Sattire Attire part XI: Be aware of the ides of October

‘Some men are so great that they can be unmade only by themselves.’ Shame - Salman Rushdie.

And he sat there, preoccupied with damage control. A date with Fate was unlikely, thanks to Dmitri.
"You are close?"
Sylvester turned around to see who'd said that. He'd been too distracted by the tense atmosphere in his head to be even minutely aware of his surroundings. The man seemed innocent, mild mannered and... well he was a stranger and it's okay to tell strangers anything and everything because you may never meet them again.
There is annual gathering in town in which people conceal themselves under white sheets with two holes for the eyes, much like ghosts in pop-culture. They gather around the oldest tree in the oldest park and read out their most intimate secrets in a slow droning voice. Each year their numbers increase, the secrets increase the secrets become less and less articulate among the horde of voices. Secrets mingle and intertwine into one loud, undecipherable mumble. They all know that if they cannot keep their secret to themselves, that if they have to say it out loud, they wait for that day. For they know that on that day anything that will be said aloud will be lost in the wind.
Some people like to listen. They stand around trying to listen to the secrets of one white sheet or another. They keep moving on until they find an interesting story, or one that has just begun. It is their way of keeping secrets for people they do not know. An hour before midnight on the ides of October the people of the town know where to go if their thoughts are stifling them. In the whole year there is one hour of honesty and trust. People come and they confess, profess, listen and understand. They empty their hearts and begin filling them up again until the next year.
To their more difficult patients, Psychiatrists recommended the ritual.
Sylvester was one of the whispering ghosts. Years and years of standing in front of the old tree and revealing his most inner-self had emboldened him, and he began to trust strangers. He began to trust strangers more than his friends. It was not because he did not trust his friends. It was because he knew that his fears could never be used against him if they were not known to be his.
And so, there he was without his white sheets with holes and he was talking to a stranger.
"You are close?", he had asked. Almost in a way that depicted doubt.
"No, we just met a couple of minutes ago. I don't even know her last name" said Sylvester in a dejected voice. He was looking at his shoes now.
"Oh but I wasn't talking about her. I was talking about him."
"Oh! Yes, I would say so." As he said that he looked up in the direction of Dmitri and Fate. But they were not there anymore. He then turned to look at the man next to him. He was not there anymore either.
Sylvester felt uneasy. Not because it had not worked out with Fate. Not because Dmitri had ridiculed him in front of Fate. Not because the strange stranger had doubted the friendship between Dmitri and him. But because, for the first time, Dmitri had parted ways and not him.
Dmitri was too bitter a man to feign pleasantness with Fate. Sylvester's mind was going where he did not want it to go. But there was nothing he could do to stop it and October was three months away.

On Bakra Eid by the Poet (with takhalus) 'afsos'

Pait ki faryaad hai tau aani jaani
aur guzar jata hai din baghair peeyay paani
magar afsos! saalon ki baat aur hai
keh saal mein aik hi din milti hai biryani

I wonder what was the place where I was last night

I wonder what was the place where I was last night,
All around me were half-slaughtered victims of love,
tossing about in agony.

There was a nymph-like beloved with cypress-like form
and tulip-like face,
Ruthlessly playing havoc with the hearts of the lovers.

God himself was the master of ceremonies in that heavenly court,
oh Khusrau, where (the face of) the Prophet too was shedding light
like a candle.

Translation of Nami Danam by Ameer Khusro

Beyond borders

"79!"
Zia had been waiting for almost thirty minutes when his number got called out. He got up and carried his belongings towards a door which led out of the waiting area, but not out of the building.
He walked into another room where many other men and women in uniforms were attending to passengers who had just landed. Their faces not distinguishable, from even a short distance they looked like uniforms with bodies. No smiles, no emotions, no hobbies. Only a most ominous and unwelcoming presence.
Behind every desk was a sign that read: "Welcome to the United States of America". A cheery message for a gloomy place. Like sunlight sneaking its way into a prison cell, it was on the other side of the barrier.
"This way, sir" called out a voice, a man's voice, from one of the uniforms from behind one of the desks. As soon as Zia was within an earshot he heard "Passport please!".
Zia complied, he handed the uniform his passport which was not an American passport but it was, none the less, Blue in colour. Though not blue enough, as the man in the uniform, while making the customary inquiries regarding the purpose of the visit and the amount of alcohol and tobacco in the luggage, said: "One bottle of wine? Looks like you're not getting your 69 or 70 virgins."
"Excuse me?", Zia unsure of what he heard. It didn't sound like a joke.
"You heard me". The uniform confirming what Zia had thought he'd heard. And it wasn't a joke.
So it became a matter of bigotry. It's not the colour of your passport but the colour of your skin, the origin of your name, Zia realized.
After a little more probing Zia heard the uniform say, " Welcome to the USA".
USA, the most sought after yet the most hated country in the whole world. If you're not welcome in heaven, it's just as bad as being in hell.

Sattire Attire part X: Sharp wit, sharper sword

"The man has a gun, he knows how to use it. Nine millimeter Browning, let's see what he can do... Dirty animal." - The Gun by Lou Reed
The waitress unsure of the situation, sought to clear up any potential misunderstandings, "Together or separate?"
"Together. The three of us." replied Dmitri in a tone that was meant to remain unchallenged. "Mine, his and her's. Check please!"
"Her's too? But she's not on the table that I'm serving..." The waitress did not wait for a response. She complied and walked off, completely overwhelmed by the storm that was brewing inside Dmitri. Only the agonizing restraint in his voice and his piercing gaze gave any indication of the rage that was going to overcome his usually calm demeanor.
Dmitri's attention had now been diverted to his friend, Sylvester and Sylvester's new, ill-fated friend, Fate.
He got up and fixed his tie. Tightening it almost to a choke-hold. He put on his jacket and buttoned it up. One. Two. Three. And then he walked up to his friend, where he could hear Fate leashing his friend, Sylvester, with an almost witch-like charm... "...that's the most wonderful thing anyone's ever said to me, Sylvester."
"What did he say then?" interrupted Dmitri with a tone that lacked all emotion; neither friendly nor angry. And then with the same tone, he asked Sylvester, "What did you say to her?"
The battle had begun. Dmitri knew it. Fate knew it. Sylvester did not. With his loyalties inexplicably torn between the two, he was a casualty of war before it had begun. For now, his only two companions were pity and sadistic pleasure.
But for the present, Sylvester was caught in a strange predicament; he was confused. His friend, Dmitri, who had always been his friend was acting like an infuriated stranger. On the other hand, the stranger, Fate, was playing the part of a supportive friend. He kept staring at salt-shaker on the table, as if his supposed diverted focus would exempt him from partaking in choosing a side in this battle. A friend, not acting like a friend or an amiable stranger? Of course a friend! Except, the friend in question was pointing a gun to his head...
"What did you tell her then?"
...while asking him to point his gun towards the amiable stranger...
"If you don't want to tell me... do say it to her again. She would not mind, it's the kindest thing she's heard. She says so herself."
Fate, at this point, was maintaining a composure that only mysteriousness can. Mysteriousness backed by uncertainty.
"Are you his friend then?"
"A friend. A guide. A companion. A shepherd. A brother."
"And yet you insult him like he's your livestock...a shepherd more than anything I would say."
"That I must, for he easily gets fattened by any butcher that feeds him. His gluttony knows no bounds."
"If I may correct you, gluttony is the act of outdoing the bounds."
"You digress."
"You contradict." And she said that with a wink and a smile. Dmitri did not know whether to let his guard down or to put it up.
Meanwhile, Sylvester had managed to slip away back to table 8, where he was busy staring at another salt-shaker. He was perspiring. Drenched as if there was a cloud of the monsoon over his head. And the voice in his head spoke: "Why is it that fate is always ill-fate?"

Constancy and Change

A pier in the middle of a field that was clearly used on occasion as a rubbish dump should have been absurd, or sad, but instead was suggestive of both constancy and change. I'll take constancy. Keep the change. - Kamila Shamsi

On Political groups who try to, all the time, define and re-define who we are as opposed to what we were and what we were meant to be. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On Globalization which promulgates only the American way of life. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On the increasing social divide and exploitation of the majority by a minority. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On a people trying to imitate another people more and more. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On from it getting bad to worse. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On innocent children growing up to be rational discerning adults, who can identify with class, creed, borders and ethnicity. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On spirituality degenerating. On the number of fatwas. On the increasing number of Zionist settlers. On the 'theories' that disprove religion. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On dreams lost to means of living. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On change ("Yes We Can!") that promises change but delivers constancy. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On short-lived War and enduring Peace. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On "what's in" and what's centuries old culture. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

On servants who, when we were young, were our friends and equals. I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

I'll take constancy. Keep the change.

Random Experiments

http://www.myspace.com/mcfussto

An Excerpt from a Book

"That wild beast, which lives in man and does not dare to show itself until barriers of law and custom have been removed, was now set free. The signal was given, the barriers were down. As has so often happened in the history of man, permissions were tacitly granted for acts of violence and plunder, even for murder, if they were carried out in the name of higher interests, according to the established rules, and against a limited number of men of a particular type and belief.
A man who saw clearly and with open eyes and was then living could see how this miracle took place and how the whole of a society could, in a single day, be transformed. In a few minutes the business quarter, based on centuries of tradition, was wiped out. It is true that there had always been concealed enmities and jealousies and religious intolerance, coarseness and cruelty, but there had also been courage and fellowship and a feeling for measure and order, which restrained all these instincts within the limits of the supportable and, in the end, calmed them down and submitted them to the general interest of life in common. Men who had been leaders in the commercial quarter for forty years vanished overnight as if they had all died suddenly, together with the habits, customs and institutions which they represented."
Ivo Andric - The Bridge On The Drina

The Red/White Mosque

"Are we there yet?" I asked in excited nervousness.
"Almost"
We drove past Melody Market to the point where the sidewalk gives way to a right turn. And there it was, the Red Mosque. Standing alone in its eerie presence. Empty. The Red Mosque now painted white. As if all the blood had been purified.
"This is where it happened" said my cousin, referring to the incident. "That was the Jamia-Hafsa, which they've demolished now... and that's the mosque"
I was being given a tour of the place of worship that had been once been a place of worship, then a place where youths were misdirected and then finally a battleground for a bloody, sickening and embarrassing end.
The paint job was awful, you could still see blood stains in a few places. Or was it just my imagination. Maybe it wasn't blood. Maybe it was just the red texture that used to be. Yet the place was empty like a cemetery. No worshipers and no call for prayers.
"It's not that big a place" I remarked. Half thinking, half talking.
"This area's always been very politically active... now, though, people are more careful. What happened, well, was scary. I try to avoid driving through here...."
"Look! There's someone in there!" I said, and indeed there was someone near the entrance of the mosque. Clad in black.
"Of course there's someone. It's a mosque after all"
"You mean... even now?"
"Yea. Life has to go on."
I went there looking for bullet holes and blood stains. But life has to go on. Some things have to be erased from memory and history because life has to go on. Whether what happened was right or wrong is not the question. It happened. Life has to go on, albeit a little haunted, a little empty... a little guilty.

Sattire Attire: Dmitri writes

And we will find each other when the world becomes what we envision it to be; a fair world. For then only will we be at peace and loyal to ourselves. Till such time we will be preoccupied in our efforts to make change. But as is the will of men, this will never come to pass. For those with power and riches have little reason to compromise. And those with no power nor riches have resigned to a life of submission. Balancing the scale of justice is no easy task when there is only one weight; power and money as one. And if God is to be judge, then we will have to wait till that Day comes. And on that Day when we've come full circle, we'll find each other that one time and then go our designated separate ways. So it is meant to be. So I am without passion, and I only long for that one fateful meeting on that one fateful Day when all we envision will eventually come to pass.