Half a Confession III

[Warning: offensive language and subject matter.]

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Pyaray pyaray:

I can never understand how E can tolerate me -- her ultimate friend and rival -- no gray areas there -- admire her tenacity and single mindedness -- and you are so full of shit -- the airs, the paradox, the facade, the cultivated persona -- but enough! -- this is not your daastaan.

At every critical moment in my sojourn men appear out of nowhere so I do not sink further into the abyss of decadence -- destiny -- karma? So Sunil appeared as if ordained -- oh it was a fun wedding -- come on, you were there too -- the aag kaa pheras, -- the mumbo-jumbo of the priest -- the recitation from the maulvi who refused to share the center stage and sat sulking in an adjoining room -- for the second time I wanted to nurture love in me -- no possibility of that.

This was my Islamic phase -- innocently prompted by his -- why do you guys do this, what does that mean -- he saw through my shallow answers -- I had no choice but to be better informed -- I devoured the old texts --I could have written better books than that Moroccan bitch Fatima-what’s-her-Mernisi-name -- you know even Shaa called me a couple of times to get some facts straight in an article he was writing on the Islamic Laws of Inheritance -- there must be something in those probing queries -- Sunil decided to embrace Islam -- earlier I had jokingly threatened him -- you embrace Islam and I will divorce you -- which is ironically how it played out -- Islam two me zero -- yeah, call me a bitch.

These days I am afraid of the day -- do and yet do not look forward to the next day --the night passes by somehow -- but the day drags on interminably -- there is a Harris Khaleeq poem Khauf in Urdu--Raat ka khauf nahiN/ raat tou cut ja’ayegi/Din jo niklay ga mujhay ghar say nikalna hoga / janay kis kis say mujhay apni tabiyyat kay khilaaf / khandah bur-lub buhat ikhlaaque say milna hoga / jis’m tou jis’m meri rooh ko jhukna hoga / kar’b ki aag maiN din bhur mujhay jalna hoga /raat ka khauf nahiN /raat tou cut ja’ayegi/ durr koi mujh ko agar hay /tou woh din ka durr hay.

(Am not afraid of the night/ the night shall come to pass/ when the day dawns will have to leave home/ will have to bow, meet and nod at everybody out there/ will have to exchange pleasantries with everyone despite.../shudder all day long in apprehension of this duplicity/ fear not the night/ if I have any fear/ it is of the day!)

But unlike Harris every single moment has its fears for me now. Sometimes I wonder why me -- kahaaN thay aur kahan pohanch g’aye -- I know I am not your conventional next door bitch -- but fuck! I cannot be all that bad yaar -- have seen worse people -- just under five years -- before the vision swallowed him -- I should not have walked away after he converted but I wanted no part of it -- why? And why did I react so strongly then? I should have been pleased -- but trust me to avoid the easy pitfalls.

I still wonder why that made me reject him -- if I had any easy answers I would not be this person -- why this strange sense of déjà vu as the mile-post appears over the horizon after a life-long struggle? -- you write why indulge in such graphic language now? -- Oye Ulloo who knows what will happen -- maartay raho sar apna kisi mohoom ummeed par -- gar na hu’a woh to kiya hoga? -- but I still do believe in goodness -- your new world order be good -- no prophets, no rituals, no dogmas -- just individual’s conscience as the guide.

Remnant traces of the good can still be found in the atmosphere surrounding me right there with the ozone layer -- these gaalis are my security blanket --Tourette’s syndrome perhaps -- they are as satisfying, gratifying really as naswaar or zarday qiwwam ka paan or salt-tequila-lemon -- look at this -- here I wanted to use the beh’n or maa gaali but it would not come out -- why? Perhaps because I was being deliberate and it comes off on its own volition -- so my friend pray to your gods to have mercy on this bitch.

Oye bhenchaud you really think I would ask you to intercede? Hah -- I have to pay my dues -- we all do -- inescapable --and you know very well that I have never deliberately hurt anyone -- only myself -- and of course my loved ones -- we all have a right to do so -- I have a right to do so…

Maria is a really chirpy little nurse -- she talks about herself and reveals details about her forthcoming wedding while sponging and cleaning me and the room -- she and her fiancé are looking for a banquet hall, they have selected bridesmaids’ dresses already, they live together, have to get the priests to sort their affairs, she is an Italian Catholic and he a Greek Orthodox and she wants to raise the children as Catholics and her priest wants it in writing from the Greek priest -- and here I am slowly dying -- I smiled at the irony -- I must be in bad shape yaara -- and she kept talking incessantly to distract herself.

I wonder how others cope with death -- I look forward to ending this pain soon -- of course without your fucking help -- wonder about which God will I get to meet? -- we met -- we loved -- and yet remained apart -- why does it turn out that we mostly dream of elusive things -- things that are just beyond our reach? -- too many thoughts -- too many distractions – and only one slowly disintegrating body searching for the ultimate escape -- eternal serenity -- in dying will I be at peace?

Strangely, yaara, I am happy even now -- except for this incessant pain that is eating me up -- even though it is taking me eternally longer to key in these words -- but this is still lightning speed compared with Stephen Hawking’s -- I must have been deliriously happy with Sunil -- did not notice how that Mulla Noorani’s bitch of a daughter enticed him away -- forget all that bakwaas about women’s instinct -- the hidden antennas -- the invisible radar that enables us to spot a foe from a million miles -- all that have to be turned on to be effective -- I was lulled by love induced stupor -- classic euphoric blindness -- and when I returned to reality he was gone -- my Sunil was hers...

Why did Caliph Omar change the rules mid-game? -- all during Prophet’s (pbuh) life divorce was practiced in installments -- some two or three years after his death Caliph Omar changed the rules of engagement -- or disengagement -- utter the loaded words thrice and it is a done deed -- I want to write fuck him but I cannot -- but Sunil did -- with his new found religion he said fuck fuck fuck thrice and was a free bird -- another religious interpretation screwed -- I know you think it is wrong and the practice should be reverted but admit it yaar your kind are a rarity --who listens to you? -- not even your brother.

As John Masters probably said, ’be what you are, give what you can and the rest of the time mind your own business’ -- the other eternal queries will sort themselves out -- yaar, why all this shit starts and ends in ambiguity?-- you remember Rashid’s Khaab --khaab lay lo khaab -- khaab lay lo khaab -- aray bhenchaud kaun sa khaab thaa aur kis harrafaa nay maanga tha -- except for you, Saqi and a fistful of others who reads Noon Meem?-- aray yaara you are weird -- you bhenchaud insisted you only saw a brother in me -- you introduced me to others as your brother -- brother with tits -- and your fucking clinical observations of their reaction -- what did you learn -- some fucking spatial dimensions of the intelligence spread or whatever?

Ah -- what a euphoric relief spreads throughout my body as I press the pump knob -- but the intensity of pain overwhelms the euphoria in minutes now not hours -- I will drift off ...

pyar aur bosa E aur tumharay liyay

pyari



Footnote:


Khauf

Raat ka khauf nahiN
raat tO cut ja’ayegi
un-ginat hij’r ki raatouN maiN say
ik raat hay yeh
jo kay her raat ki maanind
hareem-e-jaaN maiN
shaam dhaltay hee ootar aaiee hay
aankhouN aankhouN maiN bas’r ho
kay haseeN khaabouN maiN
jaagtay soutay hu’aye raat guzar ja’ayegi
raat ka khauf nahiN
raat tO cut ja’ayegi
durr koi mujh ko agar hay
tO who din ka durr hay.

Din jo niklay ga mujhay ghar say nikalna hoga
ik ik lamha-e-jaaN ka dasay ga mujhko
ik adbaar-e-musalsil say guzarna hoga
janay kis kis say mujhay apni tabiyyat kay khilaaf
khandah bur-lub buhat ikhlaaque say milna hoga
her jafaakar, sitam-pesha o zarkash kay huzoor
jis’m tO jis’m meri rooh ko jhukna hoga
aur ehsaas kay is shola-e-souzaaN kay tufail
kar’b ki aag maiN din bhur mujhay jalna hoga
raat ka khauf nahin
raat tO cut ja’ayegi
durr koi mujh ko agar hay
tO who din ka durr hay.

Harris Khaleeque -- Khi ’91