The story of every other

The story of every "other".

Back in school, there was a time when our teachers persuaded us to teach English and basic subjects to house help staff at home.

I gladly, charged with newly found mission of life, stormed across the house with English books and new notebooks to our old maid. I was bent on making her replace her nap with English learning sessions.

Sadly, what I could never understand was: She did not need my help. She did not need to learn English. If it was something that she truly wanted to learn then it was how to read an urdu newspaper and scribble out the grocery on paper/do quick maths for grocery.

But I had a completely different, perfectly convinced picture of how to help this other. She needed me after all. Sadly, she did not.

Recently a friend of mine, over coffee, recalled a similar experience from her yester days:

"During my annual summer break back in 2010, there was a friend visiting me. She found me sitting quietly staring at my laptop screen in my room, weirdly zoned out. She tried breaking into a conversation, which made me put down my laptop and focus on talking. I was however still deeply lost in what I had been watching. It was nothing but an intense show that I had passionately loved.

Given my lost sense of everything, she concluded I sounded depressed and needed help. She kept forcing me to change and hang out with others.

I did not feel so. I was absolutely comfortable where I was."

And there lies the problem.

The problem of helping.

The problem of being raised to be noble. The problem of being praised to be noble. The issue of individually and collectively celebrating/cherishing the whole idea of "let's help them".

Because in order to help "them", I ought to be stemming from a perfect life as a savior to others.

The problem lies in children being taught by naive parents: See that poor kid down that shabby road, look, he can't even afford food, look at yourself. You are being picky about cheese on fries?

Why is that a problem?

Because it inculcates a sense of privilege. A fluid sense of "I stand on concrete road looking down at a kid down that shabby road with nothing. Oh, well, but I am not happy here. Oh well, but I have some bread. Let me go give this to the kid."

We disguise our generosity. We are not being generous. We are not being helpful. We wrongly label "self gratification" as "helping".

Observing, deducing, concluding "problems and solutions" for "others" on behalf of "others", for "others", is just plain selfish. It is as wrong as a superpower deciding to intervene into an establishment with its own "methods" of helping.

We assume superiority since childhood. We have something that they don't.

Remember those wise old lectures - "Poor are still more satisfied than rich." Yep, well, that inculcates a complicated equation of materialistic superiority with a tinge of internal emptiness. It inevitably leads us to barter. We step out with our materialistic possessions to give away, save the poor. It gives us happiness.

If giving away blindly based on assumptions of what "we" think is right for "them", gives us Happiness then well, it is not happiness. It is a strong sense of recently rewarded big fat ego.

I am the Power. I was always rich. I always had the power to give away of myself.

The problem lies in assuming the problem for others.

The problem lies in how we conduct conversations, describing "others" even in the confines of our private space.

The problem lies in how "white" spoke of their "black" staff so politely yet with assertive power/expressions.

The problem lies in speaking of "others".

The problem lies in thinking of "others" with problems, because we are assuming we know something they don't.

How do we know we don't know something that they do?

And here, let me pick a pin and burst the bubble.
There is no we. There is no them.

We stand on equal footings, across time, culture, religion, color, country, economic status, lifestyle status.

From a rich school kid being taught to give his pencil to that poor kid, to a development enthusiast entering a community with his/her own strong conclusions/paradigms about the issue/solutions to the society worried about an ambitious lady sitting at home.

Pakistan and I seem to have quite a lot in common right now. Just like Pakistan, I am expressed concern by "others" over how I might not be living the life I want because I am a SAHM these days.

While I am trying to juggle and shatter my own perceptions of these "other" humans who stay home, I am also being bombarded with questions/concerns/disappointed sighs about my new role.

An old friend expressed concern over how difficult it must be for me to be living here, stuck in the kitchen, with just cooking and looking after Zainab after all these years of rigorous education and work experience.

And here is what I had to say: How do you know that it is the major problem or concern of my life right now? I might as well just be doing great and not wasting talent/skills/time just because you assume I am sitting at home at the moment.

Just because I am sitting at home does not make me less compatible, out of touch or wasted.  Whether and when I work outside of my own home should be my decision.

A choice is a choice is a choice.

You have a wrong understanding of liberal and feminism if your aspirations of independent women stop her at believing everything is career. It is as limiting as old challenge of limiting women to reproduction and marriage.

I almost fell into the trap of helping these "housewives" out right after marriage. they don't need to be rescued from being housewives. They are doing quite fine. If I am facing a challenge of exploring activities outside home for myself, then yes, I may relate/connect with them and together maybe able to mobilize ourselves in our "me" time.

That, however, cannot be done if I stand here, assuming a role of a white hero here in this city to rescue housewives from their homes.

16 years ago, my house help did not want to learn English alphabets and words. She wanted to learn Urdu and basic maths to get her work done.

16 years later, today, I am not going to commit the same fallacy by assuming role of power, wear a cape and make Myself a big meal of Ego boast using what seem like helpless creatures.

There are no shabby roads and no rich kids. There are no us and no them. No others. We all stand on equal grounds across time, culture, religion, sect, color, financial and lifestyle status. We don't need to rescue others. Rendering help yes, which comes with compassion and understanding. Compassion that exits outside the compounds of our limiting assumptions. Compassion starts where the need to impose our solutions on others end.

If you really want to help, question your intention of helping, of reaching out. Then pause. reflect. over and over and over again.

Perhaps while going down that shabby road to help, you'd be able to kill your need for self gratification and see that the poor kid down there doesn't need that expensive shoe in your hand. And that is when you'd see the kid perceiving you too as the "other".

And that just about is the story of every "other". You, me. We all are the others.

Abaser - Al Khafid

I was the perfect one of my class.
I studied, planned ahead, eased exams and scored high.
Always. Every single time.
There never was ever a time where my efforts failed. Where my predictions fell short or where I felt the cause created by me would not lead me to my desired effect.

Everything seemed real. There was no struggle.

I was the perfect one of my class.
Until. I wasn't 

Something happened.
Somehow, my understanding fell short. I began lagging behind schedule. My efforts were half baked. My exams seemed difficult. I stopped easing my exams. Suddenly I wasn't too sure of my own results

There seemed to be something coming in between. In between my cause and the effect that I had anticipated. My cause was not leading to my desired effect.

It became me. Falling short. Being average. Failing. Not performing at par.

Everything seemed unreal. Except my struggle. There was struggle this time. And it was the only real thing.

I would often wonder. Marvel. At who I was. How I was the best of my class.

I suddenly began idealizing the best of me. Who I had been.

Al-Khafid. Diminishment. One of the names of God.

He often lowers us down, takes away our trust in our efforts to make us realise our dependence.

When I performed well, I did not quite know Him. Because my cause led to my effect. Led to misleading illusion of Independent Existence. Everything was illusionary that felt real because there was no struggle.

When I perfermed average, I did get to know Him. Because my cause did not lead to my effect. Instead, it led to shattering of illusions. Everything was Real because my struggle was Real.

His Realization was Real.

We come from Him and to Him we go.
Each moment of our heart is connected to Him.
Perhaps, while we sit guilty of performing less, He sits marvelling at our guilty.

In our guilt He hides His Love. In our ability to feel low and poor, lies His blessing.

In our ability to close our eyes and hope He isn't seeing us perform so bad lies His merciful  presence.

He lies in our failure to be our best in as much as He lies in our ascending to be the best.

Even our dark, our guilt, our running away from Him is meeting Him.

Because "we belong to Him and to Him we return".

So feel the joy at being an average. It was His mercy to lower you down and make you Realize of His Generosity.

In our ability to accept defeat and bow powerlessly, lies His Mercy.

Everything was real. There was no struggle. 
I was the perfect one of my class.
And then I wasn't.
And that was the best that had ever happened to me. For it led me to Him in a way never explored.
Never thought feeling away from Him was a way to meet Him

You you and you. Seriously.

I am so sad today.

While half of my newsfeed is celebrating Diwali and Halloween, while half of my whatsapp groups comprise of Muslims teaching how wrong the 'others' history is.

I am sitting here wishing I was not feeling as normal as I am.

They barged into a house. A private gathering. They killed a family.

I wish I could feel the pain.
I wish I could see.
I wish I could make you all see.
You, you and you.
The champions of SUSHI talks.
The rational activists who assume the responsibility of raising awareness about the 'right' and 'wrong' way of mourning.

The confused breed that pauses and selects which country it wants to feel more for. Syria Yemen or Iraq.

The herd. The blind. The lost. The mute. The dead. The you. The I.

I wish we were alive today to witness. To see. To mourn.

Hell with what is the right and the wrong way of mourning.
Hell with your religious and theological debates.

You know what? In a country where the Federal Capital has banned militant outfits chanting minority as kafirs, in a country where my newsfeed seems so calm despite what happened to today. In a country like this.  People ought better be long dead.

And you know what. We are.

There are no two kinds of Taliban today. There is only one. And they like trafficking in mistresses of ego. Now go be happy, your side of religion won today. You ask me which side? I say, the side where you passively receive, selectively mourn and move on. The side where you are home and don't feel a thing.

Imagine how dead we are. Now pause. And imagine just how dead of a generation will/are we raising. You talk about hatred and racism abroad? Hahah. Funny.

We are dead. And dead don't feel.

Grownups and boring dreams.

Zainab has recently learnt to express her joy more clearly. Each day, quite literally, she is learning something new and celebrating. Each time she bends down to pick an object or recognizes something with its name or walks an extra step. She pauses, looks at us, smiles broadly and claps.

We clap back. She remains impressed and beyond. Thriving with this unimaginable contagious level of energy and positivity and happiness and celebration.

She claps and celebrates to and with- Her little friends from playdates around, her grandparents that she fondly skypes with and her Baba and Mamma of course.

I looked at her while she clapped for the millionth time today while her Baba responded with equal energy I realized something.

As we grow older, we stop being impressed. Routine takes away our energy. We go out of sync with outlets that could reflect back or take in that sort of energy that we do have at times even as grownups.

As we grow older, one by one, we start realizing and seeing the other sides of our favorite authors, movies, songs or heroes. We suddenly realize not everyone seems to be as passionate about those particular quotes/people as you are.

We start university or work, make new friends who while retaining their own set of favorites, start offering criticism (often valid) on our dreams/ways/passions and whatever may have motivated us till now.

Back in my Alevels, I knew and felt allergic to cynics around me. Fast forward three years into university, and perhaps that is exactly what I had successfully turned into.

We hide away our embarrassing little things that once motivated us. We stop celebrating and cherishing and dreaming wild and crazy.

I mean come on, 2010, three year of my undergrad and my Finance Professor had actively defended my dream of becoming the CEO of Boeing one day (while the class just laughed away). Am I the CEO? Nope. Far from even working there. But that is, just yet.

Sounds so cliche. So typical. But that indeed is the hard reality. We.stop.dreaming. We brush away 'that funny song that once motivated me' under the carpet to sound and look mature, adult and synced with the world.

Bit by bit, moment by moment, we regress. Gradually, individually, collectively - we regress our passions, our dreams. With each bit of information broadening our spectrum, we start becoming less and less impressed.

We stop celebrating. We stop clapping.

I saw nothing but beauty.

When the granddaughter of the Last Prophet of Islam was brought into the court of the tyrant of that time(who had ordered the brutal killing of the Prophet's grandson and followers) she was asked what did she see while her family was being mercilessly slaughtered.

She smiled and began with a sermon that later became one of the most quoted political and social sermons. One that is often attributed as stirring the downfall of the oppresor's regime. She said she saw nothing but beauty (in what stood as one of the most brutal acts ever recorded in the history of humanity).

How could she even see nothing but beauty in such act of suffering.

How was she even standing so calmly in front of the tyrant just after losing her immediate family in the battle? What was this beauty that she saw.

Imagine a cup of pure water lying on the table with people sitting and walking around it. Now imagine somebody throwing a drop of oil in that cup of water. See how that drop floats but never diffuses into pure water. See how at least a few of us might stop to notice the change within water. See how we often notice the striking contrast of pure water and oil once the oil droplet tries invading the water.

That's beauty because it makes you stop and ponder.

Beauty is not when we win the battle outside. Beauty is when Right makes us stop and ponder about Humanity and ugliness of oppression. 

Beauty is not when we win the world outside. Beauty is when we struggle with the oppresor within.

Beauty is not when we claim to stand with the Right for the world to see. Beauty is when we stand with the Right within when the world does not see.

Beauty is the pain, the suffering of Living the Right each moment by rejecting the million wrongs of that second.

Beauty starts with the guilt, the silencing of our self within. It starts with the admission of wrong within. It starts with the surrendering of our selfish within. With not just knowing what is wrong but bravely trying to fight what is wrong is wrong.

For the oppression to be fought outside, it needs to be fought within first. For if our stand with the Right is making us happy by massaging our egos for power, validation and fame on individual, political and communal level then perhaps it is not Love and Beauty.

Perhaps, so when she said she saw nothing but beauty, she was not just addressing the tyrant of the time, she was addressing the tyrant in all of us within. Her words resonating through history to remind us of the battle within first. Of the much needed suffering we all get when we claim to Love. 

To live the suffering bravely. To fight the tyrant within so bravely that you stand with her. So much so that when the world steps out to sympathise with you, you smile and say, you tried seeing nothing but beauty.

Of joys & wonderful pleasures

Is there anything more beautiful than home. The serene sense of calmness in chaos.

The realization that you can create home where and when you want. The blessing that you can choose to feel home. The joy that you can experience happy moments and satisfaction where you like.

When you wakeup to intensely craving Indian style Rajma chawal that your friend had once treated you to. The fact that you have the ability to message, surrounded with the hearts that respond to your request without whining and ranting (or completely ignoring you) about how you had been out of touch.

Sitting after enjoying the delightful pleasures of a plate full of Rajma Chawal, you cannot but thank God for such an amazing life.

Life where He has blessed you with the ability to create circumstances you envision, blessed you with the ability to freely will. To do. To ĺmake it happen. Blessed with the ability to choose comfort, peace, Love and Serenity. It doesn't then not matter whether there is chaos of any sort outside.

What matters is realizing the Power. Power of the Heart and the Mind to feel and think what you choose to. Power of the will to create from within. A home. Of joys and wonderful pleasures. Of saying a little prayer, of extending gratitude to all those amazing souls surrounding you, of gratitude to Him, to His ways of making you feel thankful.

Wishing and praying sincerely for every single soul on this planet to feel the Magic of creating the Home within. To feel the Serenity of living joys and pleasures of expected and unexpected. To feel Malang and radiate the dance of Joy to the world. No.matter.what.

From there. From here.

For the sound of bird outside my room window. Too sunny and just plain walls of the other building hence no view in particular. But the sunshine falling in between the two compound spaces. And the bird sitting on my window sill. The way zainab wakes up often to the maina's loud sound at the window.

It is every day little things. Routine. Life. Activity. That keeps us going. That should keep us going against the heaviness of impending pull of strong gravity. It doesn't stop. But so does the bird at the window. She doesn't stop either. Zainab wakes up every day. The sun dawns every day.

No matter what. Life keeps giving a choice each second. To choose. To listen. To move that blanket and brush your teeth. To live. To laugh. To smile. To cherish. To find like a shelter for your empty brain before the neurons lose connection. Before you stare at dendrites and wonder if it was or is even a word.

To write. To scribble. The sound of pencil on paper.

It isn't bad. Lows are not bad. Lows don't exist. Until we make them so. Lows don't exist until we see them so. Get up. Let yourself lose. Catch yourself off guard smiling at the bird sitting at your window. And take yourself from there. From there. From here.

Back.

What happened she asked.
I've lost my way I answered.

What way she asked.
You see the people praying so eagerly? That way. I responded. That. I envy those. I've lost my eagerness. My passion.

Your words fail you? She asked.
Words? There were feelings that would flow into words each time. Today I stand at nothing. Utter and shere unexplainable loneliness. No feelings. No words.

Each answer and justification to the world of where I belonged in my Heart bit by bit made me lose my way.

With each question of rationality, I timidly stepped back from Connection.

Each moment of worldly opinion held my feet and dragged me away. Slowly and gradually. Away from the Heart.

Till the conversations got louder. Till the words took over the serenity of silence. Till I entered autumn and the breaking of leaves hurt my soul as I stepped further back.

Till the connection blurred.

So, there you are. She said. Shaking me back to Life.

I looked around. I was back.

She had held my hand and had taken me back.

It was that simple? I wondered. It was awkward at first. It was silent and peaceful. No deeper meanings. No intense feelings. Just us for a while. Me within my heart. She held my heart and took me back to my heart where I belonged. To the feeling. To Him. To conversations with Him.

Back to Serendipity. .

Connection exists. Within each of us. We get up and step back from it when we fall prey to justifying the Grandeur.

In my timidy to justify. I had forgotten there are as many paths to God as there are humans. I had lost my way to my own heart. I had lost my way to.my God.

Dark.

Today. They snatched away another human being.

One by one I am helplessly witnessing as they come, shoot and ride away.

One by one I am losing good humans. I am losing them all. One by one.

I scream inside. My screams fade in the evil sounds of vultures screaming infidels, I clench and hide my little one in my arms as they make their way towards us.

I am dying. One by one. Helplessly I witness.

Rest in Peace Amjad Sabri.
Rest in Peace Pakistan. No wait. Hope you never rest in peace. Hope we wakeup.

I look around with fearful eyes. As everyone smiles back, they all seem to have loved my uncle. They all seem to have even loved Amjad Sabri too. Who could then possibly kill them?

I look around hopelessly. I look around helplessly. I look around as I feel strangulated with the rising voices, rising screams of delusional peace.

I look around as I am hoping they won't come for me.

I look around as I am hoping somebody will fight back and remind them of True God.

I look up and ask God where humans are.

I look into my arms and whisper hope to my little one.

I clench my hands and squeeze my eyes to pray.

I hold a hand of a passerby asking if he knows about God and Humans and mercy.

He looks blankly, narrows his sight and asks if I am an infidel. The one they are destined to kill.

No more mourning. I don't have energy to mourn more.

Enough is what I want to scream.

I scream one last. Come, get up as my scream fades again.

Of disciplining.

There are two ways to handle a baby.
Either you do as they say or you tame them according to your own comfort.

Either you tame them to sleep and be fed when you want. Perfect disciplined mommy. Or you give in and be there for them as and when they need you.

Parenting articles and experts tell me that I can tame Zainab to suit my comfort now. I can tame her to sleep late so that I can attend social gatherings in a human costume. I can even alter her feeding times to suit my ease.

Or. I can choose to follow her natural course or needs.

Research generally favors the second. Much natural and a rather sane humanistic way. If an infant is howling and is sleepy, you put the infant to sleep. It generally leads to better attachment, creating comfort of trust. Of stronger bonding. Of love. Of security. 

Of relationship.

Perhaps it is the same with God. I tamed my understanding of Him, altered and crafted His definition to suit my comfort. I schedule His needs of me to suit my ease. More often I do what He recommends first and then maybe someday somewhere I pause to do what He obligates. Putting Him secondary and tailoring to suit my ease does not importantly bring any harm. But yes, I suppose I could have better attachment and undetstanding of Him if I liberate Him from my limiting comforting definitions that I create to hush my guilt of taming Him. I forget. I am not bargaining with Him. I cant. I am merely taming my understanding of Him. With Him, nothing to lose. With me, probably everything to.

Heaven.

To You.

Sitting in the bathroom, hiding away from my sleeping daughter, I quickly scribble my thoughts before Zainab wakes up. Something you would totally scold me for doing.

Ambitiously changing the world by working on grassroot projects or working 9-5 to contribute to the social evolution of this world is one thing but being suddenly given a blessing to takecare of is another. It is like, here, a piece of you and your partner. Now go raise this little thing for future.

I wonder. How did you do it?

To your early mornings and wisdom.
To your four slices of bread and jam.
To listening eagerly to my stories after school.
To the dinner talks after work.
To the times when you preferred me studying than cooking.
To the times when you said, you can learn to cook anytime like anyother girl or boy, focus now on what you are passionate about.
To making me fall in love with my Present. Each time.
To making me believe in Present.

To the mom that never conservatively reduced me to domestic chores to the daughter sitting and lovingly baking cookies today.

To the times where I loved studies and job.
To the times where alongwith, I am now loving my daughter.

To the times where I hated cooking.
To the time where I am googling and experimenting tastes.

To the tough moments. To the rough ones.
To each when you taught me not to go bitter with life.

They say the heaven lies beneath your feet. I say you weaved the heaven and continue teaching me to weave the heaven out of Life.

We all get sufferings. You, my human, taught me not to go bitter with sufferings.

I am yet to meet a human with such profound, peaceful and positive view on life as you.

What more. You even taught me to find and cherish humans like you.

You gave me the believe, the hope that what you are to me is not just because you are my mom. You gave me the hope to find more who weave heavens around.

If anything, I am addicted to your positivity.

But the issue is you are my mom and I am scribbling this out on a day made to honor people like you.

I have a deeper believe, a firm faith, that those who do not have a mom, have somebody like mom, if not so, bear witness, they have God directly themselves.

I wish, pray, hope and perhaps somewhere try to weave a heaven of Present. It is workable. For you did it. For you told me and showed me how God does give you heaven if you thank Him enough. For a Heaven in now is the most beautiful gift. For I want Zainab to at least be half as lucky as me if not absolutely. And for that, I need to try and weave a Heaven like you. A heaven of love, warmth, possibilities and positivity.

Selfish

Infants, I suppose the most selfish of all beings. They don't care whether you're sitting in a wedding or starting to sip your 5th time microwaved coffee. If they need a diaper change. They do. Right at that moment. If they need your feed. They do. Be it 3am in the morning or in the middle of an airplane packed with gazillion men. If they need their mom. They need her. No matter where she is and what she is doing. A million dollar toy to babyshop toy. Nothing will soothe a baby who needs her mommy. Except well the mommy.

Zainab made me realize so. She is so beautifully selfish. So careless and selfish in what she needs of me.

I wish that was just the way I could hold onto God. Careless about how far I have walked from Him and how empty I feel of Him. Selfish about just needing Him back.

And that is one thing that Zainab has made me think about again and again and again.

To be absolutely selfish in my need of Him. To squeeze my eyes and cry out loud shattering all illusions of emptiness within. To clench unto His presence even if the mere 'I' in me is struggling to find. To nod my head and cry further in my need of Him when comforting illusions and distractions hit me. I never thought there could be something beautifully selfish. As beautifully selfish as Zainab calling for me, as beautifully selfish as clenching unto the God I miss. 

Life. Human. Zainab

Dear Zainab,

Today, about a few centuries ago, a man came into this world. He continues inspiring countless across the globe for various reasons. He is loved by all. He is one human that truly reminds me to keep my ego in check. Nobody has taught me self reflection and psychology as much as he has. Nobody has taught me about diversity, acceptance and humanity in as much as he has. Thank you Ammi Abu for introducing me to him through books, through conversations.

Zainab, may you too have the opportunity to read and write about him and may you fondly fall for knowledge with just the enthusiasm he wanted us to. May you seek what he wished for us to. May in helping you do so, I become a better human too. Thank you for teaching us become more human each day Zainab.

Happy Birthday Hazrat Ali
Happy 6months Zainab!

Life. Human. Zainab.

Dear Zainab,

Today, about a few centuries ago, a man came into this world. He continues inspiring countless across the globe for various reasons. He is loved by all. He is one human that truly reminds me to keep my ego in check. Nobody has taught me self reflection and psychology as much as he has.

Zainab, may you too have the opportunity to read and write about him and may you fondly fall for knowledge with just the enthusiasm he wanted us to. May you seek what he wished for us to. May in helping you do so, I become a better human too. Thank you for teaching us become more human each day Zainab.

Happy Birthday Hazrat Ali
Happy 6months Zainab!

Today.

Sorry Zainab.

I am sitting where three years ago, Sibte Jafar chacha's body was taken for burial. It is a graveyard seemingly away from and tucked peacefully behind the unrest of the city.

Three years ago something changed. It is the day when I lost my uncle. Days, months and years that followed made me realize more than what that day alone could. I haven't just lost him. I lost my connection to the love for knowledge. His energy and excitement when undertaking absolutely any discussion; his ability to stir so swiftly away from shallow issues to bigger ideas of Life.

Today, few sit here. In communal suffering. We have lost him and with time I have realized I have lost so much more than who I thought  he was.

There have been so many moments where the urge to call him and seek answers has caused immense sadness.

No words. Loneliness within. Silence. Void. Sorry Zainab, wish you were as lucky as me.

Wish you were here today Sibte Jafar chacha. For all the minutes and hours you stole from your schedule for my random projects and ideas. For the seriousness with which you gave me time. The seriousness with which you discussed. May you rest in peace and may we somehow just somehow yet a bit of your glimpse in us. May just somehow magically we become a little as human a you.

Ishq.

میں نے جب جب اس کی نافرمانی کی اس نے تب تب مجھ کو نوازا
اس کے نوازنے سے میں ڈر گیا کہ وہ کیوں نوازتا ھے جب کہ میں نافرمان ہوں

اور پھر میرا دل اداس ہوا اس بے تب تب مجھے سنبھالا
کبھی اپنے انسانوں کو میری اداسی دور کرنے کاوسیلہ بنایا کبھی میری سوچوں کو

اور جب میں تھک گیا
ہار گیا حالات سے سہم گیا
جب اجالے میں بھی اندھیرا نظر آیا
اور بھول گیا اس کو بلکل
تب بھی اس نے مجھے نہ چھوڑا

جو میں نے چاہا اس نے مجھے وہ دیا

کبھی نواز کے کھبی بنا نوازے اطمینان دے کر
وہ مجھے ہر روز با قایدگی سے یاد کرتا ھےوہاں سے جہاں سے میری سمجھ ختم ہوتی ھے

میری اس سے دوری کے خوف میں بھی وہ بسا ھے
میری نافرمانی کے خوف میں بھی وہ بسا ھے
وہ میری نافرمانی پر بھی مجھے اتنا چاہتا ھے

وہ مجھے بن یاد کیے اتنا یاد کرواتا ھے
وہ مجھے بن مانگے کیا کچھ نہیں دیتا

کبھی میں سوچتی ہوں کہ اگر میں اس کےعشق میں اس کی عاشق ہو گئ تو وہ مجھے کتنا چاہے گا

Today.

I stopped writing.
Words come and go.
Thoughts sit and converse if they catch me paying attention.
We meet over a cup of coffee or a book. They remind me to post them later.
Smell of half finished cup of coffee lingers still in the air mixed with the half baked half remembered thoughts.
I fail to write though.
Promising myself never to succumb to the world of attractions and illusions, I had connected well with thoughts, ideas and words.
Poor grammar and spelling could not stop the passion with which conversations danced through.
At times often while scribbling or typing out a post, I'd feel my fingers dance. A little dance of Love. A little fusion of sitar and tabla. A little conversation.
Today I sit and blink. There's coffee but no aroma. There are words but no thoughts. Today I write as a robot. Today I write as a crash cart attempting to rejuvenate the soul within.
Today I come back and sit, patiently waiting for place where I had last left God.

Love.

Dear Zainab,

There are 365 days in any year. 196 countries and 6500 number of languages. This planet celebrates Life. It has approximately 7 billion souls striving to live. At the end of any given day, there can be nothing as sure as each of 7 billion intending to live a life of joy and peace. There are couples trying to have babies. There are couples holding their cameras still as their babies try to say their first expression of Love.

There are families. There are relationships. There are interactions. There are conversations. There is positivity.

Almost all cultures and languages celebrate Life. Festivities. Festivals. it is what keeps them going. All festivals ground in the theme of Human nature. Love.

You then fortunately are sitting on a broad spectrum of choice. Choose the culture, the festival that you want from the canvas to express and resonate Love.

There is no such thing as Faith standing outside of Love or Love standing outside of Faith. There maybe poor interpretations, egoistic biased accounts of history restricting an additional expression of Love. But know well Zainab, your faith will never hinder you from celebrating Life and Love. What will and may hinder is maybe your lack of knowledge of your own Religion and/or faith.

Just like you can say another extra prayer on days of Mairaj, ShabeBaraat or celebrate the joys of Prophet's birthday, just like you can cut the cake on your birthdays and wish the arrival of Spring and New years, You can pick a flower on a day of Love.

Your mom once cracked a joke about Valentines Day. She told her father how some cultures believe in partners gifting flowers on 14th February to each other. To her surprise, your grandfather got flowers for your grandmother the same day. They express love and teach us to cherish the same in numerous ways around the year. But he - the old man with little knowledge about other cultures, did not consciously stop himself from expressing it in a different way  on 14th February. In fact, he went ahead to cherish it.

And that is the best gift partners can ever gift their children. By cherishing the love in all ways they can. For it is only through the cradle and the warmth of your home that you learn to Love. Love in ways unimaginable. For the world. For the God. To the world. To humans, for humans.

It is the most natural force on this planet and your faith cherishes it. All aspects of it.

Focus on Love and all else will follow. If nothing, say a little prayer for those yearning for love. Be with the ones looking for it. Conspire to make people be together.  Marriage and companionship is the most beautiful and by far the most peaceful expression of Love. Conspire for boring couples to meet. Help them reignite the passion of Love they maybe seeking.

For anything, do not deny the most natural force of soul to soul connection. The most beautiful way of connecting with the Divine.

Out of all things, Dear Zainab, know/acknowledge/believe that there maybe people sitting alone, wishing and hoping they had happier lives/more fulfilling or lovelier moments, do not, even for a second hesitate to help them see the lovely happier and chirpy side of life. Heal their bitterness and empty experiences with your Love. Hold their faces and turn them to see the blossoming side of their own life.

Make this world fall in love again. Make humans fall in love again. With cultures, knowledge, other humans and their own selves.

Be the Magic my love. <3

Love.

Dear Zainab,

There are 365 days in any year. 196  countries and 6500 number of languages. This planet celebrates Life. It has approximately 7 billion souls striving to live. At the end of any given day, there can be nothing as sure as each of 7 billion intending to live a life of joy and peace. There are couples trying to have babies. There are couples holding their cameras still as their babies try to say their first expression of Love.

Their are families. there are relationships. There are interactions. there are conversations. There is positivity.

Almost all cultures and languages celebrate Life. Festivities. Festivals. it is what keeps them going. All festivals ground in the theme of Human nature. Love.

You then fortunately are sitting on a broad spectrum of choice. Choose the culture, the festival that you want from the canvas to express and resonate Love.

There is no such thing as Faith standing outside of Love or Love standing outside of Faith. There maybe poor interpretations, egoistic biased accounts of history restricting an additional expression of Love. But know well Zainab, your faith will never hinder you from celebrating Life and Love. What will and may hinder is maybe your lack of knowledge of your Religion and/or faith.

Just like you can say another extra prayer on days of Mairaj, ShabeBaraat or celebrate the joys of Prophet's birthday, just like you can cut the cake on your birthdays and wish the arrival of Spring and New years, You can pick a flower on a day of Love.

Your mom once cracked a joke about Valentines Day. She told her father how some cultures believe in partners gifting flowers on 14th February to each other. To her surprise, your grandfather got flowers for your grandmother the same day. They express love and teach us to cherish the same in numerous ways around the year. But he - the old man with little knowledge about other cultures, did not consciously stop himself from expressing it in a different way  on 14th February. In fact, he went ahead to cherish it.

And that is the best gift your partners can ever gift their children. By cherishing the love in all ways they can. For it is only through the cradle and the warmth of your home that you learn to Love. Love in ways unimaginable. For the world. For the God. To the world. To humans, for humans.

It is the most natural force on this planet and your faith cherishes it. All aspects of it.

Focus on Love and all else will follow. If nothing, say a little prayer for those yearning for love. Be with the ones looking for it. Conspire to make people get married! Marriage and companionship is the most beautiful and by far the most peaceful expression of Love. Conspire for boring couples to meet. Help them reignite the passion of Love they maybe seeking.

For anything, do not deny the most natural force of soul to soul connection. The most beautiful way of connecting with the Divine.

Out of all things Dear Zainab, that your  loving father has ever taught me. It is how to converse with God, cherish Life and Love. And I will not hesitate to use any other culture's day of love as an excuse to express it. Another day, just another reason to pick a flower and send it to him.

Nothing of mine to say.

Few days before my marriage, Abu came into my room. He sat and we talked. A conversation overdue. We've always connected over a lot of things -any topic and we'd connect.

But that day. The topic was different. The topic was Ammi. I thought he'd tell me how she has been as a wife, potentially guiding me for my future. However, his conversation delved more broadly into ammi as a human.

For every single blogpost that I have ever written. Every single good thought that I may have ever expressed, shared in any way/form. Every single idea, every single spark of positivity. Every single sudden moments of hope in bleak darkness and despair, every single push when I never wanted to get up. Every single word, thought or idea. Every single way to recognise which thoughts to entertain and how to. Every single time when I fell short of absolutely anything.

Even today, I have nothing of mine to say. No thought of mine to share. Just a lesson so basic, so simple so aptly put by her all the time. Literally all the time. 'Zindagi sirf lamhaye maujood hai (Life is only in this moment, this now).'

Thank you Abu for making me realize the human she is.
Thank you Zainab for making me feel the mother she is.

Thank you Ma for all these years of positivity that I can never put in words. You showed me how to be a mother, a great wife, a wonderful companion and a human that I hope I ever am. Words fall short and start seeming cliche as I can't remove the label of being your daughter to express who you have been as a human to me and to the world around me. No degree in psychology, no self help book and no mentor can teach what you have taught me. No words can do justice.

I can perhaps never use an excuse that I didn't ever see a perfect human in my life. Ever so evolving that you make me feel old in front of you.

Sitting here today, I wish I become a mother like you. But rather I hope, wish and pray that I first become a human like you.

Happy Birthday Ma, wishing countless more moments of learning from you. Thank you for being who you are to me and to the world.

Let's talk about Perfection shall we.

Let's talk about Perfection shall we.

That little word we all strive to achieve all day. That little feeling we yearn for all the time. That place where we compare and position ourselves against the societal setup to see where we stand and why.

However. In all this vagueness and rush. Somehow, this moment gets lost. In the gush of wishes and thoughts.

At each moment. He gives. He is Just. It is His trait to Give. Rephrase. It is Him to give. Unlike of Him not to. Unlike of Him to deprive you. At each second, at the crossroads of the figment of each second, He absolutely and truly Gives. Absence of Giving is contrary to His Justice. Expecting any less is denying His justice.

In His Giving, He Gives.
In what we think is taking, He Gives.
He Gives what we need. We pick our petty selves, disguise our obsessions as needs and put them forth to be fulfilled. However, He gives. Gives of what we need the most at the moment we need the most.

He gives of a little tiny voice in our head intercepting our wandering negative thoughts.
He gives of awareness of watching our own thoughts.
He gives of little reminders helping us move forth in circumstances seemingly not joyful.
He gives of power to choose which thoughts to turn to feelings.
He gives of vision to look above and beyond our little needs and small wishes.
He gives of generosity to overlook.
He gives of for us to give.

It seems each moment, we live by facing. Face a moment. Accept it. Acknowledge it. Live it. Perfect it. It is only in perfecting each moment that we live perfection.

There is no perfect life. There are no perfect people. There are no perfectly perfect experiences. There are only wonderfully put absolute efforts to perfect each moment. Moments that meet to sustain perfection.

You don't live perfection in minutes, days, weeks or decades. You live perfection moments. You put your efforts and breathe perfection of a moment.

So look again. The place where you are, in your now, at this very moment, the way you are, this right here is a moment yearning for you to grow above your thoughts and be perfected. For He is Just, He gives you power to choose the thoughts you want to entertain. He gives you power to overcome petty wishes. He gives you power to give. He gives you power to Perfect this very moment.

Let's talk about Perfection, shall we?