Sequel

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I am a lucky one. Now people curious as to why I am calling myself the lucky one may need to read “First Rain” to comprehend the matter.

The one who has created me and these clouds – them even carrying so much water, do not come falling down with the weight – made me come, sit on my chair and ordered them to open the taps just then.

You may wonder, how do I know it is the second rain. The muddy tracks my shoes left on the white tiled floor yesterday, mud deposits here and there, the mud relaxing after the yesterday’s hustle and travel with rain-water. Like the floor has not seen the face of water in days. It is the testimony of my belief.

I had come attracted by the billowing curtain and sat on my favourite spot, some smallest thing came flying in my peripheral vision. My left eye captured the movement and tried to ascertain its reality. A drop fell on my arm and other, got absorbed in my shirt. My brain uttered with joy, well it is raining again!

I got up to move inside but came back again. Determined to sit what come may while a sparrow twitters on the rooftop grill, and an ant is doing a reverse gear as a drop fell on it. To and fro, break-dancing, to dodge the falling rain-drops.

The sparrow seems like twittering its joy and announcing it to her tribe or asking them to find a dry place; maybe both. It is strange to think of this sound as beautiful. Noise in the past but now, a soothing twitter. How does our brain work: same thing but different conclusion!

My eyes fell on the same plant occupying an honourable space in my garden- the green leaves harbouring tiny bite marks. These Twittering creatures made a meal out of it, pruning them to their will. They have redesigned the shapes of green leaves with their beaks. We have a sharing relationship without knowing each other.

But look, what I planned and what the Creator planned. Out of dense Clouds, peaking is the sun. Opening the window a bit. A yellow sphere within blackish white sky. Ideal skyscape to an inherent painter. Laughing at me with bright yellow teeth. Adding a pinch of sunlight to the scene.

Good for the ant. Maybe, this time her prayer got answered. I am running towards shade to avoid the pinch. Resilience comes naturally to us homo sapiens. I cannot enjoy the rain but balmy air is still here. Determination is my forte, may the weather be sunny, stormy or in-between.

Sun has won the battle with clouds and declared the victory with full force. As I am contemplating my ruined plan. The newsfeed flashed; twenty homes disappeared in the watery grave due to cloudburst.

© 2021 ASNworks. ASN. All rights reserved.

First Rain

First rain-original sound

So, monsoon with “mitti ki soondhi khushbu” and accompanying relief from the blazing summer sun is here. At last! Masha’Allah.

Today, our day started with rainy clouds and the blessed sound of rain. What a morning! Who else knows, how does it feel to sit under the vast blue sky turned dark with the impending rain and, to be the lucky one who gets to enjoy the first drops of this blessing!

The sight to the eyes and feel to the senses is so profound… delicious. Like I am drinking the rain. Falling drops on the ground and seeing them, drawing circles within circles; some small and others bigger, is quite a therapy.

Mind is filled to the brim with the sound of rain. There is no other thought to be found. Except the brain is reading and recording the event; green of the plants looks greener, wet leaves, wet branches, bubbles on the ground- floating, apparent drops on leaves-a testimony of the relief to the parched throats and nerves, drops stuck within tiny compartments of net belonging to the iron door- slipping downwards taking their time till they slither to the ground and meet fallen drops, moving curtain-not shy to enjoy the rhythm of fresh and cool air, one slipper courting muddy water, tea-cup post tea enjoyment from the previous night left on plastic table-now carrying rain-water, my now wet chair sitting under the open sky-crystals stuck to arms and each one reflecting the same scenery, clay pots exhibiting a soothing darker orange brown colour, neighbor’s coming outside in a hurry to witness the first rain awoken from a deep slumber-not a morning person in daily life and me.

Me, inhaling the scene. This rain is my prayer answered. A soul cleanser.

It is the time to pray. For Muslims, it is an opportunity to pray, traditionally. The prayer is said to be answered. But anybody can pray.

For some people, rain is a moment of depression. But it is about choices, my epiphany. The time can be whatever we opt it to be; depression or relief. This is for those who are privileged enough to have choices. Who choose to be ungrateful for blessings, they have.

Rain is a difficult time for a fraction of society. Heat is a complication too. These are the people who have the bulk of reasons to complaint. Homeless and in pain. Some with dripping roofs. Some without even a resting mat. But I have found them with smiling lips, laughing faces, kinder words, gentle orientation, lively disposition, and humble carriage.

Maybe problem is not the real problem but our impatience and ungratefulness. Or our input to the world is flawed. The psyche. There are issues we need to resolve within our basic frame. To live, not just bear the life.

The rain stopped and, has started again. A new beginning!

© copyright 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.

Tough talk

You know, time is precious. In terms of business people talking, time is money. For me, time is learning. We all have heard the phrase, “sands of time”.

There are two most precious things in this world, in my humble but confident opinion; time and Innocence. Of course there are others. Well, innocence is the matter we will have a discourse on some other day.

Today, I find the time to be on my agenda. Now, there are serial time wasters because they can do it. Well their time, their will. And, there are those who have anxiety and depression issues.

The point; I have seen people sitting there in depression, crying over their ruined life and just crying. And, all time spending on their chosen social media medium, just scrolling and scrolling.

Seeing other people’s lives and discussing, what that celebrity is doing or simply going over random videos. Laughing, good.

But lounging all day and laughing… getting even more depressed.

“Look, how happy they are…sigh”

“Look, how successful they are…sigh”

“Look, my life is ruined…”

Watching some more videos and wasting precious time SOME MORE!

Level of depression is higher…

Sighing continues…

The day is gone.

Then, the night comes with its sweet tang of sleep…but the scrolling is consistent.

Sighing continues…

The night is gone.

The morning star shines, and scrolling is over.

It’s time to SLEEP!

I met a CKD patient who has hydronephrosis. The day her condition got diagnosed, she became even more determined to live each day as it comes and enjoy her remaining time on this earth.

She knows, the death is coming…She is dying a bit, slowly and painfully, every day. But she is determined to not get depressed.

If we look around, there are many such examples.

Do something for yourself… wasting time and illegal means, are a perfect way to destroy oneself.

Diamond cuts diamond but doing more depressing things does not cure depression.

When you have nothing else to do, do good. Do something good for others. Be useful. Helpful.

Spend time with yourself. Some time that is just yours. Anyway you like that is not injurious to you. Cut the world off. It cures depression.

Yes, entertainment is extremely important. But it is just a part of life, not life itself. Other people can just console you, they cannot live your life for you. You have to do it!

I feel like an old aunt writing this but what else to do, watching the misery of people.

Influence should be helpful, neither painful nor destructive.

Choose your influence. Carefully.

Stop doing what is wrong and keep the good in your person.

It is okay…it will be okay.

Breathe in, breathe out…

Smile more…laugh some more.

I am doing it. You should try to try too.

Saying is easy but practicing is difficult. Yes, I know. But I am trying to practice it. I have my own story. My own trials. Nobody can help me if I do not help myself.

Now I understand the saying we all learnt in our childhood…

“God helps those, who help themselves.”

So, I do not look at the things those are not any concern of mine or a cause of depression. I know myself. Just block them! If you think, I am a bad influencer…

Block me!!!

Sometimes, We cannot run anywhere. Just stuck in a situation. Until the freedom is attained, channel your thoughts, train your mind to ignore the bad and pick up the good. Survive!

I know, starting over is difficult. Sometimes depression is so severe that all a person sees is blankness, painfully empty mind…’what do I do, How do I start over, Why I am alive, I am worthless, should I die, I should die’.

No, you should live. You deserve to live!

Live and utilise the time to get better.

© copyright 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.

In the name of love

Prologue:

Heer was sitting on a bedstead set at the roof. It was a clear night and moonlight was illuminating everything; the mountains, the trees, wrinkles of her face, the straight unsmiling lips and shadows hidden in her eyes. Her eyes were trained on her hands lying in her lap.  

“So, I am old now.”

 She took a deep breath to comprehend the years of her life gone. 

“Five decades is a long time to live but it is not that long. Life passed by me and I passed by life but surely, I lived every second of it however it passed. But for few of them, I had friendship with it.”

She thought while pondering over the lines of labour in her hand.

“These hands were beautiful once. What an illusion the beauty is.”

“Granny!”

She raised her head to see her grandchild running towards her.

“Granny! Today I will sleep with you.”

The child said settling himself in the place where her hands were before.

–         –             –         –           –             –             –              –               –            

chapter 1:

She was happy, jubilant in an extended family gathering. At seventeen, an engagement had been announced to Heer by a hunk of a man and any girl could be envious of her good luck.

He was a desirable man, very handsome and wanted to marry her, what more she could ask for. She fell in love then, at that moment with him.

It was sudden and, a shock for everybody present. When he came with a box full of traditional sweets and put a piece in her mouth in front of everyone announcing, ‘now she is engaged to me’. The claim loud and clear for all concerned and his boldness stole her heart. 

He became her heart, the heart that hummed the rhythm of his name. She forgot everything else and at last, she became him.

she became the prime and live example of a famous poem by Bulley Shah,

                 Ranjha Ranjha Kardi Ni,                           Me’N Aapay Ranjha hoi

                 Sado ni Me’N no Dhido- Ranjha,           Mano Heer Na Akho Koi    

  English translation;

             Uttering Ranjha Ranjha        I have become Ranjha myself.  

            O all call me  “Ranjha,”            let no one call me Heer.


To be continued…

© copyright 2021 ASNworks. ASN. All rights reserved.

P.s. Editor; the prologue has been republished with a few lines of chapter 1. This is the build up of a previous post “@asnlinguisticLOve”.

Nothing new

An old sore, abuse. Abuse breeds abuse.

We have listened to and talked about it over and over again. But what good it has done. It is a never ending cycle.

Abuse is a living, breathing, reproducing being. Yes, it has horns and an ever fire blowing nose. It’s sad. Sad.

Whoever possesses power of any sort or size, even the size of a tear drop over any weak, exercises it. Period. Just because.

Say, NO to abuse!!!

Not by just protesting it, by not tolerating it but also, by not being an abuser. Thank you.

Rules, regulations and legislation…all useless and in vain. Till the basic fabric of society is not mended, till the mind is not treated. This disease of soul is a contagion.

I witnessed a big brother beating his younger sibling due to a bit of water falling on his car. He has anger issues due to abuse suffered at the hands of his mother while growing up. The mother has anger issues due to abuse she suffered at the hands of her husband. The husband suffered the same fate.

Tongues are worse than hands. Brutal.

Talk about homes, talk about schools, talk about offices…markets… national sphere… international…globe!!!

Abuse we witness and cannot do anything about. Soul tearing silence. Shush! Ssshhh…

The Sketch

Your life is as much empty
Like the Sketch, I left in that room
Half pencilled
To look and wonder
For you have erased me
From that base but
I am a part of you for eternity
Even you beg me to blacken further
The page hung on that wall
And I grant you the very wish
I am lost to the wind
Foaming over the sea
Free over the clouds
Gone forever
But you, you my dear
Is as much empty
Like the Sketch, I left in that room
Half pencilled.

© 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.

Urdu- learn the culture

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This post is about an insight into Pakistani culture; for people who want to learn the language or about the culture.

People interested in visiting Pakistan can get to know more about the country, they are keen to see.

The literal meaning of “Yes” is “ہاں”. But when you Google it, it says “جی ہاں”. (Ha) (G ha)

People who don’t know Urdu, and trying to learn the language, may get confused.

ہاں is correct translation. (Ha)

But in Urdu, جی ہاں or ہاں جی is semi-formal. جی is making ہاں more respectable and honourable. It is like the middle way. (G ha, Ha g)

جی alone is the formal word. (G)

In Pakistani culture, saying ہاں is considered disrespectful to elders as opposed to basic good manner and etiquette. (Ha)

Even جی ہاں is unacceptable. (Ha g)

Saying ہوں is an ultimate disrespect. This ہوں sound is a talking node. That gives indication to the listener, I have heard you or acknowledgement or consent. People who have this conversation habit are classified as ultimate ill mannered species with bad upbringing. (Hu)

P.s. this is all for now. Stay tuned in for my brain blues. I can totally imagine and understand, it will sound like gibberish to the speakers of other languages; Ha, Ha g, G ha, Hu.

Anybody interested in learning Urdu? Get in touch!

In the Name of Love

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Prologue

Heer was sitting on a bedstead set at the roof. It was a clear night and moonlight was illuminating everything; the mountains, the trees, wrinkles of her face, the straight unsmiling lips and shadows hidden in her eyes. Her eyes were trained on her hands lying in her lap.  

“so, I am old now.”

She took a deep breath to comprehend the years of her life gone. 

“Five decades is a long time to live but it is not that long. Life passed by me and I passed by life but surely, I lived every second of it however it passed. But for a few of them, I had friendship with it.”

She thought while pondering over the lines of labour in her hand.

“These hands were beautiful once. What an illusion the beauty is.”

“Granny!”

She raised her head to see her grandchild running towards her.

“Granny! Today I will sleep with you.”

The child said settling himself in the place where her hands were before.

            –         –           –             –     

To be continued…

© 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved.

The bloody globe

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I just want peace was my litany

So deprived of this word my ears

I feel blood seeping from my eyes

Rather than tears

And I taste the taste of copper

My tongue wary of food it touches

That rivers have flown of this blood

On this very earth              

What do I tell of my third eye, the imagination?

Blue, the colour has left as Red has taken over

And I see boots drumming the earth

Leaving scars behind

They reach through my door like spirits to me

Dove’s call on my lips, coo, I die singing peace.

© ASNworks 2020. (Published in Songs of Peace: World’s Biggest Anthology of Contemporary Poetry 2020. )

I am a woman

I was not thinking about it but it just came to me

The moment of truth, the realisation

That in moral, I am not independent

And all because I am a woman

They blow the horns of deception and lies

Keep singing you are independent

But the whisper behind the hands reach to me

On airy waves, the truth of my truth

That in moral, I am not independent

A spider web they keep weaving around me

Under me, over me and inside me

To make me dance to their nodes

On my toes, come to my calling if I stumble

Changing the tunes and tones if I suspect

Making me believe I am independent

Like a sea nymph lures its prey, a worldly sailor

I was not thinking about it but it just came to me

That in moral, I am not independent

Whatever I do, however I do

This truth has freed me, released me

Making me truly and really independent

I refuse to donate my dignity, my honour

Be unminded, unsighted, plucked to petals

And see my truth in your honey eyes

I am proud to be born a woman

Now let me unveil the truth, really pungent

You have lost yourself, you have lost your truth

 You unman yourself when you refuse to honour

Me as a woman, my rights and your obligations

As you blow the charred ashes of your honour

In the wind, left is just a hollow tree behind

Because unlike you I know who I am

Even if you forego your truth I remember mine

I will keep the balance of this world

That is with you, with I, by we and by us

 All because I am a woman.

©copyright 2021 ASNworks. All rights reserved. Dedicated to all women walking on this earth.

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