Death - A ritual

 One of my close friends is in a home hospice due to metastatic colon cancer. Unfortunately, diagnosed too late. Despite COVID, I took a flight to go and see him. I was fortunate to spend some quality time with him (we were up till 4 AM for two days). There were many private talks, a lot of private messages for friends he is not in contact with. Together, we laughed browsing Facebook & Whatsapp memes, feel dejected on Pakistani physicians soulless politics, listened to Rafi Sahab songs, and searched girls we knew in college days. We drank a lot of chai made almost every couple of hours by his wife and puffed cigarettes.  

I realized the impending death of a known person is a powerful force for introspection. It makes you let go of many things, forgive many people, and look for forgiveness. He was happy to see me as we both were hard-headed at one point in our lives. We had arguments, and friendship has its ups and downs. When I was leaving, he said a beautiful thing with his usual smile; 

"Bhai, maut bhi aik rasm hi hai jo har insaan ko bilakhir nibhani paRti hai". (Death is also a ritual every human has to go through)

The year 2020, on the bright side, bring a lot of humility for me. I guess it made me relatively more humble and a feel-blessed human being. The return flight was somber. The flight was empty. I didn't even read the book. I quietly sipped some cold water. I am glad I skipped the mindless presidential debate. 

Worst thing to teach children

 Yesterday I got a piece of very sensible advice:

"Apni aulad pe sab se ziyada zulm tum us waqt kerte ho jab unhe nafrat kerna sikhate ho"

(The worst thing you can do to your children is to teach them to hate)

Immigrants!

-- فلسطین سے تعلق رکھنے والی عربی زبان کی مشہور شاعرہ فدویٰ طوقان کی ڈائری کا ایک ورق ---

مشمولہ: "عربی ادب میں مطالعے"، تحقیق و ترجمہ: محمد کاظم، سنگِ میل پبلی کیشنز، لاہور

آہ بہار! جس کی سانسوں میں شباب کی لپٹ ہوتی ہے۔ میں اپنی رگوں میں زندگی کو سرایت کرتے ہوئے محسوس کرتی ہوں۔ میں ابھی مشوار سے واپس آئی ہوں۔ آسماں پر چودہویں کا چاند تھا اور ہوا میں ہزاروں خوشبوؤں کی مہک تھی۔

میں ابھی اپنی دوست "ا۔ ن" کو اس کے خط کا جواب دوں گی۔ اس کے خط ہمیشہ موت کے ذکر سے بوجھل ہوتے ہیں۔ میں اُسے اپنے سفرِ مشوار کے متعلق بتاؤں گی کہ میں وہاں کھڑے ہوئے کیسے سوچتی تھی کہ اپنے دونوں ہاتھوں میں اس کی مٹی بھر لوں اور اس کی ہوا میں اتنا سانس لوں کہ میری طبیعت سیر ہوجائے اور میں کیسے اس کی پہاڑیوں کو دیکھ کر خواہش کرتی تھی کہ کاش ان میں سے کسی کی چوٹی پر پہنچ کر میری زندگی ختم ہوجاتی۔ ایسی جگہ پر موت کتنی مرغوب ہوتی ہے جہاں قبر میں پڑے ہوئے انسان کے جسم سے جنگلی پھول اور بیلیں بھوٹ نکلیں۔ 

میرا دیس کیسا خوب صورت ہے! یہ کیوں کر ممکن ہے کہ میں اس کے سوا کسی اور زمین پر جان دوں۔ میرے پیارے مہاجر انسانو! یہ کتنا ستم ہے کہ انسان اپنی زمین سے دور کسی اور زمین پر اجنبی ب کر مرے!۔۔۔۔۔۔ صرف اپنے آباء و اجداد کی سرزمین میں انسان اپنے آپ کو پھلتا پھولتا ہوا محسوس کرتا ہے اور اپنے اردگرد پھیلی ہوئی زندگی میں اسے ہم آہنگی کا احساس ہوتا ہے۔ 

A web!

We all are connected in a web of grey zone. As Mir Taqi Mir  said 

 nāhaq ham majbūroñ par ye tohmat hai muḳhtārī kī 

 chāhte haiñ so aap kareñ haiñ ham ko abas badnām kiyā

 

A Unique thought

We pass our death anniversary every year without knowing the date!  ~ Anonymous

Modern Medicine and the Shadow of Illness

 This is a cross-post from another physician. This is an interesting essay from Aasim Hasany, a physician at McMaster University.  It is an interesting read for physicians who struggled to put science in the broader context of spirituality. The link is at the end. It is part of a magazine, which itself deserved to be bookmarked.

"When we set aside the lens of the mechanistic worldview and open our “inward eye,” we begin to see the human body as a spiritual theophany (tajallī) rather than a complex earthly machine. The organs of our bodies and our physiological processes reveal themselves as more than impersonal instantiations of “laws of nature,” for they are existential symbols that teach us about our journey from God and return back to Him. 

 When we move beyond mechanism, the cell is no longer a factory processing the code of DNA into various proteins but a symbol of how “divine writ” (kalām Allāh) is transcribed, translated, and concretized in specific formulations in the universe. The lungs are more than bellows moving air in and out of the body; they are a symbol of the soul, which expands and contracts with the coming and going of divine inspiration (nafas al-raĥmān). Likewise, the heart and the blood circulating through its network of arteries and veins represent the spiritual center (qiblah) and the pilgrims who travel to and from this center in order to transmit and receive the blessing of God (barakah)."

Link: https://renovatio.zaytuna.edu/article/modern-medicine-and-the-shadow-illness

Tennis - a game of life

 I think it was 2017. I was on my way to the UK for a conference. I met a sports correspondent sitting next to me. She specialized in Tennis. Although I grew up watching Cricket and like any sports, I learned my lessons of life equivalating in Cricket, the first time I realized that Tennis is more of psychological sports than a physical one! Now, this was a novel concept and made me interested in Tennis. She gave me two books by Timothy Gallwey on Tennis to enjoy on my trip. 1) The Inner Game of Tennis and 2) The inner Game of Stress. These books were eye-openers.

I recalled these books as Novak Djovick is barred from participating in the US Open after he innocently but angrily hit the ball to a line judge. Now, this is a massive blow to a World-Class so far unbeaten champion in 2020. This is seen in the Tennis world as a crime or sin or an indelible stain, as Tennis asked for very high-level mental discipline during times of stress. 

Now here is the question I asked myself: If I am at glory in my life and a moment due to my one innocent mistake, I lose my reputation: How will I handle that?

I need to see how Novak Dijovick will handle this.

You may watch the incident here: https://youtu.be/Gwr8DffGoRg

Babul Mora - Neyhar chuto hi jaaye

 Considered ever classic 'bidai" poem, sung many times by classical singers as thumri in raag bharvi and performed with kathak dance (see youtube link at the end of post). It was written by the unfortunate last king of Awadh, Wajid Ali Shah (a sad story of a good man who was born at the wrong time in history). Allegedly, he wrote this as he was banished from Lucknow to Calcutta by English.

بابُل مورا، نیہر چھُوٹو ہی جائے

بابُل مورا، نیہر چھُوٹو ہی جائے

(چار کہار مِل، موری ڈولِیا سجاویں (اُٹھایّں

مورا اَپنا بیگانا چھُوٹو جائے ، بابُل مورا۔۔۔

آںگنا تو پربت بھیو اؤر دیہری بھیی بِدیش

جائے بابُل گھر آپنو میں چلی پیّا کے دیش ، بابُل مورا ۔۔

O My father! I'm leaving home. 

O My father! I'm leaving home. 

 The four (palanquin) bearers lift my palanquin. 

I'm leaving those who were my own. 

 Your courtyard is now like a mountain, and the threshold, a foreign country.

I leave your house, father, I am going to my beloved country.

Youtube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j3VvhvBUSak

Post Mortem

 "Sir! agar zindagi main koi galti ho jaaye to kiya kerna chahiye?"

"Sab se alag ho ker apne saath waqt guzarna chahiye. Apna analysis kerna chahiye. Apni kamingiyon ka idraak kerna chahiye. Zanjīr-e-roz-o-shab ki is tuti hui kaRi main, matame waqt ki is ghaRi main, apni zaat kā labāda utar ke, apna post mortem kerna chahiye"*

"Is se kiya farq paR jaaye ga Sir!"

"Kahin kisi amal main koi pukhtagi aa jaaye gi"

* words shamelessly taken from Faiz' poem  'ye matame waqt ki ghaRi hai'

Aaj Jaane ki zid na karo (full version)

 I have written on this blog before also that "yunhi pehlu main bethe raho" is the most beautiful experience of relationship. Finally found the full version of Fayyaz Hashmi's poem. The last stanza is rarely seen or sung*, which is equally poetical. 

*https://youtu.be/hBvdIsBmQ6g (Fardia Khanum)

https://youtu.be/wGwHQYtvNRw (Ariit Singh) 

آج جانے کی ضد نہ کرو

یونہی پہلو میں بیٹھو رہو

ہائے ! مر جائیں گے، ہم تو لُٹ جائیں گے

ایسی باتیں کیا نہ کرو

تم ہی سوچو ذرا کیوں نہ روکیں تمہیں

جان جاتی ہے جب اُٹھ کے جاتے ہو تم

تم کو اپنی قسم جانِ جاں

بات اتنی میری مان لو

وقت کی قید میں زندگی ہے مگر

چند گھڑیاں یہی ہیں جو آزاد ہیں

ان کو کھو کر کہیں جانِ جاں

عمر بھر نہ ترستے رہو

کتنا معصوم و رنگیں ہے یہ سماں

حسن اور عشق کی آج معراج ہے

کل کی کس کو خبر جانِ جاں

روک لو آج کی رات کو

گیسوؤں کی شکن ہے ابھی شبنمی

اور پلکوں کے سائے بھی مد ہوش ہیں

حسنِ معصوم کو جانِ جاں

بے خودی میں نہ رسوا کرو

فیاض ہاشمی

Ancestral Maths