Monday, 3 December 2012

I AM A MUSLIM .....AND YOU ARE ?


I can’t stop it coming out here. 
Not that I didn’t try ignoring my thoughts, diverting my attention, every time turning off my laptop before I could go on writing this piece.
It might appear useless to you, complicated to some and confused thoughts to others.
It might offend you to.
You might think of me as an extremist….. jahil……ignorant….or pass comments like
“Why is he being soo much judgmental….Samajta kia hai ye apnay aap ko
Well so you can just stop reading it right now. Because the entire writing is pushed by thought of SHIA-SUNNI and and Islamic month of Muharram.
Now you might be the one going under black out during first 10 days or of the other colored group throwing pinching messages on the first one.
Whom I belong too?
“None of the above, Am just a Muslim”
huh, aya bari Moulvi, Astagfar…kia ool fol likha hai, Namaz kabbi parhi nae tw yahi haal ho ga na”. Don’t ask me who said this to me.
Yes I am not very good practicing Muslim and in addition to that I have an irritating habit of questioning………questioning too much.
Name: Muhammad Abdullah
Father’s Name: Muhammad Afzal
Religion: Islam
Sect:    ?
I was too young at that time to understand this. So I asked my father.
“Abu ye kia hai”?
“beta yahan ****** likh do” My father nominated a Sect for me.
par abu g ham tw Musal-maan hain na
I proudly said that. Though at that age I didn’t know anything about the world power politics, but somehow even at that age my inside always felt soo proud of being a Muslim.
 So proud of belonging to a Muslim family.
So proud of being a member of one Muslim Umma………..one.
And then over the years I learned that the word ONE has multiplied. And that we all are stamped in our Bio data forms in one of these. And then our entire lives we are made to believe and groomed to defend our bio data forms. There is so much coming out, so much already has been discussed and debated.
And All of it useless and waste of time.
So why can’t we let it be the past. Why should we follow traditions and customs which have been formulated to divide us.
Can’t we just follow one straight line, gather under one flag, one platform, one forum, be one ……ONE UMMA. Make ourselves proud of being ONE. Powerful enough to protect every part of our body……body of entire Muslim Ummah.
Yes this is how I take this. This division……
You do remember that childhood stories of unity ……
“Try to break 7 sticks altogether…
You can’t do that ?
Ok break them one by one …..
See, if you get divided you become vulnerable to breakage”
It seems that whoever planted the seed of this division, is now enjoying the fruit of it. And it does not matter really that what has been infused in our religion, to be practiced to cause our division. What matters is that we have been made to believe in it. And believes are not easy to just give away like that, believes are foundation of your entire life…..how can you just give them away on some ones advice.
Come on go die for it.
Yes this is what we do………we can die in a bomb blast during religious celebrations and traditions and rallies and what not.
But we hardly get up for five time Namaz to make our Masajid populated.
We will spend thousands on flags, banners, lights, strange looking minarets, and what not 
But we will hardly hold hand of a poor to come along.
Shia …sunni par aa kar phattay ga
Sunni ..shia par aa kar phattay ga
Par dono mil kar israel mai nahein phattay gain …..india mai nae phattain gay …..billions of non muslims hain unko kuch nae kahain gay…rather wahan ja kar gooray ka bathroom saaf kar b khush rahain gay …..

Par yahan ………..
Isn’t it very simple that the entire strength of Muslim Ummah lays under one flag, unity. Five times a day we are to remind ourselves the same thing that we are ONE. And our enemies don’t want us to stand together. They want us to fight internally so that we can never stand up against them. So that when we are spending millions on security to defend one group of brothers from the other, they could laugh at us. And that we are ensuring their evil plans to ripe.
So for a while ….just for a while…..why can’t we just quit practicing whatever divides us. Whatever is different between us. Stop putting in Sect: ----------- column in every bio data form. Stop putting special names and identities……stop doing all this crap.
I strongly and firmly believe that there is still a lot on which we all believe as one. A lot to practice, and if we only do that and only practice on which we stand as one (like NAMAZ, ROZA, ZAKAT, DON’T LIE, BE KIND, SHOW RESPECT, HAVE PATIENCE, LEARN TO PAY REGARDS, RESPECT NEIGHBOURHOOD, BE HONEST, DON’T CHEAT, DON’T LIE, HELP NEEDY AND POOR & SO ON & ON),..............
We will still BE a very good Muslim and doors of Heavens will not close on us. 
 
  

Friday, 2 November 2012

FIRE IN MY HEAVEN

I was born on the streets, literally. 

On a thunderous, stormy night, my mother gave birth to me under a worn out shed of a local shop. From what she could recall, it was past midnight and she was all alone. Through tears and pain, she fought and suffered for my existence. She saw my birth as a miracle, she saw me as a marvel of happiness born into the night, and she named me Layla, beauty of the dark. 
My earliest childhood memories included running with my friends in a grimy street, through the puddles of mud after a running car, happy just to be able to chase it. I remember shouting at a dog while it teared at my favorite frock, the only dress that was not bad enough for me to feel glum over. The most beautiful of all memories was being carried in my mother’s arms as she pleaded around for money, with a dejected face. It was a face that I knew well. It carried a sad, troubled look, it was unwelcoming to me, but it had been imprinted in my brain. It only appeared under a certain circumstance, whenever she spread her hands while begging to everyone how I had been hungry for quite a while. I remember thinking how that was not always necessarily true, but i felt very special because she was asking for food to fulfill my needs. I also remember trying to look extra sad and innocent for my mother, which helped sometimes and people make a sorrowful face while handing over some money.
When I was old enough to understand the basics of the job, I decided to become a breadwinner myself. The rules of the job were simple, all one had to do was look extra sad and murmur the most senti and emotional duas repeatedly and they worked fairly well most of the time. Every time they saw a little girl with big eyes full of innocence and purity, they would pay me. Sometimes, however, annoyingly enough, they would give me a lecture on how it is so important that I get some education instead of asking people for money. I listened to them but at the same time, I completely ignored their lecture. Some people were not hesitant to pass comments but slowly, I became immune to all this. My goal was to make my mother happy and only for her, I made the scorching hot weather and the coldhearted people my habitat.
My mom had a good sense of responsibility and she took to the streets at 6 am every day. When I reached the peak of my teenage, a car hit her and took her life away before most of the city had even woken up. Nobody cared to carry her to the hospital, and she was long gone when one of my  'khalajees’ discovered her. The Khalajees were my mother's co-workers, and we were all like one family. I ran through the streets and cried when I discovered the news of grief. And i remember constantly wishing for her to suddenly reappear somehow. Everything felt empty without her, and even the loaded streets started to feel empty.
I carried on with my life, following my mother’s footsteps every morning, earning money solely for myself this time. The hated looks, the cruel comments, and sometimes, a total blind eye towards the girl at the window of their car, the cycle continued. 
The calamity of my life came when one day i was forcefully carried away in a car, and forced into the acts of sinning. It felt like all hell has broken loose upon me. I was destroyed and i was left alone. I begged to God as i gathered myself  to punish the ruthless menace. I cried, and wished for the torturing incident to excise from my memory, but it was no use. I was marked with the impurity , when I discovered that I was expecting a child.
I was shunned from my family. The khalajees shook their heads in disgust and despite my constant pleading, I was labeled a disgrace. I was told to depart from their society, from my family, probably away from the only people who called me Layla. I left everyone to become a part of another family. It was not easy, because they found it hard to trust a girl, who claimed to be a widow and was expecting a child. In my search for someone trustworthy, I met a KhalaJee who was caring enough to offer her help. I expressed my gratitude to her, as i started living with her family. When knowledge of my sins reached my new family, they were revolted. I left them before they could have a chance to banish me.
I was alone, like my mother, when I gave birth to a beautiful little girl. From the moment she was born, I knew I loved every bit of her. I saw her as a ray of happiness, I saw her as a mystical glow in the darkness of my life, I saw her as a ray of light and hope in the darkness inside of Layla, I named her Noor

Tuesday, 4 September 2012

THE IGNORED !


She was cute.

And Her eyes had strange innocent glow, which caught my attention
Though I was not the only one standing outside that super store on Sunday night
There was lot of hustle, the place was jam packed.
Mostly due to Drivers waiting inside their cars for their SAAB log who feared a ten step walk to the parking. So the driver’s greatest job was to rush in his car to the main entrance of that super market before his SAAB’s or BEGUM SAHIBA’s feet would step on the main pedestrian stand, right outside the store. SAAB log probably feared the dust ??
Well not exactly, there were many other things to fear for.
 The greatest of them was the anger in the eyes of AAM log. The disgust they always had for them, for the thought that it is their hard  work on which many have become SAAB

AAM log….always complain about injustice……if it’s not in their luck so what can we do. Begum Nasreen explained to her daughter while putting in K & N’s nuggets in her trolley.

Her daughter totally ignorant to what her mother was saying was busy in texting through her new Android phone, one of his close friends.
And there were few AAM say log.

Fahad and her mother were one of them.

They had this strange habbit of looking at the price of everything first, calculating something, discussing and then either putting it back at its place or at times in their  trolley.
Fahad did steal eyes, and at times fixed them right on Begum Nasreen’s daughter, Tania.
Tania was aware of it. And yes she was enjoying it, as she was being admired. So at times she too gave looks back, with......little pressed smiles.
But out of all of them, no one had that eye catching tale, neither SAAB log nor AAM log and neither Tania and Fahad’s “Ankh macholi”.
Except her.
And then she walked over to me.
Tiring and desperate walk, it seemed......

Saab tissue ka packet lay lo

I looked at her for a while; she wasn’t more than ten years of age!
Too young to be on a street alone.
And I thought of Tania.
How Tania would have been, once she was of her age!
And then yes being of this society, where street begging is just another essential element, my mind was occupied by usual thoughts of a common man.............i was from AAM log, after all.

she is working for a THAAKUR, and all the money goes to that THAAKUR
They are professionals…
They don’t deserve our gentle eye
I should be ignorant like BEGUM NASREEN said
Its not our fault”

I turned around, started walking away, but after taking few steps. I stopped.
Her innocence was like a barrier, so hard to ignore her. I thought of giving her something, but

It would not suffice her need”

So I started walking again.
Today when I sit here thinking of her with a heavy heart.

Its not her fault too. She was born in that place and I could have been in her place too. If we are born under shelter with enough at home to feed our hunger and needs, what does it means, that we have right to judge those on streets, or is it our responsibility to make them stand on their feet, provide them with equal opportunities and let them sit with us, shoulder to shoulder.
For we could have been in their place

Sunday, 12 August 2012

OOO PEOPLE ACT MUSLIM...ITS RAMAZAN



16th Ramadan’s evening it was. 
We both went for the shopping of Eid. Roaming on Tariq road’s roads in fast.  Going in and coming out of various shops, staying inside for long not because we were confused that what to buy but only because shops were air conditioned.
Legs breaking. Minds frustrated. Backs aching. Empty stomachs. Dried throats. Annoyed of the fact that nothing is catching our heart and eyes together so that we’d get it straight away. Checking every outlet every dress which they contained but not getting anything of our taste.

He saying to me:  lets get yours first.

I, insisting: NO lets get yours first.

Finally, after the struggle of many hours. Where were we?  Dangled in between two choices. Which one to get?
He: yaar look its color is more good. Fit hai na?
Me: but its design is meagre. And look at this one its design is handsome. But yes its color is just nice.
He: (with sad face) so? Which one we should get? 
Me: which ever you say.
He: I asked you to come along so that you will decide. 
Me: alright lets get this one.
Buying kurta for him was really a tough job which consumed tons of the patience (the thing which we both lack: one of our similarity)
we left market and headed towards the venue which we decided for iftaar. We were stopped on the traffic signal. Roads were packed. Cars bumper to bumper. Every driver pouring out his anger and hunger on horn. Mercurial Bikers testing car driver’s patience. It seemed like every one was running out of time. One car which was ahead of us took a wrong turn without giving indicator.
He immediately made a break for it and said in anger: ‘rozy mai kya kahun mai ab isko’
Me: ‘kiun roza na hota tw kya kehty?’
He: ‘alkabaat sy nawazta or kya.’
Me: ‘very nice’
I, seated on the passenger seat looking all this hostility and thinking are they all in a bad tamper because they are with fast and in hurry to be on time for iftaar? And what is the real message of Ramadan?
I think – Patience and control. Patience in every aspect of life and control on our own self. Be it our anger, our tongue, our hands, our hunger, our thirst, our evil deeds, our rage, our rash acts, or anything which may deface our nama-e-amaal.

But. We are one month Muslims. We offer 5 times a day. Why? Because it’s Ramadan.
We try to recite as much Quran-e-pak as much we can. Why? Because it’s Ramadan.
We try to seek Allah’s forgiveness and happiness. Why? Because it’s Ramadan.
We avoid seeing, doing or saying ablazic bad things. Why? Because it’s Ramadan.

But what we have to do is, not to be part-time Muslim - Friday Jummu'ah Muslim or just Ramadan Muslims - but a proper Muslim, which consists of 5 daily prayers (not just pray Dhuhr Asr Maghrib and Isha on time, yes it also means battling your duvet to getup for Fajr), observe hijaab- recite regularly- pay zakat- feed the poor, look out for your neighbors and kin- go Hajj/Ummrah if you can afford - Fast – seek for forgiveness and guidance - control your conscious- be kind be humble- avoid evilness. Do good as much as you can.
Because it’s not a pick and choose thing.

- Remember ALLAH PICKS and CHOOSES, we HEAR and OBEY -
no shortcuts.

Saturday, 16 June 2012

PRICE


PRICE
We were so close, 
so close that I could hear her breathing, sense the warm air leaving her sharply featured nose.
 I could hear her heart, pounding…or was it mine….dhag dhag …dhag dhag…..
the beat fastening and loudening every second that passed. I eyed her face, every feature so closely, for before I never had. I could see her eye balls and sensed that she was doing the same for she never came that close too. 
Both of us knew something is about to happen, something we both wanted for so long. We both were thirsty and there was no water around. And then as if we knew what the thirst was and how could it be vindicated.

 The place was drowned in total darkness, pitch black surrounding, but I could still see her, sense her ……was she able to see me ? Yes I guess so , a slight ray of light enlightened her very being from somewhere. Everything was working so perfectly, on its own, as something wanted us this way, all these years it held us together and now here it was. 
Both of us right there in front of each other with hardly an inch of gap between us. And who wanted that, distances had already played their part a lot. I looked into her deep eyes, and had a glance of her. Both of us now so close…..hearts beating ……dhag dhag…dhag dhag ….pace and intensity increasing more and more …..our eyes matched for a second, as if they were asking, saying and getting things answered at the same time. As if it were gestures that ...…yes it is the time ……….our hands motioned ….and the moment they did, I knew somewhere deep inside that something terrible is coming. 
Something we both did not want….!!!


“Sir its 0400, your watch time….!!”

And there it was …………

kia………wt ……… acha, han thek hai …..am up .., coming right away”



And unwillingly, annoyed, half heartedly he forced himself out of his bunk where he just slept after long working hours of a hectic and tiring day, as they were out at sea. Got in to blues, splashed cold water on his face, filled coffee in his mug and there he was again …determined to do his duty.

It’s always the Reality that has to be valued …..and dreams …..dreams what you wish to value, wishes mostly driven by lust and thirst.

Jerk your heads and believe in reality, dream only for what can be valued in reality rest is to be splashed by the cold water. It is the price which you have to pay for your glory.JJ  








Chal oth kaam kar zyada khuwab naa dekh …! 

Wednesday, 7 March 2012

THE LOVE, THE STORY.




THE LOVE THE, THE STORY THE.

I, the paindo the …??
No no no …..I, the very good guy.
And this is my the love, the story the.
This is in full English the.
The English, very good the J
I study from a English medium school the.
Yessssssss, the girls and the boys, same same theJ
You, laughing haaan???
Ok the serious now.
My grandmother said, “my son, one day the very big man.”
But I, no big man L
Know why ??
I tell you the.
When I go to college, the girls very beautiful.
And the love the.
Sumaira, the very cute girl.
Always in the front row, the very very pretty sumaira.
And therefore I love the sumaira.
And yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees, guess what ??
The sumaira also love the meJ
So I in the college ……
The yupieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeJ
But my parents don’t like the sumaira.
Very very sad naa ..??
The mother said
“the girls and the love, the very very bad thing, if you want to be the big man which you the grandmother dreamt, then the study time, the love…..no time….the sumaira….bye bye”
But I, the very good man.
No bye bye to the sumaira.
So I the weep and weep and weep.
The mother, very kind. So she say THE YES…J
And again ….
I ….THE YUPIEEEEEEEEE.
And yes, now the sumaira and me
The husband and the wife.
LLL
You say why I the sad ..???
I tell you ….the mother was the right ……………
Now every day …………
I
The weep, the weep, the weep……..
And what the sumaira …..???
She…………..
The rule, the laugh, the rule, the laugh…..!!

The moral:
The love, the injurious to health…..keep the love …the far, the far, the far…!!


The happies ………the endings…….!!