Zeneefa Zaneer's Blog, page 2

Are we free from slavery?

For more than three hundred years people of Sri Lanka fought against its invaders. They together struggled to free the whole nation from slavery. During that time we were stolen, our treasures were snatched away. It wasn’t just the treasures of the island but also the sweat of our ancestors.

Sixty eight years ago Sri Lankans gained its freedom by paying with lives. Still, until the moment we got independence we held hands together fighting against brutality of foreign invaders. But the sooner we got rid of them we began to see the differences of our own brothers. Racism sprouted in hearts, eventually creating the ugliest monster ever- terrorism. War against terrorism paralyzed us, once again we became slaves of fear. We were marked as a dangerous zone in world map though it is the paradise on earth. While drowning in poverty we had to fight with one of the cruelest terrorist groups in the world. After thirty years of struggle bravery won over terrorism.

We cheered, celebrated not just for ourselves but for our future generation.

In my entire life I was living in a war zone, though not so sever like those people who actually lived in North where war really took place. We’ve just begun to breathe the freedom we’ve gained twice.

But are we truly free from slavery? Have we truly gained independence?

Today there’re two national flags being hoisted, there’s a never ending debate on national song- whether to let it be sung in Tamil or not, there’s the thought that brewing whose blood is mightier than the other, and who has more rights over the other.

The true freedom will be gained only if we could identify ourselves. True freedom will be gained only if we could accept the differences of fellow beings, only when we could coexist with each other understanding that human differ from one another, when we realise that we are not cloned beings. True freedom is when we can fight with our own fears, until we fear of one particular group or groups in the community we can’t truly gain freedom.

Until the lion is proven vegetarian the innocent would-be prey never will roam without fear.

Wishing a peaceful Independence Day to all my peaceful Sri Lankan friends!

Whispering Meadows- Chapter 07

“Isoke?”

I asked following her. She moved around like a mother duck. Her hands were faster than I could assume. It took less than a minute for her to put everything in order in the messy kitchen. Mother’s cake was baking in the oven. The aroma of the freshly baking cake made funny things to my nose yet I wondered how long it would take for this woman to take out the cookies she had promised a few minutes ago. Reading my mind Isoke unzipped her string bag and pulled out a neatly packed parcel. Watching her unwrapping and placing the butter cookies on a dish, I swallowed a bit of saliva. Refilling the coffee pot with hot water and some fresh coffee seeds she chuckled looking at me.

“Have it missy, homemade cookies…clean and tasty” she said invitingly. I looked around just to make sure none was around.

“Jake boy loves them,” she said. I smiled hearing his name. So he loves butter cookies and why not I love them too? I snatched one cookie and Isoke’s toothless smile widened.

“It means satisfying gift,” I heard her distantly because of the noise of the opened water tap. Isome she washed the dishes.

“What?” biting a piece of butter cookie I asked.

“Isoke means the satisfying gift,” she said.

“Oh!” I felt bad. How could I forget what I asked her few seconds ago?

She was right, the cookies tasted divine. I hungrily crunched the remaining piece of it.

“Have them all missy, I can bring more tomorrow,” as if she had read my greedy mind, Isoke pushed the dish close to me with a broad smile. A dirty spit splashed when I tried to smile with stuffed mouth. Isoke didn’t frown the way mother would have. Rather her smile widened wrinkling her skin around her mouth.

“You know my mother?” I asked her. Isoke smiled once again. She looked very much familiar now. She nodded affectionately.

“You knew Grandmother too?” I questioned once again and she nodded again. Perhaps she would nod for everything I ask instead of answering me. So I waited without shooting another question at her.

Isoke sighed, a forlorn sigh. I counted my breath until she found her voice.

“It wasn’t easy to survive here in our lands when white men ruled. Black skinned we were…another kind of animals sweat for them. Hard working was our fate, we worked until our palms bled but were left with not enough food” her memories carried her to the bleeding past.

I could read the hate she had for the white men. Although I was lucky that we were not experiencing the same today I could feel the agony in her heart.

I always had wondered why many of us have differences. If God loves why couldn’t he create everyone in the same manner? Why were blacks and whites, reds and brown? Why couldn’t they be just in one color? Maybe father was right. Perhaps everything was formed naturally. If not, then the God is not to be trusted? A smile stretched my lips as I remembered how my father would reason this.

‘God was all confused and busy identifying himself whether he was the father, the ghost or the son so he neglected his duties to be just” can that be the reason for HIM to be unjust over few and favor some?

But still nothing forms naturally, do they? Not even Isoke’s butter cookies, they were molded and baked by Isoke. So how can so much of complex objects form themselves alone?

“Your great grandmother was one lucky woman among the blacks to be treated well,” Isoke interrupted. I looked around. Probably my great grandmother was lucky to be prosperous and keep herself away from discrimination faced by her folks. My growing mind tried to know how but I failed for I knew nothing about my great grandmother, in that case I knew nothing about my grandparents too.

“Is your family with you Isoke?”

I asked her. Her happy face clouded. Her lips twitched upwards. I understood that each wrinkle in her face has its own story.

“They forced us to move from our lands, we were unworthy animals, we worked until we died, we sweat to make their lives bright, thirty years…thirty years of my life I saw their brutality…my husband was taken as a prisoner being a Bantu, they wanted us to eat dung and my sons refused and they were slaughtered during the protesting, I was too late to hold them by my side…they were gone…they were all gone forever!” I couldn’t understand her but I knew she was angrily. I got back with fear. Have I hurt her? But then she cried. I lost the appetite to crunch the rest of the cookies.

Racial segregation was what she was referring. It wasn’t a pleasant piece of history to learn about. Maybe I was too young to understand why one particular group of people would treat another group of people so badly. But then, I had to agree that Apartheid did exist and still exists. Because that’s something similar I experience every day at home.

“Cry not little Missy,” she said with affection forgetting her sorrows. I tried to smile but I failed to. I watched her with admiration. How painful was her life but here she still smiles through tears.

“We were forced to move to the slum lands. We were born here and they were the strangers but still they ruled. We had no voice Missy ;we were mute until great men strived to fight against”

“I know, Sir Nelson Mandela,” I promptly said as it was a question and answer session in school. How I adored the hero of all time, the rescuer of black.

“Twenty seven years he had lived in prison, I studied for history, Isoke” I said proudly. She smiled innocently. But then I stared at my old friend carefully. She was not an ordinary house maid or a slave. She looks knowledgeable.

“Did you go to school Isoke?”

I asked her with curiously. Her lips parted and the toothless smile confirmed she wasn’t uneducated.

“We were not allowed to learn, but then they formed schools for blacks and education was based on low level, slavery was what they wanted to promote. Beaches, parks, towns every such place was forbidden for us to enter, the slum houses had no water and was built with poor sanitary…..hell of a life it was. I’m pleased to see children like you have much freedom than anyone of us had” I was much grateful too. Who would desire to be uneducated and live live like a slave?

“I had a dampass, a dummy pass to enter the city…a slave I was for the ‘Whiteman school hostel. Not every whiteman was cruel and supported the discrimination. There were a few good men and one such person…”

“Isoke? When did you come?” a stern voice interrupted and both our gazes turned towards the owner of the voice. My mother’s disapproving gaze met mine. My brows went up for being guilty. Breaking the moment’s silence the oven dinged. I gulped trying to escape from the bitter accusation from mother as soon as possible.

“I thought you were in your room,”

“I gave some butter cookies Miss Emma…the young lady likes just like her uncle”

Isoke promptly rescued me. I saw now ease in my mother’s emotions. I jumped down the stool, giving a pleasant smile to my newly found old friend Isoke before I left the kitchen. I could feel the warmth of my mother’s gaze following me. I was glad I had an injured arm. I twirled as I paced to my room.

Book Review- Ductrinors by Papatia Feauxzar

I was excited to read Papatia’s Ducktrinors. The beginning was captivating and made me read more. The enthusiastic little Haneefa shone with courage and bravery from the first page itself.

The author had a strong plot line and has shown excellency in building the story with novel ideas and creative imaginations. The novel is fast-paced and simply yet well written which are plus points for gripping attention of young adult readers.

Enjoyed the character of Dawood and Ali.

I hope the author would consider in more showing than telling in future volumes of the series. Sometimes I felt the author was uncertain of things so she had to rush to the other scene. It’s probably because of the style of the book. Still, a skillful author like Papatia can go beyond what she’s already exploring. And perhaps the dialogues can have a few breaks now and then to make a smooth reading.

Hope she won’t leave us hanging for so long to read the next volume of Ducktrinors. Recommending the book for teenagers and readers who never grow old

Passing Cloud- Short Story

 

He batted his eye lids continuously to chase away the sleep creeping into him. The mechanical noise around him had no power to stop him falling asleep, but the ache in his heart had defeated his desires of a comfy bed and a peaceful sleep. He watched the lifeless body lying on the bed next to him. The oxygen mask could not hide the wrinkles of sufferings in her young face. Her heavy eye lashes were shut tightly as if the dark rings around her eyes have not left room for them to open. The rhythm of her breathing made his breathing difficult. He thought the next moment he won’t be living to breathe. The thought forced his eyes to check the monitor above the bed headrest. Changing its digits more often, the waves of her pulse rose up and down. Beep of the machine annoyed him; he couldn’t sit there anymore, for he knew the truth. The lifeless machine will stop any time; it will stop leaving no troubleshooting options to the life. A warm drop of tear wrestled it’s way through his eyes. His fingers briskly rubbed them off.

*****************************************

His eyes ached as a result of staring at the monitor for hours. But he had no choice; his email account was flooding with unread mails, business mails and notifications from his friends. He ticked most of the mails to delete without viewing them, for he knew what they said. As the clock struck he jumped on his seat, one after midnight and he was still staring at the computer, trying to sweep and clean his mailing account.

He breathed out a heavy breath. It has been few days and he could not read a single mail. He shook his head and closed his eyes for a second, but closing his eyes closed the gate to the world he was living now and opened the door for the bitter truth he did not want to live in. The realization soon made him open his eyes. He painfully stared back at the screen, his fingers shook as he tried to move the cursor. Scrolling down, his eyes stopped at the bottom of the mailing list, the sender’s name gave a shiver to his soul. His lips twitched slightly, mocking his helpless thoughts. His upper lip caught between the gritting teeth while he waited for the message to open.

*************************************************

Hi Honey,

Assalamu Alaikum,

Hope and wish you are fine as always with the grace of Allah. How silly I am to type a message to the person whose breath can be felt while I typed this message, you are hand’s distance but still I feel like you are miles away from me. What am I doing waken up at this time?

Just want to say that I love you the very same way I did before, I’m sorry for hurting you with my sharp words when we had a row or two. It was not meant to hurt you but to bring you back to your commonsense. All what I feel now is that, my bad temper keeps you much away from me. But still I feel lonely when you neglected me, had time to talk to others and little to share with me. Sometimes I wished if I was your mobile phone or the television, so you would feel better watching me.

Please do forgive me, for pointing out those mistakes of yours. It is not that I hate you, but it is because I love you, I want to spend every single second with you for I know this life is short. I fear to face the truth, the bitter truth in life. Today or tomorrow I won’t be there for you or you won’t be there for me. But still, I’m wrong. I should not hurt you.

May Allah guide you rightly, bring you under the shade of the truth. May Allah give you happiness alone, and keep you smiling always. May Allah give you a highest rank in Jannah and grant you with a beautiful palace and fill it with laughter and joy. May He forgive your sins even the size of mustard seed and accept every good deed even the size of an atom. May Allah protect you from the greatest enemy and make you a person that shaitan fears to walk close to and a person whom Allah will love, Ameen!

That will be my duas for you, no matter whether you feel good or bad about me my dearest husband, and yes, I know even you pay little attention to me, you never betrayed me or will never hate me, it is just that you show less and store much in your heart.

Love you always,

******************************************************

The computer screen blurred when his mind brushed the past. That was just another day to him, and for her. A bitter moment it had been that, he as usual ignored her when he lied down next to her. It was the best way to neglect her when she annoys him with her attitudes, she expected too much. He cannot spend the entire life making her happy, giving up all his desires. Why did she want to start a quarrel on that very same day, the world cup finals!

“Wish you had more time to talk about us than watching at that game!”

She had mourned when he switched the television. The cheering noises of the crowd streamed through the television and filled their small apartment. He frowned at her. Paying a deaf ear was the best reply to her nonsense.

“wonder how you become deaf all in a sudden! Ah! Now he’s not deaf anymore…so answer, I don’t mind!”

Even before she could complete her sentence the noble rang and she snapped. He picked the phone as if he was the only living being in the house. The kids were fast asleep and who else was there? As usual it was a client. The anger vanished. His client was happy, so was he.

“How silly I am, talking to a person who keep on ignoring me? This is the last time and yes, I will never talk to you!”

She said tossing her head to a side, and then grabbed a bottle of water and strode into the room. His lips curled hearing her swearing. Wasn’t that what she said yesterday and day before?

On that night, when the match was over he walked in to the room and had been relieved to see her sleep hugging their little daughter. Although he felt sad for her, he had promised himself that he would make her smile tomorrow.

That was the day she had typed this message, drifting back to the message he thought painfully. Why had he waited for tomorrow? Why couldn’t he wake her up and say that he loved her? Why did he waste his time watching that match, without spending few more minutes to whisper something she would like? What made her feel miles away from him when he lied just next to her? Why? His heart throbbed; a lump of lava burned in his throat making him difficult to swallow.

************************************************

“We are sorry, but she is not cooperating!”

When he heard the doctor his gaze rested upon the woman lying on a hospital bed. His sharp teeth bit his lip to hold his pain. He felt a patting on his back but he didn’t bother to take away his glance. He watched her, with clouding eyes.

“Why did you do this to me? We need you,”

He whispered. His shaky fingers grasped her frozen fingers. He rubbed as if he could give back the warmth those slender fingers had before. The fingers which knew to stroke his hair when he desperately needed someone to care for him, the fingers which hurriedly wrapped his lunch, the fingers which tenderly ran over his kids’s cheek, the fingers which had the power to sprinkle love when sadness crept into family, the fingers which were furiously had pushed his hand away when he had hurt her….the tears he tried to hold slid down freely. When his tears fell on to her hand, he felt her fingers move. He squeezed helplessly.

She slowly opened her eyes. He bent toward her. The oxygen mask moved an inch while she tried to greet him with a pale smile. His grip tightened. Her eyes looked tired as if she was pleading for a rest. There had been a time he adored those beautiful eyes. There had been a time he admired her beauty, but as time passed he was tied with more duties and had less time to spend with her.

She had been lonely when he had gone out, seen the world. All her world had been his home with his children. She had lived as a bird whose wings were cut short, for she had sacrificed many of her desires to please him and his family. All she expected in return was love but had he satisfied her with what she wanted? He loved her, still he loves her. But the ego has stopped him showing the love for her. Responsibilities blinded his eyes and held him tight not letting her know how important she was. Days were spent as there will be many years to live together. But how short the time he had spent with her? This was life, as regrets filled his heart he could feel how guilty he was. The guilty conscious made him helplessly low down his gaze.

“Chi…children…?”

He heard her weak voice. He swallowed the painful thoughts and looked at her, confirming her children will be taken care with love and love alone. He nodded trying to hold his tears, but he failed. A tear drop rolled down from her eye and smudged on the white pillow.

“take k..ke,”

“I will, I will take care of them…I promise you!”

“you,”

She lifted her right hand to point him. He bit his lip. How much love does she have for him and all what he did was ignoring her. He hugged her hand and wept, for he did not know what else to do. He missed her, he already was missing her. How can he live without her presence?

He felt her fingers running through his hair. He caught her right hand too and kissed every tip of her frozen fingers with endless love.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…forgive me…i neglected you”

His voice trembled as he said pleadingly. What if he had listened to her? What was she complaining about? She wanted him to pay little more attention to the family, she wanted him to discuss with her before he took a decision regarding her family. Why had he been so selfish? Why had he not given chance for her to talk? Not because he thought himself superior, but he had thought she would not oppose. She had never opposed him with anything. She had been mourning yet finally she had supported him with his decisions, by giving him even a penny she saved.

She struggle to talk.

“why? Why do you have to leave me…I can’t …

He tried to speak but something heavy was stuck in his throat, it pulled every string of it down giving him a severe pain. At the very same time the beeps of the machine increased. She found it difficult to breathe. The gap between the breaths stretched, watching her struggling he forgot to breathe. He screamed. His grip tightened her fingers. The waves in the machine began to change. The staff rushed in to the room. He watched them helping her to survive, but she was not helping them. His eyes veiled as he took a deep breath.

Watching her suffering was painful. He had known her more than a decade, but she had been the other half of him. She had been his best friend, though they had bitter moments in life. She had understood him and sacrificed her life to please him and his children. She was too young to have a heart attack, but this was life. Death is for sure, someone in his mind whispered. How easy it had been to neglect the closer ones and please the strangers? How easy it had been to excuse a stranger for his faults and punish the one who was much closer? How easy it had been to give priority to worthless things and neglect the ones who crave for the love of ours? His mind blamed him; he watched her exhaling the last col breath out with a swollen heart. She had gone; leaving him beside, how can he express his love for her now? He kneeled down hugging his face, hiding himself from his guilty conscious.

************************************************************

It has been days, no one to complain, no one to quarrel and no one to annoy him with mails and messages, but still he missed them. He wished if he had given time to listen to them. She had been a passing cloud. He had been under the shade of her, feeling warmth and cold but then she had moved…he was left alone, watching the empty blue sky. There will be many clouds in the sky, but will not be the same cloud he had seen, loved and adored.

 

© Zeneefa Zaneer, December 2011.