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?

Dear Zainab

Dear Zainab,

One year ago, today, your mother had proudly went back to collect her degree from her university. As she attended her convocation, she passionately spoke of her dissertation on ongoing extremism in Pakistan. Nothing could make her feel more passionate than an attack on Army School kids which had left countless innocent dead. Brutally dead.

However, on 21st October this year, as you opened your eyes in her arms, she realized far better and a stronger reason to combat extremism than any else. For you.

If what and how I feel for you is how those mothers felt for their children, I can't even begin..

And hence. Dear Zainab. I still think there are still two kinds of Taliban in our country.

While I still visit a Shia friend,
my heart sinks somewhere in confusion.
While I still extend a hand to an Ahmedi
my brain stands in vagueness
While I still grieve the APS victims
my faith still reminds who is an infidel
While I praise the Army
While I condemn the ISIS
While I change my display picture for Paris
While I write for Syrian refugees
I still defend Muslim countries inability to accept refugees.
While I condemn the preperators of APS attack
I still turn a blind eye to ideology that motivated them
While I support the operation against Taliban
My mind still isn't ready to acknowledge the ideological extremism penetrating the nerves of 180 million.
While I am shocked at how an IBA alumnus could be behind a terror attack
I still don't find anything wrong in religious circles teaching me how I am right while the rest are wrong.

In the name of God even today, I am bought and sold at the hands of traffickers.
In the name of God even today, my religiosity is confused.
I am to defend Islamic image of peace worldwide while I am to attend circles that teach me the infidelity of the rest.
I am to talk peace and grieve the victims of APS today and next week I am to argue how celebration of Prophet's birthday is wrong.

When the world, when the minorities beam with excitement as I join them in public expressions of religious tolerance. Inside somewhere my heart sinks because back at the circles back in my home country I am taught I am the only one right.

Perhaps that is how the heart first must have sank for an elite institute's graduate as he took his step to believing his religious narrative to be the only one right.

Perhaps this is how he was trafficked. Perhaps this is how those trafficked attacked the kids last year today.
Perhaps this is how religion is bought and sold.
Perhaps this is how I am bought and sold in the name of God.

There are still two kinds of Taliban in our country Zainab. And we need to fight the one creeping inside us. They creep through denial, ignorance and refusal to accept the soft extremism. We are to combat ideology that imposes a single version of faith, fights over Prophet's birthday celebration, discouraging others and declaring verdicts against them. For they often lead to how APS attack happened. For that is when we go beyond simply living our version of faith and start imposing on others.

There are still two kinds of Taliban in our country and we need to fight the one creeping inside us. To help us become less ashamed of what Humanity has become. To help us answer you when you ask of Humans and Hope.

Return.

On the Spectrum of Light.
There is a Cause. An origin.
It causes an effect.
An effect turns into a smaller cause.
Leading to another effect.
Cause effect cause effect.
Copy of a copy of a copy of Original.
Somewhere on the spectrum, the subsequent effects move away from the Ultimate Source Cause, and in their moving away, they keep veiling in colors. From Light to Darkness.

Amid the spectrum; stands a dervish. Whirling to the rhythm of the Cause. Yearning to defy the effects and meet the Original Cause. His struggle however is not linear on the spectrum. In his yearning, lies the circular struggle. He travels between Light to dark to dark to Light.

A figment of Light enlightens his moment, just as he loses himself in the shackles and confines of obsessions and worldly effects. He then again struggles and yearns to meet the Cause. The struggle continues.

All on the Spectrum of Light. Spectrum of Spirituality.
Origin and the Return.

Inspired thought: Mulla Sadra/Khalil Jaffer.

Closest that I could ever be

I dont know what I've been blessed with.

Juggling with her in my arms on the right while struggling to type from my left as she dictates.

From thoughts to blog running every feed session, I feel my only blog has become this little one in my arms.

Despite wanting one, despite praying for one, despite expecting one and despite delivering one last month; despite all these despites, I actually dont know what I've been blessed with.

Staring into these eyes and realizing how a human rejecting all arms and efforts of others is crying her lungs out only to cling to you is a very very intense and deep realisation to conquer. Imagine, at the age of 28, in this whole wide world, there's a human who doesn't want anyone besides you. Now recall. Has any human ever needed you so purely before in all these years. Nope. This need. This pure need is intense. Addictive. Impending a heavy sense of 'Here I am' but hesitant as arms of weakling mere piece of flesh accepts a strong piece of existence in her arms.

As I hold her, the distance between sultana as a mere human prone to mistakes and Sultana as a mother that a pure soul is clinging for is immense.

Sultana as a mother puts sultana as a human in backseat. Crushing the guilt of all these years of wrongdoings, Sultana as a mother takes charge to be the best self to this little one. Without even consulting Sultana as a human. Sultana as a human is too far ashamed to hold this blessing anyway.

I don't know what I've been blessed with because I don't know how God can bless the purest piece of His creation into arms of mere humans filled with years of dust, dirt and distance from God.

Perhaps then, Zainab is not dependent on me. She infact is merely dependent for her worldly needs. Sultana on the other hand feels immensely dependent on this little guide that in mere 30days has already and strongly crushed and selfishly burnt all past years of everything. She seems to be already challenging and realigning the concept of Humanity and Love.

She is deep and intense. Her gaze converses far more than my years of knowledge.

I, I am weak and fragile. Ashamed of existence in front of the purest.

Even my realisation is shallow. She cuts through the worldly crap to reach the Human I never knew existed.

In between diapers, poops, endless crying sessions and every hour feeds, she guides my words and dictates my thoughts and pens down in my heart what I have never known.

Strangely. She tells of worlds and thoughts so peaceful and beyond the mundane.

Nope. I don't know what I've been blessed with. I know as of now she stands as the closest connection to Him. Far above and beyond the limiting concept of a mere result of biological reproduction. She seems to speak of Peaceful worlds, of mystical sense of some entity all encompassing and Magical.

To the world it maybe blabbing of a new mom, to me every bit so rational so logical yet so mystical.

The closest glimpse of what Life is and could be. The closest whisper of Absolute Purity, Joy and Humanity, her existence telling tales of universes unknown.

She is the closest that I could ever reach God.

at least be free in this world.

Hurr (Arabic for free thinker). He was the man responsible for stopping Hussain's caravan in Karbala and restricting their water access while waiting for further orders from his seniors. Night before the battle, he finally gave in to his internal struggle and surrendered to Hussain, joining his forces to wholeheartedly fight for a cause. He broke out of his social pressures to choose a side he freely thought to be right.

You choose.
You choose a narrative to believe in.
You listen, read, learn, think, acknowledge, choose and decide to follow a certain narrative. A certain happening. A certain cosmic event.

So today, don't tell a tale of delusional unity where you exist in two narratives. Where you believe in a war of two rights or lesser right and rights. For when two stand, one is an oppressed.

Don't convince yourself of sweet illusions of existence of grey. There exists plain black and plain white.

As striking and brutal it sounds, there exists polarized Right and polarized Wrong.

Be free enough to choose then.
Be confident enough to first read unbiased narratives, independent of heritage, childhood and lineage broughtup and read.
Then decide. Choose a side you're convinced of.

Just like today, you have come to believe how Hussain and Karbala is for all, come to believe that Hussain and Karbala existed in the Realm of striking Right while negating  striking Wrong.

In as much as Hussain teaches Humanity, it imparts the knowledge of courage. Courage of standing for the Right and fighting for it.

You can't possibly be selling 'Hussain is for all' while blurring right and wrong.

Once you say 'Hussain is for all', you are endorsing the fact that He stood for Right while the other stood for wrong.

Once you claim his notion for Humanity, you are standing up to recognising and fighting Oppression and Injustice within and outside.

Once you claim to respect him, you are joining the one who fought against him. 1400 years ago to till this very moment and beyond.

Don't make him exist like facebook Rumi where you swiftly and fluidly twist and turn his mission to fit a skewed definition of Peace and Unity.

For He is the man who stood for Peace and Unity while dying a death for rejecting oppression.

Those who understand His mission don't mourn the physical brutalities inflicted.

Those who understand His mission mourn the moment when he looked around wondering where His grandfather's supporters, followers and companions' families had gone as he stood alone asking one last time if there was anyone to help him.

He was the grandson of the man who happens to be a universal figure of Peace and Humanity and the Last Prophet of 2billion around the world.

So when he says today if there is anyone there to help him, you can't possibly be joining him without negating first absolutely all the forces and intentions that stood against him then and that work against His struggle for Justice today.

He wholeheartedly welcomed Hurr to join him. He compassionately forgave him. For he saw a free thinker in Hurr. He saw Hurr in Hurr.

As he addressed his enemies one last time, clarifying his defensive stance in the war, he said "If you don’t believe in any religion and don’t fear the Resurrection Day, at least be free in this world."

So if you really believe in joining His cause, do so while freeing yourself from the shackles of emotional biases and sweet illusions of believing in two opposing forces as right simultaneously. You can't respect his enemies or likes of his enemies while endorsing his mission. Be you then be from any sect, faith, no faith.

And that is how he stands Universal.

Process.

When you turn to the world.
The world seeks you. Bogs you down with the shackles of expecting contact. Constant contact. You don't seem to feel the conversation over the digital.

You turn back to the real world. Books, you stare at them. They are silent. The words. You recognise the words.

You remember seeing them poured out through you.

You suddenly remember the mind. Ah the mind.

You turn your gaze and stare blankly. Your blank gaze, blinking so often as if expecting the mind to respond. Where are the words you wonder. Where are the thoughts you ponder.

As if being caught in the midst of a sudden halt om some batch processing belt, you look right, you look left.

You look at the paper. Emptiness of which makes you look back at the mind.

You stand in the middle. The only source. The sole source of ensuring the smooth processing of batches of thoughts.

You try ascertaining, is it the words not passing through the belt or is the clogging of too many thoughts to pour out.

You fear a fallout.
You fear failing.
You fear breaking the process.
You fear losing the job your mind had dutifully assigned to you.
You remember of days, you pick up crunchy papers of thoughts and thoughts.
Of the days when mind seemed to entrust you.

You pick up an old one and inhale deeply. As if asking the words to take you there.

You travel in time to the day when the Mind had chosen you. Words. Thoughts. Through me? No way. You had wondered. Pondered.

With absolute fear, complete lack of faith you had started with trembling fingers.

And once you started, you didn't stop. Like a typist in the courtroom. Tuck tuck tuck. typing as it all proceeds.

You're nothing but a mere part of the process. That little gear in any mechanical working that keeps the flow going.

That little piece in the watch that keeps the time going.

But what if the piece fails. The ticking stops. For watch, the Time halts.
For the one wearing the watch, he gets it replaced. He gets it fixed.

You are jerked back to life as you hear the batch processing restart.

And there, you see. The first words, the spurt of few words. Few thoughts. Merely coming out.

Admist all this, you stand yet in silence as your fingers tremble.

Disturbing isn't it? Well. Face it.

It begins silently. Subtlety.
When a mother is told to be good and share the joy. When she is told to let others experience the joy too.
"Here, we'll handle the child, you go enjoy yourself."
"Get your child off breastfeed for a while, for convenience, otherwise your child will simply be stuck to you."
As you grow, here, go hug this aunty. aww, go uncle is asking for a cheek kiss.
That stern gaze that falls upon a little one when pressed to sit in some uncle or aunt's lap.
That awkward moment when the mother is pressed to let her child be sent to a relative's house for joy.

It all starts there.
In ways so subtle.
There is no excuse from working mother to housewise.
From educated to uneducated. To those living in nuclear to those living in joint families.

It all starts from teaching our child to silent his/her natural birth right over his/her body.
It all starts from worshipping culture in the name of 'respect'.
It all starts from snatching the right of being respected as a child and giving it to an adult.

It all starts when we visit Bangkok, Thailand for honeymoons, in our wonders of magical time, conveniently choosing to ignore the plight of children suffering amidst that makeshift dungeons of beauty.

It all starts when we change display pictures for Army Public School victims while feeling uncomfortable about the Kasur children.

It all starts from a mother trying to protect her child being labelled as paranoid.

It all starts from an old aunt stern fully gazing at your lose shirt and jeans making you realize how ashmed you should be of your body as you are taken to change into 'kameez shalwar' for that's the culture. Lest do they know, dark truths don't care from jeans to shalwar kameez.

It all starts from within.
Outside the world is beautiful. Birds chirping and singing praises of joy, as somewhere, right now, sits perhaps a child hiding in the darkest corners wondering what it was.

It all starts from within. You and I. We welcome a child in the world and let the devils unleash. For all we care, in the name of culture, society, shame, denial and power.

For all we care, even the topic makes us uncomfortable. Bitter. Sad. Rather than making us frustrated and protective.