16

Problems are like viruses and the solutions that we put up for them are fairly similar to vaccines which may sometimes be nothing more than attenuated or tortured viruses themselves. An insignificant problem to solve a significant problem, I must say.

I Killed My Mother

It had been 22 years of what D.H. Lawrence narrated in the ‘Rocking Horse Winner.’ I sometimes felt as if I had gained the third eye during that time. The exact words, movements, expressions, timings, moods, etc. of the members of the household were un-explainably predictable. Life was a consistent déjà vu.

When the weather is too calm, a bit too calm, you can hear its quietness maliciously gnawing and snaring at you. It tells you a storm is on its way. Relationships are quite the same. Too much constancy can lead to the arrival of eccentricities that all of us face regarding the beloved. After all, we know them too much. Pushing the truth away does not change anything. A bit of loathing in love does not harm it; it’s merely a fulfilling completion. Shreds of hatred lament the time when love would be gone altogether, and loneliness will bury its claws deep inside of you.

On a day like that, when things were unreasonably stagnant, I killed my mother.

There was nothing very special happening that day, just my father’s 60th birthday, my sister’s dinner with her colleagues and my exam preparation. Echoes crying for money reached my ears several times a minute. I didn’t care to see which of them came from the walls of the room and which from the flesh filling its corners. Somebody slid the cupboard. The television blared with the loudest sound possible, possibly a desperate attempt to tune out other sounds raging through the atmosphere. It was a war.

New clothes became the cause of dispute. My mother was bent on delaying sewing clothes for my sister. She needed some rest and said she’ll do them later. That pissed K off. K was the feeding hand of the family. Nobody held her off like that. A few minutes earlier she had added to my information that I had done a very mean piece in telling mother that the dinner had been delayed, which I had done most innocently, otherwise her clothes would have been sewn by then.

My mother walked around the house. Deaf. She was immune to the angry grumbling; opening, closing, smashing of the fridge; banging doors; tsk tsk-ing at the walls, doing nothing, something, everything, things. She did ‘doing’ until her veins gave way and sweat dripped off of her forehead. It was because of her children, us, and she lay down. It was time to knit another elegy in memory of the dead.

It was hard to study in those circumstances but I tuned out the quietness. It could tear me up otherwise. I safely collected all of it within me, had been doing that for years. “I need a glass of water.” There was a puff of smoke and stumbling smatters of ‘concentration.’ There are two people outside with you. Can I study in peace so I can bring sacks of green somethings for you as required?

“Water?”

I got up. It wasn’t abnormal. I had to. Religion implored me to do the same. I filled a glass of water from the tap and took it to the TV lounge where TV blared. K was lying on the sofa. Her eyes were not visible behind the sheen of her spectacles, but the lines on her forehead were obvious. Her mouth was tightly pursed, giving her ovoid face a funny look. She had the TV remote placed on her chin, other end of it resting on her chest. One leg sluggishly rested on the back of the sofa while the other was curled dreamily beneath a cushion. Y was enjoying social networking on the laptop.

“Did I have to come from the room, leave what I was doing, because you were busy doing what exactly?” None heard…Anger. Breathe, breathe, breathe. It’s a happy birthday; he’ll be home soon. Breathe.

I was her daughter. Not using the tongue was hard for me. “You could have told her to bring it. She’s not lazy when she needs clothes.”

The glass came flying towards me and landed near my feet. It shattered into a thousand pieces.

What was the matter if one of us used their tongue for a change? We could ask questions as well, say no, mock, moan. We had the brains to get mean too. She was a mother. We will be mothers someday. All of us are daughters, including her.

It was me who chose the largest shard of glass. A face came near. Panicked eyes screamed. Hands pushed me away as I stabbed her mouth, her teeth, and her tongue. I wanted her to bleed everything out, if there was anything left to say, once and for all. I wanted nothing to be left behind.

The world had gone quiet. Peacefully quiet. For the first time quietness didn’t plummet down into its own depths, it hung there, surrealistically serene and beautiful.

A moment had passed while I stood there with the glass in my hand. She took it herself.

It came out of nowhere, “You could have told her to bring it.” I stopped myself quickly and turned around to leave, as quickly as possible.

There was a loud crash. I turned around in a fierce attempt to retaliate only to find her staring at her feet. Expressionless. Shattered glass lay in my feet. Surprisingly a sigh of relief left my lips.

Predictability is good. Prescience can save life because accidents are first-time occurrences. Self-control comes from experience, whether in real or in intuition, it doesn’t matter.

14

Moti ki Daastan

I had always wondered why I hadn't met a bully in the twenty one years of my life. From what I

had observed in English movies bullying should have been an important part of my life too. I

hadn't experienced it until S or should I mention her with what she should be mentioned with;

MOTI demonstrated it to me. Everyone calls her moti in our house. Trust me in a family with a maximum weight of 58kg

among men (there is only one man!) she should be called Chota Haathi.

Moti not only suffers from severe obesity but the adipose tissue in her body has also squeezed itself right

into the bully nerve cells in her brain, expecially when it comes to our family. We 'turn her on.' Telling my

mom to how old she looks in her non-dyed hair, which of course pisses her off R-E-A-L-L-L

B-A-D, wondering why we don't make new clothes on Eids and stopping me and my sisters in the street to ask why we come home after dark because

universities don't stay open that late are a few of M's weekly tasks.

Moti normally shows up when none of us are home except my mother. The scowl that we receive for

no apparent reason along with constant grumbling about my dad being a miser (which he is SO NOT!) who can't

let his pocket loose are indicators of what has come and gone. I personally feel that the big

crater that Moti leaves behind in my grandfather's old sofa is a good confirmatory test for her

visit.

Well one day she showed up and to her buri kismat moti found me at the door. Inspecting me critically from head to toe

she placed her butt very neatly into the spot where I knew the almost perfect

crater will form. (It makes me cry really. how does she DO that?!) After eying me suspiciously

as I sat on the Divan texting and studying at the same time she rolled her tiny little button-ish

eyes and asked my mother why she didn't do the household chores instead of idling off 'wo bhi

din dihaaray.' It was enough for my mother so she literally scooted off to the store room grabbing

some shawl on the way that she could pretend to iron. She probably thought it will drive moti

away but to her misfortune moti, with great fervour and enthusiasm, peeled her butt off the sofa

and followed my mother.

Here i should mention that the room in which we iron our clothes is a small congested room and

also serves as a bathroom for our cat. The cat who is an excellent fart machine and a pro in excreting

the coolest-smelling shit ever! Hence no guests in that area. We, ourselves are used to it so whatever.

So that day moti managed to step foot in the prohibited zone. she tweaked her nose on sensing something

weird going on in that part of the house. She chatted with my mom until she couldn't hold it in

herself and asked in a hushed tone, 'Asma Baji she semel (smell) kesi aa rahi hai?' My mom took

pauses as she improvised a nice story; maybe a dead mouse or man or something . But i planned to take

moti on a joyride.

'Auntie billi ne potty kee wee hai na yahan bohooot ziada aur hum saaf bhi nahi keraatay! aadat jo ho gayee hai." I shouted

from the drawing room.

The earth trembled as hurried steps of an elephantine creature moved away from 'the zone'.

"Haye Allah, meri tau naak hi sarr gayee hai!!!" She wailed. My mother tried to stop moti for tea but moti didn't love us anymore.

It was the saddest day of my life but I got over it. :D I love you moti. I love you so much. <3>

The world is a funny funny place with lots of funny funny people like moti. I still haven't figured out who a real bully is.

Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind

The oftener seen, the more I lust,

The more I lust, the more I smart,

The more I smart, the more I trust,

The more I trust, the heavier heart;

The heavy hearty breeds mine unrest,

Thy absence, therefore, like I best.

The rarer seen, the lest in mind,

The less in mind, the lesser pain,

The lesser pain, less grief I find,

The lesser grief, the greater gain,

The greater gain, the merrier I,

The further off, the more I joy,

The more I joy, the happier life,

The happier life, less hurts annoy,

The lesser hurts, pleasure most rife:

Such pleasures rife shall I obtain

When distance doth depart us twain.

- Barnabe Googe

11

How does Kahlil Gibran poondify (i am pretty sure he did or maybe i have a dirty mind) Selma Karamy and get away with it even when her dad Farris Effandi said to him, "Consider me as a father and Selma as a sister," right on the 35th page of A treasury of Kahlil Gibran? I read it till the 57th page!

I would have been banished for doing so. He got away with it because??... I'm Amna Ijaz and he was Kahlil Gibran?

Y: "you just don't get these things. do you? the 'bee-u-tee' of it. petty petty you."

A: Okay.

9

[ACT ONE]

about 5:30 PM. RZ and I are sitting on the dirtiest stairs ever. B (IT man of my magazine) shows up.

Me: hey B!

B: Mje acha ni laga app ne text pe mj se kal rudely baat ki

Me: you guys annoy me!

B: App ko pata hai mai yahan ka (University ka) employer b hon ku k...

Me: APP ko pata hai mai app ki editor hoon?

B: THE smile. App ko pata hai mje yahan kamra b mila hai?

Me: App ko b pata ho ga library k sath wala kamra mje b mila howa hai.

B: app ko....

Me: aur app ko ye b pata ho ga k I can fire you from the magazine?

[ACT TWO]

Biotech class room for B.Sc Hons Final year; Government College University Lahore. K, F, Z, R and I sit in the first row. A comes to present his ass-ignment.

A walks up to the dais all pretty and shiny in his orange sweater. tilts his head very slightly, gapes a little while he takes hints from the piece of paper he has brought along. looks at the class for a second, turns around and takes a long unnecessary stride to write on the white board almost abruptly. The taapic of my presentation is...

Z says something to K. A turns around

Kia masla kia hai app ka? Chup kero werna class se baher chalay jao.

Z: Murmers. Kia? hum ne..kia? howa..? what?

R: Pehlay appnay doston ko chup kerwao!

A: mazaq banaya wa hai app ne. Shakes his hands to make his point clear. takes a step towards us. I am pretty sure from behind his thick rimmed glasses he isn't even looking at us, but seeing how the class reacts. gapes again after saying a sentence and makes a please-appreciate-me slash annoyed face. presentation de raha hon mai. bolay ja rehay hain app log. He shouts.

The 'teacher' finally intervenes.

S: Oye bas kero. itnay baray ho gaye ho phir b aisay lartay ho. khwateen se aisay...bla bla bla.

A ends his presentation and now makes for his seat. but the story doesn't end for him..(if only he could take off his shirt, pull one of us out of her chair, pin her to the ground and dance on her for the rest of his Godforsaken life..THAT could have given him the glory!!) He stops when he is going back and says to R (or may be the whole woman community) who keeps writing in her register (GO GIRL!) without looking at him while he does his 'bhonki'

A: Ainda meray doston ko kuch kaha na tau mj se bura koi ni ho ga. i'll slap you!

[ACT TWO B]

Z is talking on text with M, our class fellow and A ka dost.

Z: ?

M: han ye aisa hi hai.

[ACT THREE]

It is about 6:30PM. Z, Y and I are going to the bus stop. a man is coming from the opposite direction. he crosses us.

THUMP!

Me: kia hai Y (who is walking behind me)..I laugh. ku maara hai itnay zor ka mujhay.

Y: mai ne kab mara hai. She makes a sad face

Me: very funny. itnay zor ka maara hai.

Y and I both laugh.

Y: seriously i didn't.

Me: tum ne hi maara hai..pata hai mu..u..j...!! Uff!..did that man...? Haww... dude!! ITNAY ZOR KA MAARA HAI! and on my BUTT!?

we walk for some time silently. disgruntled.

Me: tum ne WAQIYAY mai ni maara Y?

Y: Laughs. oH bhai mai ni maarya tenoo

"My butt is aching," I whisper.

GO MEN! LOVE Y'ALL!