Camus! Truth is relative in a world where human being is going to become irrelevant. We are dusting our forefather’s maxims sometimes it becomes arduous to breath in a polluted cycle of information which has come to us by the flatterers of the monarchs. Come with me, in my Hustinapur we are not the son of kuru. Our tapping is the lull of this very land. Have you seen the blood? I have acquired that culture of any region nurtures the true history. In our matter, forehead redness is regarded as the fortune of the dauntless but we have been deprived of it. We are here, we have the same blood which will not distort our culture. This time procession has the element of surprise and wisdom which will cut the thumbs of those who use to claim the same about us. Where is? Victor Hugo’s Dame oh sorry! It’s not Hugo’s, it’s a lady who is phenotypically a bit similar to our coquetting dancing lady but having a goat and dog as her props. How symbolical she is!
The urban mademoiselle whose ambiance is under the question. Lo, my symbolic hero who is more ascertain about his faith and scientific approach .It’s not the fairy tale its tale about inner-self. Peeping through the window of history, his open eyelids are assisting him to read between the lines drawn by the class phobic. A desert man with his verses annihilating the socio-economic taboos. A symbol of resistance! It’s not the Notre-Dame de Paris. It’s the age of artificial intelligence or it would be better to say that we are living in in hawking’s era. Do you hear about Athena? It sounds like Athena “the goddess” but in actual it is the robot’s Athena.
Hero, the bridegroom of goddess Sarasvati who is more metaphysically featured in our folklores. Camus, why are you standing apart? My hero the desert man is the member of your family. It was you who told us once that Literature is your family wasn’t you! Once you claimed that wisdom contains the traces of emotional contamination. Our regional History is far away from wisdom and polluted by wise hypocrites’. Don’t you know regarding the dormant period of soil’s son? It seems obvious that history of that time was designed to oust us in socio-political context. Although there has not been pellucid indications of black propaganda yet we are black in all dimensions. Albert, are you perturbed? My land has countless Achebe’s Nangas.
The facades of our homes are enunciating about class struggle. Your literary representatives are in habit to campaign door to door. Questions and answers are digested in an adequate manner. Your revolution and its consequences are cherished by everyone. On other hand, revolution is once again hijacked by opportunists. Your books are your shrines where you live forever .our story is altogether different. We have lost our treasure trove. “Mir” My desert Man has emerged himself as the savior. I have been already late but I am aiming higher; you will realize exact expression in my affair. History has stamped us tiny creatures however my chase for truth has made me obvious to die young. My man, the Maru, has preserved us. He provides echo to the words .There are words who have lost their identity. To whom they inculpate! Words are living organs. One can access our history through words and Mir does that well. Camus! Critics are not moved. We never sit in the royal courtyard ever. Perhaps this is our heinous crime .Historian, I am in the Hustinapur of Mir.
Ali Arshad Mir
Let’s have a dialogue.The Socrates got assistance from this very tool. Your biasness perishes the spirit of history. For you we are not the beings. Our culture is all about your breathing regardless of your prejudice. You cannot change the fauna and flora of his land. We are the part and parcels. Camus, you would find it childish yet may be there is a more sound reasons for this soliloquy. The Sun is ascending while the moon has transformed in a symbol of ill-omen. Will you accompany me? Too many in my life have decided to act without being generous in order to exercise charity. Would you practice it right now? Camus nods!
I have lost the address of Mir as we lost our anecdotes. He glares with the objectivity in his eyes. He has plucked a ravishing flower from the chaplet of Punjab’s mythology. Oh! My God, Suddenly agility took over him. Monsieur, its hyper realism. You would believe on its disclosure. Lo and behold this jogi gugga’s disciple with his venomous snake .The Anecdotes accentuates that the fumes from vaat tehunter stove were the sole reason of the bacchal’s pregnancy .We are travelers. Our anecdotes are travelling along our stoves. The crusts and troughs of time enchant whom against we resist. The Aggregate of past events when conjugates it narrates starkly different story. Historians of our times are reluctant to vindicate our role. Why?
This question needs to be addressed. In Modern age, in our institutes this dilemma is still prevailing that privileged class rebellions are the true rebellions. Who would eradicate this vulnerable seedlings? Oh, Maru in spite of marshal Arab origin you have preferred to live among us. You recognize the written encyclopedia of this soil is under surveillance owing to unduly biasness of colonial lords and their pseudo researchers. It doesn’t ended here every era treats truth for its own benefits. Rebels have been mutilated several times by the paid translators and intellects. Camus in this Galaxy of intellect there are hardly a blazing star like you who exercise hyper realism in its true essence. One finds it arduous to cackle on waves of time.
Believe or not only Sartre have the guts to acknowledge their contemporaries publicly even with heavy heart. Otherwise these armchair intellectuals love to live in their skeletal shrines. Camus, here is my man who demands nothing from life and negates all the fraudulent of history. Mir has knowledge and courage to raise the finger on existing class system. As per the verse of Mir every human being is honorable until he questions others identity. He is well aware of the fact that excursion of history stigmatize the Anti-establishment aptitude. This history is difficult to find in syllabus. However, in Hustinapur of Mir, truth is brave enough to cross any kind of river. Camus! You are regarded as the truth of your era. Que veux-tu dire? Camus a dit!