then CHINK!!! A light clattering sound filled in the room
Oh- he again allowed this man to be multiplied to infinity, now he shouts at him from every corner of the room, from every direction possible. He contrives to meet his eyes from everywhere; the peace of the man increasing a multifold- he had a heart, now he reflects the heart; stop, he must. He was everywhere, while the man was nowhere and now, he is nowhere, and this man is everywhere! Just when he was about to finish his meeting with this lean man forever, damn! He hears the creaking of the door. He turns around.

“Sir, the director is waiting outside in the foyer, it is time for the meeting, sir”, his stout and meticulous secretary informs. He slightly nods his head and charily moves towards the closet in the room. Heaving out the designer leather jacket from the wardrobe, he then collects the keys and documents lying on the polished teak-wood study table in a corner of the room and starts advancing towards the door. Reluctantly he walks, lost in some deep contemplation, at the same time well mindful, that he will never be able to end the meeting with his director. His secretary holds the door open for him, as he steps out of his room. He pauses for a moment, looking at his wary secretary, “As soon as I leave, ask the management to send in the sweeper to sweep up the scattered shreds of mirror, all over the floor”, he flatly orders his secretary. Giving a brief nod, the secretary slams the door shut behind him, as he sprucely walks away to meet the director.

                                                                                -BY SANA SHAH