LETTER TO ZAHRA…MAY 12TH, 2005
I am quite aware that
you are in Pakistan visiting your family and friends. I am wondering
whether you showed your dad the letter I wrote to you about my
concept of Ideal Human Beings. I am curious about his
response.
For a long time I
have been preoccupied about the theme of Freedom as it is very close
to my heart. Whenever I think of Freedom, a number of thoughts and
feelings and images and experiences come to my mind. Rather than
articulating them in an organized form, I am going to follow free
association and let the pen flow as it is also an expression of
creative freedom. I feel letter writing provides far more
informality and freedom than essay writing.
I do not want you to
feel the pressure of responding to each and every letter. Write when
you feel the urge or you are inspired. We are developing a creative
friendship, not a business relationship. Writing letters is helping
me articulate my philosophy in a creative way.
Affectionately,
Sohail
1. CLOSED DOORS AND METAL BARS
When I think of all the
memories and experiences that shaped my attitude and philosophy
towards freedom, the first image that comes to my mind is an
image of my early childhood when I was really small, may be three
years old. Even now as an adult when I close my eyes I can see
myself with my tricycle standing in front of a closed door with a
metal bar in our house in
Kohat, Pakistan. I want to
open the door to go outside but I cannot. The bar is too high for me
to touch. I can hear children playing in the street. I want to play
with them but I cannot. I look at my mom with pleading eyes and ask,
“Mom, can you open the door?”
“No, I cannot.”
“Why not? I would like to go out
and play.”
“No, it is not safe. There are so
many pathans carrying guns. What would I do if they kidnap
you? I don’t even know their language Pushto.”
As I did not want to listen to all
the reasons and excuses so I walked away. The more I heard the
children play, the more I felt frustrated. When my mom saw me
sulking she said, “Wait, till your dad comes home. He will take you
out for a bike ride.”
That image of my standing close to
the closed door is etched in my mind. I remember when my mom was not
around, I tried to open the door many times but I could not. I felt
like being in jail and perceived my mom being the jailer. I felt
like a bird in a cage.
Now that I think about my life, I
feel that the images of closed door and metal bar and the feeling of
helplessness have stayed with me all those years. Maybe those
feelings helped me empathize with all those people who were held
behind metal bars and closed doors whether they were Eastern women
who were not allowed to leave home, or the writers and genuine
intellectuals who were imprisoned for their writings or the
psychiatric patients who were kept in the hospital against their
wishes.
I sometimes feel that my empathy is
not only for the human beings but also for the cats and dogs and
buggies, which are kept as pets locked up in the house or in the
cage and not allowed to play with their friends and mates. It is not
only that, they are even sterilized so that they are deprived of an
enjoyable intimate life. I am always amused by the reasons their
masters give to rationalize and justify their behaviour.
Whenever I think of that image I
remember a story of a parrot in Toronto whose Indian master wanted
to go to trip to visit his family. He had brought that parrot from
India with him to Toronto. Before leaving he asked his wife and
children what gift he could bring back from India. In the end he
asked his parrot if there was anything special he wanted the master
to do while he was traveling in India. The parrot asked him to visit
his friends in India and wish them the best and ask for their advice
for him. When the master finished his trip he went to see the
parrot’s friends. When he told them the message of his parrot he was
shocked to see that one of the parrots fell from the tree and died.
When the master came back he gave
all the gifts to his family and then told the story to his parrot.
After hearing the story the parrot fell in the cage and died. The
master was shocked one more time. He took the cage outside the
house, opened the cage and threw the parrot in the backyard. The
moment parrot touched the ground he woke up and flew to sit down on
the branch of the tree.
“Why did you do that?” the master
asked in bewilderment.
“I was acting on my friend’s
advice.” The parrot responded.
“What advice?” the master was still
puzzled.
“My friend sent the message that to
be free you have to die. Death is the price one has to pay for
freedom.”
I sometimes wonder whether that is
why one of the main values close to my heart has been freedom,
whether it is freedom of traveling or freedom of speech, whether it
is financial freedom or emotional freedom, whether it is social
freedom or political freedom.
That first image of closed door and
metal bar has been a mixed blessing for me, creating a painful
feeling as well a sense of empathy for all living behind closed
doors and metal bars whether humans, animals or birds.
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