Monday, August 19, 2013

Tabdeeli in KPK

Tabdeeli wali Sarkar...

Luch - By Aurya

Wah bhai Aurya, Kia Luch Talla hai...


Sikandar is Innocent

Javed Ch terrorists ko Tareeqay btatey huwai :D
’اولمپس ہیز فالن‘‘ ہالی ووڈ کی ایک شاندار فلم ہے‘ یہ فلم وائٹ ہاؤس پر قبضے کے موضوع پر بنائی گئی‘ فلم میں دکھایاگیا ‘ کوریا کے وزیراعظم امریکی صدر سے ملاقات کے لیے وائٹ ہاؤس آتے ہیں‘ وائٹ ہاؤس پر اچانک فضائی حملہ ہو جاتا ہے‘ صدر کا سیکیورٹی اسٹاف امریکی صدر‘ مہمان وزیراعظم اور کوریائی وفد کو وائٹ ہاؤس کے جوہری بم پروف مورچے میں شفٹ کر دیتا ہے‘ کوریا کا وزیراعظم جوہری مورچے میں پہنچتے ہی جیب سے ریوالور نکال لیتا ہے‘ اس کے اسٹاف اور وفد میں شامل لوگ بھی اسلحہ نکالتے ہیں‘ صدر کے باڈی گارڈز کو گولی مارتے ہیں اور وائٹ ہاؤس کے انتہائی حساس مقام پر قبضہ کر لیتے ہیں‘ یہ لوگ امریکی صدر اور اہم ترین وزراء کو یرغمال بنا لیتے ہیں۔
اس کے ساتھ ہی کوریائی وزیراعظم کے موٹر کیڈ سے مسلح کمانڈوز نکلتے ہیں اور یہ وائٹ ہاؤس پر فائرنگ شروع کر دیتے ہیں‘ واشنگٹن کی گلیوں سے ہیوی ٹرکس نکلتے ہیں اور یہ بھی وائٹ ہاؤس پرحملہ آور ہو جاتے ہیں اور یوں چند لمحوں میں امریکا کی طاقت کا محور وائٹ ہاؤس ملبے کا ڈھیر بن جاتا ہے‘ ادھر دہشت گرد صدر اور وزیر دفاع سے جوہری ہتھیاروں کے کوڈز حاصل کر لیتے ہیں اور یوں پوری دنیا جوہری خطرات کا شکار ہو جاتی ہے‘ اس فلم میں مزید کیا ہوتا ہے؟ یہ زیادہ ضروری نہیں کیونکہ اس فلم کا انجام بھی عام فلموں کی طرح ہوتا ہے‘ یہ بحران ہیرو کو جنم دیتا ہے‘ یہ ہیرو زمرد خان کی طرح تنہا دہشت گردوں سے ٹکراتا ہے اور ہیرو آخر میں جیت جاتا ہے مگر یہ فلم روایتی اختتام کے باوجود شاندار ہے‘ یہ ناظر کی توجہ کو مقناطیس کی طرح جکڑ لیتی ہے۔
ہم لوگ جس وقت سکندر کے ڈرامے کو بلیو ایریا کی سڑک پرپروان چڑھتا دیکھ رہے تھے ‘مجھے اس وقت ’’اولمپس ہیز فالن‘‘ یاد آ رہی تھی اور ایک سوال بار بار سر اٹھا رہا تھا‘ یہ شخص اگر بلیو ایریا تک پہنچ سکتا تھا اور وفاقی دارالحکومت کو دو رائفلوں کے ذریعے یرغمال بنا سکتا تھا تو کیا چار ‘پانچ یا دس مسلح لوگ ایوان صدر‘ وزیراعظم ہاؤس یا پارلیمنٹ پر قبضہ نہیں کر سکتے اور اگرایسا ہو جائے تو کیا ہماری وہ پولیس جو 15 اگست کو سکندر سے نہیں نمٹ سکی یا ہمارے وہ سیکیورٹی ادارے جو آج تک جی ایچ کیو‘ مہران بیس‘ کامرہ ائیر بیس اور دو مئی کے واقعات کا کوئی ٹھوس جواب نہیں دے سکے یہ اس نوعیت کا قبضہ چھڑا لیں گے؟ اور اگر چھڑا لیا تو اس میں کتنا وقت لگ جائے گا؟ ہماری سیکیورٹی کا یہ عالم ہے پارلیمنٹ ہاؤس‘ ایوان صدر اور وزیراعظم ہاؤس کے نیچے سے نالے گزرتے ہیں اور آج تک کسی نے ان نالوں کی حفاظت کے لیے کوئی بندوبست نہیں کیا۔
یہ دہشت گردوں کی مہربانی ہے آج تک انھوں نے ان نالوں پر توجہ نہیں دی‘ وزیراعظم اور صدر کی آمد و رفت کے دوران ہر روٹ پر 175 پولیس اہلکار تعینات کیے جاتے ہیں‘ ان اہلکاروں نے کندھوں پر رائفلیں بھی لٹکا رکھی ہوتی ہیں لیکن ان کے پاس گولیاں نہیں ہوتیں‘ اگر ہوتی ہیں تو یہ دس دس سال پرانی ہیں اور کسی نے آج تک انھیں ٹیسٹ نہیں کیا‘ یہ رائفلیں بھی ٹیسٹ شدہ نہیں ہیں اور اگر ہوئی ہیں تو سوال یہ ہے کیا ان اہلکاروں کو رائفل چلانی بھی آتی ہے؟ جی نہیں ان میں سے کسی شخص کے پاس شوٹنگ سر ٹیفکیٹ نہیں‘آپ کو یقین نہ آئے تو آج چیک کر لیں‘ آپ حیران رہ جائیں گے یہ صرف نمائشی سپاہی ہیں اور ان کی اہلیت وردی اور سیلوٹ کے بعد دم توڑ جاتی ہے۔
آپ وی آئی پی روٹ کا جغرافیائی جائزہ بھی لے لیجیے‘ میاں نواز شریف کے وزیراعظم بننے کے بعد مری جانے والا راستہ بھی وی آئی پی روٹ بن چکا ہے‘ میاں نواز شریف اکثر اسلام آباد سے مری چلے جاتے ہیں‘ ان کے راستے میں بھی پولیس اہلکار کھڑے ہوتے ہیں لیکن وزیراعظم کے سیکیورٹی اسٹاف نے کبھی ان اہلکاروں سے آگے جھانک کر نہیں دیکھا‘ وزیراعظم کے راستے میں بھنگ کے آٹھ آٹھ فٹ اونچے پودوں کا پورا جنگل ہے‘ راستے میں جھاڑیاں اور درخت بھی ہیں ‘ بھنگ اور جھاڑیوں کے ان جنگلوں میں بیسیوں توپیں چھپائی جا سکتی ہیں اور اگر خدانخواستہ کسی سکندر نے بھنگ کے ان قدرتی مورچوں کے استعمال کا فیصلہ کر لیا تو ہم دنیا میں کس کس کو منہ دکھائیں گے؟ یہ حقیقت ہے اسلام آباد پولیس کے پاس شارپ شوٹرز یا اسنائپرز نہیں ہیں۔
پولیس تو رہی ایک طرف ہمارے چڑیا گھر تک میں اسٹن گن (بے ہوش کرنے والی رائفل) نہیں‘ سکندر انسان تھا‘ کل اگرچڑیا گھر کا کوئی شیر یا چیتا شہر میں نکل آیا تو ریاست تماشہ دیکھنے کے علاوہ کچھ نہیں کرسکے گی‘ اداورں کے درمیان کوآرڈینیشن بھی موجود نہیں‘ ایس ایس پی آئی جی کی طرف دیکھتا رہا‘ آئی جی چیف کمشنر کے حکم کا منتظر رہا‘ چیف کمشنر وزیر داخلہ کے احکامات کا منتظر رہا اور وزیر داخلہ فوج کو بلائیں یا نہ بلائیں کے مخمصے کا شکار رہے‘ کیا سکندر کو گرفتار کرنے کے لیے اتنے لمبے چوڑے بیورو کریٹک پراسیس کی ضرورت تھی؟ یہ مسئلہ کو ہسار تھانے کے لیول پر حل ہو جانا چاہیے تھا لیکن کیونکہ ہم نے آج تک کسی کو اختیار نہیں دیا چنانچہ سکندر کا ایشو براہ راست وزیراعظم تک چلا گیا اور وزیراعظم نے احکامات جاری نہیں کیے چنانچہ ڈرامہ طول پکڑتا رہا اور آخر میں یہ ایشو بھی میڈیا کے گلے میں ڈال دیا گیا۔
ملک کے سینئر صحافی میڈیا کے لیے ضابطہ اخلاق کے متمنی ہیں‘ میڈیا کو بھی قانون اور ضابطے کا پابند ہونا چاہیے‘ہم سب یہ چاہتے ہیں مگر یہ کرے گا کون؟ اس کا جواب کون دے گا؟ میں 15 اگست کی رات خود ’’موقع واردات‘‘ پر گیا تھا‘ میں نے وہاں پولیس کے کردار کو بھی سراہا اور میڈیا کے کارکنوں سے بھی کیمرے پیچھے لے جانے اور اپنی حفاظت کا خیال رکھنے کی درخواست کی اور ان لوگوں نے میری بات پر عمل بھی کیا‘ میں نے پولیس سے سکندر ملک سے ملاقات کی درخواست بھی کی مگرایس پی نے انکار کر دیا اور میں نے اس حکم پر عمل بھی کیا‘میں15 اگست کی رات آن ائیر میڈیا کے کردار تنقیدکرتا رہا مگر پھرپروگرام کے دوران ایک عجیب واقعہ پیش آیا‘ مجھے کسی اجنبی نمبر سے ایک ایس ایم ایس آیا‘ سکندر اور اس کی بیگم سرینڈر کرنے کے لیے تیار ہیں مگر یہ گارنٹی چاہتے ہیں‘ میں نے ایس ایم ایس کرنے والے سے کنول اور سکندر کا ڈائریکٹ نمبر مانگا‘ مجھے نمبر مل گیا‘ میرے پروڈیوسر نے کال ملا دی اور یوں ہمارا کنول اور سکندر سے رابطہ ہو گیا‘ ہماری یہ گفتگو لائیو چلتی رہی‘ گفتگو کے دوران معلوم ہوا کنول اور سکندر ذہنی لحاظ سے بیلنس نہیں ہیں‘ ان کی بات میں ربط اور تسلسل بھی نہیں تھا اور یہ اپنے اس اقدام کا کوئی ٹھوس جواز بھی پیش نہیں کر پائے تھے‘ یہ اسلام نافذ کرنا چاہتے تھے‘ حکومت کا خاتمہ چاہتے تھے اور اقلیتوں کو حقوق دلانا چاہتے تھے لیکن یہ ہوگا کیسے؟
ان کے پاس اس کا کوئی جواب نہیں تھا‘ میں نے دونوں کو دو آپشن دیے‘ ہمارے پاس وفاقی وزیر خرم دستگیر موجود ہیں‘ آپ ان کی گارنٹی لے سکتے ہیں اور ہم اس گارنٹی پر عمل کروائیں گے‘ دوسرا آپ اٹھارہ کروڑ لوگوں میں سے کسی شخص کا نام لیں ہم وہ شخص آپ کے پاس لے آتے ہیں مگر ان کا کہنا تھا ہمارے لیے ایس ایس پی ڈاکٹر رضوان کی گارنٹی کافی ہے‘ انھوں نے انکشاف کیا ‘ڈاکٹر رضوان مذاکرات کے لیے کسی جگہ کا بندوبست کر رہے ہیں اور ہم ان کے ساتھ اس جگہ چلے جائیں گے‘ یہ بات ابھی جاری تھی کہ زمرد خان ان تک پہنچ گئے‘ سکندر نے فون بند کیا ‘ یہ گاڑی سے باہر نکلا اور ہمارے ساتھ اس کی گفتگو کے تین منٹ بعد یہ واقعہ پیش آ گیا‘ میڈیا کو اس واقعے کو ہائپ نہیں دینی چاہیے تھی اور ہمیں بھی ان دونوں کو ٹیلی فون پر نہیں لینا چاہیے تھا لیکن کیا صرف میڈیا نے غلط کیا؟ جی نہیں!
وزیر داخلہ چوہدری نثار علی خان نے 16 اگست کی شام پریس کانفرنس میں اعتراف کیا اس واقعے کی طوالت کے دو ذمے دار ہیں‘ میں (وزیر داخلہ) اور میڈیا‘ چوہدری صاحب نے پریس کانفرنس میں اپنی ذمے داری بھی قبول کی مگر حکومت کی بے انصافی دیکھئے یہ میڈیا کو تو نوٹس جاری کر رہی ہے مگر وزیر داخلہ چوہدری نثار سے کوئی نہیں پوچھ رہا‘ آپ پولیس چیف کیوں بن گئے اور آپ نے اپنے مورچے میں بیٹھ کر پولیس کو غیر دانشمندانہ احکامات کیوں جاری کیے تھے‘ آپ نے پولیس کو اپنا کام کیوں نہیں کرنے دیا اور آپ نے اگر ذمے داری قبول کرلی ہے تو کیا آپ کا اعتراف کافی ہے؟ کیا آپ کو غیر دانش مندانہ اقدام کی کوئی سزا نہیں ملنی چاہیے اور اگر اعتراف ہی سزا ہے تو پھر ہم بھی اپنی غلطی مان لیتے ہیں‘ معاملے کو مس ہینڈل کرنے والے پولیس اہلکار بھی اپنی غلطی تسلیم کر لیتے ہیں اور سکندر اور کنول بھی اپنی غلطی کا اعتراف کر لیتے ہیں اور آپ ان تمام کرداروں کو بھی چوہدری نثار کی طرح باعزت معافی دے دیں‘ یہ کیا انصاف ہے چوہدری نثار غلطی کے اعتراف کے باوجود وزیر داخلہ ہیں مگر شریک جرم میڈیا‘ سکندر ‘ کنول اور پولیس کو سزا دی جا رہی ہے اور عوام کے ہیرو زمرد خان کو برا بھلا کہا جا رہا ہے‘ یہ انصاف ہے تو پھر ہم اس انصاف کو نہیں مانتے‘ آپ تمام شرکاء جرم کا احتساب کریں بشمول وزیرداخلہ ‘ یہ ڈرامہ ان کی غلطی سے طویل ہوا تھا اور اگر آپ چوہدری نثار کو ’’اعتراف جرم‘‘ کے باوجود معاف کر دیتے ہیں تو پھر سکندر اور کنول کو بھی چھوڑ دیں کیونکہ پھر یہ معصوم ہیں۔

Inn se to Taleban Behtar hongay...

is this a better solution?

Sunday, August 18, 2013

Only for faujiz

Interesting

Dilemma of Pakistani Rape Victims

Unlucky Victims

What Pakistan can learn from the world to protect its rape victims

Published: August 18, 2013
Pakistan needs a strong dose of #shoutingback to better protect its women. PHOTO: FILE
All of us sat before our computers and our TV screens in the past year to see the different cases (the high-profile Stuebenville, Ohio rape trial, the India gang rape case in December) that had grabbed headlines all over the world. This brought back into action public discussion about rape and the corresponding legal protection for its victims.
Recently, in what was perhaps a very positive move against sexual violence, the British police arrested a man due to his online threats against a feminist campaigner, Caroline Criado Perez, after she succeeded in her campaign to get Jane Austen’s picture on a UK bank note. His threats made to Perez via Twitter went as:
“This Perez one just needs a good smashing up the **** and she’ll be fine”
“Everyone jump on the rape train > @CCriadoPerez is conductor”
Labour MP Stella Creasy was also attacked when she came up to Perez’s defence with twitter troll threatening her.
“@stellacreasy I will rape you tomorrow at 9pm….shall we meet near your house…”
Perez and Creasy decided to continue being vocal against these threats of violence as they could materialise. This speaking out sparked an online movement, #shoutingback, with over 30,000 people signing a petition for Twitter to introduce a ‘report’ button against future threats of sexual violence. The violator was arrested on July 28, 2013 and Twitter announced that they were introducing a ‘Report Abuse’ button within tweets in the UK after pressure from the public to take action.
Contrast this to how we treated Mukhtaran Mai, Dr Shazia and countless other women who spoke out against the horrific crimes that were committed against them. Many believed that Mai’s global campaign created negative energy not understanding that international attention would only have pressurised our government to take action with national conversation often insinuating that she was ruining Pakistan’s image around the world.
And the hate did not just end there.
In what was perhaps a jarring example of how unfair rape victims have it in our country, the Lahore High Court cited ‘insufficient evidence’ in its decision to acquit five out of six of the men who had been arrested earlier. Mai appealed their decision, only to have the Supreme Court again acquit the accused in 2011. Failing domestically she tried to speak out on an international platform and was then again criticised for creating negative propaganda. President Pervez Musharraf, even admitted on his personal blog that fearing Pakistan’s negative image, he restricted Mai’s movements in 2005 by placing her on the Exit Control List which prevented her from attending conferences abroad.
Perhaps, we can learn a little bit from our neighbour India. The Delhi rape trial that horrified the world and sparked a national movement is currently making legal progress. India has also faced great international and domestic backlash for the Delhi gang rape case but the Indian populous and government did not shirk the issue by instead turning its attention to the negative press it got internationally. While many from its society made the same gross insinuations saying that ‘she brought it upon herself’ and ‘this is why women should stay inside their houses’, reflecting the backward thinking that exists everywhere, the case was still catapulted into the legal limelight as people took to the streets to pressurise the government to take necessary action. Despite previous rape trials taking years to absolve, a verdict is expected soon.
Did they say that this was an agenda of the imperialist press to defame them? Did they say that this was just one over-hyped, over-exaggerated report?
They had more to lose regarding national reputation considering that India is such an ever-present force in the global financial market. In fact, the Delhi courts invited the foreign press to scrutinise its legal proceedings and used its newly established ‘fast-track’ courts to try the defendants and reach an appropriate verdict to punish the perpetrators as soon as possible.
What did this tell their countrymen?
It sent out a strong, clear message not just to India but to the world that rape was a crime that no assembly, no parliament, no court, no legislation and no woman in India would tolerate.
What did Mai’s case tell our countrymen?
That no powerful legislation is present to protect rape victims without four witnesses or prosecute rapists from influential families.
So what can Pakistan take from all this?
Our Council of Islamic Ideology recently declared DNA tests as inadmissible as the main form of evidence in rape trials, only to be used at best as supplementary evidence (considered weaker circumstantial evidence). This is a considerable step back for our legislation regarding our country’s rape victims who are already suffering from intense social stigma that prevents them from reporting rape. In a big leap forward, MPA Sharmila Farooqi pushed the Sindh Assembly to adopt a resolution making the usage of DNA Tests mandatory in rape cases. One can only hope that the rest of our provincial governments will follow suit.
Mai, unfortunately was one of the many, many Pakistani women who are not given enough legal and social protection to seek justice for their unimaginable sufferings. While rape is a very international problem, nations around the world are doing much more to protect and provide justice for their women. Our legal systems’ lack of support for rape victims along with the high levels of social stigma and the widespread ignorant belief that women generally bring rape upon themselves due to their tempting behaviour are representative of a status quo that must change.
Perhaps, we can learn a thing or two from our rivals and other strong movements around the world to reduce the high incidence of rape and other forms of sexual violence in our country. Pakistan needs a strong dose of #shoutingback to better protect its women.

Being Shia is Penal-able Crime Itself

A story dat wil make u sob...

My sacrifice to God

Published: August 18, 2013
Life was a clear set path ahead after I got married and Hussain came to my life; it was complete - a home, a loving husband and child, a family.
It was an ordinary day, like any morning when I would wake up – wake the children, send them off to the washroom and lay their clothes out so they won’t have to shout for every vest or sock they could not find. And yes, I called them both children – my husband, Raza and my son Hussain. They both act the same. Sometimes Hussain seemed like he was the adult in our house, not Raza.
Then I would sleepily make my way to the kitchen to make breakfast – something ordinary for Raza and myself; and for Hussain, I’d make whatever he fancied that day.
He is my only son, born to me at the age of 30, and since then, every day has been a celebration. Five-years-old now, Hussain is an exceptionally well-mannered child – against everyone’s expectations, who thought our devotion to him would leave him spoilt rotten. Maybe, his maturity stems from being limited to adult company at home.
I come from an ordinary middle class family from urban Pakistan – the type which gives its women the independence to study and work. The reason often is an uncertainty on part of the parents, who don’t know if they can find a match and save enough for a dowry to marry their girls off in style. So ours is a clan of highly educated, financially independent women, still bound in societal obligations. To add to it, we come from the Shiite faith, and being comparatively less than Sunnis in Pakistan, we often cannot find an appropriate match.
Thus, I got married a few months after I had turned 28, advanced years by Pakistani standards.
Hussain was born just before I turned 30. By this time, most of my friends had their kids in junior school, while I made professional leaps. They looked on at my independence and success with well hidden envy, as I envied them for having children.
When at majlis, where the tragedy of Karbala is narrated, I cried over stories of pain and sacrifices made by Hazrat Imam Hussain (RA) and I prayed to Allah (SWT) to give me a child whom I could nurture to be a true Hussaini – a follower of the righteous path.
That is why I have named him Hussain. He is my offering to Allah (SWT); I will raise him to be a true follower of Imam Hussain (RA).
By the time Hussain was born, my motherly instincts had been craving a child for so long that I just could not stop showering him with love. My husband and I were both professionally well settled by this time and we had no financial restraints to keep us from giving him all that we did not have as children.
Hussain is five; he goes to a school where the country’s elite send their children. I am already starting a college fund for him. He must go to a fancy college. Maybe a foreign university, if I could muster up the courage to let him be away from me one day.
So on that ordinary Friday morning, I woke them up and sent them off to their school and office before I settled down with a glass of orange juice for myself.
Last night I had read Hussain his weekly dose of duas, a ritual in most Shia families on Thursday night. This was all part of bringing our child up as a true Shia. I cry a lot while offering supplications, as my son and husband look on humbly. I could blame my crying bout on the hormones. I was eight weeks pregnant with my second child – another miracle, as the doctor told me I never could conceive after Hussain was born.
Soon it would be 8am and I would have to rush to my room and prepare to leave for work.
“Five more minutes to rest my back and settle my quivering stomach, before I turn into the efficient working lady people think I am,” I tell the clock ticking on frantically. “I should take a sabbatical now, in a couple of months, so I can raise my children devotedly”.
Ammi had been very helpful with Hussain. She had assumed his responsibility with more enthusiasm than I could have anticipated. When he was little, I (who had been dying to have a baby), was petrified on seeing such a tiny little creature. He could just break with a harsh touch! Ammi had come forward to look after him, wash and bathe him while I looked on frightfully  It had taken me six months to learn how to deal with my own baby.
I keep mixing the past with the present; my thoughts are no more as streamlined as they used to be. Life was a clear set path ahead after I got married and Hussain came to my life; it was complete – a home, a loving husband and child, a family.
I went upstairs, got dressed for work, looked wistfully at my bed, still undone from last night and decided to fix it when I return. The guys had to go for Jumma, so they would be late… ‘Good thing, there is no one else to notice!’
I am not a very organised soul myself – not prim and proper, as my mother would have liked me to be. Years of study and work, with little or no responsibility at home, had left me what she would call ‘unladylike’. However, after my wedding, I had lived in my susraal (in-laws) for four years. During that time, I had made utmost effort to never give anyone the excuse to call me uncivilised or unladylike.
We had moved to this house only two years ago, when Raza’s younger brother got married and the family home became too small to accommodate all of us. Our house is small and newly built in the suburbs. We are still paying off the instalments to gain full ownership.
So I left for work, with the bed unmade and the dishes still in the sink. The maid would come later in the evening to clean up the mess.
At office, I spent the day in a quiet struggle between my professional self and the physically weak pregnant woman. I told myself that a sabbatical leave was in order for the hundredth time, as I ignored my aching back and sat back against the back care cushion on my office chair.
“I need to start taking a walk in the evening; it is good for me and the baby. Also, I should have proper meals at timed intervals like the doctor prescribed,” I made a mental note, only if I could remember it while gathering the stuff I had left scattered at home.
Thank God it’s Friday. I will be home in a few more hours and then its weekend! No social event on this one, mercifully. I had meticulously avoided getting into any such arrangement, during the week. Now I was free to spend the day at home with the boys and watch a game of cricket, or spend the day seeking their attention while they killed alien predators on the PlayStation. Perhaps I could plan just a mandatory visit to my in-laws’ house, and may be have a quick tea at Ammi’s place.
I left work at around 12:30pm, while my male colleagues made their way to the local mosques for Jumma prayer.
Back home, I went upstairs, picked up the clothes lying around and asked the cleaning woman to get the laundry going. I made both of us a cup of tea and decided to order pizza for lunch as I was in no mood to cook. My back hurt too much!
It is difficult for a 35-year-old Pakistani woman to carry a child. We are generally weak and the lack of sports or any physical activity except for house hold chores makes our bodies internally weak.
“If it’s a girl, I will make sure she participates in sports,” I make another mental note, as I turned on the television set.
There it was, written in bold red: A blast at a Shiite mosque during Friday prayers in my city.
Raza goes there, I come to a dreadful realisation, and he takes Hussain with him
My boys!
I don’t know when the call came. It was Raza’s younger brother, he told me that they were injured and he was coming to pick me up.
I cry a lot, did I tell you? But my eyes were dry. I was afraid to cry for them.
“They are all right, how can any harm come to them?”
What would there be? A shrapnel maybe, or just a scratch! The guys are going to be just fine!
The pizza delivery guy came, right after the call. Raza’s brother came to pick me, he looked scared and shocked. The maid had sensed that something was wrong; she also saw all the gory images of death and chaos on the television. I locked the house, or maybe she did. I told her to take the pizza home to her children and to leave with my brother-in-law, Husnain.
We did not talk to each other on the way, too afraid to say anything, “They will be fine,” I kept telling myself.
My stomach is turning once again, but I have hardly had anything to eat all day, what would I throw up?
He takes me to his home, not to the hospital.
We have reached just in time, with the ambulance’s arrival. There is a hush over the house – the kind that comes when everything goes silent at once. They are all looking at me and I wonder why.
There was nothing wrong with the clothes, my new red dress that I had worn in honour of Friday. The makeup I had put on this morning was still in place; I had not shed a single tear. I must look like a very professional and composed woman, I think, still conscious of the self-image I wanted my in-laws to have.
But the ambulance?
I turn around, in time to see them carrying in two stretchers, covered in white sheets, splattered with blood – white and red, just like the new dress I had been wearing today.
I run towards the men setting them down in the middle of the living room, which had all its furnishing removed, I vaguely notice.
But someone held me back.
I turned around and blindly scratched at my captor, Husnain, my brother-in-law. He was calling out to his sister who was in ruptures. No one came to his aid, to hold me back. How could they not let me see who was under the sheets?
“I would die if you hold me here, let go off me, Husnain!” I plead, but he hugs me tight instead.
“They are gone, Bhabi; they are no more”
I am not sure what happened next; I remember seeing them cleaned and shrouded in white, when they took me to look at them for the last time.
They looked like they were sleeping peacefully.
My beautiful boys were gone.
Seven months later, Sukaina was born.
I still have a career. My office offered to give me a long leave following the ‘tragedy’. I had gone by life like a zombie after it, until Sukaina awakened me to the realities. I have to bring her up strong and firm on her faith, ready to make the ultimate sacrifice.
That is why we are born Shia in Pakistan – to fight a constant war for survival and offer sacrifices, until the last drop of blood.
My friends and colleagues had offered sympathy, and condolence, some of them openly cursed the killers, while others came with only words, and advice of keeping strong. This lack of hatred for the killers was so loud; it felt like they were silently applauding the killers of my son and husband.
In my own community, I am hugely respected for being the widow of a martyr. Outside of it too, there are people who sympathise with me for having gone through a tragedy and for raising my daughter alone. When they come to me with words of sympathy, I have a quiet thought, if they actually hate the killers as much, or not because they believe the killers came from the same shade of religion as them?
If so, they too are feasting on the blood of my martyred son, who had gone to the mosque holding on to his father’s hand.
My offering to Allah (SWT), my Hussain.