Everyone is prone to making mistakes. One’s greatness doesn’t lie in the non-committal of mistake but in seeking forgiveness soon upon realizing it. Mistakes are of two types. One, that directly break God’s rule and hence you go against His will. Second, that hurt feelings of those you are dealing with. Actually, almost every mistake involves both hurting people and breaking God’s law simultaneously. So this means one has to seek forgiveness of the person concerned and then of the God.

You know seeking forgiveness from a person is a tough thing. But forgiving someone is the toughest. How strangely we all are connected in the web of emotions! But things are different in the divine realm. God does forgive. Anyway, those were just random thoughts about committing mistakes and seeking forgiveness.

I had read Rumi’s poem quoted below, in a personal letter from Qudratullah Shahaab to Mumtaz Mufti, printed in Alakh Nagri. Mumtaz Mufti had hard time battling and curbing his temptations even at quite an old age. He knew he was running after mirages. Yes, who would expect a man close to 70 to be fallen for a woman in 20s and then roam the roads of Rawalpindi with her on the two-wheeler. I appreciate Mumtaz Mufti’s honesty. It takes loads of guts to admit the eccentricities of one’s nature. When he got sick, he wrote to Qudratullah and he somehow helped him out of that quagmire. Mumtaz Mufti admitted he loved confiding in him because he, unlike others, never admonished him. Perhaps that is why he took him to be a Sufi – a saint.

This poem basically says what we usually hear from elders is that the doors of divine forgiveness remain open so one shouldn’t give up hope that he/she wouldn’t be forgiven.

Come, come, whoever you are
Wonderer, worshipper, lover of leaving
It doesn’t matter
Ours is not a caravan of despair
Come, even if you have broken your vow
a thousand times
Come, yet again, come, come

He was staring in the eyes of destiny.

‘What are you ogling at? Why don’t you go ahead, work hard and break the barriers.’ Said the destiny.

‘What barriers?’ He yelled. ‘I can’t see any. Why don’t you provide me with opportunities that I am waiting for since long?’

‘Opportunities would come when you break the barriers, try once at least.’

‘I can’t. I did all I could. He snapped back.’

‘You can’t do… because you are coward don’t blame the destiny for your cowardice. If fortune favors the bold, destiny favors perseverance.’

‘To die for a religion is easier than to live it absolutely’ – Jorge Luis Borges

(1899 – 1986)

I wonder why radical Muslims don’t understand such a simple philosophy? That is why it is of paramount importance to ask questions and seek knowledge than to be blindly led by a half-learned person.

I am in search of Shangri-La – where all the characters of my story live merrily and peacefully – where they shed tears only when they are extremely happy. Does that sort of place exist on this planet? Perhaps it does only in James’ and my imagination.  

The images swirl in my mind like a twister. I close my eyes. There I stand right behind my closed eye lids. It’s like my soul has become a mirror where I can see my own reflection. I live in the world where nothing hurts… nothing – not even when you fall in the deep ravine.

There are two me. The one who is sitting cross-legged with eyes closed. The other one roaming in the worlds heard of yet unknown. My mind’s eye is active as ever. The scenes are in motion on the intangible screen. There is a vast prairie covered with dandelions – as if a woman clad in green has taken a yellow chaddar.

The scene changes – three crazy girls are chatting under the guava tree. The guavas are not ripe yet it’s fun eating. I offered her mine, half eaten. She sinks her teeth in. The remains of my saliva dissolve in her mouth. She smiles.

The scene changes – I stop by a lake, shrouded in mist. I drink water that tastes like an elixir. I can’t afford the luxury of stopping over for long to enjoy. I have to move on. Remember I was in search of Shangri-La.

The scene changes – a Zen is walking at a pace neither brisk nor slow. His wooden stick makes hollow sound when he hits it on the ground. He too seems to be in search of the world that is peaceful, merrier like a paradise. I want to talk to him. I ask him where is Shangri-La. He looks at me with his round, shiny button like eyes and says Shangri-La exists in my heart. I am astounded.

The scene changes – I am cycling down the hill. What if the brakes fail? I shudder. Do I need to worry when I am in world where nothing hurts?

I open my eyes. There is nothing except for a pine tree I can see out of my room window. One day perhaps… Shangri-La would exist in my heart too.