Resisting The Stillness Within

Recently I stumbled upon this quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson, 'What lies behind us and what lies before us, are tiny matters compared to what lies within us' and the irony of me struck me hard.

It was then that I wondered, fake as we are, do we even exist? How many of us unleash what our hearts and minds behold? How real are we?

Our real selves stashed away deep within, covered by layers of lies and deceit, unable to emerge for fear of the blemishes so shameful and of the fingers that are sure to point and the cruel smiles bestowed with such condescension.

What are we constituted of then, I ask?

Who is the person we all see in the mirror?

Could it be the shadow of the feelings our hearts beat on? 

Or is it the image of what is seen reflected in the world’s eye?

How deeply buried could we be, to not even feel the air that blows through the soil or the tremors that course through the land?

Deep enough, I think, to have forgotten what our true identities are, such that we are nothing more than hollow vessels named and moulded to fit the shroud tailored to please what should have never been consequential in the first place.

Photo Credits: Shahroz Hyder Arts

Another consequent question that pops in my mind is that, 'What the true definition of beauty is?' 

Is it dressing up all pretty and snapping gorgeous photos for the world to admire?

Does it lie in unblemished skin and magnificent tresses of hair?

Perhaps, some would look to more idealistic views of internal beauty and aim to achieve the satisfaction of being the 'ideal human being' to attain their definition of beautiful. 

Mayhap, the definition of beauty is in the joys of nature and the symmetrical perfection and unbelievable miracles we get to experience several times daily.

Or it could be that the definition is subjective to the eyes of the beholder. 

Does what one perceive dictate the beauty of any particular thing?

What may be beautiful to one person may be unappealing to another? 

Is that how it goes? 

I really do wonder at times.

So for once, let's just look past all these layers that we show to the world and discover our real being in between the wild forests that grow within us. For once, let's just hurl a stone in the deep stagnant waters of our being and resist the stillness that dwells within us.

The Typewriter Series: Heartfelt

The words that you would find on this typewriter are usually what my heart beholds. It wouldn't be wrong if I say that these are words straight from my heart on to the paper.

'Those were not demons she was scared of but humans and their ugly intentions which were stashed away deep within covered by layers of lies and deceit.'

I'm sure most of you would agree with me on the fact that what hurts more than physical injuries is the deciet by your loved ones. The people whom you least expected to hurt often turn out to be the ones who hurt you the most and that is what make my heart ache more than ever. It's nothing personal but just what I've observed around.

Thank you for stopping by :)

Aik Alif by Bulleh Shah

The first post of 'The Translation Series' is the translation of a Punjabi poem known as 'Aik Alif' by my favourite Sufi poet, Bulleh Shah. He was a great Sufi poet of Punjab as well as a saint, a humanist and a philosopher.

I hope this translation helps you grasp the message the poet is trying to convey.

Parh parh ilm te faazil hoya

You read so many books to know it all

Te kaday apnay aap nu parhya ee na

Yet fail to ever read your heart at all

Bhaj bhaj warna ay mandir maseeti

You rush to holy shrines to play a part,

Te kaday mann apnay wich warya ee na

Would you dare enter the shrine of your heart 

 Larna ay roz shaitaan de naal

You are quick to attack the evil one

Te kadi nafs apnay naal larya ee na

Yet pride is a battle you have not won

Bulleh Shah asmaani ud-deya pharonda ay

You grab for a star you can control

Te jera ghar betha unoon pharya ee na

Yet fail to grasp the light in your soul.

Bas kareen o yaar Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar

Let the race end, my friend,stop trying to be the one who knows

Ik Alif teray darkaar

For ‘God is One’ you need to know.

Bas kareen o yaar Allah Sayyaan Allah Sayyaan 

End the race, my friend. God is All we need! God is All!

Main jaanaa Jogi de naal

Follow the wandering dervish!

Jo naa jaane haq ki taaqat rab na devey us ko himat 

If you deny the power of all that’s true, God will not grant strength to you

Hum mnn ke darya mein doobey

We are lost in this river of self

Kaisi nayya? Kya manjhdhaar?

No boat or streams are of any help

Bas kareen o yaar

End the race, my friend

Ilm-oun bas kareen o yaar

Stop trying to know it all, my friend

Allah Sayyaan Allah Sayyaan

God is All we need! God is All!


 This has also been performed at Coke Studio by the very famous Saeein Zahoor and Noori, you can listen to it here.

Thank you for stopping by :)

The Translation Series

For quite sometime now I've been wanting to do a translation series because of a number of reasons. Mainly because I've wanted the world to find beauty in the literature of every language and somehow Asian languages have forever been neglected and also because I've been doing translations for friends for quite sometime now and its about time I start doing this officially. So by initiating this series I'll be translating my favourite pieces of Punjabi and Urdu literature and sometimes, very rarely you might even find Persian ones. It's a pretty hard job to translate such classical and bombastic Punjabi and Urdu pieces into English and make sure that they have the same impact even after translation but I promise to try and give my best. I hope this turns out to be the way I've planned it.  

Thank you for stopping by. :)

For Lahore, With Love

Amjad Nawaz is a business graduate. He runs his own company which imports interior furnishing products with offices in Lahore and Islamabad. His work takes him to different countries and helps his passion of photography.He currently resides in Lahore. He can be reached at; 

Instagram: @UnmadeRhyme 

Twitter: @UnmadeRhyme

While most of the people are busy clicking beautiful pictures of Lahore for money, he does it because he loves Lahore. Let's see what story he has to tell.

I was neither born here in Pakistan nor am I a Pakistani national but I've always wanted to live here. I cannot exactly put into words why I feel so for this place but there's a hearty connection that I bear with this place.

Back in the O Level days, when I joined the family business, my father and I used to have conversations regarding where in the world I would like to settle.

My father always wanted me to move to China where his business is based, so that I could help him with chores. I somehow always avoided this answering this question but one day when he particularly asked me, 

'Dunya ka konsa mulk choose karo gay rehnay ke liyay?'

(Which country in the world would you choose to live in?)

I then decided, it was time for him to know what my mind beholds. I then told him,

'Mulk chorain mein tou Lahore na choru'

(You talk about leaving the country, I dont want to leave this city, Lahore)

For me, settling abroad was always an easy task. I could've chosen any place in the world. Kuwait, where most of my father's customers are settled or Thailand, of where I hold a nationality or China where my father is settled or anywhere else in the world where I liked. But I chose Pakistan and Lahore to be specific

.

Frankly, I've only spent 10 years of my life here. I've lived in Bangkok, Jakarta and Rawalpindi but to be honest Lahore is definitely the best.

I dedicate this piece of writing to my father because up-til now I haven't been able to convince him for why I wanted to live in Lahore so here's something I would like to say, 'Dad I know I've never been able to explain to you why I want to live here and I know I shall never even be able to do so but it's like when I set foot in this city, and just walking down the street, it is like roots, like its my motherland. I know I belong here and I have an affection for this place. Excuse me for being disobedient.'

And to each and everyone of you who is reading this, I'm not sure if you found this story interesting or you label me as a fool for not leaving when I could have easily done but for once and for all I would only say,

'Chahe kuch bhi hou meine Lahore nahi chorna'

(No matter what happens I will never leave this city)


So here are a few of the amazing pictures by him.

Liberty Roundabout, Lahore.

Poetry on a truck in Lahore which says:
How cruel are the people of your city; They murder first and then ask whose funeral is it?

Night Photography. Location: Lahore.

A long exposure shot of the area around Liberty market.

A long exposure shot of the Liberty Roundabout, Lahore.

Thank You for stopping by :)

Why specifically a typewriter?

I have loved typewriters ever since I saw one in the storeroom of my house back in Lahore. The not so little, black and dusty typewriter always seemed appealing to me. It had a charm like no other and I remember sitting in a dark and gloomy corner of the store room on hot summer afternoons keying in random things on the non functional electronic typewriter. But soon when we had to move from one city to another, my parents never even considered of taking the old and useless machine along, hence I had abandon my favourite gadget behind. Even though I didn't have a typewriter after that but I couldn't get that beauty out of mind. I still got excited whenever I spotted a typewriter around. Back then I didn't really know where could I find a typewriter of my own and filed my dream of getting a typewriter in the 'someday' folder of my brain. Recently, on one of my visits around the city I spotted a shabby, old shop in the old city area selling tens and hundreds of these vintage beauties and it literally made my heart flutter. It took me a good six months to finally get to this shop and when I finally did and got a typewriter for myself, I was literally on the seventh heaven.

It was then that my friends and acquaintances who considered getting a typewriter in this modern era of computers and printers to be specific, as sheer stupidity, asked me weird question. The most frequently asked question was, 'Why specifically a typewriter?'

So here I am giving away the few reasons for why I'm so fond of typewriters.

Most of the typewriters are unique and one of a kind pieces. In many cases, the typewriter that you own might be the only one in the city-maybe the world too.And rarity always makes it exciting.

I have a thing for vintage stuff. I can not really put into words but all the old school stuff is quite close to my heart and it feeds my collecting habit. I have a mighty collection of pictures of friends and family that date almost half a century back and vintage books and a few postage stamps and some coins. Typewriters are just another to that might collection.

I love them for their dust and grime, their sticky keys and wayward ribbons. I love them because they make me nostalgic with the memories of an era where I didn't even exist.

The one thing that specifically makes my heart grow even fonder of this little thing is that the process from brain to fingers to instant print in combination to secondary faucets of smell, rhythm and the 'Thak-Thak' sound is one that cannot be mimed by any other machine interactions.

And also because I strong believe in the words of John O'Hara who said, '“Much as I like owning a Rolls Royce, I could do without it. What I could not do without is a typewriter, a supply of yellow second sheets, and the time to put them to good use.” 

Say 'Hello' to my vintage beauty!

P.S. Brace yourselves for quite a lot typewritten stuff is coming your way. ;)

Much Love.

Dear Diary, the Lyari gang war doesn't scare me anymore

This article was originally published here.

Day 1

Dear Diary,

Today, I was awakened to the thundering noise of gun fires and frequent gapped blasts once again.

Despite the fact that this is something very normal for us, the people living in Lyari, I still get scared. These horrific noises still send shivers down my spine and my heart sinks with ever boom. Every time I hear a gunfire shot, I wonder who has been slaughtered in this meaningless gang war going on.

Last night, an unknown bullet struck Sara’s father, our neighbour, and he died instantly. I could hear the poor girl screaming and wailing over the loss of her father. He was not just the only bread winner of his own family but also took care of six helpless sisters and an invalid brother.

Sara’s poor old grandmother kept cursing the ruthless and heartless culprits for displaying such barbarity. This incident has frightened me even more. I’ve been clinging to Baba since then. I haven’t let him step out of the house even once. I fear I might lose him if I let him do so and that adds on to my agony.

Now it’s time to sleep. I’ll get back to you tomorrow.

Yours,

Tania

 Day 2

Dear Diary,

Today was one of the best and worst days of my existence.

It was the worst because the bullets went sweeping past the windows, the gaps between those blasts became less frequent and the hurried movements of the gunmen shook the earth, the core of the neighbourhood trembled and the air echoed with gunfire.

I have never felt more horrified. My heartbeat increased so fast that I thought my heart would break through my ribs and come out. I began weeping. I felt worse than a war captive.

But you know what the best part was?

Today Baba finally decided that he cannot live in this warzone anymore! We’re finally moving to another place, a more peaceful neighbourhood. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy I am.

I might not be able to talk to you as often since from tomorrow onwards, we begin hunting for our new home.

Good Night.

Lots of love,

Tania

Day 10

Dear Diary,

Eight days have passed since I last wrote to you.

Today I want to tell you everything that happened in these last few days but I am blank. Completely expressionless. I have fallen short of words. I want to cry but my eyes have dried up. I want to scream but a lump is struck in my throat.

You must be wondering where I was, right?

Maybe I was busy with the house hunt? Or maybe shifting?

No, I wasn’t busy because of either reason.

I was busy because of the guests that had been coming and going back and forth.

I was busy helping my family survive this crisis.

I was busy because I’m supposed to be a survivor.

I was busy because Baba died.

Yes, my father who meant the world to me died. Baba died. And with him died everything; my fear, my anxiety, my hopes, my dreams and everything else. I died with him. The gunfire doesn’t scare me anymore.

You must be wondering what happened to Baba, right?

The same thing that happened to Sara’s father; he was hit in the head by a stray bullet and died instantly.

Remember I told you I didn’t let him step out of the house?

I didn’t display an inch of leniency. So, he stepped out of the house at dawn, while I was still asleep, to get bread and butter for breakfast. Before stepping out, he told my mother,

“Let me get it done before Tania wakes up or else she’ll keep clinging to my sleeves and won’t let me step out.”

I don’t want to live anymore. I feel like my world is empty without him.

What good did this gang war do to us?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

The government could have prevented the loss of so many valuable human lives but what did they do?

Again nothing. Oh wait, they did do something.

They ‘condemned’ it. Why don’t they realise that condemning is something they should leave to us, the ordinary people, and instead they should take some action so that no more Saras and Tanias lose their fathers. Giving us a huge sum of money doesn’t replace the affection and love of our father.

I dont want their dirty money.

I just want my Baba back!!

Can their ‘condemning’ the attack bring Baba back?

No!

They have to realise that this is the time to do something and they need to take some positive steps. They have to. Because if they don’t, soon enough, there may be no one left to save.

Yours,

Tania