Mean~

                  I stared at the crazy man at the roadside. The guy was shirtless under the blazing heat of the day. He sit at the same place by the side of the road every day, observing cars and people alike. The day was perhaps the hottest day of the monsoon, and we were fasting. My throat was terribly dry, and I felt a constant pulsating pain from inside my head. But the crazy man, he just sat there like the world was his. Like a  traffic officer ,I guess, buy the way his eyes judge the way I drive the car.

         I thought about how blissful it is to be a crazy man. He does not have a need to worry about anything. Let the price of gas rise again or the government loses the general election, he just doesn't have to care.  The whim and fancies of this world is nothing to him. He fears nothing-because he is crazy. Not even angry wives , bad exam results or an empty bank account. His life is just the road and its cars. Sometimes he gets up and yells and the drivers who irks his feelings, for he feels offended at the sight of a yellow coloured vehicle, and rich old men in Mercedes.  Other than that, he is free of all of the obligations of this world.

               I do not know how that guy became crazy. Perhaps his lover was killed in an accident involving a yellow Mercedes, driven by rich old men? I don't know. He got a pretty decent face under the tangle of beard and hair, and a terribly deep tan.  

             One of the best things of being a mad man is you do not have to care what other people say about you. Say anything to him, even the meanest thing, and he would just smile and wave at you like an innocent little child. Call him fat, stupid, and all sorts of the meanest curse words and phrases you can coin. He won't care. He doesn't  have to. He's crazy, remember. The only thing that would irritate this guy is to call him crazy. He insists that he is a traffic officer on duty, not a mad man.

          I am not crazy. I am sane. I am offended by mean words. Why do people have to be so mean? Words are the best psychological weapon you can ever find. You can wage war upon some people, kill their family and put a gun on their head, they won't budge. But if you use the right words, people can change. Even the most badass of criminals can surrender to the cops , when consulted with soft encouraging words.

           Words that you say, my friend, helps to create an atmosphere around us. What kind of atmosphere, you decide. Let's hang out, and try saying some positive words and nice jokes for laughing out loud, that day would be among the best in my life. Let's start with some mean curse words , and slanders, talks behind others, and I do have an urge to punch you in the face.

"No good is there in much of their private conversation, except for those who enjoin charity or that which is right or conciliation between people. And whoever does that seeking means to the approval of Allah - then We are going to give him a great reward." (Annisa' ; 114)

        I am not insane, but some of the words people say can really make you crazy.

        Things that you say are indirect prayers , my friend. You nickname your friend Chicken, and he would really be a chicken some day, sort of. Call me a successful banker, and I will be, with God's will.

           Some things are better left unsaid. Seriously. No matter how mad you are with someone, there is always a better alternative than to curse him with the meanest words you can summon. Punch him in the face or kick his butt , perhaps. I can take that, rather than the words nobody wants to hear.

"Allah does not like the public mention of evil except by one who has been wronged. And ever is Allah Hearing and Knowing." (Annisa': 148)

            Even a falcon punch only hurts the physical being , but mean words stabs the heart, and the wound take years to heal. Never resort to such downgrading words, my friend. This is Ramadan, the time you take to restrain ourselves from saying mean words.

               Our throats are too dry to utter such horrible words. This is Ramadan, for goodness sake, our practicing ground. Your curses make people despise you and your soul, because we are not crazy, and we are offended by mean words.

                If you are an adult, that adds to the severity of the situation. Children listen to you and pick up the word you say. They repeat them, mostly without knowing the meaning. If your choice of curse words is your favourite thing to say, then those toddlers who are with you inevitably become accustomed to use them. Imagine a chubby little kid cursing his mother with your favourite word. You can officially murder yourself for corrupting children. It takes various measures and a freaking long time to make them stop cursing their own parents, if you don't know~

              I try to imagine a world where we can put our tongues to good use, where everybody sounds so nice. A world like the mad man has. Ya Rabbi, what a life~

Believe me~

             Trust is something that is very difficult. Complicated, not to mention dangerous. We all do work to gain trust. Workers tire themselves to show the boss how hardworking they are, that they are not worthy of being sacked in this economic turmoil. Young men like me make various efforts to gain their parents' trust that they are matured enough to get married at this age. They try to act cool during their interactions with the elders, despite the permanent childish nature that resides in the deepest chamber of their hearts. I am but an exception to that. I just don't care.

        You see my friend , trust is what everyone seeks. Politicians seek for the people's trust through manifestos or bribes in the form of instant cash, or perhaps political ads in the news channel that can make you feel sick and produces the urge to vomit continuously. The problem with trust-gaining-efforts are that they are terribly fake. Hardcore politicians can look like the supreme angels before the elections, but once they win your trust , it is highly probable that they will steal millions from your money and cheat you people with every other way they can.  We only work hard to gain trust, but we tend to abuse it, once achieved.

              Forget these words and blunders, you don't trust a thing that I say. I don't trust you either.

         The word trust itself, when repeated for the hundredth time, sounds seriously untrustworthy.

          Trust between friends, is a dangerous thing. You cannot really trust a friend, but at the same you  cannot not trust him. You have to trust him, because he is your friend, but you can't really trust them because he does not have a real obligation upon your soul. Sorry.

         Say that you would like to advise a friend upon a very sensitive issue. You fear losing his trust should he resent your behaviour, but at the same time, as a trustworthy friend, you have to do the right thing! God, what a thing to do~

            Trusting someone is difficult my friend, but once you have my trust, I would give my life for you . Trust me.

         We have some serious trusting problem. For example we tend to trust every story that the media produces. We think that these men cannot be lying; how could they? Telling lies is a very wrong thing to do; the reporters in this newspaper cannot be lying, they are  probably misinformed or something. Lies, my friend, open your eyes, they are plain lies.

                  News like " old lady found dead in the park" does not sell to the audience.

             Add something like " poor old lady raped and robbed, arms cut off , found dead and disfigured in the park"

          Blimey. That sells.

          I found a man once lying half dead in a deserted road. I found him FIRST. There was no one else but me. Nothing else, but the man and his bike. I called the ambulance and the police, just to discover that he died minutes later. News in the next morning says something like this, " Man found dead after a hit-and-run accident, done by loan sharks" . Wut?

                    There  were nothing there to suggest a presence of another vehicle. It was clear that he fell off his bike, and that's that.The newspaper put shame to the deceased by saying he was indebted with loan sharks, and add that to the pain of his family.

          Soon people were talking, and  rumours spread in our closely-knit community. What a shame.

     Trust me my friend, you don't have to trust everything they say.

      

Wide Awake~

                 I'm wide awake. My eyes can see the silhouette of nothingness all around me. I feel cold. The cement floor is too cold in the midst of a monsoon night. The chill creep into the depth of my bones, removing all the warmth that is left inside me. I try to keep the living memory of my children playing together, giggling merrily around the house . Sara's hair was long and wavy, always messy and tangled. Abrar and his chubby hands, always crying and yelling , for his sister is a true troll. But I can't really remember their faces. Their lovely faces, God, help me. How did her nose look like? What is the colour of his eyes? Is it brown?

                

                    I cannot sleep. My mates have fallen into deep slumber, unaware of the coldness and the air of despair around me. After four years, the most uncomfortable place for most people is already a luxury for them. But I cannot feel comfort. I still have a hope burning inside me. And hope is a good thing.

              I wonder how's my mother coping right now. I was always her favourite son, the jewel of her eyes. Of course I am, I am the only son out of eight siblings; who am I kidding? She was so proud when I excelled in my studies as a child, and I was more than happy to see her smile. I was the cream of the cream-as they called it, the crown jewel of the school, the district and the state. I was highly ambitious, too high , perhaps. I said that I want to be the prime minister when I was 13. I had a scheme and a perfected plan towards that, as if life will go on with my desire and my wants alone.

                  I always placed myself as the best among others, or so I think. Naive, I was, for thinking that success in these days are credited by my achievements and results alone. Get a doctorate and some wealth, you will be good to go. I shut myself from the lies of the world and became a hermit in my studies, ignorant and invincible. I forgot that this world is not perfect.

              I was deep in my assimilation with political studies, when I saw how corrupt people are. Billions of money were siphoned out of this country, robbed in a legalized way. Tenders were given to cronies without a chance for other qualified firms. Government grants and shares were given to an elite few, sons of ministers and royalties, while the people suffer with the rising prices of goods . The rulers are no good muslims. They are drunkards  and pimps, not to mention supporters of pure hedonism.

          There was I, at the brink of success, leader of various student groups and community unions, the hope of youth. I  stopped my vision of utopia and began to assess reality. All of these are so wrong. All of it need fixing and cure.

               I made the biggest u-turn in my life. From a positive utopian, I became a pessimist who criticize everything that was proven wrong. I began to write in various forms of publications and media about this massive lie made  by the government and the elites. I was like a detective , able to solve cases faster than Sherlock Holmes himself. I work with a team of free journalists and social activists, who like me, found a need to act as a public reminder. I put it as a part of my political studies to investigate such massive corruption in the country.  Soon, there were raids and imprisonment of several corrupt elites and politicians, whom I know will despise me and my friends for the rests of our lives.

          I know that the day will come when those elites would try to stop us for good. But I fear none but God himself, for I was searching for nothing but the truth itself. It was fun to condemn corrupt people, like we are the king of the world.

             I was having a nice and warm cup of lemon tea with my mother-in-law when the cops came to my house. She was cuddling young Abrar in her lap, and my lovely wife was baking a butter cake in the kitchen. Even the officers stood at the door for a good minute to take in the  fresh aroma of the cake. I was petrified , and the house became silently still. I was a good economist at a decent firm then , although my underground journalism was running wild and aggressive. The officers rejected my offer of hot lemon tea and searched my house all over. They took my files and  laptops,  stacks of documents and all the books I have. Sara woke up in tears to find her mother unable to speak a word. My mother-in-law was puzzled and somewhat terrified, the old lady was not used to such ferocity shown by the men in blue. After a good thirty minutes of searching and rummaging my stuffs, they handcuffed me and took me away in a police truck, in the name of national security.

" I will be back, mom, don't worry. This is just a slight misunderstanding. Abrar , please don't cry. Daddy will be home soon, I promise. Dear, I promise.."

My lovely wife was already in tears, her face showed complete despair and panic.

                Weeks later I was told by my lawyer, a friend of my own, that the detectives found a blueprint of a bomb capable to destroy a whole building in my digital files. They said that  there was a highly structured plan of a coup that involves some of my fellow economists and a number of high ranked opposition leaders. The "files" , as they said , were programmed to self-destruct moments after the officers found it in my laptop, and so they have no evidence against me.

            It was a complete lie. There was no such thing. I am a decent man, with a happy family and a good salary for a living. I do  not seek violence or such ridiculous ways of a coup d'état. I believe in democracy and fair election, and the only thing I go against was the obvious corruptions.

              They had no proof-but yet they have suspicions upon me. I am officially a dangerous threat to the national security. I was sentenced under the Internal Security Act to an indefinite arrest. My fellow friends in our non-existent coup team joined me in imprisonment soon after that, and I know this was the end.

             I have the rights to a fair trial, as I am a good citizen with a clean record. My children need a father to be with them, to care for the family. My mother is still having a trauma to have known that her beloved son is a "criminal" . To them senior folks, it doesn't matter if I'm guilty or not. The fact that I am a prisoner is enough to make me the biggest shame of their lives. My wife married an irresponsible man who tried to bomb people, they said. My children's father is a criminal , they said.

                     Who can bear the emotional pressure that my children have to suffer? Who can tell mother that I did nothing wrong, that her son is innocent? Who can help to lessen the trauma my young wife had to endure?

           Even if I killed  ten guys in public, I deserve a trial. I still deserve a court hearing , even if I cut off people's hands  and hang them in the public market. I did nothing wrong, and there wasn't even any proof to support the accusations. I freaking deserve a trial as a human being.

                  I hope that you remember that the day will come when justice prevails. The day will come when you will regret the fact that you robbed me from my family and put me in prison. Whether it is in this world, or in the Hereafter, you will be punished for good. And I will never forget. Never.

                      I still cannot sleep. The iron bars and the cold concrete walls clamped off my hopes and my spirits . It is no good to despair , my friend, for hope is a good thing. I ponder in the darkness, in search for calamity. Light will prevail, my friend, and the night is almost over. Dawn is coming.