The day is approaching. A day that was marked by blood of our innocent children. Time heals, but in some cases healing is not what is acceptable to our conscience. The day we failed our children, was a day that was filled with grief and disbelief alike. A day, that was followed by innumerable days of regret, remorse and most of all guilt. Irrespective of how, why and why not, I cannot ignore the cherubic faces with, but one question in their eyes, “Where were you?” I hold my head low. I do not have neither guts nor the gall to look into the eyes, seeing straight through me. It does not matter much, today, how many surgical strikes in the name of Zarb e Azb have uprooted the enemies precisely. How much damage have the good or the bad Taliban caused to us, becomes a concern of secondary importance, when I confront my conscience, revolting against all the pleas my mind holds in my defence, when it comes to my children who were at APS Peshawar, on December 16th, 2014.
I thought commemorating the days marked by loss of something or someone was a ‘bidah’, as proclaimed by so many of our scholarly elite. I do not think so anymore. I do not really care if I am pronounced an apostate or a renegade. I cannot stand the pain the demons of scruples cause, gnawing at my very core of logic and rationale. What made me fail my children? I believed, my children were the reason, I lived. Yet, I never stood up to all the maniacal hegemony of fanaticism digging deep into this land. It never occurred to me, that the sectarian intolerance, and irreligiously-religious extremism was going to stab me in my heart one day. I still, am such a weakling that my congenitally deformed emaan, starts to stutter when it comes to Lal Masjid and it’s inhabitants. It is not the As-Hab e Sufa, occupying the quarters at the Lal Masjid! The fear of violating the sanctity of a Masjid, rules higher than the reason to demolish a subterfuge, giving cover to a malignancy penetrating deep into the society, and claiming our sanity as well as humanity. Then, what difference did that make to this nation, if more than a hundred and forty children were blood bathed at one spot during the span of less than one fitful day?
The hurt, that is still alive in our hearts, and with regret I say, in the hearts of us few, will never die, as long as our inner eye can see the upheaval our naked eyes fail to observe. The moralsturm and drang, we harbour in our society, in the name of Islam, Mussalman, Namaz, Roza, and the Quran, is an insider’s guide to the enemy outside. I lament and regret, and yet I believe, I should lead a life without any remorse. I cannot hold my head high, as long as I cannot convince my children of my sincerity to them. Alas! A day, had to arrive, to question our allegiance to our own off spring. This is how low we had succumbed to, to our lowly desires of lust and rust. We have chosen the path of apathy over moral and religious apothecary.
I believed, we were all shaken and waken up to reality after the last year’s jolt. It appears now, my belief was as erratic as my emaan. We are still the same. We are still completely apathetic to the eschaton that ‘once upon a time’ descended upon the few of us. By the by, those few are paid from the hard earned ‘tax’ money of the poor civilians, for laying their lives down. What if it was not them, but their kids that one time? They are all together in that, so they should be prepared to face these things. Let us meanwhile hold a candle vigil for the Paris victims.
There is no treatment for any disorder adopted and displayed by choice, for secondary gains. These patients cannot be talked out of their illusions and delusions. In our society of multiple ‘classes’, we cannot hope for peace and harmony, as long as we remain detached from all else, other than the self.
It does not matter, how ashamed I am, if my actions have not gone in the direction of a safer land, a safer Pakistan and a better tomorrow. Whatever I say does not matter, if I am still failing to prove that humanity means something to me, after all. And humanity fleas from where deceased hearts vibrate to the sound of the egotistical beat, instead of alive and awake hearts beating to the rhythm of life and love.