This is a hate speech; an incredible non-sense
The ugly fat man’s mustache curls on ends
Sun got blinded by the dancing stars
How I would love to scratch your scars
The lamp with hanging moon burns hot
May I suggest you pick your snot?
The snails go climbing on flowers’ stems
I don’t like people with falling pants
It wasn’t a very large room but it was airy. Flower patterned walls with too many holes- or maybe those were not walls but just huge windows- from floor to the roof. The ten year old me was standing in the shrine of Daata Ganj Bakhsh. It was my first visit and has been the last so far. I had heard my parents talking about taking us kids there as we were visiting a family in Lahore. I had imagined it to be somewhat huge- something straight out of the stories of Alif Laila. You can imagine my disappointment at finding that after passing through frighteningly dense crowds outside, it was afterall just a grave. The grave however, was a big one. Whoever was inside must be fairly tall. There were many heavy looking shawls on it and many more were still being laid on. Strangely the shawls were mostly either green or black in color.
Only pious men have shrines. If the pious men are awake in their graves- as has often been told to me, then I wondered how burdened and suffocated Daata Ganj Bakhsh must be inside his grave- under the continuous weight of embroidered velvet.
I was busy looking around at the walls and windows, lots of people coming in and going out but very few were talking. Most of them were silently praying and they all would come to the grave and bow on its marble edges. I nudged my mother and asked her why were people bowing on a dead man’s grave? Don’t they know that we only bow before Allah? Or are they not Muslims like us? She shushed me with a look of warning and then almost whispered that they are all Muslims, like us and they are only paying their respects. She asked me if I had any special prayer. I told her I had many but if we pray to Allah and believe that He is everywhere then why do people come here for their ‘special prayers’? I can’t recall what my mother said to me or maybe she didn’t hear me.
My mother had once told me that she had come here before and prayed for a daughter, and so I was born. There might be some truth to the greatness of this saint which I did not and still do not fully understand. So I decided to keep my vanity and ignorance in check and pay my respects.
I went near the grave and put my stretched hand on the marble edge- wondering that if he were alive, this would have been my handshake with him. I prayed to Allah to give this man most generous rewards in heavens and then went on about my petty issues and selfish wishes. I wasn’t finished when someone behind me- a woman perhaps, put her hand on the back of my head and made me bow. She released me few seconds after my forehead had touched the grave.
I let myself do something I absolutely did not approve of and I did nothing to resist it because a forceful hand, much bigger than mine had grabbed my head.
You could read my mind,
in a blink of an eye.
Oh my treasured friend,
what blessing to have you by.
I knew you once,
I knew you so well.
And then a queer moment of delusion.
We solemnly parted, without goodbye.
Your resolute indifference, my becoming blase’,
which was worse? I could never decide.
Suns kept setting, with no regrets.
Your reminiscence too, a tale gone by.
On Wednesday last,
I saw this lad.
With a cheerful smile,
he had nodded his head.
‘Who are you?
Have we ever met?’
Come, find new adventures,
Let’s fall for new temptations.
Cry again and hide again,
Laugh again, regret again.
Here’s to new highs and many blows,
Forget all, begin once over.
In many cities of Pakistan, people held candle-lit vigils for the victims of Peshawar school attack. Some also left flowers by their pictures. Although we are all grieved but a new debate started if we should condemn these highly un-Islamic practices of holding candle-lit vigils.
In another news, the christian community of Peshawar declared that they will not celebrate Christmas this year to show solidarity with their Muslim fellows. A social site posted if after this, Muslims still consider it ‘haraam’ to wish a christian ‘merry Christmas’ and many replied with rather disgust that it is after all haraam to wish a christian on Christmas.
One does not have to go too deep to understand that in saving the religion, we are giving up humanity. It’s all about priorities. Looking at our priorities, it can be safely said that we are the most senseless, dumb and idiotic group of people living on the face of earth right now. Infact, we might just be making history here.