The Stare

Have you ever paid attention to the men?

Never mind men, have you seen boys how young

Yet confident they are when they talk

To a random stranger they come across on the walk?

I saw my little teddy bears, my brothers,

Grow into these, little teddy bears.

But they know how to talk with that ease

You know, casual, that upper hand voice

Even when you hear them say "please"

Of course not when they talk to me

But to that stranger on the walk

To whom they act confident and all.

Why to that stranger of them all

Would they act confident and all?

That strange stare of that stranger,

That stare like he was some kind of danger.

And that's when it struck me

All animals in any danger show possession and power

And confidence and all just like my bears.

They showed comfort every time they were scared.

They had no 'dopatta' around their breasts to adjust.

They had to learn to live broadening their chests.

Their deep voice never trembles when they're hurt

And God! All this is such a painful art.

They've always tried to be strong

Or they pretended so, all life long.

But the sweat on their forehead every time that stare

Of someone checking them out is always there.

Of course,

They cannot evoke the 'maa behen' respect in those animals

So they Man it up and Man it all

But being Man is not the solution to the confusion

Of whether a molester in all his frustration

Would always hunt a girl down

If you pay attention and look around.

For what I saw in the news things that happened in Kasur

And people posting stories with hashtag "Me Too"

Doesn't seem like anyone is safe

When such beasts are out untamed.

A week ago I read how a scholar

Well known for spiritual matters

Grabbed a young soul in his hands as it fluttered

In the back seat of a car. And then, it shattered.

They might have thrown him wingless after they were done.

And for rest of the life he will trust no one.

These young boys, these young souls, these young winged dreams

When they see someone looking at them like they are they feast

And they have this little courage to share or speak

Of what they go through. How they deal

with all this?

What if my little teddy bears have grown up

To grow enough to remain silent and never open up?

And may be

May be just like I roll my eyes or frown

Every time I sense danger around.

And just like I walk with my shoulders squeezing,

Curling into my body so it's not revealing any targets for them to hunt.

May be

Just like that my boys are "Confident" 

The Stare

- By Kayenat Hameed Khan

This poem was performed in PenWomen Workshop arranged by Young Women Writers' Forum in collaboration with "Ideas" and "Words and Metaphors".

A Note To My Teacher

"Dear Teacher,
Thank you for reading this. I just wanted to let you know that I remember.
I remember when you took my hand and walked me into my very first classroom. It didn't look like one though, it had toys all around. I remember you encouraging me on the day of exam to remember what came after Eleven, i remember repeating One to Eleven so many times and yet nothing helped.
I remember you in my first grade, when you taught me to read. I remember you showing me how to write "Footpath" and "National" I remember you helped me draw an Orange.
In second grade you gave me a scrap book and asked me to bring five types of leaves during the summer break. You taught me names of the planets and their order, and weathers and fruits and the national map.
In third grade you gave me homework to write an essay on my home and I cried because I thought the house was too big and had too many things to write about. You taught me what a computer was, and you promised to let me use it next year. You taught me about cardinal directions in easy words.
In fourth grade, you had me ready to read on my own, write whatever i wanted. You encouraged me to speak in the class and to ask outside the class. You fulfilled your promise too. And, also, taught us to use fountain-pens. You advised us to use fountain pen in homework.
I fifth grade when I'd have trouble in memorizing history you'd tell me stories of those people. You talked about them like you knew them from back in time. And I believed you. You scolded me for not being attentive and changed my seat to the front. You were mostly angry.
In sixth grade you got me confused in square roots and algebra. But you told me it will be alright. You advised me to practice it. I drew paramecium and plant cell and you checked it. I remember you told us about the greatness of our ancestors from the other lands. You taught us how many pillars and articles of faith I was supposed to have. You dictated the answers so I could copy.
In seventh grade you gave me some space to use my own skills. You told the class to write about ourselves on a piece of paper, I couldn't. You took us to the lab and showed us the preserved insects and asked us to memorize their forms and structures. I remember you told us about "the East and the West".
In high school I read a foreign author who wrote our history, for the first time, I was excited to know what others have talked about us. You gave me more homework and lesser dictations. You taught me how the blood circulated in veins and how our body coordinated. I remember you asking me about Organic Chemistry, something I couldn't explain. I remember you warning me about how weak I was in Math.
In College you taught me how to deal with and understand things conceptually for one exam, and then memorize them for another exam. I saw you were as confused and irritated by this as I was. I remember you gave us examples from your life to make us understand. I remember you advising me to pay attention to the diction. I remember you told me you had faith in me.
In University you questioned me and let me question you. You asked me about the East and the West. You left me with more questions in my mind. You showed me how similar you and I have always been. You let me disagree with you. You asked about what I thought and never forced your 'right' on my 'right'.
All my life, since I started getting into the system, you helped, assisted and gave guidance. You made a huge part of what I am today. And I know you will continue to be there. Thank You, Dear Teacher."

پهر سے

پهر سے کوئی آئے گا

کسی توہین کے الزام میں

.دوسروں کو جلائگا

پهر کسی کے ہاتھ سے

.قلم چهینا جائے گا

پهر کی آغوش کو

.ویراں کیا جائے گا

جس کی 'اکبر ذات' نے

کوئی سزا نہ سنائی

ایسی اک خطا کےنام

.سر کاٹ گرایا جائے گا

پهر سے, وہ لاشوں پر

'رقص 'اللہ اکبر

.کر کے چلا جائے گا

اور هم چپ چاپ

خاموش بمثل آب

بہتے چلے جائیں گے

چلتے چلے جائیں گے

جیتے چلے جائیں گے

...مرتے چلے جائیں گے

- کائنات حميد خان

میرا جواب

پہاڑوں سے نکل کہ هم جب منظر میں آتا ہے
تو برحق ڈٹنے والے هم مشعل و ملالہ ہے
یہ تو تم مانتے ہو کہ یہاں قانونیت کم ہے
ہمیں سوتیلوں کی طرح پھر کیوں جهٹلاتا ہے؟
سمگلر پر بهی ہنستا ہے چرواہے پر بهی ہنستا ہے
مجهے ایسا کیوں لگتا ہے تو بس مجه پر ہی ہنستا ہے؟
تمهارے "سا را گا ما پا دا" کا ہم ریاض کرتا ہے
مرے سنگیت پر تالہ ہے، لیکن پهر بهی گاتا ہے
کبهی 'اتڼ'، کبهی رباب ہم سے چهینے گئے هیں
مگر ہم پهر بهی ہر اک ساز اور ہر سر میں گاتا ہے
ترا یه میل دل اور زنگی سوچ سے بدبو آتا ہے
مانا تم دن میں تین چار بار پانی سے نہاتا ہے
صفائی کا ذرا گر ہو سکے تو سبق دے ہی دو
کہ ہم پہ ہنس کہ کیسے ہاته تم صاف کراتا ہے
مذاق وه تها گر، تو یہ بهی ہے. ناراض کیوں ہوتی ہے؟
گرتا ہے شہسوار وہی جو ایسے جنگ لڑتی ہے
  
(میرا جواب)

 - کائنات حميد خان

 

Recently a poet tried to create comedy by humiliating Pashtuns in one of the Eid Transmissions on PTV, Pakistan's national TV channel. The poet makes fun of the bombs blasts in Pashtun areas of the country and receives a round of applause when he mocks the lack of law and order in the these areas on behalf of the state. He also found this amusing that some Pashtuns smell like sheep, and ridicules them by saying that they take a bath once a year. He also laughs at Pashto music saying that all Pashto songs are composed in one tone. And they don't have a sense for music. While reading those verses, the poet also used a specific tone and made deliberate grammatical mistakes, stereotyping the "Pashtun accent"of Urdu. Different people are reacting to it in different ways. Many activists in the Pashtun community demand an apology from the Poet and the national TV channel. The above poem is my answer to those controversial verses.

Top Ten 'Three Ways To Pakistan'

A few days ago, I had a random discussion with a bunch of students in university. I told them about my blog and my research on "Three Ways of How To" in national context. They agreed to answer my questions. I wanted to share the experience. Following are responses of the respondents.

Three jokes a Pakistani will forward happily

• Jokes about Pashtuns and Sardars
• Jokes about Politicians
• Jokes about Teachers

Three ways to earn a name (good or bad)

• Talk for/against the clerics
• Talk for/against establishment
• Talk against politicians

Three ways to die a natural death

• Eat healthy
• Drink healthy
• Avoid going to public places like Markets, Schools, Universities and Hospitals etc

Three reasons you can expect love

• Belong to Middle East
• Shoot a bunch of kids and blame somebody for buying you the gun

and recently discovered

• "Be a Pakistani" 

Three ways you can tell the truth

• Whisper it to yourself
• Tell it to someone who does't understand the language
• Tell it to a tree

Three ways to use freedom of speech

• Say what they want to hear
• Never speak against them
• Don't speak a lot.

Three ways to get away with a murder

• Call the dead a sinner
• Blame the neighbors
• Fly to Thailand

Three ways to die a hero and leave a legend

• Kill the person you are paid to guard
• Claim something or blame someone
• Fly with a crate of mangoes in the luggage.

Three ways to call an Afghan in Pakistan

• Respectable brothers just like our owns, living abroad? No. Muhajir
• Harmless people facing phobias by other communities they live with, just like us? No. Mushtaba Afrad
• A larger community that is expected to apologize and compensate  for something offensive that a minority among them is known to be standing for? No. Kala ba zay.

Three ways to survive after messing up with the flow

• -
• -
• -

(They said they'll think of a way)

They promised to meet me on the same spot the next day but no one showed up. I suspect they lie.

Who Are You?

(The following is something i wrote last year in the month of April. A year has passed and I can say another thing or two about it but this would still be the base. Also this was my first attempt.)

...

"Who are you?", a question differently answered by individuals at different times. We were asked by our Professor in the first lecture, an introductory class rather.
"And you have two years to figure it out, that's the time you will spend with us.", he added.
And then after a pause, "And the rest of your life". That smile on his face though.
That's when my journey began. I listed down all i could think of. Following was the order:
My cast
My name
Gender
Religion
My parents (Father mainly, as in my sense of belonging with them)
Country
A human.
"But all this is so common", I thought. Everybody has an origin and humankind is, well obviously, all humans. So what was special about me? Where was i different? Not that i wanted to be different but where does any of these details describe me as me?
I began to think about my identity, and my originality.
This journey on the self knowledge has been a year long as i keep analyzing the same things about myself over and over again. And i have been changing my answer every now and then. But it has been a month or two that i feel 'settled' about where i have landed.
It was hard not to notice how everyone was almost everything that i was. And i started feeling insignificant. I felt so unimportant in one phase. There was nothing i could wear as my "identity". Nothing I could refer to as "me". Was I nobody? Of course, I was. Technically, I WAS somebody. But did anyone care? Did it make any difference?
Whether I was the youngest, the eldest or the middle child, what was my contribution in that? My name, my features, or in anything that could be referred to as 'me', I saw none of my contribution in it.
More like suddenly, all the badges fell down and all the labels flew away. And I started to look around me. I started identifying myself with everyone in my house, students i would see outside, people at my university, people waiting for the bus on the stops. Not everything would be relative but sometimes this other times that. I began to see bits of myself in such bits of almost everyone.
An infant now appeared equal and equally important to me as any adult including myself. Mistakes of everyone started reminding me of my own. And I rarely felt any anger (that i abundantly practiced before). The only thing that would provoke rage in me would be when people would overlook one's need and rights for someone else. Even if they would overlook themselves, i'd feel disturbed and react.
But that (reaction) too has changed now. I guess I started to understand why they'd do so. I do know that one thing we as humans need the most, and that we lack the most in knowledge. Knowledge about ourselves, awareness rather. We need awareness. And with that might come our tendencies to accept others, other cultures, other religions and others' identities.
This realization changed me in some ways. I now accept, for example, a religiously devoted person of any religion as much as i accept a not-so-devoted person of any origin. By accepting them i mean recognizing them as they are and respecting them (i.e. not resisting or threatening or fearing them) and theirs', however it is.
They are as right as I am, as important as I am and as precious as I am. They are as original as i am. They exist, like I do. So none of us is significant if he/she tries to separate himself/herself from the rest of us. Together, as an entity, we are all significant, important and special. And each one of us is equally significant too, equally worthy.
So I'm either nobody or I am what my fellow beings are, in my own way, but still the same. The labels attached to me, the appearances i carry, the way of life, the faith system and the ideas I have may be different but not better or worse than anyone else's. Rather, they are equally important to be concerned, as any other person's.
'But who is the enemy then?', was next in my head. Am I my own enemy? I thought. If i don't condemn destruction and violence of any/all kinds on any/all levels, then i am my own enemy. Self destruction is still destruction.
If I am OK with suppression of one of us or a group of us by some others among us, the yes i am my own enemy. If i don't allow the rights to others, those rights that i demand for myself, then i am what's wrong with the world.

You have no rights to copy, or plagiarize. Thank you.

Celebrating Everyone

Imagine all the roses

And the flowers and the trees.

Now color them all one,

Any color may it be.

Imagine all the fruits

But give them taste the same.

And if the Earth was all a desert

Or one ocean, or one plain.

Imagine nights without the moon,

And no sun to bring a day.

Or all stars if shone like sun

And all life a melting day.

One flavor and one scent

And one weather uniform.

If the differences do end

Will this world have any Charm?

Diversity

-By Kayenat Hameed Khan

One of my classmates was giving a presentation on William Wordsworth on 3rd of May last year(2016). She referred to  "The Daffodils" as an example of what Wordsworth called "spontaneous overflow of powerful feelings". And meanwhile, I thought what if all the flowers were daffodils or what if all the plants looked alike and had one color, and i wanted to puke. And that's when it struck me. 

At that moment, i was still in trauma of an incident taken in our department. When a group of students with some policemen 'visited' us because the students were playing some sport past the class timings, in the department lawn. The visitors could not cause any trouble but that led me to a very sad realization. Being students, being students of they same university, we were alienated by many groups and they were equally alien to us. And i felt like if we don't celebrate our differences, we will continue to mourn them. If we don't love, we will hate. If we don't accept each other, we will resist each other. If we don't let live, we will kill.

I am not that much of an artist but i have a point to prove. Somebody once argued that God wants us to live in one particular way and that ideal would be the entire Human society believing in one truth, dressing in one particular way, speaking one honorable language etc etc. And since it's a lot to be real, It will be in heaven.

I don't know about heaven. But regarding this world, I am sure God loved differences and so He created them Himself. If God wanted all of us to think alike, dress alike, be alike and live in one same way, He could have just created clones and given us same brain rather than giving each one of us such a different one. God created diversity and Nature supports it. So if I try to hate, resist and/or eliminate everything that is not me or for me, than i am going against nature. And thus, i decided to post it finally.

You have no rights to don't copy or plagiarize. Thank you.