For you, a thousand times over ...

I had been thinking of writing this for quite some time now, but never got the time to do it in the past one week ...

Today being a lousy Saturday (a good time of which was spent/ wasted in college) … here I sit, typing away…

This post is dedicated to the essence of the message contained in the book,

The Kite Runner, by Khaled Hosseini which rings in the ears of anyone who puts it down after having read it till the last page. Or sweetly haunts them .. yeah, that’s more like it ..

‘For you, a thousand times over …’

WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS SPOILERS OF THE BOOK. SO READ ON AT YOUR OWN RISK!

The story is set in 1970-ish Afghanistan, and revolves around two main characters, Amir and Hassan, and is narrated in first person by Amir- a young lad (the story begins with his pre-adolescent years)

Amir and Hassan grow up together, play games together, read together, eat together, laugh together, run together … and Oh, their lives are literally built around each other. Only, Amir grows up in a Big house, while Hassan grows up in a small one, in the former’s backyard; Amir is the mastermind of all their “pranks”, Hassan- the humble executor; Amir reads out stories to the unlettered Hassan, who laps up every word he says as gospel truth, ignorant of the fact that the “educated” Amir Agha (an Afghani term of respectful address for elder brother) pokes fun at his ignorance of fancy words, and manipulates the stories while reading those out to him…

Again, Amir eats the food neatly laid out on a huge table for him everyday by his lesser friend; Amir laughs with Hassan, and also AT him, while Hassan is always looking for reasons to bring smiles on his Amir Agha’s face, and … the deciding difference between the two …

While Hassan runs … for his life… for his Friend, and for his Friend’s Kite of Victory , Amir runs away from his duty- as a friend, as a master, as an Agha to his little Hazara. Most importantly, Amir runs away from his conscience, he is a defeatist- an escapist. He tells the story.

Hassan is the Kite Runner – the loyal, brave and Tall man. Amir tells the story of Hassan. The story of the Kite Runner.

He tells us the story, as the Bigger master-boy, dwarfed in skill, mind and character by his smaller servant-friend.

Amir lives with his father- a self-made man, of great riches and social influence. Hassan and his father are the hazara servants to their Pashtun family. To explain by means of an analogy, Hazaras are the Afghani equivalent of the Black slaves (though not bonded, unpaid labour) to the white rich men (Pashtuns). History tells us that Hazara’s are the Shia minority, driven to poverty and misery by the sunni Pashtuns.

The following excerpt aptly captures the relationship between Amir and his father (He being a rich, khandaani pashtun boy, with no drop of father-like valour, but an immense (though less recognized) gift for writing, in his blood):

‘With me as the glaring exception, my father molded the world around him to his liking. The problem, of course, was that Baba saw the world in black and white. And he got to decide what was black and what was white. You can’t love a person who lives that way without fearing him too. Maybe even hating him a little’

A few lines of the Father, give us an insight into his character:

‘No matter what the mullah teaches, there is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft. “When you kill a man, you steal a life,” Baba said. “You steal his wife’s right to a husband; rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness.’

(Although, years later Amir discovers, that the same man- whom he grows to love and respect immensely, himself failed to live by his own words. He deprived Amir and Hassan of the right to the true knowledge of their relationship- that they were half brothers- Hassan having been illicitly born to the family servant’s promiscuous wife)

Kite Flying is a great festival in their country. And retrieving the last defeated kite of the season is a matter of great pride and achievement – the Kite Runners are adept at this skill. And Hassan is the best Kite Runner in town, who always runs to fetch the kite of victory for his master. His last kite-run is when Amir, for the first time, ends up winning the Kite Flying tournament of the year.

The following excerpts sum up the entire story, as it unfolds later: the story of loyalty of the poor hazara to his master, in return for a cowardly betrayal by the latter, who finds himself sacrificing his friend at the altar of a pseudo-victory… who watches in painful, yet shameful silence and inaction, as a group of rich little pashtun brats rape the hazara boy, as a punishment for standing up to them, protecting his master’s victory kite..

After all… he consoles himself … he is just a hazara isn’t he …

‘ “Would I ever lie to you, Amir agha?” (Hassan asked Amir, upon being suspected of misleading them away from the victory kite)

Suddenly I decided to toy with him a little. “I don’t know. Would you?”

“I’d sooner eat dirt,” he said with a look of indignation.

“Really? You’d do that?”

He threw me a puzzled look. “Do what?”

“Eat dirt if I told you to,” I said. I knew I was being cruel, like when I’d taunt him if he didn’t know some big word. But there was something fascinating--albeit in a sick way--about teasing Hassan.

Kind of like when we used to play insect torture. Except now, he was the ant and I was holding the magnifying glass.

His eyes searched my face for a long time. We sat there, two boys under a sour cherry tree,

suddenly looking, really looking, at each other. That’s when it happened again: Hassan’s face changed. Maybe not changed, not really, but suddenly I had the feeling I was looking at two faces, the one I knew, the one that was my first memory, and another, a second face, this one lurking just beneath the surface. I’d seen it happen before--it always shook me up a little. It just appeared, this other face, for a fraction of a moment, long enough to leave me with the unsettling feeling that maybe I’d seen it someplace before. Then Hassan blinked and it was just him again. Just Hassan.

“If you asked, I would,” he finally said, looking right at me. I dropped my eyes. To this day, I find it hard to gaze directly at people like Hassan, people who mean every word they say.

“But I wonder,” he added. “Would you ever ask me to do such a thing, Amir agha?” And, just like that, he had thrown at me his own little test. If I was going to toy with him and challenge his loyalty, then he’d toy with me, test my integrity.

I wished I hadn’t started this conversation. I forced a smile. “Don’t be stupid, Hassan. You know I wouldn’t.”

Hassan returned the smile. Except, his, didn’t look forced. “I know,” he said.

And that’s the thing about people who mean everything they say.

They think everyone else does too.’

…….. …..

“You won, Amir agha! You won!”

“We won! We won!” was all I could say.

Then I saw Baba on our roof. He was standing on the edge, pumping both of his fists. Hollering and clapping. And that right there was the single greatest moment of my twelve years of life, seeing Baba on that roof, proud of me at last.

But he was doing something now, motioning with his hands in an urgent way. Then I understood.

“Hassan, we--”

“I know,” he said, breaking our embrace. “Inshallah, we’ll celebrate later. Right now, I’m going to run that blue kite for you,” he said. He dropped the spool and took off running, the hem of his green chapan dragging in the snow behind him.

“Hassan!” I called. “Come back with it!”

He was already turning the street corner, his rubber boots kicking up snow. He stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “For you, a thousand times over!” he said.

…………………

And years later, Amir – a grown up, happily married, but childless man settled in US, gets to atone for his juvenile sins, by rescuing his orphaned, little nephew Sohrab (Hassan’s son) from the war and poverty stricken Afghanistan, and adopting him into his family.

After years of internal struggle, painful guilt and torture, he gets a chance to “be a good man again”.

He gets to do for the son, what he owes to the father…

Even though the little boy, torn by grief and exploitation, is reticent and withdrawn, from the new family… (I think that Amir takes it all, as penance that he has rightly earned)

The book ends on an optimistic note, flashing a ray of hope .. in the life of the child Sohrab, as well as in the life of the was-a-child-is-now-a-man, Amir, with the following lines:

(An eager-to-cheer Amir and a reluctant/hesitant Sohrab are flying a kite in the kite-festival in US. Their kite finally wins. )

Behind us, people cheered. Whistles and applause broke out. I was panting. The last time I had felt a rush like this was that day in the winter of 1975, just after I had cut the last kite, when I spotted Baba on our rooftop, clapping, beaming.

I looked down at Sohrab. One corner of his mouth had curled up just so.

A smile.

Lopsided.

Hardly there.

But there.

Behind us, kids were scampering, and a melee of screaming kite runners was chasing the loose kite drifting high above the trees. I blinked and the smile was gone. But it had been there. I had seen it.

“Do you want me to run that kite for you?”

His Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed. The wind lifted his hair. I thought I saw him nod.

“For you, a thousand times over,” I heard myself say.

Then I turned and ran.

‘For you, a thousand times over …’

This apparently, is a very common phrase in Afghanistan.. and it basically means ..

For someone like you, whom I so love and dedicate myself to, I would do anything you would wish me to … no matter how unpleasant or difficult the task, if it makes you happy, I would do it .. not once.. but a thousand times over …… as many times as you please …

So basically, anytime someone you love, and dedicate yourself to, asks something of you.. you tell them .. (not necessarily explicitly!)

For YOU .. a thousand times over .. :)

[According to one of the readers of the book who posted his views on a The Kite Runner forum on Orkut, the phrase may have its origins in the term 'Hazara' because the word hazara actually means 'from thousand', referring to the thousands of Mongols who invaded Afghanistan and whose descendants the Hazaras are supposed to be.]

In fact, I think this sentence/ sentiment is the key to realizing the extent of your love and devotion to anybody in your life …

If you find yourself wondering as to whether your RoI in anybody is really justified,

Or .. to take stock of just about how important some people are, in your life …

Just ask yourself what Amir had asked Hassan..

Would you eat dirt for this person’s sake?

Okay.. this is not literally.. but something like .. would you take all $h!t in life, for someone .. and this doesn’t mean blindly taking $h!t FROM someone, but for them.. for their sake ..

Okay, let me rephrase it…more literally.. if your dear one were ordained to be fed a bottle of grime- and you had a choice of consuming it yourself instead, would you do it?

You will be surprised to learn your own response, at the strength of your love and dedication, that you wouldn’t ordinarily even contemplate! … think of your parents and siblings or anyone whom you love …

And if you find yourself saying to them inwardly “for you, a thousand times over”

In case you did not know already, these people are absolutely integral to your very being!

Now, this should certainly not be interpreted the other way around …

That, you MUST feel like giving an affirmative response for such a question..

Or that, tomorrow, if I had to jump into the puddle for say my sister … I should do so with the “For you a thousand times over” principle in mind … No!

But, ask yourself… If I had to, would I??

If not, then well… that’s an open field …

But if Yes.. if u can say yes, without blinking an eye—then well, congratulations!

You have a beautiful relationship to cherish, to live for … and to die for ..

I dunno if this will appear to be an exaggeration, but I think this really is a mantra- a touchstone for love and loyalty in all relationships.

I was going through this debate online… over who was the real hero of the story – Amir – the boy who lived to earn redemption- by the atonement of his adolescent sins years later, or Hassan – the boy who sacrificed his life and honour for his Friend …

Amir admits to himself throughout the story, that he was a coward- not a braveheart like his father (or like Hassan) – and this is the excuse he gives himself, as he chooses to be a mute spectator, as the bullies launch a sexual assault on his 12-year old friend- who refuses to trade his Amir Agha’s victory kite for freedom!

I really hated Amir- not coz he was not brave enough to put up a fight .. but coz he was not even loyal enough to forego his victory kite (which for him, meant his father’s love and pride in him, at last!) – to beg before the bullies to let go of Hassan, to bear the ignominy of defeat and, win himself his friend’s life and honour ..

That, in my opinion, would have marked him as a real hero, ideally; The one who would beg for mercy, for his friend’s honour, if not FIGHT for it.

Worse, he goes on to punish Hassan – to fight his own guilt, he drives the poor boy out of his life and even his home!

However, he was, after all, just a 12- year old boy, faced with a decision not many of us have to make in those tender years … and he does eventually struggle to earn redemption- to make amends .. to give to Hassan’s Son, Sohrab what Hassan was unfairly deprived of, all his life.

Hassan was the real Hero of Amir’s story- by his unwavering loyalty and bravery,that stirs you to the soul... Hassan was The Kite Runner

By the last page of the book, Amir too grows in size- in spirit and character- by leaps and bounds! .. and you don’t even realize that he has grown into another Kite Runner, just like his Hero half-brother ..

‘Hassan was already turning the street corner, his rubber boots kicking up snow. He stopped, turned. He cupped his hands around his mouth. “For you, a thousand times over!” he said.’

….

‘ “For you, a thousand times over,” I heard myself say to Sohrab.

Then I turned and ran.’