Debilitated Expressions

THE DEFEAT
“Wake up, Shahid”
“Coming” he cried back
sleepily.
It was his mom on the other
side of the door. Shahid
glanced at the alarm clock. It
was quarter past six in the
morning. He hastily got up
from his bed before his mum
could yell at him. While going
to the lavatory he did his
utmost not to think of that day
though he knew it would be
just the same as last day had
been. He would reach school
till 8 am and would have to
heed the dreary lectures of his
teachers. They were speeding
up at a startling pace in
teaching, not caring if students
understood a word or not. They
just had one thing in mind – to
complete the syllabus in time.
He had heard that class 10th
syllabus was lengthy, but now
he understood it was perilous.
He knew, though, how to pass
the exams – by cramming. He
always despised cramming but
he knew this time it was the
only way out. This was what the
teachers had told him. It was
ridiculous, he reasoned. He
knew that nobody would
remember a word of it after a
few months. He knew
cramming was just a waste of
time and energy, though he
always felt amused in the way it
was endorsed in schools and
colleges. “I have more
important things to do than to
start finding unchangeable
faults in society” he told
himself and jerking his head to
clear his mind from these vivid
beliefs he started getting ready
for departing to school.
While going downstairs for
breakfast a book caught his
eye. He looked at it ruefully. It
was a fascinating novel which
he had somehow found in his
school library. Today he had to
return it back or else face the
axe. He had to still read fifty-
odd pages of this book. He had
not even touched it for past
four days due to the relentless
class tests and immense
homework. It would have taken
him hardly two hours to get to
its end. He thought of
completing it just then, but
before he could even pick it up
he remembered he had to do
something else...he had to
revise a couple of chapters for
the class test of biology. So
instead he packed this book in
his bag to return it back. He
ate the breakfast, revised the
two chapters and headed to his
school.
Shahid was good in
mathematics. He had a lone
hobby – to read novels. It was
more than a hobby. He was
obsessed with books. Six
months ago he even started
writing a novel, a thriller. He
had the entire plot of this
thriller in his mind. He had
written only its twenty three
pages, though. Only he knew
how he had stolen those hours
from his hectic schedule. He
didn’t want to work so hard in
his studies, but he had to do so
or else he would disappoint his
parents. They wanted him to
grow to be an engineer. He
never told them what he
aspired to be...he wanted
become a novelist. He knew
they won’t consent it. They
would say this profession has
no guarantee of riches...
For many days due to sheer
exasperation Shahid had been
thinking of dumping his own
novel. He had been thinking of
giving up writing books, not
due to the fact that he had
become sick of them but
because he knew he could not
do justice to it as his current
and future studies would give
him no - or a negligible spare
time to write. As far as reading
books was concerned, there
was hardly a good fiction book
left in his mediocre school
library which he hadn’t read.
“Not a single decent library in
the capital of a state!” he
thought many times
indignantly whenever he tried
to get a membership of a state
library. The books present in
those libraries were purely
academic, not for recreation. It
seemed as if the government
never even imagined that
books could be used for
entertainment too. His dad
could not afford ample money
to help him purchase the
books of his own picking, so he
was forced to stop reading
books too. He knew his parents
would be content if he did so,
they always thought reading
books was a total waste of
time.
Today after handing over the
unread novel to the librarian of
his school, he solemnly decided
to give up the only thing he
loved – books.
As Shahid walked back towards
his house, he looked at the sun
scathingly. He hated daylight;
still he only strolled out of his
residence during daytime. This
was because he lived in
Kashmir and knew that
strolling at night was not a
viable option. One of his
neighbors did this mistake
once...he disappeared, never to
be seen again by a living soul.
It always gave him
goosebumps, thinking of his
disappeared neighbor’s
whereabouts. Throughout his
childhood he kept listening to
the excruciating outcome of
those people who had been
valiant enough to voice their
opinion in political matters.
Unfortunately Shahid was born
at a time when his birthplace
was going through political
uncertainty and turmoil. It
badly hampered his psyche.
Due to this he always stayed in
his shell, always unable to
converse with others...always
afraid of strangers...always
tentative while speaking with
others about his own outlook,
about his beliefs... always afraid
to show his potential.
When he reached home, he
amassed all the pages, notes
and plot of his novel. He took
the kerosene from the kitchen,
drenched the pile of papers
with it, lit a matchstick and
burned it... Seeing the flames of
fire engulfing every piece of
paper he felt the same way as
Abraham would have felt when
he was told by God to sacrifice
his own child...his love for
books was no less than
Abraham’s for Ishmael.
As tears trickled his face he
knew now what he had to do –
he would do what everybody
else in this world does, run
after money....
AFTER 20 YEARS:
Shahid was sitting in his office,
staring out at the city from the
window. He was lost in some
reminiscence of his own. He
could see the outline of his
bungalow on the other side of
the lane. He had everything
that a man could dream of –
money, fame, authority, power.
He was the divisional engineer
of Srinagar city. He still
remembered the day he had
qualified in the engineering
entrance test with a high grade.
He still remembered the
blissful happiness on the face
of his parents on that day,
while they were receiving calls
from every next of kin,
congratulating them on his
success. That day he didn’t ask
himself whether he was himself
delighted of his own success.
He had left asking this question
long before. He remembered
the happiness his parents got
as he went up the ranks as an
engineer, the happiness his
wife got due to the lavish
lifestyle he could afford. Now
while sitting in his office a
sudden thought struck
him...what would have
happened to him if he had
pursued his career as a writer?
He felt uneasy, as if his
conscience was eating him, but
he assured himself by thinking
that he had done the right
thing by choosing this
profession over writing, as he
wouldn’t have been able to
give so much happiness to
others in the uncertain life of a
writer. Somebody knocked at
his door.
“Come in”
A slender person came in. His
hair was disheveled and clothes
were shabby and untidy. His
face had strong muscular lines
that clearly showed struggle
and hardship of years, but still
his pale and hollow face had an
astonishing serenity. Even
though his thin physique made
Shahid guess that this person
was in his late thirties, but his
face showed no glimpse of
ageing. It was the clear and
serene face that a person in
twenties will be proud to have.
This face sounded strangely
familiar to him...
“Fahim...?”
Even though this was supposed
to be a question, Shahid knew
its answer. He got up from his
cozy chair and courteously
asked him to sit. This is
Fahim...my childhood friend...my
only childhood friend. He did
not greet Fahim, he seemed to
be guilty of
something...suddenly he
remembered the day they had
parted ways...
Fahim and Shahid had a parallel
vision in their school days - of
becoming writers, no not just
ordinary writers, but world
renowned. When Shahid had
left this aspiration he asked
Fahim if he would do the same.
Fahim, in turn, retorted by
saying that only death could
stop him from reaching his
dream of becoming a writer.
This scene had taken place 20
years ago, Fahim and Shahid
had never seen each other
again...till this day...
Fahim too did not greet Shahid
and went bluntly to the reason
of his visit, “I have just
completed the novel that I had
been writing for past four
years, the publishers here are
hard to get in touch with, even
if I get in contact with
someone somehow, he
straightforwardly says ‘no’,
without even glancing at my
book, so...could you do a favor
for me?...for our childhood
friendship?”
Shahid kept staring in his
beautiful, gleaming eyes. Finally
he said in a whisper, “Why,
yes...” then regaining his
composure he added, “Of
course - yeah!”
“I knew you would...Shahid you
have a lot of contacts with all
sorts of people, I want you to
read this novel-”, and opening
his ragged bag he took out
hundreds of bundled pages,
handed it over to Shahid
adding, “-and if you like it, I
hope that you would request a
local publisher to publish it”
“Well, why not – I know a few
publishers who will surely
publish it.” but suddenly his
voice dropped to a hoarse
whisper and he asked, “Why
me?”
“Because I know you still love
books...and you will be just as
glad to help me as I will be to
be helped by you. It will make
your torment bearable.” And
without waiting for an answer
Fahim went out.
“No...” it was a moan of agony,
of pain brought down by all
those moment of his life when
he had done his best to cover
up this truth from his own self
– by lying to his own
conscience...
As Fahim moved out of the
office, Shahid noticed his outfit.
His leather jacket showed signs
of becoming worn out, his gray
slacks with a black bag was
shabby as compared to
Shahid’s immaculate tweed suit.
But there was something in his
face that Shahid knew he
himself did not
possess...something that made
Shahid look ordinary...for which
he would give all his assets and
power...for which even all his
money will be less...
He knew that this man had the
thing that he always missed in
his life –happiness...
THE VICTORY
Shahid departed from his office
earlier than he used to. He left
his car in the office garage and
went home by foot.
“I am tired. I’ll be upstairs.
Don’t disturb me there, don’t
even bother to send me food,”
he said to his wife on reaching
home without even glancing at
her.
He locked himself in his room.
Shahid gazed at his own self in
the mirror... ”Why am I not
satisfied, even after achieving
so much...? Why did I envy
Fahim when he came to me...?
Fahim is struggling to get his
livelihood while I have
everything a person could
dream of...why is he still more
contented than me...why am I
not happy...why...? ”
From inside his conscience a
voice answered, “Fool! You
know its answer, but you are
too ignorant to see and believe
the reality. Fahim loves his
work but you don ’t. You never
wanted to become an engineer.
You wanted to become a writer
just like him, but you didn ’t.
You lost your battle while he
won his. ”
“A battle...against whom?”
“Against the society. You
succumbed to the pressure of
the society, to the faulty
system while Fahim fought
against it. You became an
engineer not by your own will
but by the insistence of your
parents, so you were never able
to find pleasure in that job,
Fahim fought against the
society and won. He became
what he wanted to be and is a
lot happier than you...and the
dedication with which he is
doing his job he might soon
become richer than you too...!
“What happened to you
happens to almost everybody
in this world and in the end
they renounce their dreams,
after all there are very few
people having Fahim ’s spirit
and character. Look at your
own daughter, she wants to be
a painter, would you let her
pursue this career? No, you
won ’t!”
The next morning Shahid
resigned from his job. As he
handed over the letter of
resignation to his superior he
felt as if all his years of agony,
distress and misery were falling
from his shoulders, as if he was
again free to live life, enjoy it
and do what he had always
sought to do. From his savings
he opened a publishing
company to sponsor the work
of new talented writers. The
first book published by his
company turned out to be an
international bestseller. The
author of the book was Fahim...
*******
Shahid, for the rest of his life
fought against the demon of
society that prevents an
individual from attaining his
dream, from showing his
creativity. He sent his daughter
to a renowned painting school
and she ended up becoming
one of the finest in her
profession. But everybody can ’t
afford it, so many children are
never able to pursue their
dream due to adverse financial
conditions or due to the
narrow-mindedness of their
parents - this thought always
made him sad, so to make the
public and the government
understand their folly Shahid
wrote an article in a local
newspaper about an ideal
society for children, where they
would be able to become what
they want to:
“...in an ideal society
creativeness should not be
hindered by studies. The
educational system that forces
students to waste their time by
cramming should be abolished
which instead should be
replaced by a more practical
approach of studies with
innovation and creativity being
necessary elements. There
should also be necessary
amount of resources given to
students according to their
need - like better library facility
to kids wanting to be writers,
better equipped and cheaper
music school for future
musicians, art school for those
wanting to be painters,
theaters and auditoriums for
actors and so on. There should
be sufficient amount of focus
given to kids from a very young
age. The parents should realize
the importance of the
happiness of their own children
and push them to attain their
dreams. The government
should give monthly wages to
people of those professions in
which money is not guaranteed.
It would give parents the
assurance of permitting their
child to take a career without
the sole consideration of
money. Also in an ideal world
there should not be
impediment of a person’s
legitimate actions, he ought
not to be given a feeling as if
he is living in an inexorable jail,
where he has been sentenced
to death by his fate and could
be executed at any time. This is
the dread in which most of the
kashmiris live in due to which
most of the boys become
timid, afraid of the outside
world.
If this kind of world would
have been present when I was
young, I would have realized
my dream, no - not only me
but many more individuals too...
My parents would have
permitted me to take up the
profession of a novelist and
maybe I would have not only
made myself blissful but also
made my nation and my
parents proud. Similarly, by
financial backing the struggle
of people like Fahim could be
made a lot easier.
This may not sound childish at
all, but this is all a nation must
give a child to expect anything
colossal from him in the future.
This might not be too much,
but this is all I want to have in
a perfect world.”

Debilitated Expressions

Friday, August 27, 2010

Away

Friday, August 13, 2010

My World

Thursday, August 12, 2010

As Tears Find A Way...