Breathing In...

The week had depressed me to torturing heights, from books to social burden. Circumstances had at last taught me that the truth isn't always crystal clear. People are judgmental and the most obvious explanation is never correct...apologies do not make up for a broken heart and puzzles cannot be completed until you find the last piece.

As I settled in the bus to head home, my sister called.
"Do you mind a little drive-through directly after we pick you up?" she asked keenly.
"Oh, of course not..." I assured her, leaving half my thoughts unspoken.
I don't mind this at all. I actually need this. In fact, we can go shopping. Shopping is my medication.
I shut my eyes.

Time passed like a snail. The two hours to Lahore never seemed to end. I asked the Lord how much more he was going to make me suffer before some rest. The answer came to me as distraction. Hence I looked out the window, soothing my eyes with green and gold...

...I hopped in the car as soon as it arrived in the parking. My little sister hugged me as a greeting and gave me a self-made card. I was too tired to open it, and slid it in my pocket. We reached the mall, and I dashed inside to heave a long, deep sigh of relief.
Clothes! Lots of clothes and a fresh splash of color! Flashy lights and large air-conditioners! This is divine! I hugged my luck with a word of thanks. My sister eyed me with a little pity all the time I feasted my eyes upon the designer dresses, shoes and accessories. She could see how desperate I was to be free, and now that caged monster was breaking the chains. With every dress I tried on, and every shoe I slipped my feet in, I felt better. The hurt seemed to get less. So much for an ordinary girl.

As soon as I saw the Sweet Factory, I ran to get my bags full... jelly, marshmallow, sugar belts and what not.  I grabbed a few bars of chocolates from a shelf, and was out with the heavy bill and millions of shopping bags, the mall's hideous logo gazing like a dozen eyes at the world.

I unlocked the car, stuffing everything on the back-seat. before I could settle myself in the car, the air brought about some sweet music. I turned around to see a man play the flute.

The flute...always magnetic. Magical. The music melted in my ears like butter, and my heart melted likewise. My dad was calling out to me, but I think I couldn't hear him. I walked to the music. The player was sitting in the corridor, leaning to a pillar. His eyes were shut tight, a frown crossed his face every now and then as the music rose and fell.

The flute...I sat down in front of him, leaning to the opposite pillar, listening with attention. A light breeze blew my hair away from my face. My brows descended and my eyes sought darkness to feel the music leave a pleasant impact on my mind. The agony rose to its peak, the heart sinking, the pain erupting from the crater: my eyes.

The music stopped abruptly. I looked around. The man was gone. He had left my soul dancing like a maniac, celebrating the freedom, the escape from all the sorrow I had piled up inside me.

I shuffled my hand inside my pockets, suddenly remembering my little sister's card. I opened it.

"Dear Mina,
I miss you when you go. I hug you to be happy. I wish I could hug you everyday.
Hamayal."

For once, the spelling mistakes she made were to be forgiven. I looked at the cover of the card. She had drawn two stick-figure girls holding hands, and two BIG, RED hearts.

The Randomness and the Skill

"Sajni"...The song is always new when you hear it in his voice. And yes, Awais Butt adds the magic-music all along.

A song, dedicated to PMC mates...by Kamran Hussain Hashmi

The Family Charade

Fast forward one day at my house and all you’ll hear is a high pitch chirrup. :D

It’s us, talking, arguing and wailing. From “what’s for breakfast today?” to “I don’t want wallpaper in my room!”; from “Hey! Stop singing this song!” to “Don’t hang out with EVERYONE in your class.”…and yes, I end up being grounded.

The clash of ideas is inevitable, and so are the consequences that follow (like I told you, my being grounded). :/

However, one thing bonds us all together as a family, and that is my dad’s old car. :D

Charade, sparkling like gold some twenty years ago, as my dad knelt down on his knees beside it to propose to my mom. (=

Charade, as they drove across the green fields together, looking forward to seeing life as a welcoming host.

Charade, as my elder sister and I would fight for the front seat after school, and would end up both squeezed together, one of us a serious obstacle for my dad as he tried to change gears. However, I would always wonder why the goddamn gear had to dance about for the car to move forward.

Charade, when a third baby arrived, who was another volunteer for the front seat. =/ I remember how we once annoyed mom to an extent she told us she’d have to put the front seat up for auction if its demand doesn’t fall. As children, that actually shut us up. :D

However, our golden charade was pushed to a side in our hearts when a brand new white car with flashy lights took its place in the main garage. =( It’s golden paint faded, and the windscreen was blinded by a thick layer of dust…the ignorance was heartbreaking.

Charade entered our lives again with a new boost of energy…a boost that sent the car smashing right into the fence. :D Yes, my elder sister was testing the race. My sweet father was encouraging her as she gave her first try to starting a car.

There came a phase of another boost of energy, this time smashing the car right into the gate of the garage: I was learning the gears. :D

Then came a time when mom realized that Charade needs to be thrown away…it was quite true, for now when someone would start the car, the whole car would tremble, and at a speed-breaker it would seem like the body of the car would break open in all directions. :D

My dad refused, I refused. We both care about the memories Charade has added “gold” to. They are priceless, so is my parents’ Charade, my sisters’ Charade, OUR Charade, because this is not just another car, but this is the Family Charade. =)