I am Fine

When we first introduce children to questions and how to answer them, one of the first questions is “How are you?”

And an obvious answer that is taught is “I am fine”.

Over the years this becomes so much of a habit, fine, that we forget we can feel otherwise too. We feel lots of things, we do lots of things and hide them up behind a ‘fine’. Why?

Why did anyone not tell the kids how to express themselves? How they should express truth, and let emotions out rather than bolt them up behind the door of “I am fine.”

A person can be so so much more than just fine.

Let us all be that person behind this fine. Let us be us!

Difference

Remember the last time you said mother? Parent? Care? Oh! So much of concern. How you should be aware of their feelings, and how our lives should revolve around them? Remeber saying they should be the centre of our world? The very thing that we should be constantly aware of? Careful of? Mindful of?

Remember saying that our lives should be dedicated to their care, paying them back for what they did for us as children? Remaining indebted and trying to make things even. More out of the intent to repay their favours rather than out of gratitude…

Why could they not understand that gratitude is not always shown by doing as the other asks. Gratitude is not giving someone control over your life. Gratitude is doing something for that other person out of your own personal will. The way you want to.

But when it comes to giving up control and freedom; when they ask to specifically take instructions and do whatever they say, this is not paying back or showing gratitude. This is enslavement. Under the worst pretext available.

There is a great difference between gratitude and slavery.

Being a Girl

I talked of chains
How I felt my wings bound
How it was suffocating
Smothered, numb
They asked, ” Where are the chains
You talk about;
Who binds you, you seem free
The cage is just metamorphic”
I think the words over
Were they right?
Why was it that I felt caged?
What denied my wings flight?
No, the chains couldn’t be seen
They were just words, lingering
A collection of random events
The burden of ‘Izat’
Stereotypes bound me
The rules- how, what, right, wrong
The piercing eyes- disapproving, shaming
The label of being a girl!

Passive Aggressiveness

All life through they taught how one should behave. How it was important to respect elders, seniors. And how maintaining a low tone and containing your disagreement is a way of showing this respect.

Did any of those realise they were teaching kids to bottle up emotions? Hide their true feelings? They were teaching, training them to use a paint brush, to put up a mask. Why did the world have problems with real?

What would happen if a child openly disagreed with his parents? “Dad, I don’t want to pursue science. I love commerce.” How does this simple admission hamper respect or relation? More so, it would help them understand each other.

But we so want to control everything that we forget where we should and where we should not talk. Some things are personal. Very close to heart. And when someone else takes away the right to express it, exercise it or pursue it, we change. We either revolt, blow up, throw up arms in protest, “This is what I want and I won’t bend”, or we bottle up. Keep emotions to oneself. Put a fake mask of happiness and do as told.

No doubt this mask makes everyone else happy. But has anyone ever thought how it impacts the person? How a lost dream and a fake smile kill him. Everyday!

This pushes one to a new zone, a mentality. Passive Aggressive Behaviour. Actively they don’t show their disagreement. Ah! Who listens either way. But passively they make sure they avenge themselves. Everything behind a mask of agreement and respect.
If we imagine scolding a child and that child breaks your favourite mug, “Oops! It dropped out of my hands”. While we mourn the loss, the child enjoys. Tit for tat.

Ah! And how many times have we been asked to do something we don’t want to. “Is it done yet?” “Ah! I am working on it. Just that it won’t happen.” We are not born procrastinators, we tend to acquire the trait on demand.

Though we see everyone calling sarcasm a sign of high IQ, it again is passive aggression. Just hidden underneath a translucent veil of humour. Sharp and ready to sting.
But at the end why should there be any need of such behaviour? Why should someone ever feel the need of a mask, a paint brush. Why should anyone ever do something just to please people?

Why care for respect and fear when it can drive you to such fatal behaviour. Once this behaviour was listed as a mental disorder. But so many people depict this tendency that now it is merely behaviour.

Why should there be passive aggression at all? Why not be and let others be real?

 

Helpless!

Fondling her, caressing
Praying silently under my breath
Reminding myself, recalling
His mercy, His wisdom
I tell her how
He purifies us by pain
Tests the pious
With trials
Yet, I was speechless
When in her innocence, she asked
“What sins would He write off me
And why this trial?”
My helplessness couldn’t be more profound

After Departure

He could see his mother in kitchen
And yelled to her, “I won’t eat.”
She insisted, he did not yield
Leaving home in haste.

He could see his sister with a pillow
And knew they would be fighting soon
He snatching her favourite toy
She reciprocating, “I hate you”

He could see his brother’s new bat
The reason he now envied him
And how they sneaked out together
To play in that rain!

He could see his dad’s grin
He displaying his sports trophy
That warm hug following
And scolding on grades.

But now walls seemed splashed by red
A teacher in front set ablaze
He could see his lifeless friends
And a gun pointing at his head!

He could hear his mother wail
His sister probably dumbstruck
He felt his brother lift him up
The final journey embarked.

Pained

Oh! Look my son is back home
Did I not say he would come?
He loves me more than anyone else
How could he abandon.

Come my son, you must be hungry
Toiling through the day, thirsty
Let me serve you some food to eat
Drink some water, thirst’s defeat

But why are you so silent today
Has it been too hectic day
Did you not enjoy the stuff
Or was all the work a handcuff

Look, we have many guests too
Everybody came in to see you
Won’t you talk to them even?
Would you be that rude?

Someone suddenly said, “Let go off him, sister
He was hit by a canister
His soul departed that moment
He will reside in Jannah, be content”

She replied in an angry voice
He is with me, my rejoice
And how dare you call him dead,
Don’t touch him, he’s my blood

He would not go anywhere
Like this he can’t leave me in despair
He promised he would stay by me
Then how can his early his soul flee?

Biased Children?

All through our childhood we see our mothers work feverently for us. Even a moment’s rest seems a luxury for them. And yet, when we gain enough strength to replay them we choose, instead, to neglect.

All through we tend to see the duties of our parents towards us but never do they work for their rights. Are our parents not entitled to our care and love in their years of down?

But instead, we tend to make them work even more. In most of the households, parents are treated as servants and maids. Maybe this is the only reason they are kept at home. Unpaid and trusted labour. Does none realise that we are doing them injustice?

In  a bid to please our wives and not let them get burdened by household chores and children, we tend to thrust work onto our parents. Thinking they have served us before and would do so forever. But are we not taking them too lightly?

Do we not realise that same situation might reciprocate on us? The child we cherish today might employ the same propaganda. Tomorrow he might, as well, treat us as mere unpaid servants!

They say prayer of a broken heart is considered immediately. Do we wish to bring wrath upon us by treating our parents ill?

They are entitled to respect and care as much as our partners and children deserve. Then why this bias?

 

Cornered

They said parents love one the most
he always felt otherwise
How that sidelined his yearnings
how he had to sacrifice

And now the waters were neck deep
moving away the only possibility
And somehow  the lows of life
let to years of hard work.

Looking back, he knew
it all had something good
had the circumstances been different
never would he grow.
His success was more to them
than his own hard work.
cause unless you are pushed to wall
you don’t learn climbing it!

Priorities

She cried, bewildered
where had the child gone?
But where had she been when
the soul was alone at home
trying not to be afraid
future can hold unknowns!

She looked around for her child
but it was long gone
Where was she when it cried
hungry and so tired
figuring out how to cook,
seeking mother in distress?

She asked, “Why it left early
Was it not too young to die?”
Where was she when he wanted to play
and was shooed away?
made to feel like unwanted
a burden onto the family?

She pleaded them to let it be
and not take it away from her
Where was she when it cried for her
seeking her affection and protection.
When all it desired was her
and she busy with other!

She looked around in despair
It had waited for her hopelessly
She seeks when it no more was
It sought when ignored so hard
And as it parted that fateful day
one lost life and other hope!