Uncomfortably Numb

On 5th April 2015 with the grace of Allah I was blessed with a daughter, Aaniya Ahmad. I find no words adequate to describe my gratitude, this is just a humble attempt. O Allah the almighty the all knowing ever the merciful Giving without asking boundless and plentiful  Showing graces for a mote of dust the most sinful No words can ever capture thy magnificence beautiful  For I am nothing without thy grace Lord of all worlds For your blessings have given me a gift so wonderful When I had thought all was lost and happiness forsaken Tis you o Lord who has made all anew, life meaningful   Weak words of gratitude I submit a humble supplication praise for Allah the magnificent from one deeply grateful

To tell the truth I am more of a ST-TNG fan than the original series and thats because my introduction to Star Trek came in the form of TNG in the late 80s on Pakistan Television. I was 11 and was blown away, spent hours on an imaginary space ship of my own, giving orders and defeating threats. The desktop of my school desk was littered with the designs of my imaginary touch screens. Only when satellite tv came to us in the mid 90s I got a taste of the original series which seemed weird and wacky to me, but in it there was a voice, a voice of reason and logic which appealed to me and thats when I fell in love with a tv character called Spock. As I grew up and went through various re runs and books related to Star Trek I began to understand the appeal of an utopian society where logic and science ruled, where there was no poverty for the most part, where there was no need for money and everyone was free to pursue their dreams, most of these books were written by Leonard Nimo

As I was growing up in Pakistan I never really thought of myself as a minority until the bitter reality hit me in the late 80s that everything I was, was wrong to someone. Even though I never did anything to that someone, I didn't even know that someone. A generation that has grown belonging to my faith has known nothing but hatred from their fellow Pakistanis, Ahmadis living in big cities face discrimination as routinely as an ordinary Pakistani does load shedding. As if firing from jobs, shunning from businesses, students being rusticated and separation of water glasses were a birth right, every facet of society takes its share in discrimination, in dehumanising, in rampant disregard of common human decency.  Someone told me how her family was evicted from the house they were renting because they were found out as an Ahmadi & the landlord although acknowledging the fact that they were model tenants had to do it. I noticed that when she was speaking whenever she us

The heart weeps As if it forgot how to beat I close my eyes and see faces Of children in uniforms Drenched in blood The blood of innocence I see that mother Beside that coffin I see that father Kissing the dead hand I see dreams shattered I see futures Being buried I see my son In those faces And I can't hold my tears I can't stop my heart from exploding You who have lost your child I know your pain I weep with you I grieve with you I pray for you

Rohan would have turned 11 this September and when I posted his pic online someone who obviously didn't know about the events of last year asked me who was he and I kept asking myself the same question after that, who was he? Perhaps the more pertinent question is what was he to me? Rohan, was a culmination of prayers, for three years of trying, as all newly weds struggling with conception know how that feels. As if his arrival opened new doors for me, my job at MTA got permanent(after two years of volunteer work)a month after he was born. I remember vividly the moment he was handed over to me that small cuckoon wrapped in soft blue cloth and small baby clothes which his mother had spent weeks preparing. There is nothing like holding your child for the first time, everything about that moment gets etched in your memory forever, the tiny hands and feet, your afraid that you might drop the baby and then the fragrance of Johnson's baby powder. Those small movements the

The worst part is falling and realising that the pedestal one puts one's self on is way higher than it should be. Blind emotion cannot be trusted, action based on emotions lead to disregard of boundaries. Which itself is proof enough of its wrongfulness. It's better to stop when one realises that the path one has taken is the wrong one... Admitting mistakes takes courage but is fruitful, but what off those who got trod upon? Asking forgiveness takes more than courage, it takes character... So much can happen in so little time, the frenzy the adrenaline rush, the high is enough to blind one's self from the obvious.  The choice here is simple, either one applies what is taught to him all his life regarding morality, the difference between right and wrong or when the real test of character comes one just ignores everything and indulges. People give all kinds of reasons for why they choose the wrong path, knowing what it is. It fascinates me that when it c

I hear the argument again and again that Pakistan has no alternative but Imran Khan, he is our last resort. Even so called intellectuals can be found repeating the sentiment. They say, when the intellectuals of a nation abandon principals nothing but chaos and anarchy becomes its fate. There are alternatives if one is looking to avoid total disintegration of every system that is in place, there are alternatives. There always are. 
Instead of rhetoric lets just consider a few facts. Fact is that the current Government along with the previous ones have failed to alleviate the problems of the general public. If you listen to Imran Khan's speech repeated every night for more than a month, the picture he paints of the Pakistani condition is almost accurate. 
Every successful political movement in history started when the masses arose, it is also true that almost every popular revolution was then hijacked by fascists, dictators and were moved away from their true purpose and the pe