Torn apart
As Jamila sat on the balcony of her hotel room watching the buzzing city of Karachi in front of her she realised that she had finally achieved my dream. The passion that she had gained from a young age had bared fruit. She had thought to herself that this is how she would be able to project her voice in a world hers had been silenced. The constant travel from one place to the other during her life was the result of the bit of the unrest that she felt. Singing was the world to her; it was a secure place in her heart. She could still remember the very first time she got onto the stage to sing in front an anticipative audience. It sent a chill down her spine every time she thought about how far she had come. She looked down at her watch as the sparkle of the diamond encrusted arm wear shined brightly into her eyes. In another couple of hours she thought to herself I will once again be standing in front an audience just like the very first day about to do what I love to do best- Sing. Would I have had this all back in Bombay? She questioned herself taking a deep breath feeling the air slowly travel down my lungs. Is this the price that I have to pay to live my dream? I imagine if things would have turned out differently and if fate had allowed me to be back in India and to have the same fame I hold here today. All the scenarios run across her mind. Life would have been so much simpler if things had been different. But this is the life that I have chosen she ponders and it has given me so much that I have to be grateful for. There is nothing wrong with pondering I surprise myself muttering under my breath.
She reaches for and the smooth grey pen and the lily coloured notebook carefully opening it to the first page resting her hands against the cold paper waiting for words to pour out. . Her mind is filled and foggy. Her thoughts are as loud as the bustling movement down in the streets. Why is this so difficult she thinks, I had to go through it the decision had been made that from now on I will write some of my own songs even if I didn’t get to perform them. These songs would be personal to her and being therapy to heal her and allow her to live my new life here in Pakistan without the burden of her former life dragging her down especially the scarred memory of her brother Saleem Sinai.
How could he confess something so verminous impure she asks herself? How could anyone have such thoughts about their own sister? I don’t know how I should have responded to him after his confession she reasons in her head. I did the right thing she reminds herself, my anger towards him was justifiable. Here I am in Pakistan now and have made a commitment to devote myself to the customs and behavior expected of a young Muslin woman.
Everything has changed she contemplated
as looked down at the paper in front of her still blank and unwritten waiting
to be authored. All the vacant white
lines staring back at her waiting to be inscribed on. Her emotions take control over her as she
starts to shake and fight back the emotions brewing up. All her life decisions
that she had made being in Pakistan, they all were to serve her religion and
her people. Her devoutness to adapt was not questionable from the outside but
deep inside her old past her she still wanted to be the carefree and
unrestricted individual she once was. All these thoughts surfacing strike
Jamila as she sits up straight and begins to write a letter to Saleem, telling
him the impact of his confession on her.
Dear
Saleem,
“Whatever you feel in your heart for me is
wrong and abominable. Our relationship is of a brother and sister and is
sacred. Our allegiance must be strong for our country. I have adjusted myself
to the culture and my immersion into our belief makes me see your confession as
being absolutely despicable and beyond words. I can’t reciprocate or see your
love as being virtuous. We are Muslim and have to live according to our lives
in accordance. I know the revelation shocked us both, even if we aren't blood
related I believe that our relationship as brother and sister is sacred”.
Jamila.
Looking at the letter, she tears it out of
the notebook slowly wrapping it into a small fold. This letter has so much
significance she deliberates as she brings the letter up to heart and holds it.
I have to go see him she thinks to herself getting up of the chair and walking towards
the iron railings on the balcony. Clutching the piece of paper that entails her
feelings tightly in my hand she turns around and walks to the sliding door
leading into her room. As she enters her room, standing at the door she sees
the man who made her dreams reality.
“Uncle Puffs” she exclaimed. “How are you my dear? Your show will be on in a couple more hours”. Looking down at her fingers Jamila slowly looks up smiling gracefully and nods. “I need to go see my brother” she quietly explains to him. Gazing at Jamila he grins as affirmation. In the world that Jamila had infused herself in meant that she was unable to have independence. Knowing this she waited for Uncle Puffs to arrange the meeting between her and Saleem that she yearned for. “I will try and get a hold of him for you dear” Uncle Puffs smiled and murmured. “Thank you Uncle” Jamila whispers back with a sigh of relief walking towards Uncle Puffs and hugging him with tears running down her face.
The soft knock on the door of her hotel room made Jamila jump out of her seat. Slowly getting up her heart pounding and sweat dripping down the side of her face she walks towards the door holding out one trembling hand. This is the moment that she will be able to tell her brother clearly the wrongfulness of his love for her and to find some closure to her new life decision that she had chosen to lead. Shaking she opens the door to her brother Saleem standing in front of her. Warm tears starts streaming down her eyes as she looks at her brother.
“Hi Saleem” she stutters as he shakes his head from side to side. “Hi Jamila” he manages to speak. Still clutching to the letter that she wrote to her brother she hands it to her brother. Grabbing it from her hands Saleem hesitantly opens it and reads it concentrating on each word on the piece of paper. Looking back up at Jamila he folds the paper and puts it gently into his pocket.
“I hope you understand
Saleem, I can’t scream at you anymore but I hope these words make a deeper
impact on you” Jamila softly mumbles. “I am confused Jamila, I never meant to
bring you all this distress. I am truly sorry but I can’t help how I feel but I
will just have to learn to live with it” Jamila holds back tears as she
remembers their childhood and the ups and downs that they had to go through. “I
know that we, not us only us but our family has been so through a lot but me
and you will always remain brother and sister, we lived that way all our lives
even if we weren't blood related” Looking at Jamila and holding tears back
himself Saleem tilts his head back letting out a sigh. Standing there in
silence the two stare at each other thinking about how the unfortunate events
in their lives had led them to this situation. “Jamila, I know that you have
your own new life here and have found a home here but I am still searching”.
Smirking Jamila loosens her expression and replies “Every day is a struggle
Saleem. Yes I have found something that I can latch onto and immerse myself in
but I do deep inside my heart yearn for my old life that I had back in India
with my family” Carefully listening to Jamila, and taking in every word Saleem responses
“I do too, You are a very strong young lady Jamila and I know that your life
here will bring just as rewarding but that fight for true independence will
last and I am sure you will be able to battle it.” Staring at her brother
Jamila smiles and holds out her hand and whispers “Thank you. All the best
Saleem”. Loosening her hand from his she
takes a step back. Saleem smiles warmly at his sister before turning around and
gradually walking out the door. Jamila stands and stares at the door closed
behind Saleem and looks up closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.
Sitting back on the same chair in the hotel balcony an hour later Jamila looks out at the same view with a sense of relief. She had finally been able to have peace over the fact that she had started her new life and had tied up the loose ends in her life. In the distance she saw two men wearing bright blue overalls ripping out the old tattered poster from the billboard and replacing it with a bright new poster one with her face on. She looked at the picture of her in a veil covering her face and grasped to the idea that she was had truly changed her lifestyle and was now living in a different world. The partition of India and Pakistan had allowed her changer herself. Just like the partition, she had been torn also between two conflicting sides. She had adapted and absorbed Into the Muslim way dedicating her life to being a pure Muslim and obeying the lifestyle. Her childhood was one where she flamboyant expressing herself not only through her songs but through her words. She never held back and said whatever that came to her mind. Saleem knew this and so did everyone else that knew her. As a child she made noise and lived a modern life. Moving to Pakistan made her into a different person one that she decided to be that person for the rest of her life. She knew that she missed her former life and her former self, and did think about it on a daily basis. She knew that she had to stick to the decision of being a wholesome Muslim. It was going to be a challenge and it felt that like a fight between the good and the evil. Saleem was a part of the inner fight going on inside of her. Jamila was glad that she had sorted that part out and was able to have some closure.
Waiting to go on stage, she looked at the crowd in front sitting eagerly anticipating to hear her sing. Her voice had become a national treasure one used to fight against India. I have my decision she muttered hesitantly. The master of ceremony introduces her as she fixes her gold plated skirt and her gold studded veil. She walks out gracefully and sits on the shimmering mat with another white veil surrounding her. The bright lights shine on her face as she crosses her leg and gets into a comfortable position. The music starts to play as she clears her throat and opens her voice. The crowd stand up and give her a standing ovation cheering smiling and applauding her for singing for her nation. Adab she gestures and smiles to the audience.
The end.
Commentary
Midnight’s child is a novel written by prominent author
Salman Rushdie. It is considered a piece of a post colonial literature and magic
realism. Saleem Sinai the narrator and the protagonist opens the novel by
explaining that he was born on August 15, 1947 at the same time India gained
independence and tells the story of his life to his loving wife Padma who
serves as a realist listener. I chose the character of Jamila to write about because
I was drawn to her character and it intrigued me. She is shown to have changed
into a religious and pure young Muslim lady after becoming a famous singer in
Pakistan in the novel but I believe that she truly does battle with her past
and wants to be able to be the carefree and outspoken individual as a young
child that she was back in India.
I wanted to highlight the theme of post-colonial loss of
identity experienced by individuals. They lose their identity and have to deal
with the implications of this. For Jamila she experiences the loss of her initial
identity that she held back in India and changes when she moves to Pakistan and
becomes the famous singer who serves as inspiration to the people of Pakistan
during the war with India. At that time
your mannerism was important factor. “At a time when the measure of a person’s
identity was the manner of her/his dress.” (Pandey, 2001). Jamila changed her
outlook and dressed and lived the way that was accepted of a good young Muslim
woman. She submerged herself into the life and ways in Pakistan in the novel.
The partition of India and Pakistan always interested me as I
wanted to know why it occurred tearing the two apart and to be able to see the
implications of it on the people who had to experience it . Being able to
rewrite a part of it from a woman’s point of view seemed like an interesting
concept
Gyanendra, P.
(2001). Remembering partition: Violence,
nationalism and history in India. Cambridge; UK. Cambridge University Press
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