#poetry – Aqil Ghani

It’s that time of year again, and what a year it has been. If you recall, I was pretty disappointed with myself this time last year. I hadn’t posted on here as much as I wanted, only amassing a measly five posts in 2022. Admittedly, I didn’t fare much better this year either – I only wrote seven posts – but surprisingly, I’m not particularly disappointed. I suppose I had already freed myself of my own expectations. And in doing so, I enjoyed 2023 so much that I can confidently say it’s been the best year in my twenty-two years of existence. But why? Why is 2023 a year to remember? Well, let’s just say It all started with a trip to Spain.

Tales from Al-Andalus

Prior to 2023, I had only ever left this ‘great’ island we call Britannia four times. Thrice to Pakistan – one of which I cannot remember on account of me being a baby – and once to France on a school trip to Paris. And so, when my friends suggested we do a lads’ trip to Spain, I was ready to go. I packed my bags, assembled my team, and, with my ukulele in hand, embarked on an adventure of a lifetime.

The Team:

Shobo
Our leader. Our inspiration. The man without whom this would all be impossible. Also, our driver.

Isaac
Our translator. The only one to have bothered to learn Spanish with a respectable Duolingo streak of forty-four days ahead of our trip.

Sabit
Our virtual assistant. Unfortunately, he was unable to be there in person on account of his choosing to take his final year of university seriously. A valuable team member, nonetheless.

Aqil
More than just a pretty face, Aqil is the team’s heart and soul. Without him, there would be no team. Nay, there would be no happiness. Seriously, he seems like a really cool guy. Ladies, you should hit him up.

The Destination: Al-Andalus. Specifically, Córdoba. More specifically, the Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba.

Now, I could write a whole book on all the shenanigans we got up to in Spain. But I figured you’d probably be too busy to read all that, so here are three short tales from Al-Andalus instead.

Tales from Al-Andalus #1: The Scratched Car

There once was a lad named Shobo,

In Spain, he gave driving a go.

With a rental car’s grace,

He left a small trace,

A scratch that caused quite a woe!

Tales from Al-Andalus #2: The Rocking Boat

There once was a lad named Ifaz,

Whose boat ride in Spain caused quite a jazz.

No life jackets to find,

Sent shivers down his spine,

Stress mounting as the waves gave a splash!

Tales from Al-Andalus #3: The Catholic Mosque

There was once a lad named Isaac,

At the Mosque-Cathedral, to be exact.

Gloating with glee,

About Spain’s history,

The Catholic triumph, he’d joyfully enact.

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Back to University

After Spain, it was time to head back to Birmingham to finish off my second year of university. I just about managed to pass all my modules, which is all I could ever hope for at this point in my academic life. Yes. I’ve come a long way since getting top marks throughout secondary school. It’s mainly been a long way downhill, but a long way, nonetheless. Meanwhile, outside of my failing academic career, I did manage to achieve some Ws, with the occasional L in between.

Most notably, I acted in two short films alongside my studies: Parapherneliac, a story about a man from the country who leaves his sick wife with his materialistic stepbrother to seek admittance into the law, and The ISoc Experience, a tale of an undergraduate student who finds a home away from home with his university’s Islamic society. Side note: you can now see all my acting stuff on my new acting page. At some point in between filming these two films, I failed a driving test, but we won’t dwell on that too much.

Other notable highlights from this time include:

Several all-nighters in the library with Chris.
Amaan organising an amazing Discover Islam Week for the University of Birmingham’s Islamic society.
Shaheer winning his MMA fight to raise money for charity.
Choking out Chris, Amaan, Kayan and Shuaib at an MMA club to celebrate Shaheer’s win.
The University of Birmingham’s Community Iftar.
Shuaib securing his dream work placement with Lexus.
Finally moving out of 4 Hubert Croft, so I don’t have to look at that disgusting sink anymore.
Crying myself to sleep because I miss 4 Hubert Croft.

Tales from Southern France

That’s right. To start off the summer, the boys decided on another lads’ holiday. This time, we were going to France. But not just any part of France. The south of France. Specifically, Marseille. The most dangerous city in mainland Europe. Don’t worry. I’d been living in Brum for two years, so it was minor. I didn’t choose the Brum life; the Brum life chose me. But more importantly, we had Sabit joining us this time. The team was together, and that’s all that mattered.

Just like in Spain, a lot of shenanigans happened in France, too. So, here’s some more limericks for you, dear reader.

Tales from Southern France #1: The Lost Cabin

In the woods of France, quite immense,

My friends and I lost all pretence.

To our cabin, we aspired,

But the trees all conspired,

Leaving us lost in frightful suspense.

Tales from Southern France #2: The Wonderful Sights

In southern France, on a hike so divine,

My friends and I, beneath the sun’s golden shine.

Mountains stood tall, with a picturesque view,

Vistas so stunning, in every bright hue.

In nature’s grand gallery, memories entwine.

Tales from Southern France #3: The Wrecked Car

In southern France, with friends so keen,

A rental car mishap, quite unforeseen.

On a curb, we got stuck,

Oh, what rotten luck!

But insurance saved our wallets; oh, how serene!

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A Week in the Civil Service

Following France, I was back in Brum, interning with the Department for Business and Trade. I know. How serious of me. Surprisingly, it was a lot more fun than I expected; rather than having me fetch everyone’s coffee, my supervisor, Mayur, organised various workshops covering different areas of the department’s operations. Everyone I met had a lot to say about the Civil Service. The good, the bad and the ugly. But regardless of what they had to say, they all made me feel welcome. All-in-all, it was a great experience. And it most definitely helped bolster my embarrassingly sparse CV.

At the end of the week, I attended the Manchester Halal Expo hosted at Old Trafford. As a representative of the Civil Service, I got to go inside the ultra-exclusive VIP lounge. Now, I have no interest in football – I am a nominal Arsenal fan by brotherly association – but I have and most definitely will hold this privilege over any zealous Manchester United supporters out there. Sorry, I just had to flex on you scrubs. Hate me cos you aint me.

The Beginning of the End

With the summer over, it was time to return to the grind. And so began my final year of university. A year, I have thus far decided to take seriously. I am, of course, making no promises for next semester.

One of the ways in which I’ve decided to take third year seriously is by waking up at six-thirty every morning. A habit I used to do every day back in school but, like most university students, have fallen out of for the past three years. And, oh boy, did those extra six hours of sunlight make a huge difference. For the first time, I started submitting assignments three weeks before their deadlines! Whether these assignments were good or not remains to be seen. I’ve yet to get my results back. But the point is I got them done and out of the way, leaving room for my real passion: acting.

The past four months have been a roller coaster. I began attending film networking events like BYFN and Reel Brum, which are great places to beg for roles and establish connections within Birmingham’s rising film industry. In the process, I’ve had the privilege of working with brilliant upcoming talent on amazing projects: Spoon-Man, Filmmakers of the Future, and Cheese. All of which can be viewed on that new acting page I told you about, but you haven’t checked yet. Sorry if you have. But if you haven’t, make sure you do. After you finish reading this, of course.

Spoon-Man, in particular, has become somewhat of a cult classic. I’ve been stopped by film students on the streets of Brum, telling me how much they loved this film. Meanwhile, Filmmakers of the Future made it into a film festival. Not only that, but I’ve got many more projects lined up for the new year, including some screenplays I wrote myself, which just goes to show how much a person can achieve when they decide to wake up early. This brings us to the main lesson I learned this year: discipline lies at the root of all achievement. Oh, I forgot to mention that I also passed my driving test, making me ready to crash a rental on the next lads’ holiday.

Other highlights from this semester include:

Chris’ dance performance at Indian Society’s meet and greet.
The London and Birmingham screenings of my film Between Us.
Every BYFN and Reel Brum get together.
Qawwali night with my younger brother, Ayaz.
Roller skating on my birthday.
Ice skating with Pakistani Society.
Every studio session at RJ’s Dream Factory.
Chris, Kayan, Amar, Jake, Viraj, and I backing suits at Taal.

And so there you have it. 2023. A year to remember. There’s so much more I can say about this year, but I’ll spare you the details. But seeing as you’ve made it this far, here’s a little treat:

That’s enough from me this year. May 2024 be even better for your personal growth than 2023 has been for mine. A big thank you to everyone, old and new, who made this year the best one yet. See y’all in 2024!

Peace be with you.

Fiction. It’s an interesting thing, isn’t it? Inherently false yet, at the same time, often truer than even the truest encyclopaedia. Not quite real, yet not quite fake either. A kind of no man’s land between the reality that we witness before our eyes and the jumble of threads that make up the complex machinery behind our hardened skulls. A half-existence.

It is in this land of half-existence we find our protagonist, Shaheen. A being neither old nor young. Neither bright nor dull. Neither handsome nor ugly. Neither fat nor skinny. Neither fast nor slow. Neither man nor woman. Neither real nor fake. A truly – yet at the same time, falsely – half-real, half-fake being. Well, that depends if you even consider Shaheen a being. For how can something that only half-exists ‘be’?

You see, Shaheen knows that she is merely the product of an author’s imagination. And an underdeveloped product at that. He knows that she half-exists. She knows that what he knows, she only knows because the author has decided that he knows. She knows the boundary of his half-real, half-fake half-existence starts and ends with the page upon which her author has written. He will never be more nor less than that. She will forever remain constant. Trapped by the page never really existing but never really not.

Shaheen got his name from her father. A father that didn’t exist until just now when the author decided they did. The name Shaheen means “falcon” in Persian. However, it is not from Persian that the author got the name but instead another language: Urdu. In many ways, Shaheen is like Urdu, and Urdu is like Shaheen. A half-real, half-fake language in a state of half-existence. Upon laying their eyes on Urdu, one may be forgiven for mistaking it for Persian. Upon hearing Urdu, one may also be forgiven for mistaking it for Hindi. However, regardless of how one encountered Urdu, they would not fail to realise the beauty of the language. And as with all beautiful languages, Urdu is famous for its poetry.

شاہین کبھی پرواز سے تھک کر نہیں گرتا
پُردم ہے اگر تو‘ تو نہیں خطرہ اُفتاد

Shaheen Kabhi Parwaz Se Thak Kar Nahin Girta.
Pur Dam Hai Agar Tu To Nahin Khatra-e-Uftad.

The falcon is never tired of flight, does not drop gasping on the ground:
If unwearied, it remains on wings, from huntersʹ dread is safe and sound.
Allama Iqbal
Shaheen

The author originally came across this poem from their father. Not Shaheen’s half-real, half-fake father but instead a fully real, non-fake human being. One not confined to the page as Shaheen and his father are. It is from this poem that the author picked out Shaheen’s name for Shaheen’s father to give to her. Neither Shaheen nor his father would really have any choice in the matter. They thought what the author wanted them to think and did what the author wanted them to do. They were only aware of this fact because the author allowed them to be aware. Perhaps they felt grateful for being given this awareness? Or maybe they felt resentful? Neither Shaheen nor her father nor the author nor the author’s father knew the answer to this question. Could Shaheen and her father even feel? Nobody knew because the author hadn’t decided yet.

The poet who brought the couplet into existence went by many names. “Shair-e-Mashriq” (“Poet of the East”), “Hakeem-ul-Ummat” (“The Sage of the Ummah”), “Muffakir-e-Pakistan” (“The Thinker of Pakistan”) were just a few of his titles. Shaheen found that last title interesting. It is said that the poet envisioned a nation. One that didn’t exist yet at the same time always existed. Not quite real, yet not quite fake either. A half-existence just like him. However, unlike Shaheen, the nation wasn’t confined to a page. In fact, the nation was able to elevate from a place of half-existence to a full existence. And this made her feel jealous.

The author had finally decided to let Shaheen feel. Whether Shaheen’s father could feel or not was a different question. The author decided they’d leave that up to the reader to decide. The author was fond of leaving loose ends, after all. What is certain is that the author and the author’s father could feel. They were fully real, non-fake beings that lived a full existence. But was this true because it was indeed true, or was it true because the author said it was true? This left the author puzzled.

While the author struggled to contemplate the truth of their own existence, Shaheen was well aware of the truth of his existence. She was a half-real, half-fake being living a half-existence. He was an idea. But just like a nation, ideas could become a reality.

Perhaps one day, the author may name their child Shaheen. Thus elevating Shaheen from a half-existence to a full existence. At least in name, anyway. Perhaps the author might invest more time into making Shaheen a more fully-fledged character, like in the novels they read as a child. This wouldn’t elevate her to a place of full existence, but it would make his half-existence more bearable.

Unfortunately for Shaheen, she was but a skelf of a thought in the author’s head. They had only bothered to bring him into her half-existence because the very idea of Shaheen was keeping them awake at night. Having done so. Having expunged Shaheen from their mind, the author will move on with their life. Thus leaving Shaheen to her half-real half-fake half-existence. Whether he would ever become anything more than her current state would depend upon the author’s author. For the author only thought what their author willed them to think and did what their author willed them to do.

THE END