Innate Inert Turmoils: IIT

Very often we forget the essence of our existence and the society makes us believe in nobody’s dreams. Very often we don’t know the reason of the race we are in and are sold ideas that lead to happiness, as if it is a thing that can be achieved. Very often our own pride is cause of our downfall especially when we are being constantly fed with a stream proclaiming our excellence.

Down the aisle near the Jatrophas
Lies the valley of chosen
Where the dream lives
Of a future all so bright.
So sacred is its might
Flames the nation’s pride
Or so it seems from outside!

I wander like a novice knight
Dismayed, Disarrayed, Disillusioned
Dissolved in the divinity of depressed
Fretting about a future, that only past decides
Profane in my existence, burdened
By my own hubris I have become
A big black stone from inside!

The wide smile bursting into euphoria
Little rag picker found wealth in bin
Knights had left him a parting gift
He would live a day more, I was sure
Dream cannot be contained in valley after all
For future is tomorrow and the day after.

Illiterate, who dreams of today?
The walls of preached presumed
Sanity is in bank accounts after all.
In the marathon, blindness consumed the compass
The race is on, the dream is strong.

The pitstop wasn’t be very long
Directionless, I would still catch on.

تے فور ٹرانسفورم

This post should have been in Urdu or hindi, but for that I will need to learn one new script or learn typing of other. Or I can pass the burden onto you “read Urdu in Roman”.

Rehmatabad tehsil se bas 40 kilometer ki doori par waky tha. Vaise to abhi tak yahaan koi sadaak nahi thi aur qareebi bus adda dariya ke us par 1 km ki doori par tha. Pichle chand saloon se yeh baat to sunne ko mil hi jaati thi ki agle chand saloon mein yahaan bhi sadaak pahunch jaaye gi aur daily service bhi chalu ho jaye gi. Isi taak mein Rehmatabad ke Pahari aur Gujjar logoon ni qaayi nayi umeeden saja rakhi thi. Yeh dariya ke junuub par basa tha aur isi liya saal bhar suraj daer tak is par chamkta rahta tha. Yahaan ki zameen bhi bahut zerkhek thi aur saal mein khoob makki, gehon aur chawal ki paydawar hoti thi.
Lal Din Gujjar aur Rizwan Khan ke ghar bhi isi gaon mein the. In ke ghar kareeban 200 meter ki fasla par waqye the. Ghaaron ke beech ka rasta bilkul seedha tha maan kisi ne foote se ek sidhi lakeer keech do ho. Raste ki ek taraf Rizwan ke khet the, doosri aur Lal Din ki dogiyan thi.
Garmi ki ek subh, Chowkidar ka beta shehar se khabar lekar aa aya ki hakumat ne unke transformer ki maag manzoor kar di hai. Kareeban pichle do saal se logon ki yeh qwahish thi ki unke goan mein bhi ek transform ho aur un ke gharon mein bhi tez bijli chamke. Vaise bhi bagal ke gaon wale addat-tan inki taar gira deta the aur inke yahaan andhera kar dete the. Issi ki wajah se baachon ko chimney ki jhumti roshni mein kitabaen kholni padthi thi varna masterji ki moti chadi ke nishaan waftan hat-te nahi the.
Engineer Aftab Ahmed bijli ki rakhwali karta tha aur mahine mein ek baar daura lagane aa jata tha. Uske saath ek lineman bhi aata tha jo “ji jnaab” kehte na thakta tha. Yeh baat mashoor thi ki Aftab Ahmed ek neak aur din daar admi hai aur riyasat ke kisi bade college se diploma kar ke aaya hai. Sirf “Aftab Ahmed” kehne par woh yuk dum raang badal deta aur kayi baar to chilla padhta “Engineer Aftab Ahmed! ENGINEER.”

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