Monday, February 18, 2013

Stories of courage: 10 out of 15

We have another guest post today. This is a personal account of my reader's to emphasis the need of reproductive rights. The Author has requested not to mention his name, and he is a resident of Pakistan.

She asked them to tell about the worst thing ever experienced so far in a five minute speech. Five minutes - that’s all they got to express, fancy and deliver.

It was a nice tactic to know their weaknesses, distractions of life, bothersome details and hindrances. There might be someone who had a failed love story. Someone might have remained a victim of any harassment. There could be a patient to an incurable disease.

All of them spoke well - some with the full conscious to gain sympathies, while others blatantly put forward the negligible moles to illustrate how perfect they really are.

She was glad - passing remarks, tossing sad faces when required, a little clapping to show she’s involved and constant nodes to impersonate acknowledgements. Everything was going so smooth, being wrapped and waxed with heavy philosophical words. Then suddenly someone started throwing stones in the still water, someone not worth listening.

He moved up to the stage as lamely as anyone could and started:

The worst thing ever happened to me was not actually happened to me. Also, it has nothing to do with the rejection of my need-based-scholarship as I failed to submit necessary documents which include CNIC (national identification card) of my father and utility bills of my residence. I had none of these.

That worst thing is not related to the hard labor I do while loading trucks with furniture and milk cartons on Muree Road at nights to earn some bucks so that I could buy some extra meals and university notes. No ma’am! It wasn’t related to that at all.
It’s not associated to the ignorance I face due to my bad body odor as a result of excessive sweating during labor. Similarly, it has no association with discrimination I faced for a disgusting hairstyle, pathetic clothes and travelling on local transport.

I’d also like to mention here that though I was hilariously weak in pronunciation of certain words, had weak grammar, but the worst thing ever happened to me was not the laughters which my speech and writing brought to my classmates and teachers.

When first came to Islamabad leaving back those hills, this city mocked me with the stunning paradoxical situations for the fact that there were broad roads but narrow minds, a lot of green patches but barren souls and huge infrastructure but little space in hearts. Yet it was not the worst thing ever happened to me rather that dated back to much earlier years of my existence.

I was brutally disturbed by the hypocrisy as they write in about-section of their facebook profiles that they believe in the formulation of the classless society; they believe in forgiveness, change, revolution, love and a lot more fancy things. But in real they ignore people of not having an equal status; they reject them because of not holding a car worth 2 million rupees for delivering them Subway sandwiches during classes’ breaks. But anyhow, that too was not the worst experience I witnessed.

I could not become an applicant to join Pakistan Army because of not holding a domicile. No hospital held my birth record – a genuine flaw. Later, I was told that I cannot hold a bank account to keep alms and charity I receive occasionally to pay my university dues. I was not entitled to hold a valid identity card, family registration number and a passport. But all of these do not constitute the worst thing I ever experienced.

I did not get attention of my father when I was growing up. I still do not know who he is. But I loved him all my life. The worst thing ever happened to me was actually happened to my mother. I never got to know who she was, where she lived, weather she fed me her milk before abandoning me or not but I do know one thing – I know that I’m deeply saddened, I regret and often wish if she had a choice to "choose" me.

For a while everyone in the class felt humiliated, puny and naked.

Then a voice raised “10 out of fifteen for a hard try, plus 2 for the confidence; and improve your pronunciation.”

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