Open up your mind and your potential reaches infinity…

Archive for 2011

If I ever met God…


If I ever met God
I would hug Him
For making me ‘me’.
And would thank Him
Over and over a million times
For granting me
Eyes to see the beauty of nature
Ears to hear the melodies of joy
Senses to give and take love
But shall return Him with ‘Thanks’
My bundle of conscience
And walk back merrily.

If He said, “No”
I would leave at his feet,
My eyes, my ears and my senses
For I have endurance no more
To look into the eyes of hunger
Or hear the clamour of hatred
Or sense the angst of pain

If He still said,”No”,
I would pull Him by his hand
And bring Him down on Earth
To face it all ‘first hand’.

Kabir a day keeps radicalism at bay


First published in english daily, The Islamabad Dateline on 26th June, 2011

Almost 700 years ago, when religious polarisation in the Indian subcontinent was at its helm, a preacher was born. He was named Kabir and he spent the rest of life trying to bind Hindus and Muslims together. Today, as religious hatred is bred into masses and intolerance is injected into young minds one finds it necessary to bring forth Kabir, the champion of religious tolerance and interfaith harmony.

The mystics from united India are more relevant to us than Persian or Turkish voices as they spring from the culture we own. For a relatively more radicalized society in Pakistan, these pluralistic and tolerant voices need to be disseminated vehemently. These great men seemed to be far ahead of their times and Kabir is no exception. Kabir stands tall, in the line of greatest mystics of all time with St. Augustine, Ruysbroeck, Buddha, Rumi, Emre and Hallaj

Kabir’s vision, though timeless in its essence when transformed into simple poetry addresses the basic problems humanity faces today. His message was simple and straightforward — that God is perceived in different forms by different people, but in essence they all talk of One supreme power.

Koi bole Ram Ram, koi Khudai

(Some call him Ram, some name him Khuda)

His honest message offended both Mullahs and Purohits for it challenged their stakes. He was persecuted by both to which he screamed:

Sadhu dekho jag baurana / Sanchi kaho to maran dhawe /Jhoote jag patiyana

(O gentleman, see the world has got mad / I say truth but they run to beat me and believe the fake.)

His intent was not to offend anyone and he made it clear:

Kabira khada bazaar mein mange sab ki khair / na kahoo se dosti, na kahoo se bair

(Kabira Stands in the market place( the world) / Asks for everyone’s prosperity. Neither special friendship nor enmity for anyone).

His mission, through his vision was to promote brotherhood, unity, love and forgiveness beyond regions and religions.

The Hindu says Ram is beloved, the Muslim says Rahim / They fight and kill each other, no one gets the point.

And the point that no one got was:

Maatii Aik Anaik Bhaanth Ker Saaji Sajan Haray
(The Clay Is The Same, But The Designer Has Designed It In Various Ways)

Kabir through his words challenged the authority our society has given to clerics quite audaciously:

The spiritual athlete often changes the color of his clothes
& his mind remains gray and loveless.
Or he drills holes in his ears, his beard grows enormous
People mistake him for a goat.
He shaves his skull & puts his robe in an orange vat,
Reads the Book & becomes a terrific talker.
Kabir says: the truth is, you are riding in a hearse to the country of
death, bound hand & foot.

He even warned against the mindless following of religious preachers and to use one’s own conscience to decide what is right or wrong:

Jaka guru hai andhla, chela hai ja chandh / Andhe andha theliya, dunyu koop parent
(If the preacher is blind (unrealized) and the disciple is also blind, how can they progress further? If a blind shows the path to the other blind, they both are bound to fall in some dead well at some time).

To those bigoted who would not understand this, he remarked:

Phootee aankh vivek kee, lakhe na sant asant
(People have their inner eyes of conscience blind; they don’t see who is real and who is fake)

“What can one do, if, with lamp in hand, one falls in the well”

Bura jo dekhan main chala bura na milya koi / Jab man khoja aapna mujh se bura na koi.

(I went on the search for the Bad Guy, Bad Guy I couldn’t find. / When I searched my mind, Non one is Nastier then Me)

He lived to restore the confidence in the common man against the elite clergy or the rulers, who claimed their superiority by virtue of their status. He explained:

Bada hua to kya hua jaise ped khajoor / Panthi ko chhaya nahin phal laage ati door.

(If You are Big so what? Just like a date tree / No shade for travelers, fruit is hard to reach).

He used simple vernacular language, with metaphors from common examples to engage the people around him. People were fascinated by the deep moral messages contained in his simple poetry.

Kabira Garv Na Keejiye, Uncha Dekh Aavaas / Kaal Paron Punyah Letna, Ouper Jamsi Ghaas

(Kabi , Don’t be so proud and vain, Looking at your high mansion / Tomorow you’ll lie under feet, On top will grow Grass).

Ab Tun Aaya Jagat Mein, Log Hanse Tu Roye / Aise Karni Na Kari, Pache Hanse Sab Koye

(When you came in to this world, Everyone laughed while you cried / Don’t do such work, That they laugh when you are gone)

And that it’s not one’s status but one’s deeds which pay off ultimately:

Ek daal do panchi re baitha kaun guru kaun chela / Guru ki karni guru bharela, chele ki karni chela.

(Both the preacher and the follower are together / but both will be dealt according to their deeds.).

The Purohits and Mullahs could not tolerate his audacity, and how he influenced the common man. His words had already penetrated into masses and exposed the self-righteous claims of every clergy. He got expelled from Kashi. He roamed around Benaras preaching his message and passed away in Maghar.

After his death both the Hindus and the Muslims both claimed ownership over him. There are a few legends but one wonders how was the matter resolved. As for now, there exists a Hindu shrine and a Muslim Dargah adjacent to each other at the place where he died.

Kabir’s words are very pertinent to current Pakistan, where religion is manipulated for political ends and justify acts of violence. Voice of Kabir needs to be resonated in our academia and society being the need of time. Why did not we own Kabir like India? – I leave this question to be answered by the reader.

Co written: Ilmana Fasih with Syed Ali Abbas Zaidi.

Arduous Journey for Tender Feet


In the poorest communities around the world, women and girls walk to collect water, firewood or other basic necessities of life. They walk on average 6 kilometres a day – 8,000 steps while carrying the equivalent of a suitcase. This leaves little time to attend school, access health services or earn money to support their family.

Women are largely responsible for collecting and managing water resources in developing countries, especially in rural areas, reports from the United Nations Development Fund for Women (UNIFEM) show. Without a ready source of freshwater they may have to walk for several hours every day to find it. The U.N. estimates that 1.2 billion people lack access to safe water and about 2.5 billion are without access to proper sanitation.It is common for girls in rural areas of the world to drop out of school, so as to help carry out the burden of moving water. Girls as young as ten contribute to household tasks. Eventually, they miss classes and lag behind enough in school to abandon their education.
Collecting wood from forests for fuel is a difficult task that falls largely on the shoulders of the world’s women. A survey found that collecting firewood was one of the greatest burdens for many women and that it had a significant impact on their quality of life (Green & Erskine, 1998; 1999). .Pic credits: Basankusu collecting firewood by Francis Hannaway
Collecting firewood is extremely tiring as the women often have to walk long distances in search of wood which then has to be carried back to the homestead. Rural Tanzanian women, for example, walk 5-10 km a day collecting firewood, carrying loads between 20kg – 38kg. In rural India, the average is over three hours each day. The time-consuming nature of this task often causes young girls to be kept out of school. Girls going for firewood collection have been known to be subjected to sexual abuse too (UNDP).
AND THINK.

Would their life be the same if they had the opportunity to be educated like YOU and me?

Educated girls grow into women who tend to have healthier and better nourished babies, who most likely will do everything to have their own children attending school as well, thus breaking the vicious cycle of poverty. Educated girls can better protect themselves against HIV, trafficking and abuse.

Educating a girl also means that as a woman, she is empowered and more likely to participate in development efforts and in political and economic decision-making. Women who went to school usually manage to increase the household income. The advantages of girls’ education thus do not stop at the boundaries of a single child, but ripple through families, communities, and nations.

Sanity, hold on.


The serpent of anguish slithers,
As peace within withers.
Turmoil, into the soul, seeps
As composure weeps.
Insomnias creep,
Night after night, deep.
Drifting from reality to delusion,
In a surreal confusion.
Psyche jolted in a quake,
Oh! prudence do not forsake
And keep me awake,
For sanity’s at stake.

I Have a Dream…


I have a dream of…

A war
That’s played not fought,
To invade, not lands,
But hearts
Of disheartened souls
To heal not injure
With guns that shoot
Bullets of harmony.
Lay landmines, when stepped
Blast into goodwill.
Drop bombs,
Explode splinters of amity,
Taking captives in heart
To enslave in love
With chains of unity.
Being victorious
With an everlasting cheer.

I have a dream of …

An earth quake of sanity
Buries bigotry deep
Beneath the rubble of tolerance.
A flood of awakening
Drowns the ignorance,
And never recedes.
A volcano that
Burns hatred to ashes.
That spews
The lava of love
Which hardens as rock
Within the chambers
Of a caring heart.
And that never cools.
A tsunami of charity
Sweeps away greed,
That afflicts the globe.
A tornado named ‘Prosperity’
Blows off,
Roof tops from
Houses of hunger and poverty
A geyser that exudes
Steam of justice
Generates energy of hope
That runs the windmill
Of empathy
Relaying without Resistance
A ‘direct’ current of equality
That illuminates the world
With an everlasting PEACE

Allah Hooo~by Sain Zahoor


hoooooo
hoooooo
aukhe painde lammiyaan raavan ishq diyaan
dard jigar sakht sazavan ishq diyan
allah hooooo
allah ho allah ho allah allah ho allah
allah hooooo
haye phullan vargi jindri nu ishq rulla charhada
sare bajar jo jaave ishq nacha chadada
haye kakh naa chadde dekh vafavan ishq diyan
aukhe painde lammiyaan raavan ishq diyaan
allah hooo
allah ho allah ho allah allah ho allah
allah hooooo
sajjana bhajon jaat sifaataan ishq diyaan
vakhri kulli din te raataan ishq diyaan
haye vich chodan tabtan under thavaan ishq diyaan
aukhe painde lammiyaan raavan ishq diyaan
allah hooooo
allah ho allah ho allah allah ho allah
allah hooooo
har har dil har thhan vich ishq samaaya ae
arsh farsh te ishq ne kadam tikaya ae
aien paatan anal haq sadavan ishq diyaan
aukhe painde lammiyaan raavan ishq diyaan
allah hoooo
allah ho allh ho allah allah ho allah
allah hooooo
har har dil har thhan vich ishq samaaya ae
arsh farsh te ishq ne kadam tikaya ae
haye vich chodan tabtan under thavaan ishq diyaan
aukhe painde lammiyaan raavan ishq diyaan
allah hoooo
allah ho allah ho allah allah ho allah
allah hooooo
ishq di hasti masti yaar mitta deve
agge ishq di dil di dhuni jaga deve
bulle vaang nachavan taraan ishq diyaan
aukhe painde lammiyaan raavan ishq diyaan
allah hoooo
allah ho allah ho allah allah ho allah
allah hooooo

Maaya


Ah! the cushioned embrace,
Of the satine fur.

Err! the writhing thrill,
Of the trembling purr.

Ouch! the naughty grab,
With dinky jaws.

Eww! that nasty scratch,
From dainty claws.

A feel so feline,
Oh! So divine.

Delhi Diary: Gossip on Wheels –2


Continued from the previous post….

Delhi roads, or for that matter roads on any metropolitan city in the world is so very stressfull. If only these vehicles did not share their light hearted smalltalks or gossiped or flirted on the way, they would be having high rates of ‘heart attacks’ like us humans.
Only if we too knew how to wade our ways through chaotic and bumpy roads of life with humour, life would seem much less of a burden.

Again open your ears, shush your mouths and hear them gossip and flirt and romance…..
Madame Maruti: Haaaye teri baat ne dil khush kar diya.

Truck ji: Chal Rani tera Rabb Raakhaa
Mme Maruti: Rani, haan who tou main hun. Thankyou for the dua, yaar.

Auto bhai: “Papa Jaldi Ghar aa Jaana.”
Maruti behn: Bhai, ghar mein bachey wait kar rahe hain, zara safely
chalao.

Another auto bhai: “Mera Bharat Pareshan[My India is Troubled].”
Maruti : Tere jaise careless auto se pareshaan nahi hoga tou kya hoga…India.

Maruti, the advisor: Yar tou kaali ko bhool ja, kamai kar buss…

Romeo Truck: “Kaho na pyaar hai”
Laila Maruti: Kyun, ek baar bol diya na, bar baar kyun boloon, huhh.

Maruti( sharma ke): Awaein, mere kol koi hor kum ni haega..

Truck Dada: “Road King”
Maruti: Tabhi tou itna chaura ho ke chalta hai, sarak pe.

Lalchi Maruti: Hain, to kya ye sara maal vi mera. Haaye meri kismat.

Truck in denial: “Gori fir se hui jawan”
Maruti: Kya bola? Zara apne aap ko sheshey mein tou dekh.

Creepy Truck: Tou hi meri dulhan, tou hi mera dahej
Maruti: Yar mat tang ker, us bichari nai Maruti ko.

Truck ji: Bus peecha karoge, ya kabhi dil mein bhi baithogey
Maruti: Arre, peecha kaun kar raha hai, awein hero mat ban.

Truch ji: Dekho, dekho,dekho,magar pyaar se
Maruti: Yahan marne ki fursat nahin hai, tum pya se dekhne ki baat karte ho.

Maruti: Haan, haan woh to nazar aa raha hai.

JattTruck: Jatt Di Mercedez
Maruti, the sophisticated: To tum bhi koi Jutt se kam nahin ho bhai.

Truck the philospher: Hun Tu Kaun te Main Kaun
Maruti the sufi: O truckeya, tu ki jana main kaun…

Maruti: Hahaha kya baat hai…:D

Haseen Lorry: “Kashmir Ki Kali”
Maruti( jealous): Chal chal zyada ghuroor mat ker apne ooper.

Badtameez Tanker: Zarra Hatt ke Laadli
Maruti( ghussey se): Oye tameez se baat ker…

Filmi Truck: “दुल्हन वही जो पिया मन भाये,
गाड़ी वही जो नोट कमाए”
Dulhan wohi jo piya man bhaye
Gaari wohi jo note kamaye.

Maruti, the feminist: Yaar, aajkal to dulhan bhi note kamaye…

Pendu Truck: Himmat hai to pass ker, warna burdass kar.
Shehri Maruti: Lagta hai gaon se naye naye aaye ho, Dilli shehr mein. 🙂

When we part, we get emotional 😥 :
Maruti: Chal TATA. Kabhi Salam bho ker liya ker…

Jazbati Truck: Milega Mukaddar , Pher milangey
Maruti, (equally emo): Haan kismet hui tou zaroor milenge isi road pe, ek na ek din.

Devdaas Truck: Chalo ek Baar Phir se Ajnabi ban JaayeN
Paro Maruti: *sob sob, sniff sniff* Haan chalo, Khuda Hafiz.

And this is how they meet each day, with gossipping, joking, flirting on the roads and making their way through packed roads. Their spirit and zest to survive is touching.

Maruti remarked: Yess we give space on the roads to these beings too, . Do you Humans do the same with animals?

Maruti taunted: Dont you think there are Supermen amongst you only. We have them too.

Maruti( with proud): We have Superwomen too.

Maruti: See we are considerate for our poor too. And we give them way.

Maruti: We believe in UNITY IN DIVERSITY.

Maruti, the thinker: And we believe in PEACEFUL COEXISTENCE .

Indeed, one thing remarkable about the traffic community is their ‘unity in diversity’. How they coexist with some noisy peace and give way to each other with no vengeance, is worth commending.

We humans need to learn some real ‘good’ lessons from these vehicles.

Delhi Diary: Gossip on Wheels–Part 1


Commuting through the streets of Delhi with almost an hour and a half’s drive each side was no less than a Herculean task. The journey back home, in the evening, would result in a bursting headache.

The megacity with hundreds of newly built flyovers and underpasses, still gets choked in its veins at the peak office hours. The traffic is dense, diverse and chaotic. Perhaps when going through licence training they are made to practice to honk horns as much as possible, sworn not to use the dipper and taken pledge not to follow lanes. In fact the dividing lines whether broken white or solid yellow are to be kept exactly in the middle of one’s vehicle—be it a cycle, a cycle rickshaw, auto rickshaw , a car, truck or a tanker.

I felt the dire necessity to have the cake ( wading the traffic all the way each day) and relish it too( enjoy their antics without getting headache).

So I began to hallucinate…

….and began to see and hear all the secret conversations and the relationships the my car had with the traffic around it. I was enlightened now as to why they dive and dodge across the lines ( just like a five year old kid) when another vehicle tries to overtake or chase them. And no wonder why they honk horns so much—in disgust ( just like us humans) when they see injustice .

Oh ! they are all so much like us humans- chaotic and noisy. And like us they gossip, flirt and swear too at each other, on the way.

Only the wise could see that, and I happen to be one of those few. 
I began keeping my eyes and ears open to what was going on between my car and the other fellow vehicles…..

And from then on travelling was fun—after all I am as human as them. and I too love to eavesdrop on what Madame Maruti ( my car) would babble and flirt with fellow trucks and autos along the way.

So from here on just shhhand listen to what Madame Maruti gossips…

Mme Maruti: “Yeah , I know we’ve got to honk the horn for ‘Road Symphony’, but what’s this OK doing in the middle.”

Truck Ji :“Use horn ok please dipper”
Mme Maruti: Hold on, What did you say? Pagla gae ho ?

Mme Maruti: “Kyon? Kya landan se aae ho? Yahan koi dipper wipper nahi janta”.
( Have you come from London, no one knows dipper here).

Mme Maruti: “Yeah only if you had listened to your Mum and been to school, you would know how to say Hallo.”

Mr Truck: “Wait for side.”
Mme Maruti: I’m waiting. But kab takk? ( How long)

We have some of wicked amongst us, just like humans, who can’t wish well for others….
Idealist Maruti: Since when did you become racist, man. Ain’t humans enough?

Burger Truck: “Bad nazar wale tera thobda black.”
Desi Maruti: Lagta hai dost, angrezi filmein zyada dekhne lage ho ?

Dukhi Truck: “चलती है गाड़ी, उड़ती है धूल, जलतें हैं दुश्मन, बिखरतें हैं फूल.”
Chalti hai gari urti hai dhool, jalte hain dushman bikharte hain phool
Maruti, the reformer: Yaar, kabhi kisi ka bhala bhi soch liya karou.( Think of good also sometimes).

Foul mouthed Truck:“बुरी नज़र वाले, तेरे बच्चे जियें, बड़े होकर, देसी शराब पियें”
( Buri nazar wale tere bachey jiyein, Bade ho kar desi sharab piyein).
Maruti, the preacher: O’ bhai, uski to nazar buri hai, per tumhari to soch insaanon ki tarah gandi hai. Uske bachon ney tumhara kya bigada hai?

Mean Truck: बुरी नज़र वाले तू जिए, और तेरा बेटा बड़ा होकर तेरा खून पिए! ( Buri nazar wale tere bachey jiyen, bade ho kar tera khoon piyen).
Maruti, the Gandhian: Arre bhai, kya tum bhi insaan ban gaye jo khoon peene ki baat kar rahe ho ?

Some of us are really kind and thoughtful too:
Maruti: Wah, yeh ki na tum ne sau aane wali baat. 🙂

Saint Truck: Na koi buri nazar
Na kisi ka muh kala,
Sab ka bhala chahta hai
barah tiresath (12-63)wala!

Maruti:Kaash, hamre baqi bhai log bhi aisa hi sochein? Aur insaan bhi 😦

Maruti: Sach keh rahe ho, magar ye insaan ki samajh mein aye to baat hai.

</
Maruti: Wah bilkul theek kaha tum ne.

Our social responsibility, we understand so well. I wish all mankind could think like us too:
Maruti, the samajhdar: Agar insaan ki ye samajh mein aa jae to is duniya ki mushkil hi khatm ho jae.

Maruti, the patriot: Is mehengai ke daur mein, bilkul theek.

Mr Truck: “Ek ya do buss.”
Mme Maruti: “Kya shaadi ya bacheyy?”

Mr Truck:बीवी रहे टिपटॉप
दो के बाद फुल स्टॉप
(Biwi rahe teep taap
Do ke baad fullstap)

Mme Maruti: “Khayal umdah hai, feminist lagtey ho !”

Truck, the Anna Hazare: Sau mein nabbey beimaan, phir bhi mera desh mahaan.
Maruti, the Sonia: Han haan, buss tum hi to ek imaandar ho poore desh mein.

Mr Truck, the poet: शेर दो हों मगर सलीके के,
घर को ऐसी ग़ज़ल बनाना है
(Sher do hon magar saleeqe ke
Ghar ko aisi ghazal bana hai).

Mme Maruti: “Uff, ye ‘sher’ aur ‘ghazal’ se tou Ghalib ki
yaad taza ho gai.”

Truck, the poet: “Malik ki gadi, driver ka pasina, chalti hai road par, banke hassina”
Maruti: Haaye, kya Shayar ban gaya…

Truck Sahab, the wannabe poet: “Fool se kante ache hai jo daman tham lete hain, dost se dushman ache hain jo jal kar bhi naam lete hain”
Maruti, the judgemental: Haaye teri Urdu se tou Hazrat Ghalib pareshan ho jayeinge.

Maruti: “What should I say, you said it all?”

PS: Some less serious gossip in the next blog.

A Trek


Ever since
Borne off the rib,
Road’s been uphill.
Laden with boulders,
Of hardships, hurdles,
And umpteen struggles

Track slippery and steep,
From cradle to grave.
Crawling narrow lanes,
Of Adam’s psyche.
Jostling upon her,
The backpack of duties.

Taking twists and turns,
Thro’ dark dogmatic alleys,
Braving blizzards of biases’
Dodging dissecting stares
With resolve steady as rock
And mind tough as steel.

A heart warm as fleece,
Entwined in agony and love,
Walks the tight rope,
Miles after miles.
How far more ?
Endless?

Passing the baton of destiny
From Mom to daughter to…
Will it go on?
Forever?

Behind fog of prejudice,
The summit remains unsighted.
Can she make it?
Before sunset?
Ever?