My days at this point were a series of paradoxes; that wanted to break through....
INTROSPECTION
Jaise beemar ko bewaja qarar ajaye
As, to a sick man, without cause, comes peace - Faiz Ahmed Faiz
I didn’t know what I was searching for. Why there was a constant struggle in my heart. I couldn’t name this feeling. May be I was conflicted. Or hurt beyond imagination. Or that I was learning or unlearning. The fact that life isn’t in my control. That suddenly life took its veil of naivety away and stared straight into my eyes. And I couldn’t look away at I saw. For I was drawn to this beauty. Which I wanted to destroy. But before I could it annihilated me. The hope that was in my heart. A cage that I calling my home was constricting its grip till it became hard to breath. My life was a series of suffocating truths and all I wanted was a comforting lie to pass the night. But the more I searched for it, the more I was met with daunting questions. Why was I going through an existential crisis? Was that all I believed in a hoax? Was I living in a mirage only to be met by the scorching winds of stinging winters. My days at this point were a series of paradoxes; that wanted to break through.
While this storm was rising within me, blinding me, creating a sense of being lost, I stepped into Lahore. By serendipity you may call it. But here I was in the city of rich heritage. In the air that was breathed by poets and in the streets that witnessed authentic human emotions. A place that hid no true reality of life. A land that celebrated loss with as much fervour as happiness. So it too took me in its arms. The first sip of evening chai. Those wistful November evenings. The way it stayed awake late in the night. How the roads seemed unfamiliar yet they owned me like an old friend. I found parts of me in the changing colours of autumn leaves, moonlit sky and those reflecting soft hues of lit tombs and forts. Ones that seem to keep conversations alive within their walls and give shelter to secrets. A city, it seems is more inclusive with each passing minute. I crossed paths with people who were reciting poetry and weren’t afraid to accept failure or personal struggles. They wore it uniquely and embraced me for the brokenness I was carrying. In a place that is laden with rose gajras and brings folklore to life. It struck that string in my heart. One that had forgotten to live. And just like that, I was at peace. For what seemed like a couple of nights I brought with me the rising aromas of this city and its people and let my wounds heal openly in the rich air. And as I stepped back into the familiar streets I knew I wasn’t the same as before. Lahore had in its unique and personal way been a kinder friend than many. It had listened to my crooked poetry and given it a rhythm. The same way it put my mind to rest and my heart at ease. For it showed me there’s a way to be vulnerable and true and authentic and still bear a beauty that albeit is invisible to others. But to the right onlooker is breathtakingly wholesome.
