An excerpt from the diary of an Iraqi child

Written in January '05, my impression of a child who witnessed the Iraq war 

                       Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

               Tears from the depth of some divine despair

               Rise in the heart and gather in the eyes,

               In looking on the happy autumn fields,

               And thinking of the days that are no more. (Tennyson)

Days that may never return, people that I have lost forever, my faith which has completely abandoned me and my God who I believe was never there. It is as if my body is empty and is being devoured, every bit of it being eaten alive from within. Autumn fields surround me, fields filled with yellow and orange and scarlet, colors that have become the crux of my existence. I no longer observe things, I blankly stare and gaze and with my eyes alone, I believe, I can rip apart the ‘soul of the world’.

With a twig in my hand, I impetuously scrape the hardened surface on which I rest, and half way through digging a hole, as several feet walk by, I give my neck the honor of craning and my mouth the honor of gaping and my soul the honor of shedding a few more ‘idle tears’, for a coffin rests on the shoulders of these feet. I look back at how deep my twig has ventured and suddenly realize that what I had been doing rather aimlessly might just serve a purpose. When every bit of this barren land will have a body to its name, someone will thank me for having already dug their grave for them. The feet disappeared in a matter of seconds for these men had other dead spirits to shoulder, that is, in addition to their own.

As I observed my reflection at the bottom of my food bowl, I could see tears brimming over my eyelids, tears that failed to roll down for lack of meaning and yet, after what seemed like a lifetime, I smiled. I did not recognize what I was doing or what I meant but it was probably because while those feet had a body to shoulder, I had only ashes. Cold, gray, flimsy, ashes. I had ran around the quarters of the Red Cross, or at least what remained of them, and  had gathered every bit  of ash that smelt of my mother, or so I’d like to believe. For with each one that I enclosed in my fist, I could feel her warmth surround me. I knew I had identified them correctly, I couldn’t have gone wrong.

Some more feet passed by, but this time I did not look up and as more ‘idle’ tears burst from within, oblivion shrank like a thing reproved.

Jag Ja Re- What Lies Behind Us & What Lies Before Us Are Tiny Matters Compared To What Lies Within Us- Emerson

“Jag Ja Re Gudiya, Misri Ki Pudiya, Meethe Lage Do Naina
Nainon Mein Tere Hum Hi Base The, Hum Hi Base Hain…haina
Oh Ri Rani, Gudiya, Jag Ja…ari Jag Ja, Mari Jag Ja
Halka Sa Kosa, Subah Ka Bosa
Maan Ja Ri Ab Jag Ja
Naak Pe Tere Kaatega Bichu
Jag Ja Toh Maan Ja
Jo Chahe Le Lo, Dashrath Ka Vaada
Nainon Se Kholo Ji Raina
Oh Ri Rani, Gudiya, Jag Ja…ari Jag Ja, Moi Jag Ja
Kirnon Ka Sona, Os Ke Moti
Motiyon Sa Mogra
Tera Bichauna Bhar Bhar De Daaloon
Gulmohar Ka Tokra
Aur Jo Bhi Chaho, Maango Ji Maango
Bolo Ji Meri Maina
Oh Ri Rani, Gudiya, Jag Ja…ari Jag Ja, Oi Jag Ja
Jag Ja Re Gudiya, Misri Ki Pudiya, Meethe Lage Do Naina
Nainon Mein Tere Hum Hi Base The, Hum Hi Base Hain…haina”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RozrGjt9p_w

As opposed to what you may think, this rendition of the Omkara song wasn’t so I could channel my gloomy thoughts. As I heard this, I got a positive rush that got of bed at 3 am to write a new post on my blog which without a doubt has to be about you as you occupy my thoughts most. You’re the only man in my life, and proudly so =) This one isn’t about thanking you or missing you or being glum, this is about putting down things that come to my mind when I think of you. They say you see what you want to see and this is what I choose.

I get upset at myself sometimes when I don’t remember things, before I didn’t give these short-term memory-loss spurts much attention but now I humorously just blame them on genetics. I remember only the smiles you had at my successes, and the ones you now have when I meet you. When I come home and wake you up and with the widest smiling eyes you call out loud, “Arey, Maria aa gayee” I go on for months knowing just that. I know that as time goes by things will get difficult but I’ve become very good at remembering only the good and taking it from there. I can just pause events to that exact scene when we have those rare real conversations. These tests are only for the brave, don’t think they can let us down. We’ve been through a whole lifetime together and this is just a small part of it.

I think I’ll let the song explain the rest- I Love you Abbu! =)

She is every bit here....

 

"For her everything was red, orange, gold-red from the sun on the closed eyes, and it all was that color, all of it, the filling, the possessing, the having, all of that color, all in a blindness of that color." - Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

It has been such since the day she passed away, red, orange, gold-red- burning, hurting, unending. For someone who hadn't but spent a night without many a family member by her side now rests alone in that narrow place. We prayed and walked away, yet how I wished I could lay there beside her so that we would go through the trials together, I owed it to her for she had never left me alone- she was always by my side. It's been just about two weeks now and life doesn't seem to move on, waiting for her to come back to somehow just be amidst us. They share excerpts of poetry and of eulogies previously read, all this in the face of our seeming inability to cope. If it were a physical phenomenon I would compare it to an avalanche, though I have never experienced one before but the word itself feels as forceful, as unending as this grief. I sit and write as a work-meeting goes on around me, for almost two weeks now there has been an unbounded hiatus on all thought. Life will continue and time will heal, the insincerity time lends to the situation.  

Her teary-eyes as I left home and her parting kiss never leaves my memory. My turning to her room even before I entered the house was a ritual I will cherish forever. I want to have millions more chances to just gently peck her on the forehead, exchange a nice warm greeting and to just revel in her presence. I am a bit angry though , you shouldn't have left while I was away. I have so much to thank you for, you have been so kind and so loving every inch of my life. I always used to wonder how I would ever be able to pay you back for all the love, kindness, generosity, support, prayers that I have accumulated in life and then one day I was caught, I had no time left to return only a small measure for all that you have done for me. Please come back. I want to have dinner with you like we used too, I want to be caressed by your gentle hands as my head rests in your lap.

As I go through old pictures of us I would wish for life to come to pause, like the "happy happy boughs" on the Grecian urn whose leaves "never bid the spring adieu". For all over her urn are stories of a kind, strong-willed, well-read, brave,  risk-taking,  persevering individual who left everyone around her awe-inspired. A beautiful person- you could never stand before her and not notice that it was her strength of character that emanated such beauty. She gave being "beautiful from within" a whole different dimension- every time one stood before her, always!

I was standing next to you as you slept peacefully the day of the funeral praying so hard that you would come back- so hard! Still wish that would happen somehow. Don’t know how life will go on from here, I guess until the next big shock that will jolt us into a newer, harsher reality- till then we just stand victims to the insincerity of time.

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all  Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."- John Keats