After reading the text written on the back of the image, I was shaken. When I saw the date, I lost my senses, as if the ground had slipped beneath my feet. I had to reach somewhere at any cost, but I couldn’t decide whether to go or not. A new job, lack of resources, and my mother’s illness had plunged me into intense turmoil, and there seemed to be no way to reach any conclusion. In an attempt to escape this sorrow, I took out a cigarette, took a deep drag, and tried, unsuccessfully, to find some comfort in watching the thick cloud of smoke dissolve into the air. Tomorrow… And then my anxiety grew. Amazement, disbelief, confusion, and restlessness began to envelop my existence, my being shrinking, transforming into a state of stillness… motionless, rigid, and inert… Suddenly, a thought began to shake my conscience: I have to go, and I must go now, immediately, at this very moment. Upon leaving the airport, I learned that it would take another five hours to reach the desired address. I would have to travel on winding, dilapidated roads and rugged paths. A semi-visible fear, vague curiosity, and a heart-wrenching sadness settled deep inside me. The evening was approaching, and the fiery rays of the setting sun were quickly disappearing behind the green leaves of the trees racing by. By evening, I had reached the desired location. Flipping through the pages of the diary… page after page, trying to tie the threads of a scattered life into a single string…
Who could understand better than me that there is much more than these vague dots, stationary letters, silent words, and tangled lines? I know that you are a solid reality, an illusion too, a mirage, and a delusion. I know that you are a passion, a disturbance, and the beauty of thought, an allegory of the completion of the universe. I have seen the curves and slopes of your body… like the land of a hot afternoon, uneven and rough… a waving, lush meadow, teeming with dew, filled with dreams… Before you, nothing possessed complete existence, neither did I. Everything was thirsty, half-done, and burnt… I confess that I have committed an unforgivable crime. I have wounded your soul; I was swayed in weak moments of emotion… I melted away… I became whole… Why ruin the moments that could have immortalized us in love with fights and quarrels? Why this daily torment? This oath, this vow. Believe something. How many years have passed, do you have any idea? In any case, I regret my actions. Don’t you feel those drops of passivity as dots on the cheeks of letters? The words were silent because of you, not because of me. Your words were not silent; they had turned away from you because you stopped nourishing them with the ink of emotions, so they became weak and rebellious, dry and unyielding… Were my words also silent? You had said that my words carry life, soul, and the beauty of the universe. Then why did they fail to revive you? You had said that my words are a part of me that manifest with complete integrity in your essence, weaving new garments of completion in your delicate senses. Then why do you want to discard this new attire of love? Doesn’t it fit? Doesn’t it suit you? Are you not used to it? You are hell, and you will never be satisfied until God places His left foot…
Yes, I have heard correctly that I am a hell, always thirsty… “Give me more, give me more, give me more…” Waiting for one foot to be placed, but before that, who knows how many feet of horror, exhaustion, and dirt I have to drink. I am hell, from which thousands of hells desire to quench the fire of passion, one of them is yours. I am hell, but how can you understand that I am not born of earth, I am a fairy, self-willed, rebellious, and attractive… My pores are thirsty, parched, and sorrowful… I am a temple dancer… I lived in a state of denial, I must live, and I will live because, in the name of family heritage, this is the only natural right I possess. Who else can understand better than you? Life attaches itself to the tip of a sword, and at any moment, the lancet of the artery may open. I am hell, I could descend into hell at any moment. How could you, earth-born, understand this? I thought I was a nymph from the gardens of paradise, and not every fairy-like soul is destined to shine like a rose among flowers. But you, earth-born, until you accept that this world is hell and this life is its punishment, you will never grow the nourishing, life-giving worms inside you, and you will never be able to live life. These worms start to die, and so do you. You, the earth-born, have been worshipping the idea that life is a worm in the hell of this world, and you are its master. This is all your worth, but I was born of a fairy, stubborn and seeking immediate fulfillment, this was a necessary requirement of my nature, so I remained stubborn. For not a single moment did I consider that this earth-born is only the master of a worm… crippled, frozen, contracted, faded… he has no power over “be and it is.” Who said I wanted to discard the attire of love? It has always been your habit to form definitive opinions based on assumptions. You had said that life has many colors, wait for the one that will be your own, pure… free from impurities, mixtures, and filth… I couldn’t believe it. For peace of mind, I asked again with a tone full of amazement, confusion, and inquiry, “When will that color appear?” You didn’t answer. The phone rang, your wife called; your son was ill, you didn’t have money, you cleaned your purse and left. And I kept waiting for that color…
No, you didn’t wait, you did exactly what you shouldn’t have done. The arguments and philosophies I had used to elevate your mental evolution and aesthetic taste are now being used against me. You too broke your promises, then why only blame me? What was the calamity that befell you? You never thought about me, why not? Don’t worry, where you can walk around and live in this very society among the same people who give you birth and bury you again and again, then what do we matter? You turned me into a figment of imagination, but the comfort is that I died before becoming a complete existence… No accountability, no reckoning… You need courage, not justification, to live life. Courage that only those born of hell can possess. You had said that you are a poet, a creator, a storyteller, sensitive, and that your butterfly of desires had its wings torn and discarded, so you became rebellious. You lie. How can a fairy imprisoned in the wells of self be rebellious? How can a girl, who drinks the painful fragments of desires and unfulfilled yearnings, be a rebel? Has anyone ever called compromises rebellion? You made compromises, at every step, why didn’t you compromise once more? Another peace agreement like Hudaybiyyah. I love you, I want you to live for me, I am selfish. The feeling that you are alive is enough for me to keep living. Without you, life is no life, it’s an unbearable punishment, an endless agony, a vast desert of unfulfilled desires. The time we spent together, like thieves, in some corner of a restaurant, in a smelly room of a rundown hotel, is far better than those countless hours that pass without any meaning, love, or union. This is the life you have chosen, you avoid marriage but are not afraid of death. I regret that despite acquiring good education, comfort, and luxuries, despite wearing the garment of all the niceties of the elite, you still don’t understand the secret that life itself is a complete justification to live in its natural elements. Whether it’s your life or the life of a prostitute…
I wish I were a prostitute, free from the sanctity of honor and family shame, the delicacy of existence would be bearable. But are prostitutes free? You didn’t notice how you uttered that word; all the filth inside you came out. I left the café angrily, and I poured all my misery, exhaustion, fatigue, humiliation, and poverty into that cold coffee mug… I was sure you’d drink it, but you angrily rejected it, flipping everything upside down, and my existence in that cold coffee spilled across the floor. I remembered the moment of union when you went into the bathroom with the water of shame, and I lay there, ashamed, wondering what kind of union ends so comfortably, isn’t that union just a point of contact? I wanted you to stay there on me, letting all the fatigue, pain, and sorrow flow out with every breath. But after your relief, you became a corpse, and so did I. So, what does it mean for a satisfied corpse to lie on a thirsty corpse? But you, the savior, know how to breathe life into corpses, and eventually, I came back to life like a bubble, repeatedly dying. I kept dying, and you kept bringing me to life. This continued until one day you discarded me like chalk, my delicacy became unbearable. You didn’t think for a moment how much I had to endure to meet you, how many lies I had to tell, how many efforts I had to make to hide from everyone. You had said that when we start living in moments, life becomes shorter. You have made me shorter; I live in moments… borrowed moments… now it’s difficult to step outside. I am not afraid of death, but I do avoid suffering.
کہانیوں سے پرے | Beyond the Stories
Tasveer ke pichay likhay gaye matn ko parh kar mein hila hua tha. Jab mein ne tareekh dekhi, toh mujhe laga ke zameen mere neeche se nikal gayi ho. Mujhe har hal mein kahin pohanchna tha, lekin mein faisla nahi kar pa raha tha ke jaana hai ya nahi. Nayi naukri, wasail ki kami aur meri maa ki bimari ne mujhe aise pareshani mein daal diya tha ke koi bhi faisla lena mushkil ho gaya tha. Iss udaasi se bachnay ke liye, mein ne ek sigret nikala, gehra sa drag liya aur koshish ki ke dhund ka mota gubaar dekh kar kuch tasalli mil jaye, lekin nahi. Kal… Aur phir meri pareshani barh gayi. Hairat, nafrat, ghalat fehmi aur bechaini meri rooh ko apni lapet mein le rahi thi, meri wujood ko chokas kar rahi thi, woh ek lamha ruk gaya, muqarrar ho gaya, beharat aur be-jiss ho gaya… Achanak ek khayal ne meri shaor ko hilaa diya: Mujhe jaana hai, aur mujhe abhi jaana hai, is lamhe mein. Airport se nikal kar, mujhe maloom hua ke manzilon tak pohanchne mein aur paanch ghante lagenge. Mujhe halat ke hisaab se raaste par chalna hoga, khundlay aur nuksan ho chuke rasto par. Ek adha andhera, puri tsavvur, aur ek dard bhari udaasi mere andar bas gayi thi. Shaam hone ko thi, aur dhoop ki jalan ne buhat jaldi se jhadiyon ke dariyaan ke peeche apne raaste chhupa liye. Shaam tak, mein manzilon tak pohanch gaya tha. Diari ke safay palat kar… safay ke baad safay… ek zindagi ko manzilo ke taaron mein jod kar usay ek taareh dene ki koshish kar raha tha…
Mujhe kaun samajh sakta tha is se behtar ke yeh kafee, khamoshi, aur musalsal likhey hue lafz, jo be-shumar raaste ke raah dekhte hue kaise intezaar kar sakte hain. Mein jaanta hoon ke tum ek puraani haqeeqat ho, jhooth bhi ho, ek khayaal bhi ho, ek dhoka bhi. Mein jaanta hoon ke tum ek jazbaat ho, ek pareshani ho, aur soch ki khoobsurti ho, ek usool ho jo seher ki tamam unchaayi par jaise. Maine tumhare jism ke dairey, uske modon aur dhaando ko dekha hai… bilkul garmi se bhari shaam mein jaise zameen ka bhi lamba rukh ho, ek lakeer ki ya dhoop ke roshni ne izafat di ho… har na-umar chand haroon ki tarah… Pichlay din jaise, kuch na mila…
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