We're The Winners

Ye jo aadhay teetar, aadhay bataer loag hotay hain na, inka almiya pata hai kia hai?

Inki koi jarr nahi hoti. No soil owns their roots. 

Ye Rab ko talaashtay phirrtay hain, apnay jhootay sachay aqeedoN main; Apni jhooti sachi aqeedatoN main; Apnay kachay pakkay iqraar o inkaar main; Apnay adhooray muaamlaat main; Apnay reya-kaar ikhlaas main. 

In jaisay adh aashiq, adh munafiq loagon ki tragedy ye hai kay apni mehroomi ka idraak nahi. Apni tahi-daamni ki na khatam honay wali siyaahi jab inhain qatra qatra nigal rahi hoti hai, tou ye kaheen na kaheen koi aisa roag paalnay ki koshish kartay hain jisay apni naik niyyati ki justification bana sakain, Fi sabeel lillah ka tag laga kar khud ko surkh roo kar sakain. Khuda ko remind karwa sakain kay, hum Teray hain. 

Second hand mohabbat ki statement hai inki poori kithha.

Phir kisi kisi din, Fi sabeel lillah ka marked roag ka balloon suddenly blows up in their face. Achanak apni hi reya-kaar, badbudaar saans ki humak soonghnay ko milti hai aur ghin aa jati hai. Apni gharz say, apnay dhong say. Khud say. 

Hum jaisoN ki koi jarr nahi hoti. No soil owns our roots. 

Hamari na dunya hai, na deen. We're the winners of the game of loss. 

ماسٹر بالی ـ کھیل تماشا، اشفاق احمد

(Under development)

This is going to be my first story upload at the blog which is audio only. I shall be uploading it in parts. Insha Allah.

The story is by the inimitable Ishfaq Ahmed, and it's an extract from his novel "Khel Tamasha".

I shall be, in all probability, sticking with narrating chapters related to Master Bali's character only.

*fingers crossed*

بیادِ الفاظ

اس بستی میں جہاں وہ رہتی تھی برسوں پہلے الفاظ کو دفنا دیا گیا تھا.
جنازہ کب پڑھا گیا، تدفین کہاں کی گئی، اسے کچھ خاص اچھی طرح یاد نہ تھا. ہاں مگر الفاظ زندہ نہ تھے، اسکا ادراک اسے خوب تھا.

بستی کیا تھی، صدیوں پہلے کے کسی اہم تجارتی راستے کا ایک پڑاؤ تھی. اب تجارت کی نوعیت بدلی تو تجارتی راستے کی دھول اڑاتی سڑک کی بجائے لوگوں نے ریل، جہاز کے سفر اپنا لیے. یہ کم وسائل کا سخی خطہ آہستہ آہستہ ضرورت کے کنڈے سے سرکا تو یاداشت سے بھی محو ہونے لگا. جیسے صرف ہار جانے والی ہستیوں کا خاصہ ہے، وقت کائی کی بدہئیت بُکل مارے یہاں آ دھمکا اور اداسی کی بھوری باریک مٹی تہہ در تہہ در و دیوار سے لپٹتی گئی. نیستی کی خاموش چاپ کو دم سادھے محسوس کرتے بستی والے زندگی کے بوجھ سے نڈھال رہنے لگے.

نیست جیسی ہست آپ نے کبھی دیکھی ہے؟ اس میں کچھ بھی مکمل نہیں ہوتا. نہ موت کی یخ بستگی نہ زندگی کی حدت. بس تو ایسا ہی موسم تھا اس بستی میں. بے حس و حرکت خنکی کا.
امتحان کئی طرح کے ہوتے ہیں. محنت جاری رہے تو آزمائش بھی ہتھیار ڈال دیتی ہے. صبح شام کائی زدہ در و دیوار کو دھول مٹی سے جھاڑتی وہ ایسی ہی باتیں سوچتی رہتی. سوچتی ہی رہتی، کہہ نہ سکتی تھی. الفاظ مر چکے تھے. کبھی کبھی وہ سناٹوں سے ہولا کر بستی سے چلے جانے والوں کے نام پوسٹ کارڈ لکھتی. اونہوں ... لکھنے کو تو الفاظ چاہئیے ہوتے ہیں نہ. وہ تصویر کشی کرتی. سورج کی صورت بناتی، مسکراتا کھلکھلاتا سورج، کبھی پھلوں پھولوں سے لدے باغوں کی. کبھی جھاگ اڑاتے، شور مچاتے وحشی دریاؤں کی. تصویریں بنا کر وہ کتنی ہی دیر انہیں دیکھتی رہتی. نقش کے خد و خال پر انگلی پھیر کر وہ ان صورتوں سے وابستہ الفاظ کی آواز کا مزہ لیتی. سماعت زندہ ہو، مگر محروم ہو تو زندگی اپنے رنگ کھو دیتی ہے.

جو جواب اسے موصول ہوتے، انکے دامن میں موجود الفاظ کو دیکھ کر وہ خوشی سے ناچ اٹھتی. اکثر الفاظ اسے بستی چھوڑ دینے کا کہتے. ایسے الفاظ کو بے تحاشہ چومنے کے بعد وہ دیمک سے اٹی کیاری میں گڑھا کھود کے دبا دیتی.بستی کے اپنے الفاظ مر چکے تھے اور ان باغی الفاظ کو بھی مر جانا چاہئیے تھا. بستی کا کوڈ آف کنڈکٹ یہی کہتا تھا، بِنا الفاظ.

ایک دن اس نے اِدھر اُدھر سے کوشش کر کے چند ہتھ گاڑیاں جوڑیں اور سائیوں میں ڈھلتے، تھکے وجودوں کے آگے لا کھڑی کیں. مگر الفاظ چونکہ مر چکے تھے، کوئی اسکی بات نہ سمجھا. خاموش نگاہیں ٹُکر ٹُکر اسکا چہرہ دیکھے گئیں. کسی آنکھ میں کوئی کرن نہ لپکی، کوئی ستارہ نہ دمکا.
اسکی آنکھیں بھر آئیں. آہستگی سے وہ ہتھ گاڑیاں واپس چھوڑ آئی. اپنی سامنے ان تاثرات سے عاری دھندلے چہروں کو دیکھتے ہوئے اس نے زندہ، مگر زندگی سے عاری سب سائے نما لوگوں کی گھٹڑیاں اکھٹی کیں اور اپنے کندھوں پر لاد لیں. سائے خاموش رہے. کندھوں پر اتنا وزن لاد لینے کے بعد وہ اب نقش گری نہ کر سکتی تھی. سو بستی میں جوابی پوسٹ کارڈ آنا ختم ہوگئے. اس دن کے بعد دیمک زدہ کیاری میں کچھ نیا دفن نہ ہوا.

 Image by Leenah Nasir 

Qaaf say Kalaam

جنوب سے شمال کی جانب سفر شروع کریں تو پہاڑوں کی ہئیت کے ساتھ ساتھ انکی طبیعت بھی رنگ بدلتی محسوس ہوتی ہے.

جہاں قامت بڑھتی ہے وہاں ہیبت برسات میں پھیلتی کھمبیوں کی طرح ان پہاڑوں کے ویران سینوں پر واحد تمغہ بنکر اگتی ہے.

پھر ہوتا یوں ہے کہ قامت بڑھتے بڑھتے یہ بنجر چٹانیں آسمان کی بدلیوں سے سرگوشیاں کرنے لگتی ہیں. جانے ان مدھر سرگوشیوں میں ایسی کونسی امرت رچی ہوتی ہے کہ سنگلاخ چٹانیں سبزے سے سجنے سنورنے لگتی ہیں.

اس مقام پر آکر پہاڑوں کی اٹھان آسمان سے جا ملتی ہے. میٹھی سرگوشیاں بھیگے بوسوں میں بدل جاتی ہیں اور محبت کی یہ پھوار ان پتھروں پر بارش کی صورت برستی کیسا گداز بخش دیتی ہے. درشت نقوش ملائمت میں ڈھلنے لگتے ہیں اور ہیبت کی کوکھ سے حُسن جنم لیتا ہے. جیتا جاگتا، زندگی کی دھڑکن سے گونجتا حُسن. ایسا حُسن جو خراج میں صرف تسلیم مانگتا ہے. بے طلب بندگی کا سرشار اظہار سوالتا ہے.

پہاڑ کی طرف اٹھتی حیران نگاہ کا نظارہ ہیبت نہیں، رعبِ حُسن بن جاتا ہے. پتھر کا باجبروت بادشاہ، اپنے تمام تر شاہانہ جاہ کے ساتھ حُسن کے خراج کا سوالی بنتا ہے. اپنا شاہی جواہر سے مرصع وادیوں کا تھال آگے بڑھاتا ہے اور عشق کا سوال کرتا ہے.

یہاں، شمال کی اس حد پر، محبت کی پھوار سے شرابور، حُسن کی دولت سے مالا مال، عشق کی کمائی سے سرشار پہاڑ، بزرگی کی چادر اوڑھ لیتے ہیں. برف کے دوشالے میں گُندھی، ملائمت بھری پُرسوز بزرگی ...

پہاڑوں کی اس حد پر پہنچو تو دیکھنا، انکا بڑا پن انکے قد سے بھی کس قدر سوا ہو گیا ہوتا ہے!



Picture by Leenah Nasir  

Mah-e Mir, a Drive & a Dialogue: دشتِ ہلاکت کی آوارگی

دشتِ ہلاکت کی آوارگی 

They were on their way back after watching Mah e Mir, the movie. 

Aay: You've been touched, haven't you?

Ell: Haan, shayad.

Aay: Aisa kion hota hai kay kabhi kabhi hum screen kay samnay say uth kar bhi screen ki girift main rehtay hain?

Ell: Bohat sari reasons ho sakti hain. *pause* Ye gumaan kay screen kay parday pe jo aks lehraya, us main qaid shabeeh tou hamari apni thi, could be one of the reasons.

Aay *turns toward Ell*: Parday pe jo aks lehraya, us main qaid shabeeh apki thi? Zuhra ya Doctor Kaleem. Hai na? 

Ell *Laughs, shakes head*: Aisa nahi kaha main nay. Tumhain pata hai iss movie ki sab say khoobsurat baat kia hai? The boldness. The fierce, raw genuineness with which the movie makers created something not for the hoards of audience, garoh-e aam kay liay nahi hai. Pehchaan'nay wali aankh kay liay hai ye daawat-e nazaara.

Aay: Ell, mujhay Dr. Kaleem ka character samjhaein. 

Ell: Kia bataoon Doctor sahab ka? 

*hums* apni aag main khud jal jaey, tu aisa parwana bun ja!
Doctor sahab ki dressing note ki thi tum nay? Hudood, qayood, nashist, barkhaast, har har angle of personality say qadghan tapak rahi thi. Control. Hold. Reigning in.
Jamal ka character, on the other hand, fiercely untamed. Wild. Without any holds. Uskay garebaan say lay kar uskay pareshaan baalon tak, chaos ruled. Haey, art piece hai poora ye film!
*laughs abruptly* halankay, chaos kay, wehshat kay uuzdahay ko Doctor sahab sambhalay bethay thay apni necktie ki knot main. Jamal bechara tou beh raha tha flow kay sath, Doctor sahab was riding over the dragon. 

Aay: Apko lagta hai Doctor Kaleem itna mazboot character thay?

Ell: Mazboot character kia hota hai jaanaaN? Mazboot tou Nawab tha, mazboot tou Naina Kanwal thi. Doctor sahab mazboot nahi, deep character thay. Wo jo alaao ander liay phirtay thay, jo bhatti hama waqt deo-malaee kahaniyon kay aag ugaltay saanp ki tarah ander kundli maray bethay thi, uski hiddat ka halka sa shaiba tak bahir walon ko nahi ho raha tha. 
*leans head against the head-rest* yehi deep logon ki kaamyaabi hai, yehi unka almiya.

Aay: Kaamyaabi almiya kesay bun sakti hai?

Ell: Har individualistic kaamyaabi has the tendency to become an almiya. Ye tou phir wehshat ka maamla hai. Da'aymi individual roag.
Zuhra kay liay pata hai kion tarpay Doctor sahab? Kisi aik fleeting moment main Zuhra ki nigah Doctor sahab ki gehrai ki teh say ja takrai ho gi. Phir wo nigah kisi khali kunwain ki teh say uth'ti baazgasht ki tarah khali nahi loti ... Wo nigah Doctor sahab ka dil bhi baandh kay lay aee girah main. 

Aay: Ye sab waqaee itna depressing, itna blue, itna akela hai jitna ab soch kay lag raha hai? Doctor sahab looked like a calm person. Zuhra as well, though *chuckles* I wish Huma Nawab nay itna bura salook na kia hota us character kay sath. Bohat powerful character tha. Mujhay tou bechara Jamal suffering lag raha tha.

Ell: *laughs* Huma Nawab nay waqaee wesay Zuhra kay character kay sath dushmano wali ki hai... but kia farq parta hai? The character was so strong, we're still talking about her.
*pause* pata hai, aik bar Ishfaq Ahmed ki baat parhi thi ... Jo loag gham - aik khas threshold ka gham - seh jatay hain na, tou un kay wajood main shaanti utar aati hai. Like a golden halo you can feel an aura of calm around them. Us peace ki, haan, aik qeemat hoti hai jo obviously naazir ki aankh nahi jaanch paati. 

Weekend's traffic mad rush halts at the traffic light. Quiet follows in the car. 

Aay: Ell, aik baat poochoon?

Ell: Hm. Why would you even ask?

Aay: Whom are you waiting for?

Ell *smiles*: Kia zaroori hai koi intezaar main hi ho?
Dekho Aay, har koi itna deep nahi hota kay apni wehshat, apnay chaos ko zaat kay kisi teh-khanay main qaid kar paey. Aisay insan kay paas do soortain hoti hain: ya tou Jamal ki tarah chhalak chhalak jaey, ya apna sara focus, sari energy apni chhalkan ko contain karnay pe laga day ... Apnay chaos ko apni zaat ka fuel bananay main zindagi invest kar day. Self recharging, you know?
Halka painda hona, for containing an expanding cosmos, aik azaab hai; specially agr apko apni wehshat ka uryaan hona pasand na ho.

Aay: Ell, wehshat share bhi tou ki ja sakti hai na?

Ell *shakes head*: Nah darling! Wehshat tou shadeed infaraadi gift hai. Ap ki qismat glorious ho tou tou apko apni depth jaanchnay wali nigah mil jati hai. Phir ap wehshat baant'tay nahi ho. Ap wehshat pehanchaantay ho. Believe you me, it's divine. To recognize, to be recognized.
Haan, magr hotay ap akelay hi ho. Sulgan apni individual hi rehti hai. 

Aay: Bano Qudsia, Ishfaq Ahmed. They shared the wehshat. No?

Ell: Did they? *laughs* meri jaan, wehshi ko sakoon say kia matlab? Jogi ka shehar main thikana kia?
Ishfaq yunhi phir baabon ko dhoondtay phirtay thay?
Mujhay lagta hai, and of course I could be entirely wrong, wehshat ka unwaan badal jata hai. But jesay resham kay kapray ki intrinsic quality mulaimat hai, wehshi ki intrinsic quality uska iztaraab hai. Ander bharakti aag ka alaao hai. So talab ka unwaan badal jaey ga, dhuwaan uthay ga. Phir bhi uthay ga.


Car comes to a stop. And so does the conversation.

Hik Nuktay Ich Gal Mukdi Ay

He alone ... is the Observer,

He alone is the observed!

There is none ... but He ... 

in the World of Existence. 

- Ibn al- Arabi

Blue

Out of all the myriad of feelings and emotions, disillusionment holds a special blue significance. 

When we bring into frame the factors triggering the emotion, the blue takes many different hues: from the teal of the algae slowly eating away the heart, to the azure of a cold give up. In some cases, however, the feeling comes as such a wholesome package of being let down and disappointment, one can do nothing but embrace the entire spectrum of blues. 

Don't get me wrong. We're not talking about an ordinary, every day dismay here. We're talking about the disappointment delivered by a broken trust which we so rarely bestow upon people; faith, which we hold so dear, we spend years holding close to our chest - never letting many claim it. We overestimate the size of person and the fall hurts. 

As soon as the snap subsides, our consciousness begins echoing with a certain knock of incredulity every so often which makes us keep questioning our entire foundation of reasoning for having to face this strong a blow. With every knock comes this swallow of bitterness, which we push down our throats while the bitterness stays, stinging our tongues. It drips down from our words, it drapes around our gaze. 

We stare back at our own reflection with surprise. This is another disappointment.

The blue deepens. 

How Much To Pour of Your Self?

Being a sensitive person can be a confusing, complicated thing in this still harsh world. It feels intuitively right to open, to feel, to enhearten our daily life, but the world is still vibrating at a more armored and edgy place. It is not yet attuned to the ways of the open heart. So what to do? We don't want to deaden our capacity to feel, but if we feel too much, we get run over by an often heartless world. I have found my best answer in three places: 

Selective Attachment: carefully discerning between positive and negative individuals and environments, and only attaching to those people and places that can hold our tender heart safe. 

Strong Energetic Boundaries: being physically and emotionally charged, so that we can more effectively repel unwelcome energies. 

Conscious Armoring: learning how to put on armor when necessary to manage the world and difficult situations, and, consciously removing it when it is no longer needed. 

If we cultivate these practices, we stand a much better chance of preserving our sensitivity. Once we lose it, we lose our connection to the moment altogether. Here's to a sensitive way of being! What a courageous path. 

- An excerpt from 'Spiritual Graffiti'

Feeling Eridanus

Vacuum,
Empty,
Space,
No gravity,

are the words on my mind,
clinging to me, 
like an unruly bougainvillea vine. 

It's hard to describe the feeling.
Or perhaps, it's only futile to do that. 

Well, what does it matter?



Anyways, do google "Eridanus".


It made me feel accompanied.


Keep well.

Journey Between Caterpillar to Butterfly

Patience does not mean to passively endure. It means to be farsighted enough to trust the end result of a process. What does patience mean? It means to look at the thorn and see the rose, to look at the night and see the dawn. Impatience means to be so shortsighted as to not be able to see the outcome. The lovers of Allah never run out of patience, for they know that time is needed for the crescent moon to become full. 

- Rumi

Fetch The Horizon

To be a sensitive individual in a, generally, unforgiving world can trigger situations demanding considerations of great depth and resonance.
While endless intellectualization of the details and enormous question marks of our lives comes natural to us, it is the ability to harbor faith into the unresolved as not a sphere of fear, which is the ultimate act of Becoming.

Today I came across a passage of a letter Rainer Maria Rilke wrote to a struggling young poet, and for a moment there I was the only addressee of this letter.
I've read it uncountable times since then and would like to share it with you too!

 

Therefore, dear Sir, love your solitude and try to sing out with the pain it causes you. For those who are near you are far away... and this shows that the space around you is beginning to grow vast.... be happy about your growth, in which of course you can't take anyone with you, and be gentle with those who stay behind; be confident and calm in front of them and don't torment them with your doubts and don't frighten them with your faith or joy, which they wouldn't be able to comprehend. Seek out some simple and true feeling of what you have in common with them, which doesn't necessarily have to alter when you yourself change again and again; when you see them, love life in a form that is not your own and be indulgent toward those who are growing old, who are afraid of the aloneness that you trust.... and don't expect any understanding; but believe in a love that is being stored up for you like an inheritance, and have faith that in this love there is a strength and a blessing so large that you can travel as far as you wish without having to step outside it. 

 
Fetch the horizon, I think to myself as I conclude the read. 

Baadshaahat Ikhteyaar Ki Baat Hai

Dil Ka Rus

The fortune of leading the pack of volunteers in a mentoring initiative for the development sector brings with it a fair share of clarity of thought and action, enriching life with plenitude moments of gratitude. 

I haven't, lately, been sharing at this place happenings from my life. 

Today might be a deviation.

Following is an excerpt from a whatsapp conversation between the mentor team leads and myself, and has been reproduced here with gratitude to the team who urged this entire conversation be saved as a document about the balance between the art of dreaming while not escaping reality.

The concern posed was how to keep a rational approach while training male and female mentees for goal setting in life since females do not get an equal opportunity when it comes to careers:

Concern:  

I've realized we give our girls dreams that may not come true. Like you can become an astronaut & what not. Girls boys are equal but they have commitments that demand otherwise, like kids & home.

How do we balance the dream and reality?

Our education system as well as work places, act blind to this.

Reply:

How many boys who want to become astronauts become astronauts?

The ratio of un-met goals isn't starkly different between the genders.

The issue arises when we, in an attempt to make future a pretty sight for the kids, create an alternate reality world. Our job is not to provide them with dreams. Our role is to make them understand the virtue of commitment and the honesty of act. Whatever they do, be it flying a spaceship or raising a toddler while plucking cotton in a cotton field, do that knowing fully well that you're doing your best.

The problem is that we place our goals outside ourselves :)

Jobs - Careers - Position - Status - These are, at best, the addendum. Whenever we encourage children to dream in terms of these we put a limit on their potential as a human.

Our Prophet, whom we call the best sample of a human, tied his own shoes. Washed his own clothes. Ate nothing but dates dipped in water. Wiped his blood when the body was pelted with stones. 

Where were the dreams? Did he not have any dreams?  

He had. And his were like we should have ours - he was assigned a job, he HAD to do it to the fullest of his capacity.

If they have dreams to fly high, it is beautiful. 

Tell them to grow their roots first. So that one day if the wings can't take the pressure of the opposing gale, they don't fall face down. And this can only be done when their strength comes not from their target residing far away in future, but from the character they're harboring right now.

I had a friend who couldn't get into medical college. She spent 4 years coming to terms with the set back.

The point is, how good is the dream of becoming a certain professional when ander ka insan is so vulnerable? :)

Ander ka insan strong karna asal issue hai. Professional qualifications, for girls as well as boys, come second.

Quality of the person, that is our only reality. 

Make the reality strong and dreams will mould themselves around.

The first hero speaker I listened to at my first Rahbar cycle had shared something that I  find absolutely beautiful ....

He said that his father had always taught him one thing, that if everything in life fails and he - the son, ends up with nothing but a "گنے کے رس کا ٹھیلا" (gannay kay rus ka Thaila), his should be the best drink serving Thaila of the town. 

"Dil ka rus nikalna, ganna samajh kar", the old man had taught his son.

I loved it. :)

Documented here for personal reference for future. 
Any feedback is more than welcome. 

Ja Namazi, Dekh Li Teri Namaz!

Do din bhi agar meri si halat ho jaye
Maalom shab e gham ki haqiqat ho jaye
Bejurm o khata mujh ko mitanay walay
Allah karay tujh ko mohabbat ho jaye

Ab sabr karo nala e paiham na karo
Jab mein he nahi hoon to mera gham na karo
Yeh apni ruswai hai apne haaton
Lillah meri laash pe maatam na karo

Wo un ko mera marg e nagahan nadeeda nadeeda
Sub ke hoonton pe tabassum tha mere qatl ke baad
Jaanay kya sooch ke rota raha qaatil tanha
Wo un ko mera marg e nagahan, nadeeda nadeeda

aur jigar bey chain laikin guftugu sanjeeda sanjeeda
ajab masti bhari aankhein magar tarseeda tarseeda
sar e baali tabassum lab pe dil ranjeeda ranjeeda
manaya ja raha hai mera gham posheeda posheeda

tamasha dekhiye mayree lehad se sar nahi uth'ta
mujhe khud he mita baithe hein, aur khud he pasehmaan hein
manaya ja raha hai mera gham posheeda posheeda

yeh kab se aa gayeen tabdeeliyan khayalon mein
huzoor kab se ghareebon kay khairkhuwah howay
manaya ja raha hai mera gham posheeda posheeda

dam-e-akheer qayamat yeh dha raha hai koi
ke mout aanay ko hai, aur ja raha hai koi
mere khuda, mujhe thori si zindagi day day
udaas mere janazay se ja raha hay koi, dekho
manaya ja raha hai mera gham posheeda posheeda

sabr-o- qaraar chheena, surat dikha ke tu ne
barbad ker dia dil, dil mein sama ke tu ne
basti ujaar dali, basti basa ke tu ne
aray apna bhi dil dukhaya, mujh ko mita ke tu ne
ab, manaya ja raha hai mera gham posheeda posheeda

bohot badnaam hoga hashr mein tu naam ke badle
unhein shohrat se kya matlab, jo hein Allah ke bande
yeh niyyat chor meri bandagi, dekhein jahan walay
mazaa jab hai ke dunya per na ho zahir tere sajde
Khuda ki tu ibadat ker magar posheeda posheeda

sajdoN ka sila jannat maange
Allah se yeh ujrat maange
karta hai ibadat ka souda
zahid na hoa mazdoor hoa
bus! Khuda ki tu ibadat ker magar posheeda posheeda

kya ibadat hai teri jab ke tu yaksu he na tha
Rabb to mojood tha, ay shaikh wahaan tu he na tha
dil hai behatka hoa bekaif nazar aata hai
tu ibadat mein bhi dunya ki khabar rakhta hai

aik din Majnu ka aisa haal tha
yaad e Laila mein sarapa choor tha
khaak e sehra chhanta phirta tha wo
wahaane Laila her ghari karta tha wo

hoshiyari dekheiye deewane ki
sair karne chal dia veeranaey ki
aadmi aik parh raha tha wahan namaaz
dil mein kuch rakhta na tha sooz o gudaaz
ker raha tha wo namaz e Haq adaa
majnu us ke samnay ho ker chala
khatam ker ke phir namaaz us ne kaha
tujh ko doon is fail ki mein kya saza
aa gaya meri ibadat mein khalal
samnay se tu gaya mere nikal
bola Majnu ke mein ne Laila ki qasam dekha nahi

bola Majnu ke mein ne Laila ki qasam dekha nahi
warna samnay sajde ke mein aata nahi
bola Majnu ishq e Laila mein sarapa choor tha
aur dekhne se mein tujhe majboor tha
per tu Khuda ke samnay kaisa juhka
apni aankhon se raha tu dekhta
mujh ko to hai ishq fani zaat ka
tujh ko to hai ishq hai Maula zaat ka
kia isi ko kehte hein sooz o gudaaz
kia isi ko kehte hein sooz o gudaaz
ja namaazi dekh li teri namaaz
bus! Khuda ki tu ibadat ker magar posheeda posheed

kia isi ko kehte hein sooz o gudaaz
ja namaazi dekh li teri namaaz
khuda ki tu ibadat ker magar poshida poshida

le ke tasbeeh aur musallah aik aabid chal diya
dhoondne Allah ko sehra mein wo rehne laga
aik hiran bhi saath mein us ke wahaan rehne laga
aur usi sehra mein wo bhi dorne phirne laga

aik din zahid ne pocha yaar ye kya baat hai
arsa e muddat se tera aur mera saath hai
tujh ko bethe dekhta hoon aur na sotay dekhta
ja baja phirta hai tu aur ya ke rehta hai khara

sun ke bola yeh hiran! ta'ajub ki kya baat hai
aashiqo ke wastay kya din hai aur kya raat hai
mere andar mushk hai mein is liyeh rehta hoon mast
tere ander ishq hai tu is liyeh rehta hai mast

mushk ki khushboo se hardam doorta phirta hoon mein
apni aankhon se Khuda ko dekhta rehta hoon mein
Us se milne ka tareeqa aa tu mujh se seekh le
ishq mein hasti mita de phir tu Allah dekh le

Khuda ke waste zahid na ker numa'ishi sajde
Khuda ki tu ibadat ker magar posheeda posheeda

jahan tak ho sakay mazloom ko ronay nahi dete
aur kisi nadaar ko bhooka kabhi sonay nahi dete
bakar e pardaposhi khalq per khone nahi dete
khabar is haath ki us haath ko honay nahi dete
sakhi khairat karte hein magar posheeda posheeda

tumhare samnay betha hoa hoon sakht mushkil mein
musafir jaisay aa jata hai wehshatnak manzil mein
bayaan karte hoay darta hoon jo kuch hai mere dil mein
buri kuch aur to baatein nahi hein teri mehfil mein
magar yeh chupke chupke guftugu posheeda posheeda

aur kisi ghar ki taraf takna kabhi phir mur ke ghabrana
kaheen per chandni ko dekh ker saaye mein chupp jana
qamar aik he na kya laakhon sitaro ne na pehchana
ajab andaaz se waday pe unka raat ko aana
dabay paaon nazar behki howi posheeda posheeda

manaya ja raha hai mera gham posheeda posheeda

Poet: Ustad Qamar Jalalwi

Ja namazi, dekh li teri namaz!

In The Language of Dream, Gesture, Symbol, Memory

"At lunch, I think about your hands, and that’s it. That’s my spine unloosening for the day. That’s all the ocean in my belly heading straight to the shore of my throat. I think about your hands and suddenly, I don’t know what to do with mine. Suddenly my fingers are not my fingers but the empty space between them where yours should be. I am all missing, I lose myself for the day and leave to find you. I misplace my throat because it is clasped in the cup of your hand. I leave my bitten lips on your bedside table. My thighs have the ghosts of bruises unfurling into poppies, like bloodstains on snow. I break things because I am shaking and I am shaking because you are not with me and you are not with me because we are just learning to touch each other through the spaces between us. It is violent that we cannot touch each other, yet. It’s a war crime. It should be illegal that my fingers still haven’t learned the notches of your back. I think about holding your wrist in the O of my thumb and my index finger. I think about kissing the blue veins there. I think about careful mouth touches, and the tender of you. The warm, soft hollow of you, and how I lose my bottom lip wondering about yours. I’ll kiss you there, I promise. I promise.”

—Azra Tabassum, "These wrists, these eyes, these praying hands."

The Life And Death Of Most Of Us

Most of us will settle for fine.

Most of us will stream mp3s instead of asking a friend to play the guitar.

Most of us will run on a treadmill at the gym instead of going to the park.

Most of us will watch 10 second videos on a computer instead of going to a play.

Most of us will eat something we can throw in the microwave instead of learning to cook.

Most of us will aspire to being known, to being famous for just a little while.

Most of us will be willing to be embarrassed, to hurt ourselves, if it means being known.

Most of us will be more concerned with that, with being known, than being remembered by anyone special.

Most of us will decide that it's too soon or too late in life to go after what we really want.

Most of us will never actually sit down and think about what we really want.

Most of us will spend more time reading status updates than we spend reading books.

Most of us will take more pictures of ourselves than actually looking at the world around us.

Most of us will take the one unique and precious life we've been given and spend it being, just ok.

Most of us will make do.

And you will meet most of us and when you do, remember this.

Be the few.

Be the few.

- Iain Thomas, 

The Life And Death Of Most Of Us

For years I belonged to most of us, until one day I no longer did.

Rabt, Zabt

"One of the righteous has said: "He who really knows [arif] is too preoccupied with the One he knows [ma'ruf] to be concerned with acceptance or rejection, praise or blame."

- Shaykh Abd al-Qadir al-Jilani

Crux

حاصل عمرم سه سخن بیش نیست

خام بدم ، پخته شدم ، سوختم

مولانا رومی

The summary of my life exceeds naught three sentences:

I was raw. I stewed. I cindered.

Compromised translation: mine.

House Of Tomorrow

December 16, 2014 is a day not to be forgotten. Not now. Not ever.

I shall not use this space to grieve. There's no point in grieving. There's no time for grieving.
How can you ever grieve enough for a tragedy such as this?

Here's what I want to say, share and bring on record.
Please be a witness to this in any way you can.

I've cast my vote in the electoral process of 2013. I want my vote to be used for the following to be implemented immediately. I urge you to speak for your vote as well. Realize your worth. Don't follow their line, make them follow yours. This is your right, as well as your duty! 

1. Hang terrorism convicts.

2. Nationalize madrassas

3. Revise academic syllabus

4. Make FATA a province

5. State control Jumma sermon.

6. Roll heads in Pakistan Army

Let this blood stained notebook help you be educated enough to find your course of action. Let yourself be honourable enough to stand for your fallen.

Build your house of tomorrow better than the one you live in today.

She

“She was never crazy, she just didn’t let her heart settle in a cage. She was born wild.. and sometimes we need people like her. For it’s the horrors in her heart which cause the flames in ours. And she was always willing to burn for everything she has ever loved.” 

– R.M Drake

Loving: Beautiful & Ugly

Of Fallen Gods

Sometimes I'm baffled by this degree of misfortune that seems to have befallen you ... us! No matter how hard I try, your only means of pleasure remains anything your moral compass points as sinful. As prohibited. As dark.

In all our years together, you do not, can not, seem to take delight in any pleasure you find is 'right'.  The browser history, the chat windows, the text messages, the 'gajray' in the car, all fall pale in comparison to the black look you wear in absence of anything dark. Those oft repeated months of 'I'm not talking to you!' Have drained me to my core! Do you realise how frightening this monster of unending gloom is? 

Years ago I thought that your choice of keeping 'loathsome' as an ID, had more to do with the youthful rage. It is now that I've understood what is it that you identify yourself with. I have failed. I've failed in making you see what beauty is, what a delight purity is! It is only now that I'm beginning to grasp what have you meant by, 'your innocence makes me hate you!' Heh ... Slow learner that I am.  

And now I'm tired. 

Last night, observing with others, how you sneaked away with her, I realised how hopeless a situation we're in (and what a mega failure I've been!). It's not about her. I take and trust your word: 'she's just a *itch!'

It's about how you are, and shall always be, found around *itches!

Trust me, there's no worse failure than this. 

Hah ... The realisation that the person for whom you saved the best of you, finds pleasure only when it's ridden with a dire sense of guilt .... :) Its irony redefined!

I only wish it wasn't you who would've brought me this failure, love. 

You had been my god!

There were only 7 Valium tablets. I took them all. I wish I don't survive. If I do, well, you know the count. 

From a suicide note, 2009.