Hey, soul sister.

She was 10 when my parents got married. 6 years younger than what I am now. We share the same birthday, 5th February. And more than the insanity for food and fetish for traveling, we have a deep, almost Karmic connection. However, that story is for another day.
Ma remembers her as the girl with gray eyes, filled with poignancy and a beautiful almost mystical glow in her eyes. Even when I look at her these days, I want to immerse myself in those gray eyes. They speak volumes. When ma went to Jaunpur after marriage, she was still there, with her two younger brothers. Ma recalls all of them to be her source of joy.
She was especially ma’s only friend, despite the age difference they had. A newly wedded Indian bride has much to keep herself occupied, doesn’t she? These three kids brought a twinkle to her eyes. After those lengthy, monotonous, days, she would lighten her mood with the innocents smiles and sometimes gasps as my mother, the master story teller that she is, always had something to tell them. Up to this day, when they meet ma, I see the close bond they have. Its something I feel enamored of, and almost scared to penetrate. Yes, they’re that close. The beauty of their relationship stirs me, and I see how ma’s face totally lights up when one of them calls and says, “Chaachi .. “ (refers to one’s father’s younger’s brother’s wife)
She got married to a Army man. He was one of the most pleasurable people to converse with. I've only met him once when they were staying in Ooty, and I remember how very well he took care of all the guests. Their house was located in a beautiful place, lush green hills, incomparable, astonishing beauty. And we were guests to beautiful people too.

They had a son who was one year younger to me. He was obsessed with video games and PSPs. Still is. And he always beat me at it. Technology and I have the most complicated relationship.
Anyway, I have only met her husband once, and sadly, that was the last time. The last I remember is my parents weeping through the phone when her husband’s death was announced to us. He had battled cancer and had sadly, lost his life in the battle. I cannot fathom the sorrow of someone who loses her/his spouse. How do they feel when they walk into an empty, silent house where at a point of time the sounds of someone’s loving words echoed? How do they feel when they look into the wardrobe and realize half the clothes hung in it, will never be worn?

But I have something to tell you beyond the innumerous questions lurking in my head. She is still strong as a pillar. Even today when I look into her eyes, I only find hope in her eyes, exclusive to someone who has not lost life’s battle. She has not given up, she has not turned a loser, she has not let despair, depression, gloom, misanthrope, or an eternal sorrow seep into her life. She is full of life, and even when you meet her today, you would only run into fits of laughter. Careless, flowing laughter. She is a charmer, and she charms me with her enthusiasm towards everything!
She’s my eldest sister on my father’s side and I am the youngest, and when I look up to her, I only wish I could imbibe an ounce of the fervor in her. The fervor to live on.

Firdaus

This is the play ground which echoed with the laughter of numerous innocent children and now bares rusty skeletons of swings and slides. On another corner there were abandoned houses

. She told me there were strings of days with no electricity, no television or any media exposure. That’s how she lost her eyes. Even public transport ceased for a while, and she lost her feet then.
I hear an alarm, which was in fact a signal for people to run and hide due to news or assumption of aggression or threat of turmoil, but strangely, people continued to walk on the streets, probably because they have realized there is no place to hide.
She holds homeless, even hopeless inside her.
When I was about to bid adieu, I saw many standing with pictures of their husbands/brothers/sons in hope of them coming back. The ladies appeal more than often and claim their rights and perhaps claim their relatives too who've been cuffed under suspicion. I see some of them stand with tears brimming in their eyes. Someone told me that innumerous women burst out crying in the middle of protests, with no mention of the void in their lives whatsoever, and yet no one raises eyebrows because they all understand the pain.

She is Kashmir. And this is the poignancy I felt when I visited her this June.

PS: The title means 'Heaven'

All out of love. Well, maybe.

Philadelphia, USA.

Their eyes met and they knew instantly, the search was over. That realization came from within, something just clicked and their hearts found a way together.
Those starting days of being inflicted with the wounds Cupid makes- they are insane. Insanely memorable. Anamika was taking up Psychology, Bilal- Business. They still met, only to immerse and sink deep within each other's eyes. Only to feel the warmth of one sweeping into another. Only to share a kiss or two that left a lingering joy, till almost forever! Life.was.beautiful!
It went on till three years. They realized it was time to go a step further.


Kabul, Afghanistan.

Anamika, covered in a hijab felt rather uncomfortable and shrugged and cringed. Not because of the attire, but because of the piercing gazes. She was sitting amidst Bilal's family members.

She intended to make them her family too but no one except Bilal's younger brother, Razi seemed to approve. She had thought she'd be scared of Afghanistan, but now she knew, she was scared of love. How amusing.The atmosphere only tensed further. Bilal was with his mother in the next room, trying to persuade her, and BANG, a utensil clanged to the floor. She heard loud sobs, and Bilal's mother stormed out and said- "THIS is who you want to marry? Forget her being an Indian or a Hindu, do we have any izzat (respect) in the society?

Bilal and Anamika took the blame on themselves. Maybe they'd been too pacy. Maybe they needed to think over themselves together. Maybe they really needed more time

Delhi, India.

"

This must be a joke?! What is this love bullshit?!? You're only smitten with the boy's good looks."
"You must be crazy? A Muslim?!"
"Not even Indian. AFGHANI?!"
"This is what we sent you to USA for?!"
"You bitch. Get over him or get out of my house."
They mentioned him, his religion, his country as if they all spelled out poison.

Repeated attempts.
Kabul.Delhi.Kabul.Delhi.Kabul.
End of attempts.

Philadelphia, USA.

New life. Yes, cut off with their respective families. Yes, still very much in love. Not "madly" or "blindly" in love, mind you.
Their friends joke around and quizzed if their child would bear a Hindu or a Muslim name. Anamika (still Anamika Khurana not Anamika Rafiq) replied, "Its rather filmy, Na Hindu banega, na Musalman banega .. Insaan ki aulaad hoga, insaan banega! "(Neither Hindu or Muslim, he'll only be human)

.

This is a true story. I know of an Anamika and Bilal who met. Who didn't care if they'd end up in a land of hijabs, ghoonghats, Diwali or Barawafat !

Similar indifferences.

Someone sits with the fresh mehendi adorning her hands. The smell of incense prevails in the entire room, which is otherwise illuminated with golden bulbs all around. The red satin curtains draped on the antique windows, seem to be dancing along with the sound of the dholak outside. She sits and looks at her diamond ring, perched on her ring finger, looking as gorgeous as ever. There were giggles from her friends next door, all making parodies of something or the other. The outside is crowded with people, someone is making the sweets, and drowning himself in the jubilant and mirthful atmosphere which surrounded him. Someone was being critical of nealy everything her eyes met, and interrogated all about everything, and poked her nose in everything she could figure out as intriguing, and irrespective of the glances they got, enjoying every moment of it. Lightbulbs adorned every corner of the Manor House, and each part of it shouted with glee. Someone was all worried if the invitations had reached the right people, and someone was too involved in checking if the red bag or the black matched her dress. Squeals from adolescents and toddles alike, and a grandmother following them with a cane stick. They were common sights. Common but happy.








Somewhere, the walls of the house had grown numb, the white color had become even more pale, as the colors of someone's life were slowly fading away. An elderly woman shocked from the incident, sat with her lower half paralyzed, and slowly crawled from one end of the room to the other. The surroundings seemed to have been weeping with an abysmal misery. There were children here too, but even their impressionable minds had got the feeling that there was no good happening here, and even they refused to continue their game of Hide and Seek. Maybe because mirth, joy, and bliss, they had all hidden themselves somewhere, and made themselves to tough to be seeked. She was sitting on her bed, with absolutely no one around her. Just yesterday he was by her side, and she had kept her head in his strong arms, in which she could weep, she could laugh. Now, it was different, there were no comforting arms around her, just she, the stupefied her. She lost her husband. It had to happen with everyone, it was common but sad.


Life offers us complete contrasts, at times. Where someone sits happily, waiting for the wedding bells to knock on her door, someone is immune to the happiness, as her soul weeps to have to burn the corpse of the same man who she loved from her heart.
People say we're responsible for our own happiness and sadness, but at so many instances, we have no way out to get out of such times. Maybe..life's too weird .