FJ journals - The Student Blog of FJMU

We greet Ramadan. We keep fasts. It cleans our body systems. We stop lying. This makes our faith strong. We start prayers and praying. It keeps our souls pure. We prevent vulgarity. It keeps us away from casual sins. When I had heard the topic of this month, it kept circulating in me. In spite of all the above mentioned activities, am I sure of my redemption? In our daily dealings, when we start thinking ourselves as followers and others as disbeliever, we will never let our souls reach redemption. One of the commonest arguments seen is between two people that have different views about ablution. One believes that taking a bath requires no separate rituals of ablution while the other believes in separate rituals even after taking bath. He would consider the other a sinner and all his prayers and praying a waste. How can we declare hell for him when "He" says that one is going to be judged on the basis of his intentions? How can we declare hell for him when Islam is givin

He was running madly through an area full of bushes, loaded with thorns. Those thorns injured him. He started bleeding. But he continued to run.  Suddenly he woke up. He was drenched in sweat. This nightmare had been chasing him for a fortnight.  He began to realize after some time that it was not just a dream. It was something else that was disturbing him. He started focusing on the cause which was tingling his soul. Then again, after some days he saw an old man (in his dream) with long, white beard looking at him. The old man asked him, "Do you know who I am?" He was stunned. He couldn't utter a single word. Then the old man replied: "I am your soul. I am not satisfied. Please feed me with good deeds!"  The next morning, the dream flashed through his mind and he realized that the two consecutive dreams he saw were linked to each other.  That bushy and thorny area was actually his bad deeds and this world which were entangling his soul and hurting him.

*This article is an entry for April Blog of the Month Competition.* Late at night, sitting alone in the room with my gaze focused at the moon, with twinkling stars throwing their lights upon my gloomy mind, I often write about me. Today, I wrote some lines for myself... Wandering through the thoughts of this darkness, I often wonder, If ever will these poetries inked in the thoughts of my imagination find their way along these dark streets, to come to you, rest upon your hands and die there! Or if these words could ever melt in your eyes, just as they rolled down my cheeks and fell on these paper bits some time back, taking the shape of these words. And then I would like to observe, would like to see how... How they'd surprise you, amaze you and make you wonder as to how easily, how calmly these tears (Ah! I should say, my tears) break their immortal and everlasting habit of speechlessness... These screaming tears telling beautifully about my art... My art of of hiding my pains

My Room, Tariq Gardens, Lahore. April 09, 2019 Dear Rida,                 At the end of the day, the moment you go to your bed, thousands of thoughts come to you and keep you pushing until the wave, the air of sleep takes you into the land of dreams. Just make sure that these thoughts find their way out of your mind, no matter what the matter is, and divert your mind to the basic yet the most powerful question: Who are you? What is your worth? Are you even worth having all the blessings? Just take a glance, for merely some nanoseconds and then be thankful to the Bestower, The ever providing, the sustainer, the one and only Allah S.W.T for His blessings that he gives you, hoping for no return from your side. All He wants is the best for you, the best for your hereafter! Yours sincerely, Your true self. Rida Nasir

*This article is an entry for April Blog of the Month competition.* Move your eyes. To the right. To the left. To the front. To the back. Have you watched this? Life is a snowball that starts rolling from the top of a hill, you may call it a hill of the accessories that life is going to provide. It rolls and rolls till it reaches the end. In the course of rolling, many things are left behind and many are added, giving variations to the ball. In the light of day, in the darkness of my thoughts, I, obsessed with these things, am writing a letter to myself for how this ball rolls and how to land it safely. Every ball, while coming downwards, follows the ones before it. I do wonder if it stops following them and rolls around its own estimation. For all I know, whether it is a “yes” or a “no”, every ball has to reach the end. What will happen if one stops following the others and lives according to its calculations and estimations? You might be wondering why I am asking al

Dearest self, I've been meaning to write this letter since long, though it does feel old writing this to you because it'll be didactic and evangelizing on some pedestal. But darling, you do need this. I've spent 18 long years seeing you grow up. Learn things. Make mistakes. Grow. It's been quite a journey! Of course I don't count the initial five years because you have no recollections of them except for fancy flashbacks of your birthdays! Arham dearest, first and foremost, I want to say you're doing fine. I know that for most of the time of your life, you've lived under a veneer- Afraid of betraying your true inner self. Lived under a shell, a shell that might have given you refuge. But darling, it can explode too, because you are explosive. You burst with emotions, brim with sensitivity. And all this time, you've masked it. Afraid that you'll be called a loon over it. Tagged dramatic over it. Nicknamed OCD over it. Judged vulnerable for it.

آ دکھاؤں تجھے چیخوں کا خاموشی سے نکلنا، پھر مر جانا۔۔                                                                           زندگی میں جہاں خوشیوں پر رقص ہوتا ہے، وہیں غم و ماتم کا عکس بھی ہوتا ہے، آسانیاں آتیں ہیں مگر مشکلات کے ساتھ۔۔ بعض دفعہ مشکل  نہیں لگتا خود کو درد سے نکال لینا، اذیتوں کے سمندر کی گہرائی میں ڈوب کر کنارے تک ابھرنا اور یہ ثابت کر دینا کہ اگر درد میں دم ہے تو ہم بھی کم نہیں۔۔ مگر ہاں ہر بار، ہر جگہ، ہر کسی کے ساتھ ایسا نہیں ہوتا، جب درد انسان کو کرچی کرچی کردینا چاہے اور سمیٹنے کو شیشہ گر بھی نہ ہو کہ کرچیاں ہی سمیٹ لے، جب ماضی، کسی کے حال اور مستقبل کو اس طرح گھیر لے کہ جینا اور مرنا ایک سا ہو جائے، جب وقت کے جزیرے پر کھڑی، سفید خوبصورت گھوڑے پر آنے والے شہزادے کی منتظر شہزادیاں  مایوسی کی دلدل میں دم توڑنے لگیں، تب درد ، درد نہیں رہتا، "چیخ" بن کر  نکلتا ہے،  گونجتا ہے ، دھاڑتا ہے، سننے والوں کے دلوں کو لرزاتا ہے، دلوں کو موم کرتا ہے  اور پھر کہیں فضاؤں میں تحلیل ہوجاتا ہے۔۔ ایسا درد تو  کسی "بلند چیخ " کا لبادہ اوڑھے راستوں کو ف

ایک چیخ تھی ایسی جو دل چیر گئی                                                                                                                                                                 دن کے روشن اجالوں میں  شہر کے کچے گھروندوں میں رات کےبڑھتےسایوں میں  ان بوسیدہ مکانوں میں اثر والوں کی نظروں سے اوجھل بھوک سے بلکتے بچوں کی... اک چیخ تھی ایسی جو دل چیر گئی… ا سماج کی ریتوں کی بھینٹ پر  جہیز کی لعنت کو دل پر لیے... سر میں اترتی چاندی اور اکھیوں میں گہری اداسی لیے...  باپ کے گھر میں بیٹھی ہوئی  ایک ڈھلتی عمر کی بیٹی کی... اک چیخ تھی ایسی جو دل چیر گئی... ا بے پرواہ بچپن کی چوکھٹ پر  ہنسی خوشی قدم رکھتی... عزت بچانے کے ڈر سے ناآشنا حرص و ہوس کی نذر ہوتی اپنی تار تار ردا کو لیے  کسی کوثر, کسی زینب کی... اک چیخ تھی ایسی جو دل چیر گئی... ا اونچی دکان کے شیڈ پہ پڑے  کھلونوں کو حسرت سے تکتے ہوئے ننھے سےھاتھوں میں کالک لیے  کتابوں کی جاء پر اوزاروں کو تھامے آنکھوں میں خواب اور حسرت لیے ایک معصوم "چھوٹے" کی... اک چیخ تھی جو کے دل چیر گئی... ا

For a long time, I've been pondering over all the things that ever bothered me. I want to motivate the inner me, not the outer one; I want to make myself realize about the things which hurt me the most. The attachments, the closeness to the people. I had never been attached to the materialistic world but I loved the stuff which belonged to "my" people. I could never understand, why do people leave each other? Why do our loved ones depart? My problem was that I wanted perfection in myself and in this life and this gave me a lot of lessons.   Then one day, I was answered. The answer came from my own mind. This answer was to my inner quest and this was a letter which my mind wrote to my soul. I got to know my real problem. My attachments to my dear ones always hurt me a lot. They were all nice but my heart had not been nice to me. I couldn't even bear their harsh attitude. This heart always let me down.   My mind made my soul reali

اپنی ہی سسکیوں کے ستائے ہوئے لوگ                                                                                                                                                                                اک ماں کی زندگی! زندگی ذہن جھٹکتا، دل کھڑ کتا اور  روح تڑپتی ہے ہنستے ہوئے چہرے سے بن بولے اداسی جھلکتی ہے! ے آج قلم اٹھایا تو ادھورے سے ذہن کے بند کواڑوں سے روشنی کی جھلکتی کرنوں کی مانند اک جملہ میرے ذہن کو اپنا اسیر کر گیا وہ جملہ تھا: "اپنی ہی سسکیوں کے ستائے ہوئے لوگ" گ پھر دماغ آہستہ آہستہ معاشرے کے ا یک مخصوص طبقہ کی جانب جانے لگا جسکو دنیا ادب سے "سفید پوش" کہتی ہے ذہن کی بند آنکھیں کھلیں تو اس طبقہ کی ایک  خاموش ماں نظر آئی جو سادگی اور مشقت کا لحاف اوڑھے، دل میں روشنی اور امیدوں کا انبار لیے دروازے پہ کھڑی اپنی اولاد کو سکول جاتے اس خواہش کے ساتھ دیکھتی ہے کہ یہ مستقبل کے روشن افسر ہیں، یہ وہ ماں ہے جو اداسیوں سے لت پت سجدوں میں اپنی اولاد کی خوشیوں کے لئے روتی اور اپنے کروڑوں اشکوں کا سودا اپنے رب سے کرتی، صبر کا گھونٹ پیئے زمانے کی بے

Sunny, stormy or rainy, the weather couldn't stop me from my morning jog. Neither could the fact of being home alone could serve as a hinderance. Returning from the jog, as I reached the locked door of my house, I found something lying by the doorstep. An envelope. I picked it up. It had an unusual texture and an odd blue colour. I turned it around and saw my name and address written on it. There was another thing written that left me shocked- the date it was sent. It was August 23, 2057. I smiled. It must have been some prank by my friends. Deciding to play along, I opened the envelope. It was a letter and quite a long one. I'd never been a big fan of lengthy writings. Sighing, I started reading it.   Dear self, I am you from the future. You must be shocked and amused thinking it’s a prank. But the me I know will not consider it totally impossible. After all, it's future technology! I won't be telling you about the details but there are