The Boy who saved Thousands

 

He was so fat that his friends would tease him; “There is little that a bomb can do to hurt you,”

The last time they talked about it was two days before Aitzaz died, sitting up there on the hill where the school is, the one he died protecting, the one now named after him. They told him, he wouldn’t be able to run away to save his life if a bomber attacked him, and perhaps that humor turned out to be a dark reality.

It was a chilly winter morning of January 7, 2014 when 15 year old Aitzaz Hasan left for school with two other friends and they were late for the morning assembly as usual. They were asked to stand outside the school for sometime as a punishment.

Few minutes later a 25 year old man approached the gate, stated that he wanted to take admission and asked where the school assembly was exactly taking place. Suddenly one of them noticed a detonator on the man's vest and both of his other friends started running towards the school and pushed him along.

"I am going to stop him," he replied. "This man is going to kill my friends".

The man started running towards the school as well, Aitzaz tried confronting him, threw a stone at him which failed to hit the bomber, then he ran towards the person and grabbed him, this tussle led to the suicide bomber detonating his vest and an explosion took place, killing the bomber and severely injuring Aitzaz.

Perhaps Aitzaz Hasan Bangash didn’t think of what it means to confront a suicide bomber, didn’t know the meaning of something as irrevocable as death. Or perhaps he did? But that didn’t stop him.

Children can be brave and reckless. Even when death stares them in the face, children are not paralysed by the fear of its finality. Few hours later, Aitzaz lost his life at the hospital fighting injuries. Two thousand children attended school that day, so many lives were saved.

“My son made his mother cry, but saved hundreds of mothers from crying for their children.” His father says, with pride. That's all he was able to say before he had to hide his strong willed face and stop his tears.

Metanoia

I am always available, perhaps that’s part of the problem but I am always available to help, to listen, to share and to talk. I love people, they are fascinating, I love humans, the way I love books, flowers, or birds. I always believe a good person teaches you more than anything and a bad person teaches you more than a good person. For better or worse. I love fading into people, knowing more about them, sharing thoughts and experiences, trying to make someone feel better, trying to help someone who needs help. No discrimination on my part, for anyone who dares to ask, pretends to care of shows slightest of signs that they need someone. If someone asks you for help that means they think of you as someone worthy enough, who will help. If someone shares something it means they trust you enough to share. 

There is nothing more beautiful than a person sharing something with you that they wouldn't with anyone else. There is nothing purer than someone telling you they can trust you. And there is nothing more kind and good than being able to give someone your time, sharing their burden, talking to them, making them feel better, and listen to them. Not a more special feeling ... when they see you, talk to you, they think ok, things will be a little better. 

I am always available, even if it means I lose a part of myself, but that’s okay, because at the end of the day, I would rather have a painfully memorable experience rather than no experience at all, in end I will still learn something, and that’s worth every penny.

Everything

In the beautiful writing of Punam Thapa

Tell me,

I'm not just a cloud

thousandth among the crowd,

I'm in your sight, I'm your life.

Tell me,

I'm not just the star

millions of miles afar

I'm your moon, I'm the favorite tune.

Tell me,

I'm not just the wind

beneath your wings

I'm your sky, I'm your low, and your high.

Tell me,

I'm not just a droplet

lost in the rain

I'm your dream

I'm the start, the end... and all things in-between.

~ Raafay

Goodbye, Mr. News Corner

 

I am in the train and I was reading a book but then suddenly an image popped up in my head and there was this sudden feeling of sadness that I felt.

I do not have a direct or indirect relation with him, nor do I know him personally, my only interactions and our only ‘relation’ if you want to call it, was that of a shop-keeper and customer. But there was something special about him and I am absolutely sure that other people who had the same relation with him, would say the same, and by the way, these other people include most of the people of Multan City if not all because he was the owner of, not the biggest but the best bookshop in Multan.

I remember papa telling me that his brother used to buy newspapers and magazines from a shop called News Corner, which actually was a small wooden hut, ‘khokha’ as we call it in Urdu, and he was there 4AM in the morning, every day, greeting everyone with respect. My interactions with him over the years have made me pretty sure that it is his dealing with people, the smile and kindness he showed towards everyone that his business grew so much and his clients returned to him again and again.

It is all I remember during my school life, we used to go to News Corner to buy our course books, La Salle, our school had a contract with news corner and they used to print our books and note copies and sell them. God, he worked fast, ask him anything about any book, syllabus, type of pen pencil, colours, markers, novels, papers, anything you can think of and within seconds he will tell you where it was and what was the price of it.

It was a small shop, news corner, barely enough space for 10-15 people to stand at a time, but God was it busy, anytime you go, it was full of people. I was around 12 years old when Papa brought home Taleem-o-Tarbiat magazine for me to read and I got addicted to it ever since, beginning of every month, I would ask papa to take his bike from in front of the book store instead of the main road and he would do so and while the bike passed, I would try and sneak a peek in and see if the new month’s magazine was there. I would always see him working fast, packing, picking items and dealing with customers, it felt like 1.5x speed instead of 1x.

Time passed, I grew up, instead of one magazine now I was buying 4 magazines every month and the routine stayed the same, papa would pick us up from school, we would stop and the store I would go in and try to have a look if the magazine was there, he would notice me and say ‘beta, abhi nahi aya magazine’ (son, the magazine is not here yet’). He would greet Papa with a smile, ask how he was doing, ask about how our school was, and always tell me, it’s a good habit to read.

More time passed and now whenever I went to the book store, he would already separate the magazines and keep them for me, knowing well enough that I would come to purchase. He now knew my name, I remember during college days, going with my friend to purchase Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone book in Urdu language because we siblings were watching the Hindi dubbed Harry Potter movies those days and I exactly remember him telling me, Raafay beta, instead of buying the Urdu version, buy the English version and you will not regret it. He gave it to me for half-price.

I did not regret it, because that was my first book ever that I read and fell in love with reading and that is the thing that led me towards writing. I bought several books and magazines from him, most of them at half price. I moved to another city, and whenever I returned, he would always treat me with kindness, always stop for a minute of two to ask about my studies, what I was doing and how everything was at home.

At home we would always talk about him with good words, his impressive way of dealing and working. Every time I thought about Multan after moving away and abroad News Corner would always be one of them, he moved to a bigger better shop, now a proper mega double storey place with everything you can wish for and think of, but the main himself remained the same.

When I wrote my first book and was thinking about how I have been able to do that, I realised that Sheikh Sahab from News Corner had a big role to play and now that I think of it, I owe him a lot for that. I recently got to know that he has passed away and it really shocked me, I always thought whenever I go back home and if I could find some time, I would take my book to him and thank him for everything, but unfortunately, I did not have that opportunity and I know I will regret that forever.

Thank you and goodbye, Mr News Corner, I will forever remember you in my prayers, may you rest in peace!