Time and Times

A translation of 'Zamano ain Zamana

By Abdul Haleem Brohi

I have become useless, and the time is to be blamed.

Our times were wrong; all were keen for philosophy and to become genius. Some read Khalil Gibran, while some read Aristotle, Plato and Socrates. One group had taken it upon themselves to memorize the Oxford English Dictionary verbatim. Of the same group, I later saw some of the same students after their university days; eating paan and using highly daunting words of Urdu while creating poetry. That time was such; then I got abandoned; to be alone in those times and to live alone was dangerous for ones sanity. I did not belong to any group, had no companion, no friend. Because I was a student of Philosophy, I had a label of a philosopher tagged on me; though I never seriously studied Aristotle, Plato or Socrates, etc.

During that time, the second dangerous thing that emerged was an appearance of Russian writings and novels. They were slowly taking over a lot of space and as I was away from this change, I observed surroundings with surprise and low self-esteem. This time was totally and completely wrong! A whole bulk of humankind was dependent on poets and writers and that in itself was a waste of humankind at a large scale. 

The times after that gave roots to the philosophy of Marx. This philosophy had nothing to do with Aristotle, Plato or Aristotle’s logic. It was a basic viewpoint of economics. I used to see all this from a distance, without understanding much of it, and used to get annoyed because right or wrong, I used to like Aristotle’s logic.

Within that one time, there were times which used to have a negative effect on my self-esteem. As a consequence of Pakistan’s creation, the lots that gathered in Hyderabad collages consumed the children of the government officer’s children studying there; I was abandoned. I did not get a Masters Degree but it was not my fault. I did not work on a respectable post but it was not my fault. I was intimidated and terrorized. During that time in my life, all the times fixed within, were lucky for those who were socially persuasive and struggled for betterment. I was beaten behind.  

There should not be any problem in acknowledging the facts. The times and the torments of the times and their doings have made me abnormal. The job that I did in Sindh University was a circus. The law that I practiced was also a circus. Time and doings of times have handicapped me; incapable of taking pride in my home or my children. It is a sewer that I have been swimming in. If I am praised place now, my eyes fill up with tears. Everything is wrong. Everything in totality is wrong. Only Hasan Ali Abdurahman Grant/Award is right, as it came from the right direction, and from the right people. I believe my times are changing. Time is now waking out of its deep slumber.

Through these times, within these times, there stayed a bad and long time which was out of control of my heart.  Everything was about my heart. And today I know that it was the most cursed of all times. Whatever I wrote had its roots in these times; buried in these times. If you wish to be cursed, just fall in true love. Weird thing is this that I was never a characterless man; I was only a foolish and an ass of a man.

In those times, I asked an astrologer about my kismet (fate). He said that “it is closed”. I could not understand what he meant because I did not know astrology. Today, when I know astrology, I understand that the astrologer meant that my naseeb (fate) is closed. The other astrologer was my father, who told me that I am very budnaseeb (ill-fated). Baba, not being a fortuneteller, was quite a fortuneteller; all because of bad times and ill-fate.

If I divide my life in time segments, as I have done here, then it would be a mistake. Whole life is one long time, which ends in old age. During this old age, one forgets how to laugh, and in preparation of this very small journey, faces going grim!

PS 1: No one else can do justice to what Abdul Haleem Brohi wrote. His sincerity gets to me even while translating a simple piece like this. As 28th July approaches, I cannot but miss him more and more. If my translation is weak someplaces it is for the simple reason that I knew him and his father, and saw him suffer all his life.
I cannot be objective in my translation, no matter how hard I try!
PS 2: Original writing in Sindhi is to a thing of beauty.