window.google_analytics_uacct = "UA-240124-2"; "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-transitional.dtd">
Every human being at the bottom of his existence is the same in all features - from the basic structure of the DNA, sophisticated emotions, to the highly disguised human instincts which are more or less on the visible nature similar to those of animals but domesticated by civilization and the faith in God. Human nature is very fundamental with its roots resembling that of animals but as the complexity grows - layer upon layer - man's basic structure turns into civilization.
In broader terms, animals live to further their species - to keep their kind alive. Their instincts for survival make them hunt or search for food and defend themselves from adversities in the best way possible for them using their abilities provided to them by God. They can do anything to protect themselves from threats - anything possible for their kind. To further their species animals regenerate or reproduce in some form and sometimes in a form unique to their species. It's their necessity to have that nature else they would be wiped out. Their instincts help them survive.
A human being is a lot similar to his fellow creatures of the planet. But as God said that he is His best creation, civilization, culture and emotions among other things differentiated him from the wildness of the lower creatures. Man has layers of domestication built upon his basic instincts of survival; each layer creating his individuality and the top most layers showing his individuality. The sophistication and complexity of every layer defines his abilities to hide his basics and gives gradual domestication to his 'wild' instincts. Ultimately he becomes human; a social being.
A man's programming starts even before his birth depending on the movements inside the womb, the voices heard, the quality and type of nourishment given, the genes of parents and their emotional and psychological characters. In short, a man starts getting domesticated even before his lungs start functioning in the open air. He is reared and nurtured in the society that tells him right and wrong and makes him believe what the society believes in. He is socialized. He is brainwashed. And when he learns about God, he learns faith and accepts God's word as the way of life.
But no matter how much he gets surrounded by culture, he keeps his basics inside him - sometimes controlled, sometimes neglected, sometimes unseen and sometimes set loose. From time to time as he grows he learns about his urges - some which he understands by himself, and some the society makes him understand and he decides to take them for granted. He learns that he can fulfill some urges and ignore others. His faith in God helps him with what is right. He grows developing layers on his basics - making himself more complex and more sophisticated. He gathers knowledge and learns wisdom.
At various points in his life he is shown the right and legal ways to fulfill some of those urges which were otherwise found to be unacceptable. He comes to an age from where he can stay alone, earn his own living, and drive his own car if taking an 'ultra-modern' example explains it better. He comes to an age from where he can guide his own life, take his own decisions and work out his future. Thinking of future for a human can perhaps be a highly sophisticated idea which animals might never exhibit apart from their need to reproduce.
This civilized man becomes wise, mature and intelligent. Intelligence can be found in animals but maturity and wisdom are exclusive to human beings. He learns to teach; he learns how to learn. The growing layers make him more complex and more human-like. He still keeps the basics within him. He finds newer and ‘safer’ ways to fulfill them. For instance dancing can be taken as a man's desire to loose control over his body. He likes being free of discipline and mannerisms and he likes dancing. It is found in many communities perfectly acceptable to dance. It is an instinct being exploited - all under the name of civilization.
Instincts are exploited 'soberly' by the ways of calling them trends and fashions, by creating competition in wearing clothes, by calling the show of skin as aesthetics and even by legalizing what could be the most critical of instincts. This has become a part of the civilization. The man in general has been made to believe this as acceptable.
A man can never work against his nature. Neither can a woman of course. Men and women have always been partners. Men, for women are the most important and interesting objects and women, for men are the most important and interesting objects. This character trait is not by choice, ethics or culture. It is inevitable and necessary for the survival of our species. The idea can be presented in a mature way pulling it under the blankets of culture and religion, but instincts remain the same. They are controlled and domesticated.
Working on the upper layers of our behavior, a man or a woman for that matter can never be understood under absolute terms. Take for example the mannerisms - our behavior while being with our parents and siblings is more natural than the one we present in front of outsiders or acquaintances which is more of a manipulation. It is acceptable. It is civilization and not cheating of any sort. But there are of course men who pretend to be gentlemen but are not. I find behaving as a gentleman with an intention to become one is alright, but behaving so to deceive others or hide some character traits is a violation of ethical values a man can keep. This is as intimidating as it can get - with the sophistication of the layers.
A man exhibits his instincts in softer and 'acceptable' ways. The thrill experienced with courtship, the excitement in flirting, the enjoyment in dancing as discussed above, the indulgence in smoking and drinking, the adventure in bungee-jumping, in talking about what love-turned-inside-out is are all examples of the softer ways. But the result is the same - satisfying of primitive urges. Reading novels on romance, enjoying raunchy jokes, sometimes men talking about women and women talking about men, discussing how fascinating violence can be, appreciating near-naked wrestlers, watching beauty contests, and every act that is termed civilized but appears inside the ‘filtered’ or ‘screened’ content is again an example how society decides how the basic human instincts can be fulfilled without being objected.
Lobbying in the corporate worlds, politics, using emotions to befriend people, researching on what humans like so that businesses can be flourished and money be made, studying human psychology to manipulate men, teaching youngsters how to woo the opposite sex and using preferences and tastes to dictate laws can all come under scrutiny if we question the widely accepted ideals of the society. These might be refutable but are seldom criticized as they have become an important part of our being. Calling ourselves modern, we have learnt to fulfill our desires alongside remaining respectable.
All this might be exactly what humans are. The sophistication might grow into the unimaginable and we will continue to find more decent ways to exhilarate the animal within us and satisfy it. We might become more sensible in our outlooks and more charming in our etiquettes. We might have our individual personalities, preferences and tastes, likes and styles. But deep within in some way or the other we would just be living our instincts.
Reason can’t explain my heart. I love the sound that comes from the pistons when I push my right foot against the accelerator. I like to drive fast. I have never been asked why. If the question ever comes up, I would tell “I have young blood in me. And young blood has heat and aggression”. I don’t drive fast much. But even in those disciplined drives, I get an indescribable urge. I like closing my eyes when I drive. Welcome to my heart.
I can’t explain why my heart is devoid of reasons. When I pullout the most of rationality from my soul, I do get interesting and powerful things but they are soon undermined by the reasonless fickle waves of my heart. The reason dissolves. It proves rationality wrong. It destroys the well accepted ideals of the world around. I never close my eyes when I drive. It’s just an urge. We don’t satisfy all our urges.
But some day when I have my own car and a road of my own, I shall definitely keep my eyes away from seeing anything and my brain from dreaming anything and push the accelerator hard. I would feel the G – force against my chest and it would make me feel hugged by the reasoned gravity. There would be nobody sitting beside me asking me for any reason. For reason can’t explain heart.
If reason could explain heart, then the first thing I would long to know would be why it can’t be at the same pace always. I would ask my heart if it can stop beating for a little while so that I could spend some time without any feeling. I would ask my heart how I can overcome the feeling of love. I will never try to understand what love is. Because reason can define love and anything defined can be manipulated. A thing to be kept pure must be kept undefined.
If I, forget reason, could explain heart, then I would end the life of feelings in it. It’s the feeling that hurts, not the life in it. I would end the life so that there would be nothing left to be said and heard - only the feeling and the consequent pain; and of course me. I can’t explain this either. Neither can my heart do that. Who can explain a feeling? Do we really have to manipulate love?
I don’t know how old I am. Nor did I explain my maturity to anybody; forget me. All I understand is that I have been made an object of facts where truths go unsaid. From inside I find myself killing love for it has remained unrequited for quite long. It’s not love, but its feeling that hurts. I would keep the feeling and end the life in love. I would kiss the joy of being with me, the love and its feeling. Just that love won’t have life in it. It will be an empty fact boiled in truth.
I write for the sheer pleasure of loving. I love it even more when I don’t write. Pain makes love even more satisfying. It realizes the substance in love. Pain in principle, is the soul of love. I don’t understand my heart. I don’t believe that love can be written. Love doesn’t need words. But who will believe it? Feelings? Heart? Reason? Love doesn’t understand itself. It only suffocates. Welcome to my heart.
There have been limitless occasions wherein the abilities and computational speeds of computer processors, and computers in general, have been compared with the human brain or more precisely, the human mind. The comparison seems logical as long as all we intend to gain from it is a simple pastime!
The weight of an average human brain is 1400 grams. About 100 billion nerve cells or neurons occupy this weight behaving as primary functional units. Neurons are capable of receiving, processing, and relaying the electrochemical pulses on which all our sensations, actions, thoughts, and emotions depend.
Neurons have specialized projections called dendrites and axons. Each neuron may have up to tens of thousands of dendrites. Each of these dendrites overlaps with the dendrites of other cells and even the same cell to form synapses. Largely the number of these synapses in a human brain ranges between 100 to 500 trillion. Each of these synaptic connections are said to be – though they cannot be compared – equivalent to tens of gigahertz of a computer processor speed.
Numerous approximations of the speed of the human brain have already appeared in literature based on these "hardware" considerations (though in the case of the human brain perchance the term "wetware" is more proper). It seems reasonable to conclude that the human brain has a raw computational power between 10
13 and 1016 floating operations per second (FLOPS)! No doubt it can be more than this.
What will match this? Intel's latest processor that goes beyond the 4.26 Ghz mark, or AMD's 64 FX or some G from Apple? The fastest computer in the world as of November 2006 was the IBM Blue Gene/L supercomputer, measuring a peak of 280.6 Terra FLOPS.
No other computer game than Microsoft Flight Simulator could excite me so much. My craze for it could make me spend hours just thinking about the game, its graphics, the aircrafts that could be flown, and the cities that could be seen from the air. I read so much about that game. I was mad with every thought of it. I felt myself being a part of the simulation every time I imagined anything related to a computer machine. I was 14 years of age then. I have never played Microsoft Flight Simulator in my 20 years of life and neither did I see that thing working on any computer system.
Today, more than six years later, I realize I have spent two and a half years of my recent life in a similar form of madness and it was worse than what I did then. It was just the name, it was just the imagination, it was just the game; it was just a simulation. But it could defy all the previous years of my life and not only that, it could also cause to make a difference in such a large measure that every second of it looked more real than life.
I laugh at myself as I write this. One of the reasons I laugh is that nobody laughs at a person who laughs at himself. I pose a threat of being laughed at just because after doing what all I did all these years, I say that it was a waste. I say that it was all foolishness and that it was nothing. It was nothing.
I know how a pizza tastes. I have had it several times. When somebody tells me about having a pizza, I can smell it; I can also imagine its taste. When I think about water I know how it can quench my thirst, I know how wonderful it is. When I think about any of the deodorants I have, I know how they smell. I know how necessary they become for me at times. Nothing of all these amounts to foolishness.
More than two-thirds of my last two and a half years were nothing but foolishness. They were unnecessary in logic and idea. They were the living proof of my naïveté. The limits of this naïveté were so vast that I thought them to be madness. I was living a fantasy that never existed.
I considered a life to be real. I thought I loved it. I believed I could never imagine myself being happy without its existence for me. I was convinced I could never be happy if I were to live without that life around me. I was confident that I loved it.
I imagined all that I could have been with that thing around me. I wondered how wonderful my life could be if I could achieve it. Every breath I took used to tell me that I am the most blessed because I was in love with it and that I was mad after it. I flaunted my madness telling that nothing could ever be achieved unless madness is attached to it. I prayed for it and I fooled myself to happiness.
There were letters I wrote – addressed to myself, to my friends, and to nobody. I had written poems out of grief, out of love and out of nothing. I proved with words that I was mad and that my madness was worth it. I drew blood terming it as a proof of divinity in the madness. I shed tears thinking that there were the signs of purity and depth in my love for that life. I dreamt with eyes, both closed and open, considering these visuals as proof of integrity in the madness that had weaved itself into my life and had become existential even at the sub-conscious level.
I loved my friends for the support they rendered to me. I always asked them to be with me even if they knew I was wrong. Maybe somewhere deep inside my heart I knew I was wrong. They were with me. Somehow they tried to tell me what I was doing was wrong. I however kept convincing them that my madness was sacred and was true; even if it were to be wrong.
The sleeplessness I had enjoyed I thought was cementing my love. I thought it made me more powerful with my emotions. And I had thought my emotions to be true. I developed a defined tinge for people who appeared to be against me or not in my favor. I was biased towards this love and considered everything it did to be of truth and intelligence.
I was insane with cynicism embedded in me which had narrowed down my vision. I knew I was wasting my potential but all along I was thinking that all this madness was worth it. I thought my priority was justified not even thinking for a second that there maybe some unreasonable idea in it that could be destroying me from within. All my prayers had this priority talking.
When ever I thought of getting out of this, the biggest thing that stopped me was my ego. Something told me that after being so much into it, if I turn away, it could be a cause of embarrassment to me. I thought it to be wise making it a conviction and sticking to it. I also took pride in this conviction.
Now, as I write all this, I solemnly say that it was never worth it. I may go on to tell that some things have opened my eyes and I regret what I had done. But apart from some realization, I attain nothing. I am in search of salvation.
I don't know how I got attracted to something I never knew of. I had never been with it. I had felt it. But all along I was convinced that it was there and I loved it. I had called it a premise; a premise that always caused dissatisfaction. I had even thanked Allah for having me in love with that life. I don't yet understand what it was when it could make so much difference and cause to change everything right from the way I ate food. It was so powerful yet useless.
I don't know what I have learnt. I don't even know if there was something to learn except for the fact that I can be so foolish and life can contain so much of unexplainable ideas and emotions; all of them illogical. I am trying to contemplate on what went wrong with my ethics. I want to know what it was if it was useless. In some way I am looking for explanations to justify my behavior. However, the desire for such a thing holds only one reason – I want to feed my ego. I me glad with my friends being happy for me and so, I want nothing else.
Someone might now say that I have not only cheated myself but even others who supported me. I have nothing that could defend me except for some gratitude I could get showing sorrow in my eyes. That would amount to sympathy; be it that way. I want to keep my head held high with honor and I want my heart to be free of any disease. I understand it is more important to be loved than to love.
If again I get a chance to love, I will be afraid of it. I will be afraid of all the forces involved in it. But I need it. Perhaps time will teach me to tame this fear. Perhaps I will someday understand that it was never a fear but simple continuation of the preexistent cynicism. I wish I had some person who could answer me everything I ask. Allah had already showed the path, so it must be ironic that I desire the presence of such person. All these words are themselves ironic. I don't want to be that. Please.
There have been wars fought. Fought for pride, honor and power among many things. But somewhere between all this there stood the most important – the fight for ones own land; the country. There is no real necessity to point out how much bloodshed has taken place, and continues to take place, as people fight for their countries.
History has been evident leaving the present world affairs even more pathetic providing a clear image how dangerous the concepts of nationalism and patriotism have become. A concept that can kill humans is not worthy of any gratitude. It only requires some time to reflect.
Nationalism is a political ideology. It is a belief that groups of people are bound together by territorial, cultural and (sometimes) ethnic links. When people are bound together – bound to common belief systems or some specific ideas, from there comes within them a strong feeling for their own belief. This strong feeling binds them. Brings them closer.
Getting closer to some object means moving away from some other object. This is what nationalism does. In the name of a country, it over-prices the value of politics and degrades the worth of human lives. It jams the thinking of people and makes them narrow-minded. The result, indifference towards other beliefs and countrymen.
When people are brought together, they become easier to rule, and subsequently, easier to be dragged by a single chain into any kind of faith as long as their necks are bounded by the same chain. They can be made to love that chain and do anything to keep their necks tightened. They are made to believe in a sense of importance by using ‘heavy’ words like motherland or homeland.
Above all, the idea that a motherland is as important as a mother sweeps away every other value. The ‘motherland’ is worshiped. Lives are sacrificed for it. And lives are taken for it. What does it give? A birth in heaven? No. Motherland is not God. It is just a piece of land.
Patriotism means love of country and willingness to sacrifice for it. When people become patriots, they forget that there is a whole world in which they live and we don’t really have a single nice word for those who love this world. There are words for it but nothing in political sense like patriotism. I belong to this world first. I say that I am an Indian. But to explain that I belong to this world, I don’t know what to say. Human? That’s not the word.
Boundaries exist to help people rule themselves better. Not to separate them. Patriotism and nationalism make people love their own country more and forget that there are other people too who can have the same kind of love for their own country. Nationalism and patriotism are no different from fanaticism.
People fighting for their country and giving their lives is ridiculous because while doing so, they take several other lives. It makes more sense to fight for love and unity among all the people in the world, than to spill blood and beget more hatred in the name of some land marked as a country. Classifying them based on their nationality will serve no purpose. It further aggravates the already existing differences. And differences, is the last thing we want when we think of love.
I have never seen, yet so many times desired to experience, how it feels to have a shoulder to cry on when I feel melancholic. When the thought that Allah is with everybody came to me, I expressed a wish to know if He could provide me with that shoulder or if He could lend me His own. It, perhaps, sounded too hilarious that I should ask Allah for a thing that may never happen and has never happened anytime even with the holy prophets. Nevertheless I was sure that I would be given what I had asked for.
That is my faith. To believe in that which seems too illogical; just because I desire it from my heart and know that it can in some way be a possible; though I know not the way – may be just in the dreamiest of my senses - is how my faith in Allah is. I know it’s blind. But why?
Because every time I have desired a thing of such kind, I have been subjugated by my faith to the extent of giving me a contentment equal to that which is derived, when that desire is fulfilled. The answer comes from within me. It lets me forget the need of a shoulder that arose. My faith satisfies me.
At times I find some restrictions put on me by my religion as unreasonable. I still go with them even while questioning them. I try to find the true reason behind that constraint put on me. I ask people I have put my trust in. Sometimes they don’t have an answer. I still go together with the discomfort of not having a justification of what I have been asked to do or not to do.
Then someday after I have forgotten my want for the reason, to my amazement, I find it. And I find it at a place I could have least expected. It tells me again that I can progress my life having to do things I do not know why I have been asked to do, or keep away from things I have been asked to keep away from. Because my faith, again blind, tells me that life will give me the answer and I have to take it. Because I know that every question I ask has an answer and every command given to me has a reason.
I came to know that music is not permitted for me. I asked why. I had different answers around me with one saying that music can make a mind weak and hollow. But science told me that music was good for my mind and also soul. The same source told me that it’s Satan who makes those scientists say such a thing in favor of listening to music. I didn’t find this answer satisfactory to the same brain I had in me.
I asked many people for an answer. I was ready to accept it without even having to know why. But still I kept looking. Then one find day I found it. Within myself! When we listen to music, we enjoy it. The enjoyment and cheer brings delight to our body and perhaps lets say even soul. It gets into out body. We start tapping our feet to the rhythm if not the beats. We like this and keep taking the pleasure. The enjoyment grows.
Then comes a time when we begin to have a feeling that the joy of tapping feet can be more enjoyed if some rapid movements are brought into the upper parts of the body too. Trunk, hips, belly, hands, shoulders, neck, head – all these moving. Rapidly. Fast. All together - to give a sense of joy beyond the music itself. A soothing feeling of being independent, powerful, a feeling that says we are doing something substantial, a new role being played, a feeling of traveling in a completely new world, and lost in this new world, not wanting to come back, not asking for any sense, not sure of what is happening around, not aware of anything that can be wrong and enjoying what seems to be called as dancing. Listening of music can lead a person to dance.
When a person dances, as I have tried to create a picture above, the person looses control over himself. It can be taken as similar to being drunk or intoxicated by some drug, or perhaps, seduced – all of which that can always lead to evil. We know these things are called evil and will lead to bigger evil. The evil comes when the person has lost control over him and has forgotten what is right and wrong. Dancing can, the way the above said evils do, leads to such evil. It starts with music.
Furthermore, listening to music takes us so deeply into to that it makes us loose the sense of time. It can force us to forget about our prayers. The harsher genres of music bring frustration in ones mind. It does several things including fooling people to believe in some feelings that may never ever exist in real, but just in dreams and mysticism. I had my answer why music should not be heard. I gave the answer to myself.
Even if I had not realized anything I have mentioned above, I would have still believed in the command that prohibits music. Blindly. Just because everything that has been commanded to me has in some way, till now, presented justifications that could satisfy me. So, if some order has no clear justification to it readily, it never means that it is unreasonable. The reason can be within me. This way, even the faith that seems to be blind is not blind. It has an answer that lies within me and all I need is to realize it and give it a form understood to me, a human being.
I would prefer calling my faith blind though I would continue to get answers, justifications and clarifications to all the doubts on Islam I have. This is because every day, several times I testify that there is none worthy of worship but Allah and that Muhammad (Sallallaho-Alaihe-Wa-Sallam) is Allah's worshipper and messenger. When I say I testify it, it also means that I swear on these words. It means that I bear a witness to the fact that there is none worthy of worship but Allah and that Muhammad (Sallallaho-Alaihe-Wa-Sallam) is Allah's worshipper and messenger.
Yes, I am a witness of this. I can bet my life on these words. I have felt Allah from within. I have conversed with Him. In several ways – through my prayers that were accepted, though the protection He has given me even before I could have thought of asking for it, to everything He has blessed me with for which I shall always be thankful to Him.
I have conversed with Allah when I cried in front of Him – when I was obscured with this world and didn’t know what to ask for, and just cried, not even knowing why I was crying, simply letting those tears roll down my cheeks about which I was not even aware of, sobbing, having hiccups that didn’t remind me of anything, simply crying, knowing only one things that Allah was looking at me and He knew what I wanted when I didn’t know what I was asking for. And after all this I felt that I have received from Him everything – things I have not asked for because I didn’t know what I had wanted. My heart spoke to Allah and told Him what it wanted and Allah granted it and pardoned it. I am a witness of this. I am a witness of the Kalima Shahadat. Do I still need to give a reason why my faith is blind? Or can I italicize this word - blind?
And should I loose my soul someday, which I always pray should never happen, I still have enough that can bring me back to correctness – The Holy Quran, the hadith, the grave of prophet Mohammed (Sallallaho-Alaihe-Wa-Sallam), the Holy mosques at Mecca and Medina, the existence of my own self, and the truth that can never cease to be the truth.
I have the memories of all my prayers that were accepted to perfection. I remember how late I was in realizing that everything I had asked for was granted to me in some way or the other. The way Allah has given me a perfect life itself is the biggest reason that I can do what He asked me to, blindly. I need not open my eyes to see where I am going as long as I let Allah hold my hands.
Every time I ask myself why I should be writing on this thing called love, I am reminded of only one person – Syed Zubair Hasan. Yes, that is me of course. I am the very same person who never believed in love outside any relationship, showed disrespect to every person who was involved in such a relationship and also wrote a blog-posting which had 19 reasons that one should keep away from love marriages.
I never believed in love outside any relationship that came with birth. I never believed that love could exist between friends. I thought that the relationship between husband and wife is just a written agreement arising due to some religious compulsions that have been enforced upon us by Allah and that are to be followed because not doing so would lead to consequences in the hereafter. I only trusted in relationships bonded by the same blood.
I disregarded every person who said he/she was in love with some person who was not related to him/her. I assumed firstly that there was no such thing such as love that can happen between two people who have absolutely nothing between. Let alone two strangers. I supposed that anything that can happen between a boy and a girl would be some cultured physical attraction bringing them close – their youth speaking. I pitied these people for their lack of self control.
Whenever there is a proposal to do something, all the possibilities including consequences are weighed, measured and calculated. When something is to be adopted as a standard or a virtue, it is seen that it has more merits than demerits. A plan or a concept with better, valid and rational returns is opted for. Likewise, if there is an idea that needs to be dropped, it’s demerits and negative consequences are taken as the reason for letting it go. A careful study has to be made before deciding anything. A very strong and a concrete reason is required to believe in something that can hurt.
You can’t fully believe in something unless, for at least once, you doubt it’s validity. It is again the weighing of all the merits and demerits of the idea you plan to adopt. It is only for a person of good mental strength to be function with two things in his mind. To be functional, his analyzing capabilities are tested and how much he can endure accounts to how well he can take things that can hurt him. I may not be so good at all this, but I intend to know what good is with an aim to have it deposited within me.
Through my post, ‘Modus Operandi of Love Marriages’, I meat to make two things – tell myself that there are many disadvantages of getting into a love marriage, and explain others that for a love marriage to survive successfully, the husband and wife need to work a lot, not just for their spouses but for themselves, and that it takes them to have some extra ordinary qualities. I never criticized love marriages.
Coming down all through these years I have seen and experienced till now, I have learnt that I was wrong in thinking that love can’t exist outside any implicit relationship; I was rude and execrable in having contempt for people getting into ‘love marriages’. I was wrong that husband – wife relationship was just some paperwork; it the most beautiful relationship Allah has created. I was a fool to think that a boy and a girl can never fall in love that is pure.
If a boy loves a girl and intends never to get close to her or become friends with her, doesn’t even want to talk to her, doesn’t want to look at her because that would be a bad gesture in a way if it is misunderstood, doesn’t want to keep showing to her that he is after her, and respects her the most, and intends to marry her in the future when the time is right, is he erroneous?
If the guy’s parents have themselves told him that he has the perfect liberty to choose the girl he wants to live his life with, then, is the boy not free enough to make some decisions for himself?
If this guy has never seen a girl the way he has seen this girl he loves, never flirts with anybody, never looks up at any other girl unless he has got something to do with her, never tries to get too close to any girl he already knows, can never think of anything other girl in his life, can never stop dreaming of her, always wants to be with her all though his life and love her the most, is it something that may have Allah’s displeasure?
Yes, it can definitely have Allah’s displeasure. A boy is not supposed to take a second glance at a girl he has seen once. What if he did that mistake and loved himself for doing it? What if he has thanked Allah for showing him that girl? What if he asks Allah’s forgiveness and begs Allah that he gets to have that girl with him all through his life? I know Allah may still be unhappy with him. We are not supposed to commit sins and justify them later….
What can he do now? Cry? Punish himself? Punish himself by trying to forget her? Hurting himself trying to believe that there is nothing called as love and he is not supposed to get into a love marriage because it has more disadvantages than advantages?
And what if that girl doesn’t love him? What if she never gives him a chance even to talk to him? What if she becomes cold towards him to such an extent that he thinks she hates him and tries to avoid him? What if he cries daily and asks Allah to help him though but doesn’t know what thing could be of help to him – forgetting her or having her love him?
He wants to have her in his life. He doesn’t know what it would mean if she really started to love him.
The last but one paragraph was “So finally, I would like to repeat what I had written even before listing out the demerits – it takes at least one of the two spouses or both of them to have something extra, more than what is required from those in arranged marriages, in them to have a successful relationship and a peaceful life.”
The last paragraph was “The rest is left for the readers to comprehend. We all have been obliged with the capacity to think, differentiate, analyze, judge and decide. A decision needs to be followed by an action.”
They both will remain the same. I still don’t know about me!
Every morning I wake up to the light just to feel the newness of the day that has just been gifted to me. The moment I press my hands on the bed to push my upper half of the body away from it, I say to myself the words ‘there is no God but Allah and Muhammad (pbuh) is His prophet’ and fold my legs erecting my back to sit there straight. I recite a few more verses of the Holy Quran and slip out of the bed taking myself to the window where I move aside the curtain to have a look at the sun-lit street some feet below. I know that I have been blessed.
Between the street below and the window overlooking it, is a small tree. It too big to be called as a plant, and so, for me it is a tree. It has leaves that are dark purple on their upper surfaces and the color of the under sides is green. This is the only one of the several plants and trees that has survived the presence of my house for 16 years. I have been looking at it from the age of 4 but pity me, I do not remember the season when flowers bloom on it.
Every morning when I look down, I miss the sight of this lonely resident of my house. It gives some sort of deep sense and beauty to my house from the outside making the elevation look more abstract than what the architect had planned 16 years ago. I am sure it would be a great loss to the uniqueness of my house should that tree be razed. Still, things won’t cease to change much even if such a thing is done; time and life will still move on.
In the same way, there are some things that come attached with me whenever I am confronted with. To be precise, they are more than just attached to me – they are an integral part me, dissolved in me, found only in me. I, being a high-level life, am a lot different than the house or even the tree. I am the one who lives in that house, ignores the tree and looks at the street behind and below it, and dreams of a home. I am Syed Zubair Hasan and this story is of a guy like me.
He stood leaning against the wall looking at some papers lying on a table a few feet away from him made visible by the yellow light screened from the front window. It was afternoon. Tear drops were rolling down his cheek and he was catching them with his hands to prevent them from falling on the floor. He had just started to write a book on himself and the ink on the very first page refused to dry. The wet ink didn’t allow him to turn the page. It didn’t allow him even to hide the page somewhere. The first page in the book of his life refused to turn and move to the next. It was at a stand still.
The other day his friend told him that he was intelligent. He didn’t know what to say in reply. He tried to recall if he had ever heard somebody being called intelligent and the reply the person had given. He pressed his memory hard but found nothing. He simply smiled back.
Moments later he began to count all the foolish things he had done in the last 24 hours and why his friend was just being his friend and praising him.
When he woke up the day before, he spent 2 hours on the bed, and had day dreamt. He had dreamt of being the most cleaver person to live; a man who would never be wrong, who would never fail. He dreamt of being a very smart guy for whom any person would fall and who would never be rejected. He had also day dreamt of waking up everyday in front of a face he loved more than many things. At the end of those 2 hours, he had laughed at himself in his mind and had called himself a fool.
After that he ate some snacks without brushing his teeth. He gave himself a reason that he had washed his mouth just the night before. He didn’t eat a full meal and started reading some newspaper with hunger still in his belly. He wasted a lot of time playing with a pillow lying on the divan. He even hummed a few English songs. He sang them loudly too just to see if he can sing. He found that he couldn’t. He tried Hindi. This time he was better. But he was still starving. He knew he had to eat because morning meal is the most important meal of the day.
He then turned on his computer and started listening to the song he was trying to sing. He heard several songs, each of them several times until he at last considered he should eat something. He got some food ready and didn’t feel like washing his hands so took along with a spoon sitting in front of the computer again. He took more than an hour to finish. He knew he was wasting time and that he was an idiot to do so.
After spending a good 3 hours with the computer he took a nap again. It was already evening. He was lethargic all the time and slept at 2:30 am after doing effectively nothing. The next day his friend came and woke him up.
He tried to recollect everything till he had heard the door bell ring. He understood he was not intelligent. He felt he was a person worse than a fool because he was aware of his dumbness and yet did nothing to correct it.
Then he tried to call to mind and analyze the body-language of his friend calling him intelligent. He put in all the things he knew about body-languages and came to a conclusion that his friend was not tricking him and he had meant to say that. He thought he could be wrong with his analysis because a person who likes to be called as intelligent would never like proving a person who had called him intelligent as wrong. So, he thought, maybe he is fooling himself again. He brought tears in his eyes because he wasn’t good enough to comprehend the truth. He wanted to be intelligent.
Once he had an exam to write. He started preparing very late on the day just before the exam. He hardy slept for 2 hours in the night and the next day he was ready to leave his house when his mother said “best of luck”. He replied “thank you” but wasn’t satisfied with what his mother had told him. His father said the same words to him and he felt bad again. The words he wanted to hear were “do the exam well” so that he could say “inshAllah”. All his friends said the same “best of luck” to him and he went to write the exam unhappy.
He didn’t do the exam well. He came out of the place with his head down. Not in shame, but the way he always tries to keep his head. He tied to keep away from all the people who were discussing the question paper. After reaching home, when his parents asked him how he had done the exam, he replied “not so good”. He knew he would be scolded but still he said that. After saying, he felt proud of himself that he always tells the truth to his parents and unlike other people, he never says “the exam was good” even for the one that was bad. He didn’t know if he could be proud because saying the truth is obligatory and it’s no big deal doing something right for the fear that doing wrong would fetch a punishment in the hereafter.
He had always tried to keep his head down. Once he was even stopped by a policeman and asked for some identification. He knew that it was something bizarre and unusual keeping the head down always, but he continued with it even in times when he felt the maximum discomfort.
The greatest uneasiness came to him whenever he kept his head down while walking in front of girls or when there were girls standing around. It seemed to him as if by keeping his head down he was giving them a sign that he was shying away from them. He felt as if they were looking at him and laughing talking among themselves how immature he looked. He always felt embarrassed in these occasions but all through he also kept in mind that most probably there is nobody noticing him. But he somehow wanted to be noticed!
He also took pride in letting his friends know that he keeps his head down and never looks up at anybody or anything and particularly never at girls with whom he has nothing to do. He told them that he never feels like looking at them. But he knows how much he fights with the instincts within him that force him to see up. He knows that every time such situation comes, he has to fight a tough battle. But he wins almost always.
He had hated himself several times because he has to brawl and it doesn’t come to him by itself. He hates the thing he has to fight. He hates the instinct that lies deep within him - the very human instincts that makes a boy look at a girl – not as just another human being but as something else. He hates himself for this instinct he has in himself.
Once while thinking about this he said to himself that he hates the man inside him. He laughed at what he had thought. He spent more time on this and realized the word ‘instinct’ as best the best suited to characterize this attraction a male has towards a female. It exists in animals in its wildest form and humans being sophisticated can keep it hidden. He hated himself because he had to hide it. He knew it was an obvious think which everybody knew but never spoke of but was completely normal; but still he wasn’t happy with this.
He once asked himself “do girls get attracted to themselves when they look in the mirror?” He still hates this thing in him. He wants to be a pure, uncorrupted person.
Until 8 years back he used to think that only men can love women. Then he learnt life and learnt that it can be both-ways. He found ‘love’ a confusing and an unbelievable concept. He thought love could be real only between people who are bonded by some relation. Life educated him he was wrong. He now believes in a love that can never be wrong. He calls himself a fool for believing in more than what others believe and, most importantly in, what others choose to believe. He knows that this thing can take away his life.
He wants to be a good person. In spite of all the mistakes he does and the bad things, he still desires to have goodness within him and so, he keeps telling himself that he has to be good. Every offense he commits gives him guilt. He finds others not minding it done by him or the same thing done by them. But he knows he is right. But the pathos is that he still has a lot of crap within him.
It pains him whenever he finds some person doing something good which he doesn’t do. Some times he is too proud to accept that he is wrong. At times he gives a docile surrender too. He is usually confused but presents a sturdy mature picture.
He likes people calling him good but doesn’t take any compliments when they are given. He believes that if he accepts that he is good, then he would stop doing everything he does to become good. But still he likes being called as good.
Once he heard a song in Hindi which translates as “it’s a different thing that you are not in front of me, but you are always here with me”. He has a friend who likes this song and even he used to like it until when he understood that when we miss somebody, we never feel that that person is with us here. We instead feel that we are with them. He thinks of the song by Michael Jackson “you are not alone, I am here with you. Though you’re far way, I am always here to stay”.
Whenever some beloved person is far away from us, we don’t know about how it would be if that person was now here with us now. We instead imagine ourselves being with that person wherever he/she is. He realized this and feels delighted that he has. But he knows it won’t make any difference except that he gets another thing to write about. He will, in anyways, miss the people he misses and will imagine him to be with them. His dreams bring those people to him.
Till date he doesn’t know what friendship is. He once called somebody his best friend but he was confused as he couldn’t understand what a best friend is too. But he still believes that someday he will have a friend who would be his best friend. Yet deep inside he knows that he may never find that kind of a person because he thinks he himself is not well-matched for such a thing. He feels bad for that.
His idea of best friend is a person who would be with him even when he is wrong; give him a shoulder to cry on, and most significantly, a person in front of whom he can cry. According to him a best friend is one who would support him at all times alongside telling him whenever he has done something wrong. He thinks of a best friend as a person who would be with him even if he has become the worst person. He calls best friend as a person who is there only for him. He would be very possessive for this best friend if he had one, and so, he knows this relation is impossible. He knows he is asking for too much.
He gives a lot of respect to his friends. It’s not that he expects the same amount of respect in return but he wants whatever he gets to have integrity in it. He knows that his friends show respect towards him only because he respects them. But some times he has seen a few being different with him in terms of showing a little less respect. It was not that he didn’t like the ‘less respect’ thing, but he came to know from that that the respect his friends usually give him is not from their heart, but just a show – something done in return – with no loyalty and uprightness. He knows this is normal – also that he is a bit difficult to deal with. But he has high regards for some of his friends for unique reasons. For others – he is a good friend in return, but respect related things vary with hostility.
He has stopped watching television; for two reasons - he doesn’t like what television has to offer, and he likes telling everybody that he doesn’t like watching television.
He doesn’t like the things that are aired on the television – nudity, obscenity, vulgarity and the fooling done by the directors of the television shows. According to him, television shows are made in such a way that the viewers like them even if there is something inaccurate in them and even if it is bad for the viewers to watch. He also knows that it is the viewers who are more wrong. But he has never had any disregards for people who watch television. He calls it as a personal choice and he has made his choice already.
And of course he is a man of pride. So, he gets another thing to flaunt – whenever he gets a chance, he tells people that he doesn’t like television. He knows this is bad he is doing.
He loves writing things people like reading but don’t talk about. It can also be thought that what he does is similar to what television does – show what is liked by people and what people want to see. He knows that there are things that directly connect to people’s hearts. These are the things people usually don’t know how to put into words. He tries to do it.
Then there are always things people are afraid to talk about and also the things people are ashamed to get it on their mouths. He tries to give such things a form of words and sentences. He thinks he is doing a good job this way, but he knows he has to be more ingenious and write about feelings that people have never felt but would feel after they read it written by him. He wants to create new feelings.
When he writes, he knows that sometimes he is ending up praising himself in a more indirect and an offensive way. He knows he is trying to prove others wrong and put himself ahead. Even when he dishonors himself, in some way he is trying to praise himself for accepting his fault. He knows not how many people realize this while reading him.
He usually has some set of people in his mind when he is writing. He writes thinking that he is writing to impress them. He tries to think like them but he fails several times – usually when they don’t understand something he has put forth in a twisted fashion. Sometimes he codes in some ideas into this words – he feels bad when nobody understands them and he ends up explaining it openly. It is like a perfect murder, done by a criminal, in a way that nobody can know it has been done by him, but because it is something flawlessly done, he ends up telling it to others in self-appreciation of his flawlessness.
He knows he has a lot more to learn to become a successful writer. But he also knows that people around him will put a lot of resistance to stop him from doing that. It’s because he wants to walk on a road that is usually not taken.
He has always tried to be the same person in front of his friends what he is behind them. He wants to have veracity in his relationship and doesn’t want to hide the feeling he has for any of his friends. He thinks he can tell his friends what all he thinks of them but he is afraid that they will misconstrue him. He has tried it a few times but he doesn’t know how his friends have taken it because they didn’t tell him what they thought about it.
Several times he has tried to tell his friends that he felt so and so for something they have done. He tried to be direct but also knows that unknowingly he has conveyed things he never wanted to. He again wanted to clear such things but he didn’t do it, fearing loosing that friend. All he wants is to be a good friend – a person who can be trusted and who could be told anything. He knows he has to prove his trustworthiness, but he knows not how.
He is always cautious not to end up having any distasteful misunderstanding with any of his friends. He is always ready to finding the middle ground – ready to compromise even if it’s not him who is at fault. He doesn’t know if this is right but he can go to any extent to save his friendship.
He might have started some friendships because of some reason like taking help or doing some favor – something very selfish. But once he becomes a friend, he needs no reasons to continue the friendship. He believes that friendship is comparable to the kind of relationships we have with our family relatives which can never end – just suspended.
The only thing he wouldn’t like his friends doing is grouping against him. It’s not the invasiveness that he dislikes; he doesn’t likes being left lonely. He needs to have people around him – for him. He knows it’s not always possible.
He tries not to differentiate between the kind of friendships he may have with boys and girls. But he always remembers that there are some lines that are not to be crossed no matter what happens. He knows that sometimes he could become more favorable towards girls. He hopes nothing ever gets misjudged and speculated. He feels bad because things are not going to be the same always.
He always says that he likes being criticized, but even he doesn’t know if he really likes it. Oh perchance he likes being told that he is wrong but not in a way that makes him feel that he is wrong. He likes working around things and discussing them, but never being offended and bombarded with comments. He knows he has to change a few things inside him and be open for some healthy criticism.
He also knows that sometimes he has not been good towards others while telling them about their mistakes. May be he has affronted them but they haven’t said to him a thing about that. He wants to know if he was wrong, but he doesn’t know how to find it out – people are not so forthright; they think, understand, build inside them some grudge against him, and remember it always. He wants people to talk to him at an emotional level taking him as their equal. He hates being taken as a mediocre even if he himself is a zilch. He must correct himself.
All through he tries to criticize himself. Every time he keeps saying to himself “you are wrong, damn it, you are wrong”. Then he cries because he finds it difficult to know where he is wrong. He says to himself “you are fooling yourself honey, this is not the way things work. Think, think and find out the right thing.” He feels bad because he doesn’t know how to direct his mind to thinking in a conscientious way. He wants to get things right but he ends up being wrong. He makes others believe that he is not wrong. He feels culpable about this.
He talks a lot to himself and tries to come clean on everything. Almost at all times, he has words to confess with everybody around because at one time or the other he has manipulated everybody to believe in something he wanted them to believe. He has done it quite a few times and he is guilty for this. He wants to tell about everything to these people but he fears that they may start hating him. He doesn’t like being hated. He is good in hiding things – he doesn’t remember telling any lies to influence people. He takes lies as a very big sin and he avoids it – but not always. He is sad that it is this way. He wants to correct himself but ends up doing nothing. That is even poorer.
He wants to be good looking and he thinks its normal for everybody to want it. He tries to be tidy and clean and has put strict rules on himself – do not sleep at night without brushing teeth even if it is 4 am, use an ear bud at least every alternate day, never wear anything that has even a small stain on it, and several more things.
He spends time in front of mirror but sometimes he hates doing that. There is a very peculiar thing that makes him hate the mirror. He also thinks that all mirrors in the world should be destroyed. There are times he fears looking himself in the mirror – he knows why he fears that – if he doesn’t find himself good-looking, he is anxious that even others won’t. He also knows that he is not so good looking for somebody and he will be reminded of that every time he looks into a mirror. But he also thanks Allah for what He has blessed him with. But he asks for more – like every other person.
He has thought deeply on a notion called as ‘chick-logic’. He found it first somewhere on the internet and he was shocked to realize all that. “Chick-logic” explains that female instincts make women like men who are bad – or macho, powerful, strong, wild and huge – but it’s the society that brainwashes them making them believe in decency and makes them ask for gentlemen. He knows that all this sounds weird but it’s true.
Things like these have come into humans from animals – like in case of deer where the strongest male gets to mate with the females. Such an explanation appears indecent but this concept has been streamlined and made civilized to be introduced into human beings. He knows that things work this way and he thinks of all this as interesting. But he wants to be good and not bad.
He thinks that it is not a good idea to talk about this but because it is such an obvious concrete, he is ready for any dialogue. But he knows it is difficult to be frank and very sincere while talking on such perceptive points.
He believes that crying is the most beautiful emotion. He finds it more powerful and effective than laughing. But he knows that it is difficult to cry than to laugh – similar to that fact that it is easier to feel than to think.
He initially used to find that it is only for the weak and the timid to cry but now he understands that it is indispensable that a person cries and purifies himself. Those who can’t cry can’t laugh properly. He finds that crying strengthens him.
Sometimes when he had wanted to cry, he wasn’t able to cry. He had wanted to alleviate his pains by shedding some tears but even that wasn’t given to him. He had spent moments that lye between a feeling that makes us cry and the real crying with tears. He finds it the most difficult thing to experience. He has always felt nice after crying.
Sometimes he has liked crying too. He had wanted to cry – even wanted to continue crying. Crying ends in contentment. He has hardly felt bad that he had to cry, he felt terrible because he never got a shoulder to cry on. He has just imagined how it would feel crying with head put on a shoulder of a person who loves him, and he felt great just by imagining. He doesn’t know if he will ever find such a shoulder or any shoulder just to help him cry. He would prefer a shoulder that loves him.
He has wondered about how girls feel about obscene things – things portrayed on television, magazines, and newspapers. He thinks that they must be feeling ashamed but he knows he can’t understand it by himself. This, he thinks, is a bit difficult to understand and sensitive too. Or perhaps they just don’t care about such tings. They know it better.
He is also confused with how girls take praise when it is done in a bit explicit way. There are so many songs and poems describing women in a praising way but by using a little obscenity. He doesn’t think this should be appreciated but he thinks it is – secretly. Some obvious things are not spoken because they should not be spoken – just to keep up some respect for each other.
He has been told several times that he is a different person. His brother and his father call him a strange human being. Again – he won’t accept that he is different because if he accepts it, he will stop doing all the things he does do to be different. He thinks that everybody wants to be different. It is normal according to him to intend to be different.
He also says that everybody wants to be made to feel important. He has once read “everybody carries a tag around his/her neck saying ‘make me feel important’”. He tries to do things that he thinks will make him important but he is not sure if what he does is right. He knows that he can just end up being a bigger fool. He knows he is an idiot already and so, he also tries doing things that may not be idiotic.
He knows he also has to make other people feel important. He wants to do it many times but is again afraid that he may be misunderstood. He wants to have integrity and likes discussing things and talking them over.
He knows that he has been blinded by a few things to which he has given some unprecedented priority. He is still trying to find out if that is wrong. He believes that it is wrong but doesn’t know why it is. To be precise, he is confused. He is not ready to take advices too. He listens to people but acts to his own will. He likes people telling him on such things and he wants to hear more. But he prefers to have things done his way. He is a kind of an egoist - sometimes an egotist too. He must put things right before they put him on the erroneous path.
So, he wrote the first page of the book of his life and he is waiting for the ink to dry. Things have come to a stand still for him and the page cannot be turned. The story of a guy like me is of a single page having the things written above here. There were some things he was afraid to right; scared to put into words for the fear that they will create complexities for him. He will be living with all the words he writes for all his life. So, he needs to be careful. But now, he can right only when the first page is turned. He is waiting for that.
He hopes that the reason that is stopping the ink from drying itself turns the pages and writes the rest of the story. He knows that would never happen. He will remain as an unfinished story in the book of his life.
This guy like me has seen 20 years till now and the last 2 of those 20 were the most significant. They have shown him new lights and have also blinded him. I pray to Allah that he walks on the right path and sees all his dreams come true. Allah is greatest and only He will decide the whole thing, and this guy like me will accept what Allah decides. Even I will accept that!