Saturday, March 18, 2017

The Eternal Lump

The recent image by Javed Dar took me back to my childhood when I attended funerals daily as my maternal home was near the Martyr’s graveyard of Eidgah. There was a day when I attended 12 funerals while we played our cricket match in the adjacent ground. Such cricket matches never reached a conclusive end. At times, we were so exhausted and emotionally drenched that we lost interest in all worldly things and sat on the boundary wall of the graveyard, waiting for the arrival of the unknown guest. 

We all have faced times when feelings started to overflow but somehow halted just below the throat. We pretended to be strong. We acted brave just because we never wished to be called the weak link of the chain that surrounded us and held us strong. We saw our elders holding the fort amidst the crackdown announcements from the masjids. I saw my grandfather standing upfront and not allowing the men in uniform to enter our house where only females were left alone while men were asked to assemble in a play-field for identification parades.
We never got tired while quenching the thirst of innumerable families who waited outside our home that was just adjacent to a security camp. They waited on the roadside, dawn to dusk, to seek the whereabouts of their wards who were picked up from the nearby localities. They mostly returned empty handed to return the next day.
Those sleepless nights when screams of boys filled the dark skies. We heard the cries escaping the walls of those killing rooms inside the camp. Those nights were scary and I hated the sight of the moon.
This image of the boy, Burhan Fayaz crying at the funeral of his friend Amir Nazir of Pulwama, prompts us about the loss, the resentment, imprisonment of soul, the outburst and the resilience. That eternal lump we all have been carrying along since decades. The legacy that we inherited and will further pass on to the next progeny.
Our baton has been our resolve. Our tears have always oiled the wheels of resilience.
We have come across two images of the same boy (Burhan Fayaz), one by Javaid Dar and the other by Waseem Andrabi. These two and many of their colleagues are our messengers. I am proud of our storytellers who are archiving our story for the times to come.

We share the same sky,
the same moon,
the same thunder.
We walk along!
~
Majid
(Illustration: An attempt with Charcoal / Javaid's image)

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Home

I miss,
that haunting stillness, 
that deafening silence,
my frozen memoir of life,
some call it heaven,
but I call it 'home'....
~
m


Saturday, January 2, 2016

Art to wait....


We have mastered 
our ability to wait.. 
Yes, to keep waiting for 
nothing. 
Have seen this trait in rich practice 
back home 
where we are aware 
that they won't return. 
Searching from pillar to post,
from meadows to the quicksand,
from north to south,
tilling the soil, 
looking for the remains
but the wait is on. 
While blending 
our helplessness and agony,
days became months 
and then years, 
and then decades
but the wait is on
endless.. 
majidpandit

Sunday, April 5, 2015

A glimmer of hope

A few days back, battling with the restlessness due to yet another possibility of floods back home in Kashmir, I stepped out and tried to divert myself with a stroll around the lawn. On one of the branches of a tree I spotted a small bird chirping and flying around like a whirlwind. 
I went closer and found a nest on a frail branch of that tree. My eyes lit up when I found two tiny thumbnail sized eggs that looked like tiny white marbles. 
What amazed me was the beauty and craftsmanship with which the birds had shaped up their nest. A glimmer of hope enveloped me as I pondered over the birds' quest to start a small world of their own. The tiny green bird wandered around to get more twigs and bind its world together. It gave me hope to stand tall and face what this creation throws at us. 
The storms rise and challenge us in life but they die down too.

Wednesday, November 5, 2014

We the slaves!

We are living in times where by means of ever more effective means of mind-manipulation, the democracies are changing their own meaning. 
We live in a world where we have started depending on a system which is based on brainwashing the masses with series of propaganda. 
We have drugs that make us happy when we should be sad. We forget that there is a reason why we are sad and we need to know why that is happening to our body. 
The scariest thing is controlling our mind subliminally on the basis of data out of Internet searches, pages we go to, things that we click on. 
We just fuel their power with every product we buy. Funny that we find their product useful but don't realize they are only distractions. 
Are we loving to be their slaves forever? 

Sunday, September 14, 2014

The Stream - Kashmir Flood - #KashmirFloods

Sunday, July 13, 2014

Stay strong

Such helplessness! I felt it while I was away from home in 2008 and while being caged inside my home for months in 2010. Even in the holy month, the bludgeon continued. 
Whatever is happening today in Gaza (and whatever happened there during 2012) gives me the same impuissance after watching the insensitive arrogant oppressor pushing an entire civilian population to the brink of annihilation. Such insensitivity when non-combatants are massacred with impunity is nauseating (I won't talk about the violation of so-called Humanitarian law/s). 
The hypocritical silence and inactiveness of the ones who could act against this onslaught is deplorable but it is encouraging to see countless individual voices of concern around. At least hearts are drifting in one direction. 
More strength to the brave souls of Palestine!
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