A Wake Up Call

Sometimes in life, you need a shock treatment to wake you up. This morning proved to be a wakeup call for me.

Previous night’s joviality from a friend's wedding was still fresh in my mind when I began the day with the excitement of Halwa Pori breakfast with friends and a wedding of another buddy planned for the night.

After setting out the table, I decided to quickly make Sher Khorma for the guest, with a maid by my side who was cooking parathas. During a casual talk, she started to weep. She shared that she wanted to visit some syed peer this evening. On my display of curiosity to know the reason, she said that her husband is jobless. She further said that she left her children sleeping today, and dint cook breakfast either. I wondered why dint she cook anything. She looked at me with tears flowing down her cheeks and replied,

″I swear, there was nothing to cook.″

Her tears drowned me in the filth of my own contentment. Her words pierced my heart. And her distress left me paralyzed and speechless.

She continued to work leaving my eyes fixed on all the food stacked in cabinets, a refrigerator packed with fruits, meals of all kinds and so much extra that was just there to delight… and her hands... that were rolling paratha for someone else while her own children were asleep with an empty stomach.

An echo of my father telling me stories about Ahl e Bait AS e Rasool SAW, and the three days when they had a fast and on all three nights they gave away all that they had to a hungry beggar.

Every single thing that I ever read about Imam Ali Ibn Hussain As and Imam Ali As, that they used to carry bags full of food and used to secretly deliver it to the doorstep of the poor every night, flashed back. My head bowed down in embarrassment in front of Rasool Allah SAW remembering that he said that you are not momin if your stomachs are full while your neighbors sleep hungry.

Her tears were a slap on my face. They exhibit my ignorance, my selfishness, my ego. While I was busy showing off my love for God... talking about ISHQ… I overlooked the ones whom He loves the most.

I found myself isolated in a fort with walls of ego that are plastered with contentment of being right! Thick curtains of ignorance have darkened the surroundings. Any beam of light that enters, gets lost in the hollowness of the adobe.

Her tears did crack a wall. They will stay with me every time I eat. It now scares me to spend hundreds on just a meal for my own self… for the sake of enjoyment and not to survive. That same money can give such families enough food to last for two days.

It’s painful when our fort trembles down, in the same way as if someone lived in dungeons throughout his live and for the first times he opens his eyes that are sensitive to the light.

photo credit

http://www.flickr.com/photos/nygus/

I am a Sculptor, a Molder of Form

I am a sculptor, a molder of form.
In every moment I shape an idol.
But then, in front of you, I melt them down
I can rouse a hundred forms
and fill them with spirit,
but when I look into your face,
I want to throw them in the fire.
My souls spills into yours and is blended.
Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance,
I cherish it.
Every drop of blood I spill
informs the earth,
I merge with my Beloved
when I participate in love.
In this house of mud and water,
my heart has fallen to ruins.
Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave

Dewan e Shamsi

Rumi

photo

http://www.flickr.com/photos/oaspetele_de_piatra/

The Journey Begins..

The stars look dimmer tonight and the grieving silence of the air signals a storm is bond to come. Hearts feel weaker as the seconds pass by. The thought of departing from the sight of my Lord is leaving even more burden on my heart… darkness just keeps thickening... and the stillness is getting dense... But at least I can see my lord tonight… at least the city is still bright and radiant with his presence... The city is still drowned in his fragrance... but sand seems to be crying like a child … it doesn’t want His feet to leave its grounds…why should it not weep…after all these feet have grown old on its surface.. How could it bear the separation…it seems even the skies are shedding tears.... and hearts have forgotten to beat...

Ah...It’s the last night with the grandson of Muhammad SAW... It’s the last night of Hussain AS in Madina…

They say that the greatest ones will accompany him on his journey… and I am not one of them.

کنعان محمد کے حسینوں کا سفر ہے
خورشید لقا،زہرا جبینوں کا سفر ہے

چھٹتا ہے وطن،گوشہ نشینوں کا سفر ہے

اک دن کا نہیں کوچ،مہینوں کاسفر ہے

گل رو چمن خلد میں جانے کو چلے ہیں

گھر چھوڑ کے جنگل کے بسانے کو چلے ہیں

گردش ہے اب،اور فاطمہ زہرا کا قمر ہے

ایک ایک قدم راہ میں لٹ جانے کا ڈر ہے

بستی ہے رستے میں کسی جا،نہ شجر ہے

درپیش ہے سختی،کہ پہاڑوں کا سفر ہے
گرمی میں گرفتار محن ہوتے ہیں شبیر

اک غل ہے کہ آوارہ وطن ہوتے ہیں شبیر

میر انیس

......................................................................................................
An unexplainable mood made me wander into the night before 28th Rajab 61 Hij…When Imam Hussain as left Madina on a journey guided by Ishq. It’s the night of 27th Rajab 1430 Hijra. I can’t overcome the fact that I was not the best one to accompany him. The finest ones were born when they were needed.
Mir Anees says in his mersiya that we recite in our majalis as we mourn tonight recalling the painful memories of this journey...
" Kunan-e- Muhammad (saw) kay haseenon ka safar hai..."

The Flight

The mystifying wind outside is stirring strange sensations within me.....

How should the soul not take wings

when from the Glory of God

It hears a sweet, kindly call:

"Why are you here, soul? Arise!"

How should a fish not leap fast

into the sea form dry land

When from the ocean so cool

the sound of the waves reaches it

How should the falcon not fly

back to his king from the hunt

When from the falconer's drum

it hears to call:"Oh, come back"?

Why should not every Sufi

begin to dance atom-like

Around the Sun of duration

that saves from impermanence?

What graciousness and what beauty?

What life-bestowing! What grace!

If anyone does without that,

woe-what err, what suffering!

Oh fly , oh fly, O my soul-bird,

fly to your primordial home!

You have escaped from the cage now-

your wings are spread in the air.

Oh travel from brackish water

now to the fountain of life!

-Rumi

Aik Hain Hum Aur Aik Hai Pakistan!

WE are ONE and so is PAKISTAN !

Last night, I was coming back from market; It was a Saturday night, and oddly, streets were empty, the small food shops were deserted, bakeries abandoned even the beggars were out of sight. We stopped at a tandoor to get some naans for dinner. Unusually, the lights were dimmed and the Tandoor seemed closed. As our taxi stopped, I noticed 3 shadowy figures move hesitantly. They wore prayer caps and had tasbeeh in their hands; they seemed alarmed with our presence.

When our driver returned with Naans, he told us that the shop owner is Phakhtoon; they are so terrified with latest incidents of Phakhtoon killings that they have camouflaged themselves in the gloomy darkness of the shop and prayed to find solace and to be secure!

A sharp twinge traveled deep into my heart. We keep on hearing such news, but witnessing the reality was awfully agonizing. News is not always false its not always aggrandized. Our own people are not sensing protection within their own domains. Our streets are no longer an extension of our homes. They have become corridors of crime.

We have always been one.. We have always been Pakistanis. Then what happened? Did we fell asleep and became ignorant of what has been happening in the background? Or we were well aware of noiseless movements, those invisible objects being re assembled.. We did hear those whispers but were not able to make out the meanings. We did notice those changes but that dint affect us, and how could it when we already had so many other things to worry about.

These thoughts invaded my mind. I could hear the classic national song “Sindh, Sarhad, Punjab Baluchistan…Aik hian hum aur aik hai Pakistan” and could see all those childhood memories of school assemblies, in which four students enthusiastically represented four provinces and lovingly hugged each other under Pakistani Flag... Just like brothers.

At least that’s what we saw and felt as children but will our children be chanting the same song? Will they still have same four friends to inspire them? Or will they see one shooting all three one after the other and then painting the green and white flag his own?

I am not trying to portray the worst picture here. But I think it’s about time that we should open our eyes and ears and confront the reality.

If we don’t want those four buddies to kill each other, we must notice those extras, unwanted characters on the stage; some are behind that curtain at the back… who are whispering in the ears of the friends, who are trying to edit the script. They are going to ruin the show! As soon as one of the friends is left behind, as soon as their strength weakens, these characters are going to stab him as well. They will shredder the flag and now the stage will be their own along with the silent, stunned audience; us!

Let’s wake up! Let’s pull that curtain down! Lets unmask those faces! Let’s rise up and swamp the stage, push those uninvited characters off the stage. Encircle those young brothers and let them be ONE!

~ Zahra

photo source:

ISHQ : The Sea of Love

نیک خواھانم نصیت می کنند... خشت بر دریا زدن بی حاصل است

شوق رابر صبر قوت غالب است ...عقل رابر عشق دعوی باطل است

My friends advise me that a wall can’t be built on the surface of water

Desire overrules Patience---Claim of wisdom in Love is false.

Verses by Sa'adi

For the Sake of Welfare

Rumbling train, trembling walls and shivering floors, were the few things that I noticed when I reached a private welfare school here in Karachi.

It was a fine morning; my heart was filled with excitement to visit a welfare center along with a group of O level students who wanted to spend a day for others. Sadly that feeling withered away as we reached the venue.

A slim door opened into a narrow, congested and a ceiling-less corridor. Right beside the door was a confine bathroom with a dented door. Facing it was a huge blue drum with a tap attached, beneath that an empty paint bucket was placed. On my right was a tall rack stacked with little dusty chappals. Some dead plants added to the depressing ambiance. 

As I took few steps inwards, it was heart rendering to see a whole row of tiny chairs with broken seats arranged adjacent to a wall. Classes were being conducted in room with partially covered ceiling and with walls encrusted with dust; students were settled on floor mats.

On one side of the picture was a tear jerking sight of innocent kids with little, bare feet, muddled hair, inconsistently uniformed and variably placed in classes without chairs, space and even without a proper roof and on the other hand was the discourteous attitude of the principal with volunteers who went to help them out. Well, I rather not go there.

Principal’s filled to capacity workplace, served multiple purposes. Besides being an office, it was a library, store room, dining room and even acted as a staff room. One door opened into a classroom, the other one into a small passage that could be called an exit. This passage was divided by a curtain into half; on the other side of the curtain was a filthy, fetid bathroom.

 While talking to the teachers, I made some astonishing discoveries. The teachers there had to go through a series of 2-3 year Urdu pronunciation program before they could teach students of KG! According to one senior and the most qualified teacher, she had to spend 2 years just to work on Urdu pronunciation and it was a tough course!

My heart sank and I felt I was sitting in an adobe whose base was so vulnerable, pillars too brittle; I felt the roof will rumble down anytime taking all of us with it.

Every second that I spent there made my heart heavier, partially, to see melancholy of young people; primarily, because misery was being imposed on them.

My pption of the scenario was at polarity with the common point of view. I was raged to observe that such welfare organizations are just portraying these chaste children as a symbol of misfortune, for me the organization it self was disparage in the name of “welfare”. It is no more than bandwagon.

I fail to understand the purpose of useless, broken chairs placed at the entrance when they have low desks and floor mats for the class. I can not comprehend the logic behind Urdu pronunciation course as compulsory for teachers of kindergarten. I can not grasp the purpose of such institutions. I can not foresight the future of students of such schools.

 If an organization is so impoverished and penniless, why in the world they open tens of branches all over the city with same pitiable conditions? Wont it be better to have only one center but with standards of education and teaching? A safe and pleasing place with uplifting milieu... There is no point of such schools if they can not provide something better for the kids.

I urge the government to fortify the educational standards and I request such welfare organizations to have an infrastructure and not to initiate such projects if you are already broke. It is a good thing for all of us to give something to others; every one should contribute, but let’s not embark on something with a hope to get funds.Please don’t play with the lives of these kids. They are going to so called schools but are they really learning anything? What ever people contribute dose it affect kid’s live at all? 

Let’s taste the bitter truth. It dose not!