Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

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This is a counter narrative of self proclaimed PTSD

کہا تھا تجھ سے کر جہت مسلسل

یہ وعدہ وفا کہاں حق ٹھرا تھا

تو کیا تیرے دکھ کا بیان کیا

تیرا کم علم ہی فرق ٹھرا تھا

تو ابھی طفل مکتب بھی نہیں

حیراں ہوں یہ کیا عشق ٹھرا تھا

شاید طبیب کا روزگار اور بڑھے 

کہ مریض کا رنگ فق ٹھرا تھا

شاہد لب کشائی کی اوقات کیلئے 

غیرت و خود داری سبق ٹھرا تھا

Posttraumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is a psychiatric disorder that may occur in people who have experienced or witnessed a traumatic event such as a natural disaster, a serious accident, a terrorist act, war/combat, or rape or who have been threatened with death, sexual violence or serious injury.

People with PTSD have intense, disturbing thoughts and feelings related to their experience that last long after the traumatic event has ended. They may relive the event through flashbacks or nightmares; they may feel sadness, fear or anger; and they may feel detached or estranged from other people. People with PTSD may avoid situations or people that remind them of the traumatic event, and they may have strong negative reactions to something as ordinary as a loud noise or an accidental touch.

(Courtesy: https://www.psychiatry.org/patients-families/ptsd/what-is-ptsd)

First Eid without father

This was first Eid of Aaliya without father. Her father was died some 6 months ago apparently due to COVID-19. Being Muslim she believes in the fact that every soul shall have a taste of death but she was not expecting that her father will leave her this early. She still can’t get used to the fact that he is no more. It is hard to believe. Every single message beep and call on the phone gave her illusion as if it is from her beloved Abbu. Many times she often gets lost in time and space. She thought of picking her mobile phone and calling father’s number as usual course of business and then stopped doing in midst of nostalgia and realism.

The time settles each wound but the pain and suffering of losing one’s father is not curable. Will it be anything in this world to pacify this restlessness? Remembrance of father haunts her every day. While Eid was a time of joy and happiness, it was also one of immeasurable sadness for Aaliya who was recalling happy occasions with father who is no longer available. She tried her best to keep her grief & sorrow unnoticed but failed to hide on this day of Eid. Jamal and children might have read facial expressions of Aaliya but yet they were not aware of this whole new world of anguish and unhappiness. This can only be understood by whom who lost his/her father. It can only be experienced and can’t be explained.

Aaliya recalled the memories of her father…Ramadan days, Sehr-o-iftar, spending time in prayers and zikr, going to bazaar with him for eid shopping, supporting Ammi in Eid preparation, cleaning of house, testing Ammi’s cooked eid servings and passing joint declarations on quality and taste, getting eidi, meet up with family & friends, watching Eid shows and movies together…indulging in countless recollection of past events is a frequent happening.

Lost as she may seem to be in her routine work, can’t forget what she owes to her father. She was possessive about her memories of the father who gave her all that she possesses in life. She started thinking of how to pay off his father? And then she started dreaming of making his dream come true. For that she must keep going and this Eid along with her all rich memories reinforce to bring that all happiness for her family, which her father laboured all his life.

She thought of everyone spending Eid without loved one and struggling to cope today. Somewhere she got to know that she is not alone. She explored the idea of sharing happiness and cheerfulness for others…love and warmth to everyone who came along her way…She started believing that her sharing of bliss have a value for her departed father and somewhere around her he is watching her to distribute life to others…it’s like watering plants in your garden and realizing them blooming and flourishing leaf by leaf…rejuvenated idea of life.

Dear father! Your loss! Oh! A big difference to me!

(My father-in-law was died last year on 11-October-2020 and this was my wife’s first Eid without her father)  

Chand

 سنا ہے چاند نکل آیا ہے آسماں میں

 چلو کچھ تو امید وفا کا صلہ دیں

 لو پھر امید ہو چلی ہے روشنی کی

 آو ہم ظلمت شب کے شکوے مٹا دیں

 جو آئے آنکھ میں آنسو خوشی کا ہو

 بچھڑے ہوئے اپنوں کو یوں ملا دیں

 پھر ہو گا منور میرا آنگن چاندنی سے

 اس خبر پہ شام کے دئیے بجھا دیں

 تیرے کھوئے وجود کو پا کر یوں

 اس بار بھی کھونے کے غم بھلا دیں

 زندگ تیرے ملنے بچھڑنے سے عبارت ہے

 شاہد ان اندھیروں اجالوں کو عادت بنا دیں

Tere Baghair

 تیرے بغیر

Poetry for my beloved wife

یوں گزر رہے ہیں 

تیرے بغیر رات کے پل

جیسے اندھیروں میں 

طاق کا دیا جائے جل

خود کلامی میں میں یہ کہوں

اے دل ان کی یاد سے بہل

خامشی نے شب کی پوچھا ہے

کب آو گی تم ہو گی چہل

کب جائے گی رت خزاں کی

آئے گی بہار کی فصل

کر کے وعدے ملاقاتوں کے

کبھی تو ہو تنہائی میں مخل

صبح کا سپیدہ یہ بولے گا

ہوا ہے کیسے ارمانوں کا قتل

جو نہ آئے تم اس بار بھی

کریں گے تیری یاد سے وصل

وفا کے بدلے یوں جفا دے کر

کب تک کرو گے تم ایسے عدل

تم جو چاہو یہ آسماں کے تارے

دکھا دیں گے راستہ آ ہم سے مل

شاہد یقیں ہے ہمیں جنوں یہ ہمارا 

کر دے گا کبھی ہماری قسمت بدل

Banam Kashmir

ہر کسی کی راہ میں انگارے نہیں ہوتے
سب لوگ یہاں غم کے مارے نہیں ہوتے
ہر شب کی جواہش ہے جگمگانے کی
ہر رات کی قسمت میں ستارے نہیں ہوتے
کہنے لگی ہے وادی کی ہر بیٹی صبح و شام
بزدل یہاں کسی کے سہارے نہیں ہوتے کوئی ہے جو ان آنسوؤں کو مول لے گا
اشک خون آرزو کے استعارے نہیں ہوتے
مقفل تھے جو لوگ وہ یہ سمجھ گئے
روزن زنداں سے امید کے اجالے نہیں ہوتے
عزت نفس، آبرو، تکریم، ناموس و ارجمند
کیا مظلوموں کو یہ وصف پیارے نہیں ہوتے تاریک سیاہ رات کے بعد صبح آزادی ہے
خزاں کے بعد موسم بہار آنے نہیں ہوتے
شاہد تیری ہر ایک جہد پہ خالق کی نظر ہے
شہداء کے خون سے انقلاب فسانے نہیں ہوتے (First two shear are from anonymous poet, rest of the poem is written by me)

Baa, Baa, Black Sheep

We went to Shadi wala ghar where family's girls/females were singing traditional shadi songs. My 2.5 year old son interrupted and shouted...No! Don't sing this song...only sing "Baba Black Sheep"...Rest is history...Lately people experienced first ever baba black sheep dholki version on Shadi occasion.

Baa, baa, black sheep,
Have you any wool?
Yes, sir, yes, sir,
Three bags full;
One for the master,
And one for the dame,
And one for the little boy
Who lives down the lane

Koucha-e-janaan mie ajab masti hai

Fart-e-heerat hoon ki tere dard ne

Kitaboon mie likha lafzoon ka kaha suna hi nahin

Shahid o hamraaz thaey jo tere dil ke

Unhien tu ne apna samjha hi nahin

Kis se karte biyan dard ki shidat

Samaey hai jo aisa ki samjha hi nahin

Ho chuka qutal jub mere zaat ka

Ab kya karien ge gawah jub mudda hi nahin

Youn tu dasht mi tha samandar dekhta

Bus naseeb mie tha pani hi nahin

Mehfil mie yaar ki sub kuch tu hai

Kya howa faqat jo pehlu hi nahin

Koucha-e-janaan mie ajab masti hai

Bikney ko hoon tayar gahak hi nahin

Pathar bhi hota tu moum ho jata

Tere takallum mie halawat hi nahin

Pathar jo parey mujh ko phol hi lagey

Majnoon hoon nae dhaab ka ashiq hi nahin

Lahu aya hai mere ankhon se ashk nahin

Shahid kyoun ho koi jub aarzoo hi nahin
 

Note:

After a very long time I managed to break a writer's block. This blog is based on friend’s facebook status which reads in urdu as:

ﻧﮧ ﻟﻔﻈﻮﮞ ﮐﺎ ﻟﮩﻮ ﻧﮑﻠﺘﺎ ﮨﮯ ﻧﮧ ﮐﺘﺎﺑﯿﮟ ﺑﻮﻝ ﭘﺎﺗﯽ ﮨﯿﮟ
ﻣﯿﺮﮮ ﺩﺭﺩ ﮐﮯ ﺩﻭ ﮔﻮﺍﮦ ﺗﮭﮯ ﺩﻭﻧﻮﮞ ﮨﯽ ﺑﮯ ﺯﺑﺎﮞ ﻧﮑﻠﮯ

 

 

Chanda ki Nagri

This jingle is based and inspired by the instrumental performance “Lough Erin Shore” by Irish band the CORRS which was recorded live on October 5,1999 as a part of MTV’s Unplugged series.

Chanda ki Nagri

Ki hain

Ye Sitarey

Dekhu jo in ko

Lagtey hain pyarey

Bikhray howe hain

Falak mie aise

Jaise ho Gulshan

Mie Jugnu

Ye sarey

Chu lo agar tu

Asman ko

Mil jayien ge

Tum ko

Hian ye Sitarey

Ghum na karo tum

Khatam hoge douri

Mill jayien gay

Naddia ki

Sung kinarey

Gur raat ho

Jitney bhi gehri

Pereshan na hona

Kur dain ge ujaley

Subh ki nazarey

Jeet lou ju tu

Bazi ye hari

Honge khushian hursu

Mitt jayien ge

Ghum ye sarey

This blog is dedicated to my younger sisters

Thank God, I am not pregnant! (Shikwah)

Note: In this blog I tried to amalgamate style of Manto with Iqbal’s “Shikwah”. This blog contains some bold ideas so reader discretion is advised.

Sir, we deal in all types of chemicals and coating additives. We are a responsible care company and concerned with the well being of customers, suppliers and stakeholders. Followed by introduction she replied some of the queries of the customer and suggested workable options. Then conversation concluded with notes of typical greetings. Mouthpiece returned to its designated rest area with crisp sound.

For a moment everything was calmed down like deep sea water. After a pause she tried to figure out what she was doing earlier. Ahan! Akhbar-e-Jahan...She resumed skimming with renewed looks on cover girl from top to bottom. She closely observed the colour scheme being used in fabric and the new stitched neck design. For a moment she realized how she will look like wearing this cover girl outfit. From halat-e-hazra to cut piece and In light of Quran & Sunnah to Filmi Dunia every page turner was an aimless attempt to kill time. She was feeling heavy.

It was a dull deserted office of a local importer firm at a second floor of an unsuccessful plaza who remained under-occupied since the year of inauguration. She was a sales girl cum secretary of Malik Sahib – the owner of a firm. Besides her a firm comprises of one dozen marketing executives who had a very high turnover for switch-overs.  

Marketing guys may loose a chance to hunt a prospective client but they never miss a chance of flirting with her though they were well aware that she is heart throb of Malik Sahib. Every passerby marketer was admirer of her smart fit appealing attire. Indeed she was a perfect candle with surround moths. Time had told her how to remain inflammable. However she was realistic enough to know that ultimately candle lastly sparks, burn out and finally ends up with grey coloured upsurge one liner smoke…after which dark & gloom prevails.

Her dullness started getting heavier that day with cramps, head ache and back pain. For now there was no more charm in page turner of magazine. She put a magazine aside and geared up for her visit to Malik Sahib’s chamber. She entered in chamber without knocking the door. Chamber was full of cigarette’s smoke. Silence broke up with her extended rousing “Sir!”. Malik Sahib faced up from newspaper and looked at her. The visual delight of her was more charming than picture of Katrina Kaif in the newspaper. “Whats up?”

Malik Sahib! Should I leave, I am not feeling well, she said demandingly.

With a flip of finger Malik sahib shed ash on the tip of cigarette to ash-tray, took another puff and with locked looks said, “It’s ok, take good care of yourself.” She gave a thankful smile and returned back. She wore veil as if she was a nymph on her way to holy pilgrimage and came out of office. Even she came out earlier it took one hour to reach home.

After entering home she paid soul-less salams to Amman ji and went to her room. She spent next 15 minutes lying over her bed. Then she moved up to bath room for change over. She looked herself in a bathroom mirror and tried to recognize herself. Her bleak and unconscious face had a lot of complaints with existence. Finally, she thrown away the sanitary napkin in a litter-bucket and murmured “Thank God, I am not pregnant!” 

P.S: The story of this blog is inspired by thesis work of an art student.

New Year's Resolution

Neither I know Rumi nor Behlol

I know myself and know my goal

Mysticism of death

Can not dead my soul

Like a beacon of moth

My life has to play a role

If not understood for meaning

Verses & stanzas are just black of coal

Shahid come out of beloved’s deceit

You are not a traveler of a boat with hole

Mona Aaliya – My lady Aaliya

The pillow gossips remained till the confirmation of the sleeping of children. In aftermath Jamal had another splendid night with Aaliya.

With far away resonance of Aazan Jamal noticed movement from bed. Aaliya was taking her bath. Sonnet of sprinkling water droplets over floor of attach bath had a heavenly effects on ears like the way bhujaan purifies the sins of burhamans.

With half opened eyes, Jamal seen chaddar covered nymph standing on a prayer carpet. Watching last praying part of the congregation session was angelical. Aaliya angled her chaddar driven head to 90 degree right and then 180 degree left in order to conclude salams and raised hands.

Closed eyes and whispering lips were evident of the dedication towards praying. The monumentality of the composition and atmospheric illusionism were novel qualities of the sight that had contributed to the continuing fascination. For the moment Jamal felt jealousy for the God on account of Aaliya’s allegiance and submission.

Upon folding of prayer carpet Aaliya noticed the eyes of Jamal over her and said: What are you looking at? “Nothing!” Jamal replied in total absenteeism and while hiding his state counter asked, “What you were asking from God with this dedication?” In reply Aaliya just smiled with enigmatic facial expressions. The mesmerizing face glow was a look alike dawn marking beginning of twilight before sunrise for a surround darkness.

Aurora now had left her saffron bed,
And beams of early light the heav'ns o'erspread,
When, from a tow'r, the queen, with wakeful eyes,
Saw day point upward from the rosy skies.
(From Virgil's Aeneid)

Jamal thought that if he were Leonardo da Vinci the world surely witness portrait more promising then Mona Lisa.

(This blog is a sequel of earlier posted blog “Umeed-e-Bahar” dated November 27, 2009)

Rastoon pur ilzam tu aye ga

Garcha hon tarey rahbaar,

Rastoon pur ilzam tu aye ga,

Jub bhi chubhey ga sufar mien kanta,

Raastey se he poucha jae ga,

Ajab ja hai yeah duniya bhi,

Kuch na karney ka tu sila paye ga,

Qais sehra ke saraboon mien,

Laila ka dhoka khaye ga,

Shahid honge sub dar-o-deewar,

Rastoon pur ilzam tu aye ga

Durre Shehwar & The Royal Ring

Qamar-ud-din Khan Siddiqi (Asif Jah - I), later known simply as "Nizam-ul-Mulk", was the founder of the Asif Jahi dynasty which ruled the Hyderabad state of India from 1720 to 1948. There is an old myth about Asif Jah that on one of his hunting trips he was offered some kulchas by a holy man and was asked to eat as many as he could. The Nizam could eat seven kulchas and the holy man then predicted that seven generations of his family would rule the state.

By the middle of 18^th century the Nizams of Asif Jahi dynasty had quickly surpassed the Mughals ruling a vast dominion in South India. They were among the wealthiest people in the world and history acknowledges the fact that seven Nizams ruled the Hyderabad estate for nearly two centuries.

The Asif Jahi rulers were great patrons of literature, art, architecture, culture, jewelry collection and rich food. The Nizams ruled the state until its integration into the Indian Union in September 1948 after independence from the British.

Nawab Bahadur Usman Ali (Asif Jah VII) was the last Nizam of the princely state of Hyderabad. Though during his days as Nizam he was reputed to be the richest man in the world but he & his wife Dulhan Pasha Begum were worried about their elder son Azzam Jah since they were aware of the family myth of seven generations. Both were wanted to arrange marriage of their son to a princess; but she would have to be a real princess.

They inquired all over the world to find one, but nowhere could they get what they wanted. There were princesses enough, but it was difficult to find out whether they were real ones. There was always something about them that was not as it should be. So they were sad, for they would have liked very much to have a real princess so that the Asif Jahi dynasty will prosper further and stretch to further future generations.

One evening a terrible storm came on; there was thunder and lightning, and the rain poured down in torrents. Indeed it was a fearful night. Suddenly a knocking was heard at the main gate of Chowmahalla Palace - The Royal residence of Nizams, and the darbans went to open it. It was a princess who stood outside, but what a sight the rain and the wind had made her look. She was in a terrible state. The water streamed out of her hair and her clothes; it ran down into the toes of her shoes and out again at the heels. And yet she said that she was a real princess Durre Shehwar, a daughter of his imperial majesty Sultan Efendi of Ottoman Empire.

Well, we'll soon find that out, thought the Pasha Begum standing besides the Nizam, she was listening to the whole conversation. But she said nothing, went into the bed-room, took all the bedding off the bedstead, and laid a royal ring at the bottom; then she took twenty mattresses and laid them on the royal ring. On this the princess had to lie all night. Then she showed the girl to her room.

The rain beat down all night and lightning streaked the sky. In the morning she was asked how she had slept. The girl politely replied: "lt was a lovely soft bed, so soft that I could feel something hard under the mattress so that I am black and blue all over my body. It kept me awake all night!"

Now they knew that she was a real princess because she had felt the ring right through the twenty mattresses. Nobody but a real princess could be as sensitive as that. The Pasha Begum offered her apologies for laying a ring under her bed, before rushing off to her son. With this assessment she had actually selected a real princess Durre Shehwar for her son.

After the wedding, the royal ring was placed inside a gold and crystal box and exhibited in the Chowmahalla Palace Museum, where it may still be seen, if no one has stolen it.

(Adaptation of Hans Christian Andersen’s The Princess and the Pea)

P.S. PKR 6000/- is the realized price of my 25 years old bed sold today.

Mount Everest

You know what? I have a modest ambition, if one day I will succeed in climbing on you I will pick a small piece of rock from the top of the world as a memento and wear it in a necklace. I will not sell it; I will not give it to anyone. It is something for me to say 'this is a rock from the summit'. She said candidly to the Mount Everest.

“It’s not an easy job, neither every dream is meant for becoming reality” Mount Everest replied with arrogance of being superior and pompous.

This is what I know, this is what I have to handle, and your freezing attitudes can not ice my temperate ambitions to conquer the highest mountain in the world that attracts well-experienced mountaineers as well as novice climbers like me.

I am enjoying your words and spirits, your ideas of success is so unimaginable, your wishes and prayers are so insignificant and little that I am not sure even if they are audible to the God who shadowed me his mightiness and gigantic presence.

Have you ever heard an Olympic creed? It says that the most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win but to take part, just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph but the struggle. The essential thing is not to have conquered but to have fought well. So I am just taking my part of struggle.

You see scaling on me is definitely not easy. Mountaineers have to deal with crevasses, avalanches, and strong winds. No wonder, then, that many ambitious mountaineers perish along the way, their accompanying mountaineers have to leave the dead body behind, and this has made me the Mount Everest the highest burial ground in the world.

Very strongly she communicated to the Mighty Mount; the people who live near you are called Sherpa people. Someone told me that the cheerful smiles and legendary strength of the Sherpas have been an integral part of Everest climbing expeditions from the very beginning. The Sherpas follow Buddhism. I have met their Lamas (spiritual monks) in their monasteries. I have asked my success from them. They have arranged placement of my base camp with them. The bright sun above me and the white snow beneath will protect my cause. Lamas will not let me down I am telling you.

My slight wind blow will vanish your base camp. The protecting snow will made you buried in crevasses where bright sun will never rescue from state of unknown forever. Don’t worship me; People will give fatwas for your kufr? And what else people can do beside gossips she replied firmly. I will not move even an inch back, try whatever you can.

She was remained unhindered with the resistance she was facing from Mount Everest but some where deep inside her immaculate intentions started dwindling. She almost begged for not showing such an alien looks to her. She started thinking if climbing is a science or arts?? If it is science am I merely one numeric mountaineer with who intend to achieve material success of climbing highest summit above sea level i.e. 8848 meters. And if it is an art, why no one is appreciating my idea of self actualization? My struggle for triumph on the highest point on the earth’s continental crust.

That day was decisive for her. She started walking across the frozen snow and ice. There were big cracks in the ice that she had to step across. She took a step onto a thin layer of snow and fell into a crevasse. With ropes of hopes she survived but scared. In front of her was the steep ice wall i.e. Lohtse face covered with thick ice and snow which never melts even in the bright sunshine. There was less oxygen in the air so she had to breathe harder. She started feeling sick this time. Strong winds and deep snow was making too dangerous to try the top.

Finally her struggle to climb at the top turned to unfulfilled desire. With heavy heart she turned around from near the top. She decided to left climbing Mount Everest further and moved to climb K-2 the second option.

The days were very dreadful for Mount Everest since her departure to some where else. Mount Everest felt alone and unaccompained. He was angry for what he did to the mountaineers and that novice climber. He showed his anger to the World.

The other day national & international media equally reported the news about lady who climbed on K-2 of the Karakoram range and tremors with epicentre somewhere close to mighty Mount Everest in ranges of Himaliya.

P.S: In University days she used to call him Mount Everest

Note: Based on a news item about 13 year old American boy Jordan Romero who is in bid to climb Mount Everest to be the world's youngest climber of Mount Everest

Dear Departed

In smoky & foggy weather outside I was trying to read Daily Dawn. From economic turmoil to political instability my eyes were rolling from one story to another in anticipation of some good news but every eye ball move was giving me despair and gut of pessimism. The cold was also playing winning shots against my cardigan & lowe (Chaddar) covered body and I was feeling chilly weather with chattering teeth.

Today was the last day of my younger sister at home and she was giving final touches to luggage packing for her way back to far flung corner of the world i.e. California, USA. The carrier in cost cutting drive indicated maximum luggage weight capacity per passenger which was making my sister hysterical to weigh the baggage again & again to keep it in prescribed limits.

My sister’s words interrupted my skimming the newspaper, “Bhai! I want to keep this souvenir with me”. I took the souvenir in my hand which was earlier a zeenat of our drawing room’s wooden rack. The souvenir’s metal was shinning in praise of the daily cleaning of our maid. For the last many years the souvenir had stayed at the central wooden rack of the drawing room among other antique items and show pieces in order to get attention of the visiting guests. I nodded in affirmation with sound “Sure, why not!”

In moments time she came again with a set of books, “Bhai! I am taking these too”, “You can take anyone you like”. The front book lying above had a clear title of ‘Pervaaz’ by Shafique ur Rehman. My sister pointed out our childhood albums, “I am also taking these with me”. This time the verdict was announced before I gave my consent. “Leave them here” I murmured. “O come on Bhai! What will you do of these childhood albums, after all, these are all mine”. “Acha! As you may please”.

Dine out session was memorable, we shared gossips, laughed at cross nouk-jhonk- crackers. At the last moment we exchanged duaiya gestures, prayed for each other. I finally gave my elderly symbolic hand rest on my sister’s head. The car started with little cold coughs and finally started to move. I remained standing outside the house into the street. I was not sure if it was my tear watered eyes or the distance, which dimmed the car back lights enough to be invisible.

Umeed-e-Bahar

I am a florist. My flower shop is located in one of the finest hotels in the metropolis. There are some 20 shops in the main lobby of the hotel and my shop is centrally located and well placed among other shops of gourmet, articles & souvenir, Afghani rugs & carpets, jewelry, travel agency, book & magazines and perfumery outlet.

A question might come to your mind that why did I opt for the profession of floristry or floral trade as my source for livelihood? Well, while doing my MBA from a local university, my favorite subject was entrepreneurship. Aaliya was also the reason to have interest in entrepreneurship as we first time met in the class of the said subject. Later we decided two things before the closure of our final semester; first we will marry soon after the completion of our MBA and second I will not do any job and will start my own business. Our final project on setting flower shop was the reason to join this business. And for the last 9 years I am in this business.

My shop ‘Jamal’s flower shop’ is one of the most famous flower shop in town for its floral arrangements in vases, bowls, baskets or other containers, or making bouquets and compositions from cut flowers, foliages, herbs, ornamental grasses and other botanical materials. It’s really a form of art. Knowing how to cut, treat, and arrange flowers and other stock plants so they will remain fresh as long as possible as per requirements and expectations of the customers for the various occasions ranging from birthdays to anniversaries and from wedding sessions to seasonal greetings.

The flowers sold in florist shops typically represent the varieties abundantly available in the season but also include blossoms flown in from around the world. Basic varieties include gulab, motia, gainda, tulips, orchids and lilies. Fashion sometimes plays a role in floristry and I have to maintain enough stocks for the flower that everyone needs to buy.

But you know besides bloom days one has to face gloom days too. Apart from all the blissful years of robust growth I am standing at the point of uncertainty and business recession. With political and social chaos in the country and frequent suicide attacks the hotel industry is in doldrums. The hotel’s lobby which remains crowded with tourists & visitors almost throughout the year is looking deserted and barren. This is not only my shop which is suffering economically we all shop owners are facing the deepening crises.

For the last three days hardly any visitor came to the shop for flowers. Though I am a seller of hope & bliss but each day my flowers are getting dry and dead awaiting their buyers. It’s a really painful phenomenon to dispose of decomposed and dried flower arrangements. Increasing burdened expenses and low revenues giving its toll on my pocket. Today I remained open for the whole day and managed to sell only two bouquets. Upon closure of the shop my mind was hopeless to find solution for electricity bill payment, rent of the shop, my son’s english medium school’s two months’ voucher, daughter’s milk and likewise list of expenditures.

I reached home as a warrior who lost everything in the battle field. Aaliya welcomed me like any other day at home. My son and daughter met me with loud out slogans of “Abbu aa gaye”. I went into the bed room and dropped my whole body to the nearby sofa. Aaliya, the pacifier, was there to listen everything. She comprehended all my miseries without any verbal communication and said: ‘I know you, you are extremely good in business, you are honest and dedicated, you sell happiness and delight to the people and you know God is with those who distribute bliss & pleasure to its mankind. Have faith in God! App pereshan na hon everything will be fine!’

I saw the assurance and confidence in the Aaliya’s eyes. With Aaliya as my wife I felt like the most lucky man on earth. The ‘Hope’ somewhere inside me has been rejuvenated by my shareek-e-hayat. I looked at my ever encouraging Aaliya. She gave me inspiring smile and I got enough strength to reopen the shop tomorrow with same zeal and enthusiasm.

Adam’s dream of having Eve’s companionship seems to be materialized and I once again opened my flower shop with the same set of floral arrangements, the aroma and fragrance in the air in the search of selling hopes to my prospective customers.

P.S: With this King Sheheryar asked Princess Shahrzad if he got success in selling flowers the other day. In hope of living another day Shahrzad smiled and replied gracefully, “Hazoor! Iss ka zikar agli nashist main ho ga” (My Lord! I will let you know this in the next sitting)

Complete KYC requirements!

She looked at the cheque received through Admin Officer. The cheque was crossed “Account payees only” in favour of Hajira Bibi amounting to PKR 283,450/-. Her eyes watered and the wording of the cheque got jumbled. Two months earlier her only son died while serving on duty in a suicide attack by an ‘unknown’ suicide bomber. He was serving as government employee in Elite Force, Punjab Police and cheque was the payment for accumulated funds & end benefits. Admin Officer also told her the ‘good news’ that she will receive pension of PKR 3,130/- per month for his son.

Hajira Bibi has been through a lot of turbulent times in her life cycle. She migrated to Lahore from Ferozepur, India in 1947 and was one of the very few survivors in the family when other members were brutally butchered by Sikh rebellions. She was married to Mairaj Din who was a local street vendor. Life for Hajira Bibi was not a bed of roses since Mairaj Din’s earning was meager and insufficient to cover the very basic necessities.

After Mairaj Din’s death, her son was the only asset she had. With loss of life of her son she lost every thing. She gathered all her energies and efforts and went to a local bank branch around 8 K.M away from her poor home by changing two wagons for opening of an account for respective credit of cheque.

An officer sitting at the front desk was recently trained on KYC & AML (Know Your Customer & Anti Money Laundering) measures to be adapted to curb any illicit, illegitimate placement, layering and integration of funds as defined under Financial Action task Force (FATF) recommendations and SBP Prudential Regulations on KYC & AML measures.

At the front desk that officer told her: O Khala je! You know only cheque in hand is not enough to open an account. You have to fulfill KYC & AML requirements. Bring your Computerized National Identity Card (CNIC) in original, attested copy of CNIC and list of documents required to open a pension account. He handed over the list along with the account opening form.

Hajira Bibi looked at the officer, at the cheque in her hand, list of documents & account opening form. She has yet to prove her identity to be known for customer due diligence.

(All the Characters in the above mentioned story are imaginary & fictional work and resemblance to any actual incident is merely coincidence for which blog-writer is not responsible)

Who is the judge?

Born into severe poverty and witness of considerable hardship in early life, Oprah Winfrey is an American media personality, actress, television producer, literary critic and magazine publisher, best known for her self-titled, multi-award winning talk show with a focus on literature, self-improvement, and spirituality, which has become the highest-rated program of its kind in history.

She has been ranked the richest African American of the 20th century, the most philanthropic African American of all time, and was once the world's only black billionaire. She is also, according to some assessments, the most influential woman in the world.

In year 2007, she produced a film The Great Debaters about the struggle of “colored” Americans for civil rights. The film is based on a true story. The plot revolves around the efforts of debate coach Melvin B. Tolson at historically black Wiley College to place his team on equal footing with whites in the American South during the 1930s, when Jim Crow laws were common and lynch mobs were a pervasive fear for deprived blacks. The Wiley team eventually succeeds to the point where they are able to debate Harvard University.

In the movie, the mentor & coach Mr. Tolson manages recitation of chorus in front of debating team:

Who is the JUDGE?
The judge is God.
Why is he GOD?
Because he decides who wins or loses, not my opponent.
Who is your OPPONENT?
He does not exist.
Why doesn't he EXIST?
Because he is a mere dissenting voice of the TRUTH I speak.

Pakistan is the country which came into existence in the name of God. We the Pakistanis trust in God. We believe in His supremacy and His Day of Judgment. Today we are facing turbulent times. Our opponents are many. Our opponents are external & internal. But we believe in Truth, we believe in good days to come, when we will win. We know our opponents do not exist. They are mere dissenting voices of the Truth we speak.

Long live optimism!

Information courtesy: wikipedia

P.S: I wrote this blog on October 28,2009. The day more than 120 men, women & children died and more than 250 severely injured in lethal car bomb blast at women’s market Meena Bazar, Peshawar (Pakistan). Almost 75 dead bodies were unidentifiable and dozens of shops & buildings completely destroyed including one mosque. Till writing of this line no one accepted the responsibility.

A Thousand Splendid Wounds

I want to salute US Think Tanks. Over the years & decades they learned good skills of intervention, interference, intrusion & destruction. I guess they learned these skills from history of British Empire. They research on ideas, plan & project. They work & re work over strategies and then masterly execute their plan of action.

They believe in ‘Rule on the people by the people’. They always give due weightage to the indigenous natural & human resources in order to implement their plan. Khaled Hosseini is one of the feathers in the US cap.

Currently citizen of United States and Goodwill Envoy for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), Khaled Hosseini is a novelist and physician from Afghanistan living in Northern California with his wife, Roya, and their two children.

Hosseini was born in Kabul where his father worked for the Afghanistan Foreign Ministry. In 1970, Hosseini and his family moved to Tehran, Iran, where his father worked for the Embassy of Afghanistan. In 1980 they sought political asylum in the United States and made their residence in San Jose, California.

Hosseini graduated from Independence High School in San Jose in 1984 and enrolled at Santa Clara University, where he earned a bachelor's degree in biology in 1988. The following year, he entered the University of California, San Diego, School of Medicine, where he earned his M.D. in 1993.

His 2003 debut novel, The Kite Runner, was an international bestseller, selling in more than 10 million copies worldwide. His second, A Thousand Splendid Suns, was released on May 22, 2007. In 2008, the book was the bestselling novel in the UK with more than 700,000 copies sold.

In A Thousand Splendid Suns, with use of God-gifted skills of story telling Khaled Hosseini superlatively narrated story of two women of Afghanistan, Mariam and Laila, whose lives become entwined in back drop of War, hunger, anarchy, and oppression. He left no room to tell about the dark face of Afghanistan, The face which US Think Tank wants to show the World. The gloomy dark era of Russians & Taliban. According to writer the only hope for every living Afghani is to migrate from Afghanistan to the dreamland of Northern California.

I want to suggest and recommend Mr. Khaled Hosseini to rephrase the title of the novel as “A Thousand splendid Wounds” because with this new title I anticipate & foresee manifold increase in sale of novel all around the World.

I once again want to show tashakoor to US Think Tanks for such a talent hunt in the shape of Khaled Hosseini. They should consider him for promotion and higher ranks in UNHCR, because he really deserve for the position. He is the person who highlighted such an agony and grief of the Afghan awam in true sense to the international audience. The story of a thousand splendid wounds…

For the third novel yet to come by bestseller writer Khalid Hosseini, I want to remind one trait of the Afghan to him. Khud-dari…Khuddar Afghan men & women can compromise poor, pathetic, deprived living but will never bear the grief of someone’s own finger point over their own sore. The art of marketing their wounds for good money.

As far as US Think Tanks as concern while learning from history of the great British Empire they forget one thing…The great British Empire is part of history so will they!

My sincere wish for Arm-free world and peace for every single living being! Long live global citizen!

Ranjha - Destiny & Free Will

Of all earthly pleasures, Ranjha was used to enjoy thinking of Heer (Tasawoor-e-Janaan) all the time. But Ranjha was really confused this time. This new break through made him completely in the state of indecision & irresolution. Though the idea was new for Ranjha but the matter was actually a centuries old, Old enough to match with the existence of first man on earth. The question of destiny & free will.

The question of fate and free will is one of the most intriguing topics in metaphysics and religion. Indeed the question of pre-destination and free will has haunted Man for so long. Man feels absolutely powerless, regarding many of the circumstances in which he/she finds him/herself. One might feel that there are so many givens, which one has to take for granted, and nothing can be done about them. On the other hand, there are many areas where one feels free to act.

Keeping in view this question, Ranjha was upset because he was unclear regarding his fate about Heer. If the destiny meant to rule Ranjha does not need to exert efforts for Heer and she will ultimately be with Ranjha on the other hand if free will exists Ranjha has to look into all the forces against his will for union with Heer since his strengths were mere peanuts in front of Qaidu Chacha & other family members.

Ranjha approached some local cleric for consultation. The cleric smiled and said: Ahan! I see, you know your Masla is of “Jabar o Qadar”. Look at the marvelous progress of humanity through the centuries. If humans were mere puppets, could we have managed all these wonderful achievements, which have made us so proud of human potential?

God is the creator and we are the created. Our knowledge is limited in ways that God's knowledge is not. It is our very lack of knowledge which gives us free will. We cannot know our future and to a large extent we cannot control it. Our decisions are based on our understanding of the way the world works. Are these decisions free from God's command? Not really, but for all practical purposes we inevitably see them as free choices, we cannot do otherwise – that is our nature. We are held accountable only for things we understand. Our deeds are judged by their intentions.

From the Qur’anic point of view, Man is not completely a master of his fate; nor is he a puppet subject to the hazards of destiny. It is true that God’s sovereignty is all pervading and nothing falls outside its purview. This means that God knows everything and it is according to His will, things happen here. The universe is completely subject to the overriding power of God, and nothing happens without God willing it to be so.

However, God not only created everything, but He determined its nature and scope. In His infinite wisdom and mercy, He gave Man limited power and great freedoms, including the freedom of choice. It is because of this autonomy, enjoyed by Man, that he/she is held accountable for the individual deeds.

Destiny as conceived by Islam, therefore, does not take away our freedom of choice and action. It is our willful choice of those actions from our inherent possibilities that are in harmony with God’s will that earns us our reward from God. Thus, qadar can be a source of inspiration and encouragement for us, and it really opens up vast fields of human activity. It need not make us utterly powerless or helpless; on the contrary it can be a source of inspiration and encouragement.

Indeed, when God has set certain rules in his decree as to how things evolve, even these things can be changed through prayers. The prophet stressed that only sincere prayers can change the way events unfold, and that true worship and sincere submission to God can raise the believer above the normal ways of nature: Prayers can and do result in "personal miracles" - events or experiences which we consider almost impossible and certainly highly improbable.

From an Islamic point of view, Man is free for all practical purposes. He/she has no excuse for making the wrong choice and then blaming qadar or fate, any more than a man punching his fist into a wall can blame the laws of nature. He knew the consequences of his actions for all practical purposes and he shouldn't expect a miracle!

The foregoing means that we should not worry about what God has written for us, since we can never know it; but our duty, here and now, is to strive for the best in this world and the next. Then, good results will follow, Insha’Allah. And Allah knows best.

Ranjha seems to be satisfied with what cleric said but still his mind was in state of indecision working & shaking what cleric said and what he is meant to do now. He called his friend and both went to milk shake shop at Kirshan Nagar (now destined to call as Islampura, Lahore) near Chowk Noori Building. A friend in need narrated how he recently managed to play tune of Hallelujah (Praise & thanks given note for God by Jews & Christians) over his mouth organ. A friend being true Lahori give pat over Ranjha’s shoulder and said: O Yaar Ranjhey! What happened to you? Are these things worth thoughtful? Leave the crap. Just drink healthy & rich Mango Milk shake and enjoy. You know what Baber the Emperor said once: Babar ba Aish Kosh ki Alam Doubara Neest (O King! Live lavishly on this earth since you will not be coming to this earth again). With this he started playing newly rehearsed Hallelujah.

Puzzled Ranjha was looking at the waving black flag across the road over the Imam Bargah. The silver hand of Panj Tan Pak and the zero watt bulb over it brightening the silver hand. Physically sipping concentrated Mango shake Ranjha was mentally far away from real. The destiny, the free will, Heer, the cleric, Hallelujah…The symbols were yet in search of their meanings.