Well Well

Water is life. Life began in waters.

They say so. What they say is quite believable. They created cures, better transport, camera, electricity, the internet and all the woes that come with it. That’s what makes this claim of theirs very believable. The sayings of the philosophers and cult leaders on the other hand remain without tangible reasoning. Nonetheless, they too have claimed the same. Growing up believing water holds the key to life got embedded into the subconscious. That’s a plus with science. Coincidentally a book written by an atheist reached my shelf. It spoke of a map. There’s a water well on the route mentioned in the map. The story grew from a well and spread uncontrollably, often accompanied by greed, war and death. You are likely to invite the wrath of good men if you want to reach the same conclusion after seeing the map. Relax and grab yourself a glass of water. It still holds life.

Unless good men try to drown you in it!


You are the passenger. Memories are the baggage you carry. You are headed to the destination. Some will hop down at their stops. On yours, you too would leave and become a baggage for someone who too is destined for the same. Some would find the ride getting a little boring and try to open something to read and this is what a few came across.

نیا | New

ہر سال کی طرح اِس سال بھی اُس فون بنانے والی کمپنی نے نیا فون متعارف کروا دیا جس کو خریدنا لوگ معیار زندگی کی پہچان اور اَمارت کی نشانی سمجھتے ہیں. ان کا کہنا ہے کہ اپنے پچھلے تمام سے اعلٰی اور حُرفَا کی ہر پیش کش سے بہترین یہ نیا فون زندگی بدل دینے کا وہ واحد نسخہ ہے جس کے بنا آپ کا جیون ادھورا ہے.

خود نمائی، تشہیر دولت، اعلان رسوخ جیسے مقاصد پورے ہونے پر اگلے سال پھر سے ایک نیا نقش خریدار کو اسی فریب سے خواہاں میں بدل دینے کا کام کرے گا. کمپنی کا یہ دعوی کہ ان کا تراشا ہوا یہ علم و ہنر کا ٹکرا ہر خوبی کا حامِل ہے محض ایک جھانسہ ہے. ہاں سب نیا ضرور ہے مگر ضرورت نہیں. لالچ نے زمین کے مَعادِن سے کچھ لوگوں کی تجوریوں کو بھرنے کے لیے ناقابل تلافی نقصان پہنچایا ہے. موسم کی تباہ کاریاں اور ارضی تغیرات اسی کا باب ہیں.

دل کے کسی کونے میں کھیلتا ہوا وہ بچہ جسے اب بھی چمکتے انگاروں میں کشش محسوس ہوتی ہے، اپنی توجہ کسی بھی نئی شے کی جانب مڑتی پاتا ہے. خوب سے خوب تر کیمرا، عمدہ اسکرین اور جدت کا احساس اس کی توجہ کو موڑنے میں کردار ادا کرتے ہیں. پھر اب کا عامر اس نئے فون میں وہ سب ڈھونڈنے کی ایک لایَنْحَل سعی کرتا ہے جو اِسے حقیقتا قابل چاہ نگینہ بنا دے. کیا یہ نیا فون ماہ عزا کے دن گھٹا سکتا ہے؟ کیا بنا کچھ کہے جذبات کو الفاظ کے روپ میں آزادی دے سکتا ہے؟ کیا گزرے دنوں کی مزید جھلکیاں دیکھا کر انمول لمحات کو دوبارہ جینے کا موقع دے سکتا ہے؟ کیا ایک بار پھر سے ان پیاروں سے بات کروا سکتا ہے جن سے اب گفتگو نہیں ہوتی؟ بس صرف ایک بار کو ہی سہی.

گویا یہ ٹکڑا بھی اس شکل کا نہیں جس شکل کا دل میں چھید ہے.


Rain is a song. No, not that raunchy one the greedy director adds to the dumb plot of the movie just to spice it enough to turn his junk into a profit. It is the song that takes some back into the past and others into alternate futures. Yet, it remains a song. All geographies and languages have a stash of songs on rain, quite befitting ones. When all those songs are played together, what would you hear? Exactly the sound that reminds you of the drizzle outside.

Of rain!


No two worshippers get the same reward even when performing the same ritual in the same amount. No two lovers get the same return even when loving the same focus with the same intensity. No two readers would come to the same meanings when reading the same lines. I don’t know what meanings would you draw after reading these words. Just like you don’t know mine. Or do you?


January 23rd, 2019 / 10:43 AM

Sahiwal Incident is a national tragedy.

I have never liked policemen. Somehow the law enforcement agencies in my country represent evil. If one half of law is the intricate system of judiciary, the other without a doubt is the system of police and other law enforcing institutes.No one can pinpoint to how a crime comes to being or how a criminal is made in the first place. There are examples of people who went to the wrong side just because they were never treated well on the right side. Look at the example of what happened in Sahiwal. What would happen to the minds of a youngster when he sees his parents shot to death in broad daylight by none other than the people who were supposed to protect them. The print and the electronic media are the two main sources which are keeping me updated on the incident and how it is unfolding in front of our eyes. Shock and grief are the two emotions which have spread throughout the country but we as a nation have weaker memories and tomorrow we will forget what happened. The tragedy of a dying breed whether it is a dying breed of an animal or an art or a nation is that they never remember those tragedies which happened to others but they only remember the ones that affect them and those too on an individual level. It is our personal interests over the national interest which has divided us to a level that now there is no going back unless we cut back on our greed. This very greed of us is what has us divided in the first place. It is our greed of life which makes us afraid of these monsters in uniforms. We see everyday the policeman searching civilians in the name of law the so-called snip checking. Still the crime rate is high and people are afraid more from these traders of law who were supposed to be protectors. I still remember the man who used to sell fruit-juice in my neighborhood. Because he was too friendly with a policeman he had to suffer a fatal wound when that policeman was attacked in a targeted attack.

Just imagine witnessing a car travelling on the motorway carrying a family with women and children in it. Suddenly you see a police car chasing them and then blocking their way. Out jump those masked policemen who would shoot a spray of bullets on that car killing the members of the family instantly without the intervention or thought of law, logic or humanity. There are no external reason why other nations fear and scorn us. It is our own hypocrisy whether it comes to the system of law or the system of justice or the system of religious equality and social justice. We are hypocrites. You can never argue with a bearded trader of religion because there are so many educated and cultured blind following are crippled wheelchair wala who easily label you as a blessed famous and then send you to a harsh end. Luckily the bastard is behind bars as of this writing. But every monster comes out in a weaker system. It is so easy to just blame someone of a serious charge like blasphemy and then settle personal scores. The tragedy is that in a country of God, I found no God. You never know when some mullah might blame God for blasphemy or when a policewala shoot him.

Aamir Bilal


January 2nd, 2019 / 09:01 AM / Lahore

How many times do you realise that few moments do exist when you wish for a thing and it comes true. A few weeks back the itch to quit everything and visit the mountains or go to Lahore or to do both took a hold of me. Life gets strenuous and grey yet here I am sitting at the very same table in the same restaurant from where we used to have our breakfast. I cannot find any familiar face so far. Maybe somebody is searching for me and cannot find a familiar face either.


January 1st, 2019 / 06:53 AM / Lahore

Yes, a new year demands a new flow. But every time I move the current year to an archive, I start feeling like an old ghost. Or maybe is it a ghost haunting me. A chudail perhaps. No, the chudails could never be one. Never.

چڑیل | The Witch

October 8th, 2018 / 4:49 PM

I came across a book while roaming the old bazaar. A book about witches, or better, a book on the subject of witches. The subject has existed in almost every culture, religion, and region though the ideas, beliefs, myths, and ideologies about evil under the guise of a woman differ. Even the one I was born and raised in has a lot to say about this fascinating subject. From folk tales, dramas, contemporary literature, modern writings to informal gossip, proverbs, urban myths, and those evening warnings dadi used to say when we kids wanted to go to the neighborhood park, she existed.

As I grew up, so did that churail (چڑیل). She has lost that horrifying makeover from my earliest perceptions. Maybe those perceptions came into existence from all that was spoken about her. No more exist her hard reptilian skin or her beastly nails. The glowing white or black-hole dark eyes are gone too. She doesn’t levitate in the air or walk on the ground with those inverted feet of hers. The horrifying mask of her has fallen. Out has come to the appearance I had never expected. Organic. Staple. And normal. Like any other non-witch being. Only a master with the skill and experience might be able to spot her. The fools of men would never be able to do so, even with a thousand eyes. Perhaps that is the reason why she mixes herself so well in the crowd and ordinary mortals fail to spot her truer self.

Not all definitions one starts believing in exist in the dictionary. Not all ideas one follows are taught at a school. The experience is, after all, the best teacher. It is that very same experience that helped craft definitions for hard and impossible to define concepts including those of life, death, love, divine, and the witch. Out from the hideous and centuries-old reptilian skin has come a normal and organic witch who looks like any other woman one would come across. In her definition, she has been to the universities and beyond. She has a social media presence that she uses, very aptly, for two of the most nefarious purposes – propaganda and stalking. Beyond her apparent modernist ideologies exists a centuries-old soul, if the soul has something to do with her. Her beliefs do not bend with the fevers of the present era. Men of the modern age would not stand a moment before her ancient powers.

Two of the short stories in my book are inspired by this topic. This number does not do justice as the number of witches that helped define her is higher. I know this because at least a few of them would surely read these words. Yes, this is for your eyes. You are the witch for you know what lives under your skin better than any mortal ever can. A few of the witches were kind enough. They didn’t suck blood even after biting. None of them had inverted feet even when some had feet that incited the foot fetish and helped it evolve to new heights. I always wondered what if one day she reveals her true nature and her feet bend backward, would my fetish stay the same or disappear? What if her horrendous scary skin was not what she removed but the skin was something she just wore on to mix among her human preys? A few witches kept saying that men are dogs. I am not sure of others but had I been one, I would have seen her true self. I was told dogs see what humans cannot. Maybe the inner dog found a bone in this book bazaar. I look forward to a new definition this book might help craft.

Aamir Bilal

August 26th, 2018 / 7:26 PM


ردیف قافیہ بندش خیال لفظ گری
وہ حور زینہ اترتے ہوئے سکھانے لگی

کتاب باب غزل شعر بیت لفظ حروف
خفیف رقص سے دل پر ابھارے مست پری

کلام عروض تغزل خیال ذوق جمال
بدن کے جام نے الفاظ کی صراحی بھری

قصیدہ شعر مسدس رباعی نظم غزل
مہکتے ہونٹوں کی تفسیر ہے بھلی سے بھلی

بیان علم معانی فصاحت علم بلاغ
بیان کر نہیں سکتے کسی کی ایک ہنسی

حریر اطلس و کمخواب پنکھڑی ریشم
کسی کے پھول سے تلووں سے شاہ مات سبھی

گلاب عنبر و ریحان موتیا لوبان
کسی کی زلف معطر میں سب کی خوشبو ملی

کسی کے مرمریں آئینے میں نمایاں ہیں
گھٹا بہار دھنک چاند پھول دیپ کلی

کسی کے شیریں لبوں سے ادھار لیتے ہیں
مٹھاس شہد رطب چینی قند مصری ڈلی

کسی کے نور کو چندھیا کے دیکھیں حیرت سے
چراغ جگنو شرر آفتاب پھول جھڑی

کسی کے حسن کو بن مانگے باج دیتے ہیں
وزیر میر سپاہی فقیہ ذوق شہی

نگاہیں چار ہوئیں وقت ہوش کھو بیٹھا
صدی دہائی برس ماہ روز آج ابھی

سیاہ زلف گھٹا جال جادو جنگ جلال
فسوں شباب شکارن شراب رات گھنی

ظریف ابرو غضب غمزہ غصہ غور غزل
گھمنڈ قوس قضا عشق طنز نیم سخی

گلابی گال شفق سیب سرخی غازہ کنول
طلسم چاہ بھنور ناز شرم نرم گری

نشیلی ٹھوڑی تبسم ترازو چاہ ذقن
خمیدہ خنداں خجستہ خمار پتلی گلی

گلا صراحی نوا گیت سوز آہ اثر
ترنگ چیخ ترنم ترانہ سر کی لڑی

ہتھیلی ریشمی نازک ملائی نرم لطیف
حسین مرمریں صندل سفید دودھ دھلی

جو اس پہ بوند گری ابر کپکپا اٹھا
اس ایک لمحے میں کافی گھروں پہ بجلی گری

قیامت آ گئی خوشبو کی کلیاں چیخ پڑیں
گلاب بولا نہیں غالباً وہ زلف کھلی

کمال‌ لیلیٰ تو دیکھو کہ صرف نام لیا
”پھر اس کے بعد چراغوں میں روشنی نہ رہی”

عطائے حسن تھی قیسؔ اک جھلک میں شوخ غزل
کتاب لکھتا میں اس پر مگر وہ پھر نہ ملی