Sukoon?

She just sat there, singing inside her head. Sometimes it felt like the screaming and shouting and crying never stopped, it felt like hors had passed and she still sat there on the sofa, looking at the people in front of her, supposedly her elders. You can’t think rationally. That was one allegation. Well, in that moment, no one was thinking rationally, except her, obviously. She was proud, though, that she had developed this special mechanism of removing herself from situations and analyzing them as if she wasn’t part of it. Every few minutes, she’d look down at her hands and remember her tea, and take a sip. Eventually, she had nothing to do. She couldn’t interfere, it wasn’t her place. But she sat and thought of all the scenarios where she could’ve intervened and saved a lot of trouble for a lot of people. Oh well, maybe one day when she was somewhere where she was valued and respected. A far off day, indeed. Tonight, she must sleep. The only way she avoided thinking. The only way she avoided all unpleasantness. But although she did fall asleep at first, she woke up after a half hour and found she could not sleep. This hadn’t happened to her in a long time. She could hear voices in the next room. Unpleasant. She wished she could go back to sleep. But she couldn’t. Her head was spinning, even though she was lying down. Funny. She felt as if someone was rocking the bed. She raised her head, there was no one. Now she felt nauseous. Nothing she could do would stop the noise from pouring into her ears. Well, time to sit outside. The only place that had some peace. It was a summer night. It was hot. The mosquitoes charitably added to the bites on her legs and feet. It didn’t matter. Right now was about God. She looked up. Before she could get a word out, someone called her inside. She sighed and said, “You know, just help.”

Perhaps peace was not for her. Perhaps she would never find peace in her heart, or around her. Perhaps it was better to not be after all.

na thā kuchh to ḳhudā thā kuchh na hotā to ḳhudā hotā

Duboyā mujh ko hone ne na hotā maiñ to kyā hotā

–Ghalib, meri jan.

(Rough translation: When there was nothing, there was God. If there was nothing, there would be God. The act of being destroyed me, what would I be had I not been?)

All time favorite couplet.

Rab Rakhan<3