Maa 2

I reckon Maa must have had the time of her life watching me chase my own version of the ' The Great American Dream'.

That too on a 4 - seater Cessna Beach craft!!!

The fact that the Governor of the State used to travel on the same plane, is a testimony to the ' The Great American Democracy', but that requires a separate post.

Shopping after maa

U go to the supermarket after three months, and as usual pick up something for mom.

Next second it feels like someone just shot ur heart point blank.

Maa not there..who are u buying this for?

There is no one now to accept it with a smile and twinkle in her eyes. No one to tell u not to buy and then read label for what it is and the price on it..

U want to cry but being a grown up u are expected to behave. So u buy whatever and exit the supermarket in a hurry.

(Buying things for her was part of my strategy to make sure she understands that she remains in my mind no matter I go. That she is needed and wanted and loved. When old people feel neglected and not needed, that is when they decide to go - I believed.

I spent all my life letting her know she is needed forever in my life).

Life was never this painful. Never.

Shia _ Sunni, a love story

Baant Ke Apna Chehra, Maatha, Aankhen Jaane Kahaan Gayi?

Phate Puraane Ek Album Mein Ladki Jaisi Maa ....

(Nida)

Nov 1954. She was 19. They had just seen a movie at Super Talkies, Grant Road.. This picture was taken against her wishes. She was a Shia and father was a Sunni. May be she was not sure about how wud this 1400 years old divide wud play in her life.

In those days Shia - Sunni debate was as nasty as it is today. Of course it was minus the suicide bombers. Rest.. ..all mutual hatred, all biases and prejudices were the same.

She hid this picture from everyone. Even lied that it is someone else's. When I found out its hers, I went to town showing this picture and admiring her guts to be a rebel, for following heart. For doing the right thing.

They would marry in 1955.

Her next picture would be taken after a GAP of 25 years, by me.

Since then she remains the most photographed woman of my life.

Always will...

#Maa, #ZubedaSayed, #rebel

Qafan Farosh

Qafan Farosh...

81 saal ki Aurat ko Dafnaa kar

Sab Aabadi Ki Taraf Chale

To Har Shaks 

Us Budhiya Ke Bete ko

Ye Keh Kar Tasalli Dene Lagaa ke

` Kaafi Umr Thi, Mukti Mil Gayi`

`Log Is Beemari Main Ediyan Ragad Ke Marte Hain. Woh Asaani Se Gayin`.

` Budhi Haddiyon Ne Gosht Tak Chodd Diya Tha. Accha Hi Hua`

`Tumhari Apni Family Nahi Hai Na, Warna Takleef Kam Hoti`

Adhed Umr ka Beta

Muskura Kar, Khunda Peshaani se

Logon Ka Pursaa Qabool Kar Raha Tha

Usi Raat

Ek Nayi Geeli Qabr Pe

Ek Chota Baccha Bilak Bilak Kar Ro Raha Tha

`Aye Maa, Tu mujhe kiyoon chodd gayi Maa?`

`Qafan Faroshon Ki Is Basti Main,

sirf Tu Hi Mere Liye Zinda Thi Maa`

` Ab Dekh Main Kitna Tanhaa Hoon Maa`

Aur Kareeb ke Railway Station Pe Der Se Khadi

Local Train ke Pahiyye phir Chal Pade`

Nov 26, 2017

And when the most beautiful n brave woman in the World struggles against old age, and when u realize the limits of medical sciences u feel helpless.

This is when u wanna unlearn all the scriptures of the World, the rules of society and all that good for nothing nonsense drilled in ur brain.

You wanna question whoever claims to be the creator and more, as u don't have the luxury to go on searching for the answers like a Buddha!

#Zubieda Sayed, #Mumbai, #Maa

Phobia...

Tumhen Maut Ka Phobia Tha

Maut Kisi Ki Bhi Ho

Tum Pareshan Ho Jaatin..

Yaad Hai...

Itwaar Ki Ek Duphar Hum 

Apne Bistar Par

Ek Doosre Main Uljhe Hue Pade The

Ke Main Ne Mazakan Keh Diya Tha

" Kitna Accha Lag Raha Hai na?

Chal Mar Jaate Hain!"

Tum Mujhe Jhatak Kar

Bistar Se Utar Khadi Ho Gayin thin

" Aap Maren, Mujhe Jeena Hai!"

Qudrat Ki Sitam Zareefi Dekho To

Dono Ki Khwahishen Poori Huin Hain

Tum Wahan

Jee Bhi Rahi Ho

Aur Main Yahan

Mar Hi Raha Hoon!

(C) Shahid Parvez Sayed, October 29th, 2015

Dreams of my father...

Today 37 years ago, 4th September, 1977, he left me to figure out the big, bad World on my own!

I am still working on that...

I was playing in the Maidan ( which was a Mangoe, Guva Orchard till he chopped it off) when some frnds came running and informed me.

" Badhsha, Tumahre Chaccha Ko Ghar Le Aaye Hain"

I ran home only to find Mahollah women breaking bangles of my mother. She was only 41 then. I did not know what does that means to be a widow at the age of 41...

That too I had to figure out myself..

I remember when he went to Fategrah hospital and got himself admitted there. His brothers in Mumbai wanted him to be treated at a Mumbai hospital. He refused.

Now I know why did not get treatment at a Mumbai hospital. He was ready to go and wanted to be die and be buried in the family Qabrastan outside our house.

I figured out that too...

What I have not been able to figure out is the complexities or simplicity of a father - son relationship. What it means to be a son? What it means to be a father? How relationship works out and what direction it takes? How do they communicate? Do they use words or assume things out?

I dunno. Yet!

When they carried off his body for Namaz e Janaza, I could not give it a Kandha. I was too young then. I remember walking behind everyone not knowing what to do. No one ever told me anything about his death. Not a word. No one tried to reach me then, or thereafter.

I had to figure out the death part myself. Alone!

When they buried him, I was standing by the lone Guava tree he did not chop off for some reasons. I was quiet and watching the whole thing unfold like a dream. I remember every detail of his face even now.

Later that night I wud go and sit by his grave and cry.

Alone. Still do!

A father is a must in a man's life I would conclude later! A father must try to stay alive till his kids are settled in life. I would figure out later.

When teenage years hit me and I take interest in opposite sex, I would crave to have children first so that I can settle them in my life time. Leaving young children behind to negotiate a cruel, selfish world is not fatherly!

Years later I wud take my in-house girl frnd on her honeymoon, to his grave, his house, his city. She wud just follow me like a true frnd without complaints.

I am yet to figure out why I did that.

I have some of his letter that he wrote to mother. I read them often to know if he had any expectations from me. I was his last child - always a special one in a father's life. I find nothing. No expectations. I guess I was too young for him to think along those lines.

In those letters he calls me ' Shahid Miya'. I enjoy reading that.

" Shahid Miyan, poora din Kahaniyan padhte rehte hain" he writes to mom. He forgets to add that I was a topper in class and had secured a double promotion from 3rd grade to 5th.

So, here I am. Close enough to an age in which he died, yet I feel like 12, as I write these lines...

Nawab Shaddan Miya, sleeps at the feet of his mother under a Tamarind tree he himself had planted as a child. No better place to be buried than by the feet of ones mother.

However, I do wish he had more time. I miss not "communicating" with him. I miss not knowing what he wanted in life. What was his unfulfilled dreams? What kind of a life he lived? Who has hurt him along the way? Who were his frnds and enemies? Things like that

I know I would never be able to figure these out, no matter how many more yeas I live...

Khud Kashi

Jab barson Se bichde Hue Ek Dost Ne

Achanak Mil Kar

Poorani Tasveeron Main Tumhen Talash Kiya

Pucha

"Yaar, Ye Kaise Bichad Gayin?"

Aur Jab Koi Jumla Mada Ko Nahi Aayaa

To Chand Toote Hue Lafzon Ne

Kisi Palkon Se Gir Kar

Khud Kashi Kar Li!

(C) Shahid Parvez Sayed, August 15th, @ 1 am

Autumn, 1992, Atlanta

I have booked my flight to India. I am going home. I am happy - yet apprehensive.

I feel like a warrior who faced insurmountable challenges, but remained steadfast in his determination to achieve his goal. A warrior who did not indulge in any act that he can’t share with his family n frnds. A warrior who sacrificed budding romances because he knew he will eventually return and did not want to get tied down to a country for wrong reasons. I have seen many in the US that came for education, but lost the sight of that goal and drifted in wine and women never to return….

I am keeping date with my destiny. India is my Karma Bhoomi as I had decided long time back. It’s time to walk the talk.

The night before my departure Dona invites me for the last super at the same restaurant we have been frequenting all these years. She tells me “ Whenever you return Shahid, it will be the same here”. (And she will keep her words, as I will see her again in 1999 and will realize nothing …not even the smell of her house has changed”. She is an angel….

After the dinner, I wanted to say good-bye to my frnd Ted Schelling. Dona drives me to his home. It is pre-mobile days, so I call Ted from pay phone at the lobby of the restaurant and take directions to his place. I write that address on a piece of paper I find in the restaurant lobby. We meet him and his family. Dona drops me back late at night. SK in the meantime has done all my packing on my behalf. Frndship it is…

Years later Dona gives me that piece of paper in which I had written the directions to Ted’s home. Apparently, I might have dropped that worthless piece of paper in Dona’s car after reaching Ted’s home. Dona must have found it while cleaning her car the next weekend. It was junk, yet she did not junk it. (The only other people who would not throw anything with my handwriting are my mom and my last in-house girl frnd). Blessings they are...or were...oh wait...

I am at the airport. All teared up. I have never worked in India and don’t know what awaits me in work scenario. I have some relations that needed to be entangled from the web of miscommunication… life is not going to be easy …not this fast.

Good byes are always tough for me. In my chilhood Maa had left me with my relatives after admitting me in class 1st at Chor Bazar Muncipal Urdu School. I had experienced the cutting away of my heart in two pieces at the age of five…. So its psychologicaly painful for me to say good-bye. (Mom still cries when I mention that morning when she left me to fend for myself…. off course I am glad she did. Else I wud not have gotten education in that badlands of U.P.)

When Steve says “ This is it man!”… I cry like a kid. I did not realize till then my little world has already taken roots in the soil of America. I had beautiful caring frnds that took care of me like a family. My roots had grown in that soil unknowingly…and am uprooting it. When I was falling in love, actually I was not just falling in love with A or FDR but the system…the culture…the air.

But, my world awaits me in India. There is no turning back now.

It’s a chilly autumn morning as my flights takes off from Hartsfield International airport. I look down from the window at the world I am leaving behind. I hear:

“ India is a dumpster…don’t go there”

“I love you. How do want me to meet you knowing that in a few months you will go back and I will never ever see you again?”

“I never thought I would fall in love with someone from overseas…. I love you with all my heart Shahid”

“You took a big leap from a municipal school to Georgia Tech, why undo it all? Don’t go back.”

"Ye Aasmano main kiya talash karta hai? Chal Cheetah 3 main tujhe Taare dikhataa hoon!!"

“This is home Shahid, this is home…there is no India for me now!”

Autumn, Mumbai, India

I reach Mumbai at 7pm.

And India refuses to recognize me immediately.

It’s a shocker I was not prepared for. Never thought about it. Have I changed? What part of me has been changed by America? I never picked up anything that did not meet my sensibility criteria then how come I am not recognizable now? I had frnds who never encouraged me to be anything but myself...I did not even pick up the damn accent?

I am confused. I am angry!

A story of a Hen and her chicks comes to mind.

A hen had 9 chicks. She used to hang out with them. Take care of them. Feed them. Protect them. One day the 9th chick fell into a drain full of colors. When he came out he went back to join the rest of his brothers. But they all refused to recognize him. They were seeing him in different color, while he was not aware of any colors on him.

The hen throws him out of the family. You are not one of us ..

Its been a while I read that story. I don’t remember how the story ended for that chick.

Just like I don’t know how this one is going to end!

Love, Dona!

July 2014, 6:30am, Small-town, USA.

A white Audi driven by a woman in her 40s going way below the speed limit on a State highway The woman, Vice President of finance company has slowed down her car because she is having trouble seeing the road. The reason why she cant see the road is because she is crying...the reasons she is crying is because radio in her car radio just played a song called 'Red' by Taylor Swift.

"Loving him is like driving a new Maserati down a dead-end street
Faster than the wind, passionate as sin ending so suddenly

Losing him was blue like I'd never known
Missing him was dark grey all alone
Forgetting him was like trying to know somebody you never met
But loving him was red
Loving him was red!"

The night before she had a surprise from a long lost friend. They re-connected after 25 years. They shared the gifts and ironies that life brought to them since that fateful night when Atlanta played Minnesota for the World Series in 1991.

She stops by the shoulder of the road, takes her contact lenses off and cries heart out. 

Winter 1991, GA Tech, Graduation Day

I am standing with other students in the University Stadium for the commencement ceremony.  My friends Dona, SK, Ted, Steve, Gortitude all are in the audience taking pictures. Speeches are being made as my mind is racing in all directions. It’s a flashback time. The images from past three years of struggles to get to this very moment are flickering one after the others.  My heart is in turmoil but am smiling like all my classmates standing along with me. The one person I am missing most at this time is my father.

I think a father -son relation is the most complex of them all. Complex, coz here is a man you want to be your idol, yet you be your own man. Even though you want to be a lieutenant, or a vice captain in his team, yet you feel immense urge to lead just one time. You respect him but you want your father to go "wow" just once for you.  I know a graduation ceremony is not a wow going moment, but it does not hurt to see what he is thinking of this act.

"Shahid Parvez Sayed, Masters, School of Civil Engineering", comes the announcement as I walk to receive my degree from President Dr. Crecine.  Later during the reception I go and meet Dr. Crecine again and apologize to him for causing him trouble on the championship game day in 1989. He smiles and says " Not a problem. I am glad you called. Its so good to see you graduate today despite all the hardships your endured".  

Winter 1991, Poona Restaurant, Duluth

SK has given a party to celebrate my graduation at this Indian restaurant in Duluth. We are having fun. SK is a great talker and is keeping all in splits.  We are sitting by a table next to the window. I am feeling confident about my future, as getting Masters from GA Tech is a big deal. Not many successfully graduate from there.  

The only problem is that I do not know that the future will take me back to the same table of Poona restaurant in 1998. I will be wearing a white shirt, black bow tie and serving food and water to the guests. One day Ahsan Rashid wud walk in the restaurant (Ahsan had played a role in the play I had written), upon seeing me as a waiter he is shocked.

I take glasses of water for him. He gets up and hugs me, then introduces me to his family and kids.

Later that night when I wud call India.

"Main Haar Gyaa. I am coming back" - I have tears in my eyes as I narrate the Ahsan Rashid incident to my official girl frnd whom I have left in India. 

" Aap to Ameer e Qfila hain. Aap Kaise Haar Sakte Hain? I am with you. We will get thru this." - She tries to lift my morale up.

Lets save that story for some other day!

July 2014, Small-town, USA

The white woman in the Audi is still crying.  What is she crying for? She has everything that people dream for - a big house, kids, and great job - everything. She worked hard and faced all the challenges that life threw at her. She is an independent minded strong woman - still she is crying like a baby?

Tears that coming our of her eyes are drowning the words like Kaafir, Gentile, Non gentile, Malacchi, Dalit, black, white, brown, Americans, Indians, Shia, Sunni, 24, 26 and all other labels that bigots use to discriminate against other humans and to keep the world divided.

Taylor Swift still singing…

“Remembering him comes in flashbacks and echoes
Tell myself it's time now, gotta let go
But moving on from him is impossible
When I still see it all in my head
Burning red
Burning it was red”

Love, Dona!

Love, Dona!

I have picked out a name for you

What is it?

I will tell you when we meet.

Dona calls for once a month dinner meeting.  Looking back now, I realize what she was doing. By seeing me personally over the dinner every two or three weeks she was making sure I am doing fine and staying sane.

In the US, it is common for folks to pick up names. I had never thought of it but now that she brought this up, I was curious to see what name she thinks for me. 

Most of the times I carry flowers whenever I see her.  I have never ever seen anyone respect my flowers like she does.  She would take pictures of the flowers and send me showing how they are doing. Those flowers from Virginia Highlands flower shop used to last long, sometime weeks. To gift her flower was an occasion I used to Cherish.

After so many years of gifting flowers I have developed a theory. I can predict with reasonable accuracy the amount of time my relationship with someone is going to last, depending how he or she handles my flowers with in first 10 minutes of receiving it.

Example:  A few years back in Bhopal, I met two awesome ladies both belonging to same socioeconomic class. I took flowers with me to both of them. One did not care enough but the other sent me whatsapp picture of how my flowers are doing. One relation ended within a few days, the other is still going strong.

I had bought proper gift able flowers for the first lady, but for the second I cud not find a flower shop.  It was past 9 and only flower shop open was in the temple. The temple was closed so that shop was almost winding up for the day.

Temple flowers are normally yellow loose Marigold not fit for gifting as a bouquet.  I buy hose loose Marilgold for RS 75 and arrive at her home, where her entire family is shocked to see me carrying flowers in a newspaper.  I was prepared for this so I start with “ Devi Ko Chadane walen phool hain – Mandir Band Ho Gyaa Hai. Hum socha Us Devi Ko nahi Is Devi Pe chada Doon. Swaab Tab Bhi Mielgaa!!”

I have carried flowers to her many more times. Proper flowers. Expensive. Bouquet.  But she talks of those 75RS ones everytime she finds flowers in my hand and she says “ Un phoolon ki baat hi aur thi”.

See what I mean…

What is it? I ask Dona

The name that fits you and that I like is – Dona paused.

My anticipation peaked with names Mike, Sean, Chris doing the rounds of my field of imagination.

The name that I like and fits you like a tee is “Khush Guftaar!”

“What?”

And each letter in Khush Guftaar stands for something.

Where did u find this? This is Persian…

I had gone to the library.

This is how I lost my chance to be called “Sean” or “ Mike” or whatever. The bottom line is “ Khush Guftaar” is what I was, and what I have always will be.

Dona knew it.

Sad part is I do not remember now what each letter stood for in Kush Guftaar.

Life is good. I am elected as the new Senator from the School of Civil Engineering.  I represent my college in the Student Governing council. When the President of the Council asks me to take oath by putting my hand on my heart and repeating after him, I feel something.  Don’t know what to call feeling but the deepest desire and commitment to serve the students comes to mind.  But I am sure it was much deeper something words cant describe.

These days when I see India’s MPS and MLAs take oath, I look for familiar signs n feelings on their faces. Mostly I don’t see anything…

USA V/S Shahid Sayed

“You are herby requested to leave the country by 30^th and inform our office of the arrangements you made to depart, failing of which INS will deport you thereafter”

That was the notice from INS.

My World went into a spin again. But this time I am angry.

I am doing great academically. Why are they being unreasonable to me? What sins have I committed by working and saving money for my tuition? Is this the greatest country they talk about? Why me?

All my frnds are not happy with new INS notice, but they have reconciled to the fact that I have to leave. After crying one night, Dona too accepted my fate.

The only problem is I have not accepted this fate. No. I am not ready to go back to India without my degree.

Crazy ideas entering my mind on hourly basis as the day of departure approaches.

A day before the deadline I call President of the University Dr. Patrick Crecine to seek his help. He is away attending GA Tech football championship in Florida. A lady called Jennifer picks up the phone and talks sweetly. ( She introduces herself as his Girl Friend, I remember. Girlfriends are always nice)

I tell her what INS is doing to me and ask for help from the President. I end my conversation by saying “ I will burn myself at Georgia Tech Student Center if INS deports me today”.

Some student in India had burnt himself protesting against Mandal Commsion – that is where the idea came from.

She calms me down and asks me that I give her 15 mins before I do anything stupid. She wants a promise from me. I promise.

She hangs up.

In 5 minutes two cops knock on my door.  They too do a search of my body for any weapon.

And then they ask me to come up with them for a ride.