A little boy of nine, a back bencher in my class of about 40 suddenly came into my attention. It was their Islamiat period and I was standing in front of them and trying to convince these little kids that God wasn't a menacing and ferocious being and didn't want people to die in his name when I suddenly noticed this kid. He was trying to hide his tears which were falling at a greater rate then his wiping ability and his face had crumbled. Since I was probably the only one who had noticed this and wanted to preserve his young pride, I tried to continue with a heavy and wondering heart. When the bell rang, signalling recess, all the kids rushed out of the class. I sneaked a look at this little boy and saw him bent down almost half way into his bag hiding his face from his classmates. When all had left he peered furtively and when he saw me looking at him, ducked promptly. I gently went up to him, pulled a chair beside him and asked him what the matter was. His tears started falling again and he looked defeated: a curious expression on a 9 year old. I put my arm behind his shoulders and held him until he could control his muffled sobs behind his little palms and then he started brokenly...'Miss..s..s I cc..an't gro.o..ow a bbbeardd', I smiled to myself, relieved that it was nothing serious and hugged him and said he was too young and when he was a little older he would be able to grow one. He looked at me with puzzlement and said 'I cannot wait that long, it would be too late'. Curious now, I asked him what the hurry was, still half smiling to myself. He looked at me incredulously as if I should know what he was talking about and said, ' If I don't have a beard no one will listen to me and how will people know that God loves everyone?, they will kill everyone by the time I have a beard.' Saying that his face crumbled again but this time his was not the only face that crumbled!
Haven't written in a while and those following my blog would know by now that whenever something disturbing on the world scene happens, I stop writing. Its an irony because usually writers provide solace through their writings while I, lose all power of expression when I am disturbed. And then what is there to write? Follow any newspaper from around the world and there is only one message that you get: Pakistan is rapidly slipping into an abyss! I was born in the 70s and have grown up in the 90s, I have vague recollection of the 80s even though I was not old enough to understand what life under Zia's martial law was like but I have seen relay race of power between Benazir and Nawaz Sharif in the 90s but never in our history have we been so unsafe. Where every person big or small, significant or otherwise, powerful or weak, rich or poor is exposed equally to this invisible enemy. Call it what you might, Taliban, extremist, jihadi, Al Qaeda, seperatist, a murderer by any name is ...
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