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The after Eid Thoughts of a youth

The after Eid Thoughts of a youth
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Mubashir Mehraj


“It needs brave heart to be happy in this country. It needs the heart of Waheed Parra. It needs the conscience of Junaid Mattu. It needs the mind of Sabeena. It needs the intellect of Junaid Qureshi. It needs the guts of Gogoi. It needs the integrity of Mehbooba. I am poor subaltern. I can’t afford all these. Let me die unhappy”, writes Mubashir Mehraj.

The Muslim world was overwhelmed with contentment. The crescent had appeared. Happiness made the way to celebrations. The Ramadan had just ended and the Shawwal was to be greeted with merriments. There was nothing to feel melancholy. It was about being joyous. It was about relishing. It was time to be with friends, relatives and the family. Enjoy and celebrate.

I tried to be philosophical. I had been succumbing to succession of moods for long now. It was not about the behavioural complications. It was more than this. It was problem with the mind and thought. It was Problem with ideas and everything that a conflict zone can bequeath one with.

The Muslim Brotherhood leader, Imam Hasn Ul Banna’s quote “The genuine Eid of muslim Ummah would be when your lands are free and the constitution of world is Quran”, resonated into my mind all the day. The revels were to be only the day we were unrestricted. The glee was there to be when there was Islam all-over. But this sounded specious to me. I was not convinced. There could have been celebrations as well, while being wrapped into the skin of ignorance. It was possible to peel it off for a day. Yes it was indeed. But my melancholy was not about it. I had the firm belief in the apostles saying that there shall not be the day of reappearance unless every house- kacha and pakka had not been enlightened with the religion of lord of this cosmos. What was there to feel bothered about? Yes, there was something. Something actual, that made me feels insomnia, angry, annoyed, apathetic, cranky, depressed and frustrated. What was that? Let’s leave that for some other day.

Society moulds man and so had been me. “Me” included my mood. So this society prepared my mood as well. My society had been witness to devastation and death. There has been gloom all around. Nobody is happy. The occupation makes us all to feel blue. Carrying a coffin can’t deliver happiness. Being blind at the ripe age is no reason to be happy. Being on the bed side of an injured son can’t make us celebrate. The Badrah Payeen guy who saw her sister being molested in front of him by a beast can’t be happy. The Desdemona’s of kunan and poshpora can’t be happy. Happiness needs a reason. What reason can the surviving son of Mubeena Gani have to make merry. There is nothing left to celebrate.

Contentment needs a state of mind which is peaceable. Do I have that? My adversary is in full swing to make a confrontation with me. He is concocting the minds and hearts to fight me. He is using the preeminent brains to challenge me. He is dividing my society on sectional lines to confuse me. He is procuring my own folks to catch me. Am I stable to be at amity? I am free to make an arrangement for gladness.

This society which moulds me and my mood is manufacturing widow’s day in and out. Those standing at their doors, waiting upon their loved ones in the midst of cold nights. The air of this society smells the poor teen out to make her a victim of occupier’s sexual assault in a hotel. Do I have a reason to be happy? In my society conflict is chasing and preying the chastity of my daughter. Should this daughter be care free or should she be disconsolate. I shall be failing to persuade you. My society has those man-eaters who in the broad day light wait upon me to drive me out of my belief and poise, and you want me to live like the Badshah and not Lalitaditya.

It needs brave heart to be happy in this country. It needs the heart of Waheed Parra. It needs the conscience of Junaid Mattu. It needs the mind of Sabeena. It needs the intellect of Junaid Qureshi. It needs the guts of Gogoi.it needs the integrity of Mehbooba. I am poor subaltern. I can’t afford all these. Let me die unhappy.

Yeh jo itna khaloos layay ho ab mai iska achar daalu kya
theek hai eid hai magar bhai, udaaasi ko maar dalu kya

The author can be reached at mubashirparay789@gmail.com.

Disclaimer: Views expressed are exclusively personal and do not necessarily reflect the position or editorial policy of Oracle Opinions.

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