My Belief System

Nothing has changed. Maybe a little, but not really. I would insist on standing correctly.

I still wake up as a believer. A man of faith. With the passing of the day, the belief system transforms – evolution or devolution. It adopts more of atheism. By the night, its agnosticism that wins. And then, it starts all over again with the next sunrise.

If I had to choose one, I would choose none. Each has its own beauty.

Peek a little at any religion and it’s beautiful. See their books. Their Prophets – or non-Prophets. See their scriptures. Their religious places. I love religious places of all kinds. Mosque, Church, Temple, Gurdwara, Synagogue, etc. Each beautiful in its own way.

None of the religion says to mock. None say to hurt. None say to snatch. None say to rob, rape, abuse, murder, or anything bad. Yet, their competition never ends. And it would never end. And that’s not fine. Or maybe it is fine because over a billion people would die of hunger if there wasn’t any religion.

You can say every religion is beautiful. Or each one is detestable. The meaning would remain the same. Do you know how many bloody wars atheists and agnostics have fought throughout history?

Yes. Blame the people. Not religion. A convenient offering. Denied. Dismissed.

Anyway. I was talking about my belief system.

A beautiful religion to look forward to in the day. And nothing to look forward to by the night except your own self. Your own guts, your own imagination, your own power of will, your own lethargy, your own words, your own keyboard. Your own stubbornness not to make a dua for another year. Then another. Then…

That’s His Highness’s way of life. Nothing to be proud of.

From offering ownership to the Divine in the day and debating to get it back at noon and effectively attaining it back by the night. How bright?

Poetic! How can it be that you talk about religion, and you don’t rhyme?

Are you interested in space and cosmos? It’s consistent expansion. The more we know, the more we don’t know. The more we see, the more is yet to be seen. From masters of the universe, we have not even been able to manage ourselves as a single dot in space. These spheres, these stars, these planetary systems, the galaxies, the cosmos and what not.

The black holes – the most fascinating aspect of the universe; after the scattered moles of Marla. But you don’t know Marla. I know. If she lies up-side down, there’s an entire universe at your disposal. Fascinating.

Well, I don’t know much about space. Almost nothing. Except that it is the most interesting subject in our history. And that is also a source of making the point that ‘nothing really matters’ as in Bohemian Rhapsody. Or maybe, the point is the exact opposite. Even then, it doesn’t matter.

Anyway, back to where we were before the usual deviation. Everything is beautiful. Religion too. The God too. The whole scripture too. But not you.

Seeing a child with cancer. Or a mother dying of hunger. Or a war killing thousands of children just because they were born in the unfortunate land. Or any other tragedy. Like a person living on dialysis for the last ten years. Something. Anything. And then you believe that this can’t be divine work. This can’t be a work of art. This is too ruthless to be appreciated.

Art. We made art. Even out of tragedies that were destined from the Lord for the weakest of all creatures.

You may disagree. I disagree with myself too. Because I know nothing. I know less than anyone I know.

There is not a single subject that I know of. Master of none.

Yet, there is not a single subject which I don’t know. Master of all.

Because I am you.

And we are all like that. I am you. You are me. We are all the same – with the only exception that I am writing these words while you are reading your thoughts. Am I not the echo inside your body?

Am I not Zarathustra? Yours truly Zarathustra?

Other than that, we all have the same source of DNA. We all may be children of God. Or not. But we all deserve to live the way we want to live. And we all deserve to be respected. Yes, except those. Bloody idiots and duffers.

Condemn but Understand too

A hungry man robs. You don’t like it, but you do understand it.

A threatened person lies. You don’t like it, but you do understand it.

A deprived woman steals food. You don’t like it, but you understand it.

A poor child takes someone’s toy home. You don’t like it, but you do understand it.

Hamas attacks Israel. 1,200 casualties. Condemned. But you do understand that it decades of atrocities led to this outrage. No need to explain this. You understand.

Kashmiris, Yeminis, Iraqis, Afghans, Naxalites, Adivasis… you understand.

Every religion has stories of war. Of standing for what they believed was right. Fighting against the mighty powers with marginal forces.

Religions survived on the bodies of those who died in the sacred and holy wars. You understand that too.

Ironically, every religion was “blasphemous” in the beginning for the already established religions – yet it didn’t punish itself of blasphemy. It stood. It fought. It carved its path through history of empires, deaths, wars and peace.

Don’t awe and blink as if I’m the only… You do understand this too, don’t you?

Thus whispered Zarathustra!  

Unsimilarly – I’m neologist, nothing wrong with the word – you become a pious hypocrite. A nationalist creep. A patriotic discriminator.

Balochistan is more than the derogatory trends you see on social media. It is more than it is censored on mainstream media. It has a history of deprivation, blood, and dead bodies. Of stolen rights. Of denied resources. Of ego-driven military operations. Divide and rule. Missing people. Terrorism. Fanaticism. Experimentation. Religion-based hate.

So much so that common people avoid to visit altogether.

But uncommon people – civil and uncivil establishments – lust for this cruel concubine as it makes you rich quicker than real estate files of DHA. Not just smuggled cars, petroleum, minerals, dead bodies, and traitors come out of it… pizzas come of it too. Million-dollar pizzas.

So when they raise their weapons… condemn. But understand.  Understand their shrieks, their anger, their raised voice, their slurs, their tears… and their bullets.

They didn’t pick weapons by choice. We forced them to. We set the stage. We sold them weapons. We turned war into business. They die; we make money. And of course, military courts and budget.

By “we” you do understand what I mean.

I could list dates, numbers, and the dead – but you already know. Even as you camouflage yourself in hypocrisy.

If all you can do is lick boots and hump on the state’s narrative – moan and own. But do it alone and choose not to vomit everywhere.

With that, have a blessed last Jumma of Ramzan. You prayed your way. I prayed this way.

Foreign-Funded

Aurat March is foreign-funded.

Mahrang Baloch is foreign-funded.

PTM is foreign-funded.

BYC is foreign-funded.

Liberals are foreign-funded.

Ahmadis are foreign-funded.

Dawn is foreign-funded.

Edhi was foreign-funded.

Asma Jahangir was foreign-funded.

Sabeen was foreign-funded.

Parween was foreign-funded.

Herald was foreign-funded.

Our pimping-wars were US-funded – from making Talibans to killing Talibans to reviving Talibans to apologizing Talibans.

Ever wondered if 23rd March was foreign-funded too?

The whole country is foreign-funded. Yet it remains poor, stunted, and myopic. But not everything is foreign-funded.

Movies, songs, advertisements, goosebumps, and nationalism are ISPR-funded.

TLP, JuD, LeJ, SSP, banned outfits, unbanned outfits, polo grounds, marriage halls, elections, nightmares are Pindi-funded.

Blasphemy and mob lynchings are funded at community-level through madrassahs and mosques.

Bureaucracy Babus and Aapis are poor taxpayers-funded to run Instagram overtly and bribe-chains covertly.

Hate and corruption are mutually-funded.

Accountability? Selectively-funded.

Justice and truth? Unfunded.

Balochistan Issue

Bear with me because it is going to be long one. But it is needed.

“Walking with the Comrades” is a book by Arundhati Roy where she narrates her firsthand experience of forests of Central India. Among Maoists. Naxalites. Dr. Manmohan Singh famously said that Naxalites / Maoists are “single biggest internal security threat” to India.

Why? What was the problem? Why were these Adivasis / Lower Castes hated so much? Why “Salwa Judum” kind of lethal forces were made to kill them? Why were the police unleashed on them. Even Indian military was launched against these people who had nothing to eat. Air Force was used too.

Because Chhattisgarh, Jharkhand, Odisha, Madhya Pradesh, etc. had iron ore, coal, bauxite, copper, and other minerals worth billions of dollars. India wanted to make rich richer by selling these minerals abroad. So, these people had to be rooted out from their homes. With bullets. Through force.

Who are these people. Of course they are poor. Hungry. Illiterate. But that’s not what they all are. There are doctors, engineers, middle class revolutionaries among them too. They read. They write. And they try their best to fight against the propaganda. But they are shunned on mainstream media. Newspapers don’t cover them. They are hated by default all across the country.

So, when they get nothing in return, they fight. Once, in 2008, they raid a police armory and captured 1,200 rifles and 200,000 rounds of ammunition. They killed police in return. They took as much vengeance as they could. And sometimes, they killed innocent citizens too. Happens. Collateral damage happens both ways.

Now imagine Gandhi meeting these people and asking them to go for hunger strike. Idiotic, right? When you have no audience, you can die in any kind of strike. You need to be Gandhi in order to be successful. Hence, in such cases, resistance is the only way-forward.

So far so good. Right? It’s India, so you have an obvious conscientious side.

Big dams in India have displaced 40-50 million people. That’s 4-5 crore people. In 1980s, the same kind of Adivasis / lower caste people stood under Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA) to stop the dams that were going to drown their homes and history. They failed. and But they made their mark. World Bank (always against poor in different formats) withdrew from it after Morse Commission stated that the project was actually not feasible.

Large dams were a myth. They destroy more land than they cultivate. They destroy villages and history. Silting. Deforestation. Downstream water shortage. Disrupting deltas. And displacement of millions of people.

Where do these millions go?

In slums. Of Mumbai, Delhi, Kolkata. They are moved from their already lower hierarchy to the lowest and then their generations rot in slums without becoming a slumdog millionaire.

NBA did whatever they could. They even stood in their homes when the water level in the dam was rising. They stood till they were drowned till their necks. What else could they do even after beating World Bank? NBA were not able to initiate an armed struggle. So, they lost it. Just like farmers. From 1995 to 2014, around 300,000 farmers have committed suicide in India.

Naxalites were able to pick up arms – advantage of being in jungles – so they did and are not lost yet.

Now come to Pakistan’s Balochistan. Let’s take a 180 shift from our collective conscientious. Because we are going to enter the same paradox that everyone in their country has – one way or the other i.e., treating a certain segment with discrimination and violence.

Balochistan has minerals worth billions (start relating it with the above examples of India). Those who want to get rich are posted there in both civil and military establishment. Remember General Papa Johns? Other than minerals, smuggling is a big market there. But these are all for establishment guys. People there remain poor.

Balochistan has been targeted since 1948. Military operations after military operations were launched. After assassination of Bugti by General Musharraf, BLA was formed. Organically. Now this BLA is not of sardars or militants in literal sense. It is of young – most educated people. There are doctors and engineers among them. Well-read and trust me they will beat you on table talks with their knowledge. They are not under any sardar or feudal lord. They are their own masters.

Umm… Naxalites!

How was Mama Qadir was treated? He just wanted to talk but LUMS was denied.

Why was Sabeen Mehmood killed? Just because she allowed a space in Karachi to talk about Balochistan?

Maulana Hidayat? Why this huge propaganda against him when he isn’t armed?

And now, Mahrang Baloch? Her father was abducted. Then killed. She has questions. She is a victim of state terrorism. She came to Islamabad with her questions and with her demand of constitutional rights. What did we do? Answer violently. Soaked her and all others in water in winter. Threw her out of the capital.

Narmada Bachao Andolan resonating?

Same thing with PTM. They have been hated and tagged ‘anti-nationals’ since forever. They are not armed. They just want implementation of National Action Plan and Constitution of Pakistan. Yet, they are as ugly as anyone who asks questions.

So, what is the option left for them? Revolution? Arm resistance? To make noise to be heard?

As Nehru said, “Only Israfeel’s trumpet can wake the dead.” Let me write that in Urdu:

مردوں کو جگانے کے لیے صور پھونکنا ہی پڑے گا۔

I condemn murder of innocent people. They were as poor as any poor anywhere. We are condemning since 1948. Condemned. Condemned. Condemned. What next? Condemnations till we ourselves will be condemned for our own miserable deaths?

I condemn the deaths of the innocent ones. But before condemning the perpetrators – I would prefer to condemn the big perpetrators whose policies gives birth to small perpetrators every now and then. The ones who keep the flames burning. The ones who make fortunes over the wars, dead bodies, and coffins.

There is only solution. The same we forgot in 1950s and 1960s that ended up as 1971.

Islamabad – and of course the adjacent city – needs to sit with Balochs with honesty. Military solution is not a solution but a mess as we have seen since the foundation of this country.

Those you hate – or the ones hated on mainstream media with propaganda – are the key figures to peace: Mahrang, Hidayat etc. Their grievances need to be heard and addressed. Their difference of opinions should be part of dialogue on mainstream media. No one should be censored as long as hate and violence are not part of communication.

That won’t happen obviously. Duffers rule here. And life of Balochs never mattered.

They would love to sit with TLP and TTP but not the ones who are just angry for not being given their constitutional rights and are fed of their loved ones gone missing in a ritual.

This is the shortest it could be written on this topic. Else a whole small book like “Walking with the Comrades” can be written on this topic in a single go.

دل کی بات ہے

دل کی بات ہے۔

دل چاہے تو حرام، حرام۔

دل مانے تو سب حلال۔

جان چھڑانی ہو تو استخارہ

ورنہ ہر بات گوارا۔

ایک طرف جائز طلاق

دوسری جانب ناجائز نباہ۔

اپنے لیے آزمائش

دوسروں کے لیے مکافات۔

انجان کا اچانک چھونا اچھا لگے تو راحت

نہ لگے تو حراسانی کی قباحت۔

پسندیدہ شخص کا شرک بھی توحید

ورنہ تو مومن کا جہاد بھی فساد۔

مردہ شہید۔

شہید مردہ۔

دل بھر جائے تو بیڑہ غرق

نہ بھرے تو مسلسل اذیت۔

دل کی بات ہے۔

میری آزمائش، تمہاری سزا۔

میری نماز، تمہاری ٹکریں۔

میری جنت، تمہاری دوزخ۔

Business of Terrorism

Burkina Faso tops the Global Terrorism Index, with Pakistan following closely in second place. Congratulations . A difference of just 0.207 between the two countries. A little more consistency, and we could claim the top spot.

Who will you blame? Sorry. Wrong words. Let me rephrase. Who deserves the credit? The Prime Minister? The Chief Ministers? The Chief Justices? No.

You know who’s the unsung hero in all this. From martial law to another. From one bomb blast to another. The country is in blood not for nothing. There’s a complete business plan under execution.

This patriotism and nationalism is a business of the elite. It is embedded in you with curriculum, songs, movies, and slogans. So that you can die, and your family be proud of it. Let me elaborate with an already shared post:

Rashid Minhas took the plane down and crashed it because an agent was trying to take it to other side of the border. Minhas embraced martyrdom and was awarded Nishan-e-Haider.

Who was the agent? What is the other side of the story?

Matiur Rehman was the “agent” who was trying to take the plane out of Pakistan. He was fighting for his nation i.e. freedom fight of Bengalis. From Bangladeshi point of view, he was their hero.

Matiur Rehman was awarded Bir Sreshtho (equivalent to Nishan-e-Haider) and is known as their national hero. Just like Minhas.

Two sides of the same coin. Same story. Same incident. Same plane. Same martyrdom. Same medal of honor. And same religion.

Both were sons. Both had families. Both had dreams. Both had a life.

But who won? Business. Business of war, weapons, arsenals, jets, tanks…

And who suffered? Those who were sick, hungry, illiterate, malnourished, and striving for basics. Public. Awaam. Janta. They are still striving. Pakistan, India and Bangladesh have the highest pool of people below poverty line.

Take it this way. There are five members of Security Council. This council of security is supposed to make this world more secure. And these five countries are the top five countries of exporting weapons. Business. Nothing else. We either end up as consumers or collateral damage. Wrapped in a flag. 21 shots. That’s it.

As Arundhati Roy said;

“Flags are bits of colored cloth that governments use first to shrink-wrap people’s minds & then as ceremonial shrouds to bury the dead.”

Trash Can

In the end, you are all trash cans for others. Dumpsters.

If you try not to be, you fail. You don’t meet expectations. You are selfish.

So, you are. The closest ones dump more. Some only dump and dump until you are unable to recycle the consistent flow. You stink then.

And then, the obvious fall: you fail.

You are not what you were supposed to be: a trash can.

What are the expectations? Who sets them? Why are all expectations centered around to be a trash can?

A better trash can is a better person to market. To show to the world. Your worth?

Close your lid.

Let the people slide.

Or roll somewhere far – maybe towards the trash truck and get rid of all the garbage.

Neither dump. Nor let anyone dump.

In the end, a trash can is never enough.

Random Numbness: Oscars 2025

There’s one sure-shot recipe for an Oscar nomination and subsequent award: Holocaust. Even if the movie is as dull as “A Real Pain”. Who would have thought Kieran Culkin would win an Oscar for this?

Follow the recipe. Like Adrien Brody. Did twice. Doesn’t matter if you are a pianist or an architect. You can even spit your gum from stage, and it will remain more memorable and less disgusting.

Because not every is Daniel-Day Lewis, Jack Nicholson, Meryl Streep, or Frances McDormand. Some others are dependent on the acceptable content than the acting itself.

“No Other Land” – a documentary by Palestinian and Israeli filmmakers about Israel’s destruction of the West Bank – winning an Oscar can be called the most benevolent moment of the ceremony, if not the only one.

The good thing is that “A Complete Unknown” won nothing despite eight nominations. The movie was about Bob Dylan’s life from 1961 to probably 1965. Wandering between the two bed sheets. A couple of folk song and his idea of going electric. Nothing much except the latest blue-eye boy of Hollywood Timothee Chalamet doing his typical acting. Bob Dylan was never felt. Almost all the songs that Dylan was shown thinking – or writing or trying for the first time – were after being done on bed.

Dylan was a major inspiration for Steve Jobs, especially in Apple‘s early days. His songs were acts of resistance, awakening the collective conscience of listeners. Songs against wars. Songs against power. Songs for peace. The guy is the only singer who won the Nobel Peace Prize in literature. He deserved a better movie with rich content.

Like “Bohemian Rhapsody”. A complete story of Freddie Mercury as well as Queen. The rise, the rights, the composition of different songs, Live Aid concert at Wembley, Aids, and then death of Mercury. That movie covered it all with exceptional performance of Rami Malek – rightfully earned him an Oscar.

By the way, the depiction of making “We Will Rock You” was beautiful. And Bohemian Rhapsody can itself be a whole movie in itself. This song alone could inspire an entire thesis. Who would have imagined blending Bismillah, Galileo, Scaramouche, Mama, unwanted life, and unasked-for death—all in a single song?

Bismillah!

Another by the way coming… have you felt visibly how even the creative world is going down? These singers – Queen, Michael Jackson, Boney M, Bob Dylan, Beatles, Pink Floyd, Pearl Jam, John Lenon, etc.; and our own ones like NFAK, Lata, Rafi, Kishore, Nazia Hassan, etc. – got their hits when we were not even born. Yet, we are still listening to them because the present is offering nothing to us except vulgar disappointments with no shard of intellect.

Or maybe all the good compositions have been composed, and all the fine songs have been worded. There is no room left in the imaginable imaginations of humans. That’s why post-apocalypse scenarios, aliens, space, etc. are the only leftover topics to explore further. The same goes for books and novels.

What else to write?

What else to compose?

What else to sing?

What else to expose?

Plea

Step aside angel! I was just torn apart rib by rib by a mob and now I don’t intend to wait in a queue. I am here and I can’t go back so please let me talk at this heavenly door I wish I wouldn’t have seen. No, not for paradise. I don’t want that. I am here to plea. To talk to the Lord.

My Lord!

You know I was shopping for my children. My four children. One child takes nine months… you know that already. The youngest one is very young. The eldest one… pardon me but she is very young too. No one is mature enough to earn. And feed themselves. The bellies. Small bellies. You know these bellies burn with fire when they are empty for days? We fear that fire more than the promised one, my Lord!

I’m here to talk. My God! We have talked before. I remember. But now I won’t leave until I get the surety of my children to be taken care of.

No. I don’t intend to intend. I have seen countless children dead in rubbles. Crushed under their own homes. Hundreds of them are lifeless in ICUs. With pipes and drips going inside their tiny bodies and their lives drop by drop. Minute by…

I’m not here for heaven. I don’t want virgins or wine. I don’t even need all this. I just want security. I want one memorandum of understanding. One on one. And then you can drag me to wherever You wish.

Who is he staring at me?

“He’s the one who killed you, awaiting his entrance to the heaven.”

Standing on the door, he thought, even after death, he was at the wrong door. Again.

And then the heavenly door creaked with a thump…

ALL RISE! IN THE NAME OF…

Another Week of Void.

Just another week of fight. Then finances will be all right. For one week at least. Another two weeks to make a complete circle of life. Before halting into another void.

The void. Where you exist and function and feel nothing. But you are not entirely numb either.

The void in itself isn’t bad. Afterwards, after entering the void, I can feel your pain and all the pain around the world and can translate it into the words I know badly.

You may have realized it or not, but tight spaces and pain bring a lot of imaginations. A lot of words. Every stranger is a walking afsana (short story). Every road is a road to eternity. Every story is a sad story. Everyone looks miserable.

And you can relate to the real world. The real, real world.

Like that lady who walks a kilometer daily to her bus stop to save rikshaw money. Do footpaths matter?

Or that sabzi wala who is going to drag his cart with shaking wheels throughout the day to make enough that would never be enough. Do quality of road matters to him?

Or that guy wearing a dirty shirt over his clean dress-shirt with a tie and shining shoes; and speeding his bike to work where he would be listening to insults almost the entire day. Does he matter if his bike slips, and he dies in an ugly accident with his blood making a new lane on the road?

Or that new girl in town who came with the love of her life only to be sold out here. Should she take bath and scrub the skin, or should she pass another zombie day as every day is the same day? How many times would she serve today? She wonders, who she would be opening up to tonight?

Or that man who is going to court today again. For over a year now. All his savings have gone in the gutter of laws and justice. But don’t feel bad for him. He’s going to court to lie again about the property that doesn’t belong to him. The misery would stand on the other side of the courtroom. I don’t know her. But does air conditioning matters in the courtroom?

And among all these miseries and routine tragedies are those sleeping on footpaths. High on dose. Drugged. Away from the falling meteors of the universe. We feel bad for them. They feel bad for us. For sure they sleep better than us. Like the laborers who sweat all day and have no home to go back to and just sleep wherever they can. Without a sleeping pill.

Or that new Deputy Secretary going to office on his official car – the car that belongs to people mentioned above – to pass another day with nodding and some quotable quotes. Too drugged from last night. Got some fresh weed and consumed more than routine. Now, he would need four cups of coffee – yes, coffee funded by the miserable lot of people – to at least be able to sit and nod and look like the smartest one in the room. By that way that room too is bearing operating costs being borne by the miserables mentioned and not mentioned above.

Now tell me, isn’t tightness beautifully sad? Hundred stories day after day. Walking novels. Running mysteries. Sleeping nightmares.

Sorry for all that. Just another week…