Please note: The work is still an ongoing effort.
He is a boy.
A boy who lives in a small town.
A boy who is ashamed of owning his life.
A boy who hates his father.
A boy who likes to feed on others money and resources.
A boy who befriends only those richer than him and eats them like a parasite.
A boy who lives in the house of his paternal aunt.
A boy who abuses that same aunt because his mother taught him so.
A boy who copies writings and photographs of other people from the internet and posts as his own to satisfy his empty alter-ego.
A boy who abuses those who worked hard and earned money because his father too is a parasite and could not afford the boy anything.
A boy who copies dress codes of his targets down to shoes.
A boy who spent his childhood wearing clothes of donation.
A boy who burns seeing the life of others.
A boy who like an attention seeking whore uses a thousand irrelevant hashtags on his social media posts, which are just copies.
A boy who tried to break relationships of others but was caught - thanks to technology (screenshots and live-stream).
A boy who supports the illicit relationships of his mother with other men for money.
A boy whose father is not a doctor.
A boy whose father is not a zahid.
A boy whose father is not Dr. Zahid ( which he regrets ).
A boy who will likely read this because he would come here to copy.
A boy who is fake.
A boy who could not be original.
A boy who "fell in love and survived" because it looks cool on the outside.
A boy whose mother also fell in love and survived.
An unworthy boy.
A harami boy.
A haramzada boy.
A NURSE KA BACHA!
This expression "Nurse Ka Bacha" was coined by a cousin, Hyder. I wish I had this chance of winning the trophy of coining this wonderful term.
A nurse loved a man.
She married that man.
She had three kids.
She stayed poor.
She was beaten on and off by her husband.
The nurse loved many men afterwards.
At least she acted to.
She didn't marry those men, obviously.
She had no kids from them, again obviously.
She kept getting money
She avoids getting beaten by her husband.
She still gets beaten by her husband.
This is a work of fiction. At least that is what I want you to believe in. Saying all truths without labeling them as fiction keeps hurting people, so just happily assume that it is a work of fiction, which it is nonetheless as already stated.
The inspiration to this fiction comes from the over lapping of some lives where a lot of lines are crossed in the sweet-bitter reality of life - lines that define human and being a human and being a better one. A wife beater, a dishonest wife, parasitic children, liars and scavengers living under one roof are the people who triggered this work of fiction. Remember that beating your wife is an act of a coward. Not feeding your family especially when you cannot control your urge to bring more mouths into this world is cowardice too. Being disloyal in a relation is an equal negative, more negative when you claim that as love and then jump into a painful marriage. But as an out of order clock says the correct time twice a day, some truth ought to exist in a coward's expressions. That's the sole reason I heard two cowards screaming on top of their lungs, hiding their monsters under their skins and staying equally dishonest with each other till my rendezvous with them was over. My curiosity made me linger on to their actions while staying in the shadows. I wanted to see them, to know their actions and what I saw was as negative as it was years before.
These words do not mean the same. Yet they can be used for the very same person. "Haram" is a line beyond which everything stays a no. People keep crossing this line, enjoying this line and even staying willfully blind to this line. Many powerful men in the history have tried to alter this line in their favor for their gains but after time corroded away their power and wiped their name off the map, the line stayed there, like a bad scar that comes out when the makeup fades away or like old scratch marks that scream stories after the layer of paint hiding them comes off. Words in Urdu like Mohtaram do take their origins from Haram too. Obviously someone worthy of respect cannot be desecrated and that honor lives beyond the line.
Harami is someone who not only crosses the line but keeps making these trips and picks up raw stuff beyond the line and consumes that stuff to make that a part of his or her soul. All the great religions speak of a line too. But what greater line can exist than that of what makes the bounds of a human, all religious lines combined. Imagine a silhouette of a human. Everything outside that will not be human but not likely haram. It takes a human very human of being human to know that line which being so visible, stays invisible for many. A harami has no silhouette because for most part something of him is always in the shadows rendering the edges, lines and outlines invisible. Even when brought to the light, the observer shall find that silhouette disturbed and confusing. When Harami is used as a curse-word it translates to a bastard. A newborn is always an innocent soul no matter to what culture, borders, community or religion it opens its eyes to. The evil tagged by the evil social fabric tries to raise divine to impurity. A haramzada is a part of a bigger picture. He or she keeps the fires of evil burning years after years and breed new ones of their own type to keep the evil afloat. The soul that was once pure and even untagged itself stands at the far side of the line.
The line is right before you only when you would want to see it.
The biggest factor to decide the fruit is always the seed. The other factors count too but they can never alter the nature of the fruit. A pregnant mother carries a seed too. Here, she is a factor for the biggest factor. Let's hope only the positive plays for new soul.
That is another name of lives. Old, wrinkled faces have a lot of stories hidden under their skin. But as everyone has a different price at which they open up, it is almost impossible to put a tag about the worth of wisdom. Why would an old man speak of his first sleepless night as a boy when all that night he kept thinking about a girl. Why? It would still be an interesting story if he speaks up. But his wife might not be that very girl he thought about and at the moment she is still waiting outside the clinic. Hence such a story is most likely to be hidden till it just vanishes with the soul who knows it, for good. And we would never know of this tale. His blood picture is a story too. Too much of harmful oils and sugars have reached his blood over the years. I guess he still found a way to think of happiness and pursuit it or at least the illusion of it. Even if one tries to dig into his stories out of sheer curiosity, finding all the edges of the picture is impossible. Tiny fragment missing from a painting can alter the truth. What if half of the face was missing from The Mona Lisa ? A reality would have been shattered into two possibilities - her being normal and her being blind, at least in one eye.
Telling someone that you love them.
Telling someone that you don't.
A smokeless fire started it all. Another smokeless fire stays burning.
Compilation of short stories of the spooks, goblins, ghouls and ghosts of Ruskin Bond. The first story is what sets the name of the book. Even for an adult reader, Ruskin Bond never fails to amaze.
A love story that walks on the footsteps of religion and mystery. Unlike what subcontinent authors try to do to make a best seller, this is really a piece of art. A book that will haunt you for years to come.
The story revolves around a girl and a boy named Zam whom she discovers in garbage and saves his life.
The book is filled with Arabic calligraphy and expressions from the Arabian culture.
References from all the Abrahamic religions fill the gripping story line.
The book shows miracles mentioned in the Bible and the Quran but the artist has not drawn the face of Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, out of respect.
In the end, it's a story you will NEVER forget.
It bit me. I couldn’t bite him. Then he tried to make the things smooth again. This counts as another biting. As for the wish to bite him, that is a legal right of every carnivore.
End 2 /
It is the inevitable truth. People doubt God, love and science. But they don’t doubt the end.
January 1st, 2004. An album was released. And “Undisputedly” I fell in love. With it, first.
It always has a source. Only one source should not be a wise man’s tale.
Some humans eat humans and still they are not cannibals. And no, this is NOT a romantic expression.
End 1 /
You come closer to it with every passing day. You are closer to it than you were at the beginning of this line. That is the truth.
Some never cross. Others shouldn’t be.
A film of blood. A film of oil. A film at the photographers. A film we went to. Then is life, you star in it. It isn’t a good film if there is no worthy villain in it.
We all are getting corroded. By time. By emotions. By people. By our very own selves. And no one can stop it.
Close your nostrils. You can still smell. From a memory. Just like seeing the dreams with eyes closed. I remember a fragrance too and it has stayed the best one so far. She exhaled those breaths.