Muslim Rizvi December 21, 2006

Tags: dreams

href="/tag/Karachi">Karachi. I see my grandfather in his white ‘kurta’ and those wide wide pajamas, stepping off his ‘namaz kee chowki’. He calls my name and I run to him to help him slip on his ‘chappals’. I am probably 7-8 years old. I look at him and ask ‘ Baba, you promised me that you will tell me a story’. Baba smiles and pulls his ‘huqqa’. He takes a ‘kush’ and says “Ffirst go get me some water …but not from the fridge”. Baba never liked the water from the fridge. I run towards the clay ‘garha’ and pour some water out in the silver ‘katora’. I would run all errands happily for Baba just to hear one of his stories. His stories were about three things: the one were stories about Hazrat Ali, the super hero of Islam, the second were about Agra, his home town in India and third were about migration to Pakistan. I didn’t like the stories of migration. They were too sad and the whole thing never made sense to me. These stories haunted me. Today’s story was about Agra. I was fascinated by his tales of India. He worked as a forest officer and loved animals, He still had one dog, despite being meticulous about being ‘Pak’ for his prayers. The dog was named Jimmy ( I learnt later that he was named after Jimmy Carter). Baba goes on and on about Agra, how wonderful it was and how Hindus and Muslims lived peacefully before the partition. I stop him “…but baba, Hindus are ‘kafirs’, how could we live with them?” The expressions on Baba’s face changes and he replies “‘Na beta’….you don’t call anyone ‘kaffir’, it is a bad word. Only Allah decided who is ‘kaffir’ or not. A person who prays five times but cheats and lies is not a Muslim too”. I look at him puzzled thinking “but that’s not what the ‘maulvi sahab’ said”. I don’t want the story to stop though so I don’t argue. Baba goes on with his story and I keep listening to him, walking the streets, smelling the air and seeing the wonders of Agra through his eyes.

There is reverence…

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself in the school bus. The bus is packed and I mean packed like a tin full of sardines. You have to wiggle your feet through a sea of dusty brown school shoes to find a place to stand. It is late afternoon and we are off to go home. I am terribly excited and I am so anxious to get home. The journey from Maulvi Tamizuddinn Khan Road to Gulberg is a long one. The bus keeps driving through the city, dropping off children at their homes. All the standing children are waiting for the seats to get empty so that they can pounce on them. Sometimes fights breakout but getting a seat is as simple as the principle of ‘survival of the fittest’. On a regular day I would be one of the stalkers as well but today I couldn’t care less. Finally my stop comes and I get off hurriedly. The bus drops me off at the corner of our ‘gali’. My mom just stands outside our gate and waits for me. I see my mom and unlike a regular day I run towards her and as soon as I get close, I scream “Amii …mein class mein first aaya hoon”. My mom kisses me on my cheek. I felt the warmth of her lips on my cheeks for years.
There is love…

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself outside of my house in Nazimabad number 2. It is almost midnight and everybody is outside. The men, the women, the kids, everyone is busy doing their own bit. The whole ‘gali’ has been blocked and there are eight or ten huge ‘daegs’ on makeshift stone stoves. It is our ‘mohallah’s haleem’ cooking night. It is the night of 7th Moharram. ‘Khala’ the elderly lady who lives next to our house, is the chief chef for the night. From the beginning of Moharram, the boys have been planning this event and have collected money from every house in the ‘gali’ to cook the haleem. It is our annual ritual and everybody in the ‘mohallah’ is involved. We live in a ‘sunni majority area and we are one of the only two shia families in our ‘gali’….but no one cares. There is no shia sunni issue ever.

There is peace…

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself outside on my bike racing away to the library through the intricate network of ‘gali’s’ in Nazimabad. All I can think of are the thrilling adventures of Inspector Jamshed with Mahmoud, Farooq and Farzana. I reach the library. It is actually a small bookstore with a makeshift library that rents out Ishtiaq Ahmed novels. I have to get a hold of the new ‘Khas number’ today. I have been coming everyday but they never have it. ‘Mamoo’, the library’s owner has promised me that he will have it for me today. As soon as ‘mamoo’ sees me, he smiles and says that if I hadn’t come for another fifteen minutes, he would have given it away. I thank God and as he writes my name in the register, I wait anxiously for the novel. He hands out a four or five hundred page novel to me. I hurriedly grab it, hop on my bike and am on my way home. There is joy….

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself in a train. We are in the 3rd class compartment and it is full of my friends. We are going on a college tour to the northern areas of Pakistan. It is almost 2;00 a.m. Most of the people are asleep. The train stops at some small station in Punjab and about ten men with white ‘shalwar kameez’ , white and black ‘pagrees’ and guns (and I mean big AK-47 type guns) come aboard. Most of them sit together in the front of the compartment but one of them couldn’t find a place so he comes and sits next to me. Being the fool I am, I start chit chatting with him. “Nice gun”, I say and he replies “Yes, and it kills shias too”. I am a little taken aback and being a Shia myself, am intrigued by his comment. I ask him who is the elderly gentleman with them and he replies “He is Maulana Akbar Butt, our region in-charge for KTDSP. He has 27 murder cases on him but three of them are bogus”. “Ah…so you are from KTDSP”, I murmured. One my friends, who knew the dilemma I was in, jumped in and asked him “So where are you going?’. “ We are on a mission!. Allah Tabarak O’ Talla has assigned us the task of cleaning up our land from those ‘Kaffirs’. They disrespect our ‘Khalifas’ and ‘Sahabas’ and think that we will let them live. We plan to wipe out each and every one of them.” He is going on and on with his sermon of hate and I am sitting there listening to him. I had never sensed so much hatred in somebody’s voice before. What if he finds out that I am a Shia? He might let me go or he might throw me off the train or might just shoot me. They get off at the next station.

There is fear...

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself in a classroom in my university. I am sitting in the second row and the teacher is explaining some silly logic for integration and differentiation. A bunch of guys from a political party’s student wing storm into the classroom and one of them says, “Where is Muslim Rizvi”. I raise my hand and he says “bahar aao”’. I look at the teacher and ask him “Sir, can I go” and he replies sheepishly “Go, go!” I step out side the class and one of the guys pushes me to the wall, puts his hand on my chest and says, “Do not show up for the award ceremony tomorrow”. I am dumbfounded. He repeats “Do not show up for the award ceremony. Do you get it?” I meekly ask him “But why?” and he thunders “Don’t ask questions” and walks away. A few of my friends from the same political party come out of the class and I ask them “What the hell was this about?” and they told me “Muslim, you have Benazir’s book ‘daughter of the East’ in your bedroom. You secretly support her and our party does not want a traitor to go and take the runners up trophy for our team’s efforts. It should be a party guy that takes it and you know the captain of the team that won is a ‘Jamatee’”.

There is frustration...

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself sitting on stage, dressed up in a ‘sherwani’ and all. The hall is full of my family, relatives and friends. There is a loud buzz in the air. Everyone is busy talking. Suddenly the music starts playing. Everyone gets quiet. I hear somebody saying “Dulhan aa rahee hae”. My heart starts beating faster. I see her dressed as a ‘Dulhan’ walking towards me. It takes my breath away. She looks beautiful. She keeps walking towards me, surrounded by her family. She has not seen me yet. She is just looking down for some odd reason. She comes closer and when she is finally about to sit next to me, our eyes meet. Her eyes smile and I feel like the whole universe is smiling at me. She sits down next to me and her hand brushes my hand and my heart skips a beat.

There is magic...

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself in the living room of our Gulshan-e-Iqbal home. I have been married for one week. My whole family and some extended family are locked away in one room. I am sitting on my knees and three strangers standing around me with their guns pointing at my head. One of them starts searching me, takes out my wallet, takes the cash and throws away the wallet. They have already taken all the cash and jewelry from my mother. They command me to stand up and then they lock me with my family and leave. Now the police are here. The ‘police wallah’ is asking me the details, so I go through the whole story and he asks if they had any guns and I tell him that yes all three of them had guns. He asks again “Asli theen?”. I look at him in disbelief and don’t know how to respond to this question. He said ”Kher…but they were only three. You had more than ten people in the house, why didn’t you grab them?” I am furious now and I speak with a shaking voice “Are you saying that I should have risked the lives of my family and fought with three men with guns” and he mumbled ”Ok ok…aik tu yeah Karachi wallay barray buzdil hotay hai”. He left. I am sitting here wondering what happened and what was worse, the whole experience of going through an armed robbery or dealing with the police.

There is disgust...

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself sitting in an airplane. I am leaving Pakistan for good, never to return. I am not going to raise my children feeling the same disgust, the same frustration and the same fear. The plane is about to take off. I feel the warmth of my tears rolling down on my cheeks. It is not like the migration that my parents and grandparents did. It is a different kind of migration but still I can’t seem to stop the tears.

There is pain...

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself on the streets of Toronto. I have been in Canada for two days. I just walked out of a bookstore and I am little lost in my thoughts. I did not see the car coming as I stepped on the road to cross it. The car stopped and I stopped as well. I was expecting the driver to shout “Abay andhay…tayray baap kee road hae kia?” That did not happen. The driver politely waved me to cross first. I had heard this about people from Lucknow but never about Canadians. I am impressed.

There is admiration…

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself walking down the Clifton hill road with my son towards Niagara Falls. This is the first time he will see Niagara Falls since he has started understanding and admiring things. He looks at me and asks, “How far are we daddy?” and I reply “We are almost there, beta”. I can feel his grip on my hands tightening as we get closer and hear the sound of the waterfall. He is in awe as he gets his first glimpse of the falls. He wants to take a closer look so we move right to the edge. I could feel his grip tightening on my hand. I ask him “What is wrong? Are you scared?” and he innocently looks at me and says “I am not scared for myself daddy. I am just scared that you don’t fall in there”.

There is love again...

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself in my home, just outside of Toronto. My son comes running in. He is about eight years old. He is very excited. He comes to me and says” Daddy, the new neighbors have moved in. They are also ‘Urdu’ like us”. I smile at him and say “ Beta, they are not ‘Urdu’, they are Pakistanis like us”. He asks me “ Daddy, how is Pakistan?” I reply ”Beta, Pakistan is beautiful”. He pops another question “Daddy, can we go to Pakistan in the summer?” I pause for a moment and then reply “ We will beta, but not this summer, the situation is very unstable right now. It is a dangerous place for you to be. We will go there when things get better”. He walks away and I wish that he could understand.

There is disappointment…

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself sitting on stage, next to my son. He is dressed up in a sherwani and all. The hall is full of our family, relatives and friends. There is a loud buzz in the air. Everyone is busy talking. Suddenly the music starts playing. Everyone gets quiet. I hear somebody saying “Dulhan aa rahee hae”. My heart starts beating faster. I see her dressed as a ‘dulhan’ walking towards us. It takes my breath away. She looks beautiful. She keeps walking towards us, surrounded by her family. She has not seen us yet. She is just looking down for some odd reason. She comes closer and I get up and give my seat her, right next to my son. She smiles at me I feel the whole universe is smiling at me.

There is magic again…

Another dazzling flash of light…

I see myself in bed, old and haggard. My wife, my son and my daughter- in- law are close to me. My wife is holding my one hand and my son holding my other hand. I look at my son and say “Beta…I am sorry, I took Pakistan away from you”.

There is sorrow...

Another dazzling flash of light…and then nothing!