You wake up one morning, and realize that the life around you doesn’t make sense. That Mosque you have been visiting for ages doesn’t soothe you as it used to do. You start questioning yourself, about misery, and why your mom who has worked extremely hard through out her married life without her husband to get you through in life is less than a man in a court of law. That your sister who is really smart will always have a rishta waiting for her instead of a graduate school when she finishes college. You start asking yourself why some of these people are killing each other, heck, half of your friends are Shia, and perhaps an Ahmadi too, and they are so very nice. But why this cousin of yours claims he knew this guy was a shia the moment he saw him, that your own family members will not share their utensils with non-muslim maids.
You ain’t rich but. You see you belong to a typical middle class family, and you have this psychotic urge to read everything you come across. You end up reading the same paper twice, and thrice, and those statistics books in uncle’s cupboard but you ain’t satisfied. And one day you come across Taleem o Tarbiat, and you subscribe to it. You are done with it, the same day. Including the letters to the editor.
And heck, one day you wake up, and there are these channels on TV. You hook up to this guy with a small beard from India, Dr. Zakir Naik. I AM A FAN BOY NOW AND HE HAS ANSWERS. YAEY. GOOD SLEEP.
Weeks ahead, and he tells you that the women who don’t do parda are inviting men. Then another day he tells his audience that if Ram were a God, how come Rawand kidnap his wife?You are like, WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?
You are not disillusioned though. You start listening to Maulana Tariq Jamiel on cassette and Dr. Shahid Masood on TV, and Javed Chaudhary in Jang. And darn, you are stunned by the oratory, the scholarship, respectively, ‘respectively.’ I wrote that twice, yes.End of times. Dr. Israr Ahmed. Man, you love this guy. What an intellectual. All IS there. And Hamid Gul makes an entrance, and you ain’t thinking about Horris, but sure about waving flags on Manhattan after the much-awaited Armageddon.
Well… except, one day you wake up and find Hamid Mir’s article in Jang where he claims he actually witnessed Muhammad Atta’s wall-papers on Al Qaeda laptops in Afghanistan.And you are like WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?
No, it doesn’t end there. Out of no where, there is someone on TV who says we should tell our kids what really happened in 65 war…And well. WTF.
But all your friends are from similar background like you, so it is kind of difficult to debate that man, I kind of don’t feel very good about stoning anyone, or that girls have a tough life, or that man, why are we here??
But you ain’t losing hope. You think that man these people just don’t know, that it is the F.Sc. that ruins kids, and that those fancy Beacon Houses and LGS have the real intellectual power house. And thus you go crazy about LUMS, and FAST. I REALLY want to go there…
You do get into one of them. And you are like fuck man, this is going to be so awesome, I am really going to meet people who are going to ask questions.The very first semester Maulana Tariq Jamiel is here, LIVE. And this super rich guy asks you, WHY DO BOYS HERE SIT WITH GIRLS? FOR SEX, DAMN IT.
And again, WHAT THE FUCK?
But there is this beautiful library here. You go in, and you start devouring it. You read, and read more. But you have learned to ignore bigotry, and misogyny now. At times, you really get itchy, and in between all of that muck, you end up losing friends.You promise yourself, no more. Fuck no more. NO MORE.
And then you graduate. You start working. You can not choose colleagues. You can’t stand bigotry. You can’t stand misogyny. Here you are, stuck between here and there. There is this intellectual elite that you read about, and you feel like you belong there.Problem is that, they are too few, and far away. You do have ended up making friends who think like you, but they ain’t jigars you know. You try hard to connect with them. But then you can’t. Just can’t.
But back in office, and at school, and in the mohalla, every time you listen to someone gloating over this Srilankan maid beheaded in Saudi Arabia, or your friend calling a girl ‘a slut’ for being in a relationship, or for enjoying that brutal bombardment of Baloch, or calling for the hanging of all the politicians, you get depressed. You try to avoid a confrontation. You end up in an argument. You say to yourself, shut the fuck up.
But you just can’t. It fails to die inside you. You wish it does. But no, never.
And God, where ever you are, you do have a lot to answer.
P.S.: Fuck you if you think I support drones.