Tuesday, October 19, 2010

The Discovery

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"Our Soul discovers itself when we come into contact with a great mind"
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Sir Muhmmad Iqbal
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And my soul started to discover itself almost one year before when I first join the Shafique Sahib class.
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And since than I really wanted to make a seperate blog for his lectures so that I can make a post and can easily find them when reuired.
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It is all...what I understand from his teaching and would be something sometimes when I don't undertsand at all.
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But now my aim is to put everything in writing (in typing).
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Please visit my new Blog "The Discovery" and tell me how you feel about it?
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I would be grateful if you guies take out some time for my newly born blog.
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Waiting for your responses.
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Take Care.

Monday, October 11, 2010

Cursed Mask

I have so many masks. These blessed MASKS.

Since my childhood I am using each and every one of my mask to protect me from being discovered.

Believe me….I am afraid of being understood..hmm

My masks keep me at distance with this world…its people…its hopes…its desires…its truth…its lie.

I have painted my masks beautifully and use them artistically.

When I was a little girl and came about these masks…it was very hard to put them on…cause…that time...hmm...

I was fond of fresh air and my eyes were in search of truth and my ears wants to hear the beautiful songs...life sing for me.

But soon after first heart break…I become afraid of people…what they going to say?

I should be ready to be crucified by their interrogation…and in my youthful terror….

I pick one of my mask – and put it on…soon…I start smiling…

I felt my dead face…tearful eyes behind mask…but was relieved to know that I am undiscoverable….

hmmm…lot easy way to get away...yeah???

That’s exactly what I think and that’s how I start carrying them with me all the time…

Sometimes…I have to show my sorrow…sometimes my laugh…sometimes my love…sometimes my hatred…sometimes my labor…sometimes my hunger…sometimes my intelligence…

I am now…in a habit of showing what I am not…at that precise moment….
I am now in a habit of prevailing the truth….
I am now in a habit of not saying I should be saying…
I am now in a habit of telling lies…
making fun of other people…
manipulating events…
showing off…

My intelligence…my words….my sighs….my smile…my sympathy….my concern….all of them are my masks….

These cursed masks….which made me what I not used to be….these cursed masks made me evil…these cursed masks made me fool in my own eyes.

I am now tired….tired of these masks….

I want to throw them…get rid of them…why not any thief steel them?

So that I can shout with my throat out and cursed the thieves but would be relieved in heart.

I know…I will be lonely without them…but I know I would be free without them…

I would be free with my loneliness…

I would be able to mingle with my self…

I want my face back...hmmm...

Iwant my face to be touched by radiant sunlight…

I want my soul to be inflamed by love…

I want to shed my masks.

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Territorial Creatures

Children can be territorial creatures.

More often than not...if I'm chatting with a spoken-for parent (either mother or father)...
Their children will soon thereafter trot over...throw her/his arm around his/her parent...

Nuzzle his/her face into parent's neck....and smile at me....

Or engage in some other equivalent behavior to mark his/her territory.

I find it amusing and almost interesting that the children considers me (everyone who took the attention of their parents) a threat.

The other day...hmmm....

A similar incident occurred with a twist.

I was walking down the street when I beheld a cousin....with her six years old son....holding hands from a distance.

I guessed it would be nice of me if convey my regards to my cousin....but as I am not a starter....

I mean I never start a conversation myself unless I find someone very very interesting and want to know more about him/her...

I gazed at the long haired mother as they neared me...and pretend that I didn't see her at all and tried my best to make myself prominent to her so that she can come to me.

...my cousin unknown to my utmost pretensions come to me and we start chatting freely and friendly.

The six year old saw me talking to her mother and immediately began swinging their held hands exaggeratedly....pulled his mother closer to him....and then gave me the eye(almost).

All the time I was trying to tame the child but he kept his distance....

Finally...we walked to our destinations without incident.

Again....amused....that I was considered a threat.

Indeed....children can be territorial creatures.

But then I think who else have such love for us?

To mark us....their own territory and to protect us from outsiders' eyes?

hmmm....children are beautiful...creatures...gift of Allah.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

I had Hoped !

So one of my cousin called me and after few snapping remarks he finally throw the question on me....and it hit me across the face...hmmm...

And I struggled with it for a minute or two.

“Is it everything that you had hoped it would be?”

I looked back over the past couple years...and weighed the moments...and tears fell unheeded as I remembered…

Moments when my world seemed caved in and my heart ached from being broken in ways that I didn’t think could ever be repaired.

Moments when I stood on the mountains and looked down to the valleys and realized what it will be like to truly “mount up with wings as an eagle”.

Moments when I waited in the darkness....uncertain what the next step would be.

Moments when I was afraid. Moments when I simply had to trust that He knew best in the end.

Moments when I first tasted True Love. Moments when I lost.

Moments when I won.

Moments of wondering- why, how, when.

Moments of revelation.

Moments of sorrow and moments of joy.
The past few years held my life’s saddest and its happiest moments...and my heart still ached from wounds that feel too fresh to touch just yet.

But the tears weren’t for the painful moments and wishful longings for things that might have been that can never be.

They were for the blessed reality that there is One who is greater than all these things.

One who does exceedingly...and abundantly above all that we can ask...think or even begin to imagine.

One who gives us those moments on eagle’s wings of pure happiness.

One who can heal even broken hearts.

One who walks beside us...and who carries us when our feet are too weary to walk.

In the sorrows....I found beautiful treasures of the heart that I could have never known...

In the moments of uncertainty....I found trust growing stronger.

In the moments of happiness...I tasted Heaven’s joy.

In the quiet moments...I learned to listen.

In the brokenness...I learned to be complete in Him.

Not a moment was a wasted moment.

I looked at my life and saw that....instead of just what I had hoped for in my most cherished...unspoken dreams...my God had given what I couldn’t even hope for....

So dear Cousin....Yes....this is everything that I had hoped it would be.....
To Allah be all glory !

Sunday, September 19, 2010

Did Ibn-e-Safe read George Orwell?

“Why I write” (1946) is an essay by “George Orwell” detailing his personal journey to becoming a writer.

In the article George Orwell basically pointed out the basic motives for any writer to write.

He categorized them four in number and told that they exist in different degrees in every writer…and in any one writer the proportions will vary from time to time, according to the atmosphere in which he is living.

I am quite surprised to learn that the hand out which Ahmed Safi (son of Ibn-e-Safi) gave me in today’s workshop was an article by Ibn-e-Safi… “How I start writing?”

I was astonished to read the resemblance one can point out in both the articles…

Of George Orwell’s “Why I write” and Ibn-e-Safi’s article “How I start writing”

Although their lives were in many ways different but the reason they both put forward which intrigued them to write are almost same.

But before going to the main points George Orwell and Ibn-e-Safi put forward to write I would say more on the construction of both the articles.

While Orwell wrote about how he has developed the unpopular mannerisms in his school days due to his father absence on the other hand Ibn-e-Safi told us about his interest in books which made him quite different from other children who used to spent whole day outside and thus both the writers were left alone to themselves and they kind a like their solitude.

Both the writers had the same way of taking inspiration from other writers while young and both had a good way of escaping from reality into their dreams where they found them as a quite different person which shows how strong imaginative power both the writers had.

With the growth of mind and defining of concepts they recovered from so many different stages of literature and art and kept going on.

As Orwell write “the writers subject matter will be determined by the age he lives in but before he ever begins to write he will have acquired an emotional attitude from which he will never completely escapes. It is his job to discipline his temperament and avoid getting stuck at some immature stage.”

Orwell..tried poetry as his first writing art….became an editor to a school news magazine….

Ibn-e-Safi…too…tried poetry…criticism…before he finally started writing suspense novels.

Both our writers went through the same series of realizing what they should do and what form of writing is most suitable for them.

Orwell’s four great motives for any writer to write are the same which intrigued Ibn-e-Safi to write….

1: Sheer Egoism: Desire to seem clever…to be talked about….to be remembered after death….

Ibn-e-Safi was with his friends and had a strong conversation on suspense literature…his friends believed that the suspense literature is accepted only with vulgarity and that intrigued Ibn-e-Safi to show them that people can accept literature without unnecessary luridness.

2: Aesthetic enthusiasm: Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed.

Ibn-e-Safi…in the same article said that “people think that I am not writing good stuff for people and thus not generating art…literature…they don’t think that my writings are constructive and I should start writing something constructive….but I believed that I never forget to write about contemporary problems…in my novels one can find one way or other the basic concepts of getting rid of them…but my main aim is to promote happiness and joy…and I don’t think it’s bad either…I want people to find chance to forget all about their problems while they read me and I think if they do…this is my biggest achievement”.

3: Historical Impulse: Desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.

1947…when people were dying due to the partition of India and Pakistan and killing was seems to be righteous in both the parts…Ibn-e-Safi was looking into the matters and was busy in finding out what went wrong….he was captured by the unfair manners people were in to and looking to find a way of cure…

And thus he concluded that due to the weak law enforcement everyone was free to kill and rob. He believed that prosperity of any country depends on their citizens understanding and respecting of state law.

4: Political Purpose: Using the word “political” in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other peoples’ idea of the kind of society that they should strive after. Once again, no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

No one, ever had read Ibn-e-Safi can’t say that his novels didn’t contain any political issues or impulses. Matter of fact his novels were rich in politics and state affairs.

I believed that this realization of similarity between the two writers have given me so much insight that increased my belief and faith on Ibn-e-Safi being a great writer.