Friday, August 24, 2018

نعرۂ مستانہ

اسکی آنکھوں کے سیاہ حجرے میں جب میں اعتکاف بیٹھا، تو دل کے ہر معبودِ دگر، ہر خداوندِ کہن سے ابراہیم آ بھڑا. 
ان نگاہوں کے میخانے نے جب میری بادہ پیمائی کا بھرم توڑا تو اب جام میسر آئے نہ آئے، میری مستی کی چھلکن کم ہو کے نہ دیتی.
اسکی چشمِ ناز کی جنبش جب میری ہستی کا کُل مول ٹھہری، تو میں اسکے دربار میں بک کر یوسف بن گیا.

لوگ کہتے ہیں وہ زندگی کا در پار کر گیا. میرا محبوب، نیست کی چادر اوڑھ گیا. میں پاؤں زمین پر مار کر پھر سے ناچ اٹھتا ہوں. میرے اندر کا اکتارہ ایسے گونجتا ہے کہ لوگ میرے گھنگرو بنے وجود کو حیرت سے تکتے ہیں. جو مجھے اور بدیع العجائب، دونوں کو بھا گیا، اس نے مجھ خاک نشین کو کیونکر ہمنشینِ رب نہ بنا دیا؟

جس کی فرقت تک خدائی نواز دے، ایسے محبوب کے مسلکِ عشق کی خیر!

Tuesday, August 7, 2018

This Is What Starting Small Looks Like

Want to make $1 million in sales?
Start small: sell a $10 item to one customer.

Want to create a podcast?
Start small: record a voice memo on your phone.

Want 1,000 true fans?
Start small: do something that gets you one true fan.

Want to build a profitable startup?
Start small: build a basic web app in a weekend and get 10 users.

Start small.
Show up every day.
Keep refining your craft.
Take risks and get uncomfortable.
And most importantly:

“Embrace feedback as a gift.” – Seth Godin

Repeat these steps for days, months, and years, and you’ll become the person you aspire to be.

text source: Justin Jackson

Sunday, August 5, 2018


"In the years that I've known you there's been one remarkable transition."

Reluctance dripped from his anxious voice. Like the waft rising of his mug of coffee, he left the sentence hanging in air; as if embarrassed for blurting out involuntarily.

The conference had come to an end. The meetings had been done. The work part of the trip was over. They were now left with a moonless October night, spread out on an open terrace of a rented accommodation. There were a little few hours before their early morning flight back, urging them to face harsh Koh-e Chiltan mountains in the distance and play with the restless what-ifs at hand.

She turned her head towards him, leaving the star filled sky on its own for a while. 
"And what'd that be?" she asked gently.

"You were always the nucleus. Always the gravitational force holding a gathering in its place. You filled eyes, even when they hadn't been looking for you. You didn't leave room for anyone else to be noticed. It was impossible to not find you in the heart of anything. Everything!"
He looked away, as if seeking inspiration to carry on. Once again leaving the sentence hanging in the air, heavier this time.

"And ...?" 
Her smile was not visible in the pale streetlamp light barely offering them respect, but the gentleness of it drizzled in her voice. Her nail traced the rim of her empty mug, as if in sync with Nusrat's 'Mittar Pyare Nu Haal Mureedan Da Kehna' she could listen to even while sitting there.

"Your irises black as space, rendered one weightless. Do you know that? You made people fall."
His voice rose a few notches, and surrendering to the chaos inside he stood up with a jerk. A few moments silently crunched under his steps as he paced the length of the terrace. Her gaze followed him like a dutiful sentinel. 
His back towards her, he dropped his voice to a wistful whisper, "you made me fall!"

She kept looking at the shape of his shoulder weighed down by his honesty they both had meticulously managed to avoid before. Work ethics were supreme, and mutual respect even more, so they never stepped in what could have caused difficulty for the other. 
This time when she spoke her voice wasn't laced with a smile.

"Are you recovering now?" She paused tentatively, "is that what the transition is about?"

He whirled towards her, his coffee spilling a little over his dark dinner jacket.

"You've done it on purpose, right? You knew it! You knew it all along!"

Her eyes assessed his face and moved to caress the formless dark at his back. His pain was disarming.

"What's the transition?"

"How could you do this? You've taken back your gravity. You make yourself invisible in a room. You no longer fill eyes. You no longer allow free fall. The black hole of these irises is now the Eridanus Supervoid. You are no more in my plane!"
His voice cracked.

Her lips pressed, she kept looking ahead as if making out the harsh features of the mighty Koh-e Chiltan.

"Survival has a cost." Her voice was clipped.

Artwork: Francoise Nielly