Lament for your sickness, and God won’t grant you death

It was a story about an old merchant, who lived a seemly and God-fearing life with his family, and went once with a comrade, a rich merchant, to the Makary.

Having stopped at an inn, the two merchants went to bed, and the next day the comrade was found murdered and robbed. The bloody knife was found under the old merchant’s pillow. The merchant was tried, punished with the knout, and, having had his nostrils slit, was sent to hard labor.

And so ten years or more go by after this affair. The old man lives at hard labor. Duly submits, does nothing bad. Only asks God for death. Good. And the convicts got together, a nightly thing, and the old man was with them. They started talking about who suffers for what, and what he’s guilty of before God. They began telling: this one killed a man, that one killed two, another set a fire, another was a runaway, so he did nothing. They started asking the old man: ‘What are you suffering for, grandpa?’ ‘I, my dear brothers,’ he says, ‘am suffering for my own and other people’s sins. I didn’t kill anybody, or take anything that wasn’t mine, but even gave to beggars. I, my dear brothers, was a merchant; I had great wealth.’ Thus and so, he says. That is, he told them how the whole thing went, in proper order. ‘I don’t grieve over myself,’ he says. ‘God, that is, has found me. I only pity my old woman and children.’ And so the old man wept. In their company there happened to be the very man who had killed the merchant. ‘Where did it happen, grandpa?’ he says. ‘When, in what month?’—he asked everything. His heart ached inside him. He goes up to the old man and—plop at his feet. ‘You’re perishing because of me, old man. It’s the real truth. This man is suffering, lads,’ he says, ‘guiltlessly and needlessly. I did that deed,’ he says, ‘and put the knife under your head while you slept. Forgive me, grandpa,’ he says, ‘for Christ’s sake.’”

And the old man says: ‘God will forgive you, and we’re all sinful before God, I’m suffering for my own sins.’ And he wept bitter tears. And what do you think, little falcon? This same murderer denounced himself to the authorities. ‘I killed six men,’ he says (he was a great villain), ‘but I’m sorriest for this old man. Let him not lament on account of me.’ He declared it: they wrote it down, duly sent a letter. This was a far-off place, it was a while before everything got done, all the papers filled out as they ought, to the authorities, that is. It went all the way to the Tsar. Time passed, the Tsar’s ukase came: release the merchant, give him a reward, as much as they decided. The paper came, they started searching for the old man. Where’s that old man who has suffered guiltlessly and needlessly? A paper has come from the Tsar. They started searching. But God had already forgiven him—he was dead.

(War & Peace – Leo Tolstoy – Page 1062)

Father’s Love

If a child is drowning and both his parents are around, who will jump into the lake without thinking? The father
If a child is sick and needs a blood donation, who would be the first one to have his blood group checked? The father
Who is the person who listens to the bullshit of his boss and tolerates workforce injustices to keep things going on at home? The father
Which is the most underrated love in the world? A father’s love.
There is quite a lot of poetry full of mother’s love. But the one who cries secretly, who earns day and night, who only has a relaxed time on the weekend, who is only happy at the success of his children, and who would jump in the lake without any swimming experience just to save his child or to die with him, is only a father.
Have you ever been to a Guardian Court?
You must visit.
It is just like an ICU; there is no blood, but blood relations. There are the strongest of emotions. There are fathers spending thousands of Rupees just to visit their children for a couple of hours a month.
They bring gifts. They bring toys. They bring money. Yet they are treated harshly by the law and by the judges. They are treated badly by the mothers of their children. They are abused verbally and physically. Yet they don’t give up. They keep standing like a tree in the worst storm.
A mother’s love can be expressed in words, that is why there are poems and quotes on it.
A father’s love is beyond that. Words cannot do justice to it. You may try but it won’t be able to cover a fraction of the love behind.
Do you know the strongest relation made by Allah in this world? It is between a father and his daughter.

May your soul rest in peace

You may live long and then die after years of health problems and hundreds of medicines.
You may die in a hospital after two or three surgeries.
You may die of battling cancer for five years.
You may die in a road accident.
You may die in an earthquake after being trapped under your own house for 10 days.
You may die suddenly. Of heart attack. Or a bullet in your head. A young death… Least brutal of all but most mournful.

People shouldn’t be afraid of death. They should be afraid of life and afterlife. The only break and moment of peace will be in death only.

May your soul rest in peace.

The Verdict

Finally, the day had come. The judge asked him to speak. As the other party never showed up in their defense, it was an open and shut case. And it was finally his time to speak.
And he spoke.
He spoke for 20 minutes.
He said all those things. He told all the truth.
Not a single lie. No fabrication.
The judge was mute the whole time. He didn’t know what to say.
It was a unique case for the judge, for the lawyer, and for the people sitting around the court room.
In family courts, the cases are mostly filed by women. They file cases for child support, for monthly payments, for dowry misuse and for physical abuse.
This was a case where a guy pleaded to be allowed legally to pay for his kid, to be allowed to have custody, or at least regular visitations enforced by law, and for all expenditures of his kid to be directed to him.
This was strange. Court rooms don’t see things like that.
And he spoke. The whole court room listened. He couldn’t be bothered about who was listening.
He made rare eye contact with the judge.
His frequent eye contact was with a smiling picture behind the judge.
The picture that had told him to stay strong, be patient, and fight for the right cause till death for the last 1 year. He did.
That picture was the only sane voice that he had heard at courtrooms in all those hearings.
The man in the picture was Jinnah .
He stood like Jinnah, he waited like Jinnah, and that day, he spoke like Jinnah.
Jinnah stood for a whole nation. He stood for his whole world.

The last thing of the day was that the judge gave the verdict. A verdict like Jinnah.

Lustful Society

It wasn’t easy for him to put his reputation on stake for a single erection. But he had to. He was out of control. He took his student, a little angel. He ruined that angel. He raped her. And then he killed her. It was just an erection which society couldn’t understand.

Hell of a society it is which thinks from underwear/underpants. Those who cannot perform are addicted too. Horny!

He went to Dubai to earn a living for his family; his father, mother, wife, and a son. But one day, an erection and a seduction destroyed his life. His father told him to divorce his wife so that he can marry her. What? Well he fucked up. After crying, abusing, and requesting, he asked about his son; “you are a grandfather and I am a father of that son, what is his sin?” His father hung up. He called his wife; she said she can’t do anything. She needs a physical existence of a husband too.

Well she was right. Two years back, she needed financial support. Now she needed physical presence of a man in his bed… be it any man.

And here is another story. He was a banker. He got consistent promotions. His salary was increasing every year, so as his frustration. He couldn’t handle it anymore. One day out of frustration, he put his hand on an internee’s thigh. She was shocked. What should she do? Should she yell? Should she complain? Should she slap him? Or should she “I will recommend you for the permanent job” let it go. She let it go. It initiated her a decent career.

He used to teach numerous kids in his mosque. He liked one of the kids. The kid was beautiful and fair. He was not gay, but a little pedophile. Mostly he was into women… his wives. But that day he couldn’t control. He punished the kid not to go home until the lesson is learnt. The lesson was learnt a little before 9 pm, with blood dripping from his back. A little erection, which couldn’t satisfy his wives ever, destroyed a life forever.

I am a slow learner. I am always a slow learner. I blamed erections for this messed up society. What if there is dysfunction? So here is another story. He knew he couldn’t perform. He tried on prostitutes. He tried on eunuchs. No success. Eunuchs made fun of him. His parents forced him to marriage. He told his father he cannot perform. His father told him other ways, like test tube baby options. On the wedding night, he did it… without erection. Another life was ruined.

There are lusty bus driver with evil in their eyes and in between the thighs. Every fifth second, they have to touch themselves to align and reposition. They are pretty good to judge a woman, her figure, her curves, her character, her age, her sexual experience, and her ultimate desire to feel their moustaches. Their sudden hit of breaks, so that ladies leap on them. Then there are van drivers. Their hands remain on gears within which they have little feelings of thighs. They know the ladies want it. It happens rarely when a woman complains. They keep on shrinking in their volume, in their own world, in their own self.

You want me to narrate more stories. May be you are enjoying. I know. People read rape news with a little sensation, a little appreciation, and sometimes a little erection too. Publishers try to put extra details into rape news with the limited words they use. All is dependent on your vulgar imagination, browsing experience, and addiction to porn… according to which you imagine a colorfully blue film.

This is the world which has developed after centuries of learning, knowledge, Prophets, Divine Books, philosophies, virtues, Sufism, culture, values…

Dilemma is: there is another world to be seen yet; inferno.

Question is: if hell is to be seen yet, then what it is it now?

The Bank and its Guards

This story is about a bank which was robbed by its own guards. The bankers forgave the guards and increased their budget so that they would be happier and would refrain from robbery.

However, after only a couple of months, the bank was robbed again. The bankers retaliated in whispers. They bickered among themselves but acted that everything was fine. Nobody wanted to lead in firing the guards. The bankers were afraid of guns. And so they became afraid of their own guards.

Nothing was done and a habit was formed: the bank was consistently looted by its guards.

Often the bankers would hand over the money to the guards themselves.

The entire system of the bank changed. The bankers started to salute the guards. In order to ensure the smooth functioning of the bank, it was necessary to respect the guards like saviors. Saluting took a 180 degree turn and was made mandatory.

The chief of the guards was an intelligent man. He knew that as long as the Bank Manager believed that he was running the bank and the bankers did not overcome their fear of guns, they could do whatever they wanted. The bankers loved him because he was the head of their security. They would shout slogans to show their support of the guards on occasions like the Annual Bank Holiday and Banker’s Day. There would be a huge celebration with fireworks and awards would be handed out to the guards for their contribution to the bank.

Then came a new Bank Manager. He called the Chief Guard for a meeting. After a heated debate, the Chief Guard was dismissed from service. Before leaving, the Chief Guard ordered his guards to loot the bank. The Bank Manager was shot dead.

The bankers became afraid and began singing their slogans.

The situation was contained.

The guards were in official power. One of the cashiers was made the new Bank Manager while the Chief Guard ran the show. The Chief Guard made a new building besides the bank where he shifted the guards.

The security budget was gradually increased to around 50% as the bank was not safe and was looted again and again. The Bank Manager allowed the guards to take any measures without prior permission for the safety and wellbeing of the bank.

Due to consistent bickering, whisperings and mini-conspiracies by the thinking bankers against the guards, there was need of a spy. A spy was hired from within the bank. The spy made his roots within the departments of the bank. He would inform the guards of any suspicious activity and the suspect would be abducted clandestinely.

The spy was known and unknown at the same time. Sometimes the bankers would be convinced of his goodness and loyalty. At other times, they would suspect the spy. If the spy would suspect that a banker suspected him, that banker would go missing.

There was an operational manager who used to talk against the guards. He found some proofs against them. Then someone found him in the washroom; dead.

Today, a banker was killed while she was getting ready to go home. She was shot five times.

She was suspected to talk to the office boys. She helped the office boys as they were financially very weak. She also encouraged them and wanted to educate them about their legal rights. She was warned by the spy to stop her activities.

She did not listen.

She was punished for treason.

With All Due Respect My Lord!

My Lord! You don’t know how much I’m going to love You and You cannot imagine the passionate sajdah that I will offer right on that moment of reunion… that sajdah which is better than a thousand nights of worship.

With all due respect my Lord! You cannot imagine it because you are not me.

Because you are not a human being

Because you are not in pain

Because you are not me, like I’m not You.

This is a relation between You and I

I ask,

I bear,

I cry,

I serve,

I accept,

I bleed,

I weep.

And You?

You give,

And forgive.

Just give me!

And forgive me!

Epidemic Sickness

Walli is sick. He knows that the whole world around him is sick. This society is sick.

His university is sick with plaguing sickness all around the obvious and clandestine corners.

The gardens are sick with bold flowers wandering and seeking a hidden place… somewhere behind a tree or on a bench.

His city is sick. His country is sick. His whole damn world is sick…

Worshippers in the mosques are sick. They have strange infatuations. They commit what the sinners don’t dare to.

Crowd of the city can turn into a mob within seconds. Sick mobs are around the cities. Burning a person is like burning a matchstick.

A well-dressed man on-his-routine can be killed with a fragile reason by anyone.

The sickness is hounding at a stinking level. One sick man will beat another man. And then all the men around will be plagued to the same sickness and will start beating that unfortunate human being. Then thousands of sick people will gather… they will beat, they will strip him naked, they will kick on his parts, and then they will burn him to death.

Then I think who is more unfortunate: those who are burning or those who are burned?

Animals have certainly more privilege than…

Sick words!

Sick world!

Pain should be Felt

I know this pain and living with it for many months now. But I hide it and I hide it very well.

Initially i mentioned it to some friends and peers, but no one has the eyes, heart, and aura which I have… because it is my pain. It is not because others are selfish but because it is my share of pain which I have to live with in this immense universe.

I am happy because I have seen others with different and insane kinds of pain too.

The biggest pain is the departure of a loved one. One is where there is no hope to meet again; at least not in this world. Then there is another kind of pain where there is hope but no chance. This latter one is ruthless… it gets inside until it reaches your bone marrow and then it turns out like a cancer.

I live in my own world. I live in my own abyss. I am victim of pain too, just like you. But my pain is cold blooded.

As they say about pain is that it should be felt. I not only feel my pain, but I feed it too. I nourish it. I will keep on nourishing it until one of us will die. 

This is a pain of a father living without his daughter. Both living in one city but forced to live apart due to the modern society we have developed in over 6,000 years.

Hypocrites against Blasphemy

I don’t know the punishment of blasphemy. In fact I don’t know when it is blasphemy or when it is not. When it comes to making of cartoons of religious figures, it is blasphemy. But what is the punishment for it? I don’t know. No one knows as it seems. Different religious scholars have different theories. Some favor punishment and others are of the view that ignoring them is the best response.

I don’t know what the punishment is when the blasphemer is non-Muslim.

But I do have certain arguments. People, who were laughing out loud on Pk movie regarding fun made of Hinduism, are the same who are showing approval regarding mass killing of editors and cartoonists in Paris, France. Isn’t it hypocrisy?

Those who believe Denmark and France are committing blasphemy should also boycott movies like Pk and should condemn where ever there is mockery of religion or holy personalities regardless of any religion.

We don’t need to go into Islamic details to find out where we stand on our personal levels of hypocrisy. We laugh on the most vulgar and abusive jokes of stage dramas, but we get angry when someone abuses us.

Why do we like someone else punished for the actions which we ourselves have as habits? Isn’t blasphemy happening all over Pakistan and other Muslim countries in different forms?

The couple burned in Kot Radha Kishan was not convicted of blasphemy. All those who burned them were actually the blasphemers.

Islam is the religion of peace for the whole world. Islam teaches us to be respectful to all religions and humans. It frustrates me when people make fun of Islam. I feel gutted. But when others (only some of them) are making fun of our religion, we are killing them in the name of the same religion. Isn’t it a major hypocrisy and a major sin?

How are we going to preach them in future? How are we going to have religious debates with them? And how they will understand us when we have pistol in one hand and fatwa on the other?

Who are we to decide that people need to be punished? And who are we to decide what punishment suits their sins? How are we so sure that that punishment is death?


I feel that we are perpetually stuck in a vicious cycle of self-destruction.

They make fun of us; we react; they make fun of us again. We kill them; they call us extremists. You have to admit; killing is a bit extreme.

Let us assume, for argument’s sake that they are the enemies of our religion.

How are we bringing our religion a good name? We lie; we cheat; we rob; we steal. And then all of sudden we stand up to protect Islam.

If they are the enemies of our religion; are we the friends?

When a movie offends another religion and some ‘sensitive’ people of that religion demand that the movie be banned, we raise hue and cry over that.

If a joke is directed at other religions, we can easily see the humor in it. But when the joke is directed at our religion, it becomes intolerable. Personally, I believe there shouldn’t be disrespect for any religion; be it a satirical or humorous.

We can find no remorse in our hearts for 14 people who are killed because they printed and obnoxious and offensive content. And rows upon rows of hateful messages directed to them do not faze us. We are not ruling France. There is no Caliphate in France. We should have demonstrated our views peacefully. But killing in the name of Islam where the state and government is not Muslim is not the right way. We can teach but we cannot kill. We need to condemn it. Muslim scholars need to condemn it like Nouman Ali Khan did.

Why is it not hate speech when we rejoice in the killing of people?

Why must we comment and dissect and approve or disapprove of people’s actions?

Why can’t the judging be left to God?

Why can’t we practice a little self-reflection?

A little tolerance?

A little love?

I vote for peace; for mutual respect; for patience.

I vote for an end to hypocrisy.

I vote for Islam.

Do you?