The sun will still rise!!

His time was quickly running out. He had to reach the seaside before dawn. He increased his pace and then decided to run to get there in time. He had always been fascinated by dawn, by the rising sun, by the first ray of sunlight. The ray which wipes away all darkness and which symbolizes hope. Despite all his attraction for dawn and sunrise, he had never been so regular in coming here. But two weeks back, everything had changed.

Two weeks back, he had realised that his life had betrayed him. And now, he wanted to or rather hoped to see all kinds of dawns that he would have seen if his life had not done this to him. He had always been the optimistic type, seeing all the bright sides of life.
But now, it was different.
This time, he himself was the victim.
Victim of betrayal...........

He was there now. Watching the waves splashing the beach. It was dark like his future prospects.
And then, the sun appeared on the horizon, wiping away all the darkness from the surroundings. But inside him, it was still pitch black.
No hope, no light, no dawn!!!

All his life, it had been drilled in his mind that life is very uncertain. That man is never sure even of his very next breath. And he hated words like unsure, uncertainty etc.

But now.....

Now he thought 'uncertainty' was a blessing. He knew what a curse it was to be sure when your life is going to end, to be able to count your remaining breaths, remaining days, remaining weeks or even years. But he knew that no years were left for him. Only six months.....
Or 24 weeks or 168 days....
Ahhh! even if he said 4032 hours....
That was not enough.
His plans were for a much longer life. For him, his life has just started.
His dream flight had just taken off and...
And some jerk in a white coat had given him a piece of paper telling him there was no fuel left for the journey.
He was no smoker, no drug addict. He had always taken good care of himself. But the GOOD LORD had somehow found a fault with him.........
So, his time was running out.

The sun was dominating now. The day was bright and sunny. He decided to go back home.

Home..........
Where all the important people of his life lived. His mom, dad, sisters, brother. People who were discussing his forth-coming marriage - two months later.
So far, he had been unable to muster enough courage to tell them the truth. The bitter truth that he was not going to marry afterall.
Because.....

Yes, because he was going to die after six months.
After 25 years of struggle, academic achievements, medals, certificates and finally a good job. His fate has chosen an early death for him.
He was at home and faked a smile for everyone else.

Sitting in his room, the scenes from dawn were still mocking him infront of his eyes. He thought he was fooling himself by going and watching all those sunrises everyday. He decided, he will see the sunset today for a change.
ATLEAST it was more like his life. Hopeless....promising nothing other than darkness.

He picked up the newspaper from the table thinking it might distract him from the present thoughts.
It was an old newspaper- some three weeks old. He already knew all the contents by heart. He had been blessed with a sharp memory.

Huh!!! it was of no use to him now.
Six months.......Phew!!!!!!! All will be over.

He read that already read article once again. He had not given much notice to it then. But this time, his thoughts were running wild.
It took just a split second for him to decide. He got up and went out. His destination was not too far from his home so he decided to go there on foot.
He was smiling because he had a purpose this time. After some 20 minutes, he was in the doctor's office. He told him what he had in his mind. The doctor was pleased and applauded his decision. He brought a form out from the drawer.
Azaan took some time filling it. He thanked the doctor and came back home.

He smiled and said Salam loudly to greet all his family. This time his smile brightened his eyes too.
In the evening, he told his brother first about his diagnosis of terminal cancer and then about the decision he had taken today.
His brother was shocked at first but slowly it all sinked in. He hugged Azaan tightly with tears shining in his eyes.





Five months passed in no time. He never missed a single dawn. The pain was unbearable for him now. He could barely walk. His brother always accompanied him now. He had spent the five months trying to see all he could have seen if he had some 30 or 40 years more to live.

The sun was rising and the waves were splashing. He was standing there waiting to greet the angels. He knew they were coming. But he was not hopeless......

Because he knew even when he would not be here physically, his eyes will still see the sun rise. His death will colour up the world for someone else.
He had always wanted to make a difference in the society, in people's life. He considered the mission accomplished now.

He knew the sun will still rise and brighten up the world. The dawn would still symbolize hope. His eyes may close, but not forever.
Yes, the sun will still rise and symbolize hope. He knew hope was eternal.


(Azaan had decided to donate his eyes to the blind to make a huge difference in someone's life. He died but made someone's else life worth living. A part of him will always live).

PS: I know the idea is a much talked-of one....but i wanted to write it because of some articles i read which really touched me. As a medical student the first thing our facilitators tried to make us realise was that death is the most difficult thing to deal with. What i feel makes us fear death is the realisation that as we will cease to exist in this world physically, our importance would be lost. We-as humans- want to feel important. We like to think that we are making a difference in people's life.
The biggest satisfaction can come in our life when we find out the real purpose of our being here in this world
The knowledge that even if we don't exist physically in the world, our spirit will be here and our deeds would make an everlasting difference in someone's life is indeed a boaster for the spirit.

"BADAN KI KHAK AKNHON KA PANI CHOR JAUNGA

MAI DARYA HUN BAHAO MAI RAWANI CHOR JAUNGA

MUJHE MALOOM HAI AKHIR TERI DUNIA SAY

CHAL JAUNGA PER APNI KAHANI CHOR JAUNGA

MAI KHUD KO MUNTAQIL KARDUNGA APNI ANEY WALI NASLON MAI

MAIN APNI APNEY BACHON MAI JAWANI CHOR JAUNGA"

Trust me, My love!!!

My love for you,

Believe me is true.

My every tear,

Is shed for you my dear.

You may think that i lie,

But believe me when i die.

You will still be there in my heart,

As my soul's eternal part.

And till the very end, I will keep loving you,

Trust me, my love, what i say is true.

Reflections on The first week in medical college!

I had always been at a loss of words when faced with the question about why i wanted to become a doctor and how I will deal with the stress which the countless demands of this profession results in. I had always been troubled with the questions like are you doing it for the monetary value or the social status and respect which the society gives one as a physician. I thought i would have been guilty of hypocrisy if i had claimed that i wanted it only to save humanity and work selflessly for mankind. Afterall who does not want monetary benefits and respect from the society? I often used to ask myself what would i do after completing my medical education? Would i be treating patients for the common cold and flu problems or would i be sitting in some office as a specialist in any particular field treating patients referred to me by some other colleagues?

I had this strong impression at the back of my mind that medicine is the only thing that i ever wanted to do and would love to do but i was unaware of the actual reasons behind this desire of becoming a physician.
I have been amazed by how suddenly i got answers to all these of my questions in just a few days or probably in just a few hours.
In only the few discussion sessions with the faculty members of my college, i have realized that stress management is not the actual issue, That a physician's goal is not his own self-betterment but it actually revolves around the welfare of his patients. That its not about treating somene for physical ailments, its also about emotional and spiritual healing. That its not about being an excellent medical practitioner, its about being an almost perfect human being. Its about being honest, altruistic, truthful, communicative, empathetic, skillful and innovative. I have realised that a physician is not one who treats a disease but the one who relieves a patient from his problems, pain and suffering and tries all feasible options for this very purpose.
The movie about Patch Adams was indeed inspirational. It cleared the confusion regarding the real goal of medical practice.
Its not just delaying death thats important, its basically improving the quality of life for the people around you which will make some difference.

The idea of being content at the sight of a suffering human's (i.e patients) smile tells me how the physicians manage all the stress. The stress experienced by seeing a patient whose condition is worsening further evaporates at the sight of another patient who is getting better and smiling back at you
What i have realised in these few days is that medical education is not about memorizing facts and practicing skills. Its about developing one's overall attitude towards life and humanity. It demands determination, hardwork, sincerity,passion and committment but it gives back a lot more. And the most important among all what you get is the satisfaction after seeing a patient recover and smile.

One handclasp lifts a soul,

One sunbeam lights a room,

One candle wipes out darkness,

One laugh can conquer gloom,

One touch can show care,

One heart can know what's true,

One life can make the difference,

YOU SEE ITS UPTO YOU!!!

Hajj: when i was there!!!

I saw the visuals on television of millions of Muslims performing Hajj (the fifth pillar of Islam which is obligatory for every Muslim who has the means to perform it) and i went back in the time when i was also there in Makkah. It was quite a few years ago at the beginning of the new millenium when our family decided to perform Hajj. It was the last year of my dad's transfer to Dubai. The journey was a memorable one indeed. And how could it have been otherwise?

We decided to travel from Dubai to Makkah on road accompanied by two other families of my friends and dad's co-workers. My grand parents also arrived from Pakistan to join us. The dads were given the task of driving, moms to pack and prepare and we the kids just to behave well. It is not a short drive from Dubai to Makkah . And therefore, it took us almost 60 hours to reach Makkah. We slept from 10pm till fajr for the two nights we were on the road and were on the move for the rest. With Hamdia and Naatia Kalaam's on the player along with Manajats and booklets explaining the ways to perform Hajj and all its components in our hands, sometimes we dozed off inside the car, sometimes we talked, sometimes we ate anything we could get our hands on from the back of our car and at other times we simply looked outside enjoying the ever-changing view. It was simply amazing, most of the part was desert and we kept wondering on the textures and various colours of the sand there. Then, along the road sometimes came camels and they completed the picture. The temperature was also strange or very desert-like. In days, it was extremely hot and at night it was freezing cold. Especially, at the time of fajr prayers, it was a real test to get out from your blanket and use chilly cold water for ablution (no hot water availiable as there are no water heaters installed on the roadside mosques). My dad had a special duty for me......

It was when everyone dozed off during the daytime in the car and snored (this was done by my grand-dad), my dad would keep me wide awake to give him company and make me wash my face and sprinkle water on his face whenever we both felt sleepy. There came a time when i felt so sleep deprived, i tried to keep my eyes open and let my body sleep. :)

We changed into Ehraam (the clothes for Hajj- two white unsewn pieces of cloth for men and regular clean clothes for women with Head scarf) at the appointed place outside Makkah and offering two Raka'at of prayers moved forward. We were stopped outside the boundaries of this sacred city and split into small groups of ten cars and asked to follow the police officials. Throughout the journey we had not seen many cars along the road, but there we saw the actual crowd. There were cars and cars as far as one could see. By the police officials we were led into a huge parking lot and asked to park our cars and move forward with our luggage in the buses provided for the purpose. The cars not registered in Makkah were not allowed to enter the city in order to control traffic there. We were hungry and the only food availaible was mixed daal(lentils) which was very liquidy with bread. We ate it because we were hungry and because we knew we had to eat whatever availaible for the remaining days of Hajj. There are no hotels, the food is provided to the pilgrims free of cost. There are hotels in the city but none at places like Arafat, Mina, Muzdalifa where pilgrims spend most of their time...almost a week.

Once we entered Makkah, the time fled away without our even noticing. We were always on the move, starting with performing Umra and then moving to Muzdalifa where the only thing one saw was tents. Tents where we had to spend atleast three days and nights....

Spending one night in Mina, we went to the ground of Arafat for the most important component of Hajj. It was very hot, extremely hot but then no one cared. All everyone cared for was forgiveness. Everyone cried for it, begged for it and prayed for it.

Offering prayers, we came back to our tent and collected small stones for the next day. Next day dawned and the time for stoning the devil -Shaitaan- came. After the slaughtering of animals we were free to change the Ehraam. We stoned the other two Jamra'ats in the next two days, offered Tawaf-e-Ziarat ( which to me seemed as the toughest part because it was so crowdy around the Kaaba Mubarak that i feared dying of suffocation). Somehow, we completed the seven rounds around the Kaaba and prepared for the journey to Madina.

We reached Madina, the next day and visited Masjid-e-Nabawi, offered prayers there...spent some days and were ready to come back.

How the time flew was strange. We were there for almost a month and yet it seemed like a few minutes. In no time, we were sitting in our cars, my dad was driving and we were heading back towards home on the same roads we had passed earlier. We reached Dubai after two days and saw the shopping festival and millenium festivities going on. The music in the ground infront of our house was deafening, the cheers from people were shrill and high as they enjoyed some ride or other below. And we thought, what a different world it is from the one we had just left.

At eleven years of age, i might have no proper knowledge of its importance but now i know what it meant to me then.When i realize how i wasted my time there in my childishness, when the only thing i should have done was to pray and pray endlessly and earnestly, my desire of going there now reaches another height. I know i will go there one day, InshaAllah. I know that the Almighty above there will give me one more opportunity to see the Holy Masjid-e-Haram, the Holy Khana-e-Kaaba, the Rooza-e-Rasool (PBUH) and the battlefields of Ohad and Badar. I know i will once again be able to get lost in the crowds of millions dressed in the pure white, crying infront of their Lord for forgiveness, for purity, for Jannah. Oh! i so hope i will be there once again offering those "NAFAL PRAYERS" in the Cave of Jabl-e-Hira where once Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) used to offer prayers for days and nights.

I know for sure that i will get another opportunity to land my foot there because even in my childish lack of awareness, when i had to pray where every prayer is answered and every wish granted, I asked this ,"YA ALLAH TA'ALA!! MERI HER JAIZ DUA AUR KHWAHISH PURI KARNA" (Oh! Lord Almighty! Listen to all my prayers and fulfill all my just wishes).

And from that day i never had a wish unfulfilled. Never had a pray unanswered, I might have felt that my wishes are not being granted, or my prayers are not being answered or that i am being treated harshly by fate. But, everytime when my frustrations got the better of me and tried to make a thankless jerk of me, The ALMIGHTY made me realize i have not lost everything, that the actual wish has still been granted, only in a twisted form, That i was stupid not to realize how beneficial the temporary setback had been to me.

When i see millions dressed in white offering Hajj i realise the power of the Muslim Ummah, only if the Ummah also realises it.

All Muslims are there for one purpose, to please their Almighty and ask for forgiveness. No one remembers his ownself, the individuality vanishes. There is no black or white, red or yellow, African or American or Asian or any other. There is no Indian or Pakistani, no short or tall, no smart or plump. All the various groups merge into one whole unit- The Muslim Ummah-capable of crushing any power, any evil force that comes in their path. The problem lies in the fact that as soon as the white Ehraam is off from our bodies, the voices of Labaik-Allah-Humma-Labaik subside and we leave that land, we once again split into the many groups, we once again become the black and the white, the yellow and the red, the Asian and the African, the American and the Indian. We lose our strength as soon as we become individuals. The 313 soldiers were victorious at Badar because they were one whole unit, because they were united and commited, because they had belief in their unity.

We want to get back that belief and commitment which made our forefathers rule Spain for more than eight centuries. Only then, we can live in this international community with our heads high.

"Yun to kaaba bhe, kalma bhe, hai quran bhe aik

kuch bari baat thi, hotey jo Musalman bhe aik

------Allama Iqbal--------"

Poverty- the vicious cycle!

It was a shabby little hut where he opened his eyes,
The innocent baby and his innocent cries.

The cries foretelling his miserable fate,
The fate, which was to be his lifetime mate.

His father- a poor hardworking man,
Was killed in a dispute with a nearby clan.

The dispute being of trivial nature,
Never brought into notice, the poor man's murder.

Thus, came into this world, an unfortunate soul,
Unaware of what was for him in store.

His mother too weak to earn some bread,
The boy was, therefore, seldom fed.

With little to eat and no fun at all,
He started to grow a little tall.

When he was but a little boy of eight,
In vain, he would, for good days wait.

The good days never came his way,
But destiny took his mother away.

Oh! how the poor innocent soul cried,
Wondering why every joy, was he denied.

Without anyone to love and caress,
The boy's life was one of agony and distress.

The hut was the same, and so was the boy,
He laboured hard, his life devoid of any joy.

Labouring hard, he grew into a young man,
He would then, with hope for good days, plan.

He married a girl whose life was the same as his,
Determined to share sorrows, and turn them into bliss.

They started their journey with love, together,
They vowed to stay happy forever.

Though money was scanty, and meals rare,
They thought their life was pretty fair.

The cruel fate again came to strike,
The young man was hit, by a rashly driven bike.

He was disabled for the rest of his life,
And left in misery, his poor young wife.

Being forced to earn bread for them both,
She knocked every door to sell some cloth.

Her health kept failing, but the stove was kept alive,
Inside her, she was nurturing, another life.

The young man seemed to be nearing his demise,
From his sickly bed, he was unable to rise.

The money was scantier, the meals rarer,
The only option left was an earnest prayer.

The answers to their prayers never came,
They had no idea that who was to blame.

The night was getting darker,
The future looked even harder.

It was the same shabby little hut, where he opened his eyes,
The young man's baby and his innocent cries...............

Mr. Bharat Verma's Misconceptions.

I had heard him first on a Tv channel and to tell the truth was not pleased with his tone especially towards Pakistan. So, i thought of finding a bit more about him. In this quest, i stumbled upon his one article which catches your attention (if you are a Pakistani especially) only if you read the title.
Stable Pakistan not in India’s interest by Bharat Verma.

I don't know what majority of the Indians think about this view of his, as he is quite critical of his own countrymen too.

I would like to comment on some of his misconceptions about Pakistan.
He says in the very beginning :
"That New Delhi is its own enemy became obvious, when it permitted the creation of a pure Islamic State on its borders...."
"Therefore, if New Delhi has not slept a wink since the creation of Pakistan, it has no one except itself to blame!...."

Well , Mr Verma you might as well clear your assumption that Pakistan came into being because of New Delhi's mistake.
As a matter of fact it came into being because Millions sacrificed for its creation, because of a struggle which extended for almost a century and in one way or other is still continuing. Most important of all, Pakistan came into being because it was destined to.


He then says:
"Many conveniently propose the myth that a stable Pakistan is in India’s interest. This is a false proposition.
The truth is that Pakistan is bad news for the Indian Union since 1947-stable or otherwise".

I seriously am shocked to see Mr. Verma worried because of a nation which he thinks will cease to exist in matter of time as i will quote later on. Well, Mr Verma! Pakistan and India are two Nuclear powers. Whatever, you may think you have to cope with this bad news you call Pakistan. Because, as the situation stands today, a stable Pakistan is imperative for a stable India. Ofcourse, all indians are sensible enough to know, war is in no one's favour.
It will end with two lands destroyed, and the two nations will be no more there to claim it.

He continues with baseless allegations:
"However, during these phases of stability, it continued to export terrorism, fake currency, narcotics, and indulged in attempts to change demographics on our borders, cultivated sleeper cells and armed groups inside our territory to create an uprising at an appropriate time".

Mr Verma, for these allegations of yours which you so confidently link to Pakistan, i would like India to go with all your proofs to that International court of justice. You certainly need some justice as you have been hurt so much. The crimes you accuse Pakistan of are serious enough. Certainly, if Mr Saddam could be convicted, you might succeed in getting justice and convicting Pakistan. I wonder if you are so convinced of your suppositions, why haven't you created havoc in the international community for being treated so harshly.

Mr Verma mentions:
"In either case Baluchistan will achieve independence. For New Delhi this opens a window of opportunity to ensure that the Gwadar port does not fall into the hands of the Chinese. In this, there is synergy between the political objectives of the Americans and the Indians. Our existing goodwill in Baluchistan requires intelligent leveraging".

Disregarding your and other countries' objectives Mr Verma, i am shocked to know that you have some kind of existing goodwill in Baluchistan. The situation in this province of ours doesn't really seem to have any particular signs of "goodwill" involved there.
I wonder what sort of admission this is on your side???


Mr Verma continues and mentions his biggest misconception:
"With Pakistan on the brink of collapse due to massive internal as well as international contradictions, it is matter of time before it ceases to exist".

"At the height of the recent disturbances in the Valley, when a general asked me for a suggestion to resolve the issue, I said: “Remove Pakistan. The threat will disappear permanently.” Today the collapse of Pakistan as a state is almost certain. All the King’s men cannot save it from itself".

I never realised that my country was on the brink of collapse. Mr Verma, you have really opened my eyes to all the dangers.
Well, i may ask you, who was it who commented in 1947 that Pakistan can't even survive for ten years?
Some British or Indian perhaps!
If Pakistan survived at that time with no industry, no capital funds, no military training, no ammunition, with only one thing we had-spirit. It will face all the odds once again, and then again.
And for the correction of your record, we don't need any king's men to save ourselves,
we still have the spirit.
And one thing strengthens my belief even further!
If Pakistan could survive with the sort of leaders we always had, none good after Quaid and the party, why can't we now?
We definitely can and will!
Pakistan is a reality Mr Verma, and the sooner you realise it, the better it will be for you.

The two nations would like to live as two good neighbours, visit each other, share there scenic beauty, play cricket together and do all which two friendly nations do.
No one wants a fight. But self-respect is the right of every country. And we the Pakistanis are a very proud nation indeed. True, we have problems. Every nation does have theirs. In our own course, we will overcome these problems someday.
Hope, no doubt, is the foundation of most revolutions. The second is spirit. And thanks to the Almighty above, we have both.
I know so many indians, who unlike you would like to see both nations happy.
And there are a lot many Pakistanis who would like the same.

Looking forward to busy days!

I have had my share of inactive days in which i had nothing to do. Now the countdown has started.....



There are just 11 days left and my days of freedom (velapan) will end. Oh! i am so pleased to know that.

I often ask myself if the seemingly endless months of studies and preparations for exams and entrance tests frustrated me more or these two months of complete idleness. I almost had started to think of myself as an idler, a burden on this already burdened society of mine who eats, sleeps and wakes up again to eat and then sleep again.Suddenly my insomnia was gone as soon as i was free from the monsterous intermediate books. I had been sleeping as if in hibernation. I have slept so much that i am pretty sure i can go on without doing that again for a few weeks atleast.

For the first time, i realized what a curse it was to have nothing to do, to have no tasks set for a day, to have no immediate purpose in life. I had often yearned for the life i was kindly granted for two months. A mere glimpse of the life i had actually desired once was enough to terrify me and make me determined to stay busy all my life.

These days made me aware and actually worry about my being anaemic. They also gave me plenty of time to bother myself and my demented mind with all sort of family matters. They made me think for hours about all sort of things i never gave a second thought to. They made my headaches even more frequent.

But as i see my ordeal nearing its end, i am getting better everyday. I am looking forward to a splendid time ahead.I am looking forward to the time when i will be too busy to even scratch my head. When i will have to spend hours locked in my room studying books which i hope i will love.

I am looking forward to a lot many new friends, a whole lot of new interesting people which i will meet and befriend.
I hope i will have a great time in the coming five years which are the most important in my academic career.I hope shifa will prove to be the best thing that ever happened to me.
I hope....after five years i will be writing another lengthy post to preserve many new memories.

You still remember me!!!

That day i opened my inbox without any intention of mailing you. I was angry because you were so busy and i was so free. I thought the endless chats we used to have were all history. I thought i will never be able to get that sincere advice by you. I even thought i might have been a pass-time friend for you with whom you talked while you had plenty of time at hand. I thought i had lost a very important friend forever.
I went through all my previous read and unread mails and your mail address came infront of my eyes. I tried to ignore but the temptation was there. I decided to write a few formal words so that i won't regret it later on. I opened that new mail page and wanted to start with a simple hi but what my fingers typed was entirely different from what i wanted to. I typed my heart out. I knew it would sound rude and accussatory. My fingers kept hitting various keys and without even re reading it once, i clicked the 'send mail" button.
I never expected your reply atleast for one week. Ofcourse, you were busy and to me it seemed that you were not checking your mails often.
I logged in the next day and found you nudging me and asking if i was getting your messages. I was shocked to see you online and i told you so. I never gave you any opportunity to speak. I was so full of the many things i had to tell you. I filled you with all my latest miseries and you listened. You helped me relax and smile as you always did,


Thanks B for all that you are!!
Thanks for sending me those stupid but lovely three mails in reply to my one. Thanks for staying online for so many hours despite your busy shedule just to tell me you were there.

Thanks for everything. AND never ever dare to forget me.

The picture.......

It was one of the coldest nights of the winter season. It was also the darkest.
Lying on the structure which she used as a bed, the girl was sobbing. She had been suppressing her tears all day long fearing that if she gave way infront of them, she would be beaten badly for being so weak.
She was but a weak creature...but she hated to admit it.
She had spent all day appearing as normal as she could but now the well of tears which had been building inside her all day was uncontrollable. She felt so helpless.....

Last few days had been the happiest of her life. She would wake up every morning and get it out from under the bed covers. Wiping away the non existant dirt she would kiss the lovely face and tenderly put it back. It was her hidden treasure....
The adorable expression of that beloved face kept her happy throughout the day. She beared all the hardships knowing she could tell about them secretly to the lovely picture. She ignored the kicks of her step brothers, the taunts of her step sisters and the stares and slaps of her step mother knowing she would forget them all after caressing the picture just once.
She remembred when her father had secretly given her that picture saying, "Jasmin, my dear! keep this with you and don't let others know you have seen it".
That picture was the only memory she ever had of the most important person of her life. She had asked her father with all the love in her eyes, "Dad, why can't you love me infront of them?"
Her dad, kissing her forehead, had just said this, "To maintain peace, my love."
He was a stranger to her when they were around.

Oh!! she cried hard thinking she will never be that happy again. It was gone now. The picture of her beloved was gone...
The only link between both of them....

Her tears dropped even faster when she recollected what misery she had felt when she first realised it was no more there.
The scene repeated itself once again infront of her swollen eyes.

She had come back from school shivering from the bone chilling cold. She was very happy because of her good performance in today's test. She was dying to tell her beloved picture about all of it. She wanted to thank it for being the cause of improvement in her life. When she went to her room, she was shocked not to find it as usuall under the bed covers. She crazily threw away the bed covers, feeling for the picture by her hands as if it was a pin she was unable to see. She had searched her room many times but all in vain. She felt terrible....
She kept searching the whole house whenever possible carefully avoiding their eyes.

And then, she saw it.
Inside the plastic bag in her stepmother's hand. It was crumpled and torn but she could recognize it anywhere in any form. She saw her stepmother give the bag away to the garbage collector and with that went all her hopes of ever holding it in her hands again. Her grandmother had turned after banging the door shut and had an evil smile of triumph on her face. She was standing dumbfounded robbed of all her treasure.
Her stepmother told her to stop staring at her as if she was a strange sight.
For the first time in the 13 years of her life, Jasmin stared hard at her and told her step mother on her face, " I hate you. I really do."
She turned away and busied herself in the daily chores. She expected and recieved a harsh treatment but was numb to all pain then.....

Lying on her poor broken bed, she was crying for the loss of her hidden treasure. The only picture of the person she didn't knew personally but loved the most, missed the most, was no more under her bed covers, close to her heart.








Jasmin cried for the loss of the lovely face of her beloved mother who had died giving birth to her. She sobbed because she was alive and her mother dead. She cried for her mother's death. She had died a fresh death for her.
And this time, she could feel the pain..................

Mumbai Horror!!!

A terrible attack once again. Only its another country, the style of attack changes and the places are different. The result is still the same. Many innocents die, those alive are left in a state of terror unimaginable.
I, sitting there on my cozy sofa and watching television's live coverage wondered, what if gunmen are running all over the streets in which i had spent my childhood. What if the same hotel in which i dined so often is burnt infront of my eyes and i am made a terrified spectator? What if the city i so love, is turned into a battlefield? Or what if i am confined in my house for three horrible days forced to watch television which shows me deadbodies of my own citizens? Or God forbid, what if i am taken hostage to mere youths in their mid twenties and mentally tortured to death by them??

Mere youths!!!!!!!
It breaks my heart to know that people who are almost of my own age are brought up with such crap in their brains that they think they do a job of greatness by killing people. What sort of youth is theirs!!
Instead of doing something to build their countries (if they belong to any), instead of dreaming of an excellent future and planning for it, they are doomed to die as terrorists. Is there any greater pity than the fact that when they die, they are so unfortunate they have no one to cry on their dead bodies.
They have no life here, and none in the world hereafter.

If i had one such person infront of me, i would like to draw blood drop by drop from their bodies and tell them repeatedly no one cares when they die. Its of no use even then, because these people are not capable of any humanly feelings. They are beneath the wildest of animals.

They belong to no cast, no creed, no nation. They don't even belong to the human race.
The society disowns them. Their bodies must be left in some jungle to rot, as they don't even deserve a proper burial.

I always thought cruelty is wrong even to criminals. I thought bloodshed in any form was actually to be shunned. But being forced for a long time to see the gruesome dead bodies of my own brothers, sisters, countrymen and fellow humans mutilated or blown into pieces. I often wonder what punishment will bring all of these people back to life.
None!
I often wonder what punishment will reduce the pain of those whose loved ones died because of some diseased people unfortunate enough to be born.
None!
I often think, my head will one day burst with all these thoughts.

And then, i often think what our world would have been like if there were no terrorists!
No diseased extremists, no murderers of humanity.

It would have been heaven.
Where people smiled, children were not confined inside the walls of their houses because of terror but were allowed to play on the streets without any danger. Where death came as naturally as possible. Where people enjoyed their dinners in the Taj, in the marriot, in the Oberoi without ever seeing them burning and blowing into pieces.

I hope....once again, that everything returns to normal.
But i don't know what is normal..
Because sounds of blasts, gunfires and cries of innocent people seem to me as more normal..
I see and hear them more often than i see smiles and hear laughter.

I hope i die a sane person and have a normal death. I am not afraid of death but i am afraid of my lifeless body lying on some road with ambulances screaming and bloodshed all around.