The Stacks

i read through 
the stacks of bricks..
and wonder about 
the souls it binds..

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)

Home

I miss,

that haunting stillness, 

that deafening silence,

my frozen memoir of life,

some call it heaven,

but I call it 'home'....

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.

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? 

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!

Fallujah babies

As I wrote along, a swarm of words demanding justice gathered around my notebook, all expecting to be called upon. I penned down these few lines giving an idea of the extent of brutality, humanity will unleash on itself. I couldn’t muster courage to post images along as these lines were enough to pass a shiver down my spine.

These babies don’t belong to Fallujah only. Their ownership lies on us with each passing day when silence seems to be emerging as the winner.

The image of this Iraqi child with six fingers is taken from an article by Dailymail.

-

I am a cyclope

a chunk of flesh

dead before I am born.

Mother did wait for whole nine months to see my face,

her endless wait to cuddle me, 

to hold me in her warm embrace.

The first glimpse of mine ruined her world as I was dead before being born.

I couldn't even relate myself to the remotest of aliens, 

living beyond the essence of time.

I was made a scapegoat while in the womb.

They couldn't win us, couldn't defeat us, 

So, they sowed our soil with bombs

 to cultivate the progeny as scary as me.

They created me out of little ingredients of war, hatred and Depleted Uranium.

They contaminated our lifelines with their bad bombs.

Here I am as a question mark for the whole humanity that preferred silence instead of life.

-

Imagine, Line of Control

When the concertina wire weaves your nightmares,

overshadows your homes, stretches lengths.

Imagine, Line of Control.

They throwing letters wrapped in stones towards their own, across the stream,

they cannot meet.

Imagine, Line of Control.

When a son kneels down and mourns his father's demise,

watches the funeral from far across the fence.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Almost a no-man's land,

where shells fly more frequently than birds,

Imagine, Line of Control.

The contentious blood smeared line,

drawn out of fanatic egos, fulfilling greed.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Endless wait, dried up tears and blurred visions,

women waiting for their sons, brothers and husbands.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Decorated with electrified barbs, watchtowers and locked villages,

where each person is known by a mere number.

Imagine, Line of Control.

We watch each footstep on our own soil, unaware what might come beneath the next one

the soil may explode, ending our story in a whisker.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Where you hold your breath, trying to feel the breeze flowing towards you from across,

emotions touch the chasm.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Envy these birds in flight, they know no confines,

we too wish to fly to see life around.

Imagine, Line of Control.

Image details: This river in the above image, located in Tanghdar area of Indian Administered Kashmir, splits the two sides of Jammu and Kashmir. The bridge links the ghosts.

The dark age

Was doing a casual research on Africa. If you believe the corporate media, then the ongoing devastation in nations like the Democratic Republic of the Congo is all just a case of ugly tribal warfare. But that is a superficial, simplistic explanation that fails to connect this terrible suffering with the immense fortunes that stand to be made from manufacturing cell phones, laptops and other high-tech gadgets. 

What is really at stake in this bloodbath is control of natural resources such as diamonds, tin, and copper, as well as cobalt - which is essential for the nuclear, chemical, aerospace, and defense industries - and coltan and niobium, which is most important for the high-tech industries. 

And, I keep on thinking!!!

A plunge between the lines

A plunge between the lines and I wonder how everything, whether good or bad, truth or lies, always fits this newspaper. 

Words flow from Gaza: Look at me

Gaza rests in my thoughts and has been beating along with my heart, just like my own Kashmir. The world must not turn away from the truth. The story has to be told. Someone has to tell the tale. Others have to listen and spread the word. It is high time we all know the sufferings due to injustice as much as we know ourselves. 

I leave you with a poem "Look at me" by Nahida - an exiled Palestinian. Every word turns you speechless and stirs up the soul. Each line has a message for us to rise and speak out.

...

Look at me

 I would love to write poetry about love,

Paint rainbows and butterflies,

Smell the scent of pink rose buds,

And dance;

Dance with the melody of jubilant bluebirds

I would love to close my eyes and see children smiling

No guns pointing at their heads

Tell them stories of lily-like fairies in far-away lands

Not of bullets shrieking.... of missiles exploding

But

How can I?

How can I?

 There is a dagger in my heart

I am hurting

Hurting

I bleed,

I cringe,

I cry

HUMANITY, WHERE ARE YOU?  

I am being slaughtered

Under your watchful eyes  

I am cold… cold…. cold

I cringe,

I cry

Humanity, where are you?

Why do you turn your face away?

Why do you keep looking the other way?

I am here

Languishing

In Gaza's alleyways

Humanity, where are you?

Look at me

See me

I am here

Sighing

In Gaza's alleyways

I cringe,

I cry

Humanity,

Enough turning the other way !

Turning a deaf ear

Turning a blind eye

While I,

and oh ! My poor children

Die

Note: The above contents were published on Set Me Free with proper permission.

About the Poetess: Nahida is a Jerusalem-born Palestinian refugee living in exile for over 42 years. She was forced to leave her homeland, Palestine at the age of seven during the six-day war. She is a mathematician by profession. She has published two books- I Believe in Miracles, and Palestine, The True Story. You can reach Nahida at nahidaexiledpalestinian@gmail.com

Cloud Kick II

Long back I penned down a little thought about how clouds mesmerise me. Here is the link for that Cloud Kick post. Time passed by, many a things changed. Transformations took place. But what I see as an undisputed constant, is nature's bounty. I have been watching and craving to write more about these fluffy monsters. These monsters sometimes become creatures that we only see in dreams and fables. We carve out stories out of these soft random beings. 

They are ubiquitous, ever-changing, interesting and, most importantly an absolute subject for us humans. Sometimes, they look like big balls of cotton. I could watch them all day, and see them drift by. Use your imagination and you can see lots of things in these formations.

Many a times I see little clouds floating like a feather from some gigantic bird. They are the souls of happy ships floating merrily.

I have always felt like a a cloud, something that persists over long periods, whilst simultaneously being in flux. I travel with time like the matter that flows from place to place and momentarily comes together to become one accumulation. 

Below are a few assemblies of this wonderful creation.

Hydaspes the great

We dwelled on its banks for ages 

We moved, we grooved across its waters 

We played, we basked in its glory 

We relished its blessing 

But trembled in fear when its waters showed the might 

We never thanked back when it came for help after witnessing our plight

Its flow has swept away countless bludgeons too

The times it turned green, at times orange, red or blue 

It saw their might on its shores

It saw Qadeer thumping his enormity

It also saw fists that were held high

Its turns and twists hold zillions of tales

Only Almighty knows about their fate

Hydaspes the Great!

Most of us know Jhelum as Vitasta (Sanskrit) or Vyeth (Kashmiri). Not many know that ancient Greek had named the river as Hydaspes. The River Hydaspes is the Jhelum of modern-day Kashmir. Hydaspes (Jhelum) rises from a spring at Verinag situated at the foot of the Pir Panjal mountain range in the south-eastern part of the valley of Kashmir. It flows through Srinagar and the Wular lake before entering Pakistan through a deep narrow gorge. 

The river was regarded as a god by the ancient Greeks, as were most mountains and streams. Other rivers of the east, personified by the Greeks, included the Indian Ganges, and Assyrian Tigris and Euphrates.

The Battle of the Hydaspes

The Battle of the Hydaspes River was fought by Alexander the Great in 326 BC against King Porus of the Hindu Paurava kingdom on the banks of the Hydaspes River (Jhelum River) in the Punjab near Bhera in what is now modern-day Pakistan. The battle resulted in a complete Macedonian victory and the annexation of the Punjab, which lay beyond the confines of the defeated Persian empire, into the Alexandrian Empire.

Presently, the waters of the Jhelum are allocated to Pakistan under the terms of the Indus Waters Treaty.

Kashmir: it is all about a bulb!

The unfortunate story of Kashmir. As my twitter friend Afaq (@afaq_bacha) says "These incandescent bulbs are a thing of past and for good reason too. A relic and an easily avoidable drain on our meagre energy resources."

Shot on 

Sony Cybershot

The beauty of my land

My land is covered with such natural splendor that it may take many lives to soak it entirely. The place always looks seeped in beauty and as many know, my Kashmir stands at the corner-stone of history. 

Above. Dal Lake with a backdrop of Snow covered Koh-e-maran (The hill-fort of Srinagar) 

 Above. After a fresh snowfall, the Dal still bustling below the snow-covered Zabarwan mountain range.

The above images are clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D

(Specifications on request)

Statement by Arundhati Roy after her house was attacked

SOMETHING FOR THE MEDIA TO THINK ABOUT 

Arundhati Roy, October 31, 2010

A mob of about a hundred people arrived at my house at 11 this morning (Sunday October 31st 2010.) They broke through the gate and vandalized property. They shouted slogans against me for my views on Kashmir, and threatened to teach me a lesson. The OB Vans of NDTV, Times Now and News 24 were already in place ostensibly to cover the event live. TV reports say that the mob consisted largely of members of the BJP’s Mahila Morcha (Women’s wing). After they left, the police advised us to let them know if in future we saw any OB vans hanging around the neighborhood because they said that was an indication that a mob was on its way. In June this year, after a false report in the papers by Press Trust of India (PTI) two men on motorcycles tried to stone the windows of my home. They too were accompanied by TV cameramen. What is the nature of the agreement between these sections of the media and mobs and criminals in search of spectacle? Does the media which positions itself at the ‘scene’ in advance have a guarantee that the attacks and demonstrations will be non-violent? What happens if there is criminal trespass (as there was today) or even something worse? Does the media then become accessory to the crime? This question is important, given that some TV channels and newspapers are in the process of brazenly inciting mob anger against me. In the race for sensationalism the line between reporting news and manufacturing news is becoming blurred. So what if a few people have to be sacrificed at the altar of TRP ratings? The Government has indicated that it does not intend to go ahead with the charges of sedition against me and the other speakers at a recent seminar on Azadi for Kashmir. So the task of punishing me for my views seems to have been taken on by right wing storm troopers. The Bajrang Dal and the RSS have openly announced that they are going to “fix” me with all the means at their disposal including filing cases against me all over the country. The whole country has seen what they are capable of doing, the extent to which they are capable of going. So, while the Government is showing a degree of maturity, are sections of the media and the infrastructure of democracy being rented out to those who believe in mob justice? I can understand that the BJP's Mahila Morcha is using me to distract attention the from the senior RSS activist Indresh Kumar who has recently been named in the CBI charge-sheet for the bomb blast in Ajmer Sharif in which several people were killed and many injured. But why are sections of the mainstream media doing the same? Is a writer with unpopular views more dangerous than a suspect in a bomb blast? Or is it a question of ideological alignment?
Arundhati Roy
October 31st 2010

Arundhati Roy: The debater of big things

An Editorial published in the Guardian on Thursday, 28th October, 2010

The novelist has bravely used her position to draw attention to the unjustifiable repression of unrest in the Kashmir valley

 

Above Photo: Arundhati Roy during an event 

"Whither Kashmir? Freedom or Enslavement?" at Srinagar

On trial for sedition in 1922, Mahatma Gandhi told the court in Ahmedabad, Gujarat: "I have no desire whatsoever to conceal from this court that to preach disaffection towards the existing system of government has become almost a passion with me." Sedition "in law is a deliberate crime", he admitted, but it "appears to me to be the highest duty of a citizen". History does not repeat itself, nor does it always rhyme. Still, the words of the father of modern India come to mind when considering the case of Arundhati Roy, who faces arrest under pretty much the same colonial sedition laws that earned Gandhi a six-year prison sentence.

The writer is under threat of a sedition charge after claiming in Delhi this weekend that "Kashmir has never been an integral part of India. It is a historical fact. Even the Indian government has accepted this." Ever since, the rightwing Hindu nationalist Bharatiya Janata party has been demanding the author's arrest and trial. The party's general secretary claimed: "Anyone speaking against India should be hanged."

As sentiments go, this is both daft and directly contrary to the Indian tradition of open debate and healthy dissent – and the Congress-led government should say so. The BJP may find Ms Roy's position shocking, but her comments are hardly new – she has been making similar public statements for years now. Nor is her argument a novel one; as the author (and occasional contributor to this paper) points out, she has only been voicing "what millions of people ... say every day". All she has done is bravely use her position to draw attention to the unjustifiable repression of unrest in the Kashmir valley that has been taking place over the past few months. Rather than chase after a novelist for speaking at a seminar, the Delhi government would be better off investigating the 100-plus people who are believed to have died in violence in Kashmir since June.

When Ms Roy won the Booker for The God of Small Things in 1997, the Indian press celebrated her as a powerful writer, an international success and an addition to the country's deservedly renowned literature. To be all those things means also having the liberty to speak your own mind – as Indians know very well. As Amartya Sen points out in his book The Argumentative Indian, there is a long, deep tradition in the country's discourse, of encouraging argument from all comers. Mr Sen quotes a poem from the 19th-century Bengali writer Ram Mohun Roy help make his case: "Just consider how terrible the day of your death will be. Others will go on speaking and you won't be able to argue back." Such sentiments are far more Indian than nonsense from irate BJP activists.

guardian.co.uk ©

Also, wanted to share a video on her stand on Kashmir. below is an interview with Democracy Now, that clears many doubts about the dynamics of the dispute and the present scenario. The video is taken from Democracy Now.

The above image is clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D.
(Specifications on request)

Why Extra??

Our experience of life is a reflection of our inner world. The landscape we paint with our minds becomes the one we walk through every day. We are the architects of our ways of living. Many people are unaware of this, thinking that life ‘just happens,’ that events occur by chance, and that they are forever at the mercy of random occurrences.

Some choose to walk, some choose to fly. But to fly, you need something "Extra" and if you do not possess that "Extra", you are gone.. Better join these who have been walking and do not pretend as if you are flying. That simple walk will make things happen.

Anyways, a few days back I managed few shots, hope you like them..

All these are clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D.
(Specifications on request)

I see you ..

An interesting phenomenon that happens when I look at my own pictures… maybe it happens to you as well. Every now and then I see myself and I look similar to what I think I look like. I look like the image that stares back at me from the mirror every day.

But most of the time I do not look like that personality at all and it feels a little weird. It feels uneasy, and a little insecure, when I do not look like the image of myself I have been carrying around in my mind. It also feels a little disappointing. I practice looking at myself, finding the things I like in my own reflection, so that I can learn to accept myself. When I see something very different from that image it throws me off balance a little. I find myself staring at the photo looking for traces of the person I know, looking for what I find beautiful and acceptable in the image I see in front of me. I guess it is that need to feel okay with myself.

The image is clicked on my Canon EOS 1000D.

(Specifications on request)

The way to live

Today, I feel there is a need to elucidate a sensitive term often used worldwide - JIHAD. I believe that this particular word as such has been misinterpreted and wrongly used by most. The use is such that it has now become a global term and an icon of fear and hatred. But in fact this word is such a beauty in itself that each and every being is one way or the other associated and involved with it.

 

Jihad, an Arabic term, is a religious duty of Muslims. In Arabic, the word jihād is a noun meaning "struggle." Jihad appears frequently in the Qur'an Sharief and common usage as the idiomatic expression "striving in the way of Allah (al-jihad fi sabil Allah)" A person engaged in Jihad is called a Mujahid, the plural is Mujahideen.

According to scholar John Esposito, Jihad requires Muslims to "struggle in the way of God" or "to struggle to improve one's self and/or society." Jihad is directed against Shaitan's inducements, aspects of one's own self, or against a "visible" enemy (I repeat "Visible").

The four major categories of jihad that are recognized are

• Jihad against one's self (Jihad al-Nafs),
• Jihad of the tongue (Jihad al-lisan),
• Jihad of the hand (Jihad al-yad), and
• Jihad of the sword (Jihad as-sayf).

Islamic military jurisprudence focuses on regulating the conditions and practice of Jihad as-sayf, the only form of warfare permissible under Islamic law. This is where the confusion arises.

The term has accrued both violent and non-violent meanings. It can simply mean striving to live a moral and virtuous life and fighting injustice and oppression against Islam. The relative importance of these two forms of jihad is a matter of controversy.

Our beloved Prophet (S.A. - Peace be upon Him) is said to have regarded the inner struggle for faith the "Greater Jihad", prioritizing it over physical fighting in defence of the members of the global Islamic community.

In Modern Standard Arabic, Jihad is one of the correct terms for a struggle for any cause, religious or secular. For instance, Mahatma Gandhi's struggle for Indian independence is called a "Jihad" in Modern Standard Arabic; the terminology is applied to the fight for women's liberation also.

Mahabarata and Ramayana too were the perfect examples and there are a thousand lessons to learn out of them.

Jihad is the way of life. The way to live.