سجن دے ہتھ بانہہ اَساڈی

The message read:

AOA leenah, hope you are staying safe . I have a question and you are one of the two ppl I'll ask this . Where is this all heading ? Is our time up ?

I wrote back

Wassalam      , Apki mohabbat hai.

What does it matter if we know where this all is heading?
Qabar ka question paper bhi wohi rahay ga, Akhrat ka evaluation criteria bhi. Main aur ap fikar main ghul kay wo waqt aur energy lose kar dain gay jo Connection ko behtar karnay main utilize ho sakti thi.
Humain ilm ki illusion is liay chahiay hoti hai coz it feeds our need for control.

"Sajjan de hath baanh" wala maamla hai, dil ko samjha lain.
Shah Hussain ki kaafi hai ye: سجن دے ہتھ بانہہ اَساڈی ، کیونکر آکھاں چھڈ وے اَڑیا

Jahan Maalik lay jaey, Us ki marzi. Jab Wo curtains close kar day, Us ki marzi. Hum apni taraf say best foot forward rakhain gay. Bus.
Wo janay, Uska game plan kia hai.

The return mail read:

It all comes back to total submission . I hope I learn that before the curtain closes .

I think I relate with this concern a lot. I think many of us relate with this concern strongly.

I wrote:

Have you read Mufti's Labbaik,      ?

In the book, he narrates the scenes when people are leaving Arfaat, before the Maghreb azaan, during Hajj. He felt restless for not being among the ones who left earlier, since all the religious manuals talk about heading to Muzdalifah and offering Maghrib and Isa there. He found Qudrat ullah Shahab extremely calm, despite the delay and felt even more out of place. Shahab sb said to him, "Baat point of time ki nahi hai. Period of time ki hai."

When I read this, I was still studying at the university. I was as restless, impatient individual as Mufti. I had related with him in most of his musings. For some reason, Shahab sb ki ye baat meray zehan main atak gai. No, not as a lesson learnt. But more like a puzzle. :) Like you keep wondering time and again kay iska matlab kia hai.

-------

Now lets park this here, and let me take you to my school :)(lemme know please when I tend to get overbearing)My father was posted to Pindi when I was in 9th grade. I did my matriculation from there. Among the worst things I found with this move was my new Urdu teacher. I was smarter and ahead of my class in my language skills. And the acute realization of this made me even more resentful of the Urdu teacher, an elderly wife of some retired brigadier sb. She would come to our class with a course book Guide and literally dictated us answers from the Guide. Verbatim. Outside the Guide, whatever was asked from her was always answered in the most silliest of ways. I felt very strongly that I deserved better. However, despite my shadeed strong dislike for her (and continued campaigning against her in the class - including mimickery of her), I was the most respectful student in her presence. She adored me (much to my horror), and would ALWAYS spare me when she'd punish the rest of the class.

Since she was often hooted at and boo'ed in our class (much thanks to my campaigning and influence as the Prefect), she'd often be yelling at the class: "Jis ko ghar walay adab nahi sikhatay, usko zamana sikha deta hai." We wouldn't pay heed to it, of course.

I passed Matric, scored position at board in FSc, landed at a boarding university. She was left far far faaaaar behind. I no longer remembered her. It was here when my acute realization of being a smart cookie got challenged for the first time. I barely scraped through the first semester. I felt inadequate, dumb, alone and sinking. I'd recall all the times I had felt invincible in my own right, and winced at the recollections.

In my last year at the university, I had a dream. This was right after I had performed Hajj. My quite young mother (still in her 40's) was at deathbed in Lahore. My in-laws to be were asking about the shadi dates. My FYP was in shambles. I was unsure about the person I was getting married with. And all that was keeping me going was reciting darood whole day long. I had effectively turned into a mute, with my weight dropping to its lowest in my life. (I went from wearing Generations L size to XS, WITHOUT any attempt at dieting during those 4 months).

And one night I had a dream.
In it I saw her. My Urdu teacher from 6 years ago. She walked me through a collection of tents, jaisay kisi qaaflay ka parao ho. It's night time in my dream and there are various tents and bonfires at regular intervals. She knows the place like the back of her hand and guides me through, until we reach a massive, elaborate tent. She asks me to stand and wait outside and goes in. She returns after a while and says to me, "Hazrat Muhammad (saw) nay mujhay kaha hai kay tumhain paighaam day doon, tum jo darood roaz parhti ho, wo un tak pohanchta hai." And she smiled at me.

I woke up with the memory of her face and smile so fresh that I was literally jolted to my core. The first thing I did was calling my very social friend from school, in Pindi. I asked her if she had any updates about our ex-Urdu teacher. She did not, but she said that she could let me know later. That night I called her again.

"Tumhain kuch pata tha kia?" she asked. "Unki parsoN death ho gai hai."

-------

Jo adab (intezaar, submission) khud nahi seekhta, usko ye sab sikhaya jata hai. She had been right all along. Baat point of time ki nahi hai, period of transformation ki hai. Baybasi humble hona sikhati hai. Humble insan abd banta hai. Abd ko Ma'abood qabool karta hai. Bus itna sa process hai.

Hum apni daanist main ye samajhtay hain that it is we who do things, who BECOME humble. It might be so in the case of chosen few. Most of us are too set in our ways. We don't become. We're taught. Every time you stumble across a wall, you can't will it away. The wall shall remind you of your limitation. The more the walls, the more the reminders. Little by little, all these reminders grow into a massive avalanche of realization. That avalanche takes place soundlessly. We are being tuned to a certain frequency all the while believing that a certain point in time aik magic spell humain KABOOOM change kar day ga. Kaboom nahi hota. Transformation occurs silently.

Ap dua kijiay. Dua qabool kranay Wala sunay ga. Have faith.

If this doesn't make sense to you, please forgive me. I may have been carried away. 🙏

The person wrote back very Kindly:

I am speechless leenah . Thankyou for this . Thankyou for being so patient with my questions . Allah aap ko wo de jo aap us se mangti hain .

Putting it up here as a reminder to every heart, including my own, in their dark night of faith.

We Deliver All Who Have Faith

Some weeks ago I had made the following post somewhere on the social media:

For every soul that finds itself in the dark belly of distress and needs this reminder. 

Verses referred are 21:87-88; 37:139-149.

A while later I received a message quoting this post, and it read just this one line:

I have been calling and calling from the deepest despair my dark soul is in . But then may be the plea is lacking

I wrote:

Or maybe, you expect the response to be within your realm of interpretation and time frame. And how He is responding is in another language, or by another time frame. Stay put.

The reply came:

I never thought of that ...

My job was just to share the reminder:

Keep faith. Your Lord has not forsaken you.

Putting it up here as a reminder to every heart, including my own, in their dark night of faith.

Could Longing Be a Reward

The message read:

Assalamoalikum,
I came across someone just yesterday who (claims to) have been blessed in a very special way. He is a serving bureaucrat. He wrote a naat and as a result he was visited by ...you know. He was also approached by the matawali of the Roza e Mubarak and given a moe Mubarak. All this led me to question once again why not me? And this question means I am back to square one. Not only I don't get to take a glimpse of this whole other world, I am not deemed worthy of it despite my intense desire , it also means that I haven't moved forward I am still questioning I am still complaining though I am resisting but I am really disappointed in myself and my destiny at the same time.

I wrote back:

1. Imtehaan vary kartay hain in their appearance and format. Two people tried at the same degree of difficulty, may have entirely different question papers: kisi ko day kar aazmaya jata hai, kisi ko mehroom rakh kar.
2. Gila/shikwa is as much human as is gratitude. Quran talks about Musa's prayers, about Yahya's pleas, about Yaqoob's anguish... only to teach us that disappointments are real and legit. We don't have to deny them. We only have to learn how to behave when we face one. How to channel that dark energy.
3. Jis ki aazmaish ata kay zariay ho, uski degree of difficulty meray aur apkay imtehaan say zayada honay ki probability high hai.
Sochain us ghareeb ki pakar kis kis baat pe ho sakti hai? To feel superior, to not be befittingly grateful, to not be humble enough, to not keep in line with the decorum of the honour bestowed.
4. It is not always a bad deal to be a back bencher, as long as you manage to attend the class.
5. Walking a certain path, could very well be a privilege, an honour, a gift, in its own right. There's no question of worth or un-worth.
I'll let Rumi answer this: https://leenahnasir.blogspot.com/2009/11/love-dogs-rumi.html
6. Pray for the bureaucrat sb. :)
He might benefit from it. So would you.

The person replied with a one-liner message:

My longing is my reward?

I wrote back:

Yes. :) 

Alhamdulillah 

Check this out when you have time: https://soundcloud.com/ell_enn/wasif-ali-wasif-intezaar

Got this a while later:

Alhumdullilah :) 

Aap ne mujhe aasani Di Allah aap k liye aasani kare leenah. JazakAllah.

Putting it up here as a reminder to every heart, including my own, in their dark night of faith.

Connection

This morning Facebook notifications alerted me to someone liking a comment of mine from a long while back. I didn't remember much of it, so clicked on the lead. 

It was a comment left at someone's post about the anguish of a caregiver. Our culture, sadly, does not allow us much room to channel our emotions when it comes to complex areas of guilt-grief-vulnerability-exhaustion. 

"The chronic stress of care givers ages them on an average by 10years." - Gabor Maté, When the Body Says No: Understanding the Stress-Disease Connection

If I be honest, it is not easy becoming a part of anything that is assigned a 'holy' badge in our culture. Care giving being one. Under the carpet of "Sawaab milay ga", "bohat jaza hai" we brush every thing and hush the aching heart which is bursting with the pain of watching a loved one diminish every single day; the guilt of being inadequate; the burden of expectations from all the other relations one has to execute because you don't get a vacation from your other duties; the resentment of being the lone cross bearer; the anger at missing out on 'life'; the consuming fear of losing the loved one who embodies home the exhaustion of managing these emotions on top of giving your best physical and mental input ... how do we even begin talking about all this? 

So going through it now, I felt that this comment made in September 2018 (EXACTLY a month before my father left the world), could probably add something to someone who might be going through a similar ordeal. We all are linked after all, in one way or the other. 

Are we not? :) 

Much love. 


***************************************************************

My father has been in and out of hospital on a regular basis since 2013. Sometimes things seem to be hanging with a fragile thread ready to snap any moment, sometimes it's better. But the stress, the toll of the situation, it is almost always like a black hole that seems too eager to swallow one's positive outlook. 

*hugs* I hope you forgive yourself for all the times you let the hungry black hole swallow.
I was staying at the ICU with my father suffering from a renal, cardiac and stroke condition, this April. It was my 5th consecutive night, without any break, balancing myself on the ICU plastic chair, trying to fight the black hole. The ward was dimly lit and no other patient had been critical enough for the hospital staff to insist on their families to stay. I looked at my severely unwell father and I felt cheated. For him. For myself. 

So while squinting my eyes I was trying to draw strength out of the pages of "Man's search for Meaning", the 89 YO patient on a little distance woke up and sat upright on his bed. He called out to his son. The son wasn't there. He called out again.I went to him and asked if he needed something. He asked for water. I poured him some and went back to my chair by my sleeping father's bedside. 

The old gentleman called out again. Noticing the duty staff busy with some patient in a critical condition, I went ahead again. This time he mentioned some needle in his arm bothering him. I realized it was beyond me to fix it and approached the nurse. She adjusted it and went back. I returned to my seat. 

Only a minute or two would've passed when he called out again.  

This time the head duty nurse went to him. He asked in a feeble voice, "meray sath batain karo. khamoshi se dar lagta hai."

:) DM, that moment when the nurse laughed gently at it, was actually the moment of my black hole shrinking to nothingness. Putting myself in his feeble body looking at the world from his eyes, I was suddenly brimming with what the black hole had been sapping away from me ... gratitude. 

Understanding that the duty staff was short on count that night I offered to the head nurse to keep the old gentleman (gentleman through and through) company and read to him if he wanted. The nurse thanked and refused. She could manage it, she said. And there she sat listening to him from 2 till 5 am. Nodding to him, asking him questions. Smiling to him. :)

My dose of positive inspiration, at a distance of two beds. God knows I was hungry for this ... Starved to be reminded that a smile can happen anytime; that the tenderness of heart stays the ultimate glory. That we can, we are, only be the sums of our efforts.  

You are a brave person. MashaAllah.

Loving, giving, feeling vulnerable, is not for the faint of heart. 

I hope and pray to the Mighty Lord, Who keeps a track of the minutest of our niyyats, to reward you as per His scale for the strength you're exhibiting right now and bless your heart with His chosen most serenity. ameen.

May this phase of transition you are going through, only contribute to make you even better! 

Thank you for keeping your connection with us. This world is too much in need of people who have it in them to connect, to build, to bond. Otherwise this world would be meaningless desolate only.

Image photograph by Caras Ionut.

Howay Shirk Ayyaan Jay Main Howaan

Some months ago I was reading the book Essential Sufism, authored by James Fadiman and Robert Frager, and happened to post an image somewhere with the following caption: 

When we performed Hajj in 2004, my mother was 47. I was 22, too energetic and too impatient to wait to let everyone pass. Why? I'd protest. 'Because they're in a hurry.' So are we, I'd sulk.'Are we? What for?' She'd smile gently at me ... 'sabr, meri jaan, sabr!' At that stage of life, the meanings I associated with 'sabr' had all negative connotations: the dignified garment of a powerless victim. It is now, that I've learnt what degree of strength it takes for one to let the Providence be one's only focus. There exists nothing else, except the thought of being in Presence and therefore you let go of everything that distracts you from it. Imagine the energy it takes to be so singularly focussed. Every move you make is with a purpose - to enhance your Presence. I learnt this lesson from my mother, whom I didn't recognise as a book reader. :)

Someone wrote to me asking the question this caption had triggered for them.

Assalamoalikum .I have two questions regarding your post at xxxxx . Sorry I didn't feel comfortable asking in the comments . Please feel free to ignore these if it's against your principles to discuss things this way 
When you used the term providence is this a translation of Rab? And have you tried to forget everything and remain aware of only him . How does one do that ? Your post was actually at a very opportune time . I was travelling to distract myself , to think about why I am stuck , and not moving forward. I read this sentence that" desire and unhappiness are congenital twins . Then I read your post . I am so tired

I wrote back:

Wassalam xxxxxx, 
I'm glad that you connected with the words and want to internalize the connection. I'd be honored if I could become a channel. 
Yes, I used Providence to refer to Rab, the Sustainer. 
To the second question I am afraid I do not have a straight answer. What is the recipe for making a stone in a water stream, in a riverbed, rounded? 
There is no cure, no dawa, no daru that exists outside of yourself. I have looked for any ready made solution for years. I didn't find any. Siwaey submission kay. 
Rab apko kaafi ho, har haal main har muqaam par. ameen. مَا وَدَّعَكَ رَبُّكَ وَمَا قَلَى

A one liner reply popped in my mailbox:

Dar sirf ye he k pathar gol hone se pehle toot na jae

Don't we all recognize this fear :) 
I wrote:

Itemenaan rakhain, aur kisi waswasay ko dil main na aanay dain.Rab ka promise hai: لَا يُكَلِّفُ اللَّهُ نَفْسًا إِلَّا وُسْعَهَا
Bus aik baat nahi bhoolni ap nay ... even when you are not happy with yourself for trying hard enough, HE is keeping a track of all the effort you make ... even the one smaller than a dust particle. Even as small as smiling at a young one when you don't feel like it. HE knows.

Putting it up here as a reminder to every heart, including my own, in their dark night of faith.  

Image: Photography by Rudy Oei, East Java, Indonesia.

Time - The Custodian of Experiences

The message read:

Honest opinion Required. 
"What do you all think about the phrase, 'WAQT KE SATH KHUDI SUB THEEK HOJATA HAI?' Is it really applicable or do you all think its just a way to build your stamina etc?"

I wrote back:

We misuse the statement "waqt kay sath sab kuch khud hi theek ho jata hai". This statement is flawed because that makes us a passive participant of the situations we're facing.
What the original idea of the statement is: 'give it time and with an unclouded mind you'll come to understand why a particular scenario unfolded the way it did. You'll find healing in that understanding.' Time in itself is no magic wand: For a person never letting go of bitter memories, even 100 years won't make a dent in his state of rancour. Time, however, is custodian of experiences.
Prophet Yusuf spent almost a decade in jail, forgotten and helpless. Prophet Musa turned into a fugitive running for his life in a strange land, friendless and alone. Prophet Muhammad was stoned till blood glued his soles and shoes, he even called a year 'the year of grief', forlorn and devastated.
Did waqt kay sath khudi sab theek hoa un kay liay? Waqt kay sath ye understanding clear hoi that the most painful episode was the most significant milestone to enable them to reach where they were meant to be.
Waqt is only a tool. It is not a tabib. It is a dawa. You decide if you want to use it as per the TABIB's prescription, or not.
There is a course available at the Coursera platform, Learning How to Learn (you can take the course for free if you are not opting to get its certificate). I especially loved one specific bit of insight Dr.Terrence Sejnowski shared. Terry is a neuroscientist and he talks about the structure of our memory cells and how does our mind respond to our learning habits. He asked, 'if you are a couch-potato, and want to take part in a 10 km marathon, when will you start training for it? Is it going to be a day before the marathon?' Obviously not. We need time to train our muscles to grow into a particular way, to have enough strength. Terry then suggests considering how much of this preparatory routine do we offer to our thinking muscles. :) Time kay sath khudi kuch theek nahi hota. Time ko efficiently invest karna hota hai.
If it is about a particular set of circumstances, see where and how you can create your window of light. And perhaps once you receive sufficient light and your heart thrives in it, you'll discover that the circumstances you were finding ominously dark, don't even amount to anything now. As the Banyan tree grows, it out sizes the little pebbles that had once threatened its sprouting seed.  

Putting it up here as a reminder to every heart, including my own, in their dark night of faith.  

Image credits: Josep María Mompart

Faith Begets Joy ... That's How The Dynamics Work

A couple of weeks ago I had posted the above image somewhere with the following caption: 

Abu Sa‘id al-Kharraz (d. 899) in his Book of Truthfulness writes: “When a man is truthful in his love (of God), there emerges between him and God, most High, a partnership of surrender … he has trust in the excellent choice of the one whom He loves. He abides in his excellent direction, and tastes the food of existence through Him.” As a consequence, “his heart is filled with joy, bliss, and happiness.” 

When Abu ‘Uthman al-Ḥiri (d. 910) declared, “During the last forty years God has never placed me in a state that I disliked, or transferred me to another state which I resented,” Hujwiri indicated that his words signified “continual satisfaction and perfect love.” It was such an intense experience of love that allowed Rabi‘a, famous for her role in the development of the love tradition to state that the aspirant must find equal joy in both the tribulations and the blessings, because they both have their origin in the Beloved.

Someone who happened to follow the online space, and wasn't a personal acquaintance, recently wrote to me asking clarity over this. 

The person wrote:

I have a question In reference to this post.

How can one achieve the truthfulness, the trust  that you mention. So far all I can manage is forcing myself not to think negatively that is I'll tell myself k though it hurts me it bothers me but He knows the best it's for the ultimate good, that this is taking me to where I am destined to be but I can't shake the feeling that I am faking it because I have read that this is how I should feel. I  can feel that my submission is fake or halfhearted. I used to complaint to Allah before you know tell him k aap ne acha nahi Kia now I can't do that because I know otherwise.

I wrote back to the person.

MashaAllah... do you see that journey you've made? Notice that, and just keep at that.
Being 'aware' of "faking" it is a faithful's ultimate gift. :)
You've been working on a transition of heart, as long as you're not sure of it's perfection, you'll keep working to make it better. Allah, very kindly, promises that HIS standards of evaluation are based on our strengths of niyyah, and not on the wholensomeess of our acts. Do you notice how that puts you in the good quadrant of graph documenting performance of people?

The problem we all actually encounter is, we think of learning/adopting behaviours as a single act that we perform in a single go - like ringing a door bell: press the button and DING DONG.
Nothing is farther from truth.
Learning/adopting behaviours is a continuous process. You're learning a whole new love language. You'll learn the vocabulary, the semantics, the pronunciation, the nuisance of expressions... it's a journey.
And you're at it.
Alhamdulillah.
Congratulate your heart putting in all that effort. :)
And be kind to it please. It's a long walk. 

Putting it up here as a reminder to every heart, including my own, in their dark night of faith. 

Letter To The Past

عزیزساعت گم گشتہ

پچهلے دس برس میں کتنی بار میں نے خود کو تمہاری گرفت میں پایا، شاید حساب لگانا ممکن نہیں. شاید تم وقت کی وہ کروٹ ہو جس کی قید میں زندگی رہن ہوتی ہے ۔۔۔ تا بہ ابد۔ یا پھرایسی خوش بخت نادر گھڑی جوحیات کے جبر مسلسل میں سر اٹھائے تنہا آزاد کھڑی ہوتی ہے. کون جانے حقیقت؟

٢٠٠٧ء کا آغاز تھا. شہر تھا کراچی اور زندگی کا یہ باب فصل گل سے نہیں موسم زوال سے عبارت تھا۔ میری گود میں چند ماہ کا ایک بچہ تھا اور میری ماں نے نئی نئی خاک کی چادر اوڑھی تھی۔ یوں سمجھو میرے قدموں تلے جنت اتری تھی اور میرے سر کے اوپر آسمان گر گیا تھا۔ جیسے سرکس کا کھلاڑی بے پناہ داد کی گونج میں اپنے فن کی معراج کو چھونے کو چرخی سی چھلانگ لگائے مگر کمر سے بندھا رسا ٹوٹ جائے ۔۔۔ پٹاخ ۔۔۔

میری ماں تو میرے لیے کمر کا رسا بھی تھی، چرخی بھی، فن بھی، اور میری معراج بھی.

زندگی جیسے کسی مہیب بلیک ہول میں معدوم ہوتی آواز کی بازگشت میں ڈھل گئی تھی. تم گواہ ہو.

اس دن میں روز کی طرح عصر پڑھ کر گھر سے تھوڑی ہی دور سی ویو پر چلی آئی تھی۔ شوہر کو وہاں کا ماحول پسند نہیں تھا سو مجھے اکیلے ادھر جانے کی اجازت تو تھی مگر گاڑی سے اترنے کی نہ تھی. میری دوستی سمندر سے تھی۔ اسکی لہروں کے مد و جزر کو پارکنگ سے ہی دیکھتے رهنے سے میرے اندر کی شورش تھمنے لگتی۔ شاید ہم نوائی اسے ہی کہتے ہیں۔ انسان ہم سفر کے بغیر تو زندگی جی لیتا ہے، ہم سخن کے بنا نہیں۔ ہم زبان نہ ہوتے ہوئے بھی میرا دل سمندر کے نمکین غم کو پہچان گیا تھا. زبان کی ضرورت تو وہاں پڑتی ہے جہاں گفت محتاج بیان ہو. یہ بات اسی روز سمجھ آئی تھی مجھے۔ تم گواہ ہو.

چونکہ گھر سے فاصلہ زیادہ نہ تھا اور میں کسی خریداری کے لیے نہ نکلی تھی سو بٹوہ یا کوئی رقم ساتھ نہ تھی. گاڑی رش سے ذرا پرے لگائے میں خاموشی سے سمندر کا شور سن رہی تھی۔ بیٹا ساتھ والی سیٹ پر اپنے کیری کوٹ میں سو رہا تھا۔ اتنے میں میں نے اسے اپنی طرف اتے دیکھا۔ ایک ہی لمحے میں میرا دل ڈوب گیا. میرے پاس ایک دھیلا نہیں ہے دینے کو اور یہ ٹلتے نہیں ہیں کچھ لیے بغیر. کوئی کہاں یقین کرتا میری بات پہ ۔ وہ پینتالیس پچاس برس کا خواجہ سرا اپنے رنگین سراپے کے ساتھ کھڑکی سے آ لگا ۔ میں نے گاڑی کے ریز گاری والے خانے سے پندرہ روپے اکٹھے کیے اور مٹھی اگے کر دی. میری ہمت نہیں تھی کسی بحث مباحثے کی.

“واہ ایسی نئی چم چم گاڑی میں بیٹھی میم ہے، شریفان تو پانچ سو لیے بغیر نہیں جائے گی۔“ شریفان چمک کر بولا اور ہاتھ سے پیسے نہ اٹھائے.

“میرے پاس پیسے نہیں ہیں.“ میں نے ہوم ورک نہ کر کے انے والے بچے کی سی شرمندگی سے کہا۔

“تیرے پاس نہیں ہیں پیسے تو پھر کس کے پاس ہوئے یہاں پیسے؟ صدقه دے اپنا شریفان کو. اتنی پیاری بیٹی ہے تیری ۔۔۔ سب رنگ روپ تیرا ہے اسکا. اسکا بھی صدقه دے ۔ شہزادہ آئے گا بیاہنے تیری بیٹی کو.“ اسکی زبان کی روانی، اسکے ہاتھوں کی لوچ، اسکے لہجے کی ترنگ، اسکے انداز کی شوخی ۔۔۔ میں کچھ دیر کو بول ہی نہ پائی۔ پھر میں نے کھڑکی کا شیشہ مزید نیچے گرایا اور پندرہ روپوں والی مٹھی پھر اگے بڑھائی۔

اب کی بار میں نے اسکی آنکھوں میں آنکھیں ڈال کر، لجاجت سے مخاطب کیا.

“میری بہن، میرے پاس اس وقت واقعی کچھ نہیں ہے. صرف یہ ہیں.“

یک لخت دیومالائی کہانیوں کے طلسم ہوشربا کی طرح منظر تبدیل ہو گیا. اچانک میرے سامنے رنگ و روغن سے مرصع بلند آہنگ بازاری پن والی ایک کریہہ صورت نہ تھی. اب وہاں ایک ڈھلتی عمرکا سنجیدہ مرد تھا۔ رنگ جسکے چہرے پر لگے تو ہوئے تھے مگر اب اس چہرے کا حصہ نہ رہے تھے۔ اس چہرے پر بلا کی سنجیدگی تھی. ایسی سنجیدگی جو سیلاب زدہ زمین میں اترنے والی زرخیزی کی طرح، صرف غم سہہ لینے کے بعد جنی جاتی ہے. چند لمحے خاموشی سے سرک گئے۔ میں اور شریفان ایک دوسرے کو یوں ہی دیکھے گئے۔ پھر میں نے شریفان کی آنکھوں سے آنسو بہتے دیکھے۔ میری سسکی سینے کے اندر گھٹی اتنی ہی زور آور تھی جتنا سمندر کی تہہ میں کوئی زلزلہ۔

شاید ہم نوائی اسے ہی کہتے ہیں۔

شریفان نے ہاتھ بڑھا کر میری پھیلی ہتھیلی میں سے ریزگاری چن لی۔ پھر اسکا ہاتھ دوبارہ اگے بڑھا اور میرے سر پر ٹک گیا. میرا وجود بے آواز سسکیوں کے ساتھ لرزتا رہا اور شریفان کا بھاری ہاتھ میرے سر پر بوسہ دیے گیا بالکل ویسا جیسا میری نگاہ سمندر کے چہرے کو دیے جاتی تھی.

زبان کی ضرورت تو وہاں پڑتی ہے جہاں گفت محتاج بیان ہو.

میں نے بہت دھیمی آواز سنی، اتنی دھیمی کہ اگر اس وقت تمام حسیات بیدار نہ ہوتیں تو شاید میں اسے اپنا وہم سمجھتی. شریفان کی مدھم سرگوشی تھی، “میری دھی، رب تجھے خوش رکھے.“

تم اس دعا کی گھڑی ہو. تم گواہ ہو.

پھر شریفان اگے کو لپک گیا۔
چند ثانیے توقف کے بعد میں نے بھی گاڑی گھر کو موڑ لی.

میں اس دن کے بعد سمندر سے غم بانٹنے نہیں گئی۔ ضرورت نہیں رہی. دکھ سانجھا گیا تھا! 
اے عزیزساعت گم گشتہ، شاید تمہارا طول ہی اتنا بے انت ہے کہ ختم ہونے میں ہی نہیں آتا۔

الله تمہارے دامن کی وسعت کو قائم رکھے. آمین

Image courtesy: http://www.georgegaldorisi.com/the-future