Photo by Fons Heijnsbroek, abstract-art on Unsplash
In our reading circle, کوفی کے ساتھ کتاب پہ بات, Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi is the author of the month for September 2024
There’s an addict in our area who is as elusive as a rain cloud. We never know when or how he manages to do what he does. Sometimes, he cuts wires and steals them, perhaps for a few rupees; other times, he’s more successful and manages to steal gas cylinders. He’s been caught a couple of times but was released, I suppose, out of fear that he might die in custody.
To us, he’s just a nuisance, an addict who does what addicts do. He fits perfectly into our stereotypical image of an addict, and we never bother to look beyond that image to see the human being behind it. This happens with all kinds of stereotypes.
How often do we try to see the person trapped within our preconceived notions?
In his story Informer, this is precisely what Ahmad Nadeem Qasmi encourages us to do. He pushes us to rise above our assumptions and see the human, Khadu, encased within the shell of a stereotypical addict.
As I meet Khadu and he smiles, I notice his “long teeth with black borders that stood out like someone had split open a raw watermelon.”
My interest is piqued — after all, a smile, even one that reminds you of a raw watermelon, is still a smile, and it’s what makes us human.
I take a closer look. Khadu stands there:
A twisted, crumpled shell as if squeezed in a vise. His head is bare, his hair slicked with oil, with a tightly twisted part hanging down to his neck. A cigarette butt is tucked behind one ear, and a small ring dangles from the lobe of the other.
Is there room in his life for pride? Is there space in his soul for a finer emotion, like cherishing something?
Yes, there is — the small ring in his ear. It was a gift from his “master,” given to him as a reward for the remarkable feat of finishing an entire pot of bhang and asking for more. The master was impressed by how well Khadu handled himself without getting too tipsy. Khadu sees this as a feather in his cap.
And what does he see with his kohl-lined eyes, pupils so murky they seem to have collected years of dust?
He sizes you up, perhaps realizing that it’s not just him — there are no free meals in this world. No one feeds you simply because you’re hungry; you’re fed when you can offer something in return.
But wait, does he unconsciously expect something more?
When you tell him he can’t just barge in for food, he looks at you with those dust-filled eyes, coughs weakly, lingers a moment longer, and then softly asks, “Should I go now?”
Does he go through moments of making difficult decisions? Does he understand the turmoil of conflicting emotions?
Perhaps he felt a twinge of something when he had to sell his ‘cherished’ earring during a bout of withdrawal.
Addiction and hunger have reduced Khadu to a shell of a man, barely able to stand. In this state, is there room for emotions like wounded pride?
Yes, to regain some semblance of dignity, he manipulates his brother into selling bhang, only to inform on him later. He wants to prove to himself that he’s not a lost cause, that he still has what it takes to be a great informer.
Qasmi concludes his story with a powerful image:
Khadu, the hardened addict and informer, suddenly breaks down, crying like a child. He pleads, “This Miran is indeed my older brother. If there’s a fine, whatever reward I get for catching him, I’ll use it to pay the fine. May God be your guardian.”
Qasmi ends the story by peeling back one more layer of Khadu’s character, revealing the lingering traces of humanity in him. There is still a flicker of brotherly love, perhaps even regret.
He betrays his brother to restore his reputation, but he isn’t entirely heartless. He plans to use the reward money to pay his brother’s fine and secure his release. His heartstrings, though frayed, still tug at him..
In Qasmi’s hands, the pen becomes a magnifying glass that zooms in on human flaws and vulnerabilities. It’s not just Khadu; every character in the story has their own unique weaknesses. If we can set aside our preconceived notions and truly see people for who they are, we might meet a vulnerable human being, just like us, trying to make sense of life in his/her own way.
This journey through life, while navigating its many complexities, is not easy for any of us. But, as Khadu often says:
“May God be our Guardian.”
A Comment:
This is not a review of the story itself; rather, it is an attempt to get to know Khadu. It’s an attempt to understand his personal and social challenges, to explore the subtle nuances of his character, and to ponder whether, on a fundamental human level, I might share some potential commonalities with him.