Stories of the Night

8/9/2019 Stories of the Night

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STORIES OF THE NIGHT

AND OTHERSTORIES OF THE NIGHT


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STORIES OF THE NIGHT

AND OTHERSTORIES OF THE NIGHT

BY

-FAHDALI RAZA-


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ISBN:978-1-84728-306-1

THIS EDITION PUBLISHED 2005 BYFAHDALI RAZA

THROUGH LULU PRESS INC.NEWYORK,USA

TEXT FAHDALI RAZA2005

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.THIS PUBLICATION MAY NOT BE

REPRODUCED, STORED IN A RETRIEVAL SYSTEM, OR

TRANSMITTED, IN ANY FORM OR BY ANY MEANS,

ELECTRONIC, MECHANICAL, PHOTOCOPYING, RECORDING

OR OTHERWISE, WITHOUT THE PRIOR PERMISSION OF THE

COPYRIGHT HOLDER.


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DEDICATION

To Mr. Umeed Ali Raza and Mrs. Shahnaz Hyder Raza,

who have attainted more in life than I ever will.

And to Fatima Ali Raza, who will, inshallah, go father thanthe stars.


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INTRODUCTION

ahd Ali Raza: The confused product of a semi-

puritanical upbringing and a liberal education.

The diverse attributes infused to create this

humanoid are immensely in contradiction with themselves.

The merger of the once-famous Hyder and the Raza

families. Following the family tradition of futile letter

mixing and publication, he has been writing for almost

eight years now, and regularly. And now he writes a book.

What is the purpose of this cathartic expression of words?

Existence is a phenomenon that poses a serious

challenge to one with the ambition of Fahd Ali Raza. Pure

ambition to reach the top, to become as good perhaps, as

the names of Hardy and Dumas. He attempts to evolveinto a greater being, someone who not only does more,

but also knowsmore. He intends to grow into a being of

higher consciousness, no matter what field he is in. Like

Dante Alighieri, I believe that Fahd must travel through

the two gates of Hell before entering Paradise.

This work is the first step. The fact that this is a

very short piece of literature, if it can be honored with this

F


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word at all, requires an apology from the author. He,

in desperation of publication, has put together some of his

better liked works into a compilation and stood them up

for sale. Oblivious of the fact that there are far better ways

of spending money than reading about Shezs and Fahds

and Faizas. Train stations galore, and this much more.

A note about Azreals Tear, though. At the

advice of someone sincere, Fahd has decided to leave this

one unfinished. Incredible audacity for a new writer,

however, one step for man and all that.

To close, he really, from the heart, hopes anyone

who buys his book will not burn it. If you dont like it, sell

it, donate it, and just keep it circulating. And, of course,

your comments are most welcome to Fahd. Ah, he whodreams. . .

The future is such an uncertain thing. Who knows

where people go in time? Things change, governments

melt, humans evolve. There is no guarantee that dreams

come true. But it is the will of man that keeps the earth

moving round. Being Fahd Raza means having the

optimism to dream, and the will to work for it. For no

dream on earth can be fulfilled without optimism and

endurance. As Matthew Prior (16641721) said:

Till their own dreams at length deceive em,

and oft repeating, they believe em.


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STORIES


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STORY OF THE NIGHT

t was a mid-august night in the big city. Things were

on as usual, and bums were pacing neighbourhoods

as if they had known them forever. A few stars

shown like tiny spots on a velvet curtain. It was biting too,

and the wind seemed as if it moved right through you,

rather then around you. In the park, fallen leaves of

autumn danced around like light in a crystal maze, and

plastic bags travelled through the night without purpose.

Needless to say, it was desolate, yet the romance was there.

Amongst the semi-distant sounds of automobiles, and old,

broken man waned his way through a broken locality. His

tortured feet heaved his rackety legs along with a definite

purpose. True, he was too old for the chase, but this was

one race he had to run. Slowly, yet with resolve, this man

moved along, like an elephant who knows its going to die.

There was no conspiracy here, no ulterior motive. This

mans sole purpose was to live a little longer, either that, or

I


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die a little easier. It is true, if you get sick, either you

get well, or you die. Theres no third option for nobody.

His face was a mass of spaghetti lines, each

engraved with a memory of its own. Some distant, some

not so. His mouth was dry, yet firm, and his chin showed

that he had often known what he was doing. His eyes were

dim with wear, and his brow seemed locked in a

philosophical fall out with destiny. He was arched so low it

seemed he was hunchbacked. But a closer look revealed

that he was probably quite tall when he was young.

Although now in tatters, his clothes did show a

distinct sense of style. Whether stolen or purchased, his

once-expensive overcoat was of the finest wool, and the

rags he wore underneath a double-breasted, six button suit.His shoes had holes in them, which must make him very

uncomfortable in the sudden chill that settled on him.

Every time he took a step forward he winced in

pain, and groaned with irritation. It seemed an eternal

distance to walk, but it was something he had to do.

At last he reached the main thoroughfare. The old

man just smiled to himself. The world moves with such

mechanised deliberation, and such frantic cruelty that they

dont realise the only person theyre killing is themselves.

They forget that in the ultimate pursuit of ambition,

nothing is left human anymore.

The old man crossed the street, but he was

heaving heavily now. The tall buildings, the cleaner streets,


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the still more expensive suits and the dearth of utter

humanity in the official district was strangling him. He

needed to feel human emotion to survive, and here that

was rare. He moved along slower now, but strangely with

more conviction. Although it was late, there were still

people working in the tall glass buildings. It was outside

one such building that he felt he couldnt take it anymore.

He fell absolutely short of breath, and the wheezing in his

chest became considerably more pronounced. His vain

attempts at breathing were mere pebbles being crushed

under a mighty waterfall. He was dying.

The people inside the building noticed this old

man, and rushed out to see if there was something they

could do for him. Beautiful people, lovely, young people.Rich people. They all rushed out to help this poor bum

who was dying on the street outside their tall glass

building. As he fell to the floor, he heard their

compassionate calls, what is wrong with you? Tell us, we

will help you. They asked. But there was nothing they

could do. There was nothing anyone could do. Then an

old woman came out of the building. She was tall and

graceful. She was rich, popular and took everything she

desired. She knew who the old man was. She knew what

was wrong with him.

With gentleness, and politeness she made her way

through the small, helpless crowed that had gathered there.

She made her way to the middle of the circle, and knelt


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down before the old man. She lifted his head up and

rested it on her leg. Then she spoke to him. She said

nothing in particular, just that she was tired too, and asked

him whether he knew she loved him. Loved him like the

stars love the night, so they cannot live without it. Like the

heaven loves the earth, and so looks down lovingly upon

it. Like the rose loves martyrdom, so it stands tall, waiting

to be plucked. She said this while caressing his hair and

touching his face, as a tear rolled down the old mans dry

cheeks, and he opened his eyes.

Just like charity, the old man smiled. For the first

time in many years, he opened his eyes. For the first time

in many years, there was something worth seeing. He

spoke softly, How long has it been, Shez? But I knew . . .and look, destiny brought me to you.

The old woman just laughed, and gently caressed

his unshaven face. Only eleven years, Fahd. And have you

forgotten already, that I dont believe in destiny?

With that the old man closed his eyes again, but

not with disdain. He was used to pushing one last time,

and one last time he gathered his strength, and tried to get

up. The old woman helped him, and supported him with

one arm across his waist. As she struggled with him

towards the building. He stopped her. No, not here. Take

me there. He said. Where? Oh! The old woman seemed

to understand.


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As she helped him into her car, someone

from the crowed asked, Who is he? Who is this man? The

old woman turned around with sadness in her eyes and

said, He is me.

***

As Shez drove her car through the city, she moved from

the rush infested main districts to the suburbs, where

silence ruled all. Fahd was resting next to her, almost faint

in the passenger seat. Once in a while he opened his eyes

to see where they were going, and with relief, shut them

again. His breathing was getting back to normal, which

wasnt really much in the first place. The streetlights shonelike lasers on his leathery face, and the insinuating darkness

altered between light as they drove through places long

forgotten. Shez didnt notice all this, she couldnt

remember the last time she did. Once the old man opened

his restless eyes and looked at her. She was still the same.

Killing her emotions was her favourite pastime, and she

had already perfected her hobby.

You still believe that, dont you, Shez? That you

cant succeed if you are emotional. He asked.

And you still dont understand how this world

works, do you, Fahd? was her only reply. She looked

straight on, without glancing at him.


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Look at yourself, Shez, look what you have

become. Youre a machine, a gadget. Something that fits in

a larger gadget. Youre useless on your own.

Shez just laughed, Look whos talking . . . at least

I have a car. Fahd smiled.

Do you remember when we first met. . ., asked

Fahd, . . . at that art gallery? You were sitting inside

reading a book . . .

You saw me from the outside and you couldnt

resist coming in, could you, you sicko. Shez interrupted.

Hey. . . croaked Fahd, his voice like a dusty

piano, I still maintain that you could only see one way

through that glass.

Yeah, yeah, come off it. Shez shook her head. Inany case, here we are.

She slowed her car down at an intersection and

eased to the right. She had come all the way across town to

a bridge over a river. This was the place he had meant.

Both of them stepped out of the car, Shez lightly,

with grace and sophistication, moved out first and opened

Fahds door for him. She held his hand to help him out,

but shook it off. Im not a cripple. He said.

A moment later they were standing leaning over

the low stone wall overlooking the water. This bridge had

a life of its own. To most it was just pieces of solid rock

joined together by metal bars, but it was something more

to Shez and Fahd. The cold, smooth stone, easily a


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hundred years old talked to them sometimes. It

beckoned and called, and it was cruel. It asked them to

visit irrespective of the weather, of cold or heat. Even the

frost that sometimes crusted the heads of the gargoyles

spaced unequally at every few paces had a personality. The

pondering gargoyles, creatures of the night, frozen in time

as if by magic, cursed by eternity to witness human frailty

and illogic. They were sad too, but they were also angry.

With razor sharp, stone made claws they would be ready to

pounce, striking fear into the heart of anyone who dared to

desecrate their resting place. Yet they did not move.

Among them was their leader. Shez called him Fahd,

because he was constantly thinking about something. With

his head resting on his fist, and strong, naked legs foldedunderneath his body, he reminded her of him. She looked

at the gargoyle for a little while, and then looked away. It

brought back too many memories. But she smiled.

Howve you been, Fahd? she asked.

Like a pinacolada. Cold and bitter-sweet. He

replied. Shez laughed.

You havent lost your suicide sense of humour, I

see. Her eyes gleamed.

Oh, yeah, suicide jokes, the kind you hear and

you want to kill yourself. He smirked. It hasnt really been

that bad, actually. Ive grown old, Im dying of something

Im afraid to know, but Im still happy.


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Ah, the eternal happiness. Youre

devastated, and still you dont get sad, how do you do

that? asked Shez, and dont tell me its because youve

kept away from worldly temptations.

No, thats not it. You can never be happy if you

abstain from something you want deep inside, its

unnatural. You can only be happy if youve accepted your

situation. Whatever I have, its not going anywhere. Hey,

when rape is inevitable, enjoy it! He replied.

Shez laughed again. She looked down at the water.

It was dark. So was the sky. A cloud of blankets had

enveloped the atmosphere, and the full moon seemed like

milk spilt over a woolly fabric. Shez loved looking at the

sky. it gave her hope somehow. Nah . . . she thought,these people, they delude themselves by trying to feel

nature. Its very nice to look at, but . . .

Its useless in practical life? interrupted Fahd, as

if reading her thoughts. I know you so well, you cant

escape from me. He said with a grin. Then he coughed,

and coughed a little more.

Youre getting sick, you know, we should get you

checked up by a proper doctor. Shez said. She was

genuinely concerned. This was someone she had known all

her life.

Well see, its not a priority at the moment . . .

said Fahd, raising his hand to stop Shez from reacting. He

continued, I see youve done very well for yourself.


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Youve really grown from that twenty-something girl

I met so long ago. You were so nave then, and you are

still.

What makes you say that, old man? Ive worked

very hard to get where I am. I told you then, and Ill tell

you now. You need to be practical in order to get

somewhere in life. Cant depend upon emotions to make

you or break you. Thats too unpredictable. She spoke

fast. She always did when she felt strongly about

something. I remember . . . she went on, when you were

applying for your first job, and you came running to me

when they hired you. You silly boy, you were the nave

one. Why do you always have to speak your mind? It

wasnt your problem whatever they sold. You were theirhuman resource guy, not their fairy godmother, for Gods

sake. She turned and looked at him, I also remember

when they fired you. You still owe me for letting you stay

over, since you lost the rooms they gave you.

You should be the one paying me, Shez. Have

you forgotten how dirty your place was? I lost a shoe in

your toilet once and had to bring in outside help just to

find it. I even thought of opening a garments store in

there! Fahd said.

Ah, whats the use? asked Shez, sighing, Were a

couple of indeterminate bachelors. Old people who are

alone . . . the worst kind. She shook her head.


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You could move in with me, Shez, if you

want. I have a nice little garbage can all to myself in the

industrial district. I have a small stray cat, you could sleep

in the corner with her. The old man coughed as he spoke,

but his eyes twinkled.

Shut up, old man, and get moving, its getting

cold now. We have much to talk about, you and I, and

theres no escape. Jeez, I should be paid for this, I keep

taking you in whenever you get yourself into trouble. Shez

said, with considerable decisiveness in her voice.

Aww, go to hell, Im not moving in with you. I

live with the city, I live with my first love. I dont expect

you to understand, you not believing in emotions and all.

Just try it once, just close your eyes and breathe in. Lookaround you, the clouds, the river, and the lights. I can see

something you cant. Your eyes, theyre shining like Paris

after the war. The wind in your hair and the smell of

nothingness. The silence that settles even on the busiest

street in the dead of the night. You cant have that unless

you open up. You cant have that unless youre me.

Youve made your point old man . . ., Shez

smiled at him, raised her hand and touched his face

lovingly, Im not taking you in for charity, I need you too.

Come on, get in the car, or Ill have to throw your body

into the water if you die. Come on, its been so long, we

have too much to talk about.


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AZREALSTEAR

n a dark twist of fate the whole world was encircled

in a blizzard of snow. Heaviness was in the air, and

dust and dryness occupied any empty space they

could find. A huge fort-like building stood, heavily

monitored on both the inside and out. Peaked with white,

it appeared to be a mountain against the otherwise

flatlands of the country. This was the mental asylum. The

doctors there changed duty every once in a while, but it

was only sometimes a once and more often a while. It was

such a night that a stranger was traversing through the

knee deep snow towards the castle. From his appearance

he looked like a monk, covered from head to toe with a

rough overcoat. Through the hood that covered his head

nothing could be seen of his face. It was exceedingly

windy, and the tails of his outer garment flapped in

random violence.

He waded his way to the huge gate, where a

camera was pointed high above a bell. Upon ringing, a

cracked voice sounded through a nearby speaker. What do

you want? Visiting hours are over.

I


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dirt, rolling and screaming. His hands covered his

ears because he couldnt bear the sound of his heart

beating like a knocker in his chest. Then something

happened that had never happened before, his migraine

disappeared. Not at once, but with every heartbeat it

became duller and duller. It wasnt just that, his whole

body and his mind seemed to just float in space, as if he

was nothing but ether. And he was compelled to open his

eyes. He didnt know whether he was looking at something

or whether his eyes were still shut. He didnt know where

he was, or who he was, or why he was. All he knew were

the eyes looking at him through the bars. Drunken eyes

beneath the hood. Eyes that were almost closed they had

been open so long.QUIET!, yelled the eyes with a sound that

seemed to shatter his mind. He couldnt cry anymore. He

wasnt there, he just. . . was.

The stranger continued walking to the end of the

hall, and stood outside its terminating door. It wasnt like

the rest, but it was a cell as well. It was for the special

inmates, who needed special treatment. The criminally

insane who were not crazy. Like a man who takes

deliberate revenge for hardly any wrong at all. Madmen

who plan and execute with meticulous precision. Who seek

out to destroy with method. For no purpose except what is

in their sick, twisted minds.


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The stranger stood outside the door and

smiled. Then the door opened, and the stench of rot came

slowly out. A weak cripple was on the floor, sleeping. Even

the light that crept in through the open door wasnt

enough to wake him up. Even in his sleep this sleeper was

scratching the stone floor with his fingernails, leaving a

thin trail of blood. The stranger didnt say anything, and

for a few seconds just stood at the door watching him.

Then he walked in and sat down against one of the stone

walls.

Why did you find me, Azreal. . ., spoke a rusted

voice through the breath of the cripple, . . . can you not

see I need rest?

I know what you are doing, son of man, but it is adelusion., replied the stranger, Do not try to run away.

You will not be successful.

The cripple did not move. He was too tired to

respond.

Azreal spoke again, You carry a burden, Israfeel,

but it is only your own doing. You ignore your nature, and

see where it got you.

The cripple mumbled in pain, as he dragged

himself farther away from the angel. You know not what

you say, innocent. said he, you have no idea what is in my

heart. Do not provoke it, or very soon I will be helpless.

It is true, I can only guess. . . said Azreal, rubbing

his chin, . . . but remember, there is more at stake here


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than any of us can imagine. Yet I am surprised at

your endurance.

The screams had started again. The storm gained

in intensity, all of a sudden, causing the dim, barely

working electric lights to flicker. It was very dark inside the

castle to begin with, and the flickering deliberately

furthered atmosphere of doom. And the menacing

screams maintained their merciless torture.

Why are you here, Israfeel? the angel asked in

acute curiosity, Humans have a strange passion for doors.

To be honest, I still havent understood their purpose.

You are still young, Azreal. In your naivet you

neglect to understand that man lost hope the moment he

gained intelligence. With knowledge of his own frailty, andthe indiscriminate retributions of the likes of you, he felt

unsafe. It was for his children that he made the door, to

provide them with a fraudulent sense of security, a futile

attempt at salvation. These doors, Azreal? They are the

same as your wings. You do not fly with them, but they

create for you the illusion of self-victory. The power to fly,

and the power to secure, both come from somewhere else,

my friend.

And yet man is the luckiest of all creatures. . .

remarked the angel, . . . they have the ability to maintain a

sense of the unreal. We cannot do that, Israfeel, we can

only see what is there. Our minds dont create beauty out


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of ugliness, and we cannot imagine goodness where

there is none.

The man on the floor finally opened his eyes,

revealing yellow, bloodshot pupils. It was now the angels

turn to shrink back in horror, as he watched him struggle

to sit up from his position. His thin, sinewy arms were

shaking, and his fingers bled with a dry, meaningless kind

of blood.

Enough talk, Azreal. What do you want from

me?, asked the son of man. His voice was strong, like a

caged lion that hasnt been broken as yet.

Azreal just looked at him. Your tear. He said.

At this the man sharply stared at the angel, anger

in his eyes. His hands clenched in agony as he bade hisanger to rest. Leave, angel, and do not return. Do you

demand of me weakness? Do you require this world to

end. . .?

Then the eyes and the voice both softened. The

cripple looked at the floor, his thoughts somewhere else,

as he casually sighed. Leave, Azreal, listen to him. Leave.

He said.


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THE CONCEPT OF FAIZA

he night was young. The sky was filled with a

million bright specks dotted almost evenly

against the blackness of space. The sheer

desolation was so beautiful it alone could drive a man

crazy. He treaded over the hillock, his hands in his

pockets, his face calm and serene. The sound of crickets

arguing over an unknown mistake resounded in his ears.

The cold, cold wind flew around him with a pattern of

companionship as he walked. The crunch of grass under

his shoes seemed like metal being crushed by a mightyhand. He reached the peak of the hillock and continued

walking.

In front of him, a waterfall showered blessings

onto a stream of misty water, running against the grassy

plain. It wasnt actually a plain, just an opening amongst

hills of solid rock. There was no moon on this planet, sothe only light that shone was eerie and soft. It was the light

T


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of stars. And of the meteor shower that rose

incredibly far above his head. He walked over to the

stream bed and sat down a little distance from it. His arms

enveloping his knees, he sat there in seriousness and

thought. He thought about the beautiful concept of Faiza.

The simple sound of water swimming past his feet

was amazing. Surrounded by rock, this sanctuary was a

critical escape for him from his otherwise mechanical life.

Measuring his worth by his performance, evolution for

him directly resulted from his performance. All in all he

was no different from the computers he programmed. He

looked up, and saw the mother ship. Hundreds of miles

from the surface of the planet, he knew that the office was

a metropolis of bustling busybodies, working round theclock on Internet Time. 1000 beats. The dots of fire, he

knew, were noisy shuttles administering tests in the

atmosphere in order to see if it was as similar to Earth as it

seemed from a distance. And here, it was absolutely quiet.

Except for the water and the crickets.

He felt strangely unsafe, alone on the surface. The

same feeling you get when its raining outside, and winter

has settled on your house. You rush to get in, and panic if

youre too far away from home. Or if there is some danger

outside, and youre snug in bed. The thrill of panic he

loved, just as he loved the concept of Faiza.

He lay down on his back, his hands pillowing his

head against the ground. Remarkable how one can just cut


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themselves off from the rest of the world, and live

for a concept alone. Letting aside all belief, all logic and

sanity, one can opt for a lie and live it in happiness. At a

distance from where he lay, the stream once again

dropped, this time for about three miles or so, creating

another waterfall. This planet revolved faster than Earth,

therefore gravity was more, and most mountains were

steeper. Last night he sat closer to the waters edge. Then

he stood for a while and then sat down again. From the

corner of his eye he could still see the multi-coloured

twilight dancing to an unheard tune on the horizon. It was

one of the first things they had noticed upon landing there.

That the reeds created music. It seemed as if the wind

moved mathematically here, and with its digits, throughthe reeds, which grew at angles which delegated

themselves to notes on a sheet of music. Still waters on

this planet were, quite literally, orchestras.

He took out a cigarette and held it at the corner of

his mouth. With his other hand he procured a matchbox,

then hesitated. Letting the thought, whatever it was, go, he

replaced the cigarette in his mouth and lit a match, quickly

bringing it close to his lips. All at once a hundred yellow

demons appeared to dance on the rocky wall in from of

him, as the light seeped from the gaps in his fingers. He

extinguished the light, inhaled the smoke deeply, closed his

eyes, and in reverence danced with the concept of Faiza.


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He thought ofArya. The word kept ringing

in his head. It was, perhaps, the most beautiful word he

knew. Arya, a word of the ancients, which meant noble,

or free. A term of respect, and of love. An elevated

position. He looked at the world around him, glanced at

the immense fall not to far away on his left. He looked at

the ravaging colours on the horizon, pink, purple, red,

brown, black, blue. . . he let his head fall back and closed

his eyes. He whispered, Arya.

Slight droplets of moisture were forming on his

shoes, and he could feel the wetness of the air as the water

in the stream increased with a greater flow from the

waterfall. He didnt mind. He shivered because of the cold,

but didnt move. He felt love and respect for the place hewas in. He felt it noble, because it was quiet, and felt it was

free, because it could not be enslaved. He opened his eyes

and felt the touch of anger. But he strangled his anger, in

respect of the concept of Faiza.

At last he got up and for the last time saw the

waterfall. What was the waterfall had it not been for the

rocks behind it? We admire the mountains, yet we chose to

ignore the landscape behind them. We pray to a concept,

yet we chose to ignore the reality in front of it. With that

thought he silently lowered his eyes, and raised them up

again. He thought of the green mountains in Islamabad,

how he looked at them sometimes from a distance, and

how he looked behind them and saw another set, and then


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another, successively following each other, yet

decidedly fading from sight. He loved the farthest

mountain, the one that was so distant that all it seemed

was an outline of blue, merged with the colour of the sky.

Mercy on him who chooses to ignore the blue mountain.

It was through these things that he saw the

presence of God. It was through this world that he saw the

existence of the hereafter. He looked back at the way from

which he came. He looked at the mother ship, without fail,

working incessantly in destitution. Destitute incessant. He

saw farther than the ship, farther than the stars, even

farther than the blackness of space. Then he silently

lowered his eyes, and once again, prayed to the concept of

Faiza.


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ADREAM

ave you ever felt the dead of the night? I

know its visible, and can be heard, but have

you ever felt it? When there is no wind, and

no sound, nothing whatsoever. Even the blackness of

everything is dull, like the sound of a mans heart beating

underneath a pillow of ill will. It was on such a night that I

decided to step outside. My house, you see is quite near the

main road, I live in F-8/3, in Islamabad, in the fifth street.

The nearest exit into the main road is about two hundred

yards, or perhaps a little more. Right in front of the exit is

the OPF girls college. That night also dead. This is where I

stepped out onto the open main road, not knowing where

to go. I turned left, where, if the world was proper, should

have been F-8 Markaz. Since this was a dream, and not real

life, the markaz wasnt there. Instead the wall of the college

seemed to continue as long as I walked towards my right.

Amazingly, on the first house to my left, as I was

walking on the main road, was a car parked. There was a

woman, who seemed like a contemporary mother who

seemed very irritated at something. She was continuously

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getting things, baby things, out of her car and

practically throwing them inside the house. It was weird.

Who was this woman, and why was she doing her

unloading at this time of the night. It was then when I

seemed to realise, in my dream, of course, that it was

closer tofajirthan I had previously envisioned.

Well, not thinking much about the time or the

woman, I moved on, going, as I was, nowhere. I walked

down the road, the nice metalled road (not the kind found

in Karachi), when I came across an old friend of mine

from England. Kind of strange, dont you think, me

running into someone I only knew at college, in a dream,

in Pakistan. I didnt even remember her name. Just that

she was black, and was about six inches taller than I was.Needless to say I had to climb something to look at her

boyfriend. In any case, I walked with her, and reached a

series of shops, which were preparing to open for the day.

It was in one of these that she just turned, leaving me

alone as I was before. Thinking much of it, and suddenly

feeling a rush of loneliness, I walked on. It was then that I

saw him.

At a distance, walking on the opposite side of the

road, about maybe 50 feet away from me, was an old Sufi.

He was the regular kind you see at mazars with a

considerable white beard, wearing a green, semi-tattered

green overall, and beads of indefinable colours around his

neck. He also featured a dark brown Muslim cap (the kind


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without the shade) on his white head. For some odd

reason, I hated him.

I have nothing against anyone, and I especially

hold no kind of any emotion for malang faqirs. But I hated

him. It was an uncontrollable feeling that filled me, top-

down just by looking at him. He didnt even notice me, his

head was nodding, as he recited something to himself with

his eyes closed. But oh! What I felt I never felt before.

Even in my dream I had to keep myself at a distance from

him. I, as is the case in dreams, foreknew that he was

harmless, but I also knew that if I came into contact with

him, I would kill him. As he passed by, across the opposite

street, I turned around and threw a lanatat him, a curse,

from the soul of my hatred. It was at this point in time thatI woke up, sweating and cold. I walked over to the

bathroom, and saw my face in the mirror. It was contorted

with anger.

To this day I cannot understand what drove me to

such fury, and what inspired such revulsion inside me. I

am still stuck in that paradox. It was a true feeling, except

it was in a dream.


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TRAIN STATION

e looked at the signboard with the trains

listed. His shoulder was beginning to ache, but

he had everything in the bag on his shoulder,

and he despised taking risks. He was afraid even to put it

on the floor next to him, not even for a minute. It was too

risky. He was feeling sick too. He had just quit smoking,

and was feeling a rush of craving for nicotine. Hellava day

Ive picked to quit smoking!, he cursed himself. As soon

as he would set it down, some motherless freak would rob

him of it. So he let his shoulder ache. He believed in what

he called the Banking Doctrine. Some bank in the United

States discovered they were being fed forged cheques.

They called a board meeting and discussed the issue. Some

one suggested that they should install anti-forgery checks

and balances etc. The managing director asked what the

value of the fraud was. One hundred thousand dollars per

year he was told. Then he asked how much fraud control

would cost him. One hundred and twenty thousand

dollars. He decided that it was better for the bank to let the

fraud go on.

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A sincere teacher had once told him never to

get attached to something he wouldnt stick to if he saw a

pitfall. Probably stole that from a movie or something. He

had just laughed and thought to himself, I never listened

to my father this much, what makes you so special? Well,

that thought came back to him just then.

Rushing through a crowed that seemed

determined to stop him, he finally reached the platform

from which she had exited. But he could see her nowhere.

Do you remember what it was like the first time you went

underwater? The sick panic that you feel, the loss of

control of emotion, the dearth of sense? The utter

disregard of logic and rationale? That was what he felt. He

looked here and there, his head burst out with ache, andhis eyes swelled up from concentration. Yet he could see

her nowhere. He ran next to the only train that had parked

itself against the hard, cold stone slab of pavement. His

shoes echoed as he slapped his feet violently against the

concrete, running across the windows of the locomotive,

hoping for one last speck of sunlight.

And he ran to the farthest bogey. Looked inside,

but she was gone. Then he paused, beads of perspiration

running down his forehead, and his chest heaving with

long overdue exercise. He stopped and thought. He

backed away from the train and stood near an isolated

corner. She was gone, done, finished. Disappeared.

Anyone looking at him from inside the stationed train


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He considered whether he had imagined her. What if she

wasnt even there, what if she was a fragment of his

twisted mind. Had he, perchance, fallen in love with a

dream? At that point in time, immersed in bliss, he didnt

really care. She was a monument of idealisation. A

synagogue of Chimera, a Frankenstein of all the most

beautiful creatures he had seen, heard, felt or imagined.

She was an amalgamation of sorts, as if created specifically

for him. A Helen of Troy, or a Madame Bovary. He was

incredibly sad. He loved her, craved her, needed her. But,

he realised, whether imaginary or real, she was gone. The

dawn of practicality devoured the shadows of passion. Its

better to have loved and lost. . . he thought to himself,then never to have loved at all.

He was, after all a Leo, and optimism was an

eternal disease.


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PHILOSOPHY

he stench of war is upon us, and death doth lent

its helping hand. As I walk through the Valley of

the Shadow of Death, I can only conceive that

this is the beginning. Like a tarot, that once comes, never

leaves. More often than not, death inspires more change

than stagnancy. Yet it is us who are stubbornly rigid in our

own little diamonds. We shine, and we forget, that the

diamond cannot shine on its own. The light that forges its

way through it, breaks into a hundred channels, and as a

result gives such beauty that is attributed to us alone. We

forget that this world is not a sanctuary, but a resting zone.

A place of learning, in which we must understand, that

every action has its consequences, and that no one but us

is responsible for our actions. It is duly unfortunate that

we misunderstand the meaning of life. We overestimate it,

and blow it out of proportion. We attempt to forgo the

rules of God, intermittently proclaiming them useless,

without considering their logic. The Economics of God is

the foundation of this universe. No matter how much you

disregard it, it will always be. To think that this world came

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out on its own, that there is no Creator, is like saying

a watch, also a perfect system comparable to the universe,

came into being on its own. Can you say that is so? And

just because you havent seen its creator? It is only

delusion. And this delusion costs nations, not individuals.

Society is moving towards a deprivation of morals, while

they consider themselves equipped with modernity and

sophistication. Were they not far more equipped, who

were swiftly removed and replaced by us? All this is easy

for him, verily, in whose hand my soul is. They who do not

understand, understand it all very well. They just choose

not to accept. Under the cloak of tolerance, they refuse to

acknowledge any view different from their own. Whether

with or without a symbol, they carry with themdeterminants which are designed to engage whom they

consider is the enemy. They leave their houses not to learn,

but to fight, and to provoke. They feel high if they win,

and feel sacrificed if they lose. Yet they all lose. Without a

conscience, and with only one view of the world, they

deign to conquer and implement a rule that will, in the

end, destroy only themselves. Moving at the speed of time,

nature always wins. The gift with which humans have been

bestowed upon by their Lord is free will. But this is not the

greatest gift. The greatest is that Book, which even a

mighty mountain would not be able to sustain, had it been

sent down to it. Yet the human heart is thicker than the

rocks in a mountain, and harder still. It assumes power


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where this is none, and appreciates death where life is

available. Can the blind and the seers be considered equal?

Are you ashamed of the truth, and embrace a lie because

you are afraid of satire? Shame, depart! Though art an

enemy of my salvation: Shall I entertain thee against my

sovereign Lord? Pain, just like hunger, and thirst and lust.

A dry phenomenon, that seems so alive. The dead are

often more fortunate than the living, then why be afraid to

die? When life and death, and respect and fortune are all in

His mercy, then why be afraid? Being in a constant state of

confusion is a sign of disbelief. It is because of him that we

are, and to him we must all return. Verily, without his aid

we could not have made this journey. Just look around and

see. Everything is so beautiful, so welcoming. This worldhas been made for us. We must live in it, not just exist.

And we must thank Him who bestowed on us this favor.

The Book guides us towards something so special, relieves

us of so much of our pain, so much of our misery. It is

true, whatever good comes to us, comes from our Lord,

and whatever bad comes to us, we are the cause of it.

Deny not yourselves the fruit of this world. Faith, it will all

fall together in the end.


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IN THE LAND OF THE CYCLOPS

n the land of the Cyclops, where everyone sees with

only one eye. Or through glasses tinted with colors

of their own choosing. They conveniently opt to

leave aside a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors, living their

life in black and white. They live in a fantasy world of their

own creation, and formulate within themselves stories to

entertain them through snowy evenings. Thats all that life

is to them, one snowy evening. They neither have the

ambition, nor do they have the courage to bring out the

sun, to work towards a morning that is not as cold as the

winter nights. Such people never get very far in life. They

stay at the same place and whine, and make up stories,

which others like them distastefully enjoy.

What makes them enjoy killing so much? Why

would a Cyclops feed on the dead carcass of a human

being? For one thing, they lack the courage to face a living

human. The very fear of being brought into the open, out

of their caves where they dwell until their unpleasant

demise, out into the sun where they know they would have

to face not only their prey, but also themselves.

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These creatures of the unintelligent are

creatures of fear. They fear within themselves a lack of

faith, a lack of depth, inasmuch a lack of originality. They

fall behind the humans when it comes to thinking, and this

prompts jealousy, disrespect and downright plain enmity.

Rather than taking corrective measures and setting their

wrongs right, they seek to destroy those that are better

than them, and who move forward, instead of being

stagnant, or even shifting to reverse gear.

These creatures seek out their victims by sniffing

out misunderstandings, then carrying out an informal

campaign to destroy character. They desire nothing more

than affluence in monopoly of judgment, the right to state

whether someone is upright or down-low. For this rightthey indulge in cross-talk, conferences of the hypocrites

and casually destroy a humans defense, that is, his or her

personality. Because of the unfortunate endowment of

only one eye, they cannot see any view that differs from

their own, cleanly amputating public opinion and sewing

up a sort of Frankenstein that perfectly suits their needs.

How can you deal with a Cyclops should you

come across one? If possible, prevention is better than

cure . . . they should be avoided at all costs. Its not worth

facing a stinking giant when you can take an alternative

route to reach your destination. In the case you cant, and

you are surrounded by a horde, accept defeat, at least in

front of them. The thought process of a Cyclops giant is a


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singular process. It doesnt like deviations, and

although it is a brilliant specimen for creativity of stories of

disrepute, it rarely works hard to comprehend situations

that seem to be going its way. If they assume that you have

lost, the giants will grin in delight. When the giants grin,

they stop thinking, and when they stop thinking, that is the

time when they are most vulnerable to retaliation. The only

way to survive in such a circumstance is to set the giants

against themselves. This requires tact, and should only be

practiced when you know that no matter what you do, you

will never fall to a standard as low as the giants themselves,

even for the purpose of defeating them.

Sun Tzu said, If you know the enemy, and you

know yourself, you need not fear the outcome of ahundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy,

you in every victory you will suffer defeat. If you know

neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every

battle.


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AIMLESSNESS

he sun shone hard on his face, mercilessly.

Natures injustice to men, who spend a hard day

trying to solve the intricacies created for them

without their permission. Solving the rules that exist in

nature, on the structure of economics. Men who

understand that you need to earn to eat. Then there is the

sun. In a city like Karachi, he knew, there was no escape

from the sun. And it was merciless. Not even a small whiff

of wind as he drove through an extremely busy

thoroughfare towards his home. It was dirty traffic too.

Trucks sounding horns for no reason, illogical people

arguing over a couple of feet of space between cars.

Smoke, dust, beggars and other parasites. It was tough

keeping a cool head, but he barely managed.

He lived with his parents still. He thought of

them, they had their problems, they had their troubles.

Needless to say he had a fair contribution in them.

Although he had already crossed manhood, completed his

studies and had been working for a couple of years, he still

hadnt really grown up. The traffic cleared up and he

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moved along, relieved, but still irritated because of

the long wait. He turned right into Ittehad and drove

straight towards the sea. He was thinking despite his

shallow attempts not to.

About six months ago he told his parents he

wanted to get married. He didnt want to live alone

anymore. He couldnt talk to his parents about everything,

no one could, and they sure as hell didnt talk to him about

everything. He needed someone to share his feelings with,

his everyday experiences which he cherished so much,

whether they were good or bad. He felt that life was a

string of experiences, like a pearl necklace. It were these

experiences that when linked to each other cause a great

chain of events that sooner or later you realize is your life.It may seem like stating the obvious, but most people

choose to ignore the fact that what you do while youre

young seriously affects what is done to you later in life.

Thats the way it is. A smile crept silently across his lips.

What if. . . he thought to himself, . . .what if I dont do

anything?

He moved his car to the side as a truck behind

him continuously honked to gain passage in the fast lane.

Sunshine reflected against the road, making it difficult for

him to see his way. The glare was terrible, especially with

his eyes, that had gone weak due to all the time he spent

using the computer. He slowed the car down, he already


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had too many problems, he didnt want an accident

to go with them.

He took out his cell phone, a Nokia N-Gage, and

turned the radio on. Neither of the five channels had any

songs on. Either some poor bastard was listing his hearts

desires on Valentines Day, or there were advertisements.

Commercials, he thought to himself. Commercials they are

called, not advertisements. But then what are

advertisements? He mouthed the word advertisement a

few times silently. It sounded strange. He felt numb with

thinking, but he didnt really have a choice.

Advertisements. His mouth felt muscular saying this word.

As if it had a lot of experience now. A wise mouth, and

learned mouth. He shook his head, he was going crazy.What kind of a guy thinks his mouth is learned? He slowed

his car down once again, his habit of speeding every time

he got hyper really scared him. See, what is an accident?

An accident is an event without an apparent cause, or one

that is unexpected. When you plan for an accident, he

thought to himself, you need to cover every possible

opening, need to consider every possible scenario. Unless

you do that, the unexpected can seep through your

defenses. However, he continued, we can never know all

possible scenarios, and anyway, even if we did, this is the

real world, one of our defenses could stop functioning, or

human error could intervene. If a small child runs onto the

road, trips and falls right in front of my car, what could I


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possibly do? I would slam the brakes, which exist to

serve a number of accident related scenarios. Theoretically,

I slam the brakes, I stop the car and the kid is saved. What

if the brakes dont work? What if theres another car

behind me that slams into mine? What if India launches a

nuclear bomb on Pakistan? Whats the use of these brakes

then? So an accident is just that, an accident. Its useless to

prepare for it, because you cant. I mean. . ., he thought, .

. . you can, but it would take a lot of money and effort. No

kids life is worth that much.

He thought a little more about protection against

unlimited odds, considered locking himself up in a lead

chamber with a number of harmless resources. Under no

circumstances could he consider himself safe, no matterwhat he thought. He let it go as an insoluble problem.

He passed a couple of signals, and then turned

with the road past the beautiful mosque and the PSO gas

station. That reminded him, he needed gas. He mouthed

the word gas a few times before cursing himself for being

a gem of a fool. What was wrong with him? Why couldnt

he be normal like his parents? They didnt want anything in

life, yet they till managed to get quite a lot. He felt strange.

He felt jealous, of everything, the whole world. The best of

the best were better than him because they achieved more

in a shorter time. The better ones were better than him

because they had clinched opportunities that he may have

missed. And he was jealous of the average guys, because


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they were not jealous of anyone else, and were

satisfied with their lives. He loosened his brow, which has

begun to hurt it was locked so tight. His knuckles were

white because of the tightness with which he was holding

the wheel. Ugh. He felt disgusted with himself. Life sucks,

even a good life. Its the trade offs in life that kill you. You

want something, take it, fame, money, love, sex, whatever.

The question is, what will you give in exchange for it?

Peace of mind? Friends? Lovers? Whatever? Nothing on

earth is free, my friend, he said to himself, especially those

things which you think are free.

It doesnt make sense, he thought, this world.

There are too many complications, too many question

marks. You cannot control a situation in which you donteven know how many variables there are. He wanted at

least to control his life. It was the only thing he had,

excepting perhaps his mind. Who knew whom his mind

belonged to. In any case, he was the one using it at the

moment.

He came really close to his house, turned into the

driveway, stopping at his door. The noise of the engine

gone, there was an eerie silence around him. His mind was

already numb with thinking, but he was used to that too.

He hated when he philosophized, he thought it was

useless, without purpose, aimless. Whats the use of

thinking and speaking about matters you can do nothing

about. I have spent so much time and energy thinking


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about accidents, life, gas, the whole world for that

matter. He rested his head on his hands on the steering

wheel. He heard his mother speaking to one of the

servants inside. He sighed, opened the door, exited the car.

Took a few steps towards the front door of his house,

paused. Opened his door and walked in. All the while

mouthing the word door.


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THE SOLITARYHORSEMAN

t was a strange night, a passionate night. The Earth

rang with its own fury, and the heavens seemed

doomed with curse. Yet it was strange, strangely

wonderful at the same time. The sky loomed above with a

mysterious darkness, dark to some, dangerous to others.

The dark grey clouds envelope the sky like a blanket, and

seemed to lock the scene in its own entirety. The field, the

floss, the tall green grass all seemed to look up to the grey

as if t seek an answer to a question that was killing them.

There was an inherent silence caused by something tosinister, and yet so fantastic that it could barely be defined.

All things knew it existed, but not one could limit its

feelings to words. The horizon stretched across to the

midnight sun, one that would have existed had the fist of

the grey not clutched the atmosphere in utter desolation.

This happened once in a while in this place. People came,people went, people died, people lived. But not all of them

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lived here, they mostly just existed. To live would

mean to dream, to dream would mean to desire, and to

desire would mean to yield to the will to achieve. Most

people are afraid of this will, for it can crush a man like an

ant under a giant tree. And there was only one tree here.

The tree of life, with its spare branches, it was the only

tree in the world which had branches stronger than its

roots. The leaves and buds of this tree look towards the

sky, whereas their reality lay elsewhere. It was a strange

scene indeed, with the tall grass waving like hair influenced

by gentle breath, and the tree casting a shadow that

couldnt exist. Weird, distorted noises seemed to emerge

from somewhere, yet there was no entity that could

emanate them. Can it be? Is that the sounds of hoofshitting the ground? Is that what I hear in the distance? A

shape was taking place in the horizon. It seemed to bring

with it the wind. The wind which is the wrath of the Gods.

It was a solitary horseman, who was riding afoot in the

fields. His back arched as he was slightly raised above his

horse, which pounded the earth as if half in agony, half in

anger. He was riding his horse like Zorro rode Diablo, and

it seemed as if the Devil himself had once again set foot

upon the Earth. With sparks flying at every touch, and

fiery breath drawing from the nostrils of the animal, the

two large black figures seemed to merge into one. The

wind that they brought with them shook the tree, and bade

the grass leaves to dance with it. And it was a passionate


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dance, one with life and with death. One with

gladness and with sorrow, one with love and with hate. It

was something that cannot be defined in words. The world

seemed to move with this man, this solitary horseman.

And then he stopped. His horse came to a standstill in the

middle of the field, his image silhouetted against the dark

and light grey background like a black omen. His horse

raised itself on its two hind legs and neighed in anger. And

the worlds retracted with gear and wonder. Who was this

man? What did he want? At a time when people closed

their windows and lock their doors, he was out. In a place

even the bravest of the brave deter from being, he seemed

to live. He was a man who reached heights because he

lived for them. He was a man who would die if hestopped. Was he a devil? Was he a ghost? Why was he

alone? Why did the wind seem to dance around him as if it

loved him, and why did the sky darken at his steps? Why

did the night hearken at his word and why did the ground

wait for his return? His form was one without which the

place was incomplete .the night, the dark, the wind, the

grass, the tree and most of all the silence all seemed to be

one with him. Why? Perhaps you and I will never know.


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THE STRANGER AND THETHINKER

lease come in sit down, make yourself

comfortable.' He said, as he rested himself

against the fireplace in the lush study of his

lofty mansion. The fire provided the only light in the small

but tastefully decorated room. His friend looked at him

intently, and moved towards the fireplace, where another

high-backed chair stood facing it's twin, now occupied by

the thinker. 'Come now, what do you wish to know?' The

thinker said with a smile, as if he already knew the answer

to the question. The other man sat down, and then leaned forward. He

looked again at the man in front of him, noticed his rather

tense posture, and they way in which his eyes shined. He

said, 'What do you think about friendship?'

The thinker's smile widened. He looked at the

fireplace to his right for a second, nothing how the fire

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blazed fiercely to the rhythm of the crackling wood.

Then he looked back to his questioner as if he were an

assailant.

'There is no such thing as friendship, there is only

greed. You are alone in the world. You have no one, no

one whatsoever to talk to. How would that feel? Not very

nice I am sure. Along comes a person, someone who is

human like you. What do you do? You strike a friendship.

Why? Not because you like any of his habits or you love

his body language or something. It is because you need

him. Someone said that man is a social animal. Tell me do

you eat food primarily because you like it's taste? Or is it

because it is a necessity that you can't live without? Those

people who are exceptionally social are addicted to thisneed. It grows on you. Some have avoided it, but no one

can live without it. Friendship is a drug, which is a need for

humans. This need sometimes grows on you as a greed. I

give you a certain type of friendship, which you don't

especially like. You stick to me deliberately, and often

against better judgment because there is nothing else to

hold on to. The day someone better comes along, you say

bye bye, and move along with that person. That is what I

think of friendship. That is an animal instinct which has

been refined over the years, much like food.' He finished,

however, in a way, not finishing at all.

Now it was the other man's turn to smile. 'So what

you're saying is, that if I am friends with you, it is just


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because I need you to fulfill a social necessity,

therefore, to summarize, friendship is a need and not a

want or luxury, is this correct?' he asked. The thinker just

nodded in assent. 'Then . . .' continued the stranger, 'what

do you think about love? Is that, too, a raw animalistic

requirement?'

The thinker again paused before answering. He

leaned back in the chair and rested one of his legs on the

other, his head rolled back, his eyes closed. Then he

opened them. 'No', he said 'Love is slightly complicated.

You see, what happens it that when a person first meets

another, they subconsciously notice each other's

movements, body language, if I may. This has an immense

effect on their attitude towards each other. You see ofcourse, that right now, we are talking about the opposite

sex interacting. Now, if the subconscious likes the body

language, or way of talking, or anything else personal to

the actions of the individual, it feels an attraction. This

attraction grows into something called an infatuation, or a

crush. Now this crush, if intensified by more complex

human readings, like, for example, matching interests, or a

similar ambition etc, leads to love. Therefore, if a person

loves another truly, then they adore some action, some

aspect of the attitude of their partner which they don't see

in anyone else. This goes on to suggest that sometimes,

even though you might not eventually grow to like a

person, you still love them. This is because even though


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you hate something in their personality, you might

still be attracted to them because they still retain that

physical or psychological attribute which first attracted

your attention. Do you understand?' the thinker asked.

The stranger was impressed. But he was also

confused. 'So what you're trying to imply here, is that you

can actually love a person, but not like them. How is that

possible?' he asked, displaying something of his perplexity.

The thinker said, 'Well, let me put it to you this

way. Your mother tells you to avoid something, you do it

anyway. What is the end result? You get a massive scolding

or even a thrashing from your mom. At that time, you

don't like her a lot do you? But even then deep down in

your heart, there is still that respect for her, which can onlycome out of love. The priests in the Vatican don't avoid

sin because they are afraid of God's wrath, which is the

secondary reason. The primary reason is that they love

God, and do it out of that love. Therefore, you might not

like someone for a short period of time, but you definitely

love them forever. Unless of course, they loose that habit

of theirs which attracted you so much to them. A child

respects his father because he thinks his father is a hero.

When that child grows up and finds out that his father is

just an ordinary man like everyone else, that childish

infatuation ends. The point is not that when you grow up

things change, the point is that in the eyes of the grown

up, the father has lost that specific trait which the child


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thought he had when it was young.' The thinker

finished, his face glowing with excitement, as he proved

his point and rested his case. He loved being challenged on

his ideals.

The stranger was interested. 'Tell me more; can

this concept of love become so intensive that you cannot

live without the person you love? Is that possible?' he

asked intently. At this the thinker laughed, his head thrown

back. His shadow played tricks with the book-lined walls

in his study, as the fire seemed to laugh with him. 'To tell

you the truth', said the thinker, suddenly more serious

that he had ever been, 'I don't know. But what I do know

is that love should be the most practical thing in the world,

rather than the most emotional thing, as it is projected tobe in popular literature. You should never fall in love with

just anyone, or just anything. It is one of my most favorite

sayings, that "never get attached to anything you can't take

with you, when you feel the heat's around the corner". I

heard that in a movie once, and it's true. There are very

few things which you actually care to think about when

you're in it to your neck. If you like something all that

much, think twice before getting attached to it Things

happen, and you have to leave your favorites behind in an

emergency. Forget stuff, people leave behind family to get

themselves out of trouble, and then they roam about here

and there in regret. One should never do that, whether

regret is a right thing or not is a separate issue. What I am


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saying is that you should take the decision of whether

you would stick to something in an emergency right when

you start to like it you like a girl, fine no problem you get

attracted, you go on a couple of dates, it gets better. You

fall in love, bingo, you make a commitment. What happens

next? You get her to meet your parents, voila they don't

like her; you see the problem here is that you're already in

too deep in this to let her go. The world knows she was

with you, and her reputation is destroyed. What's the use?

This isn't a movie that you fight against society and win in

the end. In real life you have to leave her, because there is

no other alternative. So what happens next? You get

depressed, and you think that the whole world is a stupid

place, and love is a stupid thing. But that's where you'redead wrong. You are the only stupid thing in the world,

that's all. The first thing you should do, when you meet a

girl you like is to go home and ask your parents what kind

of a girl they want. This way, you have criteria. Fine, things

aren't so easy, but this is the correct formula to go about

this. You play intelligent games to build up both your

parents and that girl, so that two year down the road no

one is the loser, you've negotiated with your parents

subconsciously. You've told the girl what kind of a person

your parents want to mould her, if she likes it that is, and

you alleviate a problem rather than intensifying it.' The

thinker finished. His mind racing and concepts formed and


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deformed, and then merged into other concepts to

produce the chain of thought.

The stranger was deeply interested now. He

wanted more, 'What do you think about life? Do you think

a straightforward, satisfied man is better or is an ambitious

one?, was his short however profoundly concentrated

question.

The thinker began, "Well, that's interesting and

debatable, but I'll tell my views on it. If you want to exist

in this world, you can very well be straightforward and

satisfied. But if you want to live, then you have to be

ambitious to a certain extent. Believe you me when I tell

you the person who has a full stomach plays more politics

in a normal day then a politician does during election time.The person with the empty stomach, however doesn't do

anything at all. He is happy with his empty stomach. He

doesn't mind, so why should we? I have seen people from

under-privileged backgrounds reach the top, and I have

seen people, gold medalists make choices that failures do.

What does it all mean? Its all about choice, my dear that's

all, if you feel that you cannot beat the system then you

might as well go to a saint's tomb and sit there for the rest

of your life'.

The stranger pressed on, 'So then what about

people who say that everything happens because of fate?

What about that?'


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'See, I feel very strongly upon this point.

People often accept fate as a guide and let it take them

wherever. Maybe I am wrong, but I think this is a defeatist

attitude. I hate it when a person doesn't take all possible

measures within his or her reach before saying "okay, that's

all I can do, if something will happen how, it is beyond my

control to stop it," because that is the correct way to deal

with fate. I don't disbelieve in fate or destiny but I think

that it is hypocrisy to take half measures against a danger,

and then when it hits you, you blame it on fate. I believe

that one should take all necessary measures before

throwing up their hands in frustration. The best person

who believes in fate, whom I respect because of this, is the

man who lies naked outside a saint's tomb. He takes noprecaution against any danger, he does not know where his

next meal is coming from and he doesn't care if someone

cuts off his right hand and carries it away. He doesn't

shave, he doesn't bathe, and he doesn't clean his teeth.

Why? Because he is an ardent believer in fate, and believes

that if he is destined to be somewhere at sometime, it will

happen. I like that. That is a full belief in a concept that

few people have. Half hearted beliefs and blaming

something that was your fault on a supernatural

fate/destiny concept is like hiding behind the fear that

your precautions are useless. If something happens to you,

in the end it has to be somebody's fault. Murphy's Law

should be enhanced to include this. That if something can


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go wrong it will, but everything gone wrong is

somebody or the other's fault. This should be clear.'

Now it was the strangers turn to lean back against

the chair, and stare into the hearty fire. He saw himself

burn in the flames, but there was not pain, because these

flames were those of knowledge. He was an information

hunter, in the age of information hunting. He was getting

high on a new drug. He could feel the knowledge of

philosophy run through his veins and soothe his mind

which was tearing itself apart in search of answers to

questions that never stopped coming. He was getting high

on information. He stared at himself in the red glow of the

blazing wood, as he thought of the next question he would

ask the thinker. The stranger turned back to the thinker. He

looked at his mature face, with lines of thought carved on

his brow. Then he threw another one. 'What do you think

about communication between people?'

'Hmm. I believe that communication is the most

important thing in the world. Even dolphins communicate,

even though they have limited body language! Especially,

in couples. There should never, ever be a lack of

communication between two people who have some sort

of important communication together. If this occurs,

people outside can use this as a gap in which to plant seeds

of confusion. Confusion leads to irregular deduction,

which leads to inaccurate decisions. Moreover, you know


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what happens when inaccurate decisions are made.

Relationships go haywire. This is one of the ways

miscommunication spoils a relationship. There are other

ways as well. The biggest fool in the world is the one who

tries to take someone's point of view and place it within

his own frame of mind. You create something with that

which is the worst form of miscommunication in the

world. Communication is the best thing ever.'

'What do you think about women? Some people

don't think a lot of them what do you think?'

'Perhaps the greatest sin in the whole world is to

abuse the fact that a woman loves you. When a woman

loves, she gives herself fully to you. She doesn't care about

a lot; all she wants in return is your love and attention.Give that to a woman, and you have got the pinnacle of

devotion known only to gods. Don't, and you lose

everything, your respect, you dignity and her love. Think

not that she is a slave. Just because she feels she belongs to

you doesn't mean she actually does. Her freedom is hers,

and your rights are yours. To find the perfect balance

between her freedom, and your rights is called marriage. If

you give her respect, and treat her like a partner rather

than a servant, you will find yourself in a place where there

is someone to share your happiness, and someone to hold

you when you grieve. You will find that there is someone

who will help you through even in your toughest

moments, often taking hardships on herself to protect you.


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She will take care of you and take care of herself.

This is a task that many of us cannot even imagine. It is in

feminine nature to see that all things are in order. If they

are not, then adrenaline sprouts and takes over, until all

things are complete. It is because of this trait that I respect

and love the entity called "woman".'

With this the stranger quieted down, if not forever

then for the moment, deep in thought, pondering over the

words of this strange man known as the thinker.


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I

Anticipation, assizes, neck, rope,

Frustration arises, wreck, hope,

judges, dejection, death, light,

grudges, rejection, wreath, tight.

Momentous, life, memory, blame,

Pretentious, strife, rosary, flame,

Remember, rage, violence, hilt,

Dismember, cage, silence, guilt.

The present, concord, light, divine,

Crescent, record, height, sublime,

Justice, recounting, verdict: hell,

First is surmounting, benedict, dwell.

Depression, remission, evil abode,

Precession, admission, devil, bestowed,

Fire, lament, girth, demise,

Dire intent, rebirth, reprise.


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II

Once a Light that shines on earth,

Asked itself what is my worth?

In mock surprise itself replied,

Who would mourn me if I died?

Will the Heavens weep in grief?

Or shed their tears out of relief?

Will the Seas lose hope perchance?

Or in guilty pleasure dance?

I looked at myself in the mirror today,

I never thought I would be acting this way!

He questioned himself as the moments went by,

With questions like these even the devil may cry.

He felt he should never have learnt to feel,

than go through this rather heavy ordeal,

how would he ever recover and heal,

when all his confusions were so surreal?


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As he quivered away in silent reproach,

He heard the soft footfalls of Mercy approach,

What bothers you child, why whimper you such?

Your father and I worry about you much.

I have a cancer but that is okay,

Id rather choose dying then living this way,

why so many people live meaningless lives,

Im very confused how this world survives.

I could tell you your worth, but I would not be believed,

Your mother am I, and am so perceived,

There are some you have known since you were conceivedMaybe you should ask them, then youll be relieved.

Theyve played with you ever since you rose from the dust,

Theyve known you forever and know you they must,

They help you keep comfort when winter is cold,

Your friends, they would tell you what value you hold.

The Light, he then ventured on a journey to find,

The answers to questions that he had confined,

someone to clean up the mess in his mind,

untangle the strings that he had entwined.

On the way to his purpose he met with the Sun,


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exchanging of greetings, an occasional pun,

their friendship was old, and companions were they,

they had walked oft together, like they walked that day.

In turn he requested the Sun to say,

If he would prefer him to go or to stay,

The Sun in all his wisdom complied,

That he would be nothing if his luster died.

He detached from the sun and offered him thanks,

At least he had tried to fill in the blanks.

Regarding the problem he could not confide,

he was still left very much unsatisfied.

The Light then went to the Moon and saw,

him shying away from the Light in awe,

On putting the question he got these replies:

Ask me no questions and Ill tell you no lies.

I am the Moon; no doubt I am strong,

my loyalty is to darkness to think that is wrong!

Ive thrived on my glow from the days of yore,

I would not be moved if you were no more.

The light he considered the moon was right,

No doubt he only came out at night!


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With an answer like this there was no surprise:

Ask me no questions and Ill tell you no lies.

But his heart was still heavy with remorse and regret,

his search was for something impossible to get,

more precious men then he had been hurled,

and forgotten in the graveyards of the world.

He queried thus his fathers friend,

Oh Darkness what will be my end?

The Dark, a moment deep in thought,

emerged unscathed and worried not.

A triumph it would be, but I,cannot bring myself to lie,

he murmured scratching at his head,

I would be sad if you were dead

Then he visited the maker of peace,

Who serves the demented with early release,

His name was Death, and woe befall,

The person whom death will not visit at all.

He conversed with Death from first to last,

Revolutions of a distant past,

Emotions and passions experienced alone,

A few simple pleasures that he had known.


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III

Have you ever thought of taking a walk in the park?

when the twilight is rising quite soon after dark?

and your footsteps are heard far away in the street,

as you move from the gravel on to the concrete.

Have you ever looked wild-eyed at the sun and the moon?

Ever think why they rise and then settle so soon?

Dont you love it just standing in the sea and in sand?

Is the sound of distant drumming just the fingers of your

hand?

Enjoying the heartache in the middle of your chest,

your lover may have gone but what remains is the best,

your hair slightly ruffles and you let out a sigh,

a cold whiff of wind had just come and gone by.

You shake your head lightly and smile in assent,letting pass an enigma though you knew what it meant,


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then you look at the moon with the corner of your eye,

it's shines with such pleasure on the place where you'll die.

Then the wind urges leaves to get on their way,

it's the autumn of dejection and they've outworn their stay,

then you get up and walk with your home in your mind,

forgetful of leaving your memories behind.

You return to your place where you've spent all your years,

where you've fought all your battles and faced all your

fears,

As the silence discovers your ears and your eyes,

sleep, my friend, and wake up with sunrise.


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IV

May God Almighty save our souls,

From the hands of fate untold,

And may we be excused for detaching,

Our spirits from this world so cold.

The perils of another life,

May perish and fade away with time,

But what saddens me the most,

Is that mine increase as I grow old.

My body shivers and my head pains,

As I glance at my little gains,

I entered life as a flower bud,

And leave it with a lust for blood.


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VI

Even as in the summer rain,

As the green hills bear the brownish stain,

As the mist drowns the grassy plain,

I just dream of you in vain.

As the winter winds begin to blow,

The solid mountains high and low,

Altogether bear my pain,

As I dream of your in vain.

All the diamonds large and clear,

Cannot buy the lovers tear,

That rolls down from my eyes in disdain,

As I dream of you in vain.

Just turn back and just look at me,


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Into my eyes watery,

See their losses and their gains,


Felon in your eyes I may be though,

But you dont realise the sorrow,

When I steal my love, and steal it again,


You do not know the depth my love,

More precious than a treasure cove,

That when in my grave I am lain,

I will be dreaming of you in vain.

You must have heard of the bound that binds,

Lovers who each other are out to find,

Between us there is a stronger chain,

When I dream of you in vain.

I want you not like a gift of gold,

I need you not like a lovers hold,

I have you as my appertain,


There is not a soaring bird,

That soars at my heights unheard,


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And such are the heights that you attain,


There was never a lover who loved as much,

The strength of my love is such,

Beware when you come into my touch,

I have more love then I can contain,



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VII

It was a time,

When the whole world slumbered,

But he sat there smoking,

He knew his days numbered.

He was staring at the walls,

A favourite pastime,

And humming a song,

All sad in the rhyme.

He was wondering what had happened,Why his world had gone wrong,

In his life all his loved ones,

Just came and were gone.

And thus he was pondering,

This strange foolish man,


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His heart was all bitter,

Hi

Documents

Stories of the Night