Between night-black and no star,
Cocooned by a quiet that is only suddenly broken sometimes
By a cricket’s cry.
Love lives here
Even when you don’t.
… except that I haven’t shared the first one yet. But I’m doing it now, okay? Let’s start!
Spoiler: It’s about university. And becoming a gold medalist. Twice.
Okay so remember when I posted that ‘when you’re happy and you know it’ kinda post about happy news and desi reactions and all that? I totally meant to share the news itself as well later but… you know me, and I know me, and well, yeah. So what happened was that I topped from my department in my BA (Honors) course. And then, now that is, I topped again in my Masters. Woohoo, Alhamdulillah!
What were my subjects? Glad you asked. Because it’s funny I never shared anything here. Yikes, I mean. I always meant to, though. Just like how I always meant to write about my vacations last (se bhi last? will have to check) year, about meeting some fav people from the blog, about university life itself, about this and that and everything. I had to write. (And I did, y’know. Just not here. Just not on a paper or a screen.) Also, obviously, I had to write about why I didn’t write any of those or whatever which is getting boriiing now AND ANYWAY WE WERE TALKING ABOUT THIS GOLD MOMENT which means this should be a happy post and yayyy virtual cakes and all that. We were talking about my subjects?
My main one was URDU. YEP. Could have you guessed? I actually just tried to master (like, well technically I did just that so yeah?) my own language and I am super happy about that right now. My side subjects (also called minors/ subsidiary subs) were English literature and Psychology. And in the same duration I also did a two-year certificate and diploma course in Persian language. So as it looks, I was completely surrounded (entangled? absorbed?) with languages and literature, and then cultures and histories and zindagis and everything. It was a good time. Wait. I miss university.
But I also can’t wait for the good adventures ahead Inshaa Allah, and some day I’ll update you on that. Sup, you?
Bohat arsay baad aik nazm likhnay lagi thi. Balkay likhnay kia lagi thi, wo nazm hi mujhay likh rahi thi. Unwaan tha ‘be-dili’. Aur phir pehla misra tumhe be-dili se sochnay par tha. Uskay bad aik khayal ata lekin shaam ke dhal janay aur khuwab ke ban janay ka darr… agay aik lafz kam reh gaya. Jo cigarette ka sar hota hai na? Usay masalna tha. Lekin na lafz aya na baat bani. Hath jo kehtay kehtay uper utha tha phir hawa me hi reh gaya. Bhai ne dekh kar poocha, “you are in love, right?” Mai munh bana ke reh gai.
I am in love, right? Duh I’m in love. With what, I don’t know. I am so disconnected from myself, or maybe I’m just so connected with myself that I’ve lost the ability to touch on the surface of things (or thoughts?) and say this is this and that is that. I can’t say these words are true. I can’t say they are not. I don’t know.
Kuch zamana beeta hai mai araam se nazmen likh sakti thi. Araam se tou nahi khair, jahan shairi hai wahan aaraam kahan. Magar phir bhi kabhi na kabhi. Aik khaas kefiyat hoti thi. Aisay tou mai pehlay kitabain bhi bohat parh leti thi ab arsa hua.
I just cannot. I haven’t read a proper book in a proper sitting like a proper reader since ages. The last was All the light we cannot see which is now in my taaaaaall pile of unfinished ones. I did translate a huge chapter though. It was on Islam and science and reason and modernism and everything like that. A good experience – both in terms of subject and skill.
It’s gonna be sehri time here. I made a fruit-oatmeal smoothie yesterday jiska oatmeal part no one liked and smoothie they all did. Lol. I heard it was healthy like that but I guess I’ll omit the oatmeal now.
Nah, I’m not much of a kitchen person. But it’s Ramadan, so… oh, happy Ramadan to you!
My friend texted me to say she saw me in a dream and misses me. I couldn’t help but feel awfully helpless remembering I saw you in a dream too. How I wish I could tell you.
I want you to know that it’s been immensely long but I am going strong, and yep, it’s because I crafted another challenge for myself of which already a large part has been spent but still, still your name comes up everyday in my mind, and though I’m trying, I cannot forget you enough because I heard enough means letting go.
Letting go means cutting open and slicing out a part I’ve kept so close.
It’s amazing how this is! Because there’s no real string (like a real tangible truth) binding these. These, as in, this thing in the heart and your place in the…heart? and the future that holds neither. Wow, what a thing to bear.
The only way this can really reach you is when you claim it yourself. Which is another way of saying: agar wo pooch len hum se kaho kis baat ka gham hai// tou phir kis baat ka gham hai agar wo pooch lain hum se. Oh okay, I just added this one because it wouldn’t leave me otherwise. You get the point.
I sometimes search for you amid crowds When I write again it won’t be about you.
It’s night and still hot. I am sitting cross-legged on the balcony’s floor, this black diary on my lap, and vibrant blues, orange and yellow underneath it: the colors of my shirt. Before me is a silent city even though it’s only after-dinner time. It’s only too soon to be writing this.
Or is it?
I am almost tired of using different words to say the same thing: I miss you. Here, take it from me. Jaan jati hai jab uth ke jatay ho tum.
Hello. I need help again today.
How many people ask you for help on this very day?
Well, hey, don’t put down the phone during any minute. I have so much to say.
I feel like crying today. I feel like crying a lot. I don’t know. Remember that person?
You know, I was very happy today. I was very happy until later when this started. You know, I would have closed everything down, shut myself to the sweet escape but right now, I am talking to you. Because I’m so done with running away. I run to reach the same place every freaking time. I am so done.
Hello? Please say something else. I know you get me. I know you understand. I am already breathing, I am not dying. And by the way, I can never actually commit suicide, like ever. Inshaa Allah as well but like never.
Okay, I am listening. But I am not done yet?
You listen to me. I wrote my first poem today. It was so painful it was exhilarating.
You listen to me. I wrote my last poem today. It was only painful.
You listen to me. I never intended to take it all so seriously.
You listen to me. I miss every dead person on earth tonight. I can feel the graveyard wind inside me. The sad laughter of the sister killed for honor. The sad laughter of the struggling maid. The sad laughter of the parents of the raped child. The sad laughter of the fallen bird. The hollow dread of a Justin Cronin novel.
I haven’t read in ages. I have a viva tomorrow. Remember I told you I loved exams for their distracting power? I don’t right now because it’s not working.
I can hear his chair creaking. I know he is sitting in the last room by the staircase with a pack of cigarettes. You know I hate cigarettes. But how would you know? You’re just a therapist. A listener, that’s all. A dead phone line.