Hi everyone.
I hope everyone is doing fine and is reading well, this is the first story from a collection idea I had in my head for a while. I am personally very happy with the concept and after I finish the set here, I might have them published through Daastan.
Wish me luck.
Hamza was ready for college, and he had everything that he needed to be ready.He awake before everyone, had all his equipment packed tight in the back of the car, sitting and waiting in the front seat of the car with his head lightly leaned back ,his eyes closed.
Slow as the morning he was in, he always took the time to feel the stillness around, and realize that in order to get things going he had to do something.
Slowly opening his eyes, he held up his wrist to his face and sighed gently, he had to move quick. Without moving much, he placed his palm on the horn, and left it there. The sound caught the attention of the two German shepherds in the front yard tied to a tree. It also caught the attention of everyone inside the house, since the noise of the horn brought the feeling of a quickness in his atmosphere. He sensed the change, and without uttering a sound did a countdown.
” One…Two…Three” he counted with a small smile.
“Don’t leave me behind! ” a girl ran clumsily out of the large doors of the house, carrying too many shopping bags and with her short hair dripping wet.
” Hurry” Hamza took pressure of the horn as she with a sudden step sat in the back of the car ” Or I might just leave you for good”.
She sighed catching her breath ” You always say that, but you never do”
” What a tragedy” he drove back into the road with focused eyes ” What a shame”.
She almost laughed, but said instead looking outside the window, squeezing her hair ” There is no shame. There is no decency”.
Hamza, her brother, stopped at the red light while no other cars were at the crossing,
” There is no problem”.
Hamza, rubbed a blue tissue over forehead, and felt the hot wetness of his sweat hit his fingers. Summer was having her moment, and it would be worse in class, with 30 other boys, stuffed in a room, calculating.
But he wasn’t in the class room yet, he was in the college ground, waiting for the others to show up. They had to train early, before anyone else, like all sports kids would. The boy was no stranger to being awake, and he was no stranger to being alone, and being still in that moment, taking in the momentum. The wind picked up as stood there at the center, and it blew the blue tissue right out of hand and onto the pale green grass.
He followed its movement until it hit a pair of white shoes. Looking up from there, he smiled ” Aren’t we early?”
” No” his friend and class-fellow walked towards him ” I’d say we missed the whole thing. Maybe we should go to class instead”.
” Really Haider? “
“No” Hiader insisted like a taunt almost ” Throw education”.
” Still mad about losing yesterday?” Hamza tried not to match his tone. Which only made Haider laugh out more.
” A win is a win – even if it’s a loss”
” That’s right” Hamza replied with no truth, only formality.
The boy lowered his head into the sink, he pulled the tap and let the cool water hit the back of his head. His classes had just ended, and he played well, and was time to go home where he could have a proper bath.
The water felt nice against his face, as it dripped down from his hair and into the sink. Oddly enough the heat got to him today, he never had to worry about anything before.Today his breath came uneasy and his legs felt heavy, something he felt for a while, but ignored.
He was his best, when he was on the field, and was his worst, when doing nothing. Football was what he almost what he lived for, it was a part of life for the past twelve years, and as far-fetched as it felt to him, he wanted the game to be his goal in life. He wanted the world’s stage, all those eyes to be on him, but only during his glory, only during those long moments when he cared for nothing and moved like a snake.
He was driven, and ambitious to have it all, and everyone knew it only when he let the desire come through. The talent that he built with hours and hours under the golden sun , perfecting his vision. Balancing his movements and controlling his speed and senses in a way, the normal boys, even the ones who played well could not do. A force of nature almost which the very few can embody, and he embodied it well, and everyone saw it at once when it was there. It was there today, as he kicked the ball through all the other boys, as their faces faded from his vision, and the sounds around him went deaf to the blood in him, and he running hard, felt as if time did not .
Then why, with all these advantages, today, had the sun almost sting his eyes? Was he…
” Still not home?” Bilal opened the door of the washroom, with a football under his arm.
” Does it look like I am?” Hamza turned the tap, and looked up at his wet face in the mirror . He felt better with the water falling down his spine and chest.
Bilal shook his head ” You’re the first to come and the last to leave”
” Is that a bad thing? “
“Hmm” Bilal walked away, and his friend followed ” What do you have planned outside of football for your future? “
“There’s always the family business” Hamza answered ” The milk business”
” Yeah. That’s good money. It’s nice to know that some of us are secure for the future”
The boys stopped and nodded good-bye to each other, and Hamza drove the hour-long journey back home.
Milk. Milk is where the family fortune came from and lived on, on the backs and bellies or thousands of desi and a couple of foreign cows. And it wasn’t just milk that they had to sell to the country, but everything that came with milk, like cream, paneer, ghee and butter. The only thing left was ice cream, and that would soon join the production list, which made his sister excited for free ice cream, even if it wasn’t from her favorite kind- she’d still eat it.
Such a grand substance to harvest it was – Milk, the noor of God. The first thing we have after honey in this world. The very fuel to our blood, and one of the many rivers of heaven.
Hamza spent many hours at the factories, and quickly got to know how to run a company. He could do it right now if he wanted to, join his father and take it for himself. Sports does that to people, they feel like they can go after anything, because they know how to invest time and energy towards that goal.
But in all sincerity, all he wanted was to be play football, and win.
“Beta” his father up from the couch and hugged him, ” I’ve been waiting for you all day. Why did you take this much time?”
” I have a late class on Thursday. You know that” He moved back and called out to the maid to get him some water.
It was easy for him to talk to his rather old father, who was short and had bright red cheeks. Hamza thought that made him the ideal person to own a dairy products franchise, but he also thought of his father unfit for the business world.
“You’ve been exercising , have some milk instead. It’s best for you” his cheerful and pink-cheeked father insisted and then yelled out to the maid.
And so she brought both in a tray ” You do not have to yell for me If I am in the other room” She said annoyed.
“Where’s Maa?” Hamza asked taking the tray , drinking the water in one gulp.
“In the other room. And you should sit down when you drink water”
Hamza shook his head, and walked up into his room, ” No use repenting over swallowed water” he grinned, ” Let her know I’m home”.
He woke at midnight, when the whole city was sleeping, and the house along with it. He saw the cream glass of milk sitting untouched on his right, on the tip of the side table as if it was about to fall.
He couldn’t drink it anymore. Getting up from his bed still in his uniforms and shoes, he picked the glass up and walked towards the bathroom. He flicked the white light on in his largely blue bathroom and tipped the milk over and watched it flow down into the sink.
As soon as the glass was empty, he opened the tap and washed the traces of the milk away, even if the smell stayed there.
” No use crying over flushed milk either” Hamza said to himself as he turned the lights out.
Most of our time is spent talking about politics, work, money and finally dreams. Hamza could not think about any other thing in the world that was worth mentioning at social gatherings and he felt best at ease on the field with his friends.
They discussed the political state of Pakistan and about how much better it would be if the common man knew how to stand up for himself. They talked about education and corruption in all areas of the world, and not to mention the oppression that plagued certain parts of the world. If nothing else we were not one of them. At some point they thought about creating a secret society that worked to protect the working class from imperialism.
All of this was discussed in between practice and games, with Hamza listening as he flexed and worked his body down to the bone, up to the muscle and till his blood was ready to boil. Leaving him out of breath and sleepy, so as Haider and Bilal worried about the elections, Hamza was out cold on the park, under the summer sun.
But with all the love he had for his friends, family and country, he couldn’t help but feel he didn’t know what he felt about anything beyond them.
Which is common of a boy , that does not see past what they want to see.Leaving so much out there a mystery.
Hamza came down from his room after a long bath, rubbing a towel on his head . His sister and mother were just leaving to go shopping for the new born in the family.
” Hamza” his mother placed a hand on his forehead ” Stay home, and try not to play today. You’ve been over working. Watch some TV instead.”
” No one won anything by watching television Mama ” He sat down on the couch and held the remote.
” That’s a good son”
” Bye Bhai” his sister yelled.
” Bye Amna” He yelled back.
He switched the news on, even If he liked them the least . You rarely heard any good news anymore,and you’d end feeling sick to your stomach. Mostly poor people with nothing to save them, that, or some disaster that came out of no where. The media had to make it worse by adding dramatic music, as if it was some movie.
The news is not a movie.
” Ayesha Mumtaz” he heard the host say. She was the new hero of our time, a woman who did her job.
She went around exposing all the diseased fake food people were eating in five-star restaurants. She shut everything down, even if the public would still spend a fortune for their early death.
He liked her,but then he suddenly took more attention to the screen. But it was bittersweet, he was glad someone cared about food , but sick that the situation was this bad to begin with.
They were investigating the production of fake milk.
Fake milk made from enzymes, glucose and surf , mixed and bleached to look the real thing. All being made in a dirty abandoned factory where no one would want their food to come from.
Hamza felt his stomach go stiff, and his head struck with a hollow pain. He stood straight up baffled and outraged, knowing that hundreds of people were probably poisoned with this. Then it made him wonder why would someone do such a thing, did it never come across their minds that they could kill people.
How were these people smart enough to use detergent to make milk, but not enough to see that it was poison. And what about shame?
The city was sick on dead donkeys and surf. With chemical extract coke and rotten vegetables and silicone filled chickens.
“What a waste of intelligence! ” he held his face ” Why is this happening? “
When his family came back, Hamza went straight to his father and told him what he saw on the news. No matter how much his father assured him nothing like that happened in their own factories, the boy wanted some kind of record confirmation.
He wanted to go there and see for himself. He had to be there, to be sure, and only then would his mind be clean of what he say, but no one could take him seriously .
“What makes you think all this packaged foreign food is poisoned to? ” Amna stated with an innocent face. She just didn’t see what the big deal was with her brother this time.
“How can you be so clam about this? This could seriously damage the health of millions” Hamza shot back.
“It’s not new Hamza”
This was such a sudden change.
He did not sleep that night and whenever he closed his eyes he saw visions of sickness and of blood in his milk. His dream was full of red apples and as he touched them, they would crumble into sand.
He grew pale and weak that night.
The sun burned hard the next day , and Hamza was sweating in the field with the others.
The sky was a bright canvas of white and heat was bad enough that you they saw vapor all around them, but strangely Hamza felt as if none of that mattered.The boy needed a distraction and he needed to train.
Bilal and Haider were right there,playing against him, all of them glistening in the sweat, dust and heat of the bull of summer. They fought each other for what seemed to be a battered up ball, something almost broken by fearless feet and unforgiving legs against the dirt and sand of the field.
Hamza had been playing like he always did, he was unaware of the strain on his body, and what suffering he brought onto himself, he ignored. He was ignoring now as he ran towards the goal keeper, flying through the flames, until suddenly time hit him again.
Inches away from winning he hit the ground and fell face front into the snow and down the hole.
“Hamza!” both of his friends yelled.
“Hamza?” a new voice called out, ” Are you awake yet”
He opened his eyes slowly to see a man with glasses in a white jacket, looking down at him.
” What happened?”
“You fainted” the doctor sat down ” Right out of no where”
“Am I sick ?”
“You have a calcium deficiency” the doctor looked through some papers and wrote something down in terrible writing.
“What?” Hamza snapped up, “That cant happen.I own milk factories, I am not the kind of people who should have deficiencies. I have everything”
The doctor said nothing
“It’s impossible” Hamza laid back and covered his eyes with his arm ” It’s not fair”
” You can have all the milk in the world, but it won’t help unless you actually drink it”
“It’s impossible” Hamza thought to himself ” What a waste of resources”.
Hey everyone. I hope everything has been fine and blessed on your end, and today I’m going to talk about something very special and close to my heart.This year I got the chance to publish and launch my poetry book ‘Ramiz’. I had been working on it for about three or four years as a concept for a proper book, there had been multiple delays and distractions in between that got in the way. But that’s fine, because it wasn’t until this passing December that I finally felt that Ramiz was complete and ready for the world.So I’m going to talk about what Ramiz is about . Ramiz was a cousin of mine who we lost a couple of years ago, he died in between my uncle and my mama. During that time I wasn’t really writing anything, I was out of pretty much everything. I had given up on a lot of things. It was during that time that I wrote one poem about Ramiz, with his name as the title, on a rough page with black ink. And by some miracle I never lost that singular,flimsy page. Years after that I thought about writing more poems along the same theme,sound and feel. Initially it was about thirty pages, which I thought this was enough. By this time I was in my university, the first semester, I was working for my publisher and I figured that everything would happen really fast. But I kept on delaying things myself.So fast forward three years, Ramiz was completed with about fifty poems, one short story and one personal essay, and at the brink of the final semester. I wouldn’t really call the end perfect. I wasn’t able to fulfill the complete the mental image that I wanted, and everyone I wanted to be there wasn’t able to make it. But I’ve learned to not be so obsessed with images and dreams and take things as they are, and walk out of my mind. I was also able to have my first photography exhibition on the same day. My father was there, and I spoke rather well on stage, so I guess everything turned out fine.
So what is Ramiz about?Ramiz, I guess the book about dealing with someone not being there. Someone slipping away, and you having to live them no being there. It’s about feelings of loss,change,regret and pain, all packaged in symbols and beauty, without taking any names.It’s also about nostalgia, or the relationship we have with time, and how unreal it can feel at times, as nothing makes sense and we don’t know how to react to anything.It’s about love.And as a whole the book is about growing up, having personal closure and letting everything go.And I feel like it’s development mirrors my own growth and journey as a a mature person. The world just feels more open and welcoming now. It practically made me see the value in art and literature.Apart from that I want to say the writing is fairly simple, and easy to read. The color blue is very important to the context, images and theme of the book, I sort of inserted it into everything. And lyrically and sonic-ally the sounds follow a lot of nursery rhymes and slowly grow into more complex and dense sounds.And I’m going to keep on writing the future also, and have some fun ideas to work on. But I don’t think I will be able to give it the same dedication, tears and love as I have given Ramiz. Something so natural to my destiny.
Maheen's Muse 