Memoir of a CLASS!

I’m sure soon, VERY SOON, we’ll be on our last walk across the campus... Circumambulating The Business School.. Sitting on OUR stairs like beggars outside a mosque.. The watches ‘ll be crying TWENTY minutes past FIVE…With no signs of life in the campus and Insha refusing to get down the stairs, Gullu, Insha’s driver, ‘ll be vying for his last possible chance to revenge. Someone please tell him that unleashing his car won’t be a good idea!

Another ten steps into the “now-infrastructurally-sound” school (lol! Why do I still hate him!?), and there you are.. The classrooms aren’t open anymore.. Khursheed would’ve closed even the loo by then..! We’ll move to the first floor. With sunset around and breeze across the Hazratbal Mosque smelling of Pakistan and barbecues being roasted in Khayam, we would hopelessly wish the time to stop, needless to say, in vain...*sigh*.. With the First Semester lecture hall and the one opposite to it (Yeah, Yeah where Amir was once caught copy pasting the whole paper from his internet enabled cell phone!) locked, we would walk through the corridor leading us to our Final Semester room.. Yes, the usually unlocked lecture room.. We would open the door one last time..

‘ll wish I could ask the professor (Yeah, professor! Finally! Give it to them now!), "Allowed Sir?” But alas! There would be no Akram to say, " Bayta kya time aaya?? Ab kal aana, Inshaallah!” There’ll be no one in, except the few of us.. Just the empty desks engraved with quotes that our seniors wrote on them and our own Gazi Thhhhaufeeq’s names! Just the four or five of us.. Staring the weird empty walls. (Throughout the course I used to wonder how Jahanzaib once stared them for half an hour during Accounting internals forcing Darzi to ask him “Hey CR, aap deewar ki aur kya dekhrahe hain?” “Sir kuch nahi, mein sochraha tha kab koi paper deke nikle taaki mein bhi nikal saku!”, pat came the reply.) ..And the desks all empty. And the raised platform where the torture classes were held, and the last benches where we had fun , laughed, cried, hiding our cell phones from the professors, pleading for attendance…(Insha even broke one during her First Semester!)..*sigh*.. A million memories rooted like a hard disk in our heads. Everything as clear as the word clear itself. And there’ll be complete silence for a moment. We’ll smile, laugh and may be even cry..

Used to walk like war lords once, jumped over these very benches, ruckus, chaos, pandemonium! ‘ll certainly look for the benches where I used to sit ..Won’t really feel like the last day... Don’t really remember how we met... How we came to such a stage... How we bonded together.. How we screwed up together.. How even the girls of our group came to be known as GUNDAYS of the batch… It still feels like I know my friends since ages.. ‘ll feel as if we were born in this Uni.. ‘ll feel as if we were always there... Always there to protest killings by the Indian army.. Always there to confront the Chief Proctor.. Always there to paint the air GREEN..

..Won’t really feel like the last day... Don’t really remember how we met... How we came to such a stage... How we bonded together.. How we screwed up together.. The last benchers (Read Iflah Khan!)) asleep doesn’t matter who the professor is.. Saniya and Sunila chatting.. Nazima 123 fiddling with her flashy E60!.. Waseem trying to sleep on the bench.. Jim writing poetry.. Jahanzaib checking out BBC sport on his cell phone.. Amir online on Gtalk.. Deeba, Sameer, Ramiz attentive.. Qurat finding new ways to flatter! Aasima setting her scarf right! Sheen crying out PAANI MILEGA! Insha passing on chits to Irtif! Zubair checking out how much he lost in stocks since morning! Saba busy clicking my pics and making mirror cracking faces when I protest! Faizan seated like a king! Irfana using all colors in the crayon box to write notes! Wajahat doing don’t know what.. Owais engrossed in his inbox! Tabish asking for the furniture to be changed for he has a bad back! Yawar too uneasy! Mehmood Khan on tenterhooks to ‘safeguard’ the crease! Zahoor and Shafat discussing Tom Peters! Makhmoora busy reading something very academic! Shaista eager to leave the class..! Samoon looking for just ANYTHING that can be insured! Mubashir speaking Airtel! Mudasir lost! Parray, Shahid, Shabir all absent! Nazima doing what Qurat does best- Flattery! Rooful idle! Khalid least bothered! The professor teaching don’t know whom! Jim sitting beside me, cribbing about something, stocks may be.. Giggling over something or the other, Girls over Orkut this time! Me occasionally making random shapes on someone else’s notebook! Ahh… Irtif asking me to look outside, for some babes from English I guess!

Everything the same… And I, without even a word, look outside. It’s something unusual. Irtif nudges me and I look through the window with the same urge..But today there isn’t anyone there…Just the deserted lawn.. The bench under the Chinar which stands witness to our countless birthday parties and so much fun… I can see the fountain in front of the English department where I clicked Insha, Asima, Deeba together for the last time I guess.. I look back but there’re no Irtifs and Inshas passing chits this time.. Not laughing this time…Not speaking anything this time... Just sitting there speechless… and there’s Amir and there’s Sheen. And there’s Me.

Beenish searching her locker downstairs.. Akhtar and Khateeb dowloading VIRUS at the Iqbal Library.

No attendance.. The class has ended... So have the trips to Nunkun, Sheereen, Samsi, KD, Jan, Alka’s, Grand, Unicafe, and did I miss any? And yeah, our own Naseembagh; Chai, Bun Samosa, Juice, Chips, Paratha, AND GIRLS.. Everything, Just everything.

We sit there ... Sit there, oblivious of the funeral across... Our eyes shut, yet wide open.. The world beyond the two gates is calling us. I smell a conspiracy.. We were LIONS in. The world might just turn us into LAMBS outside..

Want to be in the class for real.. One more time.. Ask all those weird questions again.. But where’s Sahaf to answer or avoid them for that matter...? Want to lie about Hamels Innovation Lab again, but where’s Shabir to take that? Want to shout NAARA-e-TAKBEER again but in what faculty would the echo reverberate?

The door is open but who’s going to bunk? ...And this time around it won’t be the same.....Once again.. Just ONCE.. We’ll attend the class....With no one around but our souls.

Fvxan’s PS: Copyright NOT protected. This is an ‘influenced’ piece.. While browsing, I just happened to read something similar.. The way I designed the plot later might contain some TRACES from the subconscious. Moreover, it’s written in a sudden rush of blood, so STOP DOUBTING MY WRITING SKILLS.

My P.S: This is not my piece, this is Fvxan. The precious moments trapped inside are part of my life as they are his. We have shared and felt them together. Better and worse –can’t be penned down. We wanted this to be in my blog, a souvenir to remember. Its more than just a read, these are our two years. I had been provided with the rights of editing and adding, but emotions know no grammar.I just gave it the name. I will miss all you people. Love ya forever.

Mystification!

Not that I see my world in black and white, but I have the pleasure of defining ‘BOTH’. I am not talking about the darkness of night, its life. I do not want my questions to be answered or may be I want them to be answered unhurriedly. Just like as they say, inflow of ideas should be more than outflow, so that one doesn’t run out of stocks. Inventory management to be precise. ‘I’ do not revolve around anything. I am the centre, I am the hero. Don’t call it blasphemy, these thoughts are mine and am assured, God wants me to think this. I am life till the last breath and I am death everlasting. I don’t have to pull the veil down, I am just certain and assured by my senses. I do not regret the decision; I want to write but not with trembling hands. I want every alphabetical stroke to be gentle, cutting through the edges.

It seriously seems to revolve around “I”. That’s what I have been longing to tell you for so long. I am not the ultimate truth but am not deceptive as well. I am not a dagger in beauty. I am strange to myself. Exploring would be a good idea, but I need to find some good time. Then delve deep into the truth of self, know thy own self- thy soul like back of thy hand. Well, this is going to be a long discussion with no dimensions. Better, cut it short; cut it here.

Almost dark in the middle of Dal Lake, how would one feel? Silent waters infuse calmness to heart and mind. The rowing noise is soothing, and I call on to people. Not that I just want to make them hear what I say, but I want them to do the same. I want them to hear the silence, look into each others eyes without feeling embarrassed. No traitors among us, brothers in spirit. But I am still alone, I do not have anyone to look into eyes, I wont let it discourage me. It’s not a day and it’s not the dark, for me it’s a rendezvous with my own self. I do not need the mirror to talk to, my conscience is awake and my principles strong enough to answer my questions. Something I ran far to think about. I needed some outer peace to tie the broken chords inside. I know I am not alone in all this; there are people like me, made of same flesh and blood, who suffer more than I do. Pointlessly at the hands of destiny we succumb. Its comprehension is not easy neither is the way out painless.

I am part of the world filled with every imaginable beauty and evil. Rain doesn’t clean my sins, my tears wash me away. Should I jump into the silent waters to extract its calmness or drown to be a part of tranquility? Only if people would understand how they, in this world pay for the sins they commit, I would have had a long queue behind. The water levels would increase and kill rest of the population through contamination of rotting bodies.

My intuitions are not prophecies, but that’s not enough to prove them wrong. I do not follow the truth, I am my own follower. How good would it be, if I be the truth.

We won the battle, We will win the War!

I spent all the night looking at moon. That whiteness filled my life with beauty. As if some one was lighting my way in a dense forests. I missed the scary voices and felt at peace after a pretty long time. I wanted life to slow down and have some timeless breaths. Body and soul in absolute harmony. How frequently does this happen? Not many a times I get the feeling that my soul fits the dungeon perfectly and they compliment each other. I do not feel betrayed and I do not feel the pain, happiness is spilled.

I some how missed the two days. A packet of salted peanuts had done the job, acidity was on full swing. Half a bottle anti acid, two capsules and an Injection at the end did the trick for me. And that’s the time when you remember God the most. Naraye Takbeer –Allahu Akbar. Although, primarily I thought my surviving chances were low, I fortunately survived with no changes in my eating habits. I had some Pani Puri late last evening. Which was latter followed with corn, chilly chicken and red chili mixed with onions.

Jamia Chalou! A slogan for today. I some how felt very happy, after I listened to Mirwaiz Umar Farooq, yesterday. It dawned on me that he has finally matured to become a leader. For the very first time I thought he overshadowed his contemporary with the same name, Omar Abdullah. Ms.Mufti is not to speak of, I still feel she needs to join some English speaking course but then one cannot buy intellect as well. I do not know how long will these Pro-Indian parties act as cats who close their eyes to the threat.

I just admired the sense of responsibility of people from all the walks of life. Yatri’s and Tourists were served food by the local people, who have been collecting money from their neighborhoods so that the guests do not feel abandoned. The strike has created least difficulty for the Yatri’s and more than that proved that Kashmiri’s have not divorced their culture of hospitality. While news of few political parties blocking the Jammu-Srinagar highway flew in, People of Budgam in no time sent loaded trucks of vegetables to city to be distributed free of cost. These without doubt are the signs of a conscious nation.

Experience teaches great lessons. That was to be seen today when only Syed Ali Geelani, of all the separatists leaders was able to slip away from police, while all others were house arrested. He has been playing hide and seek with police for past one week now, turning out to be a teenager once again. He makes me remember of Mujahid’s who never slept at their houses. May God accept their “SHAHADAT”. These acts of Geelani Saeb are truly admirable and we pray he lives to see Kashmiri’s as an Azaad Qaoum. Although police had been alerted at all entry and exit points leading to Jamia Masjid, still around 25,000 people were able to make it. At stake was noting less than life.

Finally after the week long protests, the Land Transfer order was revoked which has brought a wave of happiness among the people. Late in the evening I happened to join the rally led by Yaseen saeb. The rally lighted the streets with fire lit sticks. And voices filled the emptiness of night. A walk through Lal Chowk gave the feeling of a Freedom eve, women and children singing songs of Azaadi. That green flag on clock tower, ambience smelled of freshness. And that one slogan which has a different meaning for every occupied nation.

Aye Aye, Azaadi

Quraan Wali, Azaadi,

Furqan Wali, Azaadi,

Sunnat Wali Azaadi.

And then added with,

Behan kya maange, Azaadi,

Baap Kya Mange,Azaadi,

Booda mange, Azaadi

Bacha Maange, Azaadi

Aye Aye, Azaadi.

The Mass uprising should act as an eye opener for those who talk of ‘Realism’. Kashmir only knows one Realism that’s Azaadi. When we can get 100 acres back, why not the whole of state. This took us ten days and may be a greater revolution will take us a year. I believe when ever we stand as united again; we would be just a year away from absolute freedom. Kashmiri’s have proved that they are people of conscience, Zinda Quoam.

Naraye Takbeer -Allahu Akbar.