seharakram

[seharakram]

I don't know how you do it Nodeep - rise above what is mere existence and be something unfathomable. I look at your picture everyday and wonder how you do it - born and bred in discrimination yet somehow finding the strength to be beyond your circumstances. For others, you might be just another passing face during this incredible fight but for me you are the Light. . . . Thanks to the lovely @dkenimsaj for letting me copy and recreate her work and being kind enough to encourage me 😊 https://www.instagram.com/p/CMKrnDhn9R8/?igshid=1j4zn8pb1pcp

[seharakram]

I always wanted to have short hair but I was conscious of the way I would look. I have been known for the way I look - brown hair, pale skin, green eyes, invisible body hair, the shape, the size. This is what people notice in me first. Somewhere it bothers me. Especially, when people say that they like my skin but not the one on my face because I have acne. And things like, if I ever plan on cutting my long hair then they’d want to keep the cutting. And if they could touch my skin and feel it because it looks so smooth but oh please don’t be weirded out because it’s not sexual. I know that I am a little different from the norm; people notice it and I have grown up with it. I also know that some people value the way I look more than the person I am inside. What bothered me more was whether I had started to see myself that way. Whether, over the years of living in this society, I had somewhere started to value my looks over what’s inside. In the quest of discovering the truth, I cut my hair; one of the most beautiful things about my look. I went all bald not to prove a point but to live with it and watch it grow awkwardly and test myself. I want to see how I feel without my long hair hiding my insecurities. This isn't necessarily a feminist statement but a self-exploration experiment. At an age where society dictates a woman must get married and settle down, I want to see if I can stand being unconventional - something I have associated myself with. I don’t have to have long hair to be beautiful. I don’t have to be beautiful. I am what I am without any of it, and it's alright alright alright! https://www.instagram.com/p/CIfNLmFljr4/?igshid=sihfdzoartle

[seharakram]

This was just before COVID19 spread across the world. I was skeptical about visiting Gokarna for the 3rd time but it turned out to be just as memorable as the previous two. It was Shamael's first visit to the sea. He was dumbstruck. Running along the shore in his red shirt, he looked nothing less than Pamela. As I slowly lose count of the days I have spent in isolation, I look back to this day and feel lucky. Second day of periods, unbearable heat, trekking up and down the hills, back breaking pain at night. It was all worth it. Swipe left to see how Shamael kicked firangi asses and flipped them all - Spiderman ishtyle 😎 (at Gokarn, Karnataka, India) https://www.instagram.com/p/CANqDwEFyHE/?igshid=171x7a8h9q35h

[seharakram]

Presenting the first of many more to come, breathe in and breathe out... This is a tough time. All of us are putting up with several difficulties. But there is one thing that keeps us going, no matter what - our breath. It's so inconspicuous that we hardly notice it. However, our entire lives are revolving around it. So here's to the prime connection we have with Life! Breathe in & breathe out... In collaboration with the very talented @shamaelu ~Love and hugs. https://www.instagram.com/p/B-WWAFrFhI5/?igshid=ms8ue4qvhvx1

[seharakram]

Elders in my family would say "isko itna sarr pe mat chadhao, behak jayegi". Celebrating my sister, first cousin, first friend @kishwar.syed https://www.instagram.com/p/B9eYYEVlrNs/?igshid=39mv981kqc96

[seharakram]

After a long day’s work, Sahida sat on the rickety cot on the roof. The cot has been there ever since and withered such that the rust was as brisk as the cool summer air. Her 9-year-old lay on the cot with her head on her lap gazing at the sparkly night sky which soon gets boring with the exhausting number of stars. She turns to her mother and insists on a song. Sahida smiles andthen breaks in to “ye hai reshmi zulfon ka andhera…” One might think a lullaby would have been more appropriate but Sahida was wayward when it came to some norms. She chose Asha Bhonsle and Md. Rafi over ‘chanda mama’; not because it would please her daughter but because she felt like singing so. Her voice was strained but it was very melodious, and very much like a lullaby, it puts her daughter to sleep. Or was it her fingers that softly brushed through her daughter’s hair? Every time the little girl blinked, the stars seemed to have changed places. After a while her hazy head couldn’t keep a check. The stars danced and as if they said, “it’s ok, let go”. And so she just let it all be. A star dimmed here, another shone there, and in her mind, she felt light. . . . P.C. @peterlazar1993 https://www.instagram.com/p/B7VvPRVFbhK/?igshid=190enhvcbamnc

[seharakram]

The reason I feel not a day older than 18! I don't know why I chose to do what I did 😂 Meri Christmas, teri Christmas, sabki Christmas 🎄 https://www.instagram.com/p/B6hujPOF3US/?igshid=13yk9f4pe2rjw

[seharakram]

Over the years, I started seeing my parents as individuals who have a life apart from being my procreators. They have their own stories, hopes, dreams, and struggles. With time, I have begun to respect them even though not agree with them on most occasions. We still have an environment of constant argument at home. It is more civilized now. I have never had bhakti for my parents. I respect them for their tenacity and resilience. Despite having a full-time job and raising two kids in a joint family, both of them continued their higher education. My mother post-graduated in modern history and my father graduated LLB. My relationship with my father hasn’t been easy. As an adolescent, I used to have regular disagreements, bordering on to tearful quarrels, with my parents. They were supportive when it came to education and career but they were orthodox otherwise. I don’t know from where I developed this sense of curiosity to question everything. I questioned and still do, everything anyone told me. I took only those answers that sat well with me. They weren’t always correct but with time I learned my lesson, sometimes the hard way. But I am grateful that I falter. My truth is always based on my experience. Have you ever wondered that almost everything we know is secondhand - through books, teachers, pop-culture? Is there anything we know that is primary? From our belief systems to our values and ideals, everything is a hand-me-down. Think about it. Pick up any idea you have in your head and travel to the source - it will probably be a secondary one. How many of our ideas are original? How much of our existence is not “influenced”? I remember the look on my father’s face when a teenage Sehar asked him “If God is really that powerful & owns everything, why does he need us to pray to him?”. I think he sensed the trouble I’ll cause him in the coming years. In that moment I wonder if he regretted raising a daughter who questions everything, even his authority. I used to always wonder what did I do to deserve certain circumstances. Now I know. I remember writing in my friend’s slambook (the 90s fad) that I want to be ‘free’ when I grow up. So here I am. https://www.instagram.com/p/B6c9cEpFjLE/?igshid=9psnipzv4qne

[seharakram]

FYI the economic crisis in Venezuela is such that middle-class people are eating out of garbage cans. Murder, rape, and robbery is rampant. In India, the prices of pulses have gone up by ~10 % and vegetables by ~35%. More is selling moong dal for Rs. 158 and Big Basket is selling onions for Rs. 129. A native of Meghalaya is worried about her parents because they are BP patients and their medicines are exhausting. The state is under lockdown. A native of Assam is now able to empathize with Kashmiris. Personal Data Protection Bill has been passed without consulting the standing committee. Instead, a joint committee with no technical expertise sanctioned it. When a neighborhood uncle schooled me on how to trim my nails as per Islam, I asked him for an explanation. He didn’t have one. I was 12 when I told him that I’ll give it a thought when he makes a relevant point. Years later he asked me if I learned how to trim my nails. I asked him if he had found a relevant argument to support the theory. I was 15. I resist. My parents and I have differences. I love them to bits but I have never shied away from voicing my opinion, and mind you, I have been firm. I have argued with my family about religion, marriage, culture, politics, freedom, God, and more. I was a troubled child because I resist. If I want to read the Ramayana and Mahabharata and not the Quran then I will do so. I have refused to perform the Namaz and memorize the Quran until I see fit. I resist. I argued with my mother about marriage and called her out on her regressive mentality. I called out the woman who was cut open to give me life. I love my mother but if she is wrong, I will let her know because that’s exactly what love is. Love doesn’t give up. Love redeems. So if you tell me that it’s difficult to talk to people and make them understand especially family, I insist that you RESIST. Not because today it is the others and tomorrow it’ll be you, but because as Ramanna Maharshi said: “There Are No Others”. https://www.instagram.com/p/B6Abwq6lQeC/?igshid=1vnxv6jwfpky7

[seharakram]

My Instagram flashed to confirm that the Rajya Sabha passed the Citizenship Amendment Bill. I sat stunned. My head started spinning. I noticed my chest breath in the last few morsels of freedom and heaved out a burdened sigh. With life hanging by the tenterhooks, I am reminded of Anne Frank. She hid from Nazi persecution with her family and four other people. She used to write letters to an imaginary friend about life in the Secret Annex hoping to publish and become a writer someday. I too wanted to become a writer. Life hasn’t been kind but I have persevered. However, I feel I should have tried harder. It feels like I don’t have enough time. Now, what does the bird with a bruised wing do? It takes the leap of faith and let the wind carry it. So here it goes: Time is always ticking but in dire moments we are critically reminded of the uncertainty of life. Some words should never be left unsaid, love should never be lost. This Christmas or New Year or anytime, if you want to say something to someone - say it with a letter. It doesn’t matter if you can’t find the right words, I'll do it for you. All you have to do is send your feelings in an audio message to me. I’ll convert that into a heartfelt ‘handwritten’ letter and mail it to you so that you can give it to The One. And as I write for you, I would have lived many lives in one lifetime. Be it a lover, a friend, a parent, a guardian, a teacher, an acquaintance, a colleague, a mentor - Don’t wait! Because in the end, all that matters is how fiercely we have loved. You with me on this? P.S. I’ll try and do it for no cost. However, feel free to pitch in. No pressure. Profits will be donated to Sri Rakum School For The Blind And The Sighted Unprivileged, Indiranagar, Bangalore. In anticipation 💗 https://www.instagram.com/p/B5-JJWWFsmb/?igshid=uy169uop73rh

[seharakram]

As someone who always suffered from an identity crisis, I am, at present, being remarkably labeled - a Muslim, a liberal, a woman, a possible immigrant as I belong to a state with an international border, a threat. It's only a matter of time when legitimate papers wouldn’t shield us from the impending doom, assets worth years of hard work are snatched away and we are lowered into our graves. Having being introduced to the concept of witness consciousness, I have awarded myself with premium awareness. As I live each of the current days, I can’t help but wonder what else will I be branded as and subsequently used for. I’ll be ostracized and left stateless as a Muslim, detained as an illegal immigrant, probably be used for sex slavery as a woman, forced to bear children of aristocrats for my exotic features, chained down into obedience to annihilate my existence. These aren’t exaggerations, you know. These things have happened to people. History remembers them on Holocaust and genocide anniversaries. People with numbers engraved on their skin rendered nameless. People reduced to a statistic. People who once had dreams and aspirations being categorized as per their usefulness and gunned down for their uselessness. These things have happened to people and it’s probably heading towards us. I have the words “I AM” tattooed on my skin to remind me of my present and that my possibilities are endless. But soon I might be tagged as a number and it would read I AM XVIII. Yesterday night as I sat for my routine meditation, I felt this enormous weight on my arms. I thought I had fallen asleep and was dreaming. I tried to jolt myself awake realizing that I was conscious and the weight was real. Instead of feeling a white lotus blooming out of my palms, I felt the weight of a colossal metal drill with chiseled edges. I looked down at my empty hands. My palms were sweating and I could still feel it. Is it just me or do you feel it too? The terror in my heart? The shiver down my spine? The tremble of my hands? The throbbing in my head? The fatigue in my legs? The retching in my bathroom? The muffled sobs inside my scarf? The tears on my pillow? Do you feel it? https://www.instagram.com/p/B57KsE8FLAa/?igshid=mq8ax0ed861w

[seharakram]

Ghar se dus kadam pe masjid hai aur gyaarhve kadam pe Hanuman ji ka mandir. Ulti taraf 20 kadam pe gurudwara hai aur 5 minute pe bazaar. Ghar se autorickshaw lia to 10 minute mei girjaghar aur 15 minute mei school. Kuch aur duri pe station aur station k paar dost ka ghar. Wo kehte hai "ab ye tumhara ghar nahi". Ghar ab bas phone k tasveero mei reh jayega. https://www.instagram.com/p/B54f_VHnF4W/?igshid=19txe9sgwtabq

[seharakram]

Remember when I had asked you if rape jokes are funny? I realized that what makes a joke funny is if it is laughed at. So the next time someone jokes about rape or abuse or molestation, know that you have the power to decide whether you want to laugh at it or not. When you sit at home scrolling through social media, feel bad for rape/sexual abuse victims, complaining about your helplessness, here are some points on how you can help: 1. Is desh ka kuch nahi ho sakta, society ka kuch nahi ho sakta, duniya ka kuch nahi ho sakta because we simply sit and lament and add to the misery. We are so unaware of how we passively participate in rape culture. Stop it. Be aware. 2. Let women be. We have a hard time getting born in a society where families dunk baby girls in milk and choke us to death. If we have managed to survive that, please be considerate and let us be. 3. Support free education. When young people are properly educated, they grow up to be sane citizens and form a society that is progressive, emboldened, and not domineering over the less fortunate. Free education uplifts the rural society and brings them at par with the urban. Your tax money is empowering someone. 4. Talk about uncomfortable and bothersome issues. Begin conversations around sexuality, gender-bias, politics, capitalism, and other significant issues. Learn to have civilized conversations with people who disagree with you instead of hurling abuses. We are not savages. The more we stop talking, the easier it is to divide us and conquer. 5. Refrain from using terms and propagating ideas that are derogatory. The society has put its honor in between our thighs. We don’t want it. Most of our insults are targetted at our mothers, sisters, daughters, wives, etc. We believe that to severely hurt someone, we need to attack their womenfolk and their private parts. Stop that. Even when it is in humor, it encourages the idea that women are fragile and easily insulted. We don’t want to be the flagbearers of your brittle pride. 6. Stop asking women to cover up, laugh softly, be demure, earn less than their partners. (Continued in the comments) https://www.instagram.com/p/B5uuYXrF9sy/?igshid=v52rh4son70u

[seharakram]

While talking about International mens’ day and what men want, someone pointed out ‘let us be’ - the sheer fatigue in that phrase was hard to miss. In that moment, it dawned on me that just as we have labeled women, we have also labeled men. Don’t cry, get it together, be a man, pay the bills, and plenty of other moulds to fit men in. We have seldom allowed them to just be. So on the occasion of International Mens’ Day, this is to let all the men know that you are valued and loved. And a special tribute to my favourites: Papa, we have had our differences, we still do, but I am so proud to see you pursuing your dream of becoming a lawyer. At 60, when people retire from their jobs and let life take its course, you grabbed the reins, said your favourite quote out loud ‘kuch karna chahiye’, and set out to don the black and white. Mahith Menon, for bawling your eyes out at emo movies, smiling at strangers, letting me braid your hair, and being an unapologetic softie. Your tenderness is a massive threat to toxic masculinity. Satyaki, for being kind and compassionate, and these aren’t mere words I use for everyone. You embody these terms. You are the one who taught me how to be a feminist. Samarth, for being so honest and human. You are one of those few whom I have seen in the element and I adore you for not holding back. Anurag, for caring for us and feeding us. You make us feel at home. Syam, for being so level-headed and understanding. The sheer patience you have to tolerate not one but two idiots :D Vinod, hamari Amma bol bol k thak gai aur hum nahi sune, lekin tum humko chaar roti khilaane mei kaamyaad ho gaye. Our housekeeper at Social Rehab stays far away from home and works hard to send his daughters to school. A salute to his ambition. Daniyal, may we as a family be able to retain your purity and innocence. May we be successful in raising a Man. A special mention to Malayali men and their brand of masculinity. As I socialize more and more with you guys, I feel that the world needs to learn from you. https://www.instagram.com/p/B5DF8sull4n/?igshid=dn145s2acqho

[seharakram]

A Reminder of The Truth. https://www.instagram.com/p/B3xN4mfFPh3/?igshid=5vtfh8shviv2

[seharakram]

A couple of you asked me about my experience at Vipassana. I feel the Vipassana experience is novel for everyone. I wouldn’t want to influence yours by talking about mine, but I can tell you this: Vipassana is the true embodiment of silence. They don’t advertise themselves. They don’t speak for themselves; seldom does anyone else. Their work is enough. People say you are no longer the same person who steps into the ashram. I disagree. I am still the same person but with a new pair of glasses - better vision. I now see things for what they are and not what I imagine them to be. There is a lot of awareness, acknowledgement, and forgiveness - all of which begins with me. There are the days when people have great things to say about me - the person I am, the way I write, and more. The one thing I always wished for was to see myself the way they saw me; the virtuosity and merit in me. And I did. In those ten days, I saw myself clearly for the first time. When the challenge of noble silence started to crack down, people broke. I did too but a lot later. I saw myself clearly, being resilient. Earlier, while on my way to the ashram, I had wished I had practiced asanas and meditation more often, to build strength for what was coming. Surprisingly, I got comfortable with each passing day. It was baffling how at ease I was in that state. And then it struck me that I have had a lot of practice. My abhyaas, as they say, didn’t start on the first day of my yoga class. It didn’t start on my first attempt at meditation. It started on this day, years ago - that was day one. So you see, when I walked into the ashram doubting myself, I had walked in prepared with over two decades of practice. I was ready for what was to come. For what I had been seeking, had been searching for me too. . Artwork: The Tempest by @rubbbble https://www.instagram.com/p/B3wQxRslfWF/?igshid=o74v23lwkeht

[seharakram]

(2/2) I have been a quitter most of my life. When the going got tough, Sehar went home. I always convinced myself that it’s ok, maybe it wasn’t meant to be. But I had put in so much this time. I wanted this to work. And so I ran, with all the might I had. Like the time I was 10 and running a race at school. I didn’t care who looked, and I ran for the biscuit strung on a line. I didn’t care and I ran past the crowd at the airport and stood at gate 1. I had to cross the dense afternoon crowd, an escalator, and another dense crowd downstairs. I removed my shoes, picked them up in each hand, and ran with my heart pounding in my hollow chest. I ran past a crowd aghast at my crazy and my bare feet. I ran even when I couldn't run anymore. I ran and didn’t stop until gate 24 only to find it closed and the board showing Lucknow and not Dehradun anymore. I begged the attendant to let me through, to make a phone call and let me on the flight, to do something! I almost fell at his feet. He exclaimed, “Ma’am, I’m sorry but the flight to Dehradun has been delayed by an hour. Please take a seat”. I looked at him in disbelief. Sweating and huffing and puffing, I slumped against a nearby wall and thanked whoever made it work. Such things never happen to me. I have never been this lucky. If there is a God somewhere, that day, I believed in Her. Ever since, I remind myself that if I try hard enough, I will make things happen. I just have to believe as if it were already true. Itni shiddat se... https://www.instagram.com/p/B3uAD5GlFzs/?igshid=1tiyr5ocbl5ql