Woh Shaam

I wrote this back in March this year. Enjoy reading it!

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Incidences in Fahistan

This dates back to 27th of February 1952 and it happened to be a leap year when Mrs. Singh gave birth to a baby boy who’d grow up to be the protagonist of this story.

The boy was named Rajendra Singh and had a pleasant childhood despite the fact that he was a thin boy who always looked 3-4 years younger than he was. An average student in school who was later pushed by his parents to study in one of the prestigious university of the country and that is when he left his home for the city called Fahistan.

This city of Fahistan was far more developed than any other in the whole country. There were better horse carts in the city and paved roads for them to go around smartly, even the houses were made of bricks and cement. The university attracted brilliant minds from all the places and Rajendra was lucky to get admission there. It was a little difficult for him to adapt to this new style of life where people spoke differently and also ate different kinds of meals but 4 years of his life passed easily.

Now it was time to return home and see what he would do next. From many options he could join his father’s shop and expand the business or he could go and work for someone else and possibly earn more. Little did he know that luck had something else in store for him and that is precisely when the trouble struck and due to a series of events he couldn’t go to his hometown.

One of his acquaintance had called him for an important matter during the last days and on arriving he realized that it would take him months to solve the problem his acquaintance had ventured into. He could have said no and turned his head but that’s not how he was raised. He sent a telegram to his parents in the village and told them that some important matter had come up due to which he won’t be able to come home early and he let them know that he was safe and sound which wasn’t completely true.

Two months had passed but the rounds to the police station and court didn’t decrease, they even contacted some influential people in the city of Fahistan but no one helped. Left to their own, Rajendra and Shamshad fought for themselves or say Rajendra and Shamshad fought for Shamshad.

After 4 months, it looked like they might win the case and go their ways happily but something had to happen again. One night both of them were returning from the small hotel, two men on motorcycle came to them asking for an address when the pillion rider took out a gun and shot Shamshad in the chest. They sped away while Rajendra stood there too shocked to react and when he looked down he realized that Shamshad had died and was in the pool of blood. As he leaned in to shake Shamshad, he saw his reflection in his eyes which still held some life.

Rajendra couldn’t stay in the city of Fahistan any longer and soon returned to his hometown. He joined his father’s business and tried hard to forget what happened to Shamshad. But he never could.

 

eadw

Kaafi arse se

I’ve always loved urdu/hindi poetry but never wrote much. This is where I wrote a certain thing and I’m sharing the same with you. Tell me if you share the same interest ūüôā 

The incident

Yesterday I boarded the metro and there wasn’t much rush which means that I¬†get space to read. I took my book out from the bag and started reading it, now what happens when I read a book is that my destination arrives faster and it seems that I have skipped many stations, but that is obviously not the case. Anyway, I am reading and there is a guy standing beside me for most of the journey.

Just before my stop, he gets a seat almost in front of me and sits down. After a few minutes, he is staring at the book and then he is staring at me. Not staring but you know he looked at the book and then at me. I was thinking what is wrong with this guy, does he like the book or he wants it? But then I saw his confused face and it occurred to me that I was reading ‘Murder on the Orient Express‘ by Agatha Christie. So you get it? Me reading a book about the murder on some other express while I am in the¬†metro,¬†that guy must be wondering what is happening.

I closed my book and went towards the door and de-boarded the metro to get to work.

You can buy the book here.

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Comic #4

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Comic #3, Return of the Awkward Man

So when you have this desire to make comics but no drawing skills, what do you do?
Most people give up, they give up their dream of making comics. I had given up too until I thought let’s make them on devices like mobiles/computers and let’s make them stupid. Let’s not care about how weird and incomplete they look, just put them out there and let people see. Some will like, some will laugh, some will be like this guy should never do this.

So, I made and posted them here last year in December and the response was good/positive. So I made one again.

Here it is, the return of the Awkward Man. Check Comic #1 and Comic #2¬†( don’t worry, the pages will open in new tab).

1
The Awkward Man enters the frame and does not notice you
2
The Awkward Man does something that is really awkward
3
The Awkward Man realized how awkward he is and rushes out

Let me know how if you any opinions/suggestions/comments/anything?

 

Duty Calls- Short story Part 1

This morning he was sitting in his jeep outside the government hospital. He had parked under a tree beside the gate, a few steps away from the bus stop where in every 5 minutes a bus came and a hoard deboarded the bus. A few went into the hospital while others rushed towards the metro station, he saw all those people but did not focus on anyone particular. He was just seeing a group of people moving from one place to another, in the distance, an auto waited for the customers in front of the gate. He thought how he is to stand right there, wondering what would happen if an ambulance was to come, or someone who had a heart attack was rushed in through the gate. He sure was unaware that he could be the reason of someone’s death and the worst part was he might not realize that and would do the same thing again.

He knew that he was losing his focus and was instead looking at people, complete strangers, auto-wallahs who came and stopped and looked for customers followed by a bus. He looked in the rearview mirror of his jeep and saw his sweaty and a tired face, then he looked at his uniform which he didn’t get time to change for three days because this investigation was sure a different and a difficult one. He looked around, checked his dying phone and decided to step out of the car and stretch and have a cup of tea. He thought he deserved a cup now, at least.

He locked the jeep and walked and told the auto-wallah to move and not obstruct the gate. He ordered tea and a cigarette, asked for a Gold Flake and lit it, a few puffs and he realized that this was stupid of him, to smoke near the hospital. Before throwing it, he took one long puff and held the smoke in while his lungs burned. He threw and squashed the cigarette under his brown shiny shoes, he wondered how come his shoes were still so clean. He had taken a few sips when he got a call on his phone, he took the call and got to know that the suspect has left the hospital and entered the metro station. He was also asked if he saw him, he took a gulp and said ‘I think I did’, he had to lie.

He threw a fifty rupee note at the chai-wallah and ran towards the metro station. At entering the stations, he saw a long queue and started wondering that the suspect could be anywhere, he could have already boarded a train. He felt useless and irritated but tried to take control of the situation by taking deep breaths. He had heard somewhere that it helped in situations like these.

He came back to the jeep and took three long breaths before finally calling his senior on the phone and telling him that he lost him in the crowd. He turned the key and the engine came to life but he stepped out of the car and went to chai-wallah and asked him for the change before finally leaving to the police station.


Note: I might write a second part of this with a different perspective very soon. Let me know your views about this. Thanks!

A book you want to finish

Page 410- “The kind of a book that you want to finish but you also want to read slowly”


I finished reading The Book Thief yesterday. Now imagine, completing a book like this when you are in public and that too in¬†an almost overcrowded metro. A wrong decision there but I had to complete those last 50 pages because if I didn’t do that then I would have got time to read only late at night.

Something about the book- Just a short story about a girl called Liesel Meminger and believe me you’d want to read it. And this one won’t take much time!¬†Why? Because you will find yourself turning pages, or scrolling if you read on electronic devices. An amazing journey with many different characters that I will remember for a long time. Would really recommend it.

Here is one photograph I took when I was reading it late at night- view it in HD here.

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Into the night

In the silent night
She moves on her toes
Careful not to make
Any sound or
The wolves will know
And she would never
Be able to out run the wolves.

He looks for her
In the dead night
A howl in the distance
And that’s the only sound
Besides the crunching of snow
Under his feet.

She can’t yell or
She will pull too much
Of attention and
He can’t help but
Worry and look.
She now hopes that
The sun will rise soon
And her anguish will finish
Maybe he will find her

But the night is long
And it only got dark
It was time for the wolves
To hunt now
To hunt and haunt
Those who escaped their master.
__________________________________________
-Jafar Rehman

Tell me

Tell me
What happens when
You stick a knife
Into a man’s stomach
And he spurts blood
From his mouth
And then as life leaves him
He grabs your collar
And looks you in the eyes
With a pleading look
And questions you
Without a sound.

Do you for once
feel sad?
Were you at unease
When his soul
Questioned you
And you just stared
Into those dark pits
Which by the way
Had no tears
But only questions
And then you waited
For the light to go away
So that you could
Make a final call
And spurt the words
Job done
Would you ever think about
Those eyes
When they were
In their final moments?

-Jafar Rehman


So, I have started to write whatever I get, be it dark poetry or anything else. Tell me if you liked it.