Gazing around, I can see a lot of toxic relationships. For balance you see, every good comes with bad. If you cry you shall laugh, if you fight you shall kiss, if you get hurt you shall heal. But do you ever feel like breaking the rules, crossing the line and going beyond the obvious requirements?

All this time I kept on loving you from afar. Reading all the words you wrote for me. Mesmerizing our moments together, I kept on staring at our pictures. Ironically, our relationship became as still as the framed photos. For some people our conversations were meaningless but for me they were everything. And then came this moment. The moment of truth.

Is it important for your future to know your past? Your tomorrows to know your yesterdays? Your good to know your bad? For them to know your mistakes? I think we humans are made to make mistakes. Our mistakes are what make us ourselves. Mistakes tell us we are alive and very much sane. It is insane to be perfect. To never have done something wrong is just wrong. What really is a mistake? Why do you call it a mistake? Because eventually you realize it is wrong. And that is the real sanity, knowing you are wrong.

I think and ask myself, does he know me? The person I am with, does he know my heart? Does he know my love? Had he known, his heart would have allowed mine to be his. Surely it wouldn’t have thought about hurting the one who made his heart beat a different sound, and make me go through hell and question it all. Question myself. He drew me in and that’s what made me take care of him. That’s what made me fall. He made me fall.

But can I blame him? Can I question him? No. my naivety and I trusted him, I wish he could see the repercussions his actions can do. I wonder if he could see it himself or see me maybe. Because you know the closer I look, the more I can see him but I can barely find myself.

That’s toxicity right? Holding on to someone who says he wants to stay but in your heart you know the harder he tries the more you fade. You just keep standing there and slowly you step down the memory lane. The memories you thought had left haunting you, the moments you thought had stopped chasing you, the pages you thought you had burnt forever. And then, when you hear them say it is your fault. It maybe is. It always is. It always will be. But despite being so miserably crestfallen you know why we still cling to hope? Because in all our mistakes that person is the only real insanity we have. The only perfect thing we belong with. And that is why we stay; we cannot help but love them even in the bad and that too with all our heart.

The ornaments of my ankles dance along as I twirl towards a heavy man. Licking my lower lip, captivating him, I bend to expose the already exposing swellings over my blouse. Low lights are an addendum to my work, a little wink, and another prey. Don't hate me already, my swirling and twirling is what I get money for, the rest is just bonuses they earn, for I am here to entertain. I am here to be the dancing girl.

 My amatory body sways along the exotic music. I am here to fill in their appetite. Barely covered in a net fabric, I lift my lament eyes towards the wolves. Their hooting suggests my prevalent job is going to be a lot more lucrative tonight.

I am poor, and I am a girl. These people here are rich, and they are guys. Rich and guys. Rich guys. It's true when they say money is the root of all evils. I earn through wrong means, and they spend it on wrong means. Irony is that, both of us sin but they still judge me for my sin. They might be cheating on their wives, their girlfriends and maybe their parents but no, the dancing girl alone is sinister here.

This paunch man on far end points his fingers towards me; an invitation. I twirl around him, the sight of my raw navel is enough to make his mouth water. He traces a hundred ruppee note on my raw flesh, I give him a cheesy smile; I am his food for tonight.

This ambiance is imminent for me. For I am a piece of meat and these are famished dogs. Once sated, they'll roam around with sufficed lust. And I will be left with another stake of sorrows. I do not relish my being. My raunch is impure, find me a cure?

I stretch in the middle, my efflorescent body perfidy restlessness. I do not wish to be laid, but I am in dire need of money. My children are nobody's heir. I don't even know who they belong to, these fathers here don't really care. I can not earn them respect. Poor children, they think their mother is the best.

Eccentric ain't it? All the vibes are a limited liability for the poor. Little did I know, money buys virtues. This shindig is going to end, and I will be pursued in privacy. This gathering would one by one ease their manhood in me, and I will have nowhere to escape. This place feels like a abattoir, the only difference is, I am the kind of animal who will never die. Immortal. Copious. But would they do the same to their women? They might as well kill them in the name of honor than to let them being exploited.
They await my adept service, my depravity. I am a dancing girl, stuck in a travail.

Photo Courtesy = Saleha Adnan

Her small body shook with sobs. She was trapped in an airless interior of her own blackness. Bad memories she had wiped away from her mind over the years had returned, like long drowned bodies bobbing back to the surface again. With streaming eyes and a punctured heart she picked up the blade. Slicing the flesh of her bare arm no scream escaped her lips. The trickling red fluid took away the excessive grief. As if, eliminating the crippling conception of hopelessness. Words hang like blade. It feels as if our world is all black and grey, no matter what the sun is saying. We hug isolation like our life depends upon it. To break the aching emptiness there seems like no other convenient option for our heart is afraid it would shatter into a million fragments that would vanish forever into the darkness. Nothing stirs and our empty life craves color. It craves light. Time gasps for breath. Everything seems fractured and at that particular moment, that verge of breaking down, every bad memory abodes our hearts. It's like being in the middle of a circle and being revolved into pain and darkness. Natures itself lays traps. And we fall like a prey. We fall down like an old tree falling down in storm. But ask yourself, why? Just because you could never escape from the iron grip of desires? I understand how very painful it is. The feeling of your heart being cut. Words feeling like blades. Courage fading away. Uneasiness seeping down the bone marrow. Pain being locked into every chamber of heart. And worst of all? No one voices it. But hey sweetheart, is this worth it? I know you are gonna say had you been at my place you would have known. But what If I say I have been down that road and I know you are gonna get nothing but scars? If you really feel that light is too feeble to penetrate gloom, why don't you shift around a bit? Why don't you be your own hero? The act of cutting oneself explains mute misery. The weird designed patterns on your arms are there only because you let sorrow empower you. Only because you handed yourself over to grief. 10 20 years from now, imagine when you'd be staring at the scar, when things will be okay and you'd be covering it with makeup this thought's gonna poke you every minute that what it if I could just have been patient? Yes! Being patient is what is being required. You think everything is compressed, what are your parents for? Your best friends for? Or is it just your mean boyfriend that matters? Don't talk about love unless you don't know what real love is. This cutting is inflicting pain on people who matter for you. They lay awake for there is nothing they could do to help you. And that is what real pain is. That is what being helpless is. When they lay awake, crying all night for you. Just for you. Remember, this too shall pass. Maybe in ragged steps, but pass it will. Grabbing the light, or the blade? The choice is yours.

Photo Courtesy = Saleha Adnan

Today I am gonna address you as a human being; not as a girl, not as a boy. Today in this disturbed era, an atmosphere of utter disappointment we have failed as a nation. Before I begin, I have a question for you all, forget about who you are or what you do. Are you satisfied with the life you are living? I am positive most of you would have expected satisfaction associated with your gender. "I am a girl, why should I do all the chores? Why should my brother study while I prepare for my teenage wedding?" "I am a boy, why should I carry all the shopping bags? Why crying is not manly? Why should I work my heart off while my sister stays at home?" One way or the other we all have a bog question mark on our integrity. Water, shelter, food and oxygen are considered as the basic needs of a human being since this world came into being. What about respect? Love? Value? Justice? Rights? Responsibilities? The books of history contain remarkable and enthralling advancements, great inventions, great great inventions. We surely nailed the materialistic world but degraded ourselves in ethics. No page of history can recall about us, human beings, gaining and improvising knowledge about how we treat mankind. You talk about gender equality? Equality is a wild goose chase as long as you can't even do a little bit of a justice. Humans' potential is something beyond infinity. No scale can measure human capabilities, but there are some certain virtues that demand protection. Yes a girl can study, but that won't make her superior. Yes a guy can cook, but that won't him useless. No a girl is not obliged to sit back home, but how is her man carrying her shopping bags after a long day of work justified? No a boy is not obliged not to hold back tears but how can his beating to his wife for not cooking in time justified? Why should the other bear the outcomes of every flaw? Like every other natural being a boy and a girl both have a heart. They are one specie. One creation. Working with the same momentum. Feeling the same degree of pain and happiness. The same ambition for their dreams. Why are you snatching your son's youth by making him work at such a young age? Why are you placing a huge burden on your daughter by getting her married at such an innocent age? Why are you forcing your son to be an engineer and making him kill the writer within? Why are you dreaming about your daughter being a doctor while the muted cries of a painter within her is failing to attract your attention? Why are you abusing this girl for being so liberal? Why are you criticising this guy for cooking so good? Why did you slap this girl for being such an amazing entrepreneur? Why did you kick your son out if he is so good with designing your clothes? There are thousands of whys here, but no justified reason. Its not important for a girl to walk shoulder to shoulder with a boy. But it is important for a girl to feel wanted. It is important for a boy to feel loved. I want you all to take an oath today. Promise yourself that you'll forget what is a man's job or what is a woman's responsibility. Promise yourself that you'll help your friends; children; siblings to polish their diamond, regardless of their gender. Promise yourself you'll not kill the soul of a painter, a singer, a writer. Promise yourself you'll make everyone feel one of a kind. A dead body can be buried, but a dead soul wanders for ages and.. Trust me you'd regret being heartless one day.


Photo Courtesy = Saleha Adnan

The thought of survival in such a victimized planet sounds insane lately. I call it insane not because we are continuously under the threat of death, but because we look for the inevitable not the self-caused fatal cases. An accident? A heart attack? Cancer? But does it scare me? Is this enough to make me run away from dying? Nah. Dying is easy, for you can not stop it. Its living. It is living that scares me to death. Being barely off age, this harum-scarum world has left me ponder hard on the fact that how much everyone of us is longing to die; to end this unpredictable torture in the name of living. Such a place where we are enemies of ourselves, where we ourselves are choking us to death, how can living benefit us here? We have stopped living you know. We have stopped striving to become better for ourselves. We have got ourselves so preoccupied in struggling hard not to satisfy our souls, but in fact show our rivals how very sane we are. To compete in the competition of life is what we are struggling with, neglecting our concise for good. We are nothing but fools. Fools in the name of humans. We built dreams on sands, and when the water waves wash it away, we lose that little bit of sanity too and start the blame game. We forget that things move in circle. We run away from things we fear, and they welcome us on the finish line. We have to stop being so harsh on ourselves. Because this makes me furthermore fear my life. Battle lines are not always drawn where you want them to be, and I am losing to life here. But who to blame? Myself? Or what the society teaches me? I guess, someone should have warned us right at the start of our lives that we are dying, then we might actually live life to the limit of everyday.This is when this thought triggers, that we should have fulfilled certain dreams long ago, there are only so many tomorrows you know. But again, living.. Ahh seems tiring than soldier's workout. The same monotonous old routines each day. Trust me, and I know you would because you just can't help it but agree with me that when you are successful, things have a momentum, and at a certain point you really can't tell whether you have created that momentum or is that momentum creating you? Relate this with the kind of life you are living today? Is that you? Ain't you scared of what is happening around you? Well I am I am scared of this And its life itself. This is sad, how badly we are feared. When I die, will they remember me Not what I did, but what I haven't done? It's not the end that I fear with each breath  It's life that scares me to death.


Photo Courtesy = Saleha Adnan

“Bhai, no!” She yelled struggling with my iron grip. “Bushra, shut up! How could you even think of going down that road? Love is forbidden. Its haram!” I screamed at her, pinning her down the floor. “Bhai please, I want to marry him.” She wailed beneath me. “It is either him or death.” I roared at her, pointing the shining blade at her throat maliciously. Moments what seemed like centuries later, I could see the pain in her eyes, but it was not the pain the slash at her throat had caused. It was the pain her brother had caused. She was dauntless for what she had decided and I was a coward for how I had acted. We like playing god at times. Not just me, you too. Not just you everyone else around you, too. We decide who sins bigger. People’s attire, language, personal relationships, scandals, problems even appearances are what feed our daily gossips. “Did you see her clothes; my maids wear better than that.” “She is in love for the third time this year; such a slut.” “She was caught with a guy; such an indecent character.” “She is not a marriage material; a mere time pass.” “He smokes weed; cheap.” “He doesn’t even earn; such a loser.” We don’t even bother to give it a thought that how cataclysmic our words can be. How destructive the omen in us can be. Hiding here in wilderness I am counting seconds. A slight movement around me lurches my heart. My entire frame starts vibrating as the thought of being caught tinge my nerves. What have I done? How would I learn to live with my guilt, my terrible grief, the price of my shame? Staring down at my blood stained kurta* reality seemed to close upon me, cruel and plain. I killed my own sister in the name of honor. Love in the Religion of love is regarded a sin. How ironic that is. What’s wrong in marrying the one you love? Well, ‘Khandan ki izzat*.’ This khandan* has actually destroyed millions of lives instead of uniting them up. We restrict our children for talking to opposite genders saying it is immoral. We initiate the concept of ‘love saves life’ by making them watch movies like Cinderella and Snow White, and then we ourselves prohibit them from even dreaming like that. And if some unlucky soul falls in love we kill them in the name of honor. And what does our pious side do? The mullahs out there who constantly preach the message of ‘Jihad’ and tell us how very sinful our lives are despite fulfilling the obligatory Islamic principles; why don’t they tell people that loving someone is not forbidden. They tell us to sublime. Why don’t they tell us to be a human first? So many beautiful girls who dreamt of marrying their prince charming have been murdered. Slaughtered. Brother, father, cousin showing their manhood doesn’t even feel disgusted for having such a thought. They keep on haranguing about what a source of shame she is for them. They grimace on their faces before playing god. Seconds after seeing her lifeless in front of me, with blood gushing from her neck I was paralyzed. In my head everything spun and was shifting, rearranging so that things that had meant one thing before, meant another. Hadn’t I just given her a chance to decide? She said she would rather chose death than to live without him. Wasn’t love to be blamed for my atrocious act? The scene was so bizarre that I had to close my eyes and reopen them before my mind could take it all in. The twitching had stopped. She was staring up at the roof. Nothing stirred. The last tear slid from the corner of her eye and that is when I yelled. How much time has passed since my sister died? I don’t know. Have they recovered her body in my room? I don’t know. Are they searching for me? I don’t know. What should I do? I don’t know. Has my life ended at 17? I don’t know. I started shaking her with immense pressure. “Speak!” I begged her lifeless attire. My voice sounded as if it was coming from a long empty tunnel. I stood up, and she landed on the floor with a thud. That is when I regained senses. I fled. The sudden blazing sirens dragged me back to reality. They were looking for me. My conscience was constantly urging me to step forward but I couldn’t muster up the courage. The little portion in my brain was provoking me to flee again. But for how long could I run before I finally got caught? I had to give up. The image of my little sister playing ludo* with me was burning right in front of my eyes. Her giggles were echoing all along. I could sense myself chasing her in the gardens. Us, playing. It was all gone now. No longer would she poke me to get her bangles on chand rat*. No longer would I get to tease her for her mustache. She was gone all because of me. That is the problem of us humans. We think that we are always right. We decide what the other person is fated to. We think that we know better of every other person. Where in reality: we are all ignorant of truth. I handed myself to the police. They hit me hard but I was so numb to feel a thing. My internal pain out did the outer one. Scars meant nothing for grief was at bay now. The dilemma my actions had caused could never be erased now. I don’t know what future awaits me now. I know my death too is inevitable. But I might die out of misery. The horror is too real now. I am rotting in the cellars now. Her voice constantly questions me asking what crime she committed for me being so ruthless. The police officer just told me the boy she was in love with hung himself with the ceiling fan. There, I killed two people. Only God knows how many else have been affected. No one from my family came for me. No one. That’s how I am doomed to die. In isolation. No matter how much I repent, my life is all done. I have to pay the price of acting god.

Kurta = Eastern Traditional Dress
Khandan = Family
Khandan Ki Izzat = Family's Respect
ludo = A kind of a Game
chand rat = The night prior to Eid Festival

Photo Courtesy = Saleha Adnan