Pak Tea House » culture, Literature, Pakistan, Writers » Manto: An Author of Tales for Children
Manto: An Author of Tales for Children
By: Josh Shahryar
It was with much sorrow that I learned that Saadat Hasan Manto has been posthumously awarded the Nishan-e-Imtiaz, Pakistan’s highest civilian honor. Too late? Maybe. However, that news opened too many old wounds in my heart. Wounds that I had to write something about if I was to find some closure. You see, to the rest of the world, Manto is a fearless story-teller, who spoke to adults, aiming to open their eyes to endemic oppression around them. To me, though, he will forever be a writer who spoke to children. The news of the posthumous – and might I add tragically late – recognition he received from the government of Pakistan took me back down memory lane to the moment I first encountered his words that seemed so out of place.
It reminded me of this Indian movie, “Kali Topi, Laal Roomal” (Black Hat, Red Scarf). Unlike most Indian movies made in the 50s and 60s, I haven’t seen South Asians sing its praises as much as more seminal works like Awara, Pyaasa, Naya Daur or of course, Mother India. But a certain song in the movie is still celebrated widely and considered an ode to the human condition. That song bears the tale of how I was introduced and influenced deeply by Manto.
The song is, “Deewana aadmi ko banati haiN rotiyaN” (Bread drives people insane). In the song, a man with a red scarf tries to explain to his amour why he’s been forced to become a pick-pocket. Through the course of the song, he takes her around their city and shows her how hunger forces people to do unbearable things. He shows her a child labourer, who carries a box on his head, forgetting about toys, an emaciated man, who has to carry a fat rich man on a hand-drawn carriage… basically, the most down-trodden of the down-trodden and how they are forced by bread to endure pains one could never imagine.
What caught my eye when I first watched the song in the movie was the man with the red scarf pointing towards women on the second floor balcony of a building and telling his lover how they, too, were forced to be there because of bread. This was the late 80s and my young 7 year old mind couldn’t grasp why he was pointing at them. The women looked nice enough. They were wearing clean clothes. Some of them even had make-up on. Why did one of them hide her face in her hands and cry? Why did another run? What was so incredibly painful that they were doing for bread? These questions soon found their way to my dad and his reply was as stern as it had always been when it came to him with my innocent inquiries: “When you grow up, you will know.”
Dismayed, I turned to my older brother – the second greatest source of knowledge in our family. He said the same thing. Onto sister. Same. Mother. Same. I went to school the next day and asked my teacher who echoed my dad: “You are too young to understand these things.” I threw it at everyone in school that I could, but the adults didn’t want to tell me. The kids like me were clueless. The women in the balcony haunted me all the way back to our street. But it was the same story in our neighbourhood. The adults didn’t want to tell me and the children didn’t know.
For weeks I pondered in curious anguish why this was such a big deal.
Then finally, our garbage dump broke. It was an empty oil canister. After months of use, the bottom finally fell off.
I ran to my mother and informed her of this unfortunate incident for her with the fakest smile possible for I knew that it was my lucky day. She sadly said something about how they were making “do numbri” canisters these days and proceeded to replace it with a new one. I waited in candid anticipation all day for the kabadiwala to show up – almost as if I was a tired rozaydar, waiting to hear, “Muslims! Eid is tomorrow!”
He showed up and before I knew it, I was standing in front of him with the metal canister and counting the five rupees he gave me. Maybe I didn’t even count and ran towards Shiraz Bookstore, the one joy I had in life. It was a store run by a bespectacled 60-something man of snow-white hair and fair complexion who reminded me of all the grandfathers I read about in the children’s magazine “Taleem of Tarbiyat”. He sold old and new books, magazines, novels… long story short, he was sitting in heaven, giving it up to people for just a few rupees.
I couldn’t wait to get my hand on an old issue of Sarguzasht digest. But that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about the women in the balcony – as I hadn’t been able to since I’d seen them. They say where there’s a will, there’s a way. As I looked through the old digests, my eyes caught a glimpse of an old little book, tucked in between some old magazines about cricket that were too expensive for me to buy. I forgot the name of the book, but I saw Manto’s name printed on it. I had heard about Manto – mostly from news clippings I collected from when the bread-maker (naanwaayee) wrapped them around the bread each morning so the carrier’s hands won’t burn.
“Chacha, ye Manto kaun haiN,” I asked (Uncle who is Manto?).
He smiled at me and said, “Tumhe parhna hai?” (You want to read this?)
“Kitne ka hai?” I casually asked. (How much is it for?)
“Das ropay.” (ten rupees).
“Mere paas to serf paanch haiN. Waise bhi mujhe ye nahiN chaahiye.” (I only have five rupees anyway and I don’t want this to begin with.)
I didn’t want him to know I wanted it too badly. I didn’t want to embarrass myself with my poverty.
“Sarguzasht to chaar ropay ka hai. Aisa karate haiN, main ek ropay main tumhe Manto saab ki kitaab keraaye main de data hook. Jab phir aanaa, to le kar aa jaana.” (Sarguzasht is only four rupees. Let’s do this. I’ll rent Manto saab’s book to you for the other rupee, and you can bring it back when you come back to buy more books.)
“Itni achchi hai?” I asked (Is it that good?)
“Manto’s saab bachchoN ki kitaabeiN likha karte the. Meri nazar main un se achchi bachchoN ki kahaniyaN kisi ne nahiN likheeN.” (Manto used to write children’s books. In my opinion, no one has written better stories for children than Manto).
Well, what was I waiting for! I gave up my hard-earned money and brought home more to read. As badly as I wanted to know what Jahani Ustad’s next exploits in Tawaan were going to be by reading Sarguzasht, I just had to open up and see the Manto book.Homework could wait! Shiraz chacha had introduced me to Umroo Ayyar, Tarzan, Chun Changloo, Chaloosak Maloosak and many others, but if this was the best book for children according to him, I almost wanted to eat it for lunch!
I went into the store room where no one came, snuck my tiny frame under the chaarpaayee on top of which we laid the blankets and sheets and underneath it there were a dozen pillows, surrounded by boxes, other charpaayees and trunks. I was in my own world and ready to read the best stories of my life. I could be free of the thoughts of the women in the balcony for once.
I opened the book and started reading.
Two minutes later, I stopped and checked the cover to make sure it was the same book. Yep.
Five minutes later, I said astaghferullah loudly and berated myself for not saying it before.
Ten minutes later, I was disgusted…
Twenty minutes later, I was ashamed…
Thirty minutes later….
About an hour later, I knew why millions of Muslims, Hindus and Sikhs had to leave their homes in 1947 forever.
Around the two hour mark, I knew what the word “Ismat-durry” (rape) meant.
Around the three hour mark, I knew that there were other mullahs besides the one in our city that touched children in the wrong way.
“Koja-asti o bacha? Biya nan bekho!” I heard my mom scream from the veranda. (Where are you? Come eat something!)
I pretended I didn’t hear. She had other kids and would soon forget I wasn’t there. I couldn’t risk her finding out I was reading Manto. Not that she could read, but I just couldn’t lie to her if she asked me. She was my mother.
As I kept reading, I found more answers to questions. Questions that I wasn’t getting answers to from the adults. Questions that I wanted to forget my manners and scream at my father for, “Padar jan! Man mekhayam ke ami hale befamam!” (Daddy dearest, I want to know these things right now!”)
But I knew those questions not only made me a bad son, and a terrible Muslim for questioning my elders’ authority, but it would also result in my dad slapping me hard at best or picking up a plastic water pipe and beating me till he was tired at worst.
Khol Do…
Phandane…
Thanda Gosht…
Boo…
Toba Tek Singh…
I kept reading every short story and after every single one, I would exclaim, “Wow, so that’s why!”
Here were the answers to questions I had been asking for years and been told by the adults in my life almost unanimously that I would understand them when I grew up. It wasn’t just me, every kid, including my own brother and sister went through a period of being denied answers. I don’t remember when I finished reading the book, but it was probably the moment I realized I needed to turn on a light.
I knew.
I knew the truth.
The women on the balcony were taking money to have sex with men. It was of course wrong to do it – but they were victims of the society I was growing up in.
I didn’t know what sex meant. I did know it had to do something with the mullahs being alone with the boys who went to read Quran with them at night. And whatever it was, it was too shameful. Too shameful to ever be mentioned by anyone – except for when my dad had to tell me why he couldn’t send me to the mosque to study like the other kids: “You won’t understand!”
And it’s true that I didn’t know. Couldn’t know. Not until I read Manto. But was it my fault that I didn’t? Was it the other kids’ fault who were being touched by the mullah? Was it those women’s fault to be on the balcony in such shame? Was it Toba Tek Singh’s fault he had to die in no man’s land? And then it dawned on me: Why wasn’t my dad doing anything to stop this from happening?
Certainly, if he and the other men in our city got together and told the mullahs to stop touching the boys, they would stop! Maybe if the people in the city where the women on the balcony had to live in shame made it possible for them to find a different job, they would, no?
Maybe Toba Tek Singh didn’t have to die like that.
Why was Manto telling me all these things? Why wasn’t he telling them to my parents? Why not the neighbourhood? Didn’t they read this? Didn’t they suddenly feel ashamed and guilty? Why didn’t they do anything? Why isn’t anyone doing anything?
I didn’t know.
And I didn’t dare ask my father.
It was bad enough that I’d read Manto. I didn’t want to wake up with pipe marks on my arms and legs again.
Maybe my dad didn’t do anything, but he was right about one thing. I did grow up and sure enough and I learned many things. I learned that even though the adults could have stopped the abuse of boys in our masjeds, they didn’t. They didn’t read Manto when they were young, you know. So when they had questions like me, they weren’t given the answers I found. They had to grow up and slowly learn them. In the process, brutal oppression simply became another thing they could ignore about society as they lived their lives.
Just like they could ignore the fact that beating your children at a tender age makes them grow up damaged and hurt.
As I travel and meet people around the world, I realize every day what a shame it is that Manto isn’t taught everywhere to children.
Maybe if kids learn about societal oppression and how it’s wrong from a very young age in no uncertain terms, they won’t grow up to be desensitized adults who’ll ignore the plight of the marginalized and the abused. Maybe if their sincere requests about honesty in regards to what they see around them are not ignored, they’ll grow up to be men and women of action, unlike their parents. When I was young, I used to think my parents wouldn’t tell me about oppression because they wanted to protect me.
Now that I’ve grown up, I realize that they wanted to protect themselves. Protect themselves from criticism. Protect themselves from being reminded that they were half-dead. That their humanity was fast asleep. That they were simply machines, breeding, living, dying and ignoring the fates of the oppressed. Maybe they felt guilty; I don’t know. But thanks to Manto’s stories, my parents’ guilt stops with me.
They say if you take small doses of poison over a long time, it stops affecting you. I think oppression in societies, especially in societies like the one Manto lived in, has managed to survive for so long because knowledge about it is fed to people slowly and with age and by the time they are adults, they are used to it.
I didn’t.
I was shocked when I was little and I’ve been forced into action ever since. Thank you, Manto saab, I’ll be forever indebted to you for that.
“If you find my stories dirty, the society you are living in is dirty. With my stories, I only expose the truth.” — Saadat Hasan Manto
Filed under: culture, Literature, Pakistan, Writers · Tags: Khol Do, Literature, man, Manto, Pakistan, Phandane, prostitutes, Saadat Hasan Manto, sex, Thanda Gosht, Toba Tek Singh, Urdu
24 Responses to "Manto: An Author of Tales for Children"
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- RajTOO
said Rex Minor wrote:
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Deewana Aadmi Ko Banaati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Khud Naachti Hai Sab Ko
Naachati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Deewana Aadmi Ko Banaati Hai Rotiyaan
Bhudha Chalye Thehle Ko Phakon Ko Jhool Ke
Baccha Uthaye Bhoj Khilone Ko Bhool Ke (2)
Dekha Na Jaye Jo (2)
So
Dekhati Hai Rotiyan (2)
Deewana Aadmi Ko Banaati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Baithi Hai Ye Jo Chehre Pe Malke Jigar Ka Khoon
Duniya Bura Kahe Inhe Par Main Toh Yeh Kahon (2)
Kohte Pe Behet (2)
Aankh
Ladaati Hai Rotiyan (2)
Deewana Aadmi Ko Banati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Kehta Tha Ik Fakir Ke Rakhna Zara Nazar
Roti Ko Aadmi Hi Nahin Khate Bekhabar (2)
Aaksar Toh Aadmi Ko (2)
Dekhati Hai Rotiyan (2)
Deewana Aadmi Ko Banati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Tujhko Pate Ki Baat Bataun Main Jaan-e-maan
Kyun Chand Par Pahochane Ki Insaan Ko Hai Lagan (2)
Insaan Ko Chand Mein (2)
Nazar Aati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Deewana Aadmi Ko Banati Hai Rotiyaan (2)
Khud Naachti Hai Sab Ko
Naachati Hai Rotiyan (2)
Deewana Aadmi Ko Banati Hai Rotiyaan
– Majrooh Sulanturi (1959)
Misspelled Sultanpuri in above post.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D_i736KFjJs
Like your post and sentiment very much but
your conclusion of society and its ill is completely
wrong. There is Social Contract that civilization has
wrought since farming and cities started which is
it is pyramid scheme. Rich benefit from labor of poor.
money is used as weapon, religion is used as weapon.
Nothing in your idealist mind can change those Natural Laws.
There is limit of Natural resources, Women, Things, etc.
Men have to compete for Women. Women are designed by
Evolution to only pick Alpha Males. on and on I can give
you chapter and verse but it won’t do you any good.
O paise waloon
O paise waloon kaisa tumhara ye sansar hai (2)
Jhoote ki jeet yahan sacche ki har hai (2)
O Paise waloon kaisa tumhara ye sansar hai
O Paise Waaloon
Bade bade bazaar sajakar gali gali mein dhol bajakar
Sona dikhla peetal dekhe inke paise pure leete
Dil ke sauda jaan ka sauda hota hai imaan ka sauda
Khoon pasina bik jata hai maut aur jeena bik jata hai
Pooch raha hoon tumse bolo kaisa ye buhar hai
O paise waloon kaise tumhara ye sansar hai
O paise waloon
Aansoo lelo aahein lelo hasrat lelo chahen lelo
Tambe ka ek tukde phakon toote dil ki duain lelo
Gore gore gaal hai bikte kale kale baal hai bikte
bike jawani bike bhudapa sab bikta hai ghar ho bhanka
loot chuke ho duniya sari is par bhi takrar hai
O paise waloon kaise tumhara ye sansar hai
O paise waloon
Sapnon ki duniya ko choodo asliyat se moon na modo
Kab tak jhuti shaan rahegi do din to ye jaan rahegi
Saaz same ka bol raha hai raaz ke sare khol raha hai
Jo nirdhan hai jo be-ghar hai woh bhi kafi takatvaar hai
Kaaj ki hadiya chal ke rahegi khota hai ye beypaar hai
O paise waloon kaise tumhara ye sansar hai (2)
O paise waloon
– Chand Mere Aaja (1960) – Chitragupt – Ishwar Chandra Kapoor
[punjabi]
ae gulshan vi ki gulshan hai
kaliyan di jale chitayain the
shabnam de seh kan uth roothe
bulbul di jale sadayain the
ro uthan geet baharan de (2)
khula di jale wafain de
is gulshan vich sab jalde ne (2)
buch rain di soorat kuch bhi nahin
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae
gul dharam ne aithon de paisa
imman vi aithon da paisa
insaan vi aithon da paisa
bhagwan vi aithon da paisa
geeta vi aithon di paisa (2)
koran vi aithod da paisa
duniya di haqeeqat paisa ae (2)
paise di haqeeqat kuch bhi nahin
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae
hai dil tod ke sub da ae
duniya ek apna dil par chandi ae
ae sek chita da lake
dhaan apne nu garmandi ae
joon dadi kande dandi ae (2)
moya de phool chadandi ae
murde noon puje ae duniya (2)
joon daidi izzat kuch bhi nahin
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae is duniya nu
main haske tokhar mar dayan
ji karda ae
kal taiyan sab kuch tha
aaj kahin di himmat kar nava
main jhoothe rawje de jhoote
dastoor to nafrat karna va
baghi ha ae na samaja tho
la char bagawat karna wa
ae lootan khol di mandi ae (2)
manu aiji jaroorat kuch bhi nahin
ji karda hai is duniya nu
main hanse ke thokar mar dayan
main hanse ke thokar mar dayan
– Geet Baharan De (1965) – S. Mohinder – ???(Shiv Kumar Batalvi???)
la: kahataa hai ise paisaa bachcho.n
ye chiiz ba.Dii maamuulii hai
lekin isake piichhe
sab duniyaa rastaa bhuulii hai
inasaan kii banaa_ii chiiz hai ye
lekin inasaan pe bhaarii hai.n
har kisii jhalak is paise kii
dharm aur imaan pe bhaarii hai
ye jhuuTh ko sach kar detaa hai
aur sach ko jhuuTh banaataa hai
bhagavaan nahii.n par har ghar me.n
bhagavaan kii padavii paataa hai
is paise kii badale duniyaa me.n
insaano.n kii mehanat bikatii hai
jismo.n kii haraarat bikatii hai
ruuho.n kii sharaafat bikatii hai
karadaar khariide jaate hai.n
diladaar khariide jaate hai.n
miTTii ke sahii par isase hii
avataar khariide jaate hai.n
is paise ke khaatir duniyaa me.n
aabaad vatan bat jaate hai.n
dharatii Tuka.De ho jaatii hai.n
laasho.n kii kafan bat jaate hai.n
izzat bhii is se milatii hai
taazim bhii is se milate hai.n
tahaziib bhii is se aatii hai
taaliim bhii is se milatii hai
ham aaj tumhe.n is paise kaa
saaraa itihaas bataate hai.n
kitane yug aab tak guzare hai.n
un sab ke jhalak dikhalaate hai.n
ik aisaa vaqt bhii thaa jag me.n
jab is paise kaa naam naa thaa
chiize.n chiizo.n pe tulate the
chiizo.n kaa kuchh bhii daam naa thaa
chiizo.n se chiiz badalane kaa
yah Dha.ng bahut bekaar saa thaa
laanaa bhii kaThin thaa chiizo.n kaa
le jaanaa bhii dushavaar saa thaa
inasaan ne tab milakar sochaa
kyo.n vaqt itanaa barabaad kare.n
har chiiz kii jo kimat Thahare
woh chiiz kaa kyo.n naa iizaad kare.n
is tarah hamaare duniyaa me
pahalaa paisaa taiyyaar hu_aa
aur is paise kii hasarat me.n
inasaan zaliil\-o\-khaar hu_aa
paisevaale is duniyaa me.n
jaagiiro.n ke maalik ban baiThe
mazaduuro.n aur kisaano.n ke
taqadiiron ke maalik ban baiThe
ja.ngo.n me.n la.Daayaa bhuukho.n ko
aur apane sar par taaj rakhaa
nirdh.ran ko diyaa par lok kaa sukh
apane liye jag kaa raaj rakhaa
paNDit aur mullaa in ke li_e
mazahab ke sahii phailaate rahe
shaayar taariife.n likhate rahe
gaayak darabaarii gaate rahe
sab: o o o o o
he: vaisaa hii kare.nge ham jaisaa tujhe chaahiye
paisaa hame.n chaahiye
sab: vaisaa hii kare.nge ham jaisaa tujhe chaahiye
paisaa hame.n chaahiye
haal tere jote.nge khet tere boye.nge
zor tere haake.nge ghoT teraa dhoye.nge
paisaa paisaa
vaisaa hii kare.nge ham jaisaa tujhe chaahiye
paisaa hame.n chaahiye
raa: paisaa haath me.n de de raajaa guN tere gaaye.nge
tere bachche bachchiyo.n kaa khair manaaye.nge
sab: vaisaa hii kare.nge ham jaisaa tujhe chaahiye
paisaa hame.n chaahiye
l: yug yug se aise duniyaa me.n
ham daan ke Tuka.De maa.Ngate hai.n
hal jot ke fasale.n kaaT ke bhii
pakavaan ke Tuka.De maa.ngate hai.n
lekin in bhiikh ke Tuka.Do.n se
kab bhuukh kaa sa.nkaT duur hu_aa
inasaan sadaa dukh jhelegaa
gar khatm bhii yah dastuur hu_aa
zanjeer banii hai kadamo.n kii
vah chiiz pahale gahanaa thii
bhaarat ke saputo.n aaj tumhe
bas itane baat hii kahanaa thii
jis vaqt ba.Daa ho jaaoge tum
paise kaa raaj miTaa denaa
apanaa aur apane jaiso.n kaa
(yug yug kaa karz chukaa denaa) \-2
– Girl Friend (1960) – Hemant Kumar – Sahir Ludhianvi
The OP has just made a mountain of a molehill. The title of the article is incorrect and misleading. I hope the OP has now grown up and is able to comprehend Manto….if so I recommend him to read Guy de Maupassant for greater enlightenment of a society and human nature.
Precisely speaking, Manto was an eye witness of the Partition and he penned down whatever his keen eyes observed. No doubt he is the greatest short story teller of Urdu.
I am wondering why AKB has suddenly stopped using filthy or obscene or humiliating language. If this is a real long-term change in him then the PTH has surely helped him to progress.
@ OP
.
The OP has just made a mountain of a molehill. The title of the article is incorrect and misleading. I hope the OP has now grown up and is able to comprehend Manto….if so I recommend him to read Guy de Maupassant for greater enlightenment of a society and human nature.
Precisely speaking, Manto was an eye witness of the Partition and he penned down whatever his keen eyes observed. No doubt he is the greatest short story teller of Urdu but not for 7 year old kids.
Those muslim-name humans who had retained their humane values and sensitivities in spite of islam were sad when partition took place and hindus were slandered, killed and driven out from the land where they had lived since before islam was created. Hindu lands were put into the service of islamic fascism and imperialism from Arabia.
In islam’s value scheme the islamofascist and killer and hater of non-muslims and non-islam is top-most candidate for allah’s mercy and rewards. Textbooks in Pakistan prove this. That is what children learn in the pure-islamic pure-paradise of pure-Pakistan. Even non-muslim children are forced under it. What an evil nation and land this islamic paradise of Pakistan. It will only become worse – due to islam.
Allah is guiding AKB. Allah has made him pure. Earlier shaitan was controlling his mind.
@ ahem
don’t spoil the thread with you bull****, go back to your dunghill!
@ ahem
sorry I thought it were you…plz disregard my comment and divert it to the one who still has ‘miles to go’ to the civilization of decent people!
@ ahem
It’s your turn now.
re hindu/muslim atrocities note that as per Muslim belief ‘this earth belongs to Allah” and not Hindus or Muslims. This was the reason Allama Iqbal remarked
CHEEN O ARAB HAMARAY HINDUSTAAN HAMARA
MUSLIM HEIN HAM WATAN HE SARA JEHAN HAMARA
.
UNDERSTAND??
Not just earth, moon also belongs to Allah.
Mars is disputed between Allah and NASA.
Sahir took that
and turned into
“Cheen-o-arab hamara hindustan hamara
rehne ko ghar nahin sara jahan hamara”
If fucking Iqbal thought the world world was muslim then he
didn’t need pakistan right right.
Chinese are really treating the muslim. how soon can you convert china
so they can fall down like pakistan.
AKB recites some childish rants that he learnt in his islamofascist nursery at the age of 4. That is his mental-slave (=muslim) level till today.
people, do you not think that you lost the points Shahrayar is actually trying to make here? honestly can we not do better than to reduce the discussion to such childish levels, to honour Manto’s ideas and memory? and what he is saying is relevant to not just India and Pakistan, but to all societies and nations on the planet.
Reva, exactly. Manto is humanity’s writer – his observations apply anywhere.
@ cheen
sahir also wrote this?
/
chee cheee karti aayee chirya
gao ka gobar layee chirya
ahem bhi aya lullo bhi aaya
sab kee bani lugaee chirya
/
cheen or arab hamare hindustan hamara
jis ja bhi ham rehein gay ho ga jehaan hamara
/
@ ahem
/
When will you grow up, my child?
The world knows your sickness well
your only cure is nothing but hell!!
reva
.
your words make sense but plz understand Manto was not a children story writer-only the original poster thought so in his childhood!
to AKB
Hell is where muslims are. Heaven is where muslims are not allowed in. this is because muslims are fascists and use filthy or obscene language.
my cure is a world that is honest and humourous – which means without islam and muslims.
Josh, you write like a chic having PMS- you know, when they just fuckin cry. Not only this post but others too-yeah, I have read you.Don´t get sad now, it´s a good thing. You must be a good sahaili for your femalefriends:).
Manto,on the other hand is NOT your cup of tea. A monotonous read with no passion, no anger, no filth, no stench-ye to thande ghosht sey bhi thanda hay….