The Disowned Children of the Soil

The BBC's Shahzeb Jillani: "The scale of the disaster is beginning to unfold"

It’s a Humanity Crisis that consumes us! 

I am a Civil Right Activist. I take not-so-much pride in writing few words here & there about the atrocities my people are bearing in these gruesome times. I cannot take pride because, I am a Humanist at heart, and I am disappointed that the reason of my existing identity as a Social Activist is not a pleasant one. Rather it is an anti thesis of my very being! But I am happy that I find myself overload with work. There is just so much to do all the time. The situation in the country gives me enough fire to kindle my passions. If not for all these blasts and massacres and injustices, wouldn’t I be out of commission from this self-appointed designation? 

Just the other day, there was a case of a 5-year-old girl that got raped in Lahore. I wrote up volumes and shared no less than few dozen pictures regarding this abominable act. Like media, I went berserk at the sheer barbarity of the act and the nonchalance of the clergy to deal with it even handedly.

Earlier, I had sleepless nights over the unjust acquittal of the offender in the Shahzaib murder case. My friends in Karachi were so horrified of the hegemony of the elitist feudal culture. It was my duty to stand by them against this disastrous blow to our judicial system. I even raised questions for other similar issues in Karachi like that of Hamza murder case. I offered my condolences and prayed with them in their grief. 

I also stood with the people in Islamabad when that clown of Sikandar and his wife had held the whole city hostage. I believe in the sovereignty of the state and therefore his modus operandi was equivalent to mutiny against the nation in my limited worldview! 

And I cannot forget the murder of Salman Taseer, who stood for the rights of minorities. Since I am a humanist first and foremost I was horrified of the abundance of blasphemy charges levied in retaliation of personal grudges. I reflected my views on the blasphemy laws from around the globe like from Saudi Arabia and Bangladesh and so on. I wished to address my brothers in faith to put an ear to logic and reason. After all, it is an issue that will pester our generations to come and we need to decide the fate of our future! 

The Peshawar blast targeting the Christians was another blow to my beliefs of equality and equity of human rights. It was a slap on the Jinnah ideology of Pakistan that I adhere to. I was moved to the core by this gross misrepresentation of my religion. I quoted verses out of Quran regarding the rights of Zimmis in an Islamic country. I even called out for review of the peace treaties conducted by our beloved Holy Prophet (PBUH) with the Christian Monastery.

I championed the cause of the Shia’a Genocide, the Quetta vigil observed for Hazara community and the persecution of Hindus. I even raised my voice for the blasts at the Quaid’s Residency in Ziarat. I participated in the fund and resource mobilization campaigns held country wide for the affectees of the floods that submerged our two major provinces Punjab and Sindh. 

Basically, I stand for Pakistan. Its solidarity and I wish to have lasting peace in the country. I am a nationalist you know. Also, I do it for my conscience so that I have some patriotic stories to tell me grand children. I do not want to be apologetic to them for leaving in my legacy a crippled, divided, insecure and disintegrated society and social system. 

But, today I see my children in Awaran and Kech lying cold and hungry in the rumbles of the relics of their homes. I am watching the orphaned dreams of the innocents helping themselves around site of the disaster.  I am deeply moved at the catastrophe that has snatched away from them the luxury of a carefree childhood and matured them in seconds to the turmoil of reality.  And I am still waiting for the mainstream media to catch up to their adversity and to speak up for those who have lost their voices. 

After all the principle of reciprocity requires that all those speak up for me now for whom I have been fighting with my meager energies and resources. Or am I not “Pakistani” enough for them? 

I am an unfortunate being who had to become a Social Activist, believe me it was not a career choice for me. And the last thing I wasn’t is for my children to be the same. 

My broken, wretched, ruined Children. 

Their anguish is going unnoticed, their agony disregarded and their wails are unmourned! 

Will my children also become part time activists?

Or will they wither away into oblivion as the disowned children of the soil!? 

--Scarlett

Eid Without Henna

Its Eid, the day of joys and celebrations. A day kids eagerly look forward to after the noisy and boisterous Shab-e-Barat. It’s a day of reward after the month long fasting.

Its especially grand for children. I remember as a child my parents used to get me new clothes and shoes, one for each day. My greatest worry used to be to get a fourth one and somehow convince my parents that a fourth day is a legitimate day as well. Unfortunately, fourth day was one of mourning, as it almost always turned out to be a school day.

But the night before Eid, that was a different story altogether.

Chand Raat, had more festivity than Eid itself. My father would take it upon himself to make the night the most memorable for us. He would take us to the well lit bazaars to get petty trinkets, rings, tops and all the gibberish in the world. Matching purses were a must, no dress is ever complete without a purse to go with it. And my dad would go all out of his way, and keep roaming with us till all the tiniest details for the next three days had been covered.

I distinctly remember one chaand raat, where I could not find the purse to my satisfaction. We went to two or three markets and finally ended up in the first market again. After reaching there, my mom refused to set foot out of the car. Apparently, I was acting all vain, and she was not having any of it. It was my dad who frowned at my mom for being a bad sport, and took me to the shops we had already searched twice! After roaming the market once again, I finally settled for the one purse I liked in some way. It was not perfect, but it was all I could do in the night.

Surprisingly, even my dad wasn’t satisfied. He offered to drop my sisters and mom back home, and take me to some other market and search for another purse of my liking. But I was tired at that time as well. And I quit the futile wish. My dad remained insistent nevertheless!

At 3:30 in the morning he dropped us sisters at some godforsaken parlor to get henna on our baby hands and dutifully picked us up henna and all an hour later.

On Day of Eid, post Eid Prayers, he would take us to a local bazaar full of local rides and we would gleefully shriek in the descents and gasp at their ascends. My father would wave from a distance and insist on taking us to all the rides available, even the camel and the horse ride. The drive back would include ice cream positively.

Finally around noon, my dad would be relieved of his fatherly chores and we kids would heap dead on our respective beds, henna, jewellery, flutes, sunglasses and whistles and all.

Eid is such an occasion for children. They look forward to it the entire year. They insist on fasting, hoping to get rewards at the month’s end.

At the eve of Shab e barat, they go out and get crackers. From that day, they start looking for that ideal dress, and matching shoes and accessories. The hair need to be cut just right to go with the outfit. Eid dresses are tried and tested till they fit just perfect. Colors and styles are discussed with friends.

The night before the Eid, Chand Raat, kids iron their dresses with more zeal than the whole last month. Dresses are laid down, their tags are to be removed in the morning. Shoes are put near the dresses. Shined once again for the invisible dirt specks. They await the mornings heartily.

Oh, but sleep is an evasive thing on such nights. To wake up to the sight of the new things, the gifts your parents have secretly purchased for you, to be given on the day. And to wake up to the gourmet food prepared with all the love and tenderness of your mother. And the joys of receiving Eidi, a cash that is to be spent during the course of the day on more festivities.

After all, Eid is a Joyous Muslim Occasion!

Today, it is yet another Chand Raat, my dad is still taking my 28 year old self and roaming with me from market to market for yet another trivial thing that I have left outstanding deliberately to get on Chand Raat with my dad, as per ritual.

Father is one figure around which the whole Eid event revolves. But as I relive the moments of my glorious past, I am jolted to the bitter present and the quetta blasts.

The news reads thus;

“The suicide bomber detonated his explosives outside the mosque in Quetta's Police Lines area where the funeral procession of station house officer Mohibullah was being held. The bomb went off as senior officers prepared to offer prayers for their colleague. .. SHO Mohibullah was shot dead by unknown gunmen earlier this morning when he was reportedly taking his family for Eid shopping.”

As I type this draft, I see my hands, no henna this time around. It would have washed away anyway while wiping the tears off the faces of the children who will not be going to Chand Raat with their Dads to finish their last of the Eid shopping. My henna would have washed away while consoling the crying child who will not lay out his Eid dress this night, nor will he look for the invisible dirt on his new shoes. He would be sitting near a Coffin Box, listening to the grownups cursing some foreign agents he had never heard before. He is looking for the right graveyard and the right cloth for Kaffan instead of matching shoes. My henna hands would have blemished the white of the untimely widow, who will spend a lifetime looking for the right answer for her child to explain why and for what Daddy missed all his Chand Raats and Eids with his beloved child. My henna would have faded into an ugly color while washing blood stains off the streets, and mosques and the avenues of my country. The color fades so soon, and there is so much of blood to wash away, it is

pointless to put it on in the first place. . . .

Yes, henna this Eid would be unwise. So would bangles. My children are weeping. . . their Eid has been delayed indefinitely and their Chand Raat has been tainted forever!
















Its a Scarlett Afterglow
--Scarlett