The Rise

"It is difficult for most of us to climb things. Climb up to where we could feel freedom. Looking around ourselves, we are healthy enough to know we are sick; sick of money, sick of relations, sick of attitude, sick of being human anymore and sick of ourselves. Some, without much thinking, say it is the result of industrial revolution and involves capitalism to carry the blame for our sicknesses. Isn’t it fair? If it’s not capitalism, it would be something else. Basically to start with anything that’s relevant, we should know we are sinking deeper and deeper, day by day and what’s pushing us or is that like what’s pulling us down. There is nothing that’s enough strong to pull you or me so deep into the pits other than our own minds. Comfortable minds.

When Bruce was thrown into this pit from ancient world, all he wants was to come out of it and save Gotham. Isn’t that maniac? Or dreaming nonsense? That’s what people inside the pit symbolically showed him. Once in a while some ill-motivated guy takes the rope to climb up only to see falling down helplessly clashing the pit walls, sometime being fatal. Witnessing this, most of the prisoners, decided not to give a try, may be because they felt all they need is a natural death. They couldn’t risk being free. Bruce knew he was in wrong place. He passed through the thickest of enemy minds back in Gotham, able to pull down the Joker, and he knew climbing up was as easy as a child’s game. He was partly correct.

And he could able to understand this lacuna, only when he failed twice. It’s when he came to know that it’s the fear of death that brings him close to triumph but not the wanting to live. Fear of death is different from wanting to live. Each time he tried climbing up the pit; he wore this safety rope, assuming that IF he fails, he could live little more to try again. That’s hope, immature hope. He couldn’t climb because he knew he would get another chance, if failed in this. His wholesomeness to live more diminished his fear of death. And only when he didn’t use any rope, he had in his mind that if it’s not now, it’s never. This notion helped him a lot to keep answering his doubts that he can climb up and he did. That’s a pure risk.

That’s the pure risk, uncalculated and option-less. Now or never. Can we have that in our real life? Are we that weak, emotionally linked up to family, thinking terribly what friends would talk about us if we fail, what our neighbours would ask if we return home with empty wallets and wounds? Is this your concern? Are you more preparing yourself to answer your co-prisoners, who have actually decided not to take risk? Your Mom, your Dad, your Brothers, your friends? Who do you think know more than you about your dreams? Or do you have a back-up plan to survive after a risk, and do you sugar coat it as practical way of living with back up plans? Or are you just trying something for a show-off? These are all the safety ropes and with them on you, you can never ever climb up to your freedom. Never.

Risk like this is your last chance, your last day. And you will RISE. DESHI BASARA.

-Aroon Che

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The Lost Love

"It was that one igniting evening that fumed into his life. I knew him as my mentor, I work for him, used to, for now he no longer bosses me to do this and that, for some reason, I should say, that this one igniting evening of his delivered my freedom to choose a different way to look at life.

That evening, it was his company’s annual dinner, which as usual is held in the office premises, making for him comfortable to continue to have his board meetings seriously in a joyous mood, at least for that occasion, though he clearly instils gravity in the room. He was seriously looking into the papers, having seated at the end of the table making it easy to participate both in the meeting and party, with one of ears listening to the board member explaining the future plans and the other one for the guests. He was in a glass chamber, labelled “meeting room” with a group of managers. Waiters go in and out, filling their beer glasses, replacing the empty snack plates with filled ones. He once in a while took a sip, without letting his head go off the papers, which I assume, seriously could be the balance sheet. People call him Money man. I knew him for the whole of my professional life. I knew he was too busy, on a frank note, too busy to live.

He grew up to this, from rags. From panting rags to this suffocating riches. He surely, I believe, must have forgotten he was my childhood friend and role model. Money is that powerful than love to flash a mind. Isn’t it?

As the guests flowed in, it was wee hours of the night, when all of them moved to dinner. One of those guests, a very important client of my busy friend came in forward to this particular lonely lady who was gathered by elite female guests of the day. She was dressed in finest silks and jewellery, looked so lonely, smiling ostensibly now and then, to fake greetings of these guests from capitalistic world. I changed my view from my busy friend to this lady who attracted my attention more than ever. She looked like she was once upon a time a beautiful girl raised in heaven. She seemed to be uncomfortable with the mob, seldom drinking from the glass she’s holding, looking towards the glass chamber very often, and every time cautiously hiding this act of her. I noticed this, but understood it.

The man, who approached her, stood in silence waiting for her attention and she responded. He then asked her to sing a song, to which she out of some childish gesture, denied. The man, with strong determination, called in everyone and asked them to support him to make her sing. There was a bit harmonic shouting that shook everything around, even the glass chamber. My busy friend and his mates paused for a while to look out what’s happening but couldn’t sync to the shouts. I looked at the lady who was silent amidst all the shouting which in a moment ceased to silent, as she began some kind of smooth and silky music, ever and ever I listened to. I remember I heard this when I was a child and then I never did, almost lost its ecstasy. It made to rise myself inches away from the ground to utmost contentment. The whole floor sunk in her voice. All I could notice in her was her eyes, which were stuck to the glass chamber, mainly to the man inside. She was my busy friend’s wife.
My friend was in silence throughout this song of benevolence, appearing it really touched his senses. It was that song which she sang in their first meeting. And he loved it, loved her and later proposed to marry her. She was a rich girl and my friend was a poor graduate. They evolved into a beautiful understanding and tussled a lot to get together and finally got married. Later, it wasn’t that beautiful as it was assumed. I remember him, once in a while, quoting about this song. It was those times when we were broke, he handed me a glass of wine as we sat alone in the hotel rooms ,depressed over the day’s meetings, he then used to try to sing this song, but couldn’t, he felt that weakness in him . I could only understand that the song was his kind of lullaby and kept him in peace with himself. He was lost.

All his life he was chasing clients, minting money, almost forgot he had someone waiting for him at home. He worked twenty five hours a day, a little more than usual clock time. He motivated others, stood as a symbol of hard work, grew as an example of life; he scaled himself to the growing trends and excelled in his field, remaining to be on the top for the last three decades. All through this time, if I could count, he was hardly a month at home. A month in thirty years is something that could make a person extinct. He didn’t see his son grow into teen. He didn’t know how his home looked like. All this time, his wife raised their son, made him go school, and grew him to a well- read graduate. She is indeed proud of her son. Importantly she waited for him, but never complained.

My friend turned pale and was broken as the song ended. He went back to his marriage, purpose of marriage and what he missed a lot all through this road to life. He put aside the balance sheets and glass of wine and then joined his hands to clap. The lady looked at him and tears rolled down her wrinkled cheeks. My busy friend then could able to understand the purpose of life, more importantly that it’s never late to resurrect it. Like a popular saying goes, get busy living or get busy dying, it is the purpose of life to meaningful. He lost his wife to chase down the graphs and pie charts and stock exchanges. He lost her happiness to buy clients, to buy their good will and businesses. He couldn’t balance the life. He didn’t stop clapping, even though the whole floor dropped to silence. The guests turned to him looking surprisingly at his tears and smile, which they rarely witness in him. He was a rock to them. And the rock has come back to life. He walked out of the chamber to the lady and hugged her big one. The guests cheered. I cheered.

As the night’s closing down, I could see these two old fellows, my friend and his wife, sitting in the corner, smiling and laughing, talking about something that seems to take them to happiness. He, then looked at me, excused her, and walked to me. I rose up, with respect and love. He smiled and gave me a hug and then whispered into my ears, to the best I have heard, “Son, I retire, and you may lead my empire now.” We stood together as I looked at the lady smiling at us. I waved her. She is my proud mother. It was morning by then; a new day has begun to everyone."

-Aroon Che

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