‘Raped’ Teen Dies of Self-Immolation

'A mina' incident
Take me home mother for the deed is done,
I have completed the task myself
The burning that begun with brutal thrusts
Has now engulfed me entirely,
I am free
Take me home mother for the deed is done
The skin they devoured has melted off
There is nothing left to turn them on,
I have made sure I look as hideous as death
God should make us all like this
Dripping with our own flesh and blood
Then perhaps they will leave us be
Or maybe not
Like vultures they will come
They have, can you see mother?
I told you I was telling you the truth
Now they believe me as I light the torch
As I am licked clean
They believe me mother and so do you
As I bid adieu 
O! Mukhtaran
I know what you meant
There is no pain like the one we tasted
But I cannot live with the shame
Take me home mother for the deed is done,
I have completed the task myself.

The Sports Day

The circular said 'children are to be dropped at the venue at 8.00 am sharp.' So there I was in the dusty parking lot of the grounds where my children were to have their annual sports day. They have been part of this institution since they could toddle and there were very specific reasons why I had admitted both of them there. Unlike the new crop of upcoming wealthy parents to whom this school is nothing but a status symbol that makes for great dinner time conversation with their yuppy friends. Recently I have noticed how ridiculous the school's demands have become. But perhaps they are ridiculous only to those who own a single vehicle, are working parents and have no maids/chokidar/bodyguard/driver/houseboy/slave.

A month and a half in advance a notice was sent by the school stating that all children were to enter a training camp for the upcoming sports day. The "camp" was either in one corner of the city or was held at such unrealistic hours that those of us that had to drive/work/supervise the younger sibling all by our self were left gasping. It was brought into the respective teachers' notice but the head shook and the reply was the recently famous 'you have to send your child otherwise......'

Lists were put up a couple days before the event on the school walls that ominously read 'RESULT SHEETS.' Parents flocked around (myself included) looking for their child's name, some mothers clicked pictures to send to those that had not come(I mean seriously?) It was a sight! Haven't sports days been a tradition in Pakistani schools since time immemorial? I never remember anyone having to nose through lists. 

Any how there we were and I had deposited my two into their respective enclosures, which is a fancy name for laying dirty carpets onto lose sand, that rises into your nose as you walk on it, surrounded by tents. I take my seat in the arena and wait. And wait, and wait and wait. The microphones are tested, the music is not playing(it is supposed to be a rehearsal day) but hang on it is also the sports day for the younger lot right? Confused? so are we, every year. After forty five minutes the events begin. There is an atmosphere. Parents are enjoying their tea and snacks as well the various races on the field. According to the program we received the last events take place and most of us start moving towards the children's enclosures to pick them up. Some of you probably think all the children got to participate. You are wrong. forty percent of them have been sitting on a sand dune eating dirt for four hours without having to do anything with their own sports day because remember a month and a half ago we were warned 'you have to send your child otherwise......'

There are plumes of dust as I walk towards my child's 'enclosure,' children are running amok and the sand is everywhere even on her eyelashes. "Where is your teacher?" "I don't know." 

Oh there she is, in the only dust safe corner of the tent sipping tea and talking to her buddy. 

It is noon time and the sun is merciless. Yet we are told that there will be a last time the children will march onto the tracks and then we can take them home. I reluctantly go back to my area to wait. It is scorching and the children walk back onto the field. They are then asked to sit down. I get up. How can they expect the children to be sitting in the sun when we lounge in the shade? For the next forty minutes random prizes are announced and children come up to get their medals while the rest of them sit roasting in the noon sun. One after another names are called of children from 8th 9th,10th,11th grade while the 3rd 4th 5th 6th 7th graders hold their hands up to shade their eyes. Parents watch on helplessly most of them with children from 3-7 grade. But none of them utter a single word. After all this is a school that is said to be the best. It is a school that promotes the inculcation of confidence in their children rather than academics alone. For the last three years my son has not been "selected" to participate in the annual sports day of the school he has been attending since kindergarten.

To second chances

It's one of those days my child,
When I look at your tiny face,
And remember another,
That I once knew.
You look like my mother my child,
And it's cruel that each time you hug me,
I imagine that those arms belong to her too.
So I have decided to take my revenge on fate,
I have a scheme all planned,
I promise to keep that tiny face of yours smiling,
For she hardly got to do the same.
This way I see her shining in your eyes,
Each time you giggle at my silliness,
I make you laugh and hear it like hers,
For she didn't have your luck.
I will protect you,
Like I never knew how with her.
And cherish you the best I can,
For life has given me a second chance.

For Shagufta

And then there were words,
Just ink blots on paper,
Just effervescent thoughts
Afloat on the silence of time,
Words have no power,
Neither do I.
Your words
And mine
Our words intertwine
But come to naught,
For all that I can say has been said before
And all that you suffered was yours alone
I can offer words,
To soothe what is not there
To alleviate what is now clear
Words have no power,
Neither do I

(RIP boss)

To See the Queen.....

The lure of  travel is a siren call no hard working middle class individual should heed. I am guilty for traveling and grateful to those that have funded me so far. So here's to all the raised eyebrows I got when I returned from a five day tryst to London. Yup! five measly days, oodles of cash handed over to airlines, hotels and restaurants. A sin, some might say. An investment would have been wiser others said. I hang my head but that is so I can hide the smirk on my face and the glee in my eyes. Nothing compares to the feeling of packing a bag. Listing the items each family member will need and then neatly sorting them into a duffle. Winning the lotto wouldn't give you the thrill one gets when the plane races down the runway and you hear it curling up its tires almost as eager as you to take to the air. Although I am petrified of flying but that is a fear I am willing to face if it gets me from point A to the very alluring point B. After seven hours in a sitting posture you alight to the daylight of a new world and you forget all the cursing you had done the night before when your head hit the hand rest as you accidentally nodded off. Even the sterilized, standardized, airport of a new country is exciting to us fools. Like a wine tasting, as you are driven to your hotel, you catch glimpses of passing scenery but you tell yourself not to gobble it all up, but to cherish it at the tip of your tongue. Well, it is not much different from Johannesburg where you went last year but hang on, is that really Mcdonald's in a red bricked cottage. Out comes the camera and you click like a crazy person forgetting to savor gently.

I am sorry....

I apologize profusely
For my history
I am so sorry
For Mahmud Ghaznavi,
For Tughlaqs, for Khiljis
For Humayun, for Akber and Sher Shah Suri,
I am sorry
For plundering your temples
For torching your library
I am ridden with guilt
By the army I built
to overrun all that I considered
Haram!
Forgive me
For Afghanistan, for Pakistan
For 911
For 24/7 all I do is dwell
On the torment a mother must feel
When my brother rips her son
From forehead to heel
Regrettably I admit
That this is not the end
No matter how many times I bend
My head and repent
They will continue to hunt and kill
My fellow humans who will
Not show uniformity
To their insanity
Don't point your finger at me
I am ashamed, for my religion,
To some it is a tool
To kill my shia friends
My nation's Christians, Hindus, Ahmedis, Wahabis, Ismailis
I cannot look them in the eye
For it is my brother that does deny
Having their blood on his hands
But mine are soaked
And with a sigh
I apologize......

End of Innocence

For the past decade any nationalistic feelings I ever had have been effectively doused. I have noticed that a lot of people suffer along with me in this vicious cycle of terrorism, inflation and lawlessness yet they maintain their levels of patriotism. Hats off to their tenacity. There have been several back to back incidences in the past months that I have considered the last straw, the continued and barbaric ethnic violence, the persecution of minorities, the apathy of the rich class depicted in continued rise in prices of goods that were only a couple of years ago, in the grasp of the middle to lower middle class. Yet what has recently transpired in the so called capital of this so called great nation has cemented my dislike for my own people. Apparently a mentally unstable individual takes his family for a drive, taking not just the essential car keys and spare tire in the vehicle but a few extra condiments. Ammunition. He decides that sight seeing is not enough for the day's agenda so starts to make a little noise and get a little media attention. We all know what happened on that fateful 15th of August in Islamabad. We saw the footage one hundred times whether we wanted to or not. Every one discussed the efficacy of Zamarrud's 'heroic' act, Sikander's lack of terrorist 'skills,' Kanwal's negotiation prowess. The entity that was left out were the kids. Sure they were collateral damage and were used by their 'parents' in the most abusive manner possible but what did the rest of us do? I am sure most mothers were cringing at the footage and every time the children were shown frolicking about such a horrific scene as the one created by this insane couple. It seems no one was responsible for these little lives. Not the media, not the law enforcers, and least of all their parents. It was like watching a morbid mime as Sikander ran his last lap, everyone opened fire while this little boy ran helter-skelter holding an umbrella. According to our new national hero Zamarrud Khan, his priority was the children. I think there can not be a more blatant lie. He was untrained (not that any of the other so called law enforcers around the area were any better trained), wearing formal shoes that slipped on the tarmac, and completely thinking of how glorious it would be to sink his teeth on the media frenzy. If children were his priority he would have negotiated on his behalf more vehemently and patiently rather than going for the jugular so quickly and stupidly, right in front of the children. I must say God still pays attention to our spit of land. It was a smiling fate that save the children that day not Zamarrud Khan!