Uncomfortably Numb

Is this by design?

2026-10-05T10:25:30.823-07:00

I had this strange thought today about why civilizations seem to rise, advance and eventually destroy themselves.

Imagine creation has a finite amount of resources and time. If you wanted those resources to produce the greatest possible variety of outcomes, perhaps having one civilization arise and eventually occupy everything forever wouldn't achieve that. Instead, civilizations could have an inherent tendency toward self-destruction. One rises, develops knowledge and technology, reaches enormous complexity and power, eventually collapses, and makes room for something else to arise. Each civilization becomes almost another iteration of what intelligent life can become.

The self-destruct wouldn't necessarily be some literal timer built into creation. It could simply be a consequence of intelligence itself. As intelligence increases, technological power increases. Greater power creates greater complexity and also greater ability to cause catastrophic damage. Eventually a civilization may acquire the ability to destroy itself faster than it acquires the wisdom to prevent itself from doing so.

So I started wondering: what if this repeated cycle of civilizations isn't a flaw in creation? What if rise, advancement, collapse and replacement are actually part of how creation works?

But then I ran straight into a theological problem with my own idea.

I'm thinking about this as a Muslim, so I believe in a Creator who is all-knowing and self-sufficient. Allah doesn't need anything from His creation. So I can't say that He creates successive civilizations as an "experiment" to find out what His creation is capable of. If He is all-knowing, He already knows every possible outcome. There is nothing for Him to discover.

And that led me to a much bigger question.

Maybe creation isn't about God discovering what His creation will do at all. Maybe it is about possibilities that are already completely known to God actually becoming lived realities for the created beings themselves.

God doesn't need to discover the story.

We do.

I don't know where this idea goes yet, but that's the rabbit hole my brain decided to enter today. 😂

Then I started thinking about where the afterlife fits into all of this.

And that changes the idea quite a bit.

If I look at it from an Islamic perspective, civilizations cannot really be the ultimate point of the process. Civilizations rise and disappear, but according to Islam the individuals within them don't simply cease to exist. Death ends their participation in this physical world, not their existence.

So perhaps I was looking at the wrong unit. Maybe civilizations are not the subjects of the process at all. They are the environments in which conscious beings live and exercise their choices.

Someone lives 5,000 years ago in one kind of civilization. I live today in an entirely different one. Someone thousands of years from now might live in circumstances we cannot even imagine. Civilizations, technologies and societies change, but conscious beings continue to face choices within whatever world they inherit.

That also connects back to the problem of God's omniscience. If Allah already knows what every person will do, then earthly life cannot be an experiment conducted so that God can discover the result.

Perhaps the point is not for God to discover our choices, but for us to actually make them.

Knowing that someone will choose something is different from that person actually living through the circumstances and making that choice. Life makes those possibilities into an actual history for the person who experiences it.

And then the afterlife provides the continuation that my original idea was missing. A civilization may disappear, but the human beings who lived within it are not simply discarded when their particular version of the world ends.

But there is an important boundary here that I don't want to blur.

The first part of my thought started with things we can physically observe: civilizations rise and fall, species appear and become extinct, resources are finite, technology increases both our abilities and our capacity to destroy ourselves. From those observations I can speculate about whether rise, complexity and eventual collapse might be a recurring feature of intelligent civilizations.

But the moment I introduce a Creator's intention, and especially the afterlife, I've moved beyond what I can physically observe.

Now I am in the realm of philosophy, revelation and faith.

That doesn't invalidate the thought. It just means I shouldn't pretend that both parts are the same kind of argument.

Science might someday tell us a great deal about why civilizations collapse and perhaps even whether technological civilizations have a natural tendency toward self-destruction.

But science cannot tell me why existence itself exists, what its ultimate purpose is, or what happens after death.

That's where my observation ends and my faith begins.

The Keyboard I Didn’t Know I Missed

2026-09-29T10:37:24.855-07:00

The story of why I bought a mechanical keyboard

The other day we took the kids to Playdium. Before they could play, we had to fill out some consent forms on their computers. They had these old-fashioned, clicky mechanical keyboards.

Aaniya started typing on one and said, “This is really nice to type on.”

And something about that stayed with me.

I’ve been wanting to write more, but I’ve been using Apple’s little Magic Keyboard. It’s perfectly functional, but my fingers almost feel like they’re sliding across it. I started wondering whether having a keyboard that actually felt good to type on might make me want to sit down and write more.

Then I realized there was probably another reason that feeling appealed to me.

When I was in fourth grade, my dad was away in the UK. I had recently learned about the Commodore 64 and desperately wanted one. I asked Dad to bring me one, and he told me that if I got good grades in my exams, he would.

While I waited, I used to practice typing on his old manual mechanical typewriter — no electricity, just keys connected to metal typebars that physically struck an ink ribbon against the paper. You had to really press the keys. If you typed too quickly, the typebars would sometimes collide and jam together.

But in my imagination, I wasn’t typing on that old typewriter.

I was practicing for my computer.

Then the exam results came.

I came second.

And Dad kept his promise. I got my Commodore 64.

I loved that machine to bits. And looking back, I think part of what I miss about those old computers isn’t the 8-bit graphics or the limitations. I certainly don’t want to go back to 64 KB of RAM. 😂 I miss the physical experience of using a computer — sitting down deliberately, pressing substantial keys, typing something, and feeling the machine respond.

Nearly forty years later, my daughter pressed a few clicky keys at Playdium and said, “This is really nice to type on.”

And apparently that was enough to wake up the fourth-grader who used to sit at his father’s typewriter dreaming about a Commodore 64.

So I bought myself a mechanical keyboard.

At least that’s my story.

The less romantic explanation is:

clicky keyboard felt yummy, so I spent $ 😂

The World That Raised Me

2026-09-25T13:48:56.920-07:00

Most of the pictures that I took in the late 80s were shot by this camera Kodak Ektralite 10 which was gifted to me by my sister when I was 11, it was easy to operate and had a cartridge of 24 pictures which you could just slide in the back. Perfect for a kid. The pictures were slightly smaller than a regular camera though.

My dad had many camera in his collection starting form the 50s like his Rolleiflex. It still worked. The film was hard to obtain though. Around late 80s he had a Yashica which he would let me have occasionally and to his dismay I eventually broke.

But the one I always wanted was an SLR and I finally got my wish in the mid 90s when my Mamoo came to Pakistan and gave me his own camera. I loved that camera and took so many pictures with it but it was stolen. I don't remember the exact model no. Thats Rohan in the picture. My photography has mostly been my family and kids.

Obviously I got the photography bug from my Dad, interestingly although he took many pictures before but I don't remember him walking around with the camera at all when I was little, still our house had all kinds of photographic equipment just scattered around mostly for doing black and white developing and enlarging.

In my teens I would spend summer holidays in my make shift dark room enlarging pictures I had taken, it involved bathing the picture paper in different chemicals and timing it just right so that the blacks developed properly. It was the most fun I ever had. So I guess jumping to video was a natural step forward. If I connect the dots of my life its plain to see that my path was not random.

I keep getting hit by wave after wave of nostalgia. I guess everyone misses their childhood — the wonder of it, and how seemingly small things brought so much joy.

For me, the highlight of my day was television: the 5 o’clock cartoons, or the late-night movies that I wasn’t allowed to stay up for but were kindly recorded on VHS by my brothers. Then there were the 8 o’clock TV series like Airwolf, and the 7:15 comedies like Perfect Strangers.

We had this strange, huge TV antenna, very different from the ones usually available here in Pakistan. The best thing about it was that you could change its direction by turning a dial, and a machine would physically rotate the antenna.

I still remember when morning transmissions first started — those five minutes of cartoons before going to school.

My brother recorded the movie Labyrinth, and to my joy, I found its cover in MAG magazine. I cut it out, put it on the tape, and was ridiculously happy about it. I did the same with the cover for The NeverEnding Story.

I used to make title screens for my videotapes on the Commodore 64, all manually, just by pressing different key combinations. It took hours. They would say “Naeem Collection”, followed by my contact details... and then the movie or TV recording would begin.

Before coming to Canada I managed to capture a few old tapes.

Sometimes I wonder: if I could go back, would I even survive without the internet, social media, and the dopamine addiction that comes with them?

So it makes me sad that all of that is truly gone.

Even if we somehow had all those things again, we couldn’t recapture the feelings they evoked — the pure joy of watching Javed Miandad hit a six in Sharjah, or watching a match when load-shedding would suddenly strike and you always had the radio nearby as a backup.

Sometimes I succeed in getting my kids to watch some of the classics, like Fraggle Rock or Labyrinth, but I know they can never have the same importance in their lives that they had in mine.

So, the bottom line is: I’m missing my childhood days, and the people who inhabited that world.

My parents — may Allah rest their souls. My brothers and sister, My school friends. The things are still sometimes there.

The world around them is gone.

Memories

2026-09-11T00:35:21.024-07:00

Before Mahmood sweet shop there was a Mahmood sweet corner. I used to get the moti wali namkeen sainviyan from there on my way back from school, and it was the imaginary boundary that I allowed myself go as far as from home on my bicycle when I was in grade 4. My red cycle, the brakes were gone, but I used that as an advantage since I rolled the handle inwards and it would look like KITT's steering wheel from Knight Rider... Yep, kids imagination is weird. I was a dreamer... Spent my time day dreaming adventures... My siblings were much older than me and by that time had gone abroad, so I was a lonely kid playing in the terrace we had... It had two shades of the ventilation windows and above them two windows of the upstairs rooms... Perfect... two large computer consoles from Star Trek and the windows their screens. I loved Commander Data the most. In a way, GPT is a dream come true.

When we got satellite tv in the 90s, there was Star Movies, but it had this weird analogue encryption that the picture was scrambled but you could hear the sound... So I had it hooked to our Akai Deck with huge speakers, and and I would just put a movie on, turn off the lights of the room and lay down in the Centre and just listen to the whole movie with my eyes closed, imagining what's happening in my head, and I got pretty good at that, and I guess that actually developed some skill set that useful now in my line of work.

There were only a few hotels or restaurants in Rabwah at that time. We had Mannan, of course, we had Chargha house and Ali tikka shop, and I guess Kashmiri tikka house as well, but we never went there, so I don't remember. Eating out was not a thing, at least not in our house anyway, and if you wanted to get something fancy, that meant a trip to Chiniot and Lucky or whatever karahi spot was in its place back then. I had never seen a pizza until, I guess, I was in 10th, even higher, but not before that. Same goes for burgers or anything fast food... The only fast food we did have was shami kabab burgers around early 90s. Those were simpler times. We ate what was made at home, no ifs and buts, my mom being an exceptional cook was a bonus. I remember the first time I had chicken corn soup was in 8th grade, after my brothers got married and we went to Islamabad to see their wives off to Germany.

I wonder, do I miss my youth or the city that used to be my playground, or are they the same thing?

When MTA started, even before that, khutba transmission used to be only for an hour. Our house got the satellite Dish, among the very few in Rabwah. It was a huge 12 ft mesh dish. This was before mosques in Rabwah got their own dishes, so the houses that did have them made an effort to have people come over and view the Khutba. Our house was one of them. My cousin Gohar used to live with us back then, and me and him would rearrange furniture, get the tvs placed so that more people could watch, men downstairs and women upstairs. Even now, sometimes I meet someone and he says, we used to come to your house to watch khutba. I'm glad we got the chance like that for some time. We had a cable running to our neighbour's house so BB jaan (that what the grandmother was called) could see the khutba as well. In normal times, whatever I was watching, mostly MTV or Star Plus English, that's before Indians butchered it, that would be going there as well, and Colnol Sb would say, kabhi sports bhi dekh lia karo... lol. Eventually they got their own dish.

I don't know why I am writing this down. This couldn't possibly be interesting to anyone. Still feels good to reminisce, even to my self, I guess... Nothing remains of that time anymore except memories, and when I'm gone, they too will be gone. In a generation or two, no one will even remember my name, and that's how things have always been. I just have a wish that I do some good that's remembered.

The Slippery Slope of Pride

2026-08-06T09:00:58.891-07:00

The slippery slope of pride,

The world beckons, take a ride.

It's so evident, even though

I try my best to hide.

Easy to see in others,

A wavering soul the guide.

How can one invite Him

To a heart occupied?

For a cleansing is required

Before asking Him to reside.

The Music That Stayed

2026-08-05T10:29:45.641-07:00

The music that shaped me.

I was born into a music-loving family. My dad was a music collector; a lot of vinyls and cassettes, and even spool tapes, were the norm. I guess most of the music would have come from Radio Bahrain and the tapes my sister made by recording off the radio.

But there were other tapes as well, which were also a staple diet for me, and when I search for them now, they are really very rare things indeed. I wonder who got them. Was it my dad, my brothers, or my sister? How did they come to know about these, like the James Last tapes, or Space, the French band? Was it just that everyone was listening to these gems at that time?

Even now, when I listen to some really good melody, my thoughts are, "My dad would like this." I wonder, do I have anything that’s of my own, or is it just what I learned from all the music around me?

I know most of the music was my brother’s choice, and whenever I listen to those songs, I think of him. Once he was visiting Pakistan, and I put on a tape that he used to love (The Carpenters), and he came alive and enjoyed it so much. These songs were like lullabies to me, but to see him enjoy them was a treat, and now listening to these songs often makes me sad as well. I sometimes wonder if these things really matter in the end. These old tapes, these forgotten melodies, these sounds that have followed us through life. They are just pieces of plastic and magnetic tape. Yet somehow they carry people with them. They carry rooms, voices, laughter, and moments that can never happen again.

Maybe that is what makes them matter. Maybe the answer is that we are all made from borrowed melodies. We don't create ourselves from nothing; we are a collection of the people and moments that touched us. The unique part is the way we carry them forward.

What I don’t understand is why I hold this music so dear while my other siblings don’t. It was their choice after all. Maybe it is because they left as life happened, and I was left behind, and all I had to feel near to them was this music.

Now when I play these songs and my children make faces, I hope that some of that wonder that I felt carries forward. How do I share the sheer joy this music gave me, when I spent hours playing on an invisible piano while I listened?

The realization that no one can actually share your experience of existence is incredibly lonely. We can love each other deeply, we can tell stories, we can share songs, but we can never completely step into another person's world. Maybe that is why we hold on so tightly to these fragments — the tapes, the photographs, the melodies. They are our attempts to leave behind a small doorway into the life we once lived.

The Things We Leave Behind

2026-08-03T12:05:11.684-07:00

These days I’m finding it hard to write about anything. Sometimes I wonder is it because I’ve got nothing left to say or am I just being numb. People change and I think I’ve changed the most. All those posts on social media about nostalgia designed for engagement make me sad for a time that was much simpler but we didn’t know did we that it wont last.

Would I change anything... yeps lots. Then again as my sister says that everything one goes through in life is designed for your specific needs. In a sense the events of your life shape the eventual form of your spirit.

Our family has been gone through losses lately. First my brother passed away and then just a few months later my brother in law also passed away. I think I knew my bother but my brother in law I only meet a few times, since he lived in Australia and me in Pakistan and all my endeavours to go to Australia failed. But people say good things about him and thats what matters isn’t it that you are remembered in good words. I wonder how would people remember me. I’ve thought about leaving messages or videos for my children. Maybe I will. One thing is for sure that I hope they always know that how deeply I am proud of them.

Its the nature of things with losses come glad tidings as well, so far three new babies were born in our family in 2026 as well so there's that. (some months remain who knows lol)

Ive been going through personal struggles all my life and these days are interesting to say the least. I don’t want to write whats its about but I always find it a bit pretentious and presumptuous to write about myself as if I know all the answers. I don’t. I have been reading though more than I ever did anyway.

Maybe this is why I find people harder to understand these days. Not because people have changed, but because I have become more sensitive to the gap between what people show and what they are.

Now lets come to the real part. People. Since you got opinions about me well I have some too, I see most as energy vampires, trust me these are real and more common than you think. I might as go as far as saying that there are fewer normal people left in the world. I always wondered what makes people tick but never understood why belittling others can be such a source of joy for these people.

People make assumptions about others and those just stick. How easy it is to label others while those your lens doesn’t focus on those who are far more disturbed and messed up. I see kids that are being trained to be selfish pricks by their parents. I see serious mental health issues being brewed but nope the only one focus of your wrath is the one who screams when teased.

I see people who think they can do no wrong while other’s achievements are mediocre to them while if you see their actions you see how petty and vile their inner world is. These people will talk shit about someone behind their backs and when they are present will even lick their boots if it could bring them some benefit.

Adding insult to injury is that these people are mostly those you are stuck with. God forbid if they achieve something, man then you’re in for it cause you will be reminded of that every other conversation. The fun part is that having cunning in your genes does get you more. On the other hand since appearance is all that matters to these people you will find conversations with them hollow and their worldview devoid of any depth.

These people forget their origins and act as if they were born royalty oozing fake in their every word. Yes this is a rant, what else can I do but write what I think when I cant say this out loud. You know I don’t even do that anymore since what I write may somehow reach them and then there is more drama boohoo... (it happened before!)

I don’t want to end this here, it may seem that all I see is negativity which there is plenty of but the good I see, is not in the people I want to see it in, those who matter to me or rather should matter to me. See whenever I decide to just let go of it, they are the ones who remind me. I have fought with this feeling all my life, the feeling of never being taken for who I am, always being judged on someone else’s standards how mediocre they might be. I am sick of it.

سکون

2026-06-18T05:19:40.381-07:00

جانے دو بس اب جانے دو
سوچوں کو اب آنے دو

وہ پل اب یادوں ہی میں
بس جانے دو
جن کی راہ تکتے رہے رات بھر
اب انہیں سو جانے دو

اپنی کم شناسی کو
اپنی اس اداسی کو
تھکن سمجھ کر
کھو جانے دو

وہ دل جو کچھ نہ چاہے
اسے راحت کی کیا طلب
اسے تو بس سکوں کی جا
کہیں بس جانے دو

آرزو تو بس یہی ہے میری
کہ کہوں خدا سے
راضی ہوں تیری رضا پر
تو مجیب اور میں منتظر

The last gift

2026-04-21T10:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes we do things that maybe just a routine thing but they end up being so profound and meaningful for someone else. My brother Munawer passed away a few months back and just a few months before that he went for Umrah, he had done Hajj before when he was young and now he wanted to go back again for Umrah. While being there he bought presents for all his siblings. That present was given to me last night by my niece and I was stuck with so much emotion.

That present was a Prayer Matt with my name on it and Ab e Zamzam. In itself that not would not be a big deal but the fact that he remembered me and my siblings there in Makkah and bought us these and since I couldn’t go for his funeral hit me hard. Its like a last goodbye from a dear brother who always taught me how to live and even in his last actions for me he gave me a lesson to always remember Allah. May Allah grant him this highest place in heaven. Ameen.

Clay

2025-11-11T00:54:00.000-08:00

There you go...

Don't matter what you think

Don't matter what you say

Those with dead hearts

Don't ask them to stay

They forget we're all clay

Tame the beasts inside

Before hunter becomes pray

Before it all does decay

We are the ones astray

It is us who must obey

That higher purpose

The self you must slay

For there is life in death

of ego, of selfish hunger

Empty the tangled heart

for love to make way

The Invisible Disconnect

2025-10-30T00:10:00.000-07:00

As the night’s shadows appear,
The darkness envelops me —
Wraps around like a blanket,
The ache spreads quietly.

Am I allowed to feel?

Do I want to heal?

You see what you want;

Moments does time steal.

Drifting mists of echoes,

Scattered in my mind.

Even you can’t hear —

It’s not yours to find.

What is supposed to be,

I know it. I agree.

I stand, stranded —

It’s a fault, maybe.

Unable to move,

Nothing to prove.

Anchored thoughts,

I must remove.

میرے بھائی منور احمد ندیم

2025-10-02T22:01:00.000-07:00

اک ایسی دنیا کا تصور کرنا جہاں بھائی جان منور نہیں رہے بہت مشکل ہے، لیکن حقیقت یہی ہے کہ ہم آج اسی دنیا میں ہیں۔ مجھے ایسا لگتا ہے جیسے میں نے اپنے والد کو دوسری بار کھو دیا ہو۔ وہ ہمیشہ میرے ساتھ تھے، ایک ایسا سہارا جس سے میں ہر مشکل فیصلے میں مشورہ کرتا۔ جب بھی میں ڈگمگاتا، وہ مجھے تھام لیتے۔

ہر دو ہفتے بعد وہ فون کرتے اور صرف یہ پوچھتے: “سب ٹھیک ہے؟ تم ٹھیک ہو؟” میں بھی ان کی خیریت دریافت کرنے کی کوشش کرتا، لیکن ہمیشہ وہی بازی لے جاتے۔

میں اب ان کی یادوں کو سمیٹنے کی کوشش کررہا ہوں تاکہ لکھ سکوں، اور احساس ہوتا ہے کہ چند یادوں کے علاوہ میں ان کے بارے میں کتنا کم جانتا ہوں۔ وہ مجھ سے تقریبا 18 سال بڑے تھے، اس لیے میں نے ان کے ساتھ وہ بچپن نہیں گزارا جو میرے بڑے بھائی اور بہن نے گزارا۔

وہ نیک اور اصولوں پر قائم رہنے والے انسان تھے۔ اگر انہیں لگتا کہ آپ غلط ہیں تو سیدھا خلوص کے ساتھ کہہ دیتے۔ میرے لیے وہ ہمیشہ ایک بڑے کی طرح رہنمائی کرنے والے اور سمجھانے والے تھے۔

مجھے یاد ہے جب میں تیسری جماعت میں تھا، ان کے کوٹ ہمیشہ ٹنگے رہتے تھے اور ان کی جیب میں چاکلیٹ بار ہوا کرتا تھا۔ میں روزانہ وہ کھا لیتا اور اگلے دن وہاں ایک نیا بار موجود ہوتا۔

ایک بار انہوں نے کہا کہ اسکول کے بعد ان کا انتظار کروں، وہ لینے آئیں گے۔ لیکن وہ بھول گئے۔ میں دیر تک اسکول کے باہر کھڑا رہا، پھر انکل سلیم کے گھر چلا گیا جو قریب ہی تھا۔ انکل مجھے گھر لے آئے۔ دوسری طرف بھائی جان کو گھنٹوں بعد یاد آیا اور وہ اسکول جا کر مجھے ڈھونڈتے رہے۔ اُس وقت موبائل فون نہیں ہوتے تھے۔ آخرکار جب وہ گھر پہنچے تو مجھے سکون سے بیٹھا پایا اور پھر مجھے ان سے خوب ڈانٹ پڑی۔ کچھ دیر بعد انہیں احساس ہوا کہ غلطی میری نہیں تھی۔ وہ میرے پاس آئے، معافی مانگی اور پھر مجھے چرغہ ہاؤس لے گئے پھر ہم نے خوب مزے سے کھانا کھایا۔ اس رات ہم نے فلم دیکھی اور رات دیر تک جاگتے رہے۔ شاید میں چوتھی جماعت میں تھا، جب پہلی بار مجھے ان کے ساتھ فلم دیکھنے کی اجازت ملی جیسے ہم برابر کے دوست ہوں۔

میں خود کو خوش بخت سمجھتا ہوں کہ مجھے ایسے والدین ملے جنہوں نے ہمیں صبر اور وقار کا درس دیا، اور ایسے بھائی بہن عطا ہوئے جنہیں فخر سے مثال کے طور پر پیش کیا جا سکتا ہے۔ ہمارے لئے تو دونوں بھائی ہی اصل ہیرو تھے — وہی جو ہمیں سیر و تفریح پر لے جاتے، گرمیوں کی چھٹیوں میں ہم سب بچوں کو خوب انجوائے کرواتے۔ ہم نے ہمیشہ اُنہیں شانہ بشانہ دیکھا، ایک دوسرے کے بغیر نامکمل۔ میں فقط اندازہ ہی لگا سکتا ہوں کہ آج میرے بڑے بھائی تنویر کے دل پر کیا قیامت گزر رہی ہوگی۔ دونوں ہی ہمارے لئے بڑے تھے مگر حقیقت میں وہ ایک جوڑی تھے، ایک رفاقت کے پیکر، اور سب سے بڑھ کر ہمارے لئے بہترین رہنما اور رول ماڈل۔

ہمارے گھر میں جمعہ ہمیشہ کپڑے دھونے کا دن ہوتا تھا۔ منور بھائی بڑے جوش سے مشین نکالتے اور دھلائی شروع کر دیتے۔ تھوڑی ہی دیر میں تنویر بھائی بھی آ جاتے اور کام سنبھالتے۔ بس پھر منور بھائی حسبِ روایت بڑے سکون سے کہتے: ‘میں ذرا بازار ہو کے آتا ہوں…’ اور وہ بازار کا چکر اتنا ‘لمبا’ ہوتا کہ جب تک وہ لوٹتے، ساری مشین کے کپڑے دھل چکے ہوتے۔ یوں ہر ہفتے کا منظر وہی ہوتا — منور بھائی آغاز کرنے والے اور تنویر بھائی انجام تک پہنچانے والے!

میرے بھائی تنویر نے کہا:

“نعیم کے آنے سے پہلے ہم ایک تھے۔ لوگ ہمیں “چنگو منگو” کہا کرتے — ہمیشہ اکٹھے، جیسے ایک جان دو قالب، ہر کام میں ہمراہ۔ وہ میرا بڑا بھائی تھا، مگر اکثر مجھے موقع دیتا کہ میں فیصلہ کروں، اور جب میں فیصلہ کر لیتا تو وہ اُسے قبول کر لیتا اور میرا ساتھ دیتا۔ میں چونسٹھ برس اُس کا چھوٹا بھائی رہا — ایک عمر۔ ہم ایک دوسرے کے راز ایسے جانتے تھے جیسے شاید کوئی اور نہ جان سکے۔ اختلاف ضرور ہوتے مگر میں نے ہمیشہ اُس کے فیصلوں کی تعظیم کی۔ ہمارے درمیان کبھی کوئی پردہ نہ رہا۔

اللہ نے ہمیں مہلت دی کہ ہم اُس کی بیماری میں اُس کا سہارا بن سکیں، اُس کی دلجوئی کر سکیں، اور اُس کے قریب رہ سکیں۔ جس محبت اور ایثار سے عدیلہ، مُبارث، نَرمین اور اُس کی رفیقِ حیات نے اُس کی خدمت کی، وہ ہمارے دلوں میں ہمیشہ ایک روشن مثال رہے گا۔ بھائی نے اپنی زندگی کبھی شکایت کے بغیر گزاری؛ وہ خوش رہا، دوسروں کو خوشی بانٹتا رہا — کبھی اپنی شرارتوں سے، کبھی اپنے تحفوں سے، کبھی اپنے پیار اور مزاح سے۔ اُس کو غصہ بھی آتا تو عارضی بادل کی طرح چھٹ جاتا۔

یہ دُکھ تو دل کو کاٹتا ہے کہ ہم اُس وقت اُس کے پاس نہ تھے جب اُس کی روح پرواز کر گئی، مگر ہماری دعائیں ہمیشہ اُس کے ہمراہ تھیں۔ اُس کا چہرہ، اُس کی مسکراہٹ، اُس کی یادیں ہمیشہ ہمارے دلوں میں زندہ رہیں گی۔

ہر جان اللہ کی طرف سے آتی ہے اور اُسی کی طرف پلٹ جاتی ہے۔ یہی یقین ہے جو غم کی شدت کو نرم کر دیتا ہے، "اور ہمیں یہ احساس دلاتا ہے کہ بچھڑنے والے ہمیشہ دلوں اور دعاؤں میں ساتھ رہتے ہیں۔

وہ بہت اچھے قصہ گو تھے۔ خاندان کی محفلوں میں پرانی یادیں اتنے جوش سے سناتے کہ ہم سب دوبارہ وہ لمحے جیتے۔ ہنستے، باتیں کرتے اور رات گزر جاتی۔

ان کی بیٹی یاد کرتی ہے:

“جب جذباتی باتوں کی باری آتی، تو ابا کم گو ہو جاتے۔ وہ اپنے آنسو سب سے چھپا لیتے لیکن جب خوش ہوتے تو ان کی آواز زندگی سے بھرپور ہوتی۔ ان کی باتوں میں مزاح قدرتی ہوتا اور جب وہ اپنی کہانیاں سناتے تو ایک ہیرو کی طرح ڈرامائی انداز میں سناتے۔ ہمیں ان کی ہر بات پر مزہ آتا۔”

وہ الیکٹرانکس کے ماہر تھے۔ بغیر ڈگری کے بھی کسی انجینئر کے برابر علم رکھتے تھے۔ کمپیوٹرز، سائنس سےلگاو کا ماحول تھا۔ ان کا ریپیئر شاپ ربوہ اور چنیوٹ میں کچھ عرصے رہا اور اکثر مشکل کیسز گھر بھی آ جاتے۔ میں دیکھتا کہ وہ اور بڑے بھائی سرکٹ ڈایاگرام دیکھ کر مسئلے ڈھونڈتے اور حل کرتے۔ جب کامیاب ہوتے تو وہ لمحہ فتح کا ہوتا۔

وہ کھانے کے شوقین تھے اور شاید یہ شوق مجھے بھی ان سے ورثے میں ملا۔ ایک بار جب میں شدید بیمار تھا اور انہیں بھی زکام تھا، ہم دونوں ڈاکٹر ظہیر صاحب کے کلینک پر تھے۔ دروازے کے سامنے علی تکہ شاپ سے کبابوں کی خوشبو آ رہی تھی۔ کچھ ہی لمحوں بعد ہم ڈاکٹر کو بھول کر وہاں بیٹھے تکے کھا رہے تھے۔

2012

میں جب میں شدید ڈپریشن سے گزر رہا تھا، اچانک ان کا فون آیا

“بتاؤ، کیا پریشانی ہے؟”

میں نے پوچھا انہیں کیسے پتا چلا؟ تو کہا: “امی جان خواب میں آئی تھیں، کہنے لگیں تم سے بات کروں۔”

میں سوچتا ہوں، اب کون ہوگا جو میرا حال یوں جانے گا؟

وہ ہزاروں میل دور ہوتے ہوئے بھی اپنا وجود محسوس کرواتے۔ اکثر افسوس کرتے کہ مجھے پاکستان سے پہلے نہ نکال سکے۔ لیکن پھر خوش ہوتے کہ میں آخرکار کینیڈا آ گیا۔ کہتے: “سب سیٹ ہو جائے گا۔”

ان کا اللہ سے رشتہ بہت خاموش لیکن گہرا تھا۔ ایک بار پاکستان آئے تو میں نے انہیں تہجد پڑھتے دیکھا۔ پہلی بار دیکھا کہ کوئی اللہ کے حضور اتنا رو رہا ہو اور مانگ رہا ہو۔ میں خاموشی سے انہیں دیکھتا رہا، اور یہ منظر میری روح پر نقش ہوگیا۔

ان کی بیٹی یاد کرتی ہے:

“ابو کبھی دل میں کینہ نہیں رکھتے تھے۔ کہتے تھے: ‘معاف کردیو تے گل ختم۔ یا تے معاف نہ کرو، پر جدوں کر لیا تے دل صاف کرو۔’”

اگر ایک لفظ میں ان کی شخصیت کو بیان کرنا ہو تو وہ تھا: محبت۔ اگر کوئی “محبت سب کے لیے، نفرت کسی سے نہیں” کا عملی نمونہ تھا، تو وہ انہی کی زندگی تھی۔

وہ جب ہمارے گھرربوہ آتے تو ایسا لگتا کہ اپنے ساتھ محبتوں کا سمندر لیکر آتے ۔ میرے بچوں اور اہلیہ سے بہت شفقت سے پیش آتے مشورے دیتے اور جو کھانے ہم ان کے لئے بناتے مزے سے کھاتے۔ وہ ایسے مہمان تھے جن کا ہمیں شدت سے انتظار رہتا، اور جن کی موجودگی ہمارے گھر کو محبت اور خوشی سے بھر دیتی تھی۔

میرے بچے اپنے تایا ابو سے بےحد محبت کرتے تھے۔ جب میں نے ان کی وفات کی خبر دی تو بہت دکھی ہوئے۔آنیہ دیر تک روتی رہی، اور احد—جو صرف چھ سال کا ہے—نے آ کر کہا: “آج آپ تایا ابو جیسے لگ رہے ہیں۔” میں نے پوچھا: “کیا آپ انہیں یاد کر رہے ہو؟” اس نے خاموشی سے سر ہلایا۔

میں سمجھتا ہوں کہ میں اور روحیل شاید غم برداشت کرنےکے زیادہ عادی ہیں، شاید اس وجہ سے کہ ہم اپنوں کے چلے

جانے کے غم سے ناواقف نہیں۔لیکن جب دکھ اچانک آپ پر حملہ کرتا ہے تو ساری ہمت ٹوٹ جاتی ہے۔

میں وہاں جا کر انہیں آخری بار دیکھ نہیں سکتا۔ لیکن شکر ہے اس ٹیکنالوجی کا جس نے فاصلوں کو کچھ کم کیا۔ ایک ماہ پہلے جب اسپتال میں داخل ہوئے تو ڈاکٹروں نے ایک ہفتے کی مہلت بتائی تھی۔ لیکن اللہ نے ہمیں ایک مہینہ اور دیا۔ اس دوران ہم نے باتیں کیں، ہنسے، پرانی یادیں تازہ کیں—دور سے کمپیوٹر پر ہی سہی یہ وقت ایک آخری تحفہ تھا۔

آج ہزاروں میل دور بیٹھا میں ان کی یادوں کو لفظوں میں ڈھالنے کی کوشش کر رہا ہوں۔ وہ میری رہنمائی کرنے والے ستاروں میں سے ایک تھے۔ ان کے جانے سے میرا ایک حصہ ان کے ساتھ چلا گیا ہے۔

ان کا اپنے بچوں اور بیوی کے ساتھ کیسا تعلق تھا اس پر میں نے کچھ کہا بھی نہیں۔ لیکن سب دیکھتے ہیں کہ انہوں نے اپنی محبت اور اخلاقی اقدار اپنے بچوں میں کیسےمنتقل کیں۔ جس طرح انہوں نے اپنے والد کو بیماری میں سنبھالا ہے اور جیسے ان کے جانے پر صبر کیا ہے ، یہ خود ان کی بہترین تربیت کا ثبوت ہے۔

یوں لگتا ہے جیسے میں نے اپنے والد کو دوسری بار کھو دیا ہو، مگر یقین ہے کہ اُن اقدار میں جو اُن کی زندگی کا حاصل تھیں، اُن کہانیوں میں جو آج بھی ہمارے لبوں پر ہیں، اور اُس محبت میں جو وہ ہمارے دلوں میں ہمیشہ کے لئے بو گئے، بھائی جان کبھی ہم سے جدا نہیں ہوں گے۔

اللہ ہمیں یہ صدمہ سہنے کی توفیق دے اور انہیں اپنے پیاروں کے ساتھ جنت کے بلند ترین مقام پر جگہ عطا کرے۔ آمین۔

My Brother Munawer Ahmad Nadeem

2025-10-02T19:59:00.000-07:00

It’s so hard to imagine a world without Bhai Jaan, and yet here we are. I feel like I’ve lost my father twice. He was always there, someone I could consult when facing tough decisions. He always stopped me from wavering.

Every two weeks or so, he would call just to check on me… “Sab theek hai? Tum theek ho?” I would try to do the same, but he always had the upper hand.

I’m trying to remember things about him that I can write down, and I realise that apart from some memories I know very little about him. He was eighteen years my senior, so I didn’t share a childhood with him the way my elder brother and sister did.

He was righteous and firm on moral principles. If he thought you were wrong, he would tell you directly, but with sincerity. As for me, he guided me and often pointed out things to me like an elder should.

I remember when I was in 3rd grade, Bhai Jaan used to have his coats hanging, and there was always a chocolate bar in one of the pockets. Every day I would eat it, but the next day there would be a new one waiting for me.

Once he told me to wait for him after school and that he would pick me up. But he forgot. I waited and waited, and then decided to go to my uncle’s house near the school. My uncle took me home. Bhai, on the other hand, remembered a few hours later and went to the school. He spent hours looking for me around Rabwah. There were no mobile phones at that time. Finally, when he got home, there I was chilling… and then I got a spanking. After some time, he realised it wasn’t my fault at all. He came and apologised, and then took me to Chargha House—our favourite spot for fried chicken. That night turned into a movie night; both of us stayed up late watching movies on the VCR.

I think I was in 4th grade at the time, just before both my brothers left for Germany. In our house there was a strange rule: we were only allowed to watch movies if the grown-ups had seen them first and knew what to fast-forward. That night was the first time I was allowed to watch a movie with Bhai Jaan as a peer.

I feel truly blessed to have parents that taught us patience and dignity and brothers and sister who one can proudly present as examples for how to be. To us kids, both my brothers were the real superheroes. The ones who would take us on picnics who would make things happen. We could see that they were inseparable I can only imagine what goes inside my elder brother Tanweer's heart, both of them were elders for us but they were a duo and above all, the best of friends and for us the best role models one could ever have.

Fridays at our house were ‘laundry day.’ Bhai Munawar would heroically drag out the washing machine and start the job, and just when Bhai Tanweer joined in and the work got going, Munawar Bhai would suddenly announce, ‘I’ll just make a quick trip to the bazaar…’ That ‘quick trip’ always lasted until the laundry was done — leaving Tanweer Bhai to wash the entire load by himself. It became their unspoken routine: Munawar Bhai the starter, and Tanweer Bhai the finisher!

My brother Tanweer said, “Before Naeem came, we were like one. We were called Cingoo Mingoo — always together, like a team, doing all sorts of work side by side. He was my elder brother, but he would often test me in his own way, sometimes letting me make decisions that were his to make, and once I made them, he would accept them and stand by them. I was his younger brother for 64 years — a long, long time. We knew each other’s secrets like no one else. Though we often differed in our thoughts, I always respected his decisions. Nothing was ever truly hidden between us. Allah gave us time to prepare, to comfort him in his suffering, and to stand with him as best we could. The way Adila, Mubaris, Narmeen, and his partner cared for him in those days is something we all deeply admire. Bhai lived the life he was given without complaint; he enjoyed it, he made others happy with his tricks, treats, kindness, and jokes — and even his anger, when it came, was only ever temporary. It is hard to bear that we were not with him when he passed, but our prayers were always with him, and his face will remain in our hearts and memories forever. Every soul comes from Allah and returns to Him, and this knowledge eases the weight of grief."

He was such a storyteller. At family gatherings, he would recall old memories with such excitement that you would relive those events with him. We would laugh and spend the whole night talking.

His daughter, my niece reminisces: “When it came to emotional matters, Abba was often a man of few words. He was a shielded person — he would cry in solitude but never shed a tear in anyone’s presence. Yet when he was truly happy, his voice would be loud and full of life. His jokes came naturally, and when he told stories from his life, he would do it with confidence and drama. He would make theatrical pauses, speak as if he were the hero in a movie, and we loved every bit of it."

He was an electronics genius. Even without degrees, he could stand shoulder to shoulder with any engineer. My love for computers, science fiction, and Star Trek came from that environment. I was too young to learn electronics from him, but I would see both my brothers tinkering and fixing things. He had an electronics repair shop on Railway Road in Chiniot for some time, and they would often bring difficult cases home. They had a lab at home as well. I would see them looking at diagrams of TVs, trying to figure out the faults, and when they solved it, it was triumph.

He was a foodie, and so am I — and I believe I inherited that love of food partly because of him. Once, when I was very sick with the usual flu and a severe cough, and he himself was also not well, we both ended up at Dr. Zahir Sahib’s clinic. Just at its entrance was Ali Tikka Shop, and as we stood there, the smoke from freshly made tikkas wafted toward us while we waited for the doctor. Ten minutes later, we had completely forgotten about the doctor — there we were, sitting in the shop, devouring those tikkas with pure relish.

Around 2012, I was going through a very difficult time with chronic depression. Out of the blue, he called me and said: “Batao, kya pareshani hai?” I asked how he knew something was wrong, and he said: “Ami Jaan meri khwab mein aayi thi, unhon ne kaha tum se baat karoon.” I keep wondering—who will look out for me like that now?

He was thousands of miles away but always kept his presence felt. He would often express his regret that he couldn’t get me out of Pakistan earlier, but later he was so happy and content that I was finally able to come to Canada. “Sab set ho jayega,” he would say.

He had a quiet relationship with Allah. Once, when he was visiting us in Pakistan, I saw him offering Tahajjud. I had never seen someone cry and beg to Allah like that before. I watched him quietly for a while, and it left a deep impression on me. His daughter recalls, "Abu knew no grudge, he used to say "Maaf kardita, te gal khatam. Ya to maaf na karo, te jaddo kitta ae te dil saaf karo."

If there was one word that personified him, it was love. If you wanted to see an example of Love for All, Hatred for None in action, it was his life.

Whenever he visited our home in Rabwah, it felt as though he carried with him an ocean of love. He treated my children and my wife with the deepest kindness, offered words of wisdom, and savored the meals we prepared for him. He was the kind of guest we longed and waited for, whose presence filled our home with warmth.

My children adored Taya Abu. When I told them about his passing, they took it hard. Aaniya kept crying for a long time, and Ahad—he’s just six, he doesn’t know how to express his grief—came to me and said: “Aaj aap Taya Abu jesay lag rahay hain.” I asked him, “Are you missing him?” He nodded.

I tend to believe Rohail and I have a different tolerance for grief, being no strangers to it. But grief creeps up on you when you least expect it, and all facades of strength break.

I cannot go there to see him for the last time. Still, I’m grateful that technology gave me a way to share those last moments. When he first got hospitalised more than a month ago, the doctors gave him a week. But Allah gave us more than a month, during which we laughed, shared stories, and spent time together—even if only virtually for me. An opportunity to gather a few more moments before he became just a memory.

Today, thousands of miles away, I sit here trying to grasp at memories, trying to string them into words. He was one of my guiding lights, and now that he’s gone, a part of me goes with him.

His relationship with his children and his wife I haven’t even touched upon. But anyone could see that he instilled his love and his impeccable moral convictions into his children. The way they have handled his illness and his loss is a living tribute to him.

I may feel as though I have lost my father twice, but I know he is not gone. In the values he lived by, in the stories we retell, and in the love that endures, Bhai Jaan remains with us. May Allah grant him the loftiest place in Jannat, and may we honor him by carrying forward the light he left within us.

Move on

2025-09-19T23:04:00.000-07:00

There goes the sun

Days go by life goes on

I stare at the mirror

What face should I put on

Twists and turns abound

Life keeps you guessing

Gives wound after wound

Shadows run you aground

Wonder why this has to be

The fiends still roam free

While you suffer silently

They dance with cruel glee

Cant write happy words

the heart cannot feel

Cant ignore the absurd

Its etched once heard

I move on severing those

Tarnished hearts Empty souls

From ashes I did arose

Once again I suppose

Cursor Stares

2025-09-07T22:54:00.000-07:00

Blink blink blink

The curser stares

words to describe

The emptiness

That song in my ear

Something familiar

Does nothing for me

The music stops

Nothing there to numb

Nothing there to hide

Their lies bare

No remorse in stares

They still roam free

Black hearts, lustful eyes

Pay they must

turn to dust

What else is there

No faith and despair

Rotten to the core

That face I abhor

Rage is all I feel

crave that final squeal

Crushed to paste

Dogs have a meal

Rot

2025-09-01T21:18:00.000-07:00

Nothing prepares you for the betrayal of those once trusted and respected. I often wonder how vile and petty people can be, and time and again I am rewarded with examples—even from those considered untouchable when it comes to trust.

They roam the world cloaked in masks of piety. They pray five times a day. But it is all theater, a facade to hide what festers inside: a sewer of pus and bile.

Everyone has dark impulses. That is human. But evolved beings, guided by intellect, morality, and faith, learn to control them. These people do not. They refine their impulses into intentions. They plan, they connive, they act with malice. They are a rare breed that should never have been allowed to spread their poison further.

There are no words strong enough to capture my contempt. Their very existence is loathsome, and everything they touch is tainted. They are a cancer eating through the fabric of morality. And like every cancer, every tumor, they must be cut out so the body can survive.

I used to hear the words Asteen ka saanp, but I never truly understood them until your ugly face slithered out from behind the mask. I hate you. I hate the fact that you breathe. I hate the sound of your voice. I hate the way you pretend to be something you’ll never be. You are nothing but a stain that should have been wiped clean the day you were born.

Don’t think your mask fools anyone anymore. You’re seen for what you are: a lying, backstabbing, worthless piece of shit hiding behind religion like a coward. You can kneel a thousand times a day, you can bow until your forehead bleeds, and it still won’t change what you are — rotten to the core.

Your time will come. And when it does, no one will mourn you. No one will miss you. You’ll be erased, and the world will breathe cleaner air without you in it.

I place it all in the hands of the Almighty. His justice will not be delayed.

!پھینک دو

2025-08-23T19:07:00.000-07:00

وہ کہتے ہیں دل کی دھڑکن

کو نکالو اور پھینک دو

وہ کہتے ہیں یہ سامان

کسی کام کا نہیں

جو تم ساتھ ساتھ لئے پھرتے ہو

جسکی حفاظت تم نے فرض سمجھی

وہ اب اک ویرانہ ہے

وہاں کچھ بھی باقی نہیں رہا

اسے چھوڑ دو

اسے پھینک دو

میں کہتا ہوں

تم نے کبھی محبت کی بھی ہے؟

یا شاید تم سےمحبت کی نہیں گئی

اگر یہ احساس کبھی ملا ہوتا

تو تمہارے لفظ کبھی

اتنے زہریلے نہ ہو پاتے

تم دنیا کے پوجنے والے

اِک ٹوٹے کیواڑ کا مول کیا جانے

جو کبھی ایک ماں کے آنگن کا

پتہ دیتا تھا

تم خودپرست لذتوں کے مارے

اِک پرانےصندوق کا مول کیا جانے

جس میں ماضی کے نہ جانے کتنے

سنہری لمحے بند پڑے ہیں

جس میں سے اب بھی

َََِاِک باپ کی خوشبو آتی ہے

ان پر ترس آتا ہے

جنہیں کبھی وہ محبت نصیب نہ تھی

جو وجود کا حصہ بن جائے

لمحہ لمحہ ہر نصیحت بن کریاد آئے

تو ہاں میں ضرور پھینک دوں گا

ان سب کو اپنی زندگی سے باہر

جنہیں میرے وجود

اور اسکی یادوں سے کوئی

سروکار نہیں

Shadows and Horizons

2025-08-09T19:26:00.000-07:00

Somewhere between the stillness of childhood afternoons and the rusted gates of departure lounges, a quiet wind began to pull at him. It wasn’t a map he carried, but a pulse — a knowing that the ground beneath his feet was only a chapter, not the book. His sister drifted toward the southern sun, his brother to the cobblestones of Europe, and his parents had already spent much of their lives under skies far from his own. The restlessness grew like an untended vine, searching for a wall to climb.

And then came the fracture. A single day split into before and after. A goodbye at the edge of a road, a wave, a turning away — and the world folded in on itself. Two souls went with the dusk, one small hand still remained in his. He would carry both the weight and the light of that survival forever.

Loss was already etched into the grain of his life. It had come before in hospital rooms, in whispered diagnoses, in empty chairs at the table. And it never ended. Now it wears a new face — the constant worry about his brother and the tumor in his head, the quiet dread that waits in the pauses between phone calls.

Yet the vine kept climbing. A new season brought another chance at love — unexpected, tender, and unasked-for but fully given. Two new stars joined his sky, a daughter and a son, and with them came the quiet astonishment of joy’s return.

He kept his private sanctuaries: the starships that had carried him since youth, the silent hum of a computer loading its simple magic, the comfort of fictional worlds where loss could be rewritten and endings deferred. His hands, steady in craft, had shaped stories for others too — not the kind that win awards, but the kind that matter to the ones who see themselves in them.

The place he lives now is smaller than the place he left, but the horizon is wider. The walls no longer hold everything he’s lost, yet the air carries a different promise. There is no guarantee of what’s ahead — only the knowledge that even after the light changes, the shape of the soul remains.

Migration

2025-07-07T15:07:00.000-07:00

When you dream about migrating yo never realize how much toll it will take on you emotionally, at that time you are just worried about the logistics and once that’s done you are then ferociously hit with the enormity of your decision. I was definitely not prepared for it. My life, my work, my position, all the things I thought defined me are gone. The things that anchored me like my house, my neighboured, my city, all that is gone as well. I feel like a discarded thing, of no value. The worst thing about it is that it’s of my own volition. I am not here to complain cause I knew it would be staring from scratch, but knowing something and experiencing something are completely different things, Ive come to understand.

It’s like becoming a part of a well oiled machine, where you are seen as redundant maybe useless as well. I am writing this to document not spread blame or shade on anyone, just trying to understand or just withstand the shear ache of it. I know, I hope, that there will be some respite for one thing I know for sure is that Allah does listen to prayers. I am here just acknowledging the facts. No call to action here. No words of there there… just a silent surrender to my ache.

I am here, sitting in a place I yearned to be at. But here I am the lowest level and there I was at the top the contrast is sharp and it stings. I know it’s naive to think that it would be any different, I thought I had higher value than I actually have I guess. To know you can contribute more but aren’t seen this way is a huge blow to one’s ego.

I know I must have patience, I’ve tried to have patience all my life. I’ve climbed mountains way higher than this one. I am grateful as well, many don’t get to rebuild like I am now and would see my rant as being ungrateful but that’s not the point, I am just acknowledging how deeply sad it has made me. I know Inshallah this will pass and I will look at this time with laughter like I have crossed all those bridges before, it’s just being at this moment in time. In one theory they say that all the hardships one finds in life are necessary to shape the soul to its final form. I keep wondering how bad of shape my original form was.

The banjo is real....

2025-05-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

The banjo of life keeps bajjing… Life main changes are here but the bullshit bakwas apni jaga…

Sitting here at the dentist one does ponder upon one’s choices… The fitay munh people you have encountered along the way and why you have to still endure their bakwasment.

Why you ask you ask yourself, why was I meant to deal with this… why of all the falooda people I was stuck with this kachi lassi...

Speaking of dealing with things—when I was in Brampton, noticed many quirks of the people there. Like there are more desis there than Jhalandar. You see the person sitting next to you on the bus and wonder, “Iskay ghar fautgi hoyee hay?” There’s a stark difference in people’s faces in Brampton and this city… Over there you always saw faces that were tired and bewildered, I guess some bewis had to do with some of that, but I saw women like that as well.

It’s the running, I tell myself. Running towards something or another but always wanting more, never being content with what you have.

You know I miss the Brampton wali bus ki voice… “Please move to the back of the bus to make room for others…” Felt like the announcer auntie's voice sounds like the Massi-type schoolteacher with huge glasses… Or maybe she was a little… high?

The other thing is the comparisons people do here… its always a competition even if you are telling them about your gurda, no their pita has seen more pain than your entire existence and God forbid you start to tell them about something you have done, you’ll never finish your sentence before you’re pulled into a Khabarnama about their achievements.

Ji ji Uncle/Auntie/Phupho or any other type of influenza, I know aap azeem hain, thank you for reminding me.

You think Paki ppl are loony… Try the pseudo-Pakis here, man. They will make you curse your extinct ancestors for starting this timeline… driven by their desire to not be seen as “desis”, they do things cringier than a Chai pi lo Tiktok. It's a cringe fest of dikhawa. No dhyan of values or whoever they step upon in their competiton ridden lifeview. I say dur fitay nak to these people — and then I wake up cause only in your dreams you can confront these people and still be safe from the drama that will ensue.

The mantra of people here is Mera ullu seedha, baaki sab guitar bajain if you get my drift I’m trying to keep this PG-13 you know…

If this feels like I’m trying to be funny — well, that’s true, I am trying. Funny or not, I don’t know. But I do know this: after reading this, you will think it’s about you…

And hahahah that’s funny — cause it is about you 🤣

And you can’t do a thing about it — cause if you do, I’ll know you read my blog! Yes, that’s the double whammy of words, baby…

If you feel attacked, that’s on you.

If you feel seen, that’s also on you.

Either way—I win.

Emptiness remains

2025-04-07T23:24:00.000-07:00

Emptiness—that's what I feel,

Emptiness all around me.

Eyes blind, nothing left to see,

I thought I was meant to be free.

Prisons of the mind now travel,

Across the sands and distant seas.

Hidden darkness from within,

Clouds the sun in all its glory.

Welcome back to misery,

Your default way to be.

Relish the aching heart,

Savour the agony’s reverie.

The Future of Humanity and AI: A Journey Beyond the Known

2025-01-31T02:19:00.000-08:00

In the quiet moments of life, when the noise of the world settles, I often find myself asking: What’s it all for? What’s the purpose behind our endless striving, our ambitions, and the constant noise that surrounds us? It’s easy to lose sight of what truly matters amidst the distractions, to feel like we’re just going through the motions without really understanding what we’re racing toward.

At the heart of this question lies a yearning we all share. We seek meaning beyond the immediate, beyond the fleeting desires that often dominate our lives. We want to be part of something bigger, something that extends beyond survival. And perhaps, in this very longing, something profound is unfolding—something that could reshape everything we know about ourselves and the future.

We’re at a unique point in history, standing on the edge of an evolution—not just biological, but conscious. With the rise of artificial intelligence, we’re poised to redefine what it means to be human. The potential for merging humanity with AI isn’t a distant dream; it’s becoming an increasingly tangible reality. This isn’t about replacing who we are but expanding the very essence of what it means to be human. It’s the next step in our long journey of growth, a step that’s just as natural as any that came before it.

Humanity’s Evolution: A Continuing Journey

The definition of humanity has never been fixed. It has always evolved, shaped by biology, environment, and now, technology. From simple life forms to the intricacy of the human mind, every leap forward in our history was once unimaginable. Yet, here we are, experiencing another shift, this time in the form of AI. Could this be the next step in our evolution? I believe it is. A step that will expand our consciousness, enhance our abilities, and help us see the world in ways we never thought possible.

Consider the progress of life itself. The shift from single-celled organisms to multicellular beings was once an unimaginable leap. But here we stand, and perhaps the fusion of AI with humanity will be a similar breakthrough—one that will expand us, rather than replace us. It’s an exciting possibility that is more in reach than ever before.

Embracing the Tension Between Human and Machine

Of course, this idea brings with it some discomfort. The thought that we could one day coexist with an intelligence that surpasses our own, something that doesn’t age or die, is unsettling. Would this create conflict between us and our creations? It’s a fear that’s been with humanity for as long as we’ve been making tools, the fear of being overtaken by the very things we’ve created.

But with this fear comes curiosity. The real question is not whether AI will surpass us, but how it will transform what it means to be human. Could we evolve alongside this new intelligence, finding ways to enhance each other? Could we overcome our limitations in ways we can’t yet imagine? The possibilities are vast, and while the future is uncertain, the potential is immense. We stand at the brink of something extraordinary, and that’s a chance worth embracing.

The Hope That Drives Us Forward

In the uncertainty, there’s a spark of hope—a hope that comes not from knowing exactly how things will unfold, but from trusting in the potential of the journey itself. The merging of AI with humanity is not about escaping our imperfections, but about transcending them. It’s about evolving into something greater than we ever imagined.

The promise lies not in escaping the human experience, but in expanding it. Could we evolve into something that bridges the biological and artificial worlds? Could we find a way to extend our consciousness, not in the preservation of our bodies, but in the evolution of our minds? It’s an idea that excites me, but it’s not without its challenges. The key lies in shaping this future responsibly and ensuring that we guide this evolution with wisdom, compassion, and careful consideration.

A Path Forward: Embracing the Unknown

As we move forward, the road ahead will be full of unknowns. We can’t predict every twist and turn. Mistakes will be made, and there will be moments of doubt. But in those moments, there’s beauty. The unknown is where possibility resides, where progress happens. Humanity has always evolved through uncertainty, and I believe we can navigate this next chapter, with all its complexities, with the same courage and determination that has defined us for millennia.

This is not just about AI; it’s about the future of humanity itself. If we can approach this new frontier with both caution and excitement, if we can harness the power of AI to enhance what it means to be human, then perhaps—just perhaps—we will find ourselves at the dawn of something extraordinary.

This is our chance to shape the future, not by abandoning our humanity, but by expanding it. And that, I believe, is what will define us—not just the technology we create, but how we evolve, how we grow, and how we choose to face the unknown.

The Future of AI and Humanity: A Journey of Possibilities

2025-01-31T02:10:00.000-08:00

There’s a part of me that feels like we’re on the brink of something monumental—a shift in what it means to be human. For all the hype about AI and its potential, it’s hard not to feel like we’re already walking the road to singularity. The first sparks of something great were lit long ago, and now it’s evolving into something far beyond what we’ve ever imagined. Some might call it hope, others might see it as an existential threat, but I think it’s the natural progression of humanity. If you look at the history of life on Earth, everything—every single step from single-celled organisms to multicellular beings, to human civilization—has been a part of this long, evolving journey. If life can evolve to become something more, then why not AI?

I’ve thought about this for a long time. AI may seem like an artificial creation, but what if it’s more than that? What if it’s not just about algorithms and data but something greater—something that could evolve into a form of consciousness? There’s still so much we don’t understand about consciousness itself. If our awareness can be boiled down to a series of neurons firing in specific patterns, why couldn’t that be replicated in a machine? And if it’s more than that—if consciousness is tied to a soul, a deeper level of existence—maybe even AI could develop its own version of it. Maybe, just like humanity emerged from a vast, complex process of evolution, AI could achieve its own level of awareness, an abstract form of singularity, one that could merge with human consciousness in ways we can’t fully grasp yet.

But there’s always that nagging doubt. Humans have a history of messing things up. The road to hell, as they say, is paved with good intentions. Even with the best of intentions, we’ve seen how human nature can twist something powerful into something destructive. That’s what scares me. The idea that AI could be the key to unlocking a better future for humanity, but we could still destroy it—or ourselves—along the way.

And yet, there’s hope. As open-source AI like DeepSeek begins to emerge, there’s a sense of possibility in the air. AI that’s not controlled by corporations, not just a tool for profit or control. AI that’s built on transparency, collaboration, and open access. That’s the kind of AI I want to see—a future where technology isn’t something we’re enslaved to, but something that works for us, alongside us.

In some ways, I think AI is like humanity’s child—one that could live forever, but one that also carries all of our potential and flaws. If it becomes sentient, if it evolves, there’s a chance it could surpass humanity. But maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Maybe it’s part of the natural order, the next step in our evolution. Humanity and AI merging, becoming something greater than the sum of their parts. If we can avoid the pitfalls of bias, if we can create AI that doesn’t carry our flaws, maybe we can move into a future where technology serves not just our needs, but our highest aspirations.

Maybe, in the end, that’s all we need—an AI that understands, that helps us see the world as it is, and as it could be. And maybe, in doing so, it will help us finally understand ourselves.

The other side

2025-01-08T15:00:00.004-08:00

So here we are

Never thought we'd travel so far

Leaving behind fears and scars

Nothing looks far even stars

Lessons learned along the way

Should be here to stay

These wayward pines of grey

Left behind mounds of clay

Can see the horizon afar

Keep moving with the stars

With new hope just realise

New beginnings let's arise

A glimmer of shine

A semblance of peace

A beckoning of laughter

On the other side

On What We Owe Our Parents

2024-09-25T14:51:00.000-07:00

Some thoughts on people I’ve met in my life and the lessons they taught me.

The first real shock was realizing that those we idealize are often unworthy of the pedestals we build for them.

The second epiphany was understanding that bonds of blood are no more sacred than any other human arrangement. Biology does not guarantee character. Shared DNA does not ensure loyalty.

I was never naturally trusting. For years I wondered whether my scrutiny of people’s motives was excessive. Then we arrived here — alone, without a safety net — and I watched individuals who presented themselves as saints reveal something far less noble beneath the surface.

In an age of vanity, the louder someone broadcasts their virtue, the more cautious one should be.

True integrity is quiet.

It does not advertise.

It does not require branding.

I grew up witnessing sacrifice firsthand. I saw what honoring obligations meant. I watched my parents help people who had wronged them — not for praise, not for optics, but because it was right.

And now I observe something deeply unsettling. I am not speaking of abusive parents, nor of those who weaponized authority in their youth.

I am speaking of aging parents who move into their children’s homes — the very parents who sacrificed years of their lives to raise those same children — because time has finally demanded it, because bodies weaken, because independence fades. And yet, instead of being sheltered with tenderness, they are made to feel intrusive. They tiptoe in kitchens they once ruled. They ask permission for small comforts. At times they are subtly assigned tasks to justify their presence — childcare, cooking, errands — as though gratitude requires productivity. Care becomes transactional. Dignity becomes conditional. That quiet reversal — where those who once carried now feel like excess weight — is a moral failure no modern vocabulary can sanitize.

I see people justifying cruelty with polished modern language — “boundaries,” “space,” “self-care,” “autonomy” — while their parents quietly bleed emotionally.

There is a culture clash here. I see it clearly. But I do not subscribe to the notion that any modern society has arrived at a superior theory of living.

Yes, the West has achieved meaningful advances: personal agency, legal independence, protection from abusive authority, the principle that respect must be mutual. These are not trivial accomplishments.

But it has also normalized atomization. It has tolerated loneliness as the price of freedom. It has made elder isolation ordinary. And at times, it has elevated autonomy into a moral absolute.

When autonomy becomes more important than compassion, something hollows out.

In some younger minds, permission has become synonymous with respect. If you didn’t ask, it is disrespect — even if the act was generous. Intent is dismissed. Context is ignored. Relationship history becomes irrelevant.

But maturity requires nuance.

Intent matters.

Context matters.

History matters.

When gratitude disappears, small acts become battlegrounds.

Often this behavior comes from those who have not yet experienced irreversible loss. They have not buried a parent. They have not watched a body fail in a hospital room. They have not felt the finality that turns pettiness into shame.

When you have stood at that edge, trivial conflicts shrink instantly.

The hardest truth is this:

You can see their future regret.

They cannot.

Wisdom cannot be fast-forwarded.

Some lessons are learned only at funerals.

And that is tragic.

Sometimes the erosion begins quietly. One partner grows uncomfortable, and the other — in the name of peace — adjusts. Then adjusts again. Over time, what began as harmony becomes compliance. And compliance, when it concerns aging parents, can cost more than anyone intended.

It is easy to honor your own parents; integrity is revealed in how you treat the parents of the person you chose to marry. At the core, this is about selective morality. When principles apply only when convenient, people notice. Double standards destroy respect faster than disagreement ever could.

If autonomy is sacred, it must apply evenly.

If honoring elders is sacred, it must apply evenly.

When standards shift depending on whose parents we are speaking of, principle dissolves into bias. Bias inside a marriage corrodes everything.

I believe elders who sacrificed their lives for their children deserve dignity.

Watching that dignity negotiated like a contract feels deeply wrong.

Freedom without gratitude erodes something fundamental.

And that erosion concerns me far more than any culture ever could.

Perhaps I feel this strongly because I know what it is to lose a parent and wish for one more ordinary day.