Thursday, 11 December 2014

Healing in Hell.

was very beautiful. Well, at least Mama said I was. My tamed, curly, thick, black hair. My green, almond shaped eyes, complimented by thick, spider leg-like lashes. My rosy, plump cheeks, which I always wished to lose weight off, as every teenage girl would do so. Whenever I took a glance at myself in the mirror, I longed to lose a bit of this, a bit of that, or gain a bit of this or a bit of that. I considered myself imperfectly perfect. I wish I never did.

-

14th January 1934. 9:27am. The day I gained a piece of me but consequently lost a whole of me.

-

God blessed me with a daughter. Wallah, she was so beautiful, the spitting image of me when I was younger, as I had seen in one of the 3 early photographs there were of me.
I came from a poor family of 9. We could barely afford to feed ourselves. These photographs, however, were the only memories I had of my family. They were given to me as a present from my Uncle Iqbal. He was a rich businessman. Now that I'm in Tehran, I am not permitted to meet my family. Mostafa cannot afford it at the moment, thus I'm confined within these 4 walls. My parents got me married last year, as I was the eldest of 8 daughters. I had finally turned 16. “Once a girl turns 16, it is her mother’s moral obligation to make sure she is married.” The amount of times I heard that was unbelievable. So here I am, my photographs and I.

-

“You Harami! How dare you? I told you I wanted a son! What will I do with her? I swear to God, I know she will go courting with every other man. Like mother, like daughter.”

Bewildered. This was the first argument that Mostafa and I had gotten into. Aggravated. I was unable to comprehend why Mostafa would accuse me in such a demeaning manner. What had I ever done? I suddenly felt beads of warm water trickling down my cheeks.

“I’m leaving. This shouldn’t be here when I get home, or there shall be consequences. Be wary.”

-

14th January 1934. 11:24pm. I wasn’t expecting this.

-

“Mostafa, what time do you call this? Allah has blessed us with a daughter, why are you behaving this way? Be grateful to the almighty Mostafa, or you’ll regret it. Don’t play with fate.” At this point I was bawling. I had never spoken to anyone in this manner before.

Mostafa slowly gazed up. I couldn’t quite make out what he was saying, his speech was slurring. His pace, slow, staggering. His eyes were bloodshot red. His nostrils, flaring; an overpowering stench of cheap booze assaulted my nostrils. That wasn’t the only thing that assaulted me that night, however.

Mostafa started unbuckling his belt, heading my way. This wasn’t a good sign.

-

The sharp sunrays shone down on me the following morning. I woke up in a puddle of blood, my body aching all over. I looked around. Not a sight of my little angel anywhere. I started panicking, terrible thoughts started rushing through my head. Where could she have gone? Then I looked around again. Mostafa was packing his bags.

“Where are you going? Where’s my daughter?”

“Non of your business.”

“Why are you doing this? Tell me! Tell me now!”

“Sakina, have you not thought about how I feel? You stupid women think that it’s always about you. Don’t annoy me any further, move on, forget about the past.”

I paused. Puzzled. “What do you mean ‘past’? Where’s my daughter?” I felt my body go hot all over while my face started steaming. My heart started sprinting as if it were participating in the Annual Tehran Marathon.

Mostafa dropped his bags and looked up at me. He walked towards me and cupped my face with his dolma-like, yellow cigarette stained fingers.

“I did what’s best for us. We needed the money, Sakina. Don’t you want to visit your parents?”

My heart started beating even faster. As if it were desperate for victory in the Annual Tehran Marathon. “I want my daughter back, Mostafa! Leave me, I don’t want to live with you anymore!”

Mostafa’s hands dropped. He looked at me for a few seconds with a look of resentment in his eyes. I saw his hands reach for his left hand side pocket. I stepped back, not knowing what was heading my way.

I suddenly let out a screech. The top part of my body was burning all over, sizzling. I felt my skin corrode. My heart stopped beating for a second.

I won the Annual Tehran Race. I received my prize.

-

I woke up in my own bed. A couple of nurses were by my side. Mostafa was mumbling to one of them, I saw him give them some money. I shut my eyes.

I heard Mostafa’s heavy footsteps approach me. He stroked my hair. “I’m sorry, Sakina. Forget all that has happened. Lets start afresh.” I stayed quiet. There was an uncomfortable silence looming in the atmosphere. I couldn’t believe it. Even after all he did, he expected me to forgive him? I wasn’t going to take it. I was going to go back to Mama’s house. I wasn’t going to forgive Mostafa. All men think they can get away with committing grave sins. I won’t let it pass easily this time. I can speak for myself this time.


-

03rd February 1934.


-

I’m still in Tehran. I’m still living with Mostafa. Mama is unaware of what has happened. Mostafa won’t let me speak to her. I have taken all mirrors down. I’m still unaware of my appearance. I don’t want to see myself. I’m afraid I’ll see the monster in my reflection, the monster I may then turn into… I’m afraid I’ll see Mostafa.

-

So here I am. Healing in Hell.



- BISMA

Friday, 5 December 2014

I Dislike School.

The title itself is pretty self explanatory, but yes you guessed it, I dislike school. (because hate is a strong word.)

Don't get me wrong, I love education, who doesnt enjoy learning new things? It's just school itself that bothers me. The whole education system, the rules, the regulations. We're being indoctrinated to think and act in a particular way. In a way that best suits the people at the top. Perceptions are being thrown down on us in an environment that is said to be free, that is said to hold a huge hand in making us feel as if we're at home, making us feel confident. That, however, is certainly not the case. 

How is one supposed to feel relaxed when even the air in the school premises reeks of jealousy, hate and discrimination. When teachers slyly pass degrading comments, when you feel so self conscious and cautious whilst walking alone, how are you to be content? 

I'd also like to state that alongside the 7 never ending hours already being spent at school, irrelevant homework is handed out each week for nearly each subject. Now I don't mind a piece of homework every now and then that is going to help me in the long run, however, basing my knowledge on a research task that I could easily copy off google isn't the way to go.

Don't get me wrong, I take great pride in my education/schoolwork. There's quite a lot that still needs changing, however. The uniform policy, the rules and regulations, the fact that we're forced to study certain subjects, the focus on STEM subjects being important, ignoring the creative side of studies... The list goes on.

It's time we made this wonderful concept of education an actual thing in schools.