Think, Not Believe

In the book ‘Labaik’ when M. Mufti asks Qudrat as to why he adds ‘maybe’ to every answer he gives. Qudrat replied, “Because only God is all-knowing.”

I was taught very early in life to be very careful when uttering the words, ‘I believe’. One should rather replace it with ‘I think’. ‘I believe’ is like putting a period; barricading reception and creation of new ideas. It renders one incapable of budging from own viewpoint and does not give way to someone else’s thoughts.

Think of the immense vastness of space and then say, ‘I’. Saying ‘I believe’ is similar to that. It creates the same sense of insignificance.

I have reserved ‘I believe’ for the places where according to Zulfiqar Ahmad Taabish; wings of reason and intellect get burnt. The dimension where a little spark of love is all what is needed to do the trick.

One can always argue that even in those regions one should keep the channels open and not block them with ‘I believe’ but I have observed that you can think only to a certain extent; after which things start getting messed up. This shouldn’t be a good enough excuse but sometimes it makes life a lot less complicated if we just let go. It feels great and of course you're not hurting anybody.

Domestic Happiness

Marriage is not only a physical relationship and people usually mistake the bond between a husband and wife as a love relationship. This is a huge misconception. In fact marriage is an institution where people learn to live together. They learn to tolerate other’s weaknesses, likes, dislikes, and all types of irrational behavior. They teach themselves to mold according to one another and learn to accept the difference of opinion. Smoothing out the sharp edges of personality; people get a lesson on kindness, forgiveness and how to keep other happy. Finally when the children become part of the family, people adopt to the ways of selflessness and sacrifice, leading to domestic happiness.

Translated from Mumtaz Mufti's Talaash.

Talaash ( The Search ) - Mumtaz Mufti

True to its title, in the book, the author has set out on a journey in search of answers. Answers to the questions, we are too scared to ask. Although till the very end he maintains his lack of knowledge on the subject but manages to hint towards our dilemma and its possible solution.

We in our ignorance have separated the two aspects of religion. One being the form and other, the spirit. Serving and feeding the form while completely and conveniently disregarding the spirit. All our efforts have been concentrated to bedeck the exterior and subsequently we got lost in the embellishments. It never crossed our minds that maybe the fact that our neighbor has eaten to his full is more important than arguing about how high should the shalwar be while praying. The flag bearers of truth, justice, equality and tolerance lost everything to the form; lengths, widths and count.

An impregnable wall of “respect” has been raised rendering people incapable of understanding the religion. God has been portrayed as a father figure, someone to be feared instead of a mother figure, someone to be loved. This gives out a very stern image and disheartens the youth.

People are discouraged to be critical and to ask questions. Religion has been made mysterious, a secret which only a selected few can understand and comprehend. We have let those few lead us by the noose and they make sure we never raise our heads, which would jeopardize their authority. They try to make to make the whole thing complicated with piles of books consisting of mere rhetoric. In reality the religion is not that tricky. Those who claim their special right on religion have shut their minds and keep gloating that their knowledge is complete, their word is final and cannot be challenged.

Unlike the popular belief religion pushes us to reason and explore. Science and religion do not have to negate each other. The former can help us better understand the latter. It is the character which is in dire need to be overhauled. The true essence needs infusion.

Beyond Tragedy – Kathleen Kennedy Townsend

In this month’s Reader’s Digest I came across this article by the daughter of late Robert F. Kennedy. It describes how death has been always present in her life and how she coped with the untimely loss of so many family members at a very young age.

She writes,

“…We acknowledge the pain and the loss. We develop rituals – religious services, music, funerals and wakes – where friends gather, hug one another, cry together and share stories and laughs. And we remember. I don’t like the saying, “Time heals all wounds.” It is not true. Years later, people can still be terribly sad and miss their mother, father, child, sibling, friend. Scars remain unhealed."

I always get baffled by the sheer courage of people who withstand something as shocking and terrible as death. The mere idea of losing a loved one is enough to make one shake. Kathleen writes about how her father dealt with the death of his brother, John F. Kennedy.

“On the day that President Kennedy was buried, my father gave me a note…what he wrote to me did not convey fear, anger, or bitterness. He did not speak of revenge. He focused on the future:

Dear Kathleen,

You seemed to understand that Jack died and was buried today. As the oldest of the Kennedy grandchildren, you have a particular responsibility now – a special responsibility to John [my cousin] and Joe [my brother]. Be kind to others and work for your country.

Love,
Daddy

CAN YOU IMAGINE, in your own moment of horrendous loss, reminding your child – and reminding yourself, really – to turn outward, not inward, to perform works of kindness and not of anger and revenge?...”

Yes, it is hard to imagine. Times like these can make one self-centered. You want the world to revolve around you. You want to be left alone but at the same time you want someone sitting right next telling you that everything will be alright and he/she will never leave you.

Based on her personal experiences, Kathleen shares some lessons she has learnt over the years.

“…go to the funeral…it’s there you mingle with families, listen to them talk, and lend your full support. Death opens an enormous hole in the heart. A funeral brings together those who can help fill that hole.”

I know how hard and difficult it can be to console someone who has just lost someone. There is absolutely nothing to say. Words lose their meaning and start sounding too small and pretentious. I always think that there is nothing one can do or say which would somehow lessen the mourner’s pain. I think in reality we don’t want to let that pain go away. Anything contrary to it is considered an insult to the departed one.

Maybe it is. If I die and have the chance to look over my funeral proceedings, it would be nice to see a couple of tears gracing my remembrance.

The writer also goes on to explain what could be done in a case like this,

“…it is better to be rejected than never to try at all. Your friend can always resist the effort...But it is hard to imagine anyone not appreciating it…The outstretched arm, the warm embrace, the freshly baked cookies, or the fragrant flowers do not replace life. Not by any means. But they do say to a grieving friend, “You are loved, you are cherished.” ”

http://www.rd.com/your-america-inspiring-people-and-stories/kathleen-kennedy-townsend-looks-beyond-tragedy/article102047.html

In Search of Originality

In search of the original, it might not be unusual to first tread the swamps of unoriginality. There is always a chance that you might get stuck in it, unable to budge and finally drowning in it. The mud creeps in your body, barricading everything which might have given vent to an original idea.

Count them lucky who pass this swamp and enter that hybrid zone where originality is the toddler, led by a firm hand of unoriginality. At first the walk is shaky and it is difficult for the little one to maintain his posture but he gradually learns, finding his feet, trying to balance himself. Finally considering himself capable enough, he lets go of that hand. Instead of following the old and worn out paths, he can now pave new ways, explore virgin lands and set fresh landmarks.

But it is always a good idea to look back at those old paths once in a while. Maybe there was a turn we missed or a sign we overlooked…Perhaps there is someone out there who needs our hand.

Daughter of the East

The sun has set in the East
Pain and sadness house the heart
I goad the ashes for a hope
Mourns a nation torn apart
The bog rejoices its success
Though her specter shall prevail
Sounding the reveille
Till democracy takes its revenge

These verses were penned down last year. I guess it is necessary to give an idea about the time frame because the lines have somewhat lost their shine.

11:30 pm. 27th December, 2007, standing outside the PPP regional office, looking at the lambent tongues of flame, a hope burgeoned in me that this might lead to a chain effect(don’t read revolution); ousting of the junta and installation of democratic leadership. Hope was fulfilled but certainly not the way I wanted.

Did we learn anything? If the people of Pakistan get a free and fair chance to elect new guards for future security in the next elections then we just might had.

Good Will Hunting

Finally there was something worth that one and a half hour. I truly regret not getting my hands on it earlier. Every scene was a pearl in a string. I would resist the temptation to write down every single dialogue over here and restrict myself to a few.

First there was this scene where Will is having an argument with a big-headed Harvard first-year grad student (Clark) who was trying to make Will’s friend Chuckie look bad in front of girls. Will comes in and shuts him up by telling that he is just repeating some previously crammed lines from a book and doesn’t have any original thought on the subject. The last line is what answers a lot of questions. I think this what matters in the final analysis. Here is an excerpt

Clark: Well, as a matter of fact, I won't, because Wood drastically underestimates the impact of social -
Will: Wood drastically underestimates the impact of social distinctions predicated upon wealth, especially inherited wealth"? You got that from Vickers' "Work in Essex County," page 98, right? Yeah, I read that too. Were you gonna plagiarize the whole thing for us? Do you have any thoughts of your own on this matter? Or do you, is that your thing, you come into a bar, read some obscure passage and then pretend - you pawn it off as your own, as your own idea just to impress some girls, embarrass my friend?
Clark: [looks down in shame]
Will: See, the sad thing about a guy like you is, in 50 years you're gonna start doin' some thinkin' on your own and you're going to come up with the fact that there are two certainties in life: one, don't do that, and two, you dropped 150 grand on an education you could have got for a dollar fifty in late charges at the public library!
Clark: Yeah, but I will have a degree. And you'll be servin' my kids fries at a drive-thru on our way to a skiing trip.
Will: That may be, but at least I won't be unoriginal.

Skylar and Will have this energy or some kind of vibe which makes everything around them 'comfortable' when they are together. I don't know how to explain it, maybe that is what good chemistry is all about. I liked the way Sean described soul mates, not to mention Will's reply.

SEAN:Do you have a soul-mate?
WILL:Define that.
SEAN:Someone who challenges you in every way. Who takes you places, opens things up for you. A soul-mate.
WILL:Yeah. Shakespeare, Neitzche, Frost, O'Connor, Chaucer, Pope, Kant--
SEAN:They're all dead.
WILL:Not to me, they're not.
SEAN:But you can't give back to them, Will.

There are many scenes which I would have loved to share but someone who hasn't seen the movie would be somewhat lost. Taking an excerpt out is pretty brutal. It's like breaking that string, the charm of looking it as a whole is far greater. I'll end this post with this clip.

Enigmatic and enchanting. Perhaps it was Will's turn to face some originality :)

Starting Afresh

Perhaps I read this story in Bustaan-e-Saadi. Neither I remember the exact words nor am I able to find the book. It was about a very old person, who on being inquired about his age, replied that he was merely four years old, adding that it has been only four years since meaning of this life has dawned upon him so he had decided to disregard rest of the sixty meaningless years (or something to that effect).

Looking back over the years and the idea of disregarding them in a jiffy seems welcoming, brooding over them does not. So much time has been wasted. Still don’t know and understand a lot many things. Never learnt them and might never get the chance to do so. The vague desire of man to be homo universalis...

It would be nice to move on, start afresh. But what guarantee does one have that ten or twenty years down the road one wouldn’t stumble upon a new meaning, a new horizon. The previous one was just a mirage, another run-of-the-mill trick out of the great magician’s bag. Idols smashed down, and principals torched. Life would be again on the crossroads. Then once again this urge to trample over the bygone years would seethe but it would be the threshold of that troubled, twilight period which Turgenev describes as the one when regrets come to resemble hopes, and hopes are beginning to resemble regrets, when youth is fled and old age is fast approaching. The decision would be much difficult then.

A Gamble

All the aces of my life
willingly proffered to her
She had nothing to lose
I, everything to gain
cognizant of previous wounds
Inner-self demurred temerity
Effacing every doubt
letting her complete me
Took her time, had her fill
But left without a goodbye

12th December, 2008. Published in US Magazine, The News

Of Parenting

When you were young and accidently broke your mother’s favorite vase, did you simply collapse with fear? When your father used to come home, did you with the rest of your siblings scatter away turning out T.V, DVD Player as you flew the coop? Did you have to think a gazillion times before you could go up to your parents and say,” I made a boo-boo and I am sorry”?

If my long term memory serves me right, corporal punishment was never an option in our house. All I remember is a blow on the back from dad while studying for mathematics’ examination (I am sure it was unintentional) and a slap or two from mom (purely intentional) for pestering her. At first I thought these were the perks of being the only kid but this punishment thing simply doesn’t run in the family.

After so many years, I wonder, would have I turned out any different if answers to these questions in the first paragraph had been in affirmative. Most probably I would have. Would it have been worth it? I don’t know. It’s all relative. The temptation and ability to blab out everything at the end of the day to my folks is something I cherish. Best present a parent could give to his/her child. Many a times I simply didn’t do something bad, because I knew I would ultimately let it all out. They would come to know and there is no hiding from them. I knew I wouldn’t get a beating but still I was and am scared. Mental warfare at its best.

Worst times have been those when intentionally or unintentionally this communication gap was temporarily bottlenecked. As soon as you find yourself not answerable to anyone, problems start brewing up. Mr. Know-it-all smarty pants ends up creating one heck of a mess. Our lives would be much simpler if these communication lines are kept live and running.

I once read in Reader’s Digest to consider your children as grown ups when they stop asking you from where they came and stop telling you where they are going. I think no matter how much we grow up we should always let them know where we are going. They may not always like it and we may not always agree but in the end it works out for the good. One could never find a better cushion to fall back on. They are your first and last line of defense. The chink less armor.

Easy on the Spices

A pinch of salt and pepper is enough to enhance the flavors but we have to go one step further from being passionate to obsessive; enhancement to mutilation. Until and unless beads of sweat start tickling down and the tongue pops out, we don’t label it as food. Every eatable must be dipped in a range of spices and should be floating in a hot red murky shorba(broth) before it is served. There is no such thing as spicy food, it is only food. Adrak (Ginger), Anardana (Pomegranate seed), Darchini (cinnamon), Dhania (Coriander seed), Elaichi (Cardamom), Haldi(Turmeric), Hara dhaniya (Coriander), Zeera (Cumin) to name a very few. With all these things smeared on, how on earth am I supposed to taste that chicken within?

But it is extremely difficult to make a case against spices. They literally made an empire to take over another empire and then rule it for hundred odd years. Beat that!

I am accused of being disloyal to my roots and my mum says that BBC Food, now Lifestyle has corrupted my mind. Well she is not entirely incorrect :) . But who can blame me? Watching that channel is the best therapy for a troubled soul. You don’t need anything else. Turn it on, meditate and liberate yourself.

I think we should go easy on the spices. Pleasure should lead us towards peace not chaos and that thing which gurgles inside me after an extra spicy serving is certainly no peace. Every flavor should be given due chance to work its magic on the palate. A perfect balance is what does the trick and excess of an ingredient can ruin the whole canvas.

Misfortunes, mishaps, tragedies…When these befall, sense of right and wrong greatly falters.

New Found Respect

I used to be the most uncouth reader. If a book lover analyzed the book I had just got over with, he could surely sue me for sacrilege.

Cover page was mutilated owing to my mindless abstract artwork. Pages sodden as the book was left by the window in the rest room and were rudely underlined with multicolored ballpoints. Book-mark was considered an unnecessary luxury and the pen used for the same purpose left the book deformed forever. Edges were torn down and they became my modified tooth-picks (I know! I know! This was so below the belt!). No surprise that lending a book was a nightmare. Defilement needed to be put an end to.

Lately I have seen an improvement though. A dog-eared page makes me cringe. I have actually started to use a book-mark. Well it’s not exactly a book-mark; I just found another use for my Telenor prepaid cards. Instead of underlining the whole paragraph, a single dot on the margin does the trick and I have finally recovered from making to-do-lists at the end pages.

I don’t know whether there is anything to infer from this new found respect for books. I just know one thing for sure that they are going to be with me for quite some time and I can’t afford to offend them.

A Dream Shattered

Today is 9th November, birth anniversary of Dr. Muhammad Allama Iqbal. I took out the book comprising his complete works and opened it randomly. Like Shakespeare and Ghalib, I always find it too herculean a task to even dare to open a book like this. I know at the back of my mind that I'll end up lost in the tirade of words too big for me.

I came across these verses which are from his book bal-e-jibreel. I was pleasantly surprised how smoothly they ran through me without any hindrance up to the point where they touched the heart. Striking the right cords at the right time. A surge within as you read these lines.

نہ ہُوطغیانِ مُشتاقی تو میں رہتا نہیں باقی
!کہ میری زندگی کیا ہے؟ یہی طُغیانِ مُشتاقی
مجھے فطرت نوا پر پے بہ پے مجبور کرتی ہے
ابھی محفل میں ہے شاید کوئی درد آشنا باقی
وہ آتش آج بھی تیرا نشیمن پھونک سکتی ہے
!طلب صادق نہ ہو تیری تو پھر کیا شکوۂ ساقی
نہ کر افرنگ کا اندازہ اس کی تابناکی سے
کہ بجلی کے چراغوں سے ہے اس جوہر کی بَّراقی
دلوں میں ولولے آفاق گیری کے نہیں اُٹھتے
!نگاہوں میں اگر پیدا نہ ہو اندازِ آفاقی
خزاں میں بھی کب آسکتا تھا میں صیّاد کی زد میں
!مری غمّاز تھی شاخِ نشیمن کی کم اوراقی
الٹ جائیں گی تدبیریں، بدل جائیں گی تقدیریں
!حقیقت ہے، نہیں میرے تخیّل کی یہ خلّاقی

I see around today and I feel cheated. Was this 'the' nation? I wish we had not let his vision crumble and dream shatter.

Plato - The Republic

In the movie ‘My big fat Greek wedding’, Gus Portokalos rightly says, “When my people were writing philosophy,your people were still swinging from trees”. Penned down around approximately 350 B.C, the thought process exuding from this book is astonishing. Before I read this book I might have thought that ideas regarding justice, morality, society, education, role of women and all these perks of the modern civilization were brought forward and spread only by the Religions. Apparently not!

In the beginning of the book, Glaucon puts forward the main argument which later was known as the Social Contract theory,“We are only moral because it pays us or we have to be, and that given the chance we should all behave extremely badly” .

From there the reader begins a journey comprising of emphatic dialogues. How Socrates never gives his views and how through dialectic goes on to chart out a plan for a perfect society is simply amusing to read. No lectures, only conversation. One might say that the whole thing borders close to idealism but the single fact that in the book they professed that this kind of society might not exist in this world, in my view, acquits them from being idealists.

After all what could be the harm in following an ideal state? We may never reach it but at least we would be satisfied that we strived for the best. We may never make it to the top but even if we managed to go half the way, it would be worth it. When you reach for the stars you may never reach them but you don’t return with a handful of mud either.

There was a passage about how people are born with gold, silver or bronze inside. At first it smelled of inequality but the very next statement laid my apprehension to rest. It tells that if a bronze child is born to gold parents, he or she should be placed with all the other bronze people in the society, performing the same functions as they do. In short the son of a landlord isn’t destined to become the member of the national assembly. Will Durant puts it more precisely in his book, Story of Philosophy,

“If a woman shows herself capable of political administration let her rule, if a man shows himself to be capable only off washing dishes, let him fulfill the function to which providence has assigned him.”

Of course hints of selective breeding and infanticide are something which might never materialize in this world. Yes, we might go as far as genetically enhancing humans but I guess that is the furthest we’ll go. It is just a guess though.

Education for all is certainly a good enough idea and especially an education which is aimed not to put into mind, knowledge that was not there before but to turn the mind’s eye to the light so that it can see for itself. This could be the best possible filtration system a society could employ. The sieve should be merit, not wealth.

“There is something low and mean about plundering a corpse, a kind of feminine mindedness, treating the body as an enemy when fighting spirit which fought in it has flown away”. It wasn’t till the 19th century that we thought of Geneva Conventions. Being on the top of the world and still thinking that Greeks should treat the corpses of Barbarians just like they would treat a corpse of a Greek is something remarkable. It shows that morality can’t be just the fear of police then.

Then there is the very interesting criticism of democracy while Plato goes on to describe an Ideal State. Is democracy the universal remedy? Perhaps! It is the most attractive and versatile but isn’t it just a trendy name given to mob rule, a clash of classes, conflict of rich and poor, leading to a tyrant’s rise as the popular champion.

There is certainly much more to this masterpiece than just what you have read up here. A fulfilling and enriching experience from start to finish.

Giving Up

A cancerous growth
impinging upon soul
Gnawing and piercing
fraying the essence
a halfhearted fight
a web of vicious tentacles
Engulfing and pulling
towards the eternal abode

31st October, 2008. Published in US Magazine, The News

The Show Never Stops

There are a few facts of life which just don’t get absorbed in our minds. They always find their way out from the attic in head and come as a shock on every encounter. We are too afraid to accept them. Like the fact that fleeting time is bound to take people away from us. Brevity of human life is something with which we might never get accustomed. People closest to our hearts would desert us eventually.

While filling out a bank form I struggled to place a mark in the box right next to the option ‘Either or Survivor’. I don’t blame the form. It was written with profitability in perspective, not sentiments but the sheer brazenness of it shakes you up. Thrown right into your face. Something to bring you face to face with the very grim side of life. The very moment when you have to let go of the armor of denial, bowing down to the impeding truth.

You can never prepare for something like this, even though it as sure as the passing of days. When the time comes, it will hurt all the same. Left behind would only be a long tail of etched memories, keeping the wounds fresh and life hollow. But I have seen time working miracles. The world can be a very absorbing place if one is ready to yield to its temptations. Without our noticing those etched memories start eroding. Sands of time bury them somewhere deep down. Faces get blurred and voices muted. New memories are painted over the old ones. Life goes on. The show never stops.

Solitude Sans Sin

One of the very few messages I found worth saving or forwarding.

"Momin wo nahe jis ki mehfil paak hai, momin wo hai jis ki tanhaee paak hai" (Believer is not the one whose gatherings are sans sin, believer is the one whose solitude is sans sin)

It does boil down to this. Doesn't it? When we are sure that nobody is watching, the reality resurfaces. Clad in punishment proof jacket we venture out. A surreptitious puff, a secret glance. A real supply of moral fiber is needed to counter these clandestine activities. A good act in solitude or without any kind of intentional hoopla is equally difficult to carry out. There is an innate desire to be recognized and praised which is hard to let go.

A case of two brains

You can either sulk or smile when something like this happens. No need for sulking as it would only take your attention away from something worthwhile. Smile and forget it or as in my case post it on your blog and then forget it.

Half way through the psychology class I was wondering as to why humanists rejected the Freudian idea and was planning to put the question to the teacher. But it is hard to think with a pestering nuisance right next to you; someone constantly cracking knuckles and scratching god knows where (You cannot always choose who is going to sit next to you). I was sure that this person was thinking about something absolutely absurd and worthless. Suddenly he comes out of this trance and proclaims earnestly,

“Oyai tujhai pata hai bandron kai do damagh hotai hain?”

(Hey! Do you know that the monkeys have two brains?).

Final 20-20 Cricket Cup : A match to forget

I thank my luck for not being able to go to the final of 20-20 cricket cup at the Gaddafi stadium, Lahore held on 8th October, 2008. I sure missed the excellent display of fireworks and company of my chums but watching the dance performance of the rising star of the country, Zara, perform on the eve of the day on which only three years back a devastating earthquake hit Pakistan was sickening. One doesn’t has to drag religion or even culture into this but even common sense claims that the dance performance was crass, lewd and obscene.

Mush brought the gift of enlightened moderation and we witnessed its outcome. A species once barricaded behind closed doors was unleashed. Pseudo-Westernization and senseless following of culture unknown to 99% of local population was slapped on their faces. A new genre of extremism was out, mocking the life styles of millions of Pakistanis. With media blatantly supporting this fad, we made sure that a person hailing from middle-class starts questioning his parents’ morals and feel inferior for not having his/her fair share of BFs/GFs.

If Indians who have a comparatively not-so-conservative society could ban the skimpy clothed cheerleaders as they hurt the public sentiment, why do we have to stoop to such levels to gain foreign acceptance? If the bhangra king, Abrar-ul-Haq thinks that this nation can unite under this facade of moderation and with utter disregard for others’ values, he is grossly mistaken.

At first I thought of uploading the video but on the second thought, don't feel like it!