Reflections...."I AM"

 

Sometimes I feel empty. Unable to respond to anyone’s needs and meet any expectations. These are times when I feel completely defeated. Like I have been fighting battles with consequences that didn’t even matter. I look around seeking familiarity, but know that it wouldn’t make much of a difference. I feel I’ve been rescuing myself so long, it has become more about survival than living.

I was one, then became two and finally diverged into many. Bits and pieces scattered with no control. Invested in unsaid promises and expectedly moving on. The journey appearing meaningful one minute and completely unnecessary next.

And so, with time and age, I have learned to separate. Be a part, yet own self. It is not easy, but it has helped. Helped to understand that in the end, it will all revert to I. And so, to keep it all together, to make it meaningful, to keep it real, but most of all to live, it is important to keep oneself alive.

Losing self will never fill a void and survival isn’t happiness.

Stubborn Bruises And Frightened Scars

I walked to the elevator consumed in my own world of thoughts. The price of everything had gone up and this grocery seemed a little more expensive than usual. I held onto the bread and eggs for the morning breakfast waiting for the elevator with two men awaiting the slow carrier impatiently.

Just as the elevator opened three young boys in their early teens appeared from nowhere and cut my way to rush into the lift. I looked at them with a little annoyance but they completely ignored my dislike for their act. The door to the elevator closed and we started our flight upwards. Their faces looked bruised for some time now with marks to show. The tallest boy flickered his lashes a little too often and clearly was a little slow with his reactions. He seemed quite evidently a child with special needs though the intensity of his problem didn’t appear too acute.

As I watched them, it was disturbing to see the two dark complexioned boys bully the more vulnerable third party by slapping his face every two seconds. He could not defend himself well and did not react to their aggressive behaviour. They laughed at his discomfort and were completely careless of our presence in the small space with them.

I waited for a few seconds to see if the men in the elevator would react but to my surprise they stood watching the hurtful game. And just as the rowdy one slapped the victim harshly, I burst out with anger, “Stop It! What are doing?” He looked at me while the companion just kept on laughing like a foolish follower. “He is my friend,” and he slapped him again. There was more laughter. 

The elevator stopped at the 15^th floor and the two gentlemen got off escaping the unjust scenario. As soon as the doors closed, I rushed to stand next to the tall boy who slipped a little behind me to feel the shelter provided. They pulled him back, slapping again and speaking in their own language ridiculing his sissy behaviour. I could make out from their familiar words of “Ummi” as “mom”. They caught my eye every now and then and slapped him. They were harassing him when the elevator reached my floor. I held the doors afraid to let them go. I asked the boy, “Which floor is your home?” He started to join in the laughter of his friends and ignored my question. The doors closed and I heard slapping and rowdy shouting.

I entered my home quite disturbed. I should have stayed inside. I should have dropped him to his home and informed his parents about it. Now I don’t know where he lives and whether it’s happening often. How could a child with special needs be left in such company? How could he travel the elevator alone with no help? I myself had felt like whacking the two boys slapping him continuously for their mere amusement. They wanted to show off their strength though they were much shorter than him. And knew of his inability to react.

The next day as I went down to pursue my evening walk, I found all three boys standing and playing outside the grocery store. The tall boy followed the other two around who were much more civilized that day and engrossed in some digital game. Later on, I noticed them often together, smoking at the stairs to the building or running wildly hitting each other mercilessly. The most aggressive of the three seemed to have absorbed my attention to their actions and often went an extra mile to present himself as a determined dare-devil.

And then one day, late at night, I opened my refrigerator to discover that we were out of milk. It was important to arrange that for the morning breakfast. I picked up to call the grocery to deliver it but could not get through. Therefore, I decided to get it myself. I was lucky to find the little store still open and as I strolled to the elevator, I saw a group of people waiting and amongst them all, the short bully with his back to me. He didn’t see me and as we all entered the small lift, I was huddled in a corner with him. He saw me as the doors closed and I could immediately sense his discomfort. He was alone today with no one to break the silence and shout and laugh off the biting conscience.

I stared at his face as he stared in the air sensing my eyes. His face carried many harsh marks and bruises. His body was lean and strong and he kept on fidgeting with the plastic bag that carried some fizzy drinks. He had a white bandage covering his right hand. I found my chance and asked him loudly, “What happened to your hand?” He was struck with panic. He looked at the people around him who expected some form of conversation to follow. His breathing became audible and he kept on looking in the air without giving any answer. I asked again, “Does it pain you?” His eyes were abnormally wide open and the people around could not make out the reasons for my interest and his discomfort. “Did you go to a doctor?” Silence followed but this time he caught my eye and I gave him a smile. His ego was quite high but still he could not help smile at the situation that I was cashing upon. He was surely an intelligent child who understood my plan of action. The elevator stopped and he practically jumped out with a smile hidden at the corner of his eyes, glimpsing back to see if I was looking at him, which I was with a little friendly grin!

I realized in that moment that he was probably still approachable and maybe somewhere I had registered myself with him as someone who had the ability to also look at his bruises and scarred face. He did not want to appear weak or helpless and alone that’s probably how he always felt.

Now every time I cross these lot of boys, they jump to their feet to begin their crazy act to annoy me, but find it strange to find the leader of the pack just simply look the other way. 

I’m sure the bullying has not stopped yet and probably will continue to do so for a while, but I was happy to find some hope in the form of compassion and acknowledgement, the very tools that I believe have the power to reach beyond the stubborn bruises and the frightened scars.

The Fear Of Flight

The Fear of Flight

There was a time we used to crib about being put to bed early while our older cousins enjoyed watching the much talked about horror movies. There was a compulsion to complete our meal dishes even though we were stuffed. The necessity to call and inform of delays when visiting friends was an expected call of action. Even choice of programmes on TV was limited to age.

Of course, there was food on the table when we got off the school bus. The clothes had been hanged in the closets after being ironed. The evening snacks were happily prepared for us to enjoy and there was always the option to order food in. The afternoon nap was a religious act and in case of a miss, the evening tantrums were quite acceptable.

As we grew older, the attraction to become independent started to cling onto us. It felt great designing our own clothes, buying our favourite shoe or rearranging our own rooms. We fought with our parents to get the new hairstyle no matter how ridiculous it appeared in reality. It was a task to leave the joyous activity of recording songs and get to the lunch table, despite mum’s infinite reminders.

And even though we had sort of studied at the last minute for the exams, the report card never became a friend! And that entire bus trip that would be leading us to our fate with dad was as memorable as the stares that cornered the conscience every bit! And so we would rise to meet the challenges of the time. The spirit to prove our abilities had us replace the tape recorder with books for about a week! Up till the time A-Ha’s new album was released and the books became quite naturally too over-powering and needed to be taken a break from.

The alarms were set for an early rising to witness the March Past on 14^th August and the super thrilling ride to buy the small jhundiyaan and Pakistan Flag to hoist on the house roof. The PTV news anthem that declared a state of shut-up in the house with absolutely no space for even inquiring about the black Kiwi polish to prepare the shoes for school the next day!

All barbeques were compulsory to attend and the live music was an effort that was expected of us as a cost free contribution. The organ was connected to the speakers and the tunes were played and sung at first with less interest and conviction till gradually grasping the right note became a matter of conflict and serious involvement!

And then there were the long drives! The gossip on the landline would be disconnected by a call from dad to get in the car! The music was mutually acceptable but carried many old classics from Lata and Kishore. We sat at the corner seats staring at the open sky with few thoughts but beautiful faces and places. The car moved very slowly on a long curvy road and there was often no conversation. It was a time to connect with oneself and for some a time to reflect on the recent chaos.

The real joy came when dad would be in his jolly mood and we would demand our pocket money! There were always chances to extract a few more bills as he would be mostly quite gracious at such times. A sibling would poke on the shoulder suggesting the need to grab the moment and demand for an outing to enjoy a sumptuous Chinese or a spicy Tikka as well! The results were often a 100% and it felt like a complete day!

A surprise Eid-ul-Fitr was always more joyous! We would anyways be up and enjoying the late night programmes and food! Mum would sprint to the kitchen and the preparations would begin immediately for the early visitors after the Eid Prayers. We would often hear phone calls being attended by mum or dad wishing friends on the happy occasion. The haleem and sheer korma would be tasted by us and we would eventually gather in the living room to listen to some happy tracks along the pleasant activities around. The alarm would be set again, this time to click pictures of the men in the house clad in Shalwar Kameez and going off to prayers. It was always a relief to jump back into bed once they had left to doze off for another two hours!

These are priceless memories that daunt on our thoughts heavily once we are ready to leave the nest. The nest that protected us, spoiled us and forgave us unconditionally for our imperfections. 

There is fear of losing the person that we are and fright of not being able to take off despite our special powers! The risk involved scares our pilot within with the fear of losing a limb in the process. There is not only the anxiety of leaving familiar surroundings but also dimensions that would change with the flight. The nest might never appear the same again.

Yet, we soar to the sky, leaving our fears behind.

We follow this almost as a natural instinct to learn, grow and contribute. “Indeed the world is a book and those who do not travel read only a page!”

The Only Fear Is To Not Exist

The doors kept on opening and each one was connected to the other. I hurried through until the sweat trickled down my brow and I stood close to what sensed as the last one. The heart dreaded opening that door. The mind worked relentlessly indicating bad news. And then suddenly, with a jerk, I woke up with a shudder in the air.

I am a dreamer. I sleep less and travel the endless avenues of my brain more where all my thoughts reside. Once a palmist told me, “You use the brain as a video player. It will exhaust your energies. Switch off when you close your eyes!”

Dreams often reflect the events of the days gone by or anticipated occasions that are yet to arrive. The positivity or negative impact depends much upon our disposition. This is what experts say when you try to interpret your thoughts. I don’t rely much upon their literal matter but always try to extract the emotion attached to be able to analyse the working of my own sound box.

Dreams that have left an impact on my senses have always been connected to the emotion of fear and anxiety. The dread of the unknown, of being wrong or the inability to understand the relevance of what matters most.

Fear can almost suffocate you with its dark shadow if you let it grow and prosper in your heart and mind. It has the power to cripple your strengths and abandon your reasoning space. It is fear that stops you from taking a chance or living your dreams. You watch other people moving ahead in life and wonder what gives them that courage to do so. They share stories of courage with you and leave a strong impression. Little do you realise that they make a conscious decision to keep their fears to themselves.

It’s important to point out here that we don’t always have to believe what we think. The mind can play many games with our vulnerable existence. It can instigate us with lies when our hearts are lonely, trigger our imagination when there is no light and build upon nothing when the heart is racing to find a cause. It is at such times that we tend to engage ourselves with unwanted and ugly situations. We argue on trivial matters in a manner that they become the determining factors to our relationships. Therefore, the key to change is to let go of your fears.

There is a famous quote, “Replace fear of the unknown with curiosity”. If we are able to sustain our fears through investigation and the determination to find out, we definitely hold a better chance to conquer the mystery of the unknown. 

I squeeze my palms each time I enter a bank with absolutely no knowledge of which counter to deposit the cheque to or simply extract some money. I stand like a frozen statue completely drained with the fear to make a fool out of myself. I just can’t seem to warm up to the formalities of its environment. And whenever I have been pushed into the situation, I have had to go through the entire episode with a singular expression of fright.

Therefore, everything in life needs to be understood and not feared. The shame of failure, the revenge in rejection and the disappointment in self are all negative energies that we need to disconnect with in order to move forward. It is indeed sad that we allow our fears to intercept our joys and burden our future with many apologies and regrets. Things we could have done, thoughts we could have shared, relationships we could have built!

Expectations also play a primal role in glorifying the fear factor. We stretch ourselves in the desire to please the ones that we love in order to gain their acceptance. People fear failing fitting into the moulds created for each other. So, who is it that you fear really? Is it the person that you are or the person that you aren’t? The only way to discover the truth would be to break the mould and free yourself from this prison. Be the person that you are without an apology or an expectation to please all with your existence.

Everything that we fear will end in the face of death. What shall remain is what matters. Therefore, have the courage to realize your dreams. Open every door that comes your way knowing that it connects to another to lead you to the truth, however frightening that might be! Don’t waste your time standing at the door, anticipating bad news and losing every opportunity to find out what might have been. 

The only thing to fear is to not exist.

Asking For The Moon

As a child I remember sitting and watching my parents playing scrabble. The winner didn’t matter much to me, but the loser always seemed to awaken my loyalty and faith. The similar situation would arise in the game of carom. The friendly teasing somehow always built up my courage to side with the defender or evident loser. I knew that my vote did not have the power to turn tables but would at least prove comforting and create an air of solidarity in loss.

In school and college, I would hold faith in the most utterly hopeless situations and believed that if I could envision a victory, despite all odds, there was a possibility that it could come through. The Cricket World Cup Semi-Final in 1992 and many such tournaments where the verdict was almost in, the heart kept on believing in the inevitable to happen. The Miandad sixer at the Sharjah Stadium had all of us in frenzy for a really long time. The true believers were always in a minority whilst the majority were always run by facts and figures and what the score board read.

The same pattern of thought continued when I started teaching. Of all the children in my class, the one with a lack of faith, poor self-esteem or a turbulent childhood always came to become my area of focus and attention. It was a challenge to bring about some change in the relatively accepted situation. I found it hard to accept facts and set arguments on the reality of the situation. It was a gruelling process to encounter some truths and make others aware of certain possibilities.

Today, when I am driving the car with my husband and sons, there is typical teasing about women and their driving skills! And even though I understand their unintentional mocking, it’s infuriating to be a target or a joke. That’s when I really miss having a daughter to stand up to their nonsensical logic with me.

About two years ago, my children were watching a cricket match between Australia and Pakistan. We were in Lahore and the room was filled with adults and children. My younger son was just 5. He stood up and said, “I hope Australia wins!” My dear child did not realize that sitting in Pakistan and hoping for the Australians to win would instigate the entire room! The children started with their cruel comments, “You are from Pakistan or Australia?”, “Pakistan will destroy your team!” His grandfather asked him, “Why do you want Australia to win?” He answered very calmly, “Because they have better players!” I was informed by my father-in-law that he had stood up to his statement and had fought all the people in the room challenging their faith with logic and reason. Australia won the match and while everyone sat down to blame the Pakistani players for their poor performance, he enjoyed the victory that according to him was well deserved!

People are run by their loyalties and beliefs. Some are inherited while some come through interaction with life. The fiercely emotional, fight for them and some desire to spread them beyond their horizons. They are shaken when met with a conflicting view. They then resort to numbers. A majority wins them the battle, but in case of being a minority, it corners them to either join the bigger number or stop propagating their views. My doubts have always emerged from the understanding that my thoughts or beliefs are only limited to my horizon or exposure to life. Does that mean that there is no other belief or life beyond my familiar surroundings? Does that give me the right to reject or ridicule any differences I might encounter? Faith, views and beliefs need space and accommodation.

The most difficult task in all of the above situations is really being a ‘minority’. When everybody is rejoicing in the name of the apparent winner, the most familiar name or the most convenient path to follow, you stand up to speak your mind. There is immediate reaction which ridicules your blind faith, idealistic mind and foolish heart.

In every generation, we have a teacher who speaks of wisdom that comes through following the truth. The truth hear by is met with the forces of good and evil who divide the human race into majority and minority. As much as I would like to believe the truth to lie in a majority, it might not be the desired answer to my question. Many times, a minority of thought may hold the answers to the much sought after solutions to our existence.

Today, we see activists fighting for the rights of minorities around the globe. Racial and ethnic, gender, age and religious discrimination is common. We watch the news and wonder how these small numbers are going to be able to bring about a change. 

I, for one, always cast my vote with the task labelled as “unachievable”. Even if my oath does not hold the power to turn tables, I would like to raise my voice in solidarity with those, “Asking for the moon!”

Acknowledging our Shortcomings

There are two distinct memories of my school life that opened my eyes to the presence of a strong conscience within as well as what achievements can come through with voicing positive expectations.

The first recall dates back to the year 1980 in Lahore. I was then in Year 3. I remember our home had a big garden with lots of red and yellow roses. Living in the same neighbourhood was a friend of mine who also happened to be my classmate. Our friendship in school was unknown till we started to spend time at each other’s house over weekends. She was quite soft spoken and was a pampered child at home.

Slowly our friendship extended to the classroom and we were often together during the recess. I was quite challenging when it came to carrying lunch from home. Often, I disliked eating in school and carried my lunch back much to the disappointment of my mother who happened to make a lot of effort to pack my lunch.

One day, I was sitting in the playground with my friend and she opened up her meal pack. It contained a yummy kebab sandwich which appeared enormously attractive for its aroma. I asked her if I could have a bite and she agreed to make a complete swap for my omelette. We really seemed to enjoy each other’s meals and the day was a happy one. I came home with an empty lunch box which won me special applause by my mum. Her broad smile made me come to the decision of keeping the secret.

And so, every day, we exchanged our lunch packs and she carried that delicious kebab sandwich for me while I would share my biscuits, omelette or fries with her. For a few days, the change felt good. But soon, I started to feel her disagreement over the swap. Now when you are 8, you want what you want! So, despite her unwilling exchange, I had started to enjoy the sandwich as my basic right. I questioned her about it, if she would bring an apple instead! The friendship was becoming a little sour and deep down, I knew it was going to end suddenly.

There was a special awards ceremony that happened at the end of the year and all students who would score a 100% mark, were awarded a certificate of recognition in that subject or area. We were waiting for our teacher to announce the names, and when she nominated my name for ‘Science’, I could not wait to rush home and let my parents know. But the greater thrill was to carry that paper of excellence and get it signed by the Principal herself. It was a rare occasion to visit her office and when it was for such a grand moment, the feel was just incredible.

I carried my paper with such pride and climbed the stairs to her office which was on the first floor of the building. I turned to the door which was open. My eyes fell upon the familiar face of a mother. She was not happy and happened to be complaining about her daughter being harassed about her lunch. I froze and guilt marked my face. They both turned towards me at the same time. I couldn’t open my mouth and stood there like a statue.

“Come in my dear,” the Principal said softly. She happened to feel my embarrassment and asked the mother to give her a minute. “What do you have in your hand?” she asked me politely. I entered her office a little unsure and without saying a word, handed her my Science paper. She looked at it and said, “Well done! Leave it with me and I’ll sign it later. Thank you.” I was glad the conversation was short. I practically escaped the crime scene feeling every bit the criminal. There was still a half day to complete before going home. Would the Principal call my mum and complain? What will I say to my ma for telling such lies? And how bad will she feel about my dislike for the lunch she gave me every day. I could have just asked her for a kebab sandwich instead of the omelette. 

The lessons went on but these questions crowded my mind. The bell rang for home time and we travelled in a line to the gate.

Normally, teachers would be on duty to monitor the chaos. But as I wandered towards the gate, I saw the Principal standing right at the corner of the bend bidding all students farewell. I knew she would call me and scold me about my bossiness. My face flushed with anxiousness as I approached her. Every student was enjoying her unexpected presence on the field and greeted her with smiles. The dreaded moment arrived and I came face to face with her. She looked at me and smiled. “Good afternoon Ms. X”, the words shivered through my mouth. She nodded and gave me a look that completely shook my conscience. Clearly, she had not expected a 100% scorer to be a bully. My inner voice condemned my actions over the past few days and it was too heavy a price to pay for just a kebab sandwich I thought to myself. 

She never made any calls home and the matter vanished in the air from the very next day. I changed my recess pals and decided to control my bossy behaviour. Every child has a burning conscience that can easily be moulded with just a meaningful look without using much words.

To think that temptation would allude me after that was indeed a false thought. I was 16 and my mid-term exams were close. At that point of time, I was the centre of attraction with my friends who claimed that I was very funny and my popularity had elated me to a whole new level.

It was an Islamic Studies paper and my preparation was quite poor. I had been busy writing poems and making a slam book! And so, my confidence was shattered when the paper was placed in front of me with many questions that I just couldn’t follow. I looked around and found everybody scribbling answers running against time. I stared at the questions and slowly a desperation started to creep in. I turned to look at my friend who inquired through her eyes, “Why aren’t you writing?” I gave her a blank look that made her understand my status on the exam. She looked at me and motioned to exchange the question paper. I felt panicked. Would that be possible? I looked at the teachers who sat at the front of the room busy in a hushed conversation.

I wrote on my paper, “Just give me the answer for Q2 and 3.” I thought it would be less criminal to carry just the intention to pass the exam. She wrote the answers on her question paper and just when we thought it was possible, we held our papers out to each other. The interaction created a little noise and the Islamic teacher looked at us.

My world came crashing down. The teacher approached me. “Give me the paper.” I handed her the question paper with the answers written on it. My face was as red as a tomato. Tears were running like a stream and I couldn’t raise my head. She just stood next to me gazing at me a little shocked. “ I never expected this from you Shama!” 

The words slit open my heart and I began sobbing. It felt horrible to fail their expectations. I had never indulged in any negative activities before and my teachers held a good opinion about me. I had ruined that viewpoint. I happened to have a special corner in her heart and she asked me, “Did you not prepare for the exam?” I nodded unable to speak. She looked at my friend with accusing eyes that put her to shame as well. “I was just helping her because she said she found the paper hard.” Our papers were cancelled and we had to meet the humiliation of being caught cheating. My conscience led me to apologize to the teachers who placed an arm around me and said, “We all make mistakes. It should just never happen again.”

I made up my mind that day. I would rather fail, then ever adhere to an immoral or unlawful act. And I stuck to that principle while attempting my Economics Exam many years later! What is failure in an exam? It is simply being ‘unable’ to succeed the first time.

Both these experiences made me realize my shortcomings. My inclination to give in to temptation. But I’m glad to have faced these ordeals as they also opened my eyes to the positive perceptions that others held for me. It was good to learn about my weaknesses as they helped me identify with my strengths with a much greater force and acknowledgement.

Children make mistakes all the time. But their inner voice is always active and living. As adults, we can really turn that mistake into an opportunity to voice our positive expectations and help them realize their ability to make wiser and intelligent decisions.