Veronika's Journal: Moth Smoke

Today I finally finished the book, "Moth Smoke". It tells disturbing story and I still can't decide whether it is a good one. It is about a Lahori who lost a respectable job (this is debatable), had an affair with his best friend's wife who broke his heart, became a junky, robbed a boutique, shot a boy, being set up for a crime his best friend committed and ended up in prison, hopelessly. The story shines some light on the current modern-day society in Pakistan: your academic excellence does not matter if you are not well-connected; guns and drugs are easily available.

The story makes me sad. If a story stirs your emotions, slap your face with the harsh reality that you least want to face and leaves you with no hope, is it still a good story? Then again, if a story manages to stir one's emotions so much and presents the reality that few would, can it be a bad one?

One thing that disturbed me most in the story is that the character started out smoking recreational drug, harmless probably. But when things fell apart, he ran away from reality and started to smoke heroin: he budged. Personally, I hate to budge. I am not a person with strong will so I know how much harm budging can cause. So when it comes to things that are bad for me(like alcohol, cigarette, gambling etc.), I don't put my will to test: I never touch them and make up my mind to hate them (and convince everyone else so) when in actual fact I don't really understand them. Maybe I am being smart. But maybe if I stop being a coward, try them and then reject them, I would be a stronger person. But stop being a coward is not an easy thing to do.

In a society which values meritocracy relatively more, one, if decides to work hard, can actually maintain more dignity. My environment is difficult enough, but the one told in the story was even harsher. I can't help but wonder, can I survive if I am in that environment? Can I still have the choice to maintain my dignity? I always think that the world I am in is like a big circus. We are all pathetic performers, desperate to capture the audience that we wish would applaud to our effort and then reward us. We do whatever we can, sometimes even things that we don't approve and be cowards and convince ourselves that we have no choice. Just how much cowardice can one swallow? Why are we or me, rather (guess have no right to make representation for all) so afraid to be brave?

Then I started to think what makes the people in the story so desperate? I mean they were well educated, graduated from universities and they became criminals. And they honestly (or cowardly) believe that they have a right course for committing crimes: redistributing the wealth in the country. If education cannot help the poors to improve their lives, what can? Is it really true that their misery is caused by unfair distribution of affluence? I may be a little more fortunate that our government is generous to give us just enough to stop us from roaring. Coming from a country which my own ethnic group is constantly being marginalized, I do think that a hungry stomach is what drives a man angry.

Then again, the story might not have reflected the whole truth about the society. Everyone has selective eyes after all. And gradually recovering from the sorrow caused by the story, I choose to believe that there is still some good left. Sun still shines, flowers still blossom, birds still chirp and our hearts still ache over others agony. And I have chosen to have faith. Maybe I am being naive, living in a picture called hope that I painted for myself. But maybe that's what I need: a little innocence, a small gesture, a big heart.