نوٹ: املا کی بیشمار غلطیاں نظر اینگی کیوں کے یہ میرا پہلا تجربہ ہے کمپیوٹر پی اردو لکھنے کا اور وہ بھی گوگل ٹرانسلیشن کو استعمال کرتے ہوے ، لہٰذا مضمون پی غور کیجئے گا نہ کے املا پی. شکریہ. 

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بچپن میں ایک بات سنی تھی “عشق دریا سمندروں ڈونگا” – اس وقت میری ناقص عقل اس فقرے کے اصل معنی سمجھنے سے قاصر تھی.  چونکے عاجز سائنس کا سٹوڈنٹ تھا، اور علم کی بات جاننے کی حس ہمیشہ حرکت میں رہتی تھی تو بندا مجبورن یہ سوچنے لگ گیا کے شاید عشق کسی دریا کا نام ہے جو دنیا کے کسی ایسے کونے میں ہے جہاں صرف خلائی  مخلوق کی رسائی ہے

ہمارے ایک دوست، نام طیّب بابر، چہرے ایسا کے میرے جیسے سخص کے چار چہرے انکے ایک میں سما جایں، جسم کی تو بات چھوڑ ہی دیجیے ، کسی امیر نائی کی دکان پی لگے بڑے سے حمام کی طرح، ایک آنکھ گول اور ایک خاصی چکور، مہ کھولتے تھے تو دریائی گھوڑے کا منظر نظر کے سامنے رقص کرنے لگ جاتا تھا. ایک دن ہمیں فرمانے لگے، یار عثمان، سنا ہے برمودہ ٹرینگل دنیا کی سب سے گہری جگہ ہے. ہم نے زیادہ غور نہیں کیا انکی بات پی کیونکے ہم انکی فضول بات پی دیہان دے کر اپنی قلفی کا مزہ خراب نہیں کرنا چاہتے تھے، لیکن قلفی ختم ہونے کے بعد ہم ایک عجیب اضطراب کا شکار ہوگے. یہ عشق کا ع اور عشق کا ق تو کل پرسوں کی باتیں ہیں، ہم تو بہت پہلے سے اس کھوج میں تھے کے عشق زیادہ “ڈونگا” ہے یا برمودہ ٹرینگل.

خیر جوں توں کر کے تھوڑے بڑے ہوے، ہوش سمبھالا، چڑھتی جوانی کے ساتھ فلمیں دیکھنے کا شوق در آیا تو معلم ہوا کے اچھا عشق تو پیار محبّت کو کہتے ہیں، اور یہ بیماری تو خسرے کی طرح عام ہے، فرق صرف اتنا ہے کے خسرہ بچپن میں ہوتا ہے اور عشق جوانی میں، خسرہ آپکے جسم پی نشان چھوڑتا ہے، عشق کبھی کبھی روح کو جنھوڑ کے رکھ دیتا ہے، مگر تاثیر دونوں کی ایک سی ہی ہے.

ہمارے زمانے میں لوگوں کے گٹر میں گرنے کا رواج عروج پی تھا، ہر دوسرے دن کسی دوست کی گٹر میں گرنے کی خبر عام ہوتی تھی کیوں کے ہمارے ملک میں گٹروں پی ڈھکن لگانا توہین سمجھا جاتا ہے اور الله میاں سے تو بچپن سے ہے عاجز کے خاص روابط تھے. انہوں نے کبھی مایوس نہیں کیا مسلاّ ایک بار خبر ملی کے فلانا دوست گٹر میں گر گیا، اگلے دن اسکول میں ایک گندے تالاب کے کنارے کھڑے ہو کے ہم سوچ رہے تھے کے اس گند میں گر کے کیسا محسوس ہوتا ہوگا، بس یہ سوچنا تھا کے کسی نے شرارتاً ہمیں دھکا دے دیا اور ہم سیدھا گندگی کے ڈھیر میں جا گرے، ہمیں یہ تو نہیں پتا ہمارے دوست نے کیا سوچا تھا گرنے کے بعد مگر ہماری عقل جواب دے گئی تھی، بدبو ایسی کے تانسن کے سر اکھڑ جایں، سورج نڈھال ہوجائی، بادل اگ برسنے لگیں . الله الله کر کے کسی نے ہمیں نکالا. یہاں تک تو ٹھیک تھا مگر رنج و غم کی کیفیت شدید تب ہوئی جب اسی حالت میں لڑکیوں سے بھری بس میں گھر تک سفرکیا . گھر پہنچے تو والدہ قریب نہ آیں.بدبو

کی ہو چاروں طرف پھیل چکی تھی، والد صاحب جو خود غسل خانے میں تھے، باہر آ کر پوچھنے  لگے کے یہ بدبو کہاں سے آرہی ہے. اسی طرح ایک دن خیال آیا کے جن لوگوں کا ایکسیڈنٹ ہوتا ہے ان کو کیسا محسوس ہوتا ہے، انہی دنوں ہم نے نیی نویلی سائیکل لی تھی، جو ہمارے لئے کوکاف کی پری سے کم نہ تھی، اس پی یہ کے نیا نیا چالیس روپے کا باجا بھی لگوایا تھا جو کوئی بیس کسم کے راگ بجاتا تھا.  اسلام آباد کی پر فضا گلیوں میں ہماری سائیکل ناچتی گاتی لہراتی جاتی تھی. بس ہمیں ایکسیڈنٹ کا خیال انے کی دیر تھی کے ادھر والدہ کو خیال آیا کے گھر میں انار دانا ختم ہوگیا ہے، سو ہمیں حکم دیا کے بازار سے خرید لاؤں. ہم بڑے شوق سے اپنی پری کو رقص کرواتے ابھی گھر کے گیٹ سے باہر ہی  ہوے تھے کے ایک کار کی ٹکر سے نہ صرف ہم زمین بوس ہوے، بلکے وہ تمام ارمان جو ہم نے پری سے مطلق دل میں بسا رکھے تھے، وہ بھی زمین بوس ہوگے. گرنے کے بعد جب پری پی نظر ڈالی تو اسکا کیریئر ہوا میں پنگ پانگ کی گیند کی طرح جھول رہا تھا اور پہیہ خلافت عثمانیہ کے برسغیر کا نقشہ پیش کر رہا تھا ,کچھ سمجھ نہ ائی تو ہم نے رونا شروع کردیا، کار ولا تو فرار ہوچکا تھا مگر ایک لمحے میں ہمارے تمام خواب و ارمان چکنا چور کر گیا تھا.

الله میاں نے جیسے ہمیں پہلے کبھی مایوس نہ کیا تھا تو اب مایوس کرنے کا تو سوال ہے پیدا نہیں ہوتا، بس بدقسمتی یہ کے ایک دن نجانے ذہن کے کس بیکار کونے میں یہ خیال آگیا کے جن کو عشق ہوتا ہے، انکو کیسا محسوس ہوتا ہوگا…

پھر ایک دن الله کی طرف سے “اس” سے ملاقات کا موقع بن گیا. ملاقات سے پہلے تک تو صرف بات عام سی دوستی تک تھی لیکن ملاقات کے بعد دل کے صحرا میں مدّتوں خشک سالی کے بعد جیسے کھل کے ابر برسا ہو. جب اس پی پہلی نگاہ پر تو ایسے معلم ہوا جیسے دنیا جہاں کے سب کیڑے مکوڑے میرے جسم پر رینگنے لگ گئے ہوں، حلق خشک، زبان پی فرونی دور کا وہ تالا لگ گیا جسکی چابی خود فروں نے دریا نیل میں بہا دی تھی. کانوں میں ہما وقت ہزاروں ڈرل مشینوں کی آواز گونجنے لگی. ارے بھیا یہ کیا ہوا، ابھی تو ہم پوری طرح بالغ بھی نہیں ہوے، یا الله یہ کیا ماجرا ہے, محترمہ ہماری حالت زار دیکھ کر یہ سمجھیں کے شاید ہمارا آخری وقت آن پہنچا ہے اور سچ تو یہ ہے کے ہم نے بھی دل میں قلمہ پڑھ لیا  تھا.

الله الله کر کے تھوڑی دیر بعد ہمارے اوسان بحال ہوے تو ایک عام شکل و صورت کی خاتون میرے سامنے موجود تھیں، مگر نجانے کیوں مجھے کوکاف کی پری سے بھی زیادہ خوبصورت لگ رہیں تھیں. کچھ دیر ان کے ساتھ گزرنے کے بعد ہم نے راہ فرار میں ہے غنیمت جانی مگر دل شاید ادھر ہے چھوڑ آے

گھر پہنچتے ہے پہلا کام یہ کیا کے اذان کا بیتابی سے انتظار کیا. نماز پڑھے ویسے بھی صدیاں بیت چکی تھیں مگر اس دن نجانے کیوں دل کیا کے آج تو الله میاں سے دو دو ہاتھ ہو ہی جایں. اذان ہوئی، وضو کیا اور مسجد روانہ ہوگے. گھر سے صرف دو منٹ کی مسافت پی مسجد تھی مگر محسوس ایسا ہو رہا تھا جیسے پیدل کراچی کے سفر کو نکل پڑے ہیں

نماز کی ادائیگی کے بعد مسجد کے ایک کونے میں مراقبے کی حالت میں بیٹھ گئے. کچھ دیر سوچنے کے بعد عرض کی

یا الله جیسے تجھے حوا سے محبّت تھی، مجھے یقین ہے تجھے ویسے ہی حوا کی بیٹی سے بھی محبّت ہوگی لیکن ستم ظریفی یہ ہے کے مجھے بھی حوا کی بہت ساری بیٹیوں میں سے ایک سے محبّت ہوگی ہے.

“حکم ہوا “تو ہم کیا کریں

“بڑے احترم سے عرض کی، “تو نے ہی تو کرنا ہے جو کرنا ہے

“فرمایا “اچھا تو ایک لڑکی کی محبّت تجھے ہمارے در تک لے ہی آی

ہمّت باندھ کے بڑی چالاکی سے جواب دیا “دیکھ الله میاں، یقین کر یاد تو پہلے بھی بہت اتا تھا، مگر ذاتی مصروفیت اتنی تھی کے وقت ہے نہیں ملتا تھا، اب ذاتی مصروفیت بھی میری پیدا کردہ تو نہیں ہیں نہ، تو ہے دن رات

“کو چلاتا ہے، تو ہے سب کا ملک ہے، مصروفیت بھی تیری دی ہی ہے ہیں

فرمایا “تو گویا ایک لڑکی نے تجھے تیری ساری مصروفیت بھلا دیں، اور تو

“ہمارے پاس چلا آیا

“پھر پوچھا  “کبھی نماز پڑھنے کا خیال دل پی گزرا؟

“جواب دیا “نہیں

“پھر حکم ہوا “کبھی رمضان کے علاوہ روزہ رکھا؟

“میں ڈر کے جواب دیتا ہوں “نہیں

“فرمایا “کسی بھوکے کو کھانا کھلایا؟

“جواب دیتا ہوں “نہیں

“فرمایا “کسی یتیم کے سر پی ہاتھ رکھا؟

“جواب دیتا ہوں “نہیں

“مسکراے اور فرمایا “کیا چاہتا ہے

“میں بڑی بے شرمی سے جواب دیتا ہوں “اس لڑکی کو

“حکم ہوتا ہے “بڑا بے شرم ہے تو، چل یہ بتا تجھے پسند کیا آیا

میں جواب دیتا ہوں “حضور اگر تیری بنائی ہوئی ایک مخلوق دوسری کو

“پسند آگئی تو کیا برائی ہے

“فرماتے ہیں “وہ ہمیشہ رہیگی یا میں؟

“میں جواب دیتا ہوں، “ظاہر ہے تو رہیگا

دل میں خیال گزرا کے یہ تو نا ہی ہوگی.

فرمایا “گو کے میں جانتا ہوں مگر یہ پہلی بار تو نہیں کے تو اسی مقصد کے

“لئے آیا ہو

“میں ڈر کے جواب دیتا ہوں “جی ہاں، پہلی بار تو نہیں….

“حکم ہوتا ہے “گویا بندے میں استقامت کی بھی کمی ہے

میں کہتا ہوں “اب جو بھی ہوں، جیسے بھی ہوں، ہوں تو تیرا بندا ہے، میں

“۔نے کدھر جانا ہے، کدھر سے مانگنا ہے سواے تیرے

جواب اتا ہے “اچھا اچھا ٹھیک ہے، دیکھیںگے سوچینگے، اور یاد رکھ، کوئی قابل ہو تو ہم اسکی مانگ اسی وقت پوری کردیتے ہیں، قابل نہ ہو تو اسکو پہلے قابل بناتے ہیں، مگر مانگ کسی کی رد نہیں کرتے، تو ٹھہرا جھوٹا اور مکار، تیری ہم رگ رگ سے واقف ہیں، تو آج اسکا ہے تو کل کسی کا ہوگا ،کیا ہم تجے نہیں جانتے؟ جا اب چلا جا، ہم نے سن لیا ہے تجھے، تیری

“بات سن لی ہے

میں الله میاں سے ڈانٹ سن کے گھر کی طرف دور لگا دیتا ہوں، اور جو تھوڑی بہت امید تھی، وہ بھی ٹوٹ جاتی ہے.

خیر اپنی ذاتی زندگی کو بلائے طاق رکھتے ہوے قصّہ مختصر یہ کے اس کے بعد جو کچھ ہوا اس میں پورا ہاتھ ہماری آنا اور بیوقوفی کا تھا. کبھی کبھی خیال گزرتا ہے کے الله میاں نے تو اپنی پوری کوشش کرلی مجھے سمجھدار بنانے کی مگر ہم نے بھی اتنی ہے کوشش کی کے کہیں ہم سمجھدار نہ ہوجاییں. کسی کے ہونے نہ ہونے سے زیادہ فرق تو نہیں پڑتا بس یہ ہے کے جیسے کسی بیمار سخص کی پیشانی پی کسی مسیحا کا ہاتھ لگ جائے، کسی گلاب کے مرجھانے سے پہلے اسکی خوشبو سے کوئی اسیر ہوجائی، کسی پیاسے پرندے کو صحرا میں تالاب مل جائے،

کسی قیدی کو تختہ دار سے پہلے جنّت کی بشارت مل جائے، کسی کا وقت آسان ہوجاے تو کسی کی آرزو تمام ہوجاے، بس کچھ زیادہ فرق تو نہیں پڑتا، بس اتنا کے جیسے کسی اداس شام میں ٹھنڈی ہوا کا جھونکا سینے کے پار ہوجاے، قحط سالی میں ابر جم کر برس پڑے، فقط اتنا سا فرق، صرف اتنا…

البتہ یہ ہے کے الله میاں جیسا پہلے تھا، ویسا ہے آج بھی ہے، اور ابھی بھی مایوس نہیں ہونے دیتا.

And this is my amateur attempt to translate it into English.

There is no way I can ever reach the essence of this poetry which Faiz meant but yet since because of extreme  likeness for this Ghazal, I thought to translate it. Translation is metaphoric.

گر مجھے اس کا یقین ھو مرے ھمدم مرے دوست

گر مجھے اس کا یقین ھو کہ ِترے دل کی تھکن

If I were sure about you my companion my friend

If I knew debilitation of your desolated heart

تیری آنکھوں کی اداسی ، ترے سینے کی جلن

میری دل جوئی ، مرے پیار سے مٹ جائے گی

Melancholy of your eyes, agony of your soul

Will rest with my care

گر مرا حرفِ تسلّی وہ دوا ھو جس سے

جی اٹھے پھر ترا اجڑا ھوا بے نور دماغ

If my redemptive words can

rejuvenate your abandoned mind

تیری پیشانی سے دھل جائیں یہ تذلیل کے داغ

تیری بیمار جوانی کو شفا ھو جائے

If they can wash away the marks of humiliation

I pray, your dejected youth resuscitates

گر مجھے اس کا یقین ھو مرے ھمدم ، مرے دوست

روز و شب ، شام و سحر میں تجھے بہلاتا رھوں میں

If I were sure about it my companion, my friend
I  would comfort you each day and night

میں تجھے گیت سناتا رھوں ھلکے ، شیریں

آبشاروں کے بہاروں کے ، چمن زاروں کے گیت

گیت آمدِ صبح کے ، مہتاب کے ، سیّاروں کے گیت

With Sweet Ballads of dancing waterfalls

tinkling springs,and bloming gardens

With ballads of unveiling morning, sun and planets.

تجھ سے میں حسن و محبت کی حکایات کہوں

کیسے مغرور حسیناؤں کے برفاب سے جسم

گرم ھاتھوں کی حرارت میں پگھل جاتے ھیں

I would read to you, the mysteries of beauty and love

How icy blue souls of arrogant fairies

melt with the warmth of beloved hands

کیسے اک چہرے کے ٹھہرے ھوئے مانوس نقوش

دیکھتے دیکھتے یک لخت بدل جاتے ھیں

How impressions of familiar faces

Change in a blink of moments.

کس طرح عارضِ محبوب کا شفّاف بلور

یک بیک بادہِ احمر سے دہک جاتا ھے

How the pure crystal of beloved’s instinct

is aflame by red spirits.

کیسے گلچیں کے لئے جھکتی ھے خود شاخِ گلاب

کس طرح رات کا ایوان مہک جاتا ھے

How limp of rose bends itself for Nightingale

How fragrance disperse in alienated nights

یونہی گاتا رھوں ، گاتا رھوں تیری خاطر

گیت ُبنتا رھوں، بیٹھا رھوں تیری خاطر 

The pace of my song may never end
Lest I continue to sing for you

پر مرے گیت ترے دکھ کا ُمداوا ھی نہیں

نغمہ جرّاح نہیں، مونس و غم خوار سہی

I know my songs are not compensation for your grieves
These ballads wont redeem you from sorrows

 گیت نشتر تو نہیں ، مرھم ِ آزار سہی

 تیرے آزار کا چارہ نہیں، نشتر کے سوا

My Ballads are not lancet for your pain,but let them be ointment
Only flem is a solution to your agony

اور یہ سفّاک مسیحا مرے قضے میں نہیں

اس جہاں کے کسی ذی روح کے قبضے میں نہیں

ھاں مگر تیرے سوا ، تیرے سوا ، تیرے سوا

That ferocious liberator is not in my reach
Not in reach of any soul in this locality

But with yourself, yourself and yourself.

فیض

In the absence of light, darkness arises, the kind which prevails over every visible thing. Meanwhile, the presence of steaming mist was already showing its presence by blinding the vision. The ambiance seemed desolated when yet again, the bleakness reigned like an evil spirit, dancing to the beats of crackling thunder. It scared the life out of Jalal when a young little lad slowly appeared through the mist at this hour of the night. It was December, the air was frosty, cold was inevitable yet the young little lad was without shoes or warm clothes.

“What are you doing here?” Jalal asked, curiously.

“I am looking for a piece of bread” the boy replied, trembling with cold.

It was already shivering cold but it shuddered a little more into Jalal, not his body but the soul. The world lives with a strange standards, one man is enjoying every luxury, while another is starving. Who knows beside every cheering face lives a man who is already dead. It’s December, its the time of year when the fog overtakes the city of Lahore, but who knew it already has overtaken humanity.

“Objection overruled”, “Objection overruled” the voice encircled the hall as loud as it could. Your rulers have every right to enslave you and your parents, beat the hell out of your torpid brains. You cannot object their ruthlessness, you cannot object their tyranny, you cannot object their oppression as for you are perplexed to take it on your face. The courtroom was silent, the silence was different, not the kind which frightens you but the kind which brings the tidings of up-coming storms.

“Had you been a little witty, a little sane at the time of voting, you wouldn’t be suffering. Now take it on your face and stop complaining.” The Judge continued.

Suddenly, in a matter of a few moments, Jalal’s memory threw him back amid the mist and young lad.

“Boy!, Come with me” said Jalal and started to walk. The boy followed him till a shop came. Jalal bought him bread and meatloaf. It was a sight for Jalal to see smile followed by tears juxtaposed with optimism and happiness on the face of the boy. The young lad gave him a look and said:

“Thank you Uncle, my mother will pray for you”

And With the packet of bread and meatloaf in his hand, the boy soon disappeared into the mist encircling Jalal with thousands of questions.

I was amazed to see that there are women, children, and people who came up with their bread and butter.

9th Avenue Islamabad which is Sealed from its start. No traffic moves

Jinnah Avenue Islamabad which is also blocked. This is main entrance to Islamabad, the avenue through which TuQ March will enter.

Jinnah Avenue – The entrance to Islamabad

Banner Placed on Jinnah Avenue

People walking near Saudi Pak Tower

Chopper of Rangers on surveillance

Rangers and Police on Buildings.

People resting, some of them were asleep

Chopper of Rangers on surveillance

People resting around.

A man selling coconuts.

A youngster with a Play Card.

@alewarriach and @syyab with a play card

Chanting Slogans

People resting around.

A group coming up to join stage. @syyab and @alewarriach along

People bored of wait play cards.

People bored of wait play cards.

Back side of Saudi Pak Tower, Entrance For Media Personnel only.

Youngsters on Bikes with Pakistani Flags marching towards Blue Area

A pickup van with TuQ Supporters

Youngsters marching with Pakistani flags towards Blue Area

A van full of Naan.

Mob gathered to Protest again the movie that attacked the honor of Prophet PBUH.

Free speech all over the world has some limitations. Every country has a law against any speech that insults the sentiments of a specific group or community

Ernest Zundel, a German painter, political and civil activist and the author of Did Six Million Really Die? was imprisoned for seven years in Canada on the charge of a security threat. He also suffered three attempts on his life and lived facing hatred. Before he was detained by the Canadian Security Intelligence, he had never been convicted for any crime in the 40 years he had spent in Canada.

Francois Duprat, a French historian, writer and educator, author of The Mystery of the Gas Chamber and the publisher of the French version of Did Six Million Really Die? was killed along with his wife when a bomb planted in his car went off. The responsibility for the bombing was accepted by two Jewish groups, JRC and JRG. The perpetrators were never found.

Dr Henri Roques presented the famous thesis in which he concluded that the allegation of mass gassing of Jews was a hoax. The thesis caused an outcry from Jews around the world, eventually forcing the French government to have his doctorate revoked. Roques’ thesis was eventually published under the title of The Confessions of Kurt Gerstien.

The birth of New Germany was subsequent to World War II and the defeat of the Nazi regime. After 1945, the Nazi salute was banned in Germany. Any gesture that is similar to the Nazi salute is considered an insult and a penal offence, hence punishable by three years imprisonment. The reasoning behind this harsh penalty is the long years of war and tyranny of the Nazi party over Germany.

Free speech all over the world has some limitations. Every country has a law against any speech that insults the sentiments of a specific group or community. These laws are applicable to everyone, irrespective of religion, race or ethnicity. In Denmark, according to the Danish Penal Code 266B, any person who publicly makes a statement that insults or degrades a group of persons on account of race, religion or ethnic origin is liable to punishment. Under this Danish law, Jyllands-Posten should have been tried for posting the hateful cartoons about the Prophet (PBUH), but it never happened. The hypocrisy of the Danish law is evident here.

The west has always had double-faced freedom of speech. Countries that are apparently law followers mostly turn out to be lawbreakers when it comes to challenging any concept that is sacred to Muslims. Then the law is overlooked, while when it is against any Jewish, Christian or Semantic belief, the same is applied forcefully.

The integrity and dignity of the Prophet (PBUH) for a Muslim is above all his worldly relations, may it be the supreme relationship of a child with his mother or any other human bond. Muslims around the world can compromise on a number of concepts, but when it comes to the honour, dignity and respect of the Prophet (PBUH), a strict line is drawn. Analogous to the emotions created by infringing the sentiments of the Holocaust victims or the emotional upheaval caused by the Nazi salute, every Muslim is gravely hurt by the smallest gesture or act pointing adversely to the honour and dignity of Prophet Mohammad (PBUH).

The uproar in the international media in the case of Rimsha Masih was appreciable, but the same media has lost its ink when it comes to the matter of the film that has attacked the honour of the Prophet (PBUH), hurting Muslims across the world. The case is indeed sensitive and has called for massive protests all over the world, while the producer is in hiding, being protected by police, whereas in reality he is an offender who should have been tried for producing hateful content.

People like Terry Jones and Sam Becile are also the Taliban in the cover of their American skin. Their ideology of violence and vehemence must also be condemned. The US, which poses itself to be the biggest preacher of peace and human rights in the world, should not turn a deaf ear when it comes to its own citizens who are inciting violence.

Hatred breeds hatred, it can never in turn love. The constant hatred against Islam that is shown by many events in the past is slowly injecting hatred in Muslims against the west. The detestation is doubled when no actions are taken against the people who are spreading it. The west should standardize its laws for everyone, irrespective of religion. It must also keep an eye on people who trigger shameful acts, as all those bad things will harm the world already tainted with problems, and incite more violence.

Published: Op’ed Daily Times

I have a confession, a deep confession which floats inside my heart. I couldn’t make it to your dream, I couldn’t make it to your compassion. I am still me, an orthodox slave who is driven by money, greed and lust.

It felt as bad as jumping into a burning fire when for the first time I sold my soul but then again, after all prostitutes too live and I lived. It doesn’t feels bad anymore, I am moralistically dead. As for to live with morals in my society which is immensely drowned in the deepest caves of lies, corruption, treachery, it costs you a fortune.

Life has been tough in last few years, It seemed strange, hard to engulf the silence, the kind that can put many lives on the edge of a cliff, but it turned out to be a fact that just as everyone I too have lost my tongue against oppression.

Dear Quaid, the country you dreamed of, the state you fantasized is a confused one. We still fight on issues that have no significance. We are still confused if you wanted a secular or a Muslim state, but in the end its the people opinion which matters. Opinions are represented by the slogans, and the slogan which we all know was “Pakistan ka Matlab Kya – La Ilaha Ill Allah”, then why still there’s a fight? I heard your assembly speech as a Governer General in which you clear all the doubts by bluntly saying

“Our Inspiration will be the Golden Principles of Holy Prophet [PBUH]“

You know, the life here is very uncertain now. We are encompassed by the worst degree of sectarian violence. Not just that, we have also gave birth to a new term Political Violence. Many natives of this great country become victim to either domestic, sectarian or political violence daily. The life here is very cheap, the ability to tolerate opponents views is nullified.

I know it can be painful, but it is a harsh reality. Our leaders are fooling us everyday for their political gains, our bureaucrats are prosecuting the nation for their status, feudal lords cant accept to see their slaves progress and amidst all this, a common man dies everyday unnaturally.

I am sorry to cause pain to you, but after all its a fact and I couldn’t put a blind eye to it. I too am a part of all these, after all I too am Pakistani.

How excitingly a man waves Pakistani flag.

Roars in crowd, roars in streets, roars in my room just as when the last over started, Razzak Picking up the ball, looking at it, not just at that ordinary ball but at his fate, his career. It wouldn’t sound obdurate to call Razzak, the play maker.

Just as he take his run-up, the midway run-up which is not long, which is not short, but which that blows up heart beat of Millions of Pakistanis, who are looking at skies for wonder with their hands raised and lips synced with prayers.

As he ran up, the crowd went up, the roars turned into pandemonium, the crackling went loud, and it was a shot, a single run shot. The convention continued for few balls when a sixer was hit, thus leveling the score, perhaps it would be appropriate to say, it leveled the expectations of millions of Pakistani’s across the globe watching the match.

One run to go, the team gathers, plans, thinks while the crowd hiding their dismayed faces, cleaning the sweaty foreheads look at them. Razzak lines up, takes another runway, it seemed as if the time has stopped, it perhaps took him centuries to reach the wicket and deliver the ball, and yes he delivers it.

The ball went up in the air, expressions has lost their meaning, sea of faces are unsure of whats going to happen, just as when Imran Nazir with a feared face takes it. There’s a joy, there’s a sense of victory, the crowd dances, the crowd smiles, the crowd grins.

Superover is now going to decide the match, I have the worst heart-beat, goes fast, and suddenly stops and then again starts. Within the space of few minutes, Australian players take up the pitch, making total of 12 runs for Pakistan to win.

Here comes Umar Akmal and Razzak, the Razzak who I knew of aggression, all hopes up, tied with two person, sole two persons. The victory on run, in business with 6 balls.

Cummins runs up, runs up the expectations of Pakistanis just as when Umar Akmal missed the first ball. The fear juxtaposed with hope is now waving smirk. Its all right, I am sure Umar Akmal can do it.

Cummins runs up again, he delivers and here’s a strike, Time stopped unless the ball crossed the boundary, and yes its a four. The crowd is rejuvenating again, the kind you give fresh water to thirsty dieing man. All hopes resurrected, whats next is the question that is beating with every heart.

Thousands of people look at skies again, asking for wonder, asking for Allah’s help, and yes that is what a Muslim is. He knows what nobody can do is what Allah can do. Here’s again another ball which Umar Akmal tries to strike again but couldn’t make it to bat and runs. Its a single. The public which stood up with the ball is now back at the seat hoping for miracle to happen.

Razzak comes on strike, Cummins is on way, delivers and here’s another strike. The ball crossed boundary again, Its 2 balls now, 3 runs.

Time has stopped again, centuries went past, heart beats are fast, faster than the whole match, Cummings delivers the ball and its single again. 1 ball, two runs.

Some with the sad smiles are praying, some are just hoping. Everyone is unaware of whats happening around the world, those few moments, those mere few moments are heavier than everything.

Cummins gets under pressured, not sure what to do, delivers a tall, a very tall wide ball. The next ball, and yes its a victory Allhamdullilah.

I am done, I am down to earth, I am prostrating to Allah swt for victory, so does the Millions. Its unbelievable and equally amazing how a small cricket time can unite this very nation which is divided in hundreds of things.

May Allah gives us more unity on every issue.

Nothing changes by itself. Let us stand up as a nation before it is too late. Let us face the stark truth, the truth that is unpleasant and bitter 

As I started walking towards my house, it was nearing dawn. The stars were busy in their usual dance and not a cloud wavered in the skies, but in a matter of minutes, the breathtaking scene turned into a horrific nightmare. The crackling of thunder sent a numbing sensation through my body. The lightning, blinding my eyes tilted all perceptions into an odd axis. An instinct of urgency spurred me to walk faster. In a space of moments, the drizzle turned into a storm. Every drop felt like a storm in form and feel.

I had never seen such a horrible storm in my whole life. A golden dawn was covered by black clouds showering rain worse than acid. After stumbling through the ruthless storm, I finally caught a glimpse of my house, and as I got closer, I realised the storm was only around the area of my house. By the time I got at the entrance, the storm had reached an incomparable ferocity.

As I entered my house, I could not believe it was my abode. There were many people there; they seemed to in millions — of different colours, different races, and different languages. Before I could recover from the shock, a beast jumped in. It was enormous, a beast probably bigger than the Empire State Building. I witnessed a sea of faces going pale in a matter of seconds. Fear was in the air and everyone was breathing it. Adding to that the howl of beast played the whistle of death for everyone. People started to die, one after the other; I could see the bodies falling. House that was not home anymore, bodies that were not alive anymore. Hell must be a better place than this; that was the only thought to hit my mind. I was witnessing something worse than hell. Before the beast started to make the bodies his food, I saw my house collapsing, walls going down one by one, and I ran towards the exit. Before the last wall of my home fell down, I realised it was not my home, it was Pakistan.

As I woke up, a transition from darkness to brightness started, splashes of white light ascended on the dark curtain. A cool breeze welcomed me into a different world. The sweat dripping down my brow felt as if it had just rained. It was another storm but this time it was in my head, the storm of thoughts that was hitting my already occupied mind. Soon the blurred dream cleared, the questions answered themselves. I realised something: the beast lives somewhere in our twisty heads. It is feeble and small, but it grows when we silence our voices against the corruption. It develops when we close our eyes to injustice. It laughs when we support nepotism. It dances when tyranny prevails. We ignore it every day, becoming more and more indifferent, and that apathy is making it stronger.

Our ancestors dreamed of a land, they struggled for it, sacrificed for it, not to throw it on the mercy of people who do not have the moral courage to stand for a cause. The country was on the path of development when poison of bad governance went through the veins of leaders. It spread like an epidemic among the people in power, slowly but precisely polishing their lust of greed. One after another, rulers worse than Pedro the Cruel damaged my land.

There was an argument in the last decade, which with time had become the most used argument: ‘Pakistan had been subject to dictatorship for a long time’. We all thought that there might be a shelter in the safe shadow of democracy; perhaps, the dictatorship has ruined our rights and wills. Who knew in coming years, people would recall the dictator’s reign with songs of nightingale. The democracy for which we fought for has disabled our minds and souls.

We do not have basic necessities of life. In this era of nanotechnology when the world has made weapons as small as the size of a fly, we still desperately wait for electricity, water and CNG. The illness of the people of this nation has endorsed the already evil minds of our rulers. The silence will lead us nowhere.

We must awaken ourselves. Our home is ablaze, and the time has come when the blazes will engulf our very souls. Let us wake up before it is too late. Let us give a little motion to our tongues and our act. For, no miracle awaits you amidst crises, but miracles are materialised by the will and want of people. It happens when they believe in themselves and stand for a change, when they raise their voice against tyranny and when they look in the face of aggression fearlessly. Nothing changes by itself. Let us stand up as a nation before it is too late. Let us face the stark truth, the truth that is unpleasant and bitter. We are developing the beast into a barbarian monster. With this height of apathy, I am afraid someday the beast might become real and destroy us.

Published as Op’ed in Daily Times : http://www.dailytimes.com.pk/default.asp?page=20128\16\story_16-8-2012_pg3_6

Protesting against the blockade of Water supply.

We are humans, not animals, we have needs just like any other creature, we also stink when we dont bath for long, we have desires to be clean. I am sure you won’t like it when you are stinky just because your home is out of water. You won’t either like to smell as skunk. We the residers of Islamabad who are not ministers, who are not secretaries in a government office. we the people who are as common as a goat which doesn’t have a market before Bakra Eid. We are in dire need of water to keep ourself clean and perform other neccessary human traits.

You know the absense of water is turning us into a wild animal who can dung anywhere, who can pee anywhere, which also doesnt care about his apperance. But since we are still humans, we care about it. We are still shy to dung in the middle of a highway, we are still shy to pee at a place where there’s a line “Yahan per Pishaap karna Mana hai”, and above all it feels strangest to take bath in the washroom of office.

Perhaps, the lust of authority has exempted you to think about the general public who is suffering everyday on your hand. Trust me, you are not earning any virtues, I curse and woe you everyday. I don’t want to curse anyone but at times the things go beyond the limits of human tolerance and then unthinkingly I curse you. You know how hard is it to complain for a water tanker? Its three times that we have to get into a line to get a water tanker for which we pay. At first, you have to get in line to write down your name and then before 2 am, you have to be there to assure that you need a tanker and then again at 5 am, you have to be at complaint center in person to re-assure that you need a water tanker for your home. And then again I curse you.

One last thing I want to remind you, the CDA is doing everything to prove it wrong that “Cleaniness is half of Imaan”, please dont be a fresh god of era as all the gods in past had a moralful ending. Please respect us and our pleed. Thank you.