Too much peace can be explosive!

Rama, Mohammad, & Jesus... all apostles of peace- but in combination there could be nothing more explosive!

I read something of this sort in a novel by Vikram Seth, A suitable boy (highly recommended if you have the energy)

But this line is very thought provoking. Peace was the message all of them had in common but when you combine their followers, there is not even a piece of peace.

A few days back, i put it on my status on fb. Even then, a friend could not help protecting her religion. The conversation:

Friend: cant get you ......what are you trying to say....... but all i know... you cant compare.. combine.. yea whatever......Mohammad with anyone else.......

Me: not comparing or combining... just saying kay all three promoted peace but combine their followers n there u get an explosion... religious discrimination... like u urself :P

Friend: hmmmm...... now its making sense..... that line was not making any sense...... and i like it now.....


And so the war continues... but just think... can v call ourselves followers when we can not follow them

Do you believe in ghosts?

I always wondered. But now I know.

Some months ago, we shifted to a new home. We were really excited. But things started happening to me and only me. I wonder why?

The first time it happened at sun rise. If you read my blog, you must know I am a Muslim. Before sunrise, we offer our first prayer for the day. When I woke up, I thought I smelt something weird. But I ignored it considering it was new place and we just shifted so the whole place was kind of messed up. So I got up, found my slippers were not under the bed. Thinking that probably my sister must have come at night and nicked them, I got up and went to search for them. But was unable to. So I took my mother’s slippers, washed, laid down the prayer mat and started prayer. Once I finished, I got up and turned around and saw my slipper next to my mother’s slippers!

Though I was scared, I let this episode go thinking that maybe I was not so alert. The next day, we had some guests coming over for dinner. That day, while the food was being served another thing happened. We have this open kitchen connected with the dining room. The fridge is in the dining room. Everyone was sitting on the table when my mom asked me to take out the cold drinks. I went over to the fridge, took out two cold drinks and left one for some guests who were coming over later in the night. I closed the fridge and walked over to the kitchen counter to pour the drinks in the glasses. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the third bottle, there on the counter. By the way, I scare easily. I quickly turned around and opened the fridge. The bottle was no longer there. Though impossible it was, I still asked whether someone had taken out the bottle and put it on the counter. Looking at their faces, I got the answer.

The third big episode happened last night. Since two days, I had been having strange dreams of blood and ghosts. Yesterday, I woke up in the middle of the night ( I do most of the time) and saw the window to my room closed. I usually keep it open for fresh air but I was too tired to get up and open it. I went back to sleep. This time I had another bad dream, I woke up with a start and looked around. This time I saw my window opened. This took the wind out of my lungs, having just had a bad dream.

And since then, I am really scared. Even while I am writing all this, I am wondering if the ghost is standing right beside me and reading all of this?

Scary, huh?

Thank you!

Thank you for killing people to decrease the world population.

Thank you for bringing recession and making us feel privileged about every penny that we have.

Thank you for bringing inflation and making everyone feel for the poor.

Thank you for taking our mind off worries like global warming and alien invasion.

Thank you for the 9/11 attacks so that movies now have a new subject and a new angle.

Thank you for all the violence so that now we can actually read so much from the newspapers.

Thank you for giving as real problems to take our mind off cosmetics and bar fights.

Thank you for the gunshots and the bombs so that now we feel strong and invincible.

Thank you for showing us daily violence, now we don’t cry every time we see a mutilated body.


Thank you! Your selfishness made us what we are today. Shells of a soul that is now dead. We cannot thank you enough!

This is Pakistan!

Tomorrow is a day off. 12th of May. Not Sunday but a weekday.

Wondering Why?

This is Pakistan! Now you have an answer?

Tomorrow, there is supposed to be a strike. And expected bloodshed and mayhem. Some clashes between different casts that I don’t want to get in and honestly do not understand.

You are probably either wondering how lucky to get days off or maybe that poor her and poor all the innocent Pakistani.

When I say bloodshed and mayhem, I do not feel scared. Neither do I feel anger. I just feel frustration. Frustration that you cannot do anything, frustration at the people who do not feel anything and frustration for the people who may not see anything after this day.

This is probably what many of us feel at this point of the drama. And drama it is, a well-constructed well-played out drama that has already been written by people we will never meet. The directors of our lives are ironic people with no feeling because we are just spawns to them in their chess game. The lights may get dim but the scene continues, the actors perform their roles, the audience enjoys from afar. And we do not have a say because we are busy playing our role and entertaining some ironic hotshot having a twisted sense of humor.

Have you ever felt?

Have you ever felt the way I do these days? Yes, you probably have. Everyone once in a while feels something other people feel at one time or the other. This happens to all of us. I feel dissatisfied. Why?
I have a job in this time of recession. I have a nice family who cares for me. I have more money than I can spend. I have my best friend totally and madly in love with me. What more do I want?
I have no idea. But still I know exactly what I want. I want to be happy and I am not.
Maybe I am just too sensitive. I see so much wrong happening around me that it just feels that I should not be happy. I used to be a very cheerful and happy person. People commented on the fact that why was I constantly smiling. But now I guess I don’t.
I see war. I see mayhap. I see blood.
But what can I do?
I just read ‘Three cups of tea’. A very interesting book about ‘One man’s mission to promote peace… one school at a time’. Greg Mortenson is this wonderful human being who is fighting his own war against terrorism by educating the people of Northern Pakistan and Afghanistan. I wish I could do the same.
Help the world be a better place so that I can feel better. I know this is selfish but then I am better than those people who can so easy plan to kill innocent lives. Their humanity is dead. Mine is not. If I am selfish and feel the need to make myself feel better, then at least I feel that I do feel.
But what is don’t understand is what to do. I am a very confused person. I don’t know where to start!

The world of Numbness

The world is dying and I am alive;

The world cries and I smile;

The world starves away in hunger while I hoard my fridge with foods and drinks;

The world hoards despair while I starve away in happiness;

And starvation it is- starvation of the soul;

The soul dies when it sees the blood, the hunger and the hate;

A painful death at the hands of the numb eyes;

Numb eyes knowing nothing changes with just another new generation.

Numb eyes looking right back at numb souls;

Numb souls knowing nothing changes with just another war or another blast.

'The right path'

They say God said, “In your journey of life, there will be a right path and a wrong path. Make sure you choose the right one.”

But sometimes it just so happens that no path is right and no path is wrong. And right beside them is a lush green meadow where you can always sit, relax and have fun. The lushness of it hypnotizes your mind enough to keep you captivated in it. But deep in your mind, you know that you can’t stay where you are. Life does not wait for you to go to sleep in the middle of it. To reach the end of the journey, you cannot be like the rabbit, who took a nap and lost to the turtle. You cannot slack off just because you are happy now or maybe because you cannot see beyond the next bend. The next bend may be strewn with spikes or loaded with flowers. And once you choose your path, there is no reverse gear. You have to go ahead and lose yourself in the wilderness.

If only God had put up pole signs saying, “The right path.” How much easier would it have been!

What is love?

Some say it is the heavenly feeling that makes you want to smile all the time.
How true! They could not have been more wrong.
YES! It makes you want to cry all the time. Love makes you miserable.
Misery of not being loved back.
Misery of not getting the person you love.
Misery of seeing him sad.
Misery of seeing him happy without you.
Misery of seeing him give someone else the attention.

Misery. Misery. Misery
Love is misery’s substitute or why else would the greatest lovers, Romeo commit suicide and Scarlett be so immensely unhappy. Don’t challenge me with all the magical fairy tales, Cinderella and Snow White. They were just that; fairy tales. There is no Prince Charming. Even if there is, he is someone like the magic of the Illusionist. Not really there.
But still love is what makes us go forward, it takes us on a roller coaster ride. A ride that we so want to enjoy but once we are really there, fear and anxiety grips us. We want it to end but once it ends, we cannot wait to get on the next one.

And they blame Islam

Is the US FBI Islamic? Then how come it is degrading a female* to such level and terrorizing millions of Muslims throughout the world? Only Muslims are supposed to be such villains. We Muslims are convicted with the charges of such brutality. Then happened to the FBI? I wonder; did they just accept Islam?
Should we start treating every American (or British for that matter) with suspicion and blame every one of them for raping Aafia Siddiqui? If every Muslim can be a terrorist then every American is a rapist. But since I am not a terrorist, every American is not a rapist. I cannot blame every American for the crimes of just one organization.
Where is Jean Sasson now? Is she going to write about the plight of this lady? Will she write the story of an oppressed Islamic woman or she only writes about women oppressed through Islam?
And this is just one person we know of. Are there more? Maybe and Maybe not.
I am but just one female muslim who cannot help but wonder. I am scared of being raped. For us, our respect comes from this
This is what I want to say to the FBI: When you do not let Muslims live peacefully, then maybe terrorist are left with no option. As a muslim, I can say that my religion advocates peace. Even during Jihad, it is forbidden to harm women, children and anyone who is not a party to the war. This rule always prevented me from accepting the views of the fundamentalists. But after the episode of Afia Siddiqui, I am forced to wonder if we have been pushed beyond our limits.
I plead with the Americans not to label every Muslim as a terrorist. Give us a chance to show that we are also peace loving creatures. Even if we are criminals then please let us be judged by a judge. Give us one chance to defend ourselves and save us from the fate of Aafia Siddiqui. Even if she was a criminal, worse crimes have been committed and the criminals still stand in the court. Then was her crime worse than a serial killer’s?
I know Muslims will have no effect of this because they have been rendered numb. We cannot feel for anyone because we are forced to think about our fate. But maybe others can make their government understand. Even if you don’t anything, I will understand that even you have loved ones to worry about.

*This refers to the case of Aafia Siddiqui, if you know her.

Spider's web

Caught in a web, have you ever felt like this fly who could not move foward. It could not stay where it is. The spider, like a god controls its fate. It fears the spider, yet curosity of wanting to see its God from up close brings its closer to the end. Will the spider leave or will it devour it? Is it better to know the end or wait agnozing moments to feel what is going to be painful in the end? Will the pain be any lesser knowing from the start or whether knowing it all the time is more painful?

Miracles do happen, right? The spider may have a heart attack. Do spiders have heart attacks? If they do, the fly will not be able to see its god from up close. Will that be tragedy or a happy ending?

Are you the killer or the thief?

You see a shiny white car. You love it. You want to have it. But you have no money.

Now you want to steal it!

But stealing is prohibited by law. It is wrong.

You murder your urge to steal. Now you are a murderer.


So what was better: the murderer or the thief in you?

We grow up when we dont want to...

When I was a little girl singing 'humpty dumpty sat on...', i couldnot wait to grow up, have long hair, wear gawdy jewelry but now that I have, I want to shrink right back to the old size.

When I was younger, I hated it when people asked others for advice. I later learned misery loves company.

When I was younger, I wanted to go to office and work. Now I know what it feels like, just like an office.

When I was younger, I wanted so much that now even if I got it, it won't matter like it used to because now it is not the same.

Terror visits the heart of a Muslim

Meet me... a terrorized Muslim girl. I get up very day, pray five times to my Allah and look up to my favorite people, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) and the great sahabas. And when I turn on the TV, my Allah and these favorite people are ridiculed in almost every channel. I feel sad. They charge them with great crimes, the greatest being insensitivity. I feel hurt. Every day a new terrorist emerges in the scene. I feel anger. And anger is the most dominant of the feeling. I don’t care how many non-Muslims condemn Islam. But I care when my fellow Muslims abuse my religion. They, the terrorists, make me feel cheated; cheated of the real spirit of Islam. Pardon me if I am not an Islamic scholar. Pardon me if I don’t speak Arabic. Pardon me if I can not quote from the Quran. Pardon me if I can not recite more than 20 ayats. But the small knowledge that I have of my Islam, condemns these terrorists. Even as a child studying my religion at school, we knew Jihad was compulsory but maybe the texts that I read outlined the wrong concepts of Jihad/ Holy war. The concepts I read of the war said:

1. Muslims will not be the first ones to attack
2. No innocent or someone who is not a party to the war should be harmed
3. Women and children are to be protected and not killed or used.

But still daily millions of innocents, women and children die under the cover of Islam. I cry. I plead. I yell. Stop sacrificing my religion for your sake. Sacrifice yourself for my religion’s sake. Accept peace or fight like a true Muslim.
Maybe they taught a different Islam at that time but I know that Islam is universal. It never contradicts itself. It loves peaces, protects its women and preaches honesty to its followers. This is the Islam I know, and I love it!

Is your glass half full or half empty

Half full or half empty, the glass still contains water is the way I see it. There are still chances of you being an optimistic or pessimist; if there is water in the glass. The water is like the hope that never dies; it is eternal like water is eternal. They say water is never eternal, it will dry out soon with the rate we are abusing it. And then will so shall the hope. The hope to buy a shiny new red Mercedes, the hope to get salvation, the hope of endless happiness, the hope to meet George Clooney, the hope to get married to the perfect spouse dries out when all the water in the oceans dry out. Use water, do not abuse it. Make the glass half full and not half empty.

The sign in the cross.

I think of what to do with it. I turn it over. I fold it. I make a cross on it. Finally, I crumple it and throw it in the bin. Another one wasted. Another one taken out. But ideas do not float freely today. I try. I cry. I demand. I juggle with the left half and the right half of the brain but nothing falls on the paper. The paper remains blank. Thoughts race with each other inside the brain but none reach the finish line. They either fall off, simple disappear or are still racing. Meanwhile, the paper remains blank. My fingers itch to write something on it but my brains forbids it. I write my name on it and the paper itches. I cross my t’s and make a cross over the ‘I’. A cross? Why did I make a cross and not a dot? The cross means this is not right. Is this a sign? A premonition? An omen that this is not the right time for the right idea? I stop to wonder about it. The ideas stop racing. The pencil stopped in mid air, I make up my mind. Now is not the time; maybe some other time. Crumpling the paper, I throw another one in the bin.