4.The Dilemma of Differences

“Do talk to him, the boy. I am sure, you will find the cues you look for the story.” My therapist always had her way of directing me towards more thoughts. “And you have fun at work. Take care.”   I got out of the car and walked towards the classroom, each step towards the building was a powerful recollection of my own identity to myself. The strong red colour and the beautiful architecture of the building was always welcoming. The way to the classroom was filled with morning greetings and smiles from my students, all the young minds I adored. I entered the first class and closed the door. The click of the door was an escape to me, simply a room filled with thoughts. The white board was scribbled with some theories and creative jokes. The 30 benches were occupied, the classic first week.

“Good Morning! Just a single mail? Nobody else likes to write here? Take some more time you guys. You, people, are here for 4 years.” Talking to the classroom was another important intricate activity that defined my own self to me.

“This is going to be marked upon?” A student sitting on the first bench asked.

“Marked? Oh, alright. Yes, every interaction in the classroom is marked in my lectures. But I spare the room of technicalities for the first-year batch. And let talk less about things that appeal differences.” The classic queries were always around a materialistic thing inside the classroom, tried my best to make a distance in philosophy and materialism in my classes.

“That brings us to the topic we shall think about today, differences. Why this topic? I really don’t know, but it is a concern that literature links up widely. Every single text you read will be composed off a difference in the human society. Think about it, tell me the name of any literal work that does not appeal a social difference.”

“Harry Potter, J.K Rowling. The lady never talked about rich and poor, it was always about one thing in the entire world, magic. No levels of identity there?” A girl spoke up. The enthusiasm made me smile. “You Muggle! Or shall we say Mud-blood! Don’t say this to Hermione Granger, alright? Nice attempt and I love the fact that you find fiction unifying.”

“Poems? There are many, I suppose. Wordsworth never talked about differences in Daffodils.” The boy from the back questioned and had a point. It felt great to be challenged by the students.

“You got me here! I shall rephrase, A story including at least two characters. Even a lot of monologues in the romantic era showcased the differences in the country living and the urban side. But the point is that a single thought of the difference in a story can be the whole basis of its origin and why is that so? For what I believe we humans tend to make conflicts out of those differences.” I walked towards the podium and examined the different faces in the classroom.

“Conflict is the major reason that led you out to this place, the reason why you had to leave your native place. Might be economical in the form, or maybe a social outbreak against you? The reason I want to address this to you people is simple, you are the victim of differences and even here in Europe, you guys are studying in the migrant batch. So can anyone tell me what was the first question that the migration department people asked you?”

A unanimous response of the word, “Name” was followed through the classroom.

“Names, the entities purely derived from religion in most parts of the world. There are exceptions of course, for example, my Indian friend names the Greek Goddess, Athena. Yea, I have been around the world to study these differences for my first book. Religion is the formation for every difference and conflict in the world today or you may believe in the Capitalistic perspective, which is alright. So, this element religion, I want to start with this phenomenon that binds you and me to the roots of our culture.” My phone vibrated, I always hated the vibration of the alarm that was set forth for the end of the class.

“E-mails! Come on. That is all for the day, I want you all to ask your parents about the religious perspective and my dear atheist friends, tomorrow’s lecture will be a better one, I promise. You guys can go on to the next class.” I sat on the bench and looked out for Irfan, hoping that he might approach.

The Story Of A Human Being

 

“She had blood, but no nation,

She had love, but not a destination,

She had colours in her life,

She was the Nur of Humanity”

 

She was trapped in a cell, grey walls were the only companion to her thoughts; no memory about her past, just the pain trembling through her nerves to the head where no questions could fall apart. A cell was her knowledge of the universe, somehow a woman in her twenties lost all her vision into an abyss made of four walls. She looked at the gate and gazed to the different colour in hopes, till her eyes lost the sense to behold the vision.

She opened her eyes in the hospital, she heard a lady near her calling out, “Nur?” “Open your eyes Nur”. The woman grabs a sense to a world unknown and he could decipher nothing but the colour of her cloths. She was in a hospital bed, with strings digging into her heart, has she lost it all? She thought, remembering herself, finding her consciousness. She asks out to the people around and the lady replied “My dear daughter, Alllha has blessed us! My dear child, you suffered an accident last month and just regained consciousness. I am so happy to see you, Nur.” She knew her name and the fact about how she cannot retain anything because of injury; she could not find herself within the mist of the situation, but she felt a sense of harmony with presence of the people around her.

Nur found a place in the Khan family as the only daughter and build up a new life, after a few years of regaining the senses of the world, she started teaching in a small school in Pakistan. She was able to educate herself with the new generation and her life was progressing with a normal phase of love and affection for her work.

Her injury remained subtle, but she used to have nightmares having no symbolic representation, she could gain her memories but her positive attitude lead her towards success. She fell in love with a man named Umair, they married and had a baby girl. Nur’s life was running through a simple and sweet approach of time and situation.

One day, Nur and Umair had a vigorous fight over an issue of her working for more hours and not looking after her personal health, the night following to the day bought a tormenting dream.

I remember what was told, shoot the prick in the face, that’s what commander general told me. Ahmed Husain, the man who gave coordinates to the secret Intelligence base in India that reckoned its faith to a terrorist attack. I remember what he said to me, “Neha ! Find the man and shoot the prick in the face”.

The target was aimed, I could sense the feel of accomplishment. I waited for Ahmed to be alone in the room, so that a hit can revenge the vice he initiated to my Nation. My aim was fixed on him, his family went out and the last member that went out was a small girl wearing a pink traditional wear, my heart throbbed for a moment, but I knew the mission that I had to accomplish.

I took the shot and that’s all I remember.

It was 3 am, she woke up with her heart running out a similar sense of pain to her nerves. “It was a dream, it is just not possible.”

She picked up her phone and typed the words AHMED HUSAIN. The search results flushed a sequence of visions, she closed her eyes and realised that Neha was never Nur.

The lady stayed there in her bedroom, with her eyes closed, with a heart throbbing out for something that cannot be described. The feeling could not be highlighted.

She opened her eyes and saw her daughter sleeping gently, the baby was dressed in pink and the single colour provoked a cry of her life.

“What’s the matter, Nur?” Umair asked her, as he woke up in fear.

The room with a family amalgamated through faith was reckoned to silence. The lady took her time to answer and after wiping her tears she said, “ I am lucky to have you, Umair. I love you”