Zameer: No Man's Land

20.

14 Feb, 1998

"Meri zuban urdu hai, or imaan Hindu
Or mera zameer?
Mera zameer kisi sarhad ka bandhi nhi hai"
                            (Aiza Ali kishor)

I shut my journal back again. I used to write in it pretty much everyday till exactly one year ago when my life completely took a turn and I stopped writing, ironically, when I had the most content to write down about. Opening this today and reading that small introduction of baaji I had written after his death I could not only gather up my mind to write this for him and proudly say that he lives in me now with all his wings out.
It had been an year since he died and of my life taking the most dreaded and unexpected turn.

My doctorate degree was due next month, thanks to the connection of my guide/professor who helped me through. I had enrolled myself last year in learning Khattati for which I had to call out an Afghanistani katib who knew my baaji and came for his sake only because Khattati is almost dead and buried in India. I was also learning Fulkari embroidary making from Maaji which she taught all her daughter-in-laws, it was one of our family's speciality in our clothe factory. It took us few months but eventually my uncles sufficed on giving Baba his part, after Maaji's pressure, to which he denied and simply asked for his position of Development Manager back. My uncles don't seem to realise their mistake but I think it will be possible someday. Everything takes time after all.

I had been contacting my Baaji's contractors for his leftover pieces and had donated some of them and kept some of them for myself for inspiration. The studio is officially mine now. Vedant, being kindest as always, hung the Hijaab girl painting in my studio stating that it was still his(as we rightfully donated him) and he wanted it to be hung here. I hung the piece of momina which had Allah written in calligraphy with Baaji's name in the corner, right beside her portrait. It was bound to be together. Momina belonged to her Allah and kishore belonged to his Momina.

I was adorning Baaji's picture only after we came back from performing Barsi(first year anniversary) ritual when Baba came rushing to me.

"Aiza...wo wala piece Jama masjid me jayega... committee man gyi. Unhone kaha aisi Aayaton ki bhot jarurat hain logon ko jo roz Jama masjid me sajda karne aate hain"

My heart swelled with delight as it was my utmost desire to put Baaji's piece in the Jama masjid. It was the one I asked him about when I was tiny like squirrel, it was the one which made me feel like he wasn't one of mine for the very first time. He never happened to tell me the meaning of it but the Afghanistani katib, my teacher who teaches me Khattati, told me that it meant:-
And how many honors of God will you defy
(Or tum apne rab ki kon kon si naimaton ko jhutlaoge)

When I got to know what it is, I felt like it is for me. I had never valued him like I did after his death and lord knows how much of a blessing he was for me and still is. I started valuing people and opportunities and everything that came in my way for it was nothing but my destiny's choice to meet me through it.

Vedant was happily teaching and happily singing part time at small singing shows. He said he had a long way to go which I believed he had. His parents, especially his father, had eventually come to start talking to him again after seeing his passion and patience together for his choice of life. He stayed hopeful that one day they will get him back home too.
For me, it was difficult to learn Khattati since I had to learn from A of urdu and no doubt writting it is one of the most difficult thing, yet my passion never leaves me unsurprised. I think I have inherited my art from both my grandparents.

Zaid remains in my memories and keep jumping from this corner to that corner of my head for that man taught me enough about living life one's own style. It was not only his funny jokes that I remembered but his intense gazes and supressed confessions too which made me even sure for my choice of love.

My courtship with Vedant was known to my family and they had no objection for it, rather they were exceedingly happy for I had chosen a Brahman boy who is so ethical and well known to them. The biggest fear of my mother, of me getting married in a Muslim family, was resolved now. We were to be engaged as well once his family would get him back in his family, although they had no clue about us which clearly indicates the upcoming issues of our life but....be it, I don't fear them anymore.

Baazi was right about Khattati, writing Allah's name had a difference because art takes all your devotion and spirituality from you in your work and surprisingly....devotion is all almighty needs. Although I'm more a practical person to believe in god more than a mere strongest believe but yeah...even trust needs devotion. I never failed to feel Baaji's presence around me, all his ghazals and words of wisdom and walks of life kept flashing around my eyes and I was not upset. Yes, memories of a death is the most haunting thing ever and I did suffer with that but contentment is the real treasure, and I had it when I fulfilled my promise to him.
I had so much wanted to visit back to Pakistan someday, to meet Momina and Baaji one day but I also think it's better kept as a memory and better let buried only.

I don't know who needs to know this but everything around us do teach us something. Every pain, every agony, every creature, every season, every meeting, every parting...it all comes with lots of consideration and thinking and once you ponder over something...you will get something out of it for sure.

Stories move forward and someday end like anything, like this one but in real life I don't think we need a Happy Ending, because it's never ending..not even with your death, and asking for HAPPY is baseless we all know that. I think all we need from a story to reality is the betterment, the realisation and the journey of something more appreciated than the last one. We keep learning for sure but some lessons remains life long, some emotions remains lifelong. Fiction can end, life doesnt.
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This book ends here. Thank you all the readers who voted and also those who didn't, doesn't matter much. All that matters is that I hope someday sometime somehow...zameer might have been relatable, reasonable or appreciable to you.

Adieu!