Sunday 15 September 2013

کانچ کہانی




وہ تجهے تجهہ کو دکهاوے- سنورنے کی آرزو جاگے تو روبرو آوے- تیرے گهر میں گهر کیے ہوئے کب سے تجهے خوب دلکش لاگے- اپنے گهونسلے سے باہر بهی اس کا ذوق دید اکثر ستاوے کہ تو اسے اپنے پاس بهی رکهے تو بس پهر... "جب ذرا گردن جهکائی دیکهہ لی
تیرا ہر آغاز سحر اسے دیدنی سمجهے... کہ دن بهر بذات اس کے تیرے نین نقش تجهہ پہ عیاں ہوویں کہ پهر شام تک لاشعور اپنی ہی اداوں کے سحر میں گرفتار رہے- گویا سرگزشت اس دیوار پر لگے شیشے کی
 مرہون منت ہو جاوے کہ جب تک نہ دیکهے چین نہ آوے


پهر اک روز اک جهگڑے سے واپسی
 پر تیز رفتار گاڑی دہلیز پہ آکر رکی
 تو نے گهر کا دروازہ پٹخا اور کمرے میں داخل ہو کر اسی شیشے کے سامنے کهڑا ہوا- فرط اشتعال میں سگریٹ جلایا- اور دهواں شیشے پر پهونکا... گویا خود پر... ہاتهوں کو میز پر جمایا تو سانس نے مزید رفتار پکڑی- ہر گزرتے لمحے کے ساتهہ چہرہ غصے سے سرخ ہوتا چلا گیا حتی کہ میز پر پڑے گلاس کو اٹها کر پورے زور سے شیشے میں دے مارا- اک چیخ بلند ہوئی اور اگلے ہی لمحے فرش پر شیشے کے چهوٹے چهوٹے ٹکرے بکهرے پڑے تهے- پهر یونہی ہانپتے ہوئے خود کو
جهنجهوڑا اور یوں نیند کے آغوش میں ہو لیا


اب کے جب صبح ہوئی تو فہد پر عجیب کیفیت طاری تهی- اب تک کی ساری کہانی ایک ٹیپ کی طرح اس کے ذہن میں چل رہی تهی- جیسے کوئی انجان آواز ماضی کے صفحے تل رہی ہو- کمرے میں نظر دوڑائی تو ہر طرف کانچ کے بکهرے ہوئے ٹکڑے دکهائی دئیے- ہمیشہ کی طرح آج بهی سنورنے کا خیال آیا لیکن خود کو روبرو نہ پایا- فریم میں اب شیشہ نہ رہا- عکس کی آرزو بےچین راہوں پہ نکل پڑی- فرش پر بکهرے سیکڑوں ٹکڑوں میں سیکڑوں چہرے... اور ہر چہرے کا رخ الگ... جیسے اپنی دنیا میں اپنا ہی قتل کر ڈالا ہو... اپنا ہی وجود جیسے ٹکڑے ٹکڑے ہوا ہو... ہر ٹکڑا اک ادا کی روداد سناوے


ان دنوں جب لوگ نیا گهر بناتے تو صحن سے لگتی دیواروں کی چوٹیوں پر سیمنٹ میں شیشے کے ٹکڑے چنوا دیتے کے کوئی دیوار نہ پهلانگ سکے اور چور ڈکیت سے حفاظت ره جاوے- کانچ جسم پہ پهر جاوے تو زخم گہرا لاگے تو کیوں نہ اپنے ہاتهوں سے توڑے ہوئے شیشے کو گهر کی حفاظت کی نذر کر دیا جاوے؟ فہد نے مزدور سے کہہ کر ان ٹکڑوں کو صحن سے جڑی دیواروں کی چوٹیوں پر چنوادیا... بلکہ یوں کہئیے کہ سجوادیا... کیونکہ خواہش اب حفاظت سے زیادہ نظروں کے سامنے رہنے کی تهی- فہد نے سوچا کہ صحن میں ٹہلا کروں گا تو دیواروں کو دیکهہ کر پرانے دیدنی یار کی یاد تازہ رہ جاوے گی


یہ فہد کا مکان تها جو اسے وراثت میں ملا تها- ایک مکان اور بهی تها جو
اس نے بنایا تها اپنی دنیا کہ بحر رومان کے ایک جزیرے پر... سنبل کے پهول لگائے تهے کہ سنبل کے ہم نام تهے- وہ اپنی شخصیت میں موسیقی کا سا ساز رکهتی تهی جسے سن کر فہد نے یہ خوابوں کی دنیا سجائی تهی- سنبل کے لیے راحتوں کے سمندر میں فہد نے بہت سے طوفان دیکهے- ساحل سمندر پہ بسے شہر سے اس خوابوں بهرے جزیرے تک کا سفر اک عرصئہ دراز پر محیط تها جس کا آغاز کراچی میں پہلی ملاقات سے ہوا- سنبل اپنی ماسٹرز کی ڈگری حاصل کرنے کا بعد اب بینک میں ملازمت کر رہی تهی- فہد بهی آسٹریلیا سے تعلیم حاصل کر کے واپس پاکستان آچکا تها اور کراچی میں اپنے خاندانی کاروبار کو سنبهالے ہوا تها- والدین کے انتقال پر اسے ایک مکان وراثت میں ملا تها جسے وہ اب گهر بنانا چاہتا تها اور یہ بات وہ اکثر سنبل سے کیا کرتا تها- ابتداء میں تو اجنبیت کی آڑ میں ہچکچاہٹ رہی لیکن پهر دهیرے دهیرے گنجلک سلجهنے لگی کہ دل جڑے ایسے جیسے کراچی اور سمندر ساتهہ ساتهہ... کراچی دونوں کے دل کے بہت قریب تها کہ یہاں ان کی کہانی کا اک نیا باب کهلا تها- سمندر سیاہی بنا اور ورق محبت حسین عبارتوں سے سجنے لگا- جلد ہی دونوں کو ایک ہونا تھا


عشق کے ہنرمندوں پہ جاویں تو محبوب کو اک آئینہ پاویں کہ محب کا عکس خود میں سماوے تو محبوب کہلاوے- فہد سنبل کی آنکھوں میں خود کو دیکھتا گویا سرگزشت ان آنکھوں کی مرہون منت ہو جاوے کہ جب تک نہ 
دیکهے چین نہ آوے


وہ جو رسم پیامبری تھی کراچی کی ہواؤں کا خاصا رہی- وہ جو موسم تھا 
بہار کا تها- وہ جو کراچی تها نا، وہ باغ تھا کہ جس کے پهول بوٹوں کو مالی پر بهروسہ تها کہ کاٹے گا بهی تو صرف حسن کے لئیے کہ عاشقوں کے پہرے میں محبتیں جنم لیں گی- وہ جتنی اک دوجے سے محبت کرتے اتنی ہی کراچی سے بهی کرتے تھے غرضیکہ کراچی تکلیف میں ہووے تو فہد اور سنبل کو بھی برابر درد رلاوے


پهر اک حادثاتی شام کو ساحل کی ریت نے یہ منظر بهی دیکھا کہ سنبل کنارے پر فہد کی طرف رخ کئیے کهڑی ہے لیکن فہد کا رخ اس سے پرے ہے- سر غم سے جهکا ہے اور آنسو تو جیسے ساحل پر اک اور سمندر بناویں- اب کے دو سمندر ٹکراویں تو بهنور ایسا بنے کہ کراچی معزوری کی حد تک لڑکهڑاوے پر بیساکهیاں میسر نہ آویں... فہد نے برسوں اس زمین کو اپنا آشیانہ کہا تها- سنبل کی خاطر اپنا تن، من، دهن اس بستی سے منسوب کیا تھا- مگر یہ آوارہ ہوا کا جهونکا تو جیسے سارے سپنے اڑا لے جاوے- چارسو اب امن کا ساز گم سم سا لاگے اور صدائے ناراض گونجے... وہ جس ریت پر ان دونوں کے قدم نقش تهے، وہ ریت بحر رومان کی لہروں کے ساتهہ بہتی دکهائی دیوے- اتنے
میں سنبل نے فہد کے کاندهے پہ اپنا حوصلہ مند ہاتهہ رکها تو ڈهارس بندهی- اب جو دونوں روبرو آئے تو اک دوجے کی آنکهوں میں اپنے نین نقش پهر سے تازہ کیے- پهر دونوں نے رخ کیا سمندر کے اس پار شام کے ڈهلتے سورج کی اوڑ... جیسے بانہوں میں بانہیں ڈالے اک عمر گزاری ہو- ابهی اکٹهے اک آہ بهری تھی کہ بستی کے دشمنوں نے گولیوں سے دو خواب اور چهلنی کردئیے
وہ جو اک دوجے کی زندگی کے سورج تهے، کراچی کے سورج کے ساتهہ یوں غروب ہوئے کہ فریم میں اب شیشہ نہ رہا... عکس کی آرزو بےچین راہوں پہ نکل پڑی

(سید احمد رضا)

Tuesday 23 July 2013

THE PITCHER TALK!

A dreary slum at midnight, like a haunted mire, aired with the croaks of frogs; a few dogs here and there- some asleep, some astray. The mud houses stood like idols of clay, as silent as the depth of some long forgotten well. The stars, as clear as in any part of the world, mesmerized her sense of curiosity. Thanks to there being not much clouds high up there- a clear sky night. She was never sure of the corners a star had- five or eight? May be six…


All in the corner of the courtyard of his congested place, she was sitting beside a pitcher. She decided to have a talk.

“Pitcher O pitcher! What makes thou so important to thee?”

And every now and then, she would admire its flask shaped body and the narrow collar, like the neck of a beautiful hen she once saw in the fields. How gorgeous! Glitters embellished its top half; a plate at the opening. Inside, life gets cool. Tilt it and savour life. Purposeful clay, shaped to quench- fashioned above, blunt below; and an intact product of a potter’s toil.

“… we are the clay and thou art the potter, and we are all the works of thy hand” (Isaiah- 64:8)
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Dangling our feet, we sit on the edge of the wall and talk about sitting on the moon. The wind blows and grows colder; helps to imagine more profoundly. An urge to sigh takes hold of the breath and we breathe.  We recall. We assemble. We rest our weight on both the arms and bow the head down, reflecting. “Thou hath been blind…” we overhear. With a sudden reflex of insecurity, we stand up; sweat. Out of bewilderment, we take out our fragile swords of reason and guard with the false shield of ego. A supernatural clamour rings the seven seas and we plug our fingers into our ears. We defy with all power. And when the image blurs, we kill each other… remains remain.

In a downtown, a car lay parked. The steering-wheel and the wheel beneath were talking. The wheel envied the steering-wheel. It thought it was as round as the latter; still it had to roll all the way through the mud, marsh and dirt of the roads; while the steering-wheel enjoyed the soft and comfortable hands of the driver, had the privilege of determining a vehicle’s direction, with no possibility of being dragged in the face of the streets.

“Why?” the wheel asked.
Meanwhile, the driver arrived and solved the riddle, “Thou hath forgotten to know thy own place’s value, and hath lost the sense of confidence in it. Thou hath to spin on the road because thou were made to do so. None can do it better than thou. Look at the girth, the volume, the strength thou hath been bestowed with. Thou art strong and tough. Know thyself lest the undue envy should kill the soul.” says the driver, with all the mighty brains. And in that just vehicle of tranquillity, I aspire to travel.


I journeyed a desert, sojourned under a date palm; a coconut fell and broke open- what was hidden inside became known. The holy nature talked of her nature. That she always said they could break her heart open and see themselves how much she valued them. She wouldn’t talk it out otherwise.


A canal ran nearby. The pitcher never talked to her back, but she knows the rationale of it, the place of it; she grabs it firmly, picks it up high and puts it on her head, like a queen being crowned.


 “Barefoot through the bazaar, and with the same undulant grace”, she would walk towards the flowing life to fill the pitcher again. Silent clay, meant to quench, finds its admirer. The king and the queen go all the way to complement each other, step by step, soul by soul, faith by faith.


(Syed Ahmad Raza)

Sunday 12 May 2013

The Bye-Bye Wisdom…


Cheers! (Joy)


(All hands held the drinks up high)

 All sitting around the round table gently stroke their beverage glasses with one another’s high up in the middle. What a memorable clicking sound of glasses that was! They were many. The restaurant and the party were lavish. All glittered in the atmosphere; the ecstasy being divine. The gossips, the pats on the back, the cuisine, the glistening neon illuminations and the company… all had the best time ever with one another.
Soft reviving music in the background… For some, it was that music which helped them recall everything about one another. For me, they didn't need any music. The strings of their hearts generated enough of music to fall in love with the moment. That night, their eyes shed waterfalls. And there had to come a moment, at last, when they had to look in one another’s eyes and still stay quiet. From heart to heart, it went then. And it was evident that it will have to go the same way from then onward…


All were happy they didn't have any debt of emotions to pay. All apologies practically offered and granted. They were all about to depart rich and contented. A tearful inner satisfaction existed among them. 

*May you stay blessed and happy wherever you go… Here we separate. Farewell!*


.............................................................................................................…………….

Many years ago, you came to me and advocated the notion of “Living the moment”. You were actually worried about me. You took me to one side and tried to express… that wherever we go in life, we would be connected still. Hey! Who doesn’t want to live the moment? But not everyone is mature enough to do that. Some might live the moment at the cost of ruining the rest of their lives and that of others. So it’s again a general fear… Distance is a wise thing, you see. Trust me. I am just trying to preserve the charm of our inevitable farewell since the very first day. A happy ending note must not be compromised.

I have tried to live most of the moments nevertheless, except the one when you left. I couldn’t live it. It all started the day I asked you to be wise and forget me. And that strength lies in forgetting. You decided to show me your strength and were perhaps way too stronger. At different times of the year, you kept on reminding me that you were very happy you had not been depending on me for quite some time. All was going according to the plan. And I was glad you were becoming wiser… that my role as your crutches was fading away… I had longed for that. By then, I had a new dream- to make sure you could stay blissfully forever without me.

How childish it had been of us as kids! Childhood had been such a fantastic time. We used to think every destination was so simple to reach at. That victory is a piece of cake. Growing up, getting educated, having an ideal job and touring the whole world used to be the hallmarks of my dreams. I never knew some people would become such a crucial part of me that their likes and dislikes would become the way of my life. They would become my destiny. That making them smile would become the criterion of my being successful. See how unpredictable life is! Sometimes crossing a single speed breaker becomes a matter of life and death. The question of reaching the building ahead seems a far cry.


I would persist. I would stick to being masked. I would keep saying “I am fine”. But you would keep on inquiring continuously. I would get irritated, go out in the park and sit on a bench alone. You would follow and sit beside me on the bench after 5 minutes, embrace me and I would make your shoulder wet with all the answers of your queries. I would want to rest my head on your shoulder a bit longer and you would enjoy doing anything to make me comfortable. You would be a friend. After a decade, I might not remember anything but I would always remember weeping on your shoulder…




You trust me too much :’( It gives me fear. I know we won’t be together forever and I regret knowing that in the first place. But the circumstances have compelled me to think practically; hence the mask of not wanting love from anyone. I do it with a caring intention. No offence meant. I would wish to care about you behind your back. You know what; the music doesn't invoke in me what it does in others. I am on a mission to nurture selflessness. For others, the tenure of the music comprises life. But my life starts after the music. At the end of the melody, I would get up, put the bag on my shoulder and walk away silently, not because we broke up or had any misconception but because my job would have been done by then. 

I would leave you in the city and head towards the mountains. After making it to the top of some far off desolated spot, I would settle. And every night, I would come out of my haven, face towards your town, and see your place glowing out among those millions of radiant houses of the city which come in my birds eye view.  I would see the light of your house from far away… till the sun rises again… And utter with deep sighs, “My job is done”… :’)

*May you stay blessed and happy wherever you live… Here we separate. Farewell!*

And life goes on...

Saturday 4 May 2013

I had a dream...


From the lips of a newborn
Which has never been pricked by a thorn
Comes out an innocent wish
A humble longing to cherish
What would keep him intact?
Oblivious of every bitter fact...
He idealizes his existence
With time, he learns persistence.
He thinks he could remain as such
Pure, cute, without an evil touch...
Yes! It's my childhood story
Aspiration to carry the glory
A dream to be milk
Unadulterated, unalloyed, urbane like silk


But now, you have me
Like a cut tree
Like broken pieces of mirror
With shackles around, full of terror
My couch is despair
Now I have grey hair
I couldn't prevent my desire
From wearing a hypocritical attire
O world! Let me scream
For I had a dream
To dream the ideal purity
But now my tears give no surety.


(Syed Ahmad Raza)
(5th position at KELS English Inter-class short story and poem writing competition, 2013)

Tuesday 16 April 2013

Break the EGG!




You might have slept early last night. But I was awake. Awake till it rained heavily. I got off my bed and sat beside the window. The grill could let me wet my face with raindrops. I got closer to the window. I had never liked offering the rain my face so generously more.  And the smile! Due to some abstract reasons…

Every drop revitalized regret.



I had missed so much like that before. I never meant it. It just always happened. I had resolved lately not to exert. So I didn’t. I always waited; waited for it to come out naturally, but nothing to date.
I have tried to treasure you so many times before. But I wasn’t always successful. You sometimes were just too beloved.



I remember that walk of mine alone when I walked so long; waiting for you to alight within. Hoping! But you were just too natural for this artificial effort. This God-damn fit that I have to go fetch from somewhere. I don’t like fetching it. I am tired. It all isn’t working at all. I give up. Ok? Giving up gives me hope; so just let me!

All that one week of spring vacation lapsed in wait. I wanted something at least, a clue may be.  I deserve that at least, don’t I? I was waiting for it to come and say “That entire wait was worth it”. But… but… sighs… I don’t know.

My friends do affect me. Their worries do too. It’s not their fault. They are all very nice.

3:00 am in the morning… Raining heavier… Thunders, this time...
Do you really don’t want to come?


You got me concerned when you whispered in my ears “You are ignoring me nowadays”. And I never wanted you to say such a thing. Nevertheless, I am sorry.

And you! That night when I texted you about the “tongue wali simile” being better than the simple “Happy simile”, I meant that. You see, tongues can be fair pause-fillers as well as masks. (Yeah! I thought this nonsense lately :P ) Typical smiles break hearts. Sooner or later, they do. Tongue wali similes beleaguer you less. They help you get over the possibility of expressing anything through a smile. </3

:’(


I saw someone practicing it. All I could feel was “:’(” behind the tongue. And hence my fondness of your notion about walking kills me, because I too walk to beat the depression…



Sometimes the walking reminds me of that memorable incident when I and my friend were wandering in Anarkali and got to come across a narrow street that led to a 14 acre (I hope I am not exaggerating :P) antique “Dehli Muslim Hotel” amid the heart of that bazaar. The owner, Abdullah Shah, of that place was luckily there. His house was situated in the centre of that vast territory. He let us in as soon as he realized we were Ravians. Well, some heart touching life time discussions did take place there with a kind of special protocol. He was a very nice man. What I never forget about him is his unique piece of advice. We were expecting some traditional words of wisdom from an above 70 years old like asking us to speak the truth always, or respect the elders, etc. etc. But do you know what he uttered? He said, “Bacho! Jab bhi zindagi men kisi apney ke dil men koi ghalat fehmi peda ho jay to sub kaam chor kar sub se pehley sari ghalat fehmian door karo, sub se pehley ghalat fehmian door karo apas men. Go clear it. Make sure no misinterpretation or misconception remains between you and your beloveds.” Today, I still wonder what clicked that old guy’s mind to have stressed so much on such a thing.

And not so long ago did I realize the gravity of that unpredictable truth, whose predisposition dwelled in me since long. Why not remove the room for any misconception? But actually I never found someone worth it. And when I felt I did, the fear of losing him overwhelmed my sense of expression. This fear of my being ever alone again compels me to wear the mask of reservation, that I might not cause disruption. But I always try to uphold a caring demeanor as a sweet precaution from letting you down. And that night when you said to me “You always say you understand but you actually don’t!” I couldn’t sleep well.  Although I am sure you didn’t mean it but still it sounded bitterly true :’(



Every drop revitalized regret…

But hey! Listen. You aren’t my friend because you are pretty; you are pretty because you are my friend. The way you make me vow about things like burying your first letter along with you in your grave when you die, making a composition out of those special moments we spent together standing in the balcony on a rainy night and enjoying the splashes down there, praying you die before me, pledging that I won’t ever share anything with such a passion with anyone else, imagining that bridge over the lake with you and I crossing it together with a big moon in the background… You see, I feel important and honoured. And that’s the best feeling you can give to someone as a gift even when it’s not a birthday. When you inspire that life is too short to be wise, I can relate to it. But then, this stupid heartrending end when, one day, you think I know you too much and you can’t hold that anymore, that out of a blue it makes you feel uncomfortable when I make you feel you are depending on me, you leave. Ok fine J At least let me escort you to the gate and see you off; see in your eyes last time probably. Because what lips can’t say, eyes do. But when you won’t be in my sight afterwards, hearts would do. May be we would see the same star some night… with you in your own world and I, in my own. We communicate through heavens.


It’s too suffocating in there. I need to be broken, broken into halves. On the edge of the bowl, strike me gently. Don’t smash me, just a tick sound. And let me out in the dish. Whip me with a spoon and cook me in the pan. Make an omelette or a half-fry of me and present me to your beloved.


Peace.