Reflections on Reality
Chronologically ordered aphorisms, affirmations, repudiations, comparisons, etc.
PART 1
1. Sex, without love or strong affection, is a damp squib. (See Nos. 308, 849 & 2. 69 (Part 2) below.)
2.
Just as lies lead to further lies, truth leads to deeper truth.
3.
Learning is a life-long process: if you’re still learning, you can know you’re
still living; if not, you’re merely existing.
4.
The most succinct contemporary affirmation of faith that I know of is Rupert
Birkin’s following statement in D.H. Lawrence’s Women in Love: IT ALL HANGS TOGETHER IN THE DEEPEST SENSE. (my
capitalization)
5.
The next worst thing after telling lies, is believing them.
6.
The Muslim paradise: a whorehouse of houris, whose services are to be obtained
by means not of money but good deeds!
7.
The law in
8. As apprehended in Urdu: Transliteration: khüda ‘voh’ nuheen hai, khüda ‘yeh’ hai. Near enough but not-as-pithy translation: God is not ‘that deity’; God is ‘this reality’.
9.
Always be your bravest possible; that’s how you can become braver.
10.
What is faith? It’s no more, nor less, than unswerving devotion to discoverable
truth.
11.
Muslims, really without exception, are not only brainwashed in childhood – they
appear to actually have their brains washed away! Of course this is true of
many non-Muslims as well: any early successful indoctrination results in
essential imbecility, or at least in massive blind-spots.
12.
If nothing succeeds like success, logically, nothing fails like failure; hence
heroic is the person who turns failure to success.
13.
The difference between Sunni Muslims and Shia Muslims is not all that different
than the difference between imbeciles and idiots.
14.
The sixth of the Beatitudes, ‘Blest
are the pure of heart, for they shall see God’, can be improved upon by
removing that ‘shall’ before ‘see’ and adding ‘nothing but’ after, thus: Blest
are the pure of heart, for they see nothing but God.
15.
Such a basic psychological truth, which I suspect hardly any psychiatrists or
psychotherapists worldwide lay stress on to their patients: telling lies makes one neurotic.
Instead, many psychotherapists probably tell their patients lies that they
think they want to hear, in the process becoming progressively more neurotic
themselves!
16.
If one hates lies, it’s neither natural nor really possible not to hate liars;
but while hating liars, one can, indeed must, retain compassion for them.
17.
The triumph of life cannot be complete without the help of death!
18.
The world can arguably be divided into two groups of people: the few who
realize that all existence, human as well as non-human, is circumscribed by
profound, inviolable mystery, and the many who have no realization or sense of
any such mystery.
19.
Unless a person is truthful, they cannot even rightfully be said to exist.
20.
If you have a tendency to exaggerate, which travesties truth in proportion to
the extent of the exaggeration resorted to, the antidote for you is to
consciously cultivate a tendency to understate, which is usually more effective
anyway, and which needn’t necessarily contravene your spontaneity either.
21.
There is a world of difference between faith and allegiance to a creed or a
cause; faith selectively cuts right across all
creeds and causes.
22.
Of the three key components of character, namely honesty, courage and
compassion, the last, compassion, appears to be the most difficult to
consistently adhere to. And this can prove trickier as well, because of the
aptness of weakness to masquerade as compassion.
23.
Having seen death at even closer quarters, in my mother’s case on 26 October
2003, than in my brother’s on 26 February 2001, I feel less afraid of it than
ever, being inclined to exclaim inwardly, ‘So that’s all there is to it!’
24.
The basic principle of the vastly under-appreciated Bates Method for Better
Eyesight Without Glasses can be paraphrased thus: The more your mind is
relaxed, neither agitated nor bored but calmly active, the more harmoniously
will function the outer eye-muscles controlling the shape of the eyeball, and
the better your eyes will see.
25.
Everyone living is part and parcel of God. And when anyone dies, they become
part and parcel of God in a different way. How exactly? Well, it seems we just
have to wait our own turn to find out!
26.
For me, Morpheus, the god of sleep, is a force to reckon with – a benign force,
who overrules the propensity to remain ‘up and doing’ beyond one’s physical
capacity, of ‘driven’ people like myself. And the god of dreams,
what’s-his-name, appears to preside over a different domain altogether, little
explored and less understood, despite the groping efforts of people like Freud.
27.
At fifty-four, being about ten years older than the age at which D.H. Lawrence
died, I’d like to strongly corroborate his brilliant observation: the breath of
life is in the sharp winds of change.
28.
A word of caution for myself: I should avoid falling into the messianic trap,
the messy messianic trap.
29.
God may be described as the absolute to which relativity itself is relative.
30.
A self-important, inefficient and corrupt executive, an ephemeral legislature,
a somnolent and docile judiciary, and a largely cowed-down press: with these
four shaky pillars to support it, it’s hardly surprising that the Pakistani
state continues to wobble.
31.
When my level of resentment against anyone exceeds a certain level, considering
that I can’t usually kill them, I sue them. Hence it is important for me that
the society I live in has a properly functional legal system.
32.
One of the best Urdu proverbs suggests, in transliteration: naiki kurr, durya mayn daal, translatable
as: do a good deed, then drop it in the river (i.e., think no more of it). A
complement to the proverb can be: if you do a bad deed, don’t try to drop it in the river, for it’s sure to resurface and
stink.
33.
One needs a lot of courage to be really spontaneous; but then, if one wants to
be truly alive, the thing most worth striving for is real spontaneity.
34.
Materialists do have a point, up to a point. Life does have a material aspect,
which if ignored altogether, leads to extremely unseemly consequences. However,
interpreting life only in material
terms is arguably an even worse error, leading to still more disastrous
results.
35.
People who cannot see God simply lack the insight to do so, in very much the
same way as blind people cannot see anything because they lack the eyesight to
do so.
36.
An important distinction to my mind: God is not in everything; God is
everything.
37.
I believe I’m receiving all the divine help that I need, and I seem to need a
lot of it. Were I to receive still more, it would cripple my own ability to
fight to solve my problems.
38.
If charity begins at home, much more so should prayer. Hence, sanctimonious
people apt to pray for the perceived sins of others, should first pray to
overcome their own character flaws, including of course their sanctimony.
39.
Anyone capable of lying is also capable of stealing. Indeed, lying can be
considered a form of stealing, the thing stolen or attempted to be stolen being
the belief of the person lied to.
40.
What accounts for the backwardness (material as well as moral) of all the over 50 Muslim-majority
countries in the world? Surely, it is ultimately the effect of the dead hand of
Islam itself, spread clammily over these countries.
41.
If, at 54, I feel that the best is still to come, I must have done something
right in these 54 years!
42.
Just about everything in
43.
How about some statistician trying to figure out what percentage of the general
population worldwide ever loves anybody in their lives? At a guess, I wouldn’t
place the figure higher than perhaps 15 to 20 per cent, probably less than the
percentage of people who, at some point in their lives, are homosexual.
44.
It must be exceedingly difficult, if not impossible, for someone who has never
loved, to have an accurate appreciation of the emotional condition of someone
who has.
45.
One of my favourite books, mainly because of its clarity and unclutteredness:
the Concise Oxford Dictionary, eighth edition, 1990.
46.
In its wider and truer sense, literature includes all the so-called religious
‘scriptures’, such as the Vedas, both Testaments of the Bible, and the Kuraan.
Hence there’s not the slightest need or justification for suspending one’s
critical judgement when reading these ‘holy scriptures’ (holy for some people,
infamous for others), nor for adopting a different set of critical values in
estimating their worth than those needed to be adopted in interpreting the
works of writers like Homer, Dante, Shakespeare, and all others in the
‘secular’ tradition.
47.
Sometimes the most fertile emotional alluvium, nurturing roses of gladness,
overlies a bedrock of unwept tears. And to continue to provide that sort of
bedrock, those unwept tears should remain unwept.
48.
Anyone, not utterly ignorant, who thinks that I, and most probably millions of
others like me, chose to be
homosexual, must be substantially out of their mind.
49.
I’ve long considered patriotism the most dubious of virtues.
50. Of the 36 plays of Shakespeare thought to have been written without any significant collaboration, even if you disregard the six best, say, The Merchant of Venice, Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, King Lear, Macbeth and The Winter’s Tale, the cream of his work, and then compare the remaining 30, on a one to one basis, with the 30 parts of the Küraan, each known as a sipara in South Asia, what sort of a mind would you have if you considered even one of the siparas a greater repository of truth and wisdom than any one of Shakespeare’s plays, even Titus Andronicus, arguably his worst? A feeble and fanatical mind, in my opinion.
51.
I, too, sometimes feel, like a character in one of
52.
It’s surprising how many people jump to fallacious conclusions in, or in
variations similar to, the following way: Two plus two make four, and two
multiplied by two also make four. So, if two plus four make six, two multiplied
by four must also make six!
53.
Quite obviously, some comparisons are
odious, but by no means all.
54.
Since many Christians seem so sure that Jesus (whose real name, if he existed,
was Joshua) is now at the right hand of God, they might, one would think, have
some idea of who’s at His left hand. Mary? Or one or more of the ‘prophets’
from Noah to Solomon? Or one or the whole lot of angels? Or no one? Or is He
perhaps just one-handed?! Interestingly, according to my pantheistic concept,
incarnate in a one-handed person, God
is one-handed; but then that person
is not the aggrandized He, but the plain and simple he or she.
55.
I find it really strange that such few people seem to realize that the
supposedly non-idolatrous religions, basically Judaism and its offshoots
Christianity and Islam, are in fact quite as idolatrous as the ‘pagan’
religions, the only difference being that, unlike in the latter, the idols
worshipped in the former are not made of stone, wood or metal, but are mental
images (ref., e.g., Psalm 18, vv. 6 - 10). This, in my opinion, is not really a
significant difference.
56.
If you compare the cumulative writings and recorded verbal pronouncements of
all the Roman Catholic Popes, even including the two letters (authentic?) of
Peter the Apostle forming part of the New Testament, right up to the sermons,
speeches, etc. of the present doddering incumbent, Pope John Paul II, with the
work of the single 18th century English poet, Alexander Pope, where will you
find greater truth and wisdom: in the Popes, or in Pope? Surely, if your mind
is independent, indomitable and impartial, in the latter.
57.
Modern global consciousness is errant in at least this one respect: it
overvalues knowledge and undervalues wisdom.
58.
Buddhism, when it arose, was a good answer to decadent Hinduism; Christianity,
when it arose, was a good answer to decadent Judaism; Islam, when it arose, was
a good answer to decadent Christianity; a thoroughly overhauled and revamped
Hinduism, reaffirming its pantheistic roots, could be, or could have been, a
good answer to decadent Islam.
59.
On the face of it, a more logically convincing statement than I think,
therefore I am is I experience, therefore I am. Anyone interested in
translating the latter into Latin?
60.
Which is ultimately the strongest force in human affairs? It’s not money, or
‘power’ in the commonplace sense of ‘authority’, but the force of character.
Hence, the President of the
61.
Moral courage is a quality that appears to be practically unheard of in this
country (
62.
It’s two months today,
63.
In some ways, Islam, as a religion, is a hard act to follow, though variably
successful attempts like Sikhism and Bahai'ism have been made.
64.
After a recent truck-bomb suicide attack in
65.
I’m still looking around for a more effective antidote to self-pity than merely
deprecating it, and would appreciate any bona
fide prescriptions or suggestions from anybody, in this connection.
66.
Words of piety, from the mouth of a hypocrite, should not be believed, but
words of wisdom, even from the mouth of a fool, should be respected, which
paradox points to the different modes of transmission of piety and wisdom.
67.
I cannot see the slightest grounds for considering pantheism incompatible with
morality or ethics. On the contrary, believed in wholeheartedly, pantheism
promotes compassion, which is one of the main wellsprings of truly moral and
ethical behaviour.
68.
In
69.
At the present time, you have to choose
between religion and faith. You can opt for one or the other, or for neither,
but not really for both. Although all the existing religions evidently started
off with faith at their core, adhering to any of them now is as incompatible
with having full faith in truth, honesty and decency as having your cake is
with eating it.
70.
I can honour the memory of my mother, whose recent death was the most
significant event of 2003 for me, not by being half-dead myself, but by being
as fully alive as possible, even if today, besides being the last day of the
year, also turned out to be the last day of my life.
71.
Don't cry over spilt milk, of course. And if the milk was boiling hot and broke
a fancy glass that you foolishly poured it into, don't cry over the broken
fancy glass either. But do clean up the mess, and do try not to be foolish in
the same or a similar way again.
72.
Sometimes it's difficult to decide whether a possible future course of action,
entailing a certain sort of non-retaliation against an adversary, would be
indicative of magnanimity or of lack of resolve on one's part.
73.
I cannot vouch for what
74.
The Communist Manifesto proclaimed: 'Workers of the world unite; you have
nothing to lose but your chains.' Far closer to the truth would be, 'You have everything to lose but your chains.' You
have your jobs, your sense of humour, your minds, even your lives to lose; the
one thing you're not likely to lose,
but at best merely exchange, are your chains.
75.
The need for beauty may not be one of the most basic of human needs, but it's
certainly one of the deepest.
76.
Whereas I certainly don't approve of the U.S. administration holding all those
Muslim detainees at Guantanamo Bay without trial for two years (they should've
been tried and sentenced by now), it's very likely that, in all the major
Muslim majority countries, there are prisons much worse than the Guantanamo Bay
prison, where fellow-Muslim political prisoners have been held without trial
for much longer.
77.
While one is alive, there is absolutely no cleavage between one's body and
one's spirit; the two are inalienably united. But at death, they certainly seem
to part company, much to the apparent disadvantage of the body.
78.
Life, at times, seems to be a choice between suffering with dignity and
suffering ignominiously. Yet, even that grim choice is clearly one that is
worth making.
79.
Love, honesty, courage, compassion and ingenuity appear to be the five main
forces, apart from fertility, that carry human life forwards. Without them,
human life would either stagnate completely, or could even degenerate towards
sub-humanity.
80.
After having read through a small pamphlet in Urdu titled Eemaan ki Kasauti (The
Criterion of Faith) by Maulana Maudoodi, the founder of the worldwide
Jamaat-e-Islami (Islamic Congregation), I’m convinced that the maulana
(religious scholar) couldn’t see a millimetre beyond his venerable nose.
81. Come now, Preetum, is there nothing at all that
you’re good at doing?
Please Sir, I think I’m rather good at telling
the truth.
82.
My adversaries take heed: there are plenty of arrows left in my quiver yet!
83.
If (for the sake of argument, or as an illustration of the grammatical
structure of a type 2(ii) conditional sentence, containing an imaginary
condition), in consequence of God being out of His mind, I were nominated after
my death to reside everlastingly in the Kuraanic paradise, with the only other
option being to reside everlastingly in the Kuraanic hell, even then I might
prefer the latter dispensation to the former!
84.
According to popular Muslim belief, men have been created to worship God, and
women have been created to be sex-objects for men. Now, if someone regards this
view of creation as skewed and sexist, they have obviously been taken in by
infidel Western anti-Islamic propaganda. Yeah, obviously.
85.
The rain is my friend and helper; so is the sun; so is all of Nature. And not
quite, or not only, in a Wordsworthian sense, but in a more actively moral
sense as well. Every falling raindrop that can affect me in any way, can help me in some way, provided I’m deserving and
appreciative of such help.
86.
Money, at least with me, has a very slippery way of running out. Now, as a
de-lubricating measure, I’ve started to keep written accounts of every rupee
(about 2 cents) that I spend!
87.
I find certain significant features of all the major existing religions not
only false but ridiculous as well. And most objectionable of all is the way the
religious establishment, in the case of each religion, functions like a
spiritual mafia all too ready to use coercion to curb and stifle dissent.
88. Who, being human, can ever keep pace with the galloping hours?
Only, perhaps, the best of riders, at
the height of their powers.
89.
Since my mother’s death exactly three months ago, the iron in my soul seems to
be transmuting into harder and harder steel. In spite of that, I realize I’m
still not nearly hard-headed enough.
90.
When the law deviates from its proper role of interpreting and implementing
morality, and is regarded as an end unto itself, it becomes not merely asinine
but grossly mischievous as well.
91. Why is there so much suffering in
life?
Short answer: Because there is.
92.
I did my best by my late mother, before God. Whether my best was good enough or
not I leave to the gods to judge.
93.
Both monotheism and polytheism are acceptable if they convey or evoke a sense
of pantheism; conversely, both monotheism and polytheism are equally unacceptable if they fail to convey or
evoke such a pantheistic sense.
94.
Do I believe in ‘the hidden hand of God’ in human affairs? Yes, in a
metaphorical sense, I do. It is the most credible explanation for countless
otherwise unaccountable everyday occurrences of variable significance. However,
I also believe that all the unhidden human hands in existence, even those
deformed or disfigured, are, in the most literal sense, the hands of God.
95.
The sight, and even more the entrancing scent, of the winter narcissus growing
in a bed in my garden is a far more real impetus to ‘holiness’ than the
cacophonous, lustfully self-indulgent sound of the azaan (call to prayer) blared from the loudspeakers of nearby
mosques five times a day.
96.
Enjoying life insofar as it’s enjoyable, and enduring it insofar as it isn’t,
seems to be the wide enough but difficult-to-negotiate safe passage between the
Scylla of asceticism and the Charybdis of hedonism.
97.
The Saudi authorities have admitted that 251 haajis (pilgrims) were trampled to
death in a stampede during the ‘stoning of Satan’ ritual towards the end of
this year’s Huj pilgrimage, considered one of the five pillars of Islam. How
thoroughly disgraceful! Also, if Islam is a non-idolatrous religion, what are
haajis doing throwing stones at stone pillars in the first place? If it’s
abominable to show veneration for lifeless lumps of stone, idols that can
neither help nor harm one, how on earth does it become acceptable to show
hostility towards similarly lifeless and powerless piles of stone or brick,
these pillars? In fact, the pillars are quite probably covert phallic symbols,
regarded in a malignant light, comparable and contrastable with the Hindu
lingums, which are overt phallic symbols, regarded as venerable.
98.
The concept of Satan or the Devil in Judaism, Christianity and Islam is one of
the areas where these religions are psychologically unsound. On the one hand,
this concept provides an adherent of these religions with a scapegoat and room
for avoiding full responsibility for their acts and omissions. On the other
hand, the concept also sets up disintegrative tensions between the two
perceived ‘sides’ of a person, the devilish ‘side’, simplistically associated
with sensual gratification, and the virtuous ‘side’, striving for spiritual
perfection. This dichotomy causes rupture and disintegration within the
individual, and in extreme cases leaves them horribly split down the middle.
99.
Answering reporters’ questions recently, Tony Blair, the British Prime
Minister, made what seemed like a Freudian slip when he referred to weapons of
mass destruction in
100.
Since these jottings purport to be potted wisdom, let me consider what I’d
regard as a satisfactory definition of the word ‘wisdom’. The Concise Readers’
Guide to the New English Bible, 1972 edition, under the entry ‘Book of
Proverbs’, parenthetically defines wisdom as ‘knowledge plus the ability to use
it meaningfully’. A fairly apt but in my view not a fully satisfactory
definition. The Concise Oxford Dictionary, 1990 edition, offers a slightly more
comprehensive definition: ‘experience and knowledge together with the power of
applying them critically or practically’. Still not quite good enough. I’d briefly define wisdom as ‘the
ability to view knowledge in perspective, to interpret it critically, and to
use it appropriately’.
101.
A roof of sloping corrugated tin sheets, with a flat ceiling of thin narrow
wooden planks, such as my house features, may not be architecturally
fashionable; however, the sound of falling rain on such a roof has, for me, a
deeply soothing, almost healing quality.
102.
My current financial crisis, grim and grave enough though it is, is as yet no
more than a crisis. However, if I fail to respond adequately to this crisis,
there’s nothing to prevent it from deteriorating into a disaster.
103.
Sure, man does not live by bread alone;
but insofar that he does, there’s
simply no getting round his responsibility of providing food (and other
material necessities) for himself and any dependents by honest and honourable
means. Downplaying this basic responsibility or underestimating the difficulties
it usually entails, even in the name of ‘faith in God’, is highly misleading.
104.
I get the impression that many ‘liberated’ gay people in the West are making a
big mistake by adopting and trying to take pride in the highly pejorative
labels such as ‘queer’ which some heterosexuals have always sought to stick on
homosexuals. I’m all for being honest and above-board about one’s sexual
tendencies, but I’m quite against letting oneself be defined or categorized on
their basis.
105.
Anyone who’s ever kissed the photo of a loved one should be able to understand
the innocuous enough raison d’etre of
idolatry. However, the practice can admittedly have objectionable and even
vicious ramifications. But then so can the worship of a single, invisible God.
106.
Imagine the following, in their possible diversity of physical appearance,
standing in a row facing you: a Hindu liar, a Jewish liar, a Buddhist liar, a
Christian liar, a Muslim liar, an atheist liar, and an agnostic liar. Imagine
further that, in aggregate, all of them have told the same number and kind of
lies during their lives up to now. Now, to consider any of these liars better
or worse than any other of them, you’d have to be prejudiced out of your mind.
And if you want to know whether any of the actual persuasions professed by
these imaginary persons, namely Hinduism, Judaism, Buddhism, Christianity,
Islam, atheism, and agnosticism, are better or worse than any other of these,
or still other persuasions, a rule of thumb is that the merit of each creed is
inversely proportional to the percentage of its adherents who are liars.
107.
Life is simply too short for anything except living; and living includes
everything except failing to live, in any of innumerable ways, for any reason
or pretext.
108.
Pakistanis in general: bloody savages; yet, of course, worthy of compassion.
109.
Fabricating evidence in legal proceedings is a criminal offence; fabricating
one’s feelings, to others or to
oneself, is an offence against life.
110.
Come now, please queue up, you prospective jottings that have begun jostling in
my consciousness, eager to emerge into the light of day.
111.
I fight hard but I fight fair; all is certainly NOT fair either in love or in
war, however much some interested parties may want it to be so.
112.
Is a bird in hand worth two in the bush? It’s not simply a matter of numbers or
quantity. Surely a peacock in the bush is worth scores of sparrows in hand.
113.
If you’re looking for God, the most accessible as well as the most sensible
place to look is within yourself.
114.
The laws of physics, the laws of one’s country, and the laws of life – all are
obviously important, but can one be in any doubt as to which are the most important?
115.
Having watched a BBC television programme in the Genius series on Richard
Feynman, who won the Nobel Prize for Physics in (probably) 1965, I thought that
whereas he seemed a fine man (pun intended), Feynman also exemplified the
naiveté of even the best scientists in the world with respect to the moral, spiritual
and psychological aspects of life.
116.
Holy graffiti on the wall of a filthy public urinal in
117.
A refrain repeated no fewer than five times in about a three-minute-long old
Indian film-song, written by Kaifi Azmi (Shabana Azmi’s father), sung in a high
voice by Suman Kalyanpur: mairay mehboob
tujhay pyaar kuroon ya na kuroon? Translation: O my beloved, should I love
you or should I not? Methinks the lady protests her dilemma too much, for
though to be or not to be may be a question amenable to voluntary resolution,
to love or not to love is hardly so.
118.
Life: you’re a deep one, no doubt about that!
119.
One of the most important don’ts of the Bates Method for Better Eyesight
Without Glasses (besides being good manners) is: Don’t stare. According to the
Method, staring is anathema, and in view of the close interrelationship of mind
and vision that he himself expounded, I’m sure Bates would have agreed that one
should avoid mental staring as well.
120.
The lurid sensationalism of the story of Moses and the Israelites, as described
in the Old Testament, far exceeds even that of the
121.
In the controversy over the ‘security barrier’
122.
One does need a measure of horse sense not to make an ass of oneself!
123.
Facing one’s worst enemies is sometimes easier than facing oneself in one’s
worst moments.
124.
Of course one can voluntarily accept an apology offered by someone who has
wronged one, but one can’t altogether voluntarily forgive that person.
Forgiveness is essentially an involuntary phenomenon or process.
125.
Turning blood to ink, as T.S. Eliot described the process of creative writing,
is certainly not easy; but converting the blood-turned-to-ink into bread and
butter, so as to keep the blood in the writer’s veins flowing, appears to be an
even more difficult stage in the creative writer’s life-cycle.
126.
Amid the plethora of non-creative or marginally creative writing issuing
chiefly from the ubiquitous computer these days, not nearly enough attention is
being paid to the importance of truly creative writing. However, this has
generally been the case, for different reasons, in the past, too.
127.
Religion and superstition don’t of themselves constitute the impetus for
beautiful art and architecture. What they do, in historically conducive
periods, is to fire the human imagination, which in turn finds expression in creative activity. Anything that fires the human imagination will tend to give rise to
art of one kind or another.
128.
Whereas I’m attracted to some extent to small and medium-sized business
ventures, I find big business rather a big bore.
129.
I don’t believe that anyone today can profess to be an adherent of any of the
existing ‘recognized’ religions without being either stupid or hypocritical or
both.
130.
Buddhism is remarkable in that it’s by far the most agnostic of the
‘recognized’ religions existing in the world today. But then it falls short in
other respects, such as its bias against sensuality and individuality.
131.
Desiring this man’s art and, more frequently, that man’s arse . . . (with no
apology needed, I’m sure, to the magnanimous Bard!).
132.
Ars poetica – now that’s something a
gay poet is likely to have to learn to come to terms with!
133.
Says Birkin in
134.
My roughly ten years’ experience of litigation in Pakistani courts leads me to
suspect that miscarriage of justice is more the rule than the exception in
these courts.
135.
While there is a fairly obvious equation between stupidity and suffering, the
converse, i.e. the correlation between not being stupid and not suffering, is
anything but obvious.
136. An example of a gift outlasting its recipient and, probably, its giver: The teddy-bear with a wry, winsome facial expression, that was my present to my mother on her 87th birthday, being subsequently named Preetum Junior, and whose furry little arm she sometimes used to clutch while her breakfast was being prepared, was left behind when my mother died about three-and-a-half months before her 88th birthday. I’m 54 myself, and even if I have 20 years more to live, that length of time is not likely to do much more than to somewhat dim Preetum Junior’s expression!
137.
These jottings: Stray pieces of reality’s jigsaw puzzle. Or, nuggets of
variable value from reality’s inexhaustible gold-mine. Or, collectively, a
running commentary on my run-in with reality. Or . . .
138.
A more basic, more comprehensive, and more sensible maxim than Know thyself is surely Be yourself.
139.
No one deplores sentimentality more than I do; yet even I baulk at Samuel
Johnson’s stark summing-up of human life as ‘nasty, brutish, and short’. I’m
sure a proportion of human life in
all times and places fits Johnson’s description, but his sweeping
generalization verges on cynicism, and cynicism is itself suggestive of an
inverse sort of sentimentality, as was perceived by G.M. Hopkins when he called
despair ‘carrion comfort’.
140.
Arguing about a moral distinction with someone who has no or only a rudimentary
moral sense is like explaining the difference between blue and green to a
colour-blind person to whom both colours appear
exactly alike. For all their often noisy pretensions to the contrary, the vast
majority of my compatriots have no more than a strictly rudimentary moral
sense.
141.
The only alternative to coming to terms with reality is to remain out of touch
with reality, a condition which includes all the various kinds and degrees of
neurosis, psychosis and insanity.
142.
The astounding but seemingly irrefutable theory of evolution appears to be in
accord with one (and only one) conception of God – pantheism. Viewed in the
light of both concepts simultaneously, unicellular organisms, dinosaurs, and
human beings can be regarded as three distinct but genetically related forms of
divine incarnation.
143.
Living in
144.
Even worse than seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses is seeing one part
of the world through rose-tinted glasses and another part through smoke-tinted
ones. In plainer words, being prejudiced either against something or in favour of something is equally deplorable, and being
prejudiced in both ways at once is execrable.
145.
Moral progress is facilitated by asking oneself the right (hard) questions, and
is impeded if one either asks oneself the wrong (easy) questions or doesn’t ask
oneself any questions at all.
146.
Why on earth are research scientists worldwide not working harder to discover a viruscide that
can defeat the virus believed to cause the common cold? Such an important
discovery would not only bring relief to the millions upon millions of people
who suffer from colds, but would also presumably help in controlling more
deadly but related infections like SARS and avian flu.
147.
In creative writing, substance without style may seem somewhat abrasive, but
style without substance, so frequently and immoderately lauded these days, is
nothing more than eyewash. Infinitely more creditable that any putative skill
in using words is having something really new and significant to say. However,
it is also true that, in literature, how something is said (style) forms part
and parcel of what is said (substance) – though of course not the other way
round.
148.
I’m about 10% Hindu, about 5% each Muslim, Christian and Buddhist, about 75%
agnostic, and exactly 100% myself.
149.
Have I brought this do-or-die sort of financial crisis upon myself? I think I
basically have. But I also accept basic responsibility for its doing or dying
outcome.
150.
The universe began with the ‘big
bang’ about 16 billion years ago? Tell me another! Let’s give this cocksure,
consensual estimate of the world’s leading physicists and astronomers a
semantic try-out. Suppose we consider this period of about 16 billion years
since the ‘big bang’ equal to one megaday, with 365 such megadays making up one
megayear. Now, considering only the
last 16 billion megayears, is it reasonable to believe that the universe began just one megaday ago, while
remaining obligingly non-existent for the preceding 15 billion, 999 million,
999 thousand, 999 megayears and 364 megadays? In any case, the ‘big bang’ could
only have been an explosion in something that existed before it took place; but how could that something have already
existed if the universe only came into existence as a result of the ‘big
bang’? Clearly, the concerned astrophysicists need to put (or bang) their heads
together over this one!
151.
Let me try and move heaven and earth before I become unable to move even my
little finger.
152.
My father, who died on 17 April 1982, exactly 22 years ago, had a number of
character flaws (who hasn’t?), but he did try harder than most people, most
South Asians at any rate, to adhere to the truth.
153.
One of the most important things in life is to remain constantly and keenly aware of the precise nature of the
effects and consequences that one’s acts and omissions have on oneself and
others.
154.
Wouldn’t it have been really interesting, and mightn’t it have proved even
greater than his other plays, had Shakespeare written a play (a tragedy, what
else?) based on the life and death of Jesus?
155.
I don’t see any essential conflict between genetics and morality. Human beings
are inherently moral creatures, while animals inherently are not, which
difference is bound to be reflected in their respective genomes.
156.
No one appears to have yet come up with a really convincing explanation of why
gay men are almost invariably promiscuous (while lesbians reputedly aren’t).
157.
Is it cruel on the part of the God-mystery, first, without our wishing it, to
cause us to be born, and then, usually without our or our loved ones’ wanting
it, to cause us to die? It certainly sometimes feels that way. But it may be
some consolation to realize that we ourselves are not separate from but part
and parcel of the God-mystery. Moreover, how we view birth and death depends
substantially on how we spend the period in between. It also depends on one’s
mood, mine at the moment being probably influenced by the remembrance that it’s
six months today since my mother died.
158.
How much moral integrity one has largely determines how psychologically
integrated one is.
159.
One of the first steps towards becoming emotionally and psychologically
integrated is to figure out as precisely as possible the true nature and
magnitude of one’s feelings towards all the important persons in one’s life.
160.
There is something ludicrous about excessive and protracted suffering – which
seems to be one of the main points that the Fool in King Lear serves so poignantly to illustrate.
161.
In my experience, which is largely but not entirely restricted to
162.
When even all computers are not equal, how can all human beings be equal? In
reality, there are great differences in the mental capabilities of people. But
even much more significant than these differences in their mental capabilities,
are the vast differences in people’s emotional capacities. A particular person
may not be capable of feeling even a shadow of what their neighbour has the capacity to feel.
163.
I have a small number of good friends, but I’ve now come to the conclusion that
my best and most reliable friend is the God-mystery. And why not? Because it’s
a mystery? But even in the case of my other friends, there are for me certain
mysterious aspects of their character which it behoves me not to infringe. But then, why go public
with this averment of friendship with the God-mystery? Well, again, why not?
164.
It’s all right to have one’s head in the clouds as long as one’s feet are
planted firmly on the ground.
165.
It’s a real drag that, even in order to be left alone by the world, one has to
interact with the world, at least to the extent necessitated by having to make
a living.
166.
Do we have bodies, or are we our bodies? Short answer: both.
While we’re alive, our bodies are certainly an integral and important part of
ourselves, so in that sense our bodies are us. But at the same time we’re more
than our bodies, and come death, will have to relinquish them. A balanced view
of the matter, in my view, is pretty crucial in interpreting life realistically
and sensibly.
167. The quadrillion-dollar question:
To be, or not to be?
My considered and emphatic answer: Be –
and not only be but be alive, as fully as possible, through thick and thin,
until the very moment that not-being, of the physical self anyway, comes about
of its own accord.
168.
It seems incredible, as the theory of evolution appears to maintain, that human
beings and the microscopic AIDS viruses so lethal to humans, are in reality
each other’s zillionth cousins, having descended from the same ancestral
organisms! On the face of it, even hundreds of millions of years don’t seem to
be enough time for such utterly divergent genetic mutations, supposed to be
imperceptible from generation to generation over thousands of years, to have
taken place. Besides, the ancestry of those ancestral organisms themselves
remains as cluelessly inexplicable as ever.
So, while its central tenet of genetic mutation is indeed revolutionary, the
theory of evolution does really leave many fundamental questions – not only why
questions but even how questions – unanswered.
169.
Possibly the most disturbing feature of my sex-life, which involves partners of
my own sex, is that it seems to move, not in accord with, but athwart
the rest of my life, almost always generating more or less of a sense of
disruption.
170.
Keats’s sweeping proclamation, beauty is truth, truth beauty, is, in a
general sense, true (and beautiful) enough. However, its veracity can become
clearer if its application is considered contextually and critically. For
example, in Keats’s own domain, poetry, and in the wider realm of literature,
beauty is a vehicle of truth, but not vice versa.
171.
Compared to obstinately or egotistically continuing to kick against the pricks,
it’s better to bow to the inevitable. Yet, if one bows to something before
it has become inevitable, that will tend to make that thing
inevitable.
172.
Whereas it’s extremely important not to take shit from anyone at all, near and
dear ones included, it’s equally important, and trickier, not to take shit from
oneself, either.
173.
Routinely, perhaps, man proposes, God disposes; but the converse process, in which
man disposes (i.e. accepts or rejects) what God proposes (by way of a
challenge), seems to be happening simultaneously as well, the extent of this
converse process being proportionate to the spiritual advancement of the person
concerned.
174.
God knows everything only because he/she/it is everything.
175. About three-quarters into my 55th year, I believe I'm now finally at the overall height of my powers – such as they are, or are ever likely to be.
176.
I don't believe in God as a deity or deities; but I do believe in God / the
gods as reality, simultaneously mysterious and approachable.
177.
Two options that, for me, are NOT options: killing myself or selling myself,
under any circumstances, in any manner whatsoever.
178.
I feel substantially at peace with myself. Not entirely? No, not
entirely.
179.
One possible categorization of feelings is that they are either (1) weak and
shallow, or (2) strong and shallow, or (3) strong and deep, with the last sort
of course being the most estimable. The so-called 'negative feelings' such as
rancour and jealousy, depending on their intensity, fall into one or the other
of the first two categories, but never really qualify to be included in the
last.
180.
In my opinion, a fair assessment, neither adulatory nor derogatory, of Mühummud,
the founder of Islam: a genius of sorts, albeit unlettered.
181.
An unexpected bonus of living life like an adventure, as recommended by D.H.
Lawrence and attempted by me, is that as one gets older and so closer to death,
death too begins to appear like something of an exciting adventure, a plunge
into the unknown and unknowable that one can almost look forward to!
182.
Though I certainly don’t put a premium on levity, I do find most forms and
instances of solemnity ridiculous and mockable.
183.
Someone aptly described a tree as a rivet joining heaven and earth. Another
possible view of a tree: a fountain of sap issuing from the ground and
spreading into the air.
184.
Moses, more a mythological than a historical person, is held by some people to
have seen God (once) in the burning bush. But have you noticed that the leaves
of most bushes and trees are essentially flammiform (flame-shaped)? So, for me,
every bush with leaves is aflame with green fire, not merely
accommodating but embodying God.
185.
What the God-mystery is, in its totality, we cannot know; otherwise it wouldn't
be a mystery. But we can know, fairly certainly, what the God-mystery is not.
For instance, it is not a fat-arse sitting eternally in highest
heaven, with a big long stick in one hand and the most luscious carrots in the
other. It is also not anything essentially ghostly or shadowy, lurking
threateningly all around. Nor is it anything that any group of people
– Brahmins or Jews or Muslims or anyone else – can claim to monopolize.
186.
Being the blundering, neurotic savages that most members of Pakistani society,
at all economic levels, happen to be, they present a really formidable
challenge to my sense of compassion.
187.
Love is indeed stronger than death.
188.
The nexus between homosexuality and aggressiveness, especially unvented
aggressiveness, needs to be investigated carefully and thoroughly. For decades
I've had the impression that homosexual desire (which, rather than
homosexual indulgence, is the issue) springs from a subconscious
mix-up of the aggressive and erotic instincts. Unvented aggressiveness,
bottled-up since infancy, appears to get channelized, at puberty, into the
homoerotic mould, facilitated by genetic, familial and other factors. I wish I
could gain confirmation of the truth or otherwise of this long-standing notion
of mine, from any reliable source.
189.
Something that can hardly be repeated too often: truth liberates while
falsehood enslaves.
190.
While other existing religions can also be faulted variably on this count, I
consider that the most significant and unreformable failing of Islam is that
intrinsically it is anti-life and pro-death. Its bias against life and in
favour of death is something that many Muslims not only acknowledge, but are
actually proud of! Hence it is that, among Muslims, there is a fair incidence
of the courage to die (in suicide attacks and suchlike) but a woeful paucity of
the courage to improve the quality of their lives.
191.
Of course death will sooner or later end my life; but even death cannot undo
the living that I've already done, or the reverberations thereof.
192.
I cannot and do not believe that a skeleton of bones, lying at the bottom of
the trench-like grave in which she was buried after she died a little over nine
months ago, is the sum total of what now remains of my mother. I find such a
conclusion mentally unprovable and emotionally unacceptable. There must be
something more of her, and of all other deceased persons, in some form of existence,
in some dimension, albeit incomprehensible to us, the living, except
intuitively on occasion.
193.
I sometimes suspect that I have something of a superstitious streak in me. But
that may only appear to be so because I refuse to reject any aspect of truth or
reality merely on the grounds that it is mysterious or scientifically
inexplicable. In other words, I don't want to throw out the baby of some
profound non-scientific truth along with the bath-water of superstition.
194.
The British may have followed a policy of divide and rule in
195.
Anatomically, unfortunately, male homosexuality does seem rather a case of trying
to fit a square peg in a round hole!
196.
Science, at least as it exists today, appears capable of investigating only
fairly gross phenomena. For instance, there is no way science can measure the
speed of thought in different individuals at different times. Nor does science
have any litmus test for distinguishing between feelings like love and lust.
197.
Listen, O listen to the soothing
sound of rain: It can to some extent assuage your pain.
198.
The preceding couplet, containing just 17 words, in my opinion is worth more
than the entire content of the Iraqi cleric Ayatullah Ali Sistani’s website –
which may not be much of a recommendation of the couplet, but should be taken
to reflect aptly on Sistani’s (and other ayatullahs’) theology.
199.
If you want to climb
200.
What is the basis or criterion of morality? Simply put, that which promotes
life is moral, while that which denies life is immoral.
201.
It’s such egregious superstition to consider any place on earth any ‘holier’
than any other place.
202.
203.
What was the real truth about those three eminent, nay iconic South Asian
political personages at the forefront of the
204.
I'm quite convinced that none of the 'recognized' religions existing in the
world today are worth following in toto. All of them not only suffer
from serious flaws but are hopelessly superannuated as well. However, being a
committed moralist myself, I accept that bits and pieces from the teachings of
these creeds can encourage what I regard as moral (i.e. life-promoting)
behaviour. A case in point is the following saying ascribed to the Buddha,
remarkable for its simultaneous simplicity and profundity: Since it is
impossible to escape the result of our deeds, let us practise good works.
205.
Leafing through a tiny booklet of the Buddha's sayings, I was a bit jolted to
come across the following: Better far with red-hot irons bore out your eyes,
than encourage in yourselves sensual thoughts or look upon a woman's form with
lustful desire. Even considering that this exhortation was for bhikshus (monks
or ascetics), it still seems psychologically stupid and melodramatic,
reminiscent of Jesus's contentions, according to Matthew, that looking at a
woman lustfully was tantamount to adultery, and that one should pluck out one's
right eye if it led one to sin. It apparently never occurred to either of these
worthies, Buddha and Jesus, that in many cases a more sensible, practicable and
harmless, if temporary, way of dealing with 'lustful desire' than the lurid,
self-violent means advocated by them is to masturbate periodically!
206.
Yesterday I had a taste of 'pure sex', unadulterated by feelings: it felt
pretty awful.
207.
Statuesque in a corner of the gauzewire screen of my bathroom window this
morning: a baby lizard, all of an inch and a half long, somewhat translucent
skin, head raised, big bulging eyes, limbs and feet firmly planted, tail almost
as thin as a hair – quite a parody of its mighty ancestors, the gigantic
dinosaurs believed to have ruled the earth for millions of years. That's
apparently one of the ways that the genetic cookie crumbles!
208.
There seems to subsist some sort of a 'creative tension' between my
sexual-emotional problems on the one hand, and my financial problems on the
other. The intensity of the former set of problems tends to take the edge off
the potentially overwhelming intensity of the latter set, and vice versa!
209.
Who says God cannot be perceived by one's senses! On the contrary, whatever
one's five (or six) senses perceive is God, whether one is able to interpret
it that way or not.
210.
Being over-sensitive is a damn sight better than not being sensitive enough!
211.
By the time they're 14 or 15, most Pakistani kids have already been handed down
so much hypocritical shit by their elders that they're pretty much complete
cynics at heart, with no more than a veneer of sincerity. How very regrettable!
212.
Rape by consent, apparently a common bargaining tactic, may appear the same as,
but is in fact quite different from, genuinely consensual sex.
213.
When I think of the way my only brother, who died aged 57 about
three-and-a-half years ago, lived his life, I feel sad and perplexed. Sad
because it was a life unusually and disproportionately full of pain and
suffering. Perplexed because I can't satisfactorily figure out why it was so.
Among the obvious explanations that come to mind are my brother's own
shortcomings and our parents' acrimonious interrelationship. The Book of
Job, which my brother had read and mulled over, would have one believe
that suffering may be the result of God's arbitrary decision to 'test' the
sufferer's 'faith'. While subscribing to a quite different, pantheistic
conception of God than the monotheistic Old Testament view, and interpreting
'faith' rather differently as well, I'm still inclined to acknowledge the
presence of an interpenetrative divine role in human suffering, a role that,
unlike the suffering itself, need not end with the sufferer's death.
214.
Alone one comes into the world, and alone one leaves it; so it's just as well
if one learns to live in it alone as well.
215.
One should discriminate carefully between complexity and confusion.
216.
The fact that so many not-very-capable persons, in all societies, succeed in
acquiring or holding on to wealth surely suggests that the process of enriching
oneself does not require much capability. Hence the envy that many people feel
for those richer than themselves is essentially misplaced.
217.
Another threshold crossed: today,
218.
More and more of Pakistani girls and women, at least here in Abbottabad in the
North West Frontier Province, seem to be opting for the ghastly hijab,
the thick veil that goes all round their heads and often, in varying degrees
and at varying angles, over their faces as well. It probably enables them to
feel, on the one hand, holier-than-thou, and on the other, simultaneously, that
they are essentially sex-objects, both feelings tending to promote a
good deal of nukhra (coyness). That must be why the collective
spectacle of many girls and women in hijab in the street strikes me as
a distinctly immodest display of modesty.
219.
1st Voice: What is there in human life? One struggles and struggles and struggles,
and then one dies!
2nd
Voice: If one struggles bravely, there is satisfaction and even joy in
that.
220.
The word 'literary' is defined by my favourite Concise Oxford Dictionary, 1990
edition, as: 'of, constituting, or occupied with books or literature or written
composition, especially of the kind valued for quality of form.' A competent
enough definition, but what in fact is 'quality of form'? Form itself, in
literature, is inseparable from content. Whatever Shakespeare said could only
have been said in the form in which he said it. Furthermore, quality of
form – high, middling or low – depends entirely on quality of content.
221.
The age-old question, but by no means old hat: what are the various
constituents that make up a living human being, and how do they relate to one
another? I think the primary human constituents are the body, the mind
(conscious and subconscious), the ego, the will, the emotions, and the spirit.
Of these six, only the first is palpably material, the other five being
essentially non-material. The interrelationship between all these parts of a
living person is nothing if not complex. The part that I regard not only as the
least estimable but indeed as an extraneous accretion is the ego. The part that
I believe very probably survives death, in one form or another, is the spirit.
222.
'The breath of life is in the sharp winds of change,' observed D.H. Lawrence.
In my life so far, this has proved absolutely, uncannily true.
223.
Prayer should not be a substitute for effort, but a complement of it.
224.
Suffering is not merely a part but an integral and inescapable part of life.
Nirvana, the concept, seems pretty much an eyewash. The best one can hope and
try for is that one's suffering is not intolerably excessive, that it stems not
from avoidable but worthy causes, that one endures it with fortitude and dignity,
and that as far as possible one learns from it.
225.
Make sure that you do your
absolute best;
Then let the God-mystery handle
the rest.
226.
If looking God in the eye was too much for Moses, it just means that he wasn't
spiritually strong enough. Spiritual strength, deriving basically from the
aggregation of honesty, courage and compassion, aided by intelligence, enables
a person to face reality squarely and unflinchingly, which is exactly the same
as looking God straight in the eye.
227.
The greatest collective achievement of
228.
Is 'sin' a viable concept? The word is still bandied about, though much less
than formerly. For me, the only viable interpretation of sin is any deliberate
act or omission that denies or betrays life. For instance in the sexual sphere,
involuntarily feeling sexual desire for any member of the opposite or
one's own sex is no sin, whereas raping anyone, even one's wedded
wife, is definitely so. Come to think of it, it's pretty scandalous that of the
world's five major religions, Hinduism, Buddhism, Judaism, Christianity and
Islam, many of whose followers are apt to go on ad nauseam about 'sins' of
little or no significance, not one (as far as I know) has designated raping
one's wife as a prohibited sin. Islam, in particular, seems tacitly to include
the practice among a husband's conjugal rights!
229.
230.
It's a whole year today since my dear mother died, aged about 87. (Greased
lightning is slowness itself compared to the speed of time!) She was a
remarkable woman, possessing a good deal of courage, though of course not
without her failings. She doted on me, and I often think she struggled to live
as long as she did at least partly to provide whatever support she could for
me. A few days before her death, poignantly enough she asked me, 'I'm not going
to die, am I?' What I perhaps find most impressive is that she inspired love
and affection till the very end of her life, which is probably more than can be
said of most octogenarians. Since her death, this life-sustaining planet earth
of ours, along with us earthlings and all our joys and sorrows, has orbited
another time round the blazing white-hot star of the sun. My mother's physical
remains have obviously been carried around too, but her spirit has probably followed
some other trajectory.
231.
How, on occasion, to hurry without spoiling the curry is a fairly
important part of the art of living.
232.
Curious that, while heat and light from the sun are indispensible for the
existence of every form of life on earth, no form of life can exist on the sun
itself.
233.
T.S. Eliot was probably being a bit spiteful when he said (to the effect) that
all politicians were people of tenth-rate abilitites. However, looking round
the international political scene in November 2004, it's quite true that one
sees no one of first-rate calibre, only second-raters and below. Not one of
these 'world leaders' seems to have enough sense, for example, to press the
point that non-proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMDs) is not
enough, and that such weapons should be universally and effectively outlawed,
existing stockpiles being first safely got rid of. What other way is there of
ensuring that we emerge from the horrible shadow of the sudden, widespread and
indiscriminate devastation that WMDs are designed to unleash?
234.
In the last 150 years or so, technological advances in methods and means of
warfare have very regrettably far outstripped people's moral and ethical
notions. According to my moral sense, any indiscriminate military
procedure, e.g. aerial bombardment, that harms or is likely to harm even a
single non-combatant man, woman or child, should be considered a dishonourable,
punishable war-crime. The only scenario in which I can imagine aerial
bombardment to be possibly justified is when non-combatants have been expressly
and adequately warned beforehand to stay well clear of the place intended to be
aerially bombed.
232.
Human beings, evidently unlike animals, can conceive of space and time, and it
is generally considered that everything, i.e. the material universe, exists in
a space-time continuum. But is there also a state of existence outside of or
beyond space and time? Since anything we can conceive of we can also conceive
the opposite of, such a state of existence, infinite and eternal, though
unimaginable is not inconceivable. Couldn't it be that human birth (actually
conception) and death are two points of twofold intersection – of space with
infinity and of time with eternity?
236.
O for some mitigation in my litigation, not signifying capitulation!
237.
Comparing cultures, although not easy, is surely possible. The culture that I
know best is Pakistani culture, from about the mid 1950s to now, 2004. The
changes that this culture has undergone during this half-century, though many
and varied, haven't altered it fundamentally or even very significantly. Fifty
years ago it was and it still remains fairly crude, clumsy and neurotic,
steeped in hypocrisy and corruption. The only other culture I've had a somewhat
extended firsthand experience of is English culture of the late 1960s and early
1970s, my subsequent contact with which has mainly been by means of letters,
books, radio and television. Now, while it may be open to criticism on multiple
counts, such as its undervaluing of spirituality, its over-industrialization
and its trivialism, contemporary English culture, as compared with contemporary
Pakistani culture, does seem to be more developed, more efficient, less
neurotic, less hypocritical and less corrupt.
238.
According to the
239.
It’s been asserted that truth has many faces. True enough; but not true that
falsehood is one of them.
240.
Being the last day of the year 2004 (the first of the rest of my life), let me
unoriginally cast a look back at the sort of year it's been for me. As in
previous years, I've had to struggle pretty much incessantly, partly with my
circumstances, partly with myself. Just getting ends to meet has proved
distressingly difficult. Emotional and moral problems, though, I’ve managed to
just barely adequately deal with. My greatest source of satisfaction over the
course of the year has probably been the release and encapsulation of my
creativity in these Reflections.
241.
242.
How come no one’s applauded the generous donation made to the relief effort in
the tsunami-hit South-East Asian countries by Osama bin Ladin? Has everyone
missed his impressive video, released to the Al-Jazeera t.v. channel, in which,
looking every inch a statesman-cum-sage, and presenting the true, compassionate
face of Islam, he announced his contribution of ten million (or billion) U.S.
dollars for the relief and rehabilitation of the affectees? What, has no such donation been made, nor any such
video aired? Hasn’t Osama bin Ladin even come up with a message castigating
South-East Asians for being infidels and idolaters and hence objects of Allah's
retributive wrath? Well, the gent must really be losing his gentle touch!
243.
I must not skulk or malinger,
but stay the course,
Unless I want to be swamped by future
remorse.
244.
Scientists have just about convinced us that the solar system came into
existence a mere four billion or so years ago, before which there was no sun,
earth or moon, no mornings or evenings, and no earthly form of life. Something
of a challenge to one's imagination, that prospect, and perhaps also something
of a corrective of one's senses of proportion and perspective.
245.
Who’s right and who's wrong, in what measure, in the seemingly intractable
Arab-Israeli conflict in the
246.
In the first instance, a writer is a wordsmith, a worker with words as a
goldsmith is a worker with gold. But a writer is by no means a mere craftsman.
Much more essentially, he or she, by means of the process of using particular
words in particular contexts, is a discoverer of hitherto undiscovered truth.
And that is the true criterion of any writer's worth: whether they have
succeeded in discovering any new and important truths at all, and if so, how
new and important are those truths.
247.
Life is steeped in suffering, and not
only of the physical kind,
But also, even more grievously, of the spirit, heart
and mind.
Honourable and admirable are those,
individuals as well as cultures,
That effective ways of alleviating any form
of distress can find.
248.
Rhyme, and even metre, in verse,
Can
frequently be a pain in the arse!
249.
One of the troubles with agnosticism is that it can (though it need not)
substitute for an evasion of the two issues of God and morality. Buddhistic agnosticism, while addressing the latter of these
issues, seems to evade the former, which may constitute its biggest weakness
and contribute towards its insipidity.
250.
Superstition is contemptible, and so are all those parts of any major or minor
religion that are mainly based on it.
251.
Work is definitely one of the best antidotes of depression. But what do you do
if you're too depressed to work? Well, manage to get started somehow, anyhow,
and a measure of relief will usually follow quickly.
252.
Life would be a very different and far less interesting affair if we did not
have to pay for our mistakes.
253.
The apprehension of death is no joke. It shakes the core of one's being,
challenges the beliefs one has based one's life on, and can make one review all
one's past behaviour.
254.
One of the principal means of access to reality for human beings is language;
hence the importance of using language clearly, sensitively and critically can
hardly be overestimated.
255.
A few days ago, I had the feeling, as opposed to the thought,
that death was going to overtake me. I cannot deny that it scared the shit out
of me, the terror being followed by a clammy sort of depression. But a few
intense days later, I seem to have largely got over the frightening and
frightful feeling. Perhaps a bit like Macbeth who, after confessing that the
news of Macduff's caesarean birth 'hath cowed my better part of man', recovers
sufficiently to declare and demonstrate that he will not yield.
256.
The phrase ‘lusts of the flesh’ is a misnomer for either of two things: (a) the
perfectly natural and legitimate needs of the body, or (b) the fixations,
obsessions or other aberrations of the mind.
257.
The best poetry is fairly wrung out of the poet composing it, almost against
their will. It's only poetasters who set about adorning and embellishing their
verses.
258.
My winter bedding, comprising a thin foam mattress, a hand-stitched quilt
filled with cotton-wool, a pillow and a pair of cotton sheets, and my humble
rubber hot-water bottle: these provide me warmth and solace for a number of
hours each night. I'm convinced these homely objects form part of the
God-mystery, which I come into tactile contact with when I snuggle up against
them.
259.
What lies on the other side of death? Something inestimably and unimaginably
rich and real, I dare say. Can I be more specific? No, I can't. Nor I believe
has any living human being ever been able to, though many have fabricated
claims to the effect.
260.
Poetry written in prose: I think that’s not an unreasonable description of most
of my prose-work. Though, conversely, calling most of my poems prose written in
poetry is also not unreasonable! I feel that at a certain point the distinction
between ‘prose’ and ‘poetry’, apart from strict considerations of form, does
naturally begin to blur. The important thing is the estimation of the value of
what is being said, not really the appreciation of how it’s being said, the
latter indeed being incorporated in the former.
261.
Conceptually, pantheism is not only quite different from monotheism but also
vastly superior to it.
262.
Why do people tell lies, and why haven't any of the religions been more
successful in getting them not to? Most often, people tell lies because they
suffer from the complete misconception that by so doing, they'll make things
easier for themselves. In the event, the exact opposite happens, and things
become more difficult for them. For their part, the various religions have paid
scandalously insufficient attention to telling lies, a practice which is
fundamentally associated with and aggravates every moral ill. Insofar as they
do deign to address the issue, the religions mostly try to deter lying by
considering it sinful and punishable, but the deterrence is largely
ineffective. Far more effective is the realization that while a lie may or may
not harm the person lied to, it always harms the person who lies,
disintegrating and incapacitating them inwardly. People everywhere, especially
in less civilized societies where lying is significantly more widespread, need
to come to this realization.
263.
Is life a tragedy, a farce, a divine comedy or a black comedy? Well, it appears
to contain elements of all those, and more, but which element is predominant
seems to depend largely on whose life it is. To Macbeth, after hearing the news
of Lady Macbeth's death, life seems like the senseless gibberish of an idiot's
tale, and it sometimes feels that way to me too. But I do realize that this is
a subjective and momentaneous appraisal, illustrating what, in certain
circumstances, it is possible for life to be like.
264.
With reference to male sexuality, it's surprising what an instant and
remarkable difference the purely physical process of having an orgasm, even if
triggered by masturbation, makes to one's mental state. I suppose it's
comparable to the difference a hearty meal makes to the mental state of a
starving man.
265.
I have lived in my own way, and when it's time to leave off living, despite
having no control over the attendant circumstances, I hope I'll die essentially
in my own way as well.
266.
What is the true role and position of an artist in society? It's certainly
nowhere as clear-cut or generally agreed
upon as that of, say, an engineer or a civil servant. Yet the work done by
artists is by no means less important to society than that done by engineers,
civil servants or members of any other profession. An artist's work is to
interpret reality, and in proportion to how ably this is done, it warrants due
appreciation for the artist from any society mindful of remaining in touch with
reality.
267.
One should always be mentally prepared to hear the news of the sudden death of
any of one's near and dear ones – and also for one's near and dear ones to hear
similar news of oneself!
268.
I haven't read a word by the British writer C.N. Parkinson (1909 – 1993), but
do admire his insight embodied in 'Parkinson's Law', the notion that work
expands (or contracts) in proportion to the time available for its completion,
which seems to be true not only of bureaucratic but of every kind of work. Just
by virtue of this single insight, C.N. Parkinson could well be considered on
par with his compatriot and namesake of a century-and-a-half earlier, J.
Parkinson (1755 – 1824), the physician and surgeon after whom Parkinson's
Disease or Parkinsonism, the progressive central nervous system disorder, was
named, presumably because he had helped significantly to identify it.
269.
True spontaneity is unfakeable, though of course there's nothing to stop anyone
from trying to fake it.
270.
Death, I won't let you hold my life hostage at any rate!
271.
I'd be dishonest to deny that I'm more honest than most of my compatriots!
272.
What is Jesus dubbed Christ supposed to have done to satisfy his sex urge for
about two decades, between the ages of about fifteen and thirty-five? Did he
just suppress it, did he masturbate occasionally, or did he have no sex urge at
all??? The first of these three possibilities is most likely to have been the
case, that is if Jesus ever existed in the flesh as a single person, in the
first place.
273. Stiff as a board, my dear, stiff as a board
Will you, I, everyone, be, come
death;
So while we're still supple in
body and mind,
Let's make optimum use of this
suppleness,
Flex our physical, mental and
moral muscles,
To ripple with life until our
final breath.
274. 'A riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma'
– I don't know who said this about what, but it could hardly have been said
more aptly about anything than about death. It's a year and a half
today since my dear mother died, and I'm sitting in the sun outside our house
where sometimes, before she became bed-ridden, she used to sit. O the sheer,
headlong passage of time!
275.
276. Before the automaticness of sex kicks
in, intending partners in sexual relations should try to resolve any
differences in perception and any qualms and concerns regarding their likes and
dislikes and the implications and possible ramifications of their proposed
mutual experience.
277. Most instances of victimization are in fact
trade-offs, in which the victim tacitly consents to be victimized in return for
real or perceived benefits.
278. All liars are not lawyers, but all lawyers are
liars – at least that's what my experience of the legal fraternity in
279. If you keep trying not to annoy anyone at all,
you're almost certain to end up annoying just about everyone, to a greater or
lesser extent.
280. Right from early childhood, the sense develops
that life is often a race against time. But after crossing fifty-five, the
sense gathers force that life is now basically a race against death. However,
though the race against death cannot finally be won, it can in a sense be won
'on points' – by not panicking and successively attaining, while one can, the
most important of one's objectives.
281. The privations suffered, adventures encountered
and discoveries made by David Livingstone (1813 – 1873) during the decades he
spent in the wilds of Africa looking for the sources of the Nile, may not have
exceeded my parallel experiences in the decades I've spent trying to discover
the truth about (especially male) homosexuality.
282. I seek a better and closer relationship with the
God-mystery than just being its mouthpiece, the role claimed by Mühummud in
283. The Hindu, Jewish, Christian and Muslim conceptions
of God can and should, to the appropriate respective extent, all be debunked;
but while the antithetical mysteries of infinity versus space and eternity
versus time, not to mention the inexorable enigma of death, stare us in the
face, the notion of divinity itself, which I following Lawrence call the
God-mystery, cannot I find be reasonably dispensed with.
284. I do not care about the dead once
they're dead, but I do care about my relationship with a few of them
even after their death.
285. If one has lived fully and adventurously, dying
may after all turn out to be rather like coming home! There seems to be no
reason why even the most die-hard agnostic should object to this proposition.
286. The strictly impartial neutrality of nature (i.e.
natural phenomena like sunshine and rain) appears to be tempered by the
inscrutable workings of divinity.
287. Fatalism,
as a belief or attitude, is undoubtedly deplorable; nevertheless facing one’s fate, in the sense of
acknowledging the implications of one’s race, parentage, appearance, mental
capabilities, sexual predispositions, cultural background and other such factors
beyond one’s control, is highly admirable.
288. In the aftermath of the bomb attacks on
289. Considering that none of the four New Testament
Gospel-writers even claim to be eye-witnesses of any of the events that they
narrate, it's strange that the phrase 'gospel truth' came to be used in the
meaning of 'absolute truth'. I suppose this usage reflects on the generally
uncritical mind-set of the English people at the time when the phrase gained
currency.
290. Sympathy, empathy and compassion – what is the
precise difference between the three? Sympathy is basically just being in
emotional accord with another person, especially in loss, misfortune or
suffering. Empathy requires identifying oneself mentally with that other person
as well. Compassion is a deeper form of sympathy, as red is a darker shade of
pink. It is more direct and spontaneous than sympathy or empathy and does not
depend on either emotional accord or mental identification with the person or
persons for whom it is felt, but can strangely enough coexist with feelings of
disgust and revulsion for them.
291. It was certainly no coincidence that India got
its Independence from British colonial rule on 14 and 15 August 1947 and simultaneously
broke up into two States – the Muslim-majority Pakistan and the Hindu-majority
(officially secular) India. I find the conclusion inescapable that it was
British breadth of vision and administrative even-handedness that had kept the
Subcontinent unified, largely tolerant and relatively prosperous. What has
followed in the last 58 years has been not so much freedom as a lamentable
free-for-all!
292. For all my brave words of the past, I cannot deny
that currently – having just crossed 56 – I find the prospect of approaching
old age, decrepitude and death distressing and terrifying. The only resource
that I think can help me feel better is the unstinted truth.
293. I confess that I've had rather a rough ride
oscillating reactively between the rational and emotional approaches to life.
As a teenager in
294. The earthquake that struck today,
295. Rather by accident, I got to read Anita Desai's
latest novel The Zigzag Way (2004), and considering the accolades
heaped on the author, was quite disappointed by the book. Its basic flaw seems
to be its insipidity, deriving I think from the lack of an interesting enough
protagonist. Sensitivity of observation, a certain unsentimentality of tone,
and any of the book's other positive features do not collectively compensate
for this basic deficiency. Novelists who aim at distinction should always try
to include at least one really interesting character in each novel they write.
296. There seems to be a qualitative difference
between living bravely and dying bravely. While the latter is admirable enough
and certainly not easy, the former appears to me not only much more admirable
but also far more difficult.
297. Having due regard for the sensitivities of others
is an important measure of one's own sensitivity.
298. It’s remarkable that full two years after my dear
mother's death, she still seems more real to me than most living people around
me. I still miss her quite intensely, though I must admit that that feeling
appears to have got intermixed with the suspicion that I may have let her down
during her lifetime and with the fear of my own death.
299. As a general rule, admissions bring one closer to
reality than assertions.
300. The Islamic month of fasting, Rumzaan, is
supposed to test the patience of Muslims. But living as I do among Muslims
(without sharing most of their beliefs or observances like fasting), I'm
obliged to put up with the distinct deterioration in their general
behaviour, far from exemplary even otherwise, during this month. In this way,
Rumzaan manages to sorely test my patience!
301. At 56, I seem somewhat prematurely to be faced
with the threat of both disintegration and death. Of these two frightening
prospects, the first – disintegration – is the more terrifying, and the one I
must try my utmost to forestall. What with my mild epilepsy, chronic
homosexuality and several other complex problems, I realize that I've never
been especially well-integrated. But I wonder whether, with advancing age,
disintegration will inevitably accelerate, or whether it is possible, with the
right kind of effort, to become better integrated as I grow older. I'd
certainly prefer to make the final exit all in one piece, both physically and
psychologically.
302. Considering that humans have been living and
dying on earth for hundreds of thousands of years, and that during the last
three thousand, numerous religions and philosophies have sought to interpret
life and death, it seems something of a lacuna that nobody has yet proposed a
generally acceptable 'exit strategy' with the help of which people in their
later years can gently prepare themselves for the impending end. Perhaps the
Hindu concept of sunyaas for older people, entailing a detachment from
'worldly' pursuits, can count as such an 'exit strategy'. However, I'd like to
see someone come up with a more comprehensive and more modern blueprint.
303. GOD: In spite of all your pain and suffering, you
must resolutely adhere to the truth.
MAN:
Sitting ensconced in Heaven yourself, it's easy enough for you to say that. If
you were me and actually felt my pain and suffering, then you'd know
what it feels like.
GOD: Forget the fatuous sitting-in-Heaven
concept. If you ponder deeply enough, you'll realize that I am you, in
the most real, intrinsic sense possible.
MAN:
Now that does seem to make better sense.
304. The resolve or even a vow not to repeat a certain
mistake one has made is no reliable guarantee that one won't in fact make that
mistake again. A more effective approach is to delve deeper and try to identify
and dispel the misconception because of which the mistake occurred.
305. The opposite of time is eternity, and that of
space is infinity. Life has two opposites: death and inertia.
306. Traversing the entire length of the valley of the
shadow of one's death can I expect be an adventure too, albeit a rather sombre
one.
307. Strike a blow for life (and against inertia)
whenever and wherever you can. How? Well, by choosing, in any given situation,
the liveliest, vividest option available.
308. Follows some further reflection on the very first
of these Reflections, which termed sex without love or strong
affection a damp squib. Being human, one can often be quite apt to regard even
a damp squib preferable to no sexual fireworks at all. However, in that case,
when one is inclined to indulge in sex that lacks a significant element of
caring, it's important not to dupe oneself into expecting any great enjoyment
or fulfilment. Instead one should expect a rather poor experience during which
one's enjoyment is likely to fizzle out.
309. Something is by no means always better than nothing;
a bad relationship, except if it has the potential for real improvement, is
worse than no relationship.
310. One of the few features of modern Pakistani
culture that I'm in favour of is the availability, unlike in the West, of the
water-closet model with an elongated receptacle that you squat over, not sit
on, while passing a motion. Though not as 'comfortable' as the sit-on model
(hence discouraging taking overly long), and not recommended for those with
very weak leg muscles, I find this squat-over model preferable in many
respects. It doesn't trap the smell, like the other one does, while you're
using it; you can check for any irregularities in your stools more easily; and
you can use both toilet paper and water to wipe and wash your anal area more conveniently,
before flushing everything down. So in effect it's like an inexpensive
w.c.-cum-bidet that sanitary ware manufacturers would do well to introduce in
the generally more hygiene-conscious West.
311. It may be different in the hereafter, but in this
world it's usually not enough that you're right and know that you're right; you
also need the skill, vigour and resolve to effectually fight for your rights.
312. Dying bravely (which does not include suicide)
should be no more than a contingency plan, a last resort; one's primary and
persistent endeavour should be to live bravely.
313. At certain moments, I feel sure that my dear
mother, who died about two years and three months ago, is with me in spirit.
However, I don't pretend to have a clue what being with someone 'in spirit'
might involve or how it may come about, except that it probably has something
to do with love being stronger than death.
314. Warm and snug in my bed on a January night, I can
enjoy and be soothed by the elemental sound of rain falling on the corrugated
tin roof of my house in Abbottabad. Yet at the same time, I can be aware that
the same freezing rain must be causing considerable hardship for many people in
less fortunate circumstances, notably the inadequately sheltered survivors of
last October's massive earthquake, concentrated in an area some 50 to 150 miles
north and east of Abbottabad. Both the soothing enjoyment of the rainfall and
the knowledge of its potential ill-effects can evidently coexist, without
either one negating the other.
315. Strangely enough, the only thing that can
possibly atone for the death of a loved one is the certainty of one's own
death.
316. I have to admit that most of the time (not all),
I feel distinctly compromised by my homosexuality, which may not be
devastatingly terrible, but is surely bad enough to warrant continued earnest
remedial efforts on my part.
317. Commenting dismissively that a person who
subscribes to no religion 'has nothing' is a bit like saying that someone who
neither has a headache nor an ear-ache nor toothache nor a stomach-ache, poor
deprived soul, 'has nothing'!
318. I'm prepared to back the proposition that 'the
kingdom of God is at hand', but with the sense of 'at hand' changed from
'expected imminently' to 'close by, accessible'. Also, I interpret 'the
319. I just can't get over the fact that the living
human body, so acutely sensitive from head to toe, the physical seat of the
mind and intellect, indispensably involved in generating and expressing the
sublimest emotions, turns at death into an inert and insentient corpse, ready
to decompose and disintegrate. The change is so staggeringly complete that it's
natural to think there's more to it than meets the eye. One doesn't and
probably cannot know what that 'more' might be, but at least it seems certain
that death is no less than a profound mystery.
320. I was dry-eyed at the deaths of my father,
brother and mother in 1982, 2001 and 2003 respectively; and I hope I'll remain
dry-eyed as well in the run-up to my own death (perhaps more accurately 'my
body's death'), whenever it happens.
321. Everything, absolutely everything, is God; but
everything is not equally God. A flower is more God than a stone, a
bird more than a flower, a person more than a bird, a good person more than a
scoundrel.
322. You may potentially be the greatest genius of the
age, but unless you learn to properly manage the time at your disposal
(precious little in a normal life-span), your potential will never be fully
realized. Time-management is an indispensable skill, the sooner learnt the
better, whether one is an office-worker, a housewife, an artist, a hermit, or a
follower of any other vocation.
323. The two things that I presently find the most
difficult to come to terms with are my mortality and my homosexuality, which of
the two more so I'm not sure.
324. Little better than criminals in uniform: that,
unfortunately, is my assessment of the Pakistani police in 2006, almost 60
years after the country's
325. Life often seems to me to be too poignant for
words. Or put another way, even the most capable of word-users, i.e. writers
and poets, can only manage in their best work to approach some way towards
illustrating the poignance of life.
326. None of the world's five major religions,
Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam, may actively endorse
telling lies; but neither do any of them lay anything like adequate
stress on always telling the truth, emphasizing instead various sorts of
observances, rituals and 'beliefs'. That's a pretty damning inadequacy in the
case of each of them, in my opinion.
327.
Even though I've been experiencing the onset of the summer monsoon in this part
of the world (south
328. Had I been born in England instead of Pakistan,
of the same parents, equipped with the same genome, my life would certainly
have been quite different, probably less full of suffering, but not necessarily
any richer.
329. Even death does not seem so unfair as
old age, particularly the physical and mental deterioration that old age brings
with it, and the increasing dependence on others that it almost invariably
entails. Is old age the terrible price that one has to pay for having
lived through one's youth and middle age? Or is there substantial reality in
notions such as 'growing old gracefully' and 'living to a ripe old age'?
330. Death is apparently a bridge between the
time-space continuum of material existence on one end and the unimaginable
eternal-infinite dimension on the other. Everyone must sooner or later cross
this bridge, leaving behind their material bodies on the time-space end. Birth,
or rather conception, would seem to be the other inter-dimensional bridge, for
those travelling in the opposite direction, from eternity-infinity to
time-space.
331. In the context of the seemingly intractable
religious divide in the Indian subcontinent: Hinduism and Islam, being so
diametrically opposed, can't both be right, but of course they can both be
wrong – which I think they are, in crucial but different ways. If only
the adherents of both creeds could get over their chronic mutual enmity, bury
the blood-stained hatchet, and concentrate on learning to behave in a
significantly more decent and civilized manner! It doesn't seem likely though
that they will do so any time soon.
332. It appears that I have been unable so far to get
rid of this frightful messianic streak in myself, which makes me especially
prone to being duped through flattery. On the other hand, eschewing the
messianic path does not mean that one should lose all interest in trying to
help people (promising ones at any rate) improve their character and thereby
their behaviour.
333. The Bridge of Death, as envisaged in Reflection
No. 330 above, with time-space on one end of it and eternity-infinity on its
other end, being emotionally the bridge of sighs (including, one should
remember, sighs of relief) – as with sundry more mundane ‘bridges’, I’ll
cross that Bridge when I come to it. No point worrying about it too much
beforehand.
334. Over-sensitivity may be preferable to
under-sensitivity, but it does make life more difficult for those who have it.
Over-sensitive persons tend to overreact to situations and fly off at a tangent
on an untoward course of action. Hence, by way of an antidote, some means
should be adopted to help such persons thicken their skins somewhat, which
admittedly is far easier said than done.
335. As early as about the age of twelve, I was
confronted by the deeply unsettling phenomenon of being sexually attracted to
members of my own sex. I expect to be fifty-seven in about a month’s time. So
for the last forty-five years, longer than the entire lifetime of several
eminent writers, I have been struggling to make some sense of my homosexuality –
with very little success I must admit. In all this time, I’ve managed to form
only two somewhat respectable relationships, and even these have been riddled
with dissatisfactions. I’m prepared to accept that some other gays, especially
in the West, may enjoy satisfying relationships, but in my own
particular case I have to concede that, so far, my overall experience of
homosexuality has been very nearly a wash-out.
336. Suffering and pain, washed away by the rain –
that’s a dream;
Distress
must be faced every step of the way – that’s the reality.
But facing reality, when your pain is making you want to scream,
Is difficult indeed; you need all your
own help, plus that of divinity.
337. Paradoxically, literature that is overly
'literary' is never of the highest quality. The finest literature is simply
written words in which something highly significant has been said that couldn't
have been said in any other words.
338.
What I now perceive to be the biggest single failing of D.H. Lawrence, whom I
nonetheless consider the greatest English writer of the 20th century, is his
own sort of romanticism, which in varying degrees in various parts of
his work adulterates his stringent and sustained realism.
339. It is natural, normal and important to contend
with yourself, no matter what any psychologist or psychiatrist might tell you
to the contrary. However, there is a big difference between contending with
yourself and being at war with yourself, the latter condition of course being
psychologically most unhealthy.
340. Let me get the brunt of my life's-work done; then
I won't mind if life itself is done.
341. After you've got a bird in your hand
comparatively easily, you're apt to discover that those in the bush, trickier
to trap, were the ones you really wanted!
342. Everyone must have seen pictures of body-builders
with rippling biceps and other muscles, but infinitely more impressive, though
harder to recognize immediately, and rarer, are persons with a highly developed
moral musculature.
343. Like necessity is the mother of invention,
morality is the mother of legality; hence persons, including many lawyers and
judges, who have only a rudimentary moral sense can in fact appreciate legal
processes only rudimentarily.
344. If you can learn to face life, look it in the eye
in all its protean complexity, that, and only that, will help you to face death
as well, both life and death being two sides of the same coin of reality.
345. It is quite common in Hindi and Urdu to refer to
God as ooper wala, meaning 'the one above'. I wonder how much of a
semantic and spiritual shift would be involved if, instead of that appellation,
Hindi- and Urdu-speakers employed the phrase under wala, meaning 'the
one within'.
346. I feel more substantially at peace with myself
now – having celebrated my 57th birthday a few days ago – than at any previous
time in my life that I can remember. This, I think, constitutes the
real grounds for celebration.
347.
Deceiving others is of course reprehensible in itself, but additionally and
interestingly, it cannot be done without in some measure deceiving oneself!
348.
Some modern people consider 'character' old-fashioned and irrelevant, but an
'attractive personality' as something desirable. However, 'personality' is
basically a mask one puts on to appear attractive to others, whereas one's
character is what one really is. 'Personality' is an attribute of the ego and
finally leaves one in the lurch; 'character' is what one consistently needs to
work at.
349.
Is it superstitious to believe in divine retribution? Not necessarily, I think.
There is certainly a superstitious, cringing way of believing in divine retribution, but there can also be a
non-superstitious, un-intimidated, keenly critical way of believing in the
phenomenon.
350.
Now at long, long last, I think I am ready (well, just about) to simultaneously
face the 'formidable four', namely the world, myself, divinity, and death.
351.
My beloved beautiful English language – without it the world wouldn’t have been
what it is, nor I what I am.
352. Just dipping into Walt Whitman’s Leaves of
Grass, or even merely scanning through that collection’s Index of the
Poems’ Opening Words, what strikes me immediately is Whitman’s energetic
garrulity.
353. Distant soundless lightning, momentarily lighting
up a corner of the sky, I interpret as Reality winking at me (and other
receptive souls). And rain sounding on my corrugated-tin roof is a message of
ineffable affinity and real solace – another message from, that’s right,
Reality.
354. Anywhere that you can get to only by
devious means is categorically not worth getting to.
355. How well or badly the rest of my life turns out
does not depend on luck or chance or anyone’s pleasure or displeasure. It
depends entirely on how successfully or unsuccessfully I am able to marshal my
physical, mental and spiritual resources in order to meet reality’s demands.
Seems to me that the 57 years of my life already spent, even insofar as they’ve
furnished me with this one insight, have been well-spent.
356. One exception to a certain rule may prove that
rule, but repeated exceptions obviously disprove it.
357. Today,
358. The most exciting book that I’ve acquired in a
long while is by no means the latest best-seller, nor even the work of recent
Nobel or Booker prizewinner, but the new (1996) edition of Palgrave’s Golden
Treasury, first published in 1861. Billed originally as a collection ‘of
the best songs and lyrical poems in the English language’, the 1996 edition
features Books I, II, III & IV selected and arranged by F.T. Palgrave, with
Books V & VI selected by John Press. Despite the two glaring omissions of
John Donne from Book II and William Blake from Book III, the Golden Treasury
is a fair sampling of better, shorter native-English verse over the last four
centuries, for me a treasure trove indeed.
359. Whether or not I’m a reincarnation or one
in a series of reincarnations is a moot point likely to remain
inscrutably moot. However, it seems plainly sensible and logical to believe
that at any rate, like everyone else, I’m an incarnation, i.e. something
other than my body, manifested in and perfectly conjunct with my body,
constitutes my living self.
360. I heard on BBC t.v. recently that the former
British Foreign Secretary Jack Straw had requested that those among his female
Muslim constituents who come to see him may please not cover their faces with
their veils during the interview. Alternatively, he could have said: ‘Well, if
you insist on exercising your right to cover yourselves completely, I’m going
to exercise my right to uncover myself completely.’ Then t.v. channels
worldwide may have flashed pictures of a tête-à-tête between Ms
Holier-than-Thou in her shroud of bogus modesty and a braver Jack Straw in his
birthday suit, discussing (but of course) inter-community relations!
361. Choose one of the four given options (A, B, C or
D) that you believe comes nearest to answering the question ‘What is the
root of all evil?’ A. Money. B. Ignorance. C. Fear. D. Hypocrisy. My considered answer is D.
362. Although I wouldn’t like to hang too much on a
single t.v. interview that I heard more than watched, I must say I was rather
impressed by the former women’s tennis world champion Martina Navrilatova
talking to Rob Bonnet on the BBC programme Extra Time, especially the
upfront way she admitted to being gay. Well served, Martina!
363. I believe that in the last couple of months I’ve
made a remarkable recovery from the moderately severe depression that I’d been suffering
from intermittently for several years, since my only brother’s death on 26th
February 2001, and in some respects since even earlier. So how did I finally
manage to virtually ‘snap out of it’? I think it’s been a case of staying the
course, being as honest and brave as I was capable of being, and eventually
coming through. What a relief!
364. The following is not an original thought, but
adapted from two lines of The Latest Decalogue, a poem by Arthur Hugh
Clough (1819 – 1861). Leaving aside the fact that they do ritually worship
ungraven, mental images, Jews and Muslims admittedly don’t worship graven
images – that is except those on their currency coins. These coiny graven
images, in a very real sense, most Jews and Muslims do worship unashamedly!
365. For myself, I don’t feel the need to follow any
religion at all, holding faith in honesty and decency, and the liberty
to accept instruction and guidance from any source whatsoever, to be quite
enough. However, many if not most other people, especially here in
(1) Adherents may believe in one God or many gods or
be agnostic. However they will need to believe in the difference between
reality and unreality, truth and falsehood.
(2) Ritual observances like prayer, fasting and
meditation will be optional, not compulsory. If an adherent feels that a
certain observance serves to bring them closer to reality they should follow
it, not otherwise.
(3) Good deeds should be opted for and bad deeds
eschewed for their own sake, not to obtain rewards or escape punishment.
(4) Live and
let live.
(5) Ends don’t
justify means.
(6) The three key components of character are honesty,
courage and compassion.
(7) Don’t take
shit from anyone, yourself included.
(8) Judge others objectively on the basis of their
behaviour alone, nothing else.
(9) Don’t fall
prey to superstition of any sort.
(10) The principle of separation of Church and State
must be upheld.
366. Irritatingly, I have still not been able to fully
get rid of my self-consciousness, not in the sense of feeling
embarrassed before other people, but rather in being frequently subject to the
feeling that I’m doing things at one remove, having to be seen by myself to be
doing them, not truly spontaneously. I hope I can find a way of outgrowing this
curious but probably not uncommon disability.
367. If inequity befalls the iniquitous, as it usually
does, they can hardly complain. If you queer someone’s pitch, and someone else
queers yours, well, serves you right!
368. The path of honesty is often a difficult, uphill
one. But I believe a time comes in every honest person’s life when their path
winds downhill, they can relax more, the struggling abates, and they can just,
in the words of the old Simon and Garfunkel song, let their honesty shine,
shine, shine.
369. ‘The American men and women in uniform are plenty
smart and plenty brave, and Senator John Kerry owes them an apology.’ Thus
recently spake George W. Bush Jr., 43rd U.S. President. Point is, Mr Bush is
not nearly smart enough himself to determine anyone else’s smartness or
otherwise! Besides, how many members of the armed forces of all the world’s
countries put together have won Nobel prizes in the last hundred years? And how
come phrases like ‘cannon-fodder’ and ‘tommy-rot’ ever got coined? Senator
Kerry should have had the guts to stand by his quip; that he didn’t points to
the intimidating pressure ‘leaders’ in a democracy are under to play to the
gallery – surely one of the (perhaps comparatively few) demerits of the system.
370. What matters most in life, more than money,
virtue or love, is being fully there, i.e. being fully aware of the
manifold, ever-changing challenges of life and confident that you have a good
chance of meeting these challenges on your own terms.
371. From the moment one is conceived to the moment
one dies, one is affected both positively and negatively by reality; the
purpose of one’s life appears to be to in turn affect reality, but only
positively.
372. I reckon that about three-quarters of my life is
over, and since I honestly believe that essentially I haven’t been beaten yet,
I’m sure that’s the way I’d like to carry on for the remaining quarter as well.
373. It’s a good idea to expect people to be
neurotic, so that when occasionally they are not, one feels pleasantly
surprised and gratified.
374. Perseverance does indeed command success. I
persevered in interpreting life as an adventure as recommended by D.H.
Lawrence, and now at 57, when some people especially here in the East think
that life is all but over, I find my life to be almost 100% adventure,
physically, mentally and spiritually!
375. The self-important blather that comes out of the
mouths of politicians – all politicians, especially in the higher,
international echelons! Much of this blather purports to be in connection with
various sorts of ‘political solutions’ (as opposed avowedly to ‘military
solutions’) to problems of religious, ideological, ethnic or cultural conflict
such as in
376. If life, after a thorough run-in with it, turns
out in many ways to be so deeply comical, death too must after all be a bit of
a joke!
377. Over three years after my dear mother’s death, I
still have a relationship with her, in a possibly somewhat arcane but by
no means spurious sense of the word. How’s that as a source for ‘intimations
of immortality’?
378. I hope it’s not prompted by the manic phase of
bipolar disorder (a.k.a. manic-depression), but lately I’ve sometimes felt that
my cup too runneth over – and in a jolly not messy way at that!
379. I don’t want to hold forth on the merits of
aristocracy as compared with democracy, but I do know that for the last about
seven-and-a-half years I’ve had a properly functional relationship with my
manservant Humayoon. I need him to do my housework, etc., and he appears to
need the job. He tries to work diligently and well, with commendable foresight;
and, on the other hand, when he suffered a heart attack on
380. I’m surprised and fascinated by the way our pet
kitten Billo (who adopted us rather than the other way round) evinces affection
for human beings. Not only does she rub her sides and head against my legs and
feet but she also gives playful innocuous little bites to my fingers with her
needle-sharp teeth! Being a cuddly little creature with somewhat unusual bicolour fur (dark grey on her head, back and tail, white on
her breast and legs), I find my affection for her more understandable than her
apparent affection for me.
381. The other day I gained
some quite fortuitous insight into the ‘mind’ of a potential terrorist / suicide
bomber! The man had come to me about eight months ago for counselling, so
professional confidentiality prevents me from revealing his name, but for the
sake of narrative convenience I’ll call him Farook. About 40-year-old Farook
comes from somewhere near Nowshera but is employed as a driver with a
government department in Abbottabad. He relates that somewhat over two years
ago he went to the Psychiatry Department of the local Ayub Hospital Complex to
get treatment mainly for depression. There a certain Dr Y. K. prescribed a high
dose of the anti-psychotic drug Melleril for him, which resulted in two
several-hour-long episodes of priapism (continuous erection). To relieve him of
the painful condition, surgery was resorted to, which has left him permanently
impotent. He is suing Dr Y. K. for damages, a course that I wholly approve of.
Farook mentioned to me a few days ago that if he didn’t obtain justice from the
Pakistani courts, he’d carry out a suicide attack – against whom and for what
he didn’t specify and obviously doesn’t consider relevant! Bush, Blair,
Musharraf, et al. might profitably reconsider their notions regarding the
causes of terrorism.
382. When I look at our
little cat Billo peacefully asleep in her box, legs to one side, diaphragm rising
and falling rhythmically, I’m as sure as Moses, Jesus or Muhummad ever were
that I’m looking at a part and parcel of God. And when I stroke Billo’s fur and
she licks my fingers with her flicky, slightly snake-like tongue, I feel surer
than I think the afore-mentioned worthies ever did that I’m touching and being
touched by the god-mystery.
383. One of the things that
I detest thoroughly is victimhood, the mentality that self-pityingly wallows in
being the target of others’ persecution.
384. How right
385. The only thing better
than being honest is being more stringently honest.
386. People should make no
mistake about it: being highly neurotic means
being a fair bit out of your mind.
387. Why is it better to
die honourably than to live dishonourably? Well, because dishonourable life is
not life at all, but a debased travesty of it.
388. Is the greatest need
of our times to find a new way to God, all the old ways, represented by the
various existing religions, having been sufficiently discredited? If you equate
God with reality, that does arguably seem to be the case, i.e. that the world
most importantly needs a comprehensive new interpretation of reality to be
discovered. And will that be the same as a new way to God? Essentially yes. For
me, the new way to interpret God has been as mystery, not as Deity/deities,
though the latter as manifestation(s) of the divine mystery, if shorn of
superstitious claptrap, is/are also acceptable.
389. Procrastination has
been aptly called ‘the middle sin’, lying elusively between sins of commission
and those of omission. Some people tend to procrastinate more than others, and
there seems to be a definite genetic factor involved in the psychogenesis of
the habit. When particularly pronounced, procrastination can be regarded as a
character flaw, onerous to overcome. How might one try to overcome it at that
stage? Well, as with other character flaws, you need firstly to own up to its
existence and extent and secondly to face up to its ill-effects. Once you
realize how insidiously and effectively procrastination is robbing your precious
time, you’ll be inclined to cast about for ways and means, which can include
introspection, counselling and even prayer, to curtail and contain the
self-depredation.
390.
Among the indicators of any society’s level of civilization, more significant
than the tallness of its buildings or the advancement of its technology or even
its store of holy and unholy books, is the kind of treatment accorded to
animals by members of that society. Societies in which cruel and callous
treatment of animals is endemic, where SPCAs are non-existent or
non-functional, whatever the cultural pretensions of such societies, they
should be adjudged to be sunk in savagery.
391. Says the narrator of
Iris Murdoch’s novel A Word Child:
‘How rarely can happiness be really innocent and not triumphant, not an insult
to the deprived. How offensive it can be, the natural instinctive showing off
of decent happy people.’ How true this quote appears at first read. What is
lacking in it, however, is the further insight that decent happy people, if
sufficiently sensitive as well, will choose not to flaunt their happiness, but
will make an effort whereby those deprived can somehow also have a sense of
sharing in it.
392. Male homosexual desire
is always spontaneous and can be extremely intense. But whether it is indulged
in or whether it is not, it doesn’t
usually last very long. Could this last-mentioned of its characteristics, i.e.
its ephemeralness, provide a chink of a clue to gaining control over it for
those distressed by being defencelessly prone to it? As opposed to both its suppression and its headlong
gratification, can the deferment in
fulfilment of male homosexual desire be considered a viable, sensible option?
Perhaps so, as long as the tactic has been thought through and its outcome is
justly monitored, not simply as a way
of avoiding to face the problem.
393. What will it be like,
that final plunge from life into death, or from life through death into
something else? Of course most diers (unlike divers) probably never take that plunge, but just drop over or
are swept over the edge. I think I’d prefer to dive, not suicidally but
decisively, if that’s possible – one last deep breath, then with the lungs
still full, a quick clean dive into the unknown!
394. Asperger’s Syndrome has
been described as ‘a dash of autism’. And I seem to have a dash of Asperger’s
Syndrome. That’s enough to warrant my seeking appropriate therapy for it – but
with a dash of common sense, dash it!
395. A uniquely romantic
yet compelling notion of the Sufis is that which regards death as reunion with
one’s mehboob-e-hakeeki, one’s true
or ultimate beloved, i.e. God. Taken to its logical conclusion, the moment of
death could then be regarded as not so much cataclysmic as orgasmic! Well, and why not? Makes it seem all the more worth
looking forward to!
396. I believe in calling a
spade a spade, or at least a shovel, but certainly not a teaspoon. Similarly, I
believe in calling a bitch a bitch, even if the woman in question may happen to
be one’s own mother, sister, wife or daughter, living or deceased.
397. Should ‘God’ be
interpreted as an overwhelming but incomprehensible force? Well, not as a
force, but rather as the sum and resultant of all forces.
398. The word ‘mahatma’ is
made up of two Sanskrit/Hindi words, ‘maha’ meaning ‘great’ and ‘atma’ meaning
‘spirit’ or ‘soul’; so literally it means ‘spiritually great’ or ‘great soul’,
an interesting concept somewhat different and more inward than the blander
English ‘great person’, closer in connotation to but less sanctimonious than
‘saint’. In the categorization ‘some people are born great, some achieve
greatness, and some have greatness thrust on them’, the third sort of great
person, whom circumstances push into prominence, can by no means qualify to be called
a mahatma. As an exalted title, it is popularly prefixed to the names of only
two persons, Gautama Buddha and M.K. Gandhi, not quite warrantedly in the
latter case in my opinion. I think that the British administrators who outlawed
suttee and thuggee in
399. The excitement of life
is perfectly matched only by the peacefulness of death, and the two I dare say
are not contradictory but complementary.
400. It behoves good people to keep on doing good, whatever the odds,
without becoming do-gooders.
401. A little gem from Urdu
poetry, a well-known couplet by Meer Tuki Meer (1722 – 1810), in
transliteration:
subha hoti hai shaam hoti hai
umr yoonhi tumaam hoti hai
– translated by me as
under:
Night follows day of
course;
So life runs out its
course.
402. Another Urdu couplet,
somewhat similar in tone to the above, arguably the best one written by
Ibraheem Zauq (1790 – 1854):
Transliteration:
la'ee huyaat aa'ay, kuza lay chuli chulay
upni khushi na aa'ay na upni khushi chulay
My translation:
Life brings us here and we come; we go
when death takes us away.
In neither our coming nor our going have
we ourselves a say.
403. Some comments on the
following famous line, ending a poem by Robert Browning (1812 – 1889):
God’s in His Heaven, all’s right with
the world.
The God that’s comfortably
ensconced in His exclusive Heaven leaves me
uncomfortable and unbelieving. I can’t believe in a heaven of which the world
is not an integral part. By comparison, Don Ramon’s assertion in
404. The Seventh of The Ten Commandments, ‘Thou shalt not
commit adultery’, implies the prior injunction ‘Thou shalt marry’, which I find
a bit impertinent in the first place. Adultery may work havoc in a marriage,
but it’s the terms of that marriage,
including any fidelity vows, and subsequent cheating
on those terms, that’s likely to be basically responsible for the havoc. (It’s
not very widely known that a 1631 edition of the Bible, subsequently dubbed ‘wicked
Bible’, misprinted the 7th Commandment as ‘Thou shalt commit adultery’. Strikes
me that the prescriptive value of the misprinted version, as significantly
influencing practical behaviour,
could only have been somewhat more non-existent than that of the original
pontification!)
405. Consider if there is
any difference between the following two questions: (1) Does God exist? (2)
Does anything exist? In my view, there’s no significant difference between the
two, and I’m prepared to admit an affirmative answer to the first only insofar
that I can’t accept a negative answer to the second.
406. Life’s intrinsically
so exceedingly, inexorably difficult, I’m hardly surprised that suicide bombers
and suchlike choose to face death-dressed-as-martyrdom instead.
407. I like to think that I
have lived fairly bravely, so it would be a great pity if I were to die less
than fairly bravely, i.e. without a proper fight.
408. I have a hunch that
one of the reasons for the pre-eminence of English among world languages is the
facility with which adverbs in it are formed, usually with just the addition of
‘ly’. This process happens easily, quickly, deftly, uncomplicatedly,
transparently, satisfactorily, interestingly, felicitously, smoothly – almost
invariably!
409. I criticized the
Seventh Commandment in No. 404 above for being prescriptively somewhat obtuse
and irrelevant, but I take much stronger exception to the following words of
the Second Commandment:
‘Thou shalt not bow down
thyself to them [idols], nor serve them: for I the Lord thy God am a jealous
God, visiting the iniquity of the fathers
upon the children unto the third and fourth
generation of them that hate me. (King James Version)
Or: ‘You shall not bow down
to them [idols] or worship them; for I, the Lord your God, am a jealous god. I punish the children for the sins of the
fathers to the third and fourth generations
of those who hate me.’ (New English Bible)
These words must surely
have been concocted by some ideologue-rabbi or suchlike of the first millennium
B.C. and put into God’s mouth, to the appropriately intimidating accompaniment
of thunder, lightning and billowing smoke on
410. It’s impossible to
present a single couplet as being representative of the manifold genius of the
greatest Urdu poet, Mirza Ghalib (1797 – 1869), but were I to attempt the
impossible, I might select the following:
Transliteration:
runj say khoogur hua insaan to mit jata hai runj
mushkilain mujh purr purreen itni ke aasaan ho gu'een
My translation:
Once one is used to distress,
distress does disappear:
So many hardships befell me, they became easy
to bear!
411. As one grows older,
one should logically become braver and braver, since one has less and less of
one’s lifetime left to lose! But, judging by the number of lies older people
tell, at least here in
412.
My only brother, who died aged 57 exactly six years ago on 26 February 2001, was
six years two months and eleven days older than me. Supposing my life-span were
to be exactly as long as his, that would give me two months and eleven days (70
days) more to live, i.e. until
413. ‘Death before dishonour’ is no empty rant for me; it signifies the decisive
notching of priorities.
414. On a friend’s
recommendation I recently read Philip Larkin’s poem Aubade (which perhaps might somewhat less pretentiously have been
titled Pre-dawn Fears). It’s a fairly
good poem, precise, unsentimental, one that sticks to the point, while
featuring the rather intricate rhyme-scheme ab, ab, ccd, eed.
However, I think it trips badly in the fourth stanza when it declares:
Courage is no good:
It means not scaring others.
Being brave
Lets no one off the grave.
Death is no different whined
at than withstood.
Even if courage in this
context just means not scaring others, it still is good; but I’m sure it means much more. Being cowardly lets no
one off the grave either, so one may as well be brave. And the last assertion
in the quote above is almost as far from the truth as saying ‘life is no
different whined about than faced’.
415. Some consolation for
the paucity of judicial justice available in a cultural and legal backwater
like
416. I recently watched on
BBC t.v. part of a ‘Doha Debate’, moderated by the redoubtable Tim Sebastian,
in which the topic was whether the face-veil (worn by some Muslim women) is a
barrier to integration with the West. More importantly than that consideration,
however, the coy device is surely a barrier for the wearer to integration with
herself.
417. Most ‘deadlines’ can
be pushed back a bit or more but not, my dears, the last and literal one!
418. Professionally, one
should ideally be able to avoid both drudgery and dishonesty, but if in life’s
frequently unideal situations one has to choose between the two, then the
former is infinitely preferable to the latter.
419. Three months or so
ago, in the considerably cold mid-winter of Abbottabad, northern Pakistan, I
was thrilled to hear on the radio early one morning a song sung by the
legendary Indian singer K.L. Saigal (died 1947), that I hadn’t heard before.
The part of the song that thrilled me was the rather strangely tuneful refrain,
of which the words were: huzaar shukr kay daikhain gay phir buhaar kay din, translatable as: So thankfully glad am I
I’ll see again the days of spring! For much of that day, that singular refrain
haunted me, and like Wordsworth, ‘The music in my heart I bore, / Long after it
was heard no more.’ And now that spring has arrived in Abbottabad (possibly
hurried on by ‘global warming’!), the words of that refrain resonate in my mind
again, slightly altered to: huzaar shukr
kay daikhain hain phir buhaar kay din, in translation: So thankfully glad am
I I’ve seen again the days of spring!
420. Section 420 of the
421. I verily believe that,
expressive archaisms included, I’m able to do some good writing work. What my
work is worth in money-terms (nothing at present), is quite a different matter.
422. Just being brave is
not enough; life is really no good unless one is brave enough. But how
brave is brave enough? Certainly not short of valiant, I’d say, under no
circumstances being afraid of telling the truth.
423.
424. I charge you, death, to stay away awhile yet,
I’ve
certain weighty responsibilities to fulfil;
When
those demands on my spirit, in the flesh I have met,
I’ll
all too gladly follow you wheresoever
you will.
425. At times, life seems
little more than an endurance test, which I think it is, in variable measure, for everyone. The variability in the
measure of the stresses and strains that different people are subject to,
however, suggests the possibility of some reduction in stress-level by means of
better rather than worse sorts of voluntary action.
426. Language is pretty
much the key to human life. If Stephen Hawking’s disability had deprived him of
language, as it nearly did, he would never have achieved anything like the
remarkable success he has managed to attain through his lectures and books.
427. I don’t know why it
seems significant to me that today,
428. It’s best to
investigate the past conscientiously, plan realistically for the future, but
live committedly in the present.
429. On the one hand, I
feel attracted by the peacefulness and restfulness of death, by the possibility
however incomprehensible of meeting again my deceased father, mother and
brother (not to mention meeting historical personages like Mühummud and
Shakespeare), and by the prospect of discovering ultimate truths beyond the
reach of any living person. On the other hand, I still have some stomach for
the excitement and restlessness of life, for fulfilling my responsibilities
towards those who depend on me in any way, and for approaching truth and
reality to the best of my existing abilities. Being 57, I suppose I can expect
this see-saw between attraction to death and attachment to life to continue for
the foreseeable future.
430.
Words are words, basically of two varieties, spoken and written. Written words, wheresoever they appear, whether in the ‘scriptures’ of any
religion, or a love-letter, or a book of jokes, or a legal document, or in any
other form, are liable to be interpreted according to the same stringent
standards of scrutiny and criticism. To determine the relative truth of any
piece of writing, any consideration of its source, even if held to be divine,
is putting the cart before the horse. It’s only the words themselves which
constitute that piece of writing that are capable, upon critical appraisal, of
yielding all the possible information regarding its truth and wisdom.
431. Possibly the most
difficult thing in life is to contend with yourself in order to bring about a
real change in your character.
432. Whatever other
overwhelming force may defeat you, try not to be defeated at least by your own
defeatism.
433. There seems to be
considerable, even crucial, difference between conceiving God as a deity (or
deities) and conceiving God as mystery and reality. The former conception is
basically idolatrous, even if a mental rather than material image is formed of
the deity, as in Judaism and Islam. It’s only the latter conception, which
dispenses with deification altogether, whether single, multiple, mental or
material, and instead regards God as the sum total of both known and unknown
reality, that can truly claim to be non-idolatrous.
434. For some reason, it’s
my body in its nude rather than clothed state, its clever but rather forlorn
functionality fully visible, that evokes more forcefully the poignance of its perishability.
435. Socrates, who lived
almost two-and-a-half thousand years ago, has been called ‘a citizen of the
world’; yet no one living today can claim to have citizenship status even
remotely approaching that ideal. Dual nationality is a rare facility, often
unavailable to those who need and deserve it most. In the South Asian subcontinent,
sixty years after the possibly inevitable catastrophe of its Partition into
436. I want to bring on
record my distaste and disapproval of the practice current in Pakistan and
other Islamic countries of broadcasting the uzaan (call to
prayer) from mosques with the help of
loudspeakers five times a day. Were the uzaan
called out from the tops of minarets without being mechanically amplified, as
was the case for about the first 1300 years after the advent of Islam, I
wouldn’t mind. Its mechanical amplification turns the prayer-call from an
invitation into an arrogation.
437. It’s the fourth day
today (
438. This morning (Monday 9
July 2007), I was feeling quite upset about our pet cat Billoo’s disappearance
since last Wednesday night, and was brooding rather bitterly around the notions
of fate’s malignancy and the God-mystery’s hard-heartedness, when our servant
Humayoon, to my and my sister’s delight, brought the cat back! Billoo had
bruises in five or six places on his body, which probably a bigger cat had
inflicted, but otherwise looked about all right. He may disappear again of
course (or succumb to infection from his bruises); but for now I feel
considerably more reconciled with divinity and destiny than when the day began.
439. The ‘rewind’ and ‘fast
forward’ buttons on the tape-recorders that made their appearance in the 1950s
and 60s, and on their lineal descendants like video cassette players that
became popular in the 1980s, by their mode of operation suggest a new sort of
cogitative direction. Likening time to a video cassette, if one could ‘rewind’
it to a hundred years ago, one could witness the scene on earth in 1907, seven
years prior to the outbreak of World War I. But think of the scenes to be
witnessed if time were to be ‘rewound’ successively to a thousand years ago (Mahmood
Ghuznavi launching his raids on India); to ten thousand years ago (the
beginnings of human civilization in Mesopotamia and elsewhere); to a hundred
thousand years ago (the supposed emergence of Homo sapiens); to a million years ago (the ice ages?); to a billion
years ago (earliest marine life?); to a trillion years ago (well before the
alleged Big Bang); to a trillion raised to the power of trillion years ago (something interesting
going on no doubt). Now imagine the scenes if time were ‘fast-forwarded’
successively to a hundred years hence (almost everyone living today probably
having died); to a thousand years hence (different political and ethical
systems probably in place); to a million years hence (significant
climatic/tectonic changes having taken place?); to a billion years hence (new
life-forms having evolved?); to a trillion years hence (other Big or Bigger
Bangs having occurred?); to a trillion to the power of trillion years hence
(some new and interesting goings-on surely!) However, while such cogitation is
possible regarding time and the time-bound material universe, one cannot, even
in thought, ‘rewind’ or ‘fast-forward’ the barely conceivable parallel reality
of eternity.
440. If an action is both
immoral and illegal, don’t do it; if it’s immoral but not illegal, even then
don’t do it; if it’s illegal but not immoral, you may or may not do it, using
your best discretion.
441. Words are far more important
to me than money, and my vocabulary than any bank account.
442. Speaking comparatively and
generally, it must be admitted that a significantly smaller proportion of
homosexuals than heterosexuals can be said to have a stable character. Nor can
this difference be mainly attributed to the far greater degree of social
prejudice that homosexuals undoubtedly have to face, but probably to the
pressure of the unremitting conflict that usually goes on within their own
minds.
443. There’s real spirituality,
and there’s bogus spirituality; institutionalized spirituality is almost always
bogus.
444. True compassion wells up
spontaneously, in a person capable of feeling it, not because of anything but
in spite of everything.
445. The flowers that probably
move me most of all are the mauve hibiscus, which bloom plentifully in late
summer on wild and cultivated shrubs that abound in the Abbottabad valley in
northern
Eve, in
her happy moments,
Put
hibiscus in her hair,
Before she humbled herself, and knocked her knees with repentance.
And rosy-red hibiscus wincingly
Unfolding all her coiled and lovely self
In a doubtful world.
The red variety of hibiscus is also quite commonly found in
446. Unless you’d rather die than lie, in at least 99% of all situations,
you can’t really be accounted an honest person.
447. Half a line
from an old Indian film-song: ‘doorr hua
ghum ka nusha . . .’, translatable as ‘Sorrow’s intoxication has subsided .
. .’ Sorrow and suffering, too, can sometimes act like intoxicants and tend to
become addictive.
448. As attributes of life, affection and love evidently appeared much later than sex in the evolutionary time-scale. Insects have sex, but don’t show much trace of affection, which can be properly noticed only in vertebrates, increasingly so through their five classes from fish to mammals.
449. Being at
death’s door shouldn’t be so bad if death itself is the doorway to eternity.
450. Different
psychological phenomena can of course overlap and merge. Even so, in a bid to
accurately identify the clearly unclear psychogenesis of human homosexuality,
I’m listing below some of the various explanations commonly advanced, before
indicating which one I consider closest to the truth:
(a) Perversion,
(b) Inversion – whatever that means, (c) Normal variant behaviour, (d) Lust, (e) Genetic predisposition, (f) Habituation,
(g) Fixation, (h) Cultural influence, (i)
Familial effect, and (j) Reparation – an attempt to make up for the lack of
something.
Of these options,
while freely admitting the probability of their overlap, I consider (g) –
fixation – the truest single explanation of homosexuality. Any psychologist,
artist, scientist or other person who can suggest viable ways and means to
unfix the fixation most homosexuals find impossible to escape, will be doing a
great service not only to homosexuals but to humanity at large.
451. Missing my dear mother on her fourth death anniversary (26 October 2007), I’d like to translate into English the Urdu/Hindi words of an old Indian film-song, the audio-cassette of which I used to play repeatedly at the tail-end of my weekend visit from Islamabad to my mother’s house in Abbottabad from about 1977 to 2001, in some ways the best years of my life. I don’t know who wrote the lyric, but it’s been set to music beautifully, and sung beautifully by Lata Mangeshkar.
jaana na dil say doorr aankhon say doorr ja kay
naazuk bohut hai daikho dil ho na ghum say choorr
furkut kay runj sehna aur moonh say kuchh na kehna
bichhray hain aaj hum tum milna hai phirr zuroorr
ulfut ko tum nibhana mujh say na rootth jaana
zaalim hai yaih zamana dil to hai baykusoorr
jaana na dil say doorr aankhon say doorr ja kay
Translation:
Don’t depart from my heart when you
depart from my sight!
Delicate indeed is one’s heart, don’t
let it shatter with sorrow.
Endure separation’s pangs, but never
say a word;
We two have parted today, we’ll meet
again for sure.
Abide by love steadfastly, don’t be
cross with me;
Whereas the times are cruel, the
heart itself is blameless.
Don’t depart from my heart when you depart from my sight
Not
being Shakespeare (or Ghalib), nevertheless some of the words of this song,
especially the refrain and fourth line above, and more especially the music of
the original, I’m sure I’ll bear in my heart until it’s time to depart from my
own sight – if not even longer.
452.
If you can consistently feel nearly sure that you are exercising your best
available option, you can’t do much better than that in life.
453.
Death is quite as mysterious as it is inevitable.
454.
We appear to hurtle out of eternity at conception, tumble into the world at
birth, subsist for a while in the space-time continuum, before plunging back
into eternity at death.
455.
In one respect,
456.
About three months ago, I learnt with a mild to moderate degree of shock that a
former sex-partner of mine had died of a heart-attack some three years before.
He and I had a somewhat protracted, purely physical relationship, comprising a
number of sporadic episodes, from 1972 to about 1982, though a measure of
mutual attraction lasted even after that. Even the last time I met him, which
can’t have been very long before his death, the possibility of engaging in sex
(of sorts) with him again was, both excitingly and disturbingly, not entirely
out of the question. Now it is. That ample dick and those firm buttocks of his
must have long since dissolved into humus; while his spirit may be ‘watching’
me as I write these words, wanting only the truth to be told, the dead
presumably having as little use for lies as for clothes.
457.
Hard to beat in succinctness is the four-word Hindi/Urdu proverb kurr bhula ho bhula, translatable a little less concisely as: Do good, good
will happen. Remarkably, the proverb conceives the ‘happening of good’ not as
the motivation for or trade-off with ‘doing good’, but as its natural
consequence.
458.
Translating the words of one language into those of another language is not
very difficult; it’s the transubstantiation of the idiom that is more
problematic. Below are the three couplets of a popular old Indian film-song
sung by Talat Mehmood. They constitute a short ghuzul, a verse-form comprising a number of self-contained couplets,
held together principally by the rhyme-scheme aa, ba, ca, da,
etc. From my translation, some sense may be had of the lovely musicality and
peculiar idiom of the original.
Transliteration:
jo khushi say chote kha'ay vo
jigurr kuhaan say la'oon
kissi aurr ko jo daikhay vo nuzurr kuhaan say la'oon
mujhay tairi aarrzoo hai mairay dil mayn too hee too hai
bussay ghair jis mayn aa kay mayn vo ghurr kuhaan say la'oon
tairi bayrukhi kay sudkay tairi hurr udaa pay kurbaan
kurray aur ko jo sujday mayn vo surr kuhaan say
la'oon
Translation:
As will gladly endure a hurt, such a
heart* where can I find?
That will light on someone else, such
a gaze where can I find?
My desire is for you, in my heart are
you and only you;
Which a stranger may inhabit, such a
home where can I find?
I’m enamoured of your indifference, I
dote on your affectations;
That
will bow to worship another, such a head where can I find?
* Literally
‘liver’, both the heart and the liver being regarded as seats of the emotions,
hence interchangeable in this context.
459.
On the ‘interactive’ website of A Jihad
for Love, Parvez Sharma’s documentary film about Islam and homosexuality, I
came across the following quote, sent in by someone by way of a negative
comment, purportedly the translation of a hudees,
a saying of Islam’s Prophet Mühummud: ‘When one homosexual mounts another, the
Throne of Allah shakes.’ Well, I never! Some observations regarding the quote:
(1)
Especially without unimpeachable authentication of each link in the chain of
transmission, it can’t be confirmed whether the words of this hudees (as of most others) were ever
spoken by Mühummud, or were fabricated later.
(2)
The concept of God sitting on a throne, albeit shared by many adherents of
other religions besides Islam, is decidedly puerile; the notion of a rickety throne may not make it much
worse, but certainly doesn’t make it better.
(3)
The rather vividly salacious wording of the purported hudees, as of its more acrobatically improbable variant, also on
Sharma’s blog, that proclaims, ‘When two homosexuals mount each other, the
Throne of Allah shakes’, suggests to me that whoever coined the quote probably
felt quite shaken up inwardly and possibly somewhat roused by the phantasy
conjured by the words, proceeding then to project his own trepidation on to
‘Allah’s Throne’!
460.
Many people crave fame, and to be honest I sometimes do too. On the other hand,
anonymity has certain distinct advantages. For one, I feel freer to act and
refrain from action than I probably would in the limelight. For another, in my
present circumstances, anonymity provides about my best safeguard from being
targeted by religious maniacs taking offence at, among other things, some of
these Reflections.
461. Life is full of needs,
of gratification when these needs are fulfilled, and of distress when they’re
not; death seems to be totally devoid of needs, gratification or distress.
462.
Whereas many if not most people accept that a person’s spirit separates from
their body when they die, the same is not generally held to be true of animals,
which are usually regarded as not having a spirit. I dispute that. One of my
two cats, an affectionate and extremely playful kitten only about four months
old called Minky, died rather suddenly last month (December 2007). Though she
couldn’t tell me, she evidently suffered acutely during her last two or three
hours, which distressed me considerably to watch. I’m sure that when she died
something separated from her little body, which we buried soon afterwards in
the raised flower-bed outside my bedroom window. It doesn’t matter much whether
the ‘something’ that separated from Minky’s body at her death is called her
‘spirit’ or not (it may as well). For me it’s a non-material, objective,
invocable reality. It may undergo reincarnation as another kitten and hurry
back to me and my other cat, Doomoo; or it may not do anything of the sort.
However, no dispensation of the hereafter will be fully acceptable to me, which
doesn’t account for my little Minky.
463.
I mustn’t go under yet: for the sake of my work, my sister, my friends, my two
domestic employees, my pet cat, and myself – in that descending order of
importance it seems to me.
464. Conflicts appear to
have had a greater role in forming my character and personality than is the
case with most other people. The four main kinds of conflict that have beset me
since childhood have been familial, religious, cultural and sexual. The
generally hostile and acrimonious relationship between my parents was a
divisive influence that probably aggravated if not generated my ‘dash of
autism’. Religiously, even though I was born in
465.
Discouragement, defeatism and self-pity are the trio of sentiments that I
reckon I presently most need to safeguard myself from.
466.
A concept that I think I’d like to see promoted in all societies worldwide:
secular sainthood, i.e. the status of a numerically tiny minority of
individuals, imbued with faith but eschewing religion, possessing to a far
greater degree than the average person the qualities of honesty, courage and
compassion.
467.
In a talk, From the Big Bang to Galaxies,
given at Selwyn College Cambridge in March 2006, Dr Keith Grainge, presumably
an astrophysicist, expatiated: ‘The Sun itself is one of several hundred
billion stars which make up the Milky Way galaxy. . . Beautiful images from the
Hubble Space Telescope show such galaxies [in addition to the Milky Way] lying
up to ten billion light years from us and allow us to estimate that there are
over one hundred billion individual galaxies in our observable Universe.’ Well,
among the questions that arise are:
(1) Do the images from the Hubble Space Telescope
show us galaxies lying up to ten
billion light years from us, but no further
than that, because that’s the limit of the Hubble Telescope’s range, or because
beyond that distance there are no more galaxies to be seen? Probably the
former.
(2) If it’s possible to estimate that there are over one hundred billion individual
galaxies in our observable universe, isn’t it also possible to estimate under how many billions or trillions of
observable galaxies there are? Estimates are generally more useful if they
indicate both a lower and an upper limit.
(3) What about the possible dimensions of the
universe lying beyond the scope of our present means of observation? Is there
any reason to believe that the as yet unobservable universe couldn’t be as many
times more extensive than the observable universe as the observable universe is
than a single subatomic particle? Surely a case of the more we come to know the
clearer it becomes how much we don’t know!
468.
Like sophisticated telescopes seek to probe the material universe by transmitting images from outer space, we also
need competent spiritual telescopes to probe the non-material universe by picking up signals from inner space.
469.
Many people who are brought up under the influence of one or another of the
world’s major religions develop a sense that God is watching whatever they do.
There’s nothing particularly wrong with this sense, except that I don’t think
it impels the person having it towards significantly better behaviour. What
does make a difference, however, is that breakthrough in your spiritual
development (which I believe occurred for me around age thirty) when the sense
that God is watching you is displaced by the sense that you are watching God.
470.
A fundamental flaw that is common to four of the world’s five major religions,
namely Judaism, Christianity, Islam and Hinduism, and also to Sikhism and Bahai’ism:
God is conceived of as a deity / deities.
In both its monotheistic and polytheistic forms, this is a basic misconception
which inevitably leads to mental or material idolatry. How can one transcend
the injurious and divisive misconception of God as deity? My recommendation is
by espousing the pantheistic conception of God as everything, as reality,
perceivable all around through all one’s senses, with the word ‘God’ itself
being regarded as only one of several serviceable substitutes.
471. All autistic persons
are by no means artistic, but most artistic persons I suspect are in some
slight measure autistic.
472. A rather telling remark I heard recently in the
ramshackle compound of the local ‘old’ revenue department (in Abbottabad,
Pakistan), regarding the pre-1947 British rulers: 'vo chullay gu'ay aur hum ko chhorr gu'ay numaazain purrhunain kay liay’
– in English: ‘They went away, and left us to get on with our numaazes!’,
numaazes being the prescribed five daily ritualistic Islamic prayers, each
preceded by ritualistic ablutions. This sort of self-ironic nostalgia for the
British Raj even now, six decades on, is neither very uncommon in
473. The Bhuttos of
474. It’s important to differentiate carefully
between bluster, foolhardiness, daredevilry, audacity, superficial boldness and
real courage.
475. It can be disputed whether the eighty-eight
poems that constitute Ted Hughes’ Birthday
Letters, with a few exceptions, are poems at all – but if free verse is
accepted as verse, then they are. Considered together, they are almost
incomparably better than Hughes’ previous poetic work. In fact, along with the selected
poems of D.H. Lawrence and those of T.S. Eliot, I’d probably rank Birthday Letters as one of the three
best collections of English verse to appear in the twentieth century. However,
as the twentieth century, notable for whatever else, in the field of English
poetry arguably failed to measure up to the standards set in the sixteenth,
seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, the pre-eminence of Birthday Letters among the
verse-collections to surface last century, can be considered to have come about
rather by default.
476. The phrase ‘criminal courts’, apart from its
ordinary meaning of ‘courts in which criminals are tried’, has, in view of the
recent reported activities of the Taliban in north-western Pakistan, acquired
the secondary, sinister meaning of ‘courts set up by criminals’!
477. The words of a great piece of literature should
be no inert entity; they should spring from the printed page (or computer
screen) for any reader capable of appreciating them.
478. When you argue with yourself, if you do it to
the best of your understanding and integrity, it is not wrong to say that
you’re arguing with God. Even though such argumentation may not always help you
to reach definite conclusions or solutions, it is nonetheless a valuable
resource, about on par with meditating successfully, of which it can be
considered a form or variant.
479. If, as held by Stephen Hawking and other
cosmologists, at the very centre of every black hole there is a ‘singularity’,
a plug-hole down which matter, space and time disappear, and out of (one of)
which the entire universe emerged, then could these ‘singularities’ be regarded
as (some of) the rivets connecting the time- and space-bound material universe
with that which is non-material, eternal and infinite, i.e. heaven (for want of
a better single word)? Of course there have been plenty of fanciful even
ridiculous interpretations of ‘heaven’, as there have been of ‘god’, but that
doesn’t necessarily render either word incapable of more meaningful
reinterpretation.
480.
The three phenomena of superstition, religion and faith can be represented
diagrammatically as three circles A, B and C, of which circle A (superstition)
partially overlaps circle B (religion), while circle B (religion) partially
overlaps circle C (faith), but circle A (superstition) and circle C (faith)
don’t overlap each other at all. Like so:
481. Which of the following
two issues, A or B, is it more important for me to be concerned about? A. What to do about the global economic
downturn or recession said to have been triggered by the American sub-prime
mortgage crisis and currently (November 2008) making international
headlines? B. What to do about ensuring
an adequate degree of comfort for my two pet cats, with winter approaching,
without suffering too much discomfort myself? Definitely B!
482. My father, my mother and my only brother, while
they were alive, had an often bitterly acrimonious three-way interrelationship.
My father died in 1982, my brother in 2001, and my mother in 2003, and nothing
of their bodies but their skeletons could now remain in their respective
graves. However, I can conceive of their spirits not only existing in some
eternal and infinite dimension but also, unlike during their physical
existence, reconciled with one another.
Such reconcilement could only be on the basis of transcendent truth, which
realization serves to further reinforce my faith in reality. You don’t need to
be religious, crazy or sentimental to believe that there’s infinitely more to
reality than meets the eye – even if that eye is looking through the strongest
telescope or microscope in existence.
483. In an article in the only English newspaper
published in Abbottabad, Pakistan, where I live, the co-founder of the Vishwa
Hindu Parishad, an extremist Hindu organization in India, S.S. Apte (whom I’d
never heard of before), was disparagingly quoted as having said: ‘The world has
been divided to (sic) Christian,
Islam (sic) and Communist . . . It is
necessary in this age of conflict to think of and organize the Hindu world to
save it from the evils of all the three.’ Well, to the extent of the quote,
fair enough! Why not? One should repel evils whatever their source or origin.
However, at the same time, what about extirpating those evils whose origins can
be mainly found to lie in Hinduism itself – such as suttee, thuggee, the
prejudice against widow remarriage, and the more ridiculous, obsessional
aspects of the caste system? That would require a major Reformation, which
could only be brought about by someone greater than Raam,
484. A rather sad affair, my life? Well, in some
ways yes (whose isn’t?), but it’s also had its joyful (and even some brilliant)
moments.
485. It’s remarkable how I feel that an emotional circuit is completed when both
my cats, one male the other female, are with me together in the same room.
That’s not to say that I don’t occasionally find them, especially the younger
she-cat Minty, to be a bit of a nuisance.
486. Knowing thyself is fine, but only up to a
point. It’s better and more interesting to have some reserves that you don’t
clearly know about, but are pleasantly surprised in an emergency to be able to
tap into.
487. Perhaps the main, two-fold lesson that middle
age can teach: to be reconciled with
life, and to be reconciled to death.
488. I haven’t yet read Richard Dawkins' controversial book The God Delusion,
though I caught part of an interview with him on BBC t.v. While judging a book
by its cover may mostly be a mistake, judging a book by its title may be less
so. Had Dawkins' book been titled The God
Misconception, or more preferably The
God Misconceptions (for there are
many of them), it would probably have been more interesting, original and
profound, less restricted by the semantic block that the word ‘god’ constitutes
for many secular (and religious) people. As it is, the book probably pushes the
standard atheist agenda, undiscerningly throwing out the baby (god) along with
the bath-water (delusion).
489. Were I to pop off tomorrow, I’d have a number
of major regrets, such as not having completed my English translation of Mirza
Ghalib’s best Urdu verse, which I’ve been working on intermittently for over
three decades. However, the prospect that I find almost unbearable in the event
of my passing is the deterioration that would take place in the living
conditions of my two cats, Doomoo the tom and Minty the female! No longer would
Doomoo be able to clamber up the sill outside my bedroom window in the middle
of the night and be promptly let in. Neither could Minty play exuberantly with
her several little toys on the floor of my room before springing up on the
feet-side of my bed for a proper catnap. Which seem like good reasons for me to
try to outlive my cats, rather than vice versa!
490. The best two-word description of the Taliban I
can presently think of: demented scum. Does that mean I feel no compassion for
them? No, it doesn’t; but it means that that feeling has to coexist in
equilibrium with the profound contempt I feel for these ignoramuses.
491. To be or not to be homosexual is certainly not the question; you either are, or
partly are, or aren’t, irrespective of whether you want to be or not; your
sexual orientation is in effect as involuntary as the colour of your skin or
eyes. The question or issue, if you are partly or exclusively homosexual, is
how to deal or cope with your homosexuality. Misidentifying what is an
inherently difficult problem makes it far more difficult, if not impossible, to
solve.
492. Suffering, such as that caused by a sudden
illness, sometimes comes straight out of the blue. All one can do in these
cases is to suffer stoically, with dignity, and try to learn as much as
possible from the experience.
493. I was surprised to hear in a television report
yesterday a woman from Salt Lake City, Utah, belonging to a polygamist Mormon
splinter sect, refer to Jesus’s wives Martha and Mary as well as Mary
Magdalene. This would be flatly denied by most Christians, but it shows how
little we know about Jesus the person, as compared for instance with Paul or Mühummud.
494. Sex with a partner is always better than
masturbation, which may be resorted to only when no partner is available,
right? Not always right it turns out, in light of my recent experience! One of
my neighbours, not unattractive to me, has expressed his availability for sex
and given proof of it too on three occasions in the last few years, twice when
he was intoxicated, once – the last time more than a year back – when he
wasn’t. During the last six months, I’ve repeatedly considered asking him over,
but haven’t done so yet. Instead, quite frequently towards the end of my Sunday
bath, I masturbate while fantasizing about him. The shadow seems to me about as
gratifying as but quicker, cleaner and more hassle-free than the substance.
Curious!
495. The greatest achievement for any writer is
finding their own authentic mature voice. That’s something far more inwardly
fulfilling than multiple publishing successes or heaps of accolades and awards.
*496. Among the staggering implications of the Theory of Evolution are:
(1) All
humans are descended from non-humans, not just from some ape-like species, but
before that from other kinds of mammals, and before that successively from
birds, reptiles, amphibians, fish, insects and microbes!
(2) The
microbes living today are therefore quite literally our blood relatives – just
very distant cousins or nephews!
(3) Microbes
themselves are/were descended from yet smaller single-cell organisms that in
turn evolved, either directly or via the plant kingdom, from inanimate matter!
(4) So
today’s inanimate matter or at least today’s microbes could eventually evolve
into future Shakespeares,
497. I’m now (April 2009) more than halfway into my
sixtieth year; so it’s high time for me to feel assured that I’m nobody’s fool,
particularly not my own.
498. I used to claim around ten years back that I
neither knew nor cared what happened to people after death, being wholly
concerned with what happened to them before
death. However, the events of the last decade, particularly the deaths of my
elder brother and mother, and my own ageing, have led me to modify that stance.
These days I regularly invoke and call upon the spirits of five deceased
persons, namely D.H. Lawrence, W.H. Bates (the ophthalmologist), and my father,
brother and mother, for help, if possible, to deal more effectively with my
various formidable problems, especially my sexual/emotional problems. I now
regard the hereafter as a credible though incomprehensible dimension of
reality, not to be set on a pedestal and allowed to dominate life, as proposed
by most religions, but neither to be simply ignored, as done by some modern
secularists.
499. In certain matters, such as having too many
clothes and shoes, I’d much rather be counted among the ‘have-nots’ than the
‘haves’. Having, beyond the point of adequacy, is more often a liability than
an asset.
500. The true measure of human worth is the ratio
between what it is possible for any individual to be and do, and what they
actually succeed in being and doing during their lifetime.
501.
The character trait that I’ve been trying for donkey’s years to acquire, but
haven’t managed to, to the degree that I want to acquire it, is
self-discipline. Comparatively much easier to adhere to is discipline imposed
by some outside agency, such as one’s job, though that too can be onerous in
its own way, and is something I’d like to avoid being subjected to. The former
kind of discipline – of, for and by oneself – I consider desirable, but have so
far found exceedingly difficult to achieve. The root of the problem seems to be
that one’s ‘self’ is actually a conglomeration of several selves – by one
count, basically five: one’s physical, mental, moral, emotional and spiritual
selves – to reconcile and prioritize whose often divergent demands is anything
but easy.
502.
It goes without saying that in many respects I cannot have the kind of
relationship with my two pet cats that I can with other humans. Conversely,
it’s worth saying that in some respects I can’t have the kind of relationship
with humans that I have with my cats. Their particular quality of trust in me, for instance, I’d be hard put to encounter
in humans.
503.
Most people’s inability to see God is simply a case of being unable to see the
wood for the trees!
504.
Important to me is the clear distinction, generally unclearly perceived,
between religion and faith. Each religion invokes
faith in something or other, but in itself is fundamentally a set or system of
principles and practices sanctified by tradition. Faith, on the contrary, is
simply belief in and devotion to the truth, and can exist independently of any
religion. Almost by definition, and certainly in practice everywhere today,
every religion entails and encourages prejudice in its own favour and against
other religions. But prejudice is the antithesis of truth and hence
incompatible with faith. All religions, being package-deals, apart from
highlighting a few truths, also require their followers to believe in various
half-truths and untruths; faith requires exactly the opposite. What the modern
world needs badly is to have much less religion and much more faith around.
505.
Imran Khan, the Pakistani cricketer-turned-politician, is in favour of
negotiating with the Taliban rather than taking military action against them.
Well, maybe he can begin on his own by negotiating with them about the beard
issue. In the places under their control, the Taliban are known to have decreed
it to be compulsory for all men to have beards at least a fist’s width (about
four inches) in length. Anyone not complying is liable to be punished brutally,
possibly killed. Now, Imran Khan, being clean-shaven himself (so far), could
try to negotiate with the Taliban about allowing men the option of having no
beards or shorter beards. Once his proposal to tolerate clean-shaven men is
rejected out of hand, Imran could propose a minimum beard length of
half-an-inch. When that too is scornfully rejected, he could propose a minimum
length of an inch, and on the rejection of that proposal, he could propose
one-and-a-half inches, and after that two inches, and then two-and-a-half
inches, then three inches, then three-and-a-half inches. At that point, the
Taliban might actually begin to waver, at least in the case of men with smaller
than average fists. There we are! Negotiations successful, their value
vindicated!
Next up on Imran’s agenda for negotiations
with the Taliban, likely to be crowned with similar success, could be . . .
female education!
506.
‘This surpassing of oneself is the greater part of living.’ The preceding,
possibly inexact quote from
507.
Courage is not, as is sometimes imagined, an absence of fear (which would be
pathological), but rather an unyielding response
to it.
508.
God and reality are one and the same thing. Same also, at a more inferior
level, are deification (i.e. regarding God as a Deity or deities – either one)
and idolatry.
509.
A step in the right direction that I didn’t expect to be taken in this part of
the world any time soon, was taken in
510.
As the epitaph on my mother’s tombstone, I got engraved some five years back
the following lines, slightly adapted from the chant in Shakespeare’s Cymbeline:
FEAR NO MORE THE HEAT OF THE SUN,
NOR THE FURIOUS WINTER’S RAGES,
YOU YOUR WORLDLY TASK HAVE DONE,
HOME HAVE GONE, AND TAKEN YOUR
WAGES.
FEAR NO MORE THE FROWN OF THE
‘GREAT’;
YOU ARE PAST THE TYRANT’S STROKE.
CARE NO MORE TO CLOTHE AND EAT;
FOR YOU THE REED IS AS THE OAK.
FEAR NO MORE THE LIGHTNING FLASH,
NOR THE AWESOME THUNDER-BOOM;
FEAR NOT SLANDER, CENSURE RASH;
YOU HAVE FINISHED JOY AND GLOOM.
In
my own case, approaching three-score as I am, I’m not sure whether I’d prefer
my body to be cremated or buried. In the event it gets to be buried (after all
transplantable tissues, organs, etc. have been removed), the following briefer,
more prosaic epitaph will serve the purpose:
IT’S BEEN A LONG, HARD SLOG, BUT WORTH IT AFTER ALL!
Let’s hope the engraver, if he is a Pakistani, doesn’t make any spelling or punctuation mistakes, e.g. substituting 'b' for 's' in 'slog'!
511.
About the only merit that I can see in the Islamic observances of the five
daily ritualistic prayers (preceded by ritualistic ablutions), and the
dawn-to-dusk fasting during the month of Rumzaan, is that they give the Muslims
who perform them something to do! For
the duration of these observances, the performers’ bodies and very marginally
their minds remain busy, which is better than being idle. Other than that, as
to any improvement they could be said to bring about in their performers’
general behaviour, in the case of the ritualistic prayers it is highly
doubtful, while in the case of fasting during Rumzaan the opposite is true: the
overall cumulative behaviour of Muslims who fast during this month invariably
and distinctly deteriorates.
512.
I believe that there is a divine dimension
to everyday life, which you can glimpse occasionally if you’re interested
enough in doing so, provided you don’t
rely on the various rites and rituals prescribed by different religions, that
are supposed to put you in touch with divinity.
513.
If, after death, I somehow get to be reunited with my pet dogs and cats, past
and present, I’m sure I’d prefer that immeasurably to being awarded a haremful
of whorish houris in midmost paradise!
514.
Given my critical bent of mind and rebellious disposition, whichever society I’d been born and lived in, I’m sure I’d have
been acutely critical of the negative aspects of that society’s culture, and
impelled to trace out the root cause of that cultural negativity. It just so
happened that I was born in Pakistan, sixty years ago today (13 September
2009), and so have reacted by spending much of the last six decades in
rebelling against Pakistani culture, especially its intermeshing of Islam and primitiveness.
515.
Now that I’m a sexagenarian, is getting an adequate handle on my sex-life still
too much to expect?!
516.
My homosexuality, insofar that it affects myself, cannot be both a weakness and
not a weakness. So which of the two is it? Although I’d like it to be the
latter, i.e. not a weakness, most of the evidence from my over 45-year-long
experience of it seems to characterize it as the former, i.e. a definite
weakness. On occasion, I have felt, in relation to this susceptibility of mine, to be a bit like Mark Antony vis-à-vis his womanizing, described by an onlooker
(I think) in Shakespeare’s Antony and
Cleopatra as ‘the hardest steel eaten
with the softest rust’.
517.
It’s clearly nonsensical to believe that Moses or Jesus or Mühummud or Krishna
got to know all that can be humanly
known about ‘God’, which made their messages impossible to criticize or improve
upon. These personages, whether historical or mythological or partly both,
could not and did not do anything of the sort. They merely adumbrated certain
of the infinite aspects of reality, leaving abundant room for persons of later
times to do the same or better.
518.
When I touch my own perishable body, any part of it, or when I touch my cats or
a blade of grass or a stone, I’m sure in all these instances that
simultaneously I’m touching God, in each case a particular material form or
manifestation of God.
519.
One might imagine that for the best-cared-for domestic pets, life would nearly
be a bed of roses. Not so in fact. In May last year (2008), we acquired an
about six-week-old, speckled (brown, black and white) kitten whom I later named
Minty. We took extremely good care of her, showering her with toys and shielding
her from any possible harm or adversity. But only about seven or eight months
later, biology stepped in and Minty came to her first heat or oestrus. The
Greek word oistros apparently means
‘gadfly’ as well as ‘frenzy’, and for about six days poor little Minty was as
if pursued by a gadfly, before returning to normal. About three or four weeks
later, the heat symptoms recurred, but this time, after consulting the vet, I
had Minty injected with a contraceptive. This, however, proved traumatic for
the little cat, who made every effort to break loose from me, and at one point
was hanging in the air on the far side of a wall she had tried to leap over,
suspended from her collar, which was attached to the leash I was holding in my
hand on the wall’s near side! That experience shook me up as well, but Minty’s
heat cycle was broken for three or four months. When it resumed, we were ready
for it, and encouraged Minty and Doomoo, our tom-cat, to mate, which led to
Minty’s pregnancy, lasting a little over two months. She delivered two tiny
kittens, eating the afterbirth each time. She must be the feline equivalent of
a human teenage mum, but with our help, has coped with motherhood remarkably
well. But the point I’m making . . . a week ago, less than seven weeks after giving
birth, Minty once again showed symptoms of her heat cycle restarting. Though I
promptly (and untraumatically this time) got her injected with a contraceptive
that should break the fateful cycle for three months or longer (I don’t want to
neuter her permanently), for the past week Minty has still been nearly driven
to distraction. At about eighteen months old (perhaps around eighteen years in
human terms), Minty has already had to go through all of this – despite
probably being one of the luckiest cats in the country!
520.
There are good people in the world,
and I’m so glad a few of them happen to be my friends; it makes life that much
more worth living.
521.
My living body is the indispensable vehicle
for my life’s journey through the space-time continuum, and will naturally have
to be abandoned at journey’s end. A bit like changing trains or planes, perhaps.
522.
I don’t think anything in life can be accomplished without some kind of effort. Even relaxing or ‘letting go’ or
‘lapsing out’ require the right kind of mental effort.
523.
The main headline of yesterday’s (27.10.09’s) local newspaper read: There is
no room for terrorism in any religion of the world: Hoti. Ameer Haider Hoti is
the current Chief Minister of
524.
The basic job and mandate of any writer is no other than, by means of the
written word, to separate truth from falsehood. Contributing towards that
ultimate end should be the flights of imagination as resorted to in
novel-writing, the incorporation of rhythm and rhyme as often adopted in
poetry, and all other techniques and devices that form the stock-in-trade of
literary practitioners.
525.
Apropos of the intense debate, especially in America, between the evolutionists
and the creationists, regarding the origin and development of life on earth – as a process, what can be more incredibly,
astoundingly creative than evolution?
526.
Nobody, but nobody, knows what, if anything, happens after death; but my hunch
is that it must involve exiting both the indispensable dimensions of material
existence, space and time.
527.
What is it that actually brings about any change, for better or worse, in a
person’s character? It’s nothing other than the choices that that person
continuously makes. Each and every choice that you make alters your character
in some measure, fortifying it or vitiating it.
528.
Prayer is a somewhat tricky proposition for me because, whereas I don’t believe
in God as a deity or deities, the form of address of any prayer appears to
require a semblance of deification. Four of the six short prayers that I repeat
regularly, lying on my back in bed before getting up each morning, begin with
the formula, ‘O my lovely gods/God-mystery . . .’; one of the other two prayers
invokes Lukshmi, the Hindu goddess of wealth, or providence deified; the sixth
prayer (third in the order of utterance) is addressed to ‘O Kama/Eros/Cupid,
god of sexual love . . .’ I could do away with prayer altogether, confining
myself to meditation, which doesn’t require deification, but I don’t want to.
I’m quite sure that ‘God’ is not a deity or deities, but rather a synonym for
reality. However, in order to approach God/reality via prayer, which can have
an immediacy that meditation lacks, the human mind (or at least my mind) needs
to resort to some sort of deification, which is admittedly akin to idolatry. So
be it.
529.
Attending to the recurrent needs of my four cats – two grown-ups, Doomoo and
Minty, and two four-month-olds, Princess and Tigress – for food, warmth and
affection, not only necessitates greater self-discipline in how I spend each
day but it also helps to abridge what might otherwise be longer-lasting
episodes of depression! Besides, I’m enabled to get further in touch with God,
i.e. reality, even by stroking the fur of the members of my ‘feline family’,
and witnessing their pleased, purry yet somewhat varied responses.
530.
Being sometimes prone to the fear that my translation of the best Urdu verse of
Mirza Ghalib, on which I’ve been working off and on (more off than on) for over
35 years, may never see the light of day, let me present the skimpiest sampling
of Ghalib’s work in the following three couplets, culled from three different ghuzuls (stylized poems) of his:
Transliteration:
hain
zuvaal aamaada ujza aafreenish kay tumaam
mehr-e-gurrdoon hai churaagh-e-rehguzaar-e-baad yaan
Translation:
Every fragment of creation is prone
to ultimate decay:
The celestial sun is but a lamp in
the wind’s pathway.
Transliteration:
ishk
say tubeeyut nay zeest ka muzaa paaya
durrd ki duvaa paayi, durrd bayduvaa paaya
Translation:
In love, I found the true enjoyment
of life;
I found the cure of pain, and pain
incurable I found.
Transliteration:
huvus
ko hai nishaat-e-kar kya kya?
na ho murna to jeenay ka muzaa kya?
Translation:
Desire generates the zest for all
kinds of activity –
Were there no dying, what would the
fun of living be?
531.
Were there a prize for being the least intelligent politician on the planet,
among the multitude of contenders,
532.
On t.v. recently, in probably a snippet from an interview, I heard Ms Shireen
Mazari, a Pakistani journalist and (I believe) an important office-bearer in
Imran Khan’s political party, assert quite seriously: ‘The Taliban are not an
issue for me.’ Well, if you were living in a Taliban-controlled area, Ms
Mazari, required to move about out of doors in a shuttlecock burka and flogged
if you didn’t, instead of living in Islamabad and Lahore, receiving (at least
some) protection from the Pakistani state and its substantially
British-enacted, Western-inspired laws, the Taliban would most probably be an issue for you!
533.
Far from what the sentimental old myth of the ‘noble savage’ would delude one
into thinking, savages are invariably and egregiously ignoble. One current example, though of course not the only one
around, are the Taliban of Afghanistan and
534.
A few days ago, on Christmas Eve (2009), it was widely reported by the
international media that 82-year-old Pope Benedict XVI, a little before
delivering his annual address from St Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican, was
knocked to the ground by a young woman, later said to be deranged, who had
attacked him after jumping over some sort of security barrier. In the ensuing
melee, he may not have hit back at his attacker, but neither was the Holy
Father reported to have attempted at all to turn the other cheek!
535.
Whenever I interact with anything outside myself, be it another person, an
animal, a plant or an inanimate object, our interaction can initially be
represented spatially as a triangle, myself and the ‘other party’ forming the
two points on each end of the triangle’s base, with God-the-impartial-witness
forming the third point or apex of the triangle. However, as the interaction
proceeds, this triangle collapses and dissolves into a straight line, linking
us both directly as two different manifestations of the same God-mystery. The
role of the divine witness is then not performed by an external third party,
but is shared out, remarkably without losing its impartiality, just between
ourselves.
536.
Two statements concerning homosexuality, that I came across at different times
in different ways, have struck me as sounding too good to be true – but neither
can I dismiss them outright as untrue. The first of these statements I read in
the early 1970s, most probably in an article or letter in the
537.
Despite a pretty determined initial effort on my part to dissuade her from
doing so, my small she-cat Minty has made a place for herself on my bed,
towards the feet-side, to sleep on during the long cold winter nights.
Simultaneously, she has made a permanent place for herself in my heart.
538.
I used to feel generally contemptuous of people who lamented, particularly in
classical Urdu verse, that they were suffering the pangs of unrequited love.
Although I still deplore sentimentality in both life and art, further, somewhat
congruent personal experience now makes me acknowledge that the predicament of
an unrequited lover is indeed a uniquely perplexing and painful one.
539.
The prettiest and most sweet-tempered of my four cats, named Tigress because of
her colouration, whom I treated virtually like a granddaughter, died this
morning, 12 January 2010, aged only 5 months and 16 days, making today a sad,
sad day for me. It’s early afternoon now and I’m missing her keenly. She and
her twin, Princess, brought so much joy in my life, and almost no trouble,
except the present heartache. Tigress apparently ate something toxic three or
four days ago, and though I tried my best to save her life, it was to no avail.
Right now, I feel as sure as eggs is eggs or cats are cats that Tigress’s
‘spirit’, released from her little body a few hours ago, has retained some sort
of disembodied existence, and in some way is ‘watching’ me as I write these
words. Well, little darling, I miss you,
and quite soberly hope for some manner of future reunion. Life, real and
important as it is, is not, cannot be, everything; there is bound to be
something beyond it, though I have no truck with the bullshit that the various
religions fantasize that ‘something’ as being. I am glad that I had a hand in
making Tigress’s short time in the world, apart from the last three or four
days, a happy, healthy and secure one. I’ll miss her much more than I could
miss most humans!
540.
However much you may be in touch with reality, you can (and should try to)
become more so; conversely, however little you might be in touch with reality,
you can become even less so. In both the cases, the sky (or in the latter case
the bottomless pit) is the limit.
541.
It’s not the notion of a hereafter per se
that I object to in the various religions, for that notion seems as valid,
logical and credible to me as anything unknown can be. It’s the cocksure,
beguiling/intimidating (carrot-and-stick) manner
in which the hereafter is invoked by most religions, especially Islam, that I
find objectionable and repulsive.
542.
The very worst thing that you can do in any situation, guaranteed to have
untoward consequences, is to lose your nerve. Eighteen days ago, I rather lost
my nerve while trying to save the life of one of my cats, five-and-a-half
months old Tigress (also sometimes addressed as Jammy-face). In my eagerness to
get the staff at the local
543.
It has always been the case that life looks to other life for its amelioration.
And if, at any particular time, one happens to be the life that is thus being
looked to, one surely needs to decide how to respond most appropriately.
544.
Last week, I was sitting in a courtroom here in Abbottabad, Pakistan, during
recess, when one of the policemen on duty started relating, in a fairly loud
voice, in the local dialect Hindko, the following anecdote (in paraphrase):
‘Now this man was keen to have a son, but his wife only gave birth to two or
three daughters in succession. So then he warned his wife that, if next time
she again gave birth to a girl, he would divorce her. What could the poor woman
do? It wasn’t in her control, but in God’s. Well, the time came for her to
deliver another baby – and by God’s grace it was a boy! However, in one of the
baby-boy’s hands, the index finger was missing! And right on the spot where the
finger should have been, were inscribed the words: “Let’s see you make one finger!” Alhumdulillah! God be praised! His signs
and portents are strewn all over!’
Though I was sitting quite far from the
raconteur, the ludicrous conclusion of his anecdote prompted me to ask, albeit
a bit weakly, ‘Was the inscription on the baby-boy’s hand in Urdu . . or English?’ In the neurotic
Pakistani-Muslim culture that I find myself surrounded by, this sort of
asininity generally passes for ‘faith’!
545.
On a personal level, my two major grievances against Islam relate firstly to my
sex-life and secondly to my rights of inheritance. The primary cause of my
homosexuality is most probably genetic predisposition, but a contributory
factor may have been the gender-segregated Muslim society I grew up in. And
subsequent to the gay orientation having become irrevocably entrenched in my
psyche, a significant section of that same Muslim society has been regarding me
as a heinous criminal, liable to barbaric punishment under Shariah law. Moreover, many of my partners or potential
partners, most of them Muslims, have tended to come saddled by their upbringing
with an inhibiting, demeaning and disintegrating sense of guilt and fear. As
for my rights of inheritance, the most basic sense of natural justice demands
that I inherit a share of my deceased, intestate parents’ property. But no! it
is a principle of Muslim personal law, based on a dubious hudees (saying) of Mühummud’s, that a non-Muslim cannot inherit
from a Muslim or vice versa. This idiotic and injurious little law was
overridden in
546.
God is here and now and before your eyes, not there or then or invisible.
547.
The following well-known Urdu couplet by Jiggur Muraadabadi (1890–1960), on
account of the forceful impressionistic veracity of its imagery, merits being
better-known through translation:
yeh
ishk nuheen aasaan, itna hee sumujh leejay
ik aag ka durya hai, aur doob kay jaana hai
Love is no easy proposition – suffice
it to bear in mind:
It’s a river of flame, one proceeds
in which by drowning.
548.
It’s nine years today (
549.
In order to live meaningfully, you mustn’t finally be afraid of death; and in
order to die meaningfully, you must have some real regard for the sanctity of
life. At least in this sense (and in others too), death and life are
symbiotically related.
550.
It may be just another infatuation (or, worse, early dotage), but my
long-simmering attraction for P (not myself!)
seems in recent weeks to have come to a rollicking boil, with the ingredients
of apparently genuine affection and admiration (on my side) thrown into the
brew. However, the odds could hardly be stacked higher against this attraction
developing into a successful relationship. P is
male (of course), working-class (with forearms to die for), barely literate,
about 46 (14 years younger than me), married with four kids (aged about 5 to
11), and on top of all that he’s another bloody Muslim, who ‘thinks’ that
homosexuality is a ghulut kaam (wrong
action), not permitted by his religion (of which he knows little enough) or by
other religions (of which he knows next to nothing). Sometimes I feel like
throwing in the towel with regard to our arguably foredoomed relationship. But
more often lately, I feel like exerting every last ounce of my inner strength
to fight all the odds and try to win a place in P’s
heart and bed (preferably, but not necessarily, in that order).
551.
Could it be, I wonder, that the pronounced mental and social difference between
P (mentioned in No. 550 above) and me somehow
constitutes a valid basis for mutual attraction, along the lines of that truism
of physics that unlike poles attract? If he were more like me, mentally and
socially, I think the attraction (on my side anyway) would be proportionately
less. Queer conundrum this!
552.
Which of the following two attitudes, A or B, is indicative of a deeper and
more authentic sense of faith?
A. Doing good because you believe you will
be rewarded for it either before or after death.
B. Doing good because it is good and hence
worth doing, regardless of any temporal or eternal reward (or punishment)
attendant on it.
Surely B.
553.
Is human suffering divinely calibrated in proportion to the sufferer’s capacity
for bearing it? Well, I don’t deny that there is a case to be made that it is.
554.
The asterism (group) of seven bright stars in the Great Bear constellation,
forming an extensive asymmetrical diagram in the night sky, has been given
various fanciful names in various languages, in English the Plough, Charles’
Wain (i.e. Charlemagne’s wagon) and, chiefly in America, the Dipper. These
three names, however, regardless of their respective agricultural, imperial and
culinary associations, appear to have originated as a result of imagining the
said seven stars connected with straight
lines. But what if the stars are imagined to be connected with a curved line that stops just short of the
star at the tail-end, furthest from the two Pointers, like so? In that case, especially from the particular angle
that I saw it the other night, the diagram these stars form could very
fittingly be called the Question Mark! A vast celestial question mark, serving
to remind humans of how little we really know of what holds the universe(s)
together.
555.
I do consider a few things to be sacred – and nothing more so than the written
word.
556.
Every waking moment, one is faced with the choice of doing or omitting to do
this or that or something else; one’s responsibility as a moral animal consists
simply in the best possible exercise of this perpetual choice of actions and
omissions. But ‘best’ according to what standard or criterion of quality? Well,
according to the criterion of reality, which means that of all the available
alternatives in any specific situation, the choice that on balance is closest
to reality is qualitatively the best.
557.
Simply put, all the existing religions have basically got it wrong with regard
to the whole nexus of notions including God, spirituality, morality, mortality
and the conduct of life. Hence, while all religions may have some creditable or
admirable features, none of them, in this day and age, is worthy of one’s
adherence or allegiance in toto.
558.
While I’m interacting with them, it evidently makes absolutely no difference to
any of my pet cats, male or female, whether I’m clothed or nude. I wish that
were true as well of members of my own deplorably more fetishistic species!
559.
What I find most sickening about the Taliban are their moral pretensions, which
I was reminded of recently while reading Khaled Hosseini’s remarkable (if
slightly scatter-brained and sentimental) novel The Kite Runner (2003). The novel mentions that, during their reign
of terror in
560.
An important part of life, which becomes progressively more important as one
ages, is coming to terms with death. For me that includes facing up to death’s
inevitability and finality; pondering its mystery; expecting it to possibly
provide the grand denouement to life’s bafflingly intricate plot; taking into
account the cessation of mental and physical pain that it is bound to occasion;
and regarding it as the deadline before which I must try to complete the brunt
of my life’s-work.
561.
What I want most for myself, more than wielding more political power than
Barack Obama, more than having more money than Bill Gates, more than performing
great acts of charity, more than receiving any/all of the ten most prestigious
awards in the world, is to be left alone to create meaning from the glorious
raw material of words, principally written, English ones.
*562.
One is used to extravagant protestations of devotion, in verse and song, by
lovers for their beloveds, but the following couplet from a melodious old
Indian film-song just about takes the cake:
jis gulee mayn taira ghurr na ho baalma us gulee say humain to guzurna nuheen
jo dugurr tairay dwaray say jaati na ho us
dugurr pay humain paon rukhna nuheen
Translation:
Such street on which you do not live, that street I mustn’t walk along;
Such path which does not pass your door, that path I mustn’t set foot on. Well, in the interests of keeping this lover’s body and soul together, by making his shopping for essentials a little less impossible, let’s hope his beloved lives in the most diverse market-place or shopping centre in town!
564.
The primary significance of poetry is that it is a way of saying something
which cannot be said, with the same effect, in any other way.
565.
Yes, a cat may look at a king, but also a king may profitably look at a cat,
provided His Majesty has the insight enabling him to see the cat as a living,
non-human embodiment of reality/divinity, a cuddly god or goddess in the
pantheistic, non-idolatrous sense.
566.
The vastly overrated Jewish, Christian and Muslim doctrine of monotheism, i.e.
the belief in and worship of one deity instead of many, which Muslims
especially set great store by, I find to be little more than a substitution
gimmick, a sleight of mind. The real, significant departure from idolatry is to
do away altogether with the concept of god as deity or deities. Instead, the concept worth harbouring is that of god as
all-inclusive reality and unfathomable but approachable mystery. Among the
material forms in which the god-mystery is approachable are plants and animals,
more particularly the latter. On another authentic and important level, the
god-mystery is identifiable with and approachable within one’s own self.
567.
God, being a composite reality (NOT a
deity or deities, it bears stressing repeatedly), can be experienced all around one by means of all one’s faculties,
including the five (or six) senses, as well as during the processes of
contending with or otherwise relating to oneself, such as introspection and
meditation.
568.
It’s full seven years today (
569.
At present, my relationship (or non-relationship) with P (mentioned in Nos. 550 & 551 above) is for me a
source of: perturbation, dismay at times approaching anguish, excitement,
alternating hope and hopelessness, soul-searching, etc. For him, it appears to
be a source of: embarrassment, unwanted (yet furtively wanted) attention,
potential ‘sinfulness’, and the means to a small measure of monetary benefit
(as he gets rather generously paid for doing odd-jobs around the house, not all
of which are quite necessary or urgent). This status quo is obviously
unsatisfactory and untenable. I guess I should either try harder and more
intelligently to win a place in his heart; or I should write off the
relationship as unworkable. The question, however, still remains: which of
those two contradictory options to choose? I’ve already tried both, but so far
not been successful in either. I intend to keep trying, while at the same time
seeking professional as well as divine help.
570.
These days, it is considered almost self-evident (and politically correct) that
the most important factor determining the level of well-being of both
individuals and nations is their economic condition. I think that notion
constitutes a grave misplacement of emphasis. In fact, the more important
determiner of well-being, in the former case is personal character, and in the
latter case national character. That is what people as well as nations most
need to improve. How? Well, through the efforts of persons capable of bringing
about, in whatever way and to whatever extent, such improvement.
571.
Of our four cats, Doomoo, the only tom, about 4½ years old now, is the apple of
my eye; Minty, a bit over 2½, by like metaphor, is the apricot of my affection;
Princess, their offspring, nearly sixteen months old, whose only, even prettier
and sweeter-tempered sibling died ten months ago, is my special little darling.
And fourthly, Brownie, roughly Princess’s age, who as a kitten seemed close to
starving to death in the alley I picked her up from (with callous Pakis
unconcernedly performing their worldly and religious obligations round about),
is a joy and a comfort to my conscience. This scenario is of now (mid-November
2010); in our part of the world (
572.
Being disappointed, by and large, with human beings – of course with my relationships (or lack thereof) with
people – by my mid-twenties I turned, on the one hand, to the gods, and, on
the other, to pet animals – dogs and much later cats. Fantastic, then, that
these two seemingly dissimilar predilections of mine, for discovering divinity
and for looking after pets, should eventually turn out to have so much in
common!
573.
My spontaneous assessment of Khaled Hosseini’s second novel A Thousand
Splendid Suns (2007), scribbled in pencil on its last page, just after I’d
finished reading it some time back: A
fine novel, a remarkable achievement!
574.
What did I say about five months ago, in No. 571 above! Today,
Since the beginning of the year 2011, among
the events that have moved me somewhat significantly are the following: (1) The
shameful, treacherous, religiously (Islamicly) motivated assassination of the
Punjab Governor, Salman Taseer, in
When
you were alive, there was no way you could have read these words; now perhaps
your spirit can. Bye-bye, darling!
575.
Shortly after No. 574 above got written, we found Princess’s somewhat
disfigured body, and took it for a post mortem to the nearby
576.
Every human being, during the course of their life, has, first and foremost,
his or her own self to work with, to try and improve. This is one of the most
important differences between humans and animals, who have a far more limited
capacity to change themselves.
*577.
My attempt at translating four couplets of an Urdu ghuzul (a stylized, disjointed poem, united by the rhyme-scheme aa, ba, ca, da, etc.), sung beautifully as a duet by Lata Mangeshkar and
Mukaish probably in 1950, which always reminds me of my late mother, who also
used to sing it, follows – for what it’s worth:
zumaanay ka dustoorr hai yeh puraana:
mitaa kurr bunaana, bunaa kurr mitaana.
vufa kya yehi hai jufa kurnay vaalay:
nigahain milaa kurr nigahain churaana?
bohut hum nay roka mugurr dil na maana.
milaa kya julaa kurr maira aashiana?
The custom of the times since ages
has been
To set up then demolish, then set up
then demolish.
To first meet my gaze, and then to
avoid it?
One strove to suppress it, but one’s
heart didn’t comply.
What did It gain by burning down my
nest?
578.
The rather impressive current team of broadcasters of BBC World t.v. and World
Service radio, if tasked with running the Pakistani government, would surely do
a better job of it than the present incumbents in
579.
In an article in atrocious English, titled Benefits
of Hijab, that appeared in the local newspaper about a year ago, the writer
related the following strange incident from the life of Mühummud, the
self-proclaimed prophet of Islam:
Two of Mühummad’s wives, namely Umme Sulmah and Maimoonah, were with him when a blind acquaintance of his called Abdullah Ibn Muktoom arrived there. Mühummud ordered his wives, ‘Veil yourselves from him.’
‘But is he not blind and unable to see
us?’ Umme Sulmah ventured to remonstrate.
Mühummud retorted, ‘Are you both also blind? Are you not casting your sight upon him?’
By way of establishing the veracity of this incident, the newspaper article cited the authority of Mishkut, Tirmizi and Abu Daood, three well-respected medieval Islamic scholars. In spite of that, it is by no means absolutely certain that the incident actually took place. However, if it did take place, it casts a less than flattering light on Mühummud’s ability to think logically, for even if his wives veiled themselves from the blind man, they would still be able to look at him, while it would make no difference to him whether they were veiled or not!
580.
‘Rule of law’ is a fine Western ideal, even for someone like me, who as a rule
deprecates ideals and idealizations. However, if there are certain laws on the
statute books of a particular country that are themselves unjust, barbaric or
Draconian, then the situation resulting from the operation of such laws,
instead of qualifying as ‘rule of law’, is more like a ‘reign of terror’. In
581.
One of the headlines on page 1 of yesterday’s (26.6.11’s) local newspaper read,
simply: ‘Musharraf calls Nawaz Sharif a liar’. Talk of the pot calling the
kettle black!
582.
In general, you don’t gain more life by running after it, but rather by being
true to the life that you already have (notably by having the courage of your
convictions). That somehow creates a sort of vacuum, which almost
meteorologically facilitates the inrush of more life.
583.
I find it quite amusing and a bit gratifying that my somewhat sleepy hometown
of Abbottabad has suddenly become internationally known as the place where
Osama bin Ladin was run to earth and killed by American commandos two months
ago, on 2 May ’11. Of all places in the world, the fellow, along with three
wives and nine children, had been hiding just two or three miles away from our
house – almost literally in our backyard! It was a big mistake on the part of
the Americans, though, that they didn’t capture him alive, especially as, at
the time, he was unarmed and reportedly only in shorts. As for the gent
himself, he was an egregious epitome of the pathetic inability of most Muslims
to distinguish between courage and criminality.
*584. On 10 December 1948 (about nine months before I was born), the United Nations General Assembly proclaimed and adopted the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, a brief but fairly impressive document, which, however, is rather theoretical and somewhat anaemic. It comprises 30 Articles, of which I perhaps support none more wholeheartedly than Article 19, quoted below:
Everyone has the right to freedom of opinion and expression; this right includes freedom to hold opinions without interference and to seek, receive and impart information and ideas through any media and regardless of frontiers.
While appreciating the bold clarity of this Article, and its surprisingly modern terminology, I would like its present text to be re-numbered as Article 19, clause (1), to be supplemented, in order to make it more currently relevant and less anaemic, by the following clause (2):
Specifically, everyone has the right to criticize, verbally, in writing, or in any other manner, any person, living or dead, including personages held to be sacred by the followers of any religion (as long as such criticism does not amount to defamation), without being prosecuted or persecuted for alleged blasphemy.
585.
Every truth can accommodate, and directly or indirectly reinforces, every other
truth, whereas most lies contradict or conflict with other lies.
586.
Clothes essentially have nothing whatever to do with morality; I am quite as
much a moral creature when I’m nude as when I’m fully clothed. Hence the
religions, particularly Islam, that favour a strict dress code as conducive to
moral rectitude, are in fact stressing less important, outward criteria at the expense of more important, inward
ones (like always telling the truth), which in effect amounts to barking up the
wrong tree.
587.
I’ve said this before, and I’d like to say it again: In this day and age, much
more distinctly than in the less knowledgeable ancient and medieval times
(before Galileo, Darwin and Freud), faith and religion are mutually
incompatible. If you want to be imbued with a true sense of faith today, you
first need to throw off the yoke of complete, uncritical adherence to any religion that you may have inherited
or acquired.
588.
Very recently, I re-read the account of Jesus’s crucifixion twelve times over,
i.e. as narrated in the four gospels, in each of three English translations,
namely the King James Version, the New English Bible and the New International
Version, following it up by watching on DVD Mel Gibson’s gory 2004 film The Passion of the Christ. What a strange, horrendous and tragic event – if it really
took place as related in the gospels (and Gibson’s film). That doubt, as to
whether Jesus ever existed as a single person, does somewhat affect my
impression of Christianity, which is not the case with Buddhism or Islam.
Jesus’s cry of anguish just before dying
on the cross, as reported in the synoptic gospels, ‘Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?’ (‘My God, my God, why have you
forsaken me?’), would seem to suggest that he (or some part of him) expected
divine intervention till the very end. However, it turns out that the quoted
words, poignant and revealing as they seem to be, are lifted from the first
line of Psalm 21. It doesn’t seem natural that in his extreme anguish Jesus
would choose to quote from the Psalms, unless perhaps they, or some of them,
had become second nature to him.
Cruel, vindictive and farcical as Jesus’s
‘trial’ by the Jewish priests and the Roman governor evidently was, I do find
some of the claims reportedly made by Jesus during it, such as imminently
appearing in clouds of glory, extravagant, delusional and provocative. On the
other hand, of the pronouncements attributed to Jesus during the last
twenty-four hours of his life (though the possibility surely exists that he
survived the crucifixion and came to in the cave-like tomb), the remark that I
have found most pertinent and memorable is the one he is said to have made at
the time of his arrest, after restraining his disciple who had drawn his sword
and cut off the Chief Priest’s servant’s ear: ‘He who lives by the sword shall
die by the sword.’ (In today’s context, for ‘sword’ read ‘gun’ or
‘kalashnikov’.) This remark I was reminded of when Murtaza Bhutto, Benazir’s
brother, was assassinated in Karachi in 1996, and again, more than once, when
Osama bin Ladin was shot dead here in Abbottabad three months ago.
589.
I sometimes think of death as the ultimate adventure, a headlong plunge into
the utterly unknown.
590.
A brief, chance remark on the radio (BBC) that struck a chord with me recently
was ‘Animals have feelings’. It’s quite true, they do, over and above their
capacity for pain and pleasure. The feelings that I’ve so far been able to
identify in my cats include fear, anxiety, affection, jealousy, envy,
disappointment, loneliness, and even, perhaps, a somewhat rudimentary, feline
form of gratitude.
591.
Which of the two is more creditable, faith in God or faith in honesty? Undoubtedly
the latter.
592.
Whoever first characterized economics as ‘the dismal science’ surely had their
head screwed on the right way – in healthy contrast to the undue importance
currently accorded to this branch of knowledge, and the solemn esteem, almost
reverence, in which it is generally held these days. It’s almost like a new
religion, centred round the temperamental,
jittery, pusillanimous god of The Market!
593.
The threshold of fear – is there such a thing? Well, maybe its existence only
becomes apparent once you’ve crossed it. And crossing the threshold of fear is
not accomplished in one sudden jump, but slowly, learningly. It is accompanied by a great sense of liberation,
strength and satisfaction.
594.
Last
P.S.
Posthumously, many months later, I decided to name the kitten Nameless!
595. It’s sometimes awfully
difficult to honestly and exactly figure out even one’s own feelings. Despite
priding myself on being scrupulously honest with myself (and others), when I
try to ascertain what it is, besides an intense attraction, that I feel for P
(mentioned in Nos. 550, 551 & 569 above), I’m beset with doubts that I
cannot satisfactorily resolve. Do I feel anything
for him beyond a purely physical attraction? I think so, but I’m not sure. Is
there a tincture of sadism in my desire for him? I hope not, but I’m not sure.
If I could only get past his deeply ingrained fears and inhibitions, would
there be a viable basis for a mutually satisfying and enjoyable relationship
between us? I’d like to believe so, but I’m not sure.
596. Even eminent
astrophysicists, not to mention media science correspondents, speak of the birth of the universe, meaning the
putative explosive event of the Big Bang, some fourteen billion years ago. Well,
if that was the universe’s birth, I’m kind of interested in its prenatal
existence!
597. One of the holy cows in
598. Ten days ago, on
599. Religion may not be the
root cause of every political conflict on the planet, but it is so of many if
not most such conflicts, e.g. in
600. Since ignorance is bliss,
ignoramuses are among the happiest of people!
601. Civilization is always
characterized by some form of rule of law, and savagery by some sort of reign
of terror.
602. Strange but true, the two most powerful drives in most human
beings for most of their lives, giving rise to the strongest if often
subliminal types of motivation, are sexuality and spirituality.
603. The over
thousand-year-old conflict between Islam and Hinduism in the Indian
subcontinent is not, as fondly imagined by most Muslims, a conflict between
faith and idolatry, but rather a conflict between two somewhat different forms of idolatry.
604. For about the last four
decades, the only two ‘isms’ that I’ve consistently subscribed to are heroism
(as distinct from heroics) and pantheism (my own, non-idolatrous version of
it).
605. Ever since our tomcat
Doomoo arrived unexpectedly at our house in the summer of 2006 and decided to
adopt us, which event was followed by our house becoming the home of a string
of other cats as well, I have been wont to pat, stroke and cuddle my feline
friends, but until recently would stop short of kissing them. Not any more!
Now, I quite frequently kiss our three current pets, Doomoo, Minty and Brownie,
on their heads or faces, and though they cannot kiss back, they seem to like
it, and Minty sometimes reacts with playful little bites of her own! Unlike
some other people, I’ve always found kissing an especially gratifying form of
self-expression, and am glad to have discovered that it needn’t be restricted
solely to human recipients.
606. Mühummud, the Prophet of
Islam, has been accused, especially in recent years, of being both a womanizer
and a misogynist, which, on the face of it, seems self-contradictory. Or, can
it be that womanizers are secretly misogynistic? I wonder.
607. Speaking of current
writing in English (probably the same for other languages), there’s an
abundance of it that can be described as ‘non-creative non-fiction’, and also
plenty of it that can be termed ‘creative fiction’ (mainly novels and short
stories), but really very little of it that can qualify as ‘creative
non-fiction’. However, if I’m not mistaken, the modern, globalized,
electronically interconnected 21st century world could derive particular
benefit from creative non-fiction – writing that is clear, concise, ‘tells it
like it is’, and yet is recognizably more creative than journalese and even
than most literary criticism. What these Reflections
mostly aspire to be!
608. If I’m considered
anti-Islam, which in honesty I am, what’s the big deal? Islam, for its part
too, is not only intolerantly anti-other-religions but is also, in many
significant ways, anti-life, and indeed, in this day and age, substantially and
demonstrably anti-reality (and, in that sense, anti-God as well).
609. Below appear my attempts,
made over a decade ago, at translating or recasting Shakespeare’s Sonnets Nos.
129 and 20 into modern English:
Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 129
Th’ expense of spirit in a waste of shame
Is lust in action; and till action, lust
Is perjur’d, murd’rous, bloody, full of blame,
Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust;
Enjoy’d no sooner but despised straight;
Past reason hunted, and, no sooner had,
Past reason hated, as swallowed bait,
On purpose laid to make the taker mad –
Mad in pursuit, and in possession so;
Had, having, and in quest to have, extreme;
A bliss in proof, and prov’d, a very woe;
Before, a joy propos’d; behind a dream.
All this the world well knows; yet none knows well
To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
Modern English Translation
Homosexual indulgence means
wasting one’s spirit while incurring
Shame; and till its
indulgence, homosexual desire is
Dishonest, homicidal, violent,
thoroughly reprehensible,
Brutal, excessive, crude,
vindictive and unreliable.
No sooner is it gratified than
it’s immediately despised;
It’s pursued beyond reason,
and no sooner fulfilled
Than it’s hated beyond reason,
like a swallowed bait
That’s been placed on purpose
to drive the victim mad –
Mad in the pursuit as well as
in the attainment of desire,
Obsessive whether seeking to
gratify it or having gratified it.
Prospectively blissful, it’s
retrospectively agonizing,
Delightful beforehand but
unsubstantial afterwards.
All this everyone knows well;
what no one knows well
Is how to avoid the heaven
that leads one to this hell.
610.
Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 20
A woman’s face, with Nature’s own hand painted,
Hast thou, the Master Mistress of my passion;
A woman’s gentle heart, but not acquainted
With shifting change, as is false woman’s fashion;
An eye more bright than theirs, less false in rolling,
Gilding the object whereupon it gazeth;
A man in hue, all hues in his controlling,
Which steals men’s eyes and women’s souls amazeth.
And for a woman wert thou first created;
Till Nature, as she wrought thee, fell a-doting,
And by addition me of thee defeated,
By adding one thing to my purpose nothing.
But since she prick’d thee out for women’s pleasure,
Mine be thy love, and thy love’s use their treasure.
Modern English
Translation
You, my boyfriend-girlfriend, have a woman’s
face,
Fashioned by Nature’s own hands; you also have
A woman’s tender heart, but not one prone
To shifting change like women’s fickle natures;
Your eyes are brighter than theirs, less
deceitful,
Turning to gold whatever they look upon;
You have a man’s complexion, but can adopt all
others,
Which attracts men’s attention and amazes
women.
And you were first created to be a woman,
But Nature, while she was forming you, got
infatuated,
And by over-endowment deprived me of you –
By endowing an organ extraneous to my
interests.
So, since she’s made you a tool for women’s
pleasure,
May your love be mine, and your love’s function
their treasure.
611. The difference between
the poetry of Muhummud Ikbaal (Iqbal) and that
of Mirza Ghalib, the two most famous Urdu poets, is a bit like the difference
between shampoo and champagne: they sound similar but possess very different
properties. So much, too, for the notion that famousness simply reflects
greatness!
612. If only Muslim girls and
women were taught and encouraged to use
their heads rather than to cover
them, that would be a significant step towards turning around their backward
and reform-resistant societies.
613. D.H. Lawrence’s objection
to the rather stodgy adage, ‘Handsome is that handsome does’, bears repeating:
‘(But) handsome doers are often ugly or objectionable people.’ However,
conversely, it’s also worth bearing in mind that many physically attractive
people have a highly unattractive character, that is revealed only on deeper
acquaintance with them.
614. One of the things one is
apt to notice while viewing t.v. footage of the armed struggle between the
rebels and the entrenched regimes in various ‘Arab Spring’ countries, is that
fighters on both sides keep shouting ullah-o-ukbur (God is great), which is supposed to continually remind Muslims of God’s
supremacy. Well, considering that in spite of these continual reminders,
Muslims, especially of different sects, frequently remain at one another’s
throats, perhaps the very concept of God’s supremacy, which Jews and Christians
also generally subscribe to, needs to be debunked or de-emphasized. As a more
deeply perceptive alternative to ullah-o-ukbur,
I suggest the Arabic-English hybrid ullah-o-usghur-va-cuddly
– in unmixed English, ‘God is small and cuddly (as well)’! As well? As well as
being an infinite number of other things, I mean. Instead of being slavishly
fixated on its greatness or omnipotence, you can choose the attribute(s) of it that is/are most personally
meaningful to you, as the capacity in
which to approach divinity (which of course you are yourself a part of).
615. As far as I can remember,
there is an authorial observation in Kipling’s Kim, the veracity and scope of which I’ve often wondered about over
the years. It may be paraphrased as follows: As children and teenagers, Indians develop mentally remarkably fast.
But at around the age of twenty, they invariably suffer a mental collapse,
which effectively prevents them from developing any further. Kim was first published in 1901 and drew
on Kipling’s experiences as a young man in
616. On the one hand, I have
always wanted a male sex-partner, who would also simultaneously be a true
friend and compatible companion. On the other hand, I somehow tend to be
attracted more by men of the lower-middle and working classes, whose modest
mental and moral credentials make it virtually impossible for any comprehensive
sort of friendship to develop between us. If there’s any way to cut this
Gordian knot, I certainly don’t know it!
617. An astute Chinese
proverb: It’s easy to catch a snake with someone else’s hand. A somewhat
similar thought: It’s easy to be generous with someone else’s money.
618. On 3 April this year
(2012), one of the e-mails that arrived in my Inbox was the daily newsletter
from Jihad Watch, which I’d subscribed to receive some weeks earlier. One of
the items in this newsletter was Robert Spencer’s interview of the Danish
psychologist Nicolai Sennels, which I found exceptionally interesting and
insightful, so much so that I have now obtained a printed copy of the interview
and the 61 readers’ comments that followed it, a total of 17 legal-size pages.
In answer to Spencer’s seven pertinent (if mostly leading) questions, Sennels
has aired his views on the psychological differences between Muslims and
Westerners. With reference to the concept of ‘locus of control’, which relates
to the way in which people feel that their lives are controlled, Sennels
maintains that, in Western culture, people are brought up to have an ‘inner
locus of control’, meaning that they see their own inner emotions, reactions,
decisions and views as the main deciding factor in their lives, which attitude
increases their sense of self-responsibility and motivates them to become able
to solve their own problems. By contrast, says Sennels, Muslims are brought up
to have an ‘outer locus of control’, which means that they are reconciled to
most aspects of their lives being determined by outer traditions and
authorities, and also, particularly, by God. Hence their frequent use, in
conversation, of the term inshallah
(God-willing) – which I, too, often find exasperating. This ‘outer locus of
control’ engenders irresponsibility, fecklessness and self-pity in Muslims,
contends Sennels, and I broadly agree with him.
There are several other significant and thought-provoking issues raised and assertions made, with varying degrees of substantiation and convincingness, both in Sennels’ interview and in many of the readers’ comments that follow it. These issues and assertions include: Muslim inbreeding (the prevalence of first-cousin marriages) and its genetic consequences; the psychological explanations for the oppression of women in Islam; the incitement to hatred and contempt for non-Muslims contained in the Küraan and Hudees (Mühummud’s sayings); Muslim criminality and violence; Islamophobia versus Islamonausea; the complete absence of introspection among Muslims; the widespread presence of Stockholm Syndrome in non-Arab Muslims; the irrelevance of the vast majority of Muslims supposedly just wanting to live in peace when it’s always the few fanatics who call the shots (including literally); the Islamic endorsement of marital rape; some comparison of the conditions of life of Muslim women with those of Jewish and Christian women. What I’ve found the most refreshing is the forthrightness with which Sennels and most of his readers have expressed their opinions, unhampered by the ‘political correctness’ that vitiates the speeches and statements of almost all contemporary politicians as well as the offerings of most of today’s ‘mainstream media’. It’s a bit like the refreshing spontaneity of the little boy, that dispelled the elaborate hoax of the Emperor’s new clothes in the (Danish) fairytale!
619. Are you an honest person
already, who always tells the truth? Well, the challenge for you is to become
more honest, then still more honest, after that even more honest, ad infinitum.
You can and should pay progressively greater attention to the less obvious
nuances of truth-telling, especially in what you tell yourself, particularly
regarding your motivations.
620. Next-worst to being
actively involved in acts of terrorism is being a ‘useful idiot’, who,
unwittingly and unintentionally, driven by misplaced sympathy and quite likely
deluded by the noble-savage notion, gets to throw their weight behind and hence
to advance the agenda of one or more terrorist groups, such as the Taliban of
Afghanistan and Pakistan, al-Shabab of Somalia, and Boco Haram (Haramis, for
short, pun of course intended) of Nigeria.
621. Recently, a friend of mine, who is a highly acclaimed Indian columnist and man of letters, quoted in his column my Reflection No. 603 (above), in which I have asserted that the conflict between Hinduism and Islam is a conflict between two somewhat different forms of idolatry. My friend has compared my assertion to a verse from Ikbaal’s (Iqbal’s) long poem Juvaab-e-Shikva – (God’s) Answer to (Man’s) Complaint. In this verse, Ikbaal is bemoaning, as he was so fond of doing, the historical decline of Muslim dominance, attributing it to deviation from Islam’s original message and adoption of new, corrupt practices amounting to idolatry. However, the comparison is not a very valid one, for Ikbaal and I are saying quite different things. Ikbaal is merely putting words expressing his simplistic notions about Muslim decadence into God’s mouth. (Another of his simplistic ideas, latched on to by M.A. Jinnah, was the ‘two-nation theory’, which formed the rationale for India’s Partition in 1947.) On the contrary, my contention is that the original Küraanic conception of God (as indeed that of Jewish belief, from which it clearly derives) is itself idolatrous in all respects except in that it’s not materially represented. In other words, Muslims worship one mental idol (though many of them also worship the local S.H.O. – Station House Officer or police station incharge), whereas most Hindus worship several idols with material form (and also, probably, their local S.H.O.s). So, theologically, the difference between the two religions is more apparent than real, and should not have formed the basis for a millennium of bitter enmity and copious bloodshed. If only members of both communities could abandon their respective forms of idolatry, incline instead towards all-inclusive pantheism (most simply put: God is everything, everything is God), banish all the numerous forms of superstition from their lives, avoid prejudice more than AIDS, uphold secularism, and develop the characteristics of honesty, courage, compassion, objectivity and critical thinking in themselves. If only they could!
622. The catch-phrase to
emerge from the Bill Clinton camp before the 1992 American presidential
elections, It’s the economy, stupid,
subsequently spawned several variants such as It’s the deficit, stupid,
It’s the voters, stupid, and It’s the constitution, stupid. But if
these phrases are trying to nail down the single most important issue
confronting the American nation, they’re all wide off the mark. The phrase (of
this ilk) to best encapsulate the single most important issue facing any nation in the world, in my opinion,
would be It’s the national character,
stupid. The fact that one wouldn’t expect any nation’s politicians to be
anything but clueless about their national character, especially regarding any
ways to bring about changes in it, points to the relative unimportance of
politicians in national life. More important in this capacity, though less
obviously so, are creative writers, innovative artists and cutting-edge
scientists.
623. People who contend that
no generalization is valid thereby invalidate their own contention, which is a
generalization too. The truth of the matter is that some generalizations,
considered in their true context, are perfectly valid, while others are not.
These Reflections aim to belong to
the former category.
*624. Secularism doesn’t (or shouldn’t) mean:
(1) That, in a secular
state/society, followers of any religion are discriminated against or
victimized. So the USSR wasn’t a secular state but an inverted-theocratic one.
(2) That the secular
state pursues a policy of promoting atheism over monotheism, polytheism,
pantheism or agnosticism. Not at all.
(3) That the majority
religious group in a secular state continues to oppress minority groups, as is
alleged to be the case in post-Independence India.
On the
other hand, secularism does (or should) mean:
(1) That Church and
State are clearly and unmistakably separated.
(2) That followers of
no religion can claim any special privileges, such as the use of loudspeakers
for their calls to prayer or clerical sermons. They should convene and
participate in their religious gatherings without disturbing anyone else, on
par with the organizers and spectators of a pop concert or sports event.
(3) That the laws in a
secular state do not discriminate against or in favour of any adherent,
ex-adherent or non-adherent of any religion, and that these laws are upheld and
enforced at every level.
(4) That all fundamental human rights, including
the important right to free speech, are enshrined in the constitution of the
secular state, effectively invocable by every citizen.
(5) That all religions,
as well as all forms of irreligion, are tolerated
(not necessarily respected) equally and
impartially in a secular state.
625. Although the need and
desire to be oneself, and the need and desire to change and grow, sometimes
seem contradictory, in fact they’re complementary and sequential. It’s only
when one succeeds in being oneself, having resisted all pressures to the
contrary, that the possibilities of inner change and growth truly open up.
626. Much, if not most, of the
Urdu verse of the ‘Poet of the East’, ‘poet-philosopher’,
627. Whatever else Mühummud bin Abdullah, the self-proclaimed prophet of Islam, was or was not, he certainly appears to have been remarkably simple-minded. The system of morality he sought to enforce was basically a seventh-century version of Grundyism, underpinned by crude cajolery and intimidation, with hardly a hint of why some actions are good and others bad (other than because God says so), let alone a shred of explanation of how the same action (e.g. extramarital sex) may be good in some circumstances and bad in others. What the Küraan and Ahadees (Mühummud’s sayings) do not bother to disclose is why, on what basis or according to what principle, God says what ‘He’ is supposed to say. Small wonder, then, that most Muslims (a.k.a. Mühummuduns) have such a weak, simplistic and superficial moral sense.
628. Faith devoid of
compassion is no faith, like fire devoid of flame is no fire.
629. I, for one (there must be others), am appalled at the
impotence, cowardice and effrontery of the Pakistani State, including its
pampered military and police, in currently (October 2012) dealing, or rather
not dealing, with the Taliban and other partially foreign, Islamist, terrorist,
criminal insurgent groups ensconced and operating freely in the tribal area of
North Wuzeeristan, bordering Afghanistan. These insurgents have reportedly
already killed 40,000 Pakistani
civilians and destroyed hundreds of
schools, are engaged in abducting, maiming and killing more Pakistanis on a
regular ongoing basis, and openly flout the authority of the State and its
laws. And how does the State, with all its enormous resources, respond? By
hiding its head in the sand, appeasing the militants, blaming
*630. Just two couplets from
two separate Urdu ghuzuls (stylized
poems) by Mirza Ghalib (1797 – 1869), of whose English translation I most
recently made final versions:
ta‘ut mayn ta ruhay na mae o ungbeen ki
laag
dozukh mayn daal do koee lay kur
buhisht ko
Translation:
So worship may not be tainted by greed
for wine and honey*,
Let someone pick up heaven and throw it
into hell!
vufadari bu'shurt-e-üstuvari usl eemaan hai
Translation:
Fidelity, provided it’s steadfast,
constitutes real faith:
If a Brahmin dies in his temple, bury
him in the Kaaba**!
** The holiest
Islamic (in fact pre-Islamic) shrine in
631.
Even I myself am surprised at the depth of my feelings for our three pet cats,
Doomoo, Minty and Brownie. Last week, Doomoo, the bicolour (steel-grey and
white) tom who has been with us since June or July 2006, suddenly disappeared
for five or six days. For the first two or three days, I was only mildly
worried, but after that, as time passed and Doomoo didn’t show up, my anxiety
and sense of loss deepened steeply, overshadowing my other concerns, including
work and sex. I kept remembering our association of over six years, longer than
many human friendships, and especially some of Doomoo’s winning ways, such as
his unique practice of pillowing his head on one’s foot. I began invoking the
spirits of deceased family-members and previous pets, and praying to the gods /
God-mystery (not deities / a Deity), to help us locate Doomoo, alive or dead.
If we could find his little body, perhaps run over by a motor vehicle, I
intended to bury it in the raised flower-bed outside our living-room, where,
seven summers ago, Doomoo, as a kitten, had arrived out of the blue and parked himself.
Finally, on probably the sixth day after his disappearance, our manservant
found Doomoo, alive and unhurt, not very far from our house, and brought him
back, bagging the 500-rupee reward. Was I glad to see the little fellow!
However, neither Doomoo himself, nor the spirits I invoked or the undeified
gods I prayed to, are letting on about how he sustained himself for six days!
That’ll just have to wait till the final denouement.
*632.
Yesterday,
GRIEF
My darling is dead; my mother is lying motionless
And cold under the
full-speed fan in her bedroom.
Not tonight, like
last night, will she call me importunately,
And ask for water, or
express her concern for me.
Neither will I hurry,
while trying to keep my nerve,
To comfort her, to have
the maid do something for her,
To stroke her hair,
tell her it’s the middle of the night,
Then kiss her hand,
wish her ‘Good Night’, and return.
All that is over for
ever, as one day it had to be.
But the inevitable griefs
of life are grief nonetheless.
This morning, I
helped with her breakfast, and with minimal prompting,
She recited
correctly, if subduedly, all the four lines
Of the nursery rhyme Twinkle, twinkle little star;
Yet by lunchtime she
was gone, further than any star.
Death, O death, sunderer
of bonds of affection and love,
Yet also bringer of
relief and vehicle of sanity,
I know a bit about
life, but how I wonder what you are!
Nine years later, the grief of my mother’s death has naturally abated, though her memory remains fresh and distinct in my mind. I still seem no closer to fathoming what death is, except that it must be both an end and a beginning of some sort. In any case, whatever death may or may not be, the prime responsibility of the living is surely to live as fully and fearlessly as possible. Till one’s final breath.
633.
One of the (probably several) ways in which the pre-1947 British Raj in South Asia was better
than subsequent Pakistani self-rule is that, in the preceding period, the
Prevention of Cruelty to Animals Act, 1890 appears to have been operative. Now,
even though the said Act remains on the Pakistani statute-books, it is anything
but operational. What a shame!
634.
Heard by me recently on BBC World Service radio, broadcast between programmes as a sort of verbal blurb for a future programme, in the voice of a probably unidentified presenter,
was the following highly perceptive statement: As the frontiers of our
knowledge expand, the number of things that we know we don’t know also
increases. How true, humbling and exciting!
635.
Despite having been familiar with the word ‘scapegoat’ since childhood, and on
occasion having used it in speech and writing myself, it was only a few days
ago that I discovered its unsavoury
etymology. According to the Old Testament Book, Leviticus, chapter 16, God
commanded Moses to instruct the chief priest to establish the observance of an
annual Atonement Day, one of the procedures prescribed for which was to
symbolically lay the sins of the people upon an actual goat, and then to drive it
into the wilderness! Leviticus
636.
An explanation that has lately been offered for the generally staunch adherence
to Islam of non-Arab Muslims (converts and their descendants) is the so-called
Stockholm Syndrome, the unnatural bond of loyalty that sometimes develops in
captives for their captors (first identified in four employees held hostage in
their bank by two gunmen in Stockholm in 1973). It’s an interesting
explanation, and not without some validity. However, having lived almost all my
life in Pakistan, I think a more valid and more widely applicable explanation
for the obsequious, uncritical attachment of non-Arab (and even Arab) Muslims
to Islam is what I call ENC Syndrome, i.e. Emperor’s New Clothes Syndrome! It
works, of course, thus: If everybody
around you who is somebody is rapturously praising something, you don’t want to
be considered an ignorant nobody by not doing likewise, do you? Of course,
the applicability of ENC Syndrome extends far beyond Muslims’ adulation of
their religion to virtually all areas of collective human psychology.
637.
From what I gather from the Internet, there is currently quite a controversy
going on in the
I’m not sure about the advisability or
otherwise of allowing the display of such religio-political adverts in public places, because of their
potential to (rightly or wrongly) infuriate some people, leading to rioting or
other sorts of breaches of public peace. Nevertheless, if local law allows
their display, my modified version of the above-mentioned ad, which no lobby or
pressure group would probably be prepared to sponsor, would read: IN ANY WAR
BETWEEN THE CIVILIZED MAN AND THE SAVAGE, SUPPORT THE CIVILIZED MAN. SECULARIZE
638.
Everything in life being relative and comparable . . . it is much better for two men or two women to
have sex with each other fully consensually than for a man to rape his own
wife.
639.
Recovering slowly from an about ten-day-long, fairly distressing and depressing
episode of the simultaneous onslaught of multiple physical ailments (cold,
cough, upset stomach, eczema), unfortunately coinciding with having to look
after a new kitten with a badly injured foot that I picked up and brought home
12 days ago, two of my recurring thoughts are: (1) Why hasn’t any Pakistani
politician to date, in government or opposition, ever proposed that an attempt
be made to provide universal health coverage in the country along the lines of
the British National Health Service? (2) Why are veterinary services in
640.
It’s as natural and normal for a writer to write as it is for the weaver-bird
to weave its elaborate nest.
641.
Hardly had I recovered from the episode of ill-health mentioned in No. 639
above than I started feeling fairly intense pain along the back of my right
leg. Despite taking the medicines prescribed by two doctors at the local
government hospital for about a month now, and undergoing three short sessions
of physiotherapy at the same hospital as well, this disabling pain has so far
refused to go away. So I’m prompted to ponder at least three aspects of the
situation: physical, psychological and moral-spiritual. Physically, the pain
could be caused by several factors, such as a pulled muscle or muscles,
sciatica, some form of rheumatism, and/or hip osteoarthritis. The doctors I’ve
seen haven’t come up with a clear diagnosis yet, which casts doubt on their
competence. Psychologically, I fear I may not be responding to the pain
robustly and resolutely enough, slipping too close to the detestable self-pity
of victimhood. As for any moral-spiritual significance of my current condition,
I can’t help but wonder why, if everything
hangs together in the deepest sense (
642.
Islamophobia? You might as well talk of snakeophobia!
643.
A news item appeared recently in the Times
of India captioned Muslim scholars
challenge Salman Rushdie to debate on Islam. One of these ‘Muslim scholars’
(an oxymoron, for the last genuine Muslim scholars lived in the Middle Ages) is
quoted in the piece as having said, ‘Instead of opposing his visit to Mumbai,
let us invite Rushdie to this city and answer (sic) our questions.’ Oh yeah? Well, I have a better idea: why don’t
these so-called scholars of Mumbai instead invite the Taliban to their city for
a really robust, properly contextualized debate on Islam, complete with some
vivid practical demonstrations?
644.
I acknowledge god (or God – same thing) in every living human being. Or put it
another way, I regard every living human being as an incarnation of God. But
for all that, I also sometimes feel tired of and want relief from all living
human beings. Where then can I turn? Well, firstly I can turn to dead human
beings, or rather to their disembodied spirits, also part of god, inviolably
beyond time and space, yet invocable here and now. Secondly I can turn to
living animals, incarnations of God in animal form, starting of course with my
four pet cats, as dear to me as their children to any doting parent. I can also
turn to literature, art and music, which are manifestations of God at one
remove, having come into existence through the efforts of the more creative,
hence more godlike (or ‘godful’), among human beings.
645.
A pain-filled day, followed by an unrestful night, followed by another
pain-filled day, followed by another unrestful night . . . this is how it has
been with me for over two months now, taking me to the limit of my endurance,
thereby hopefully extending that limit. The cause? Apparently, a
prolapsed/herniated intervertebral disc that’s impinging on the spinal roots of
the sciatic nerve, which is relaying incessant but variably intense pain along
the back of my right leg. Treatment options? Several, but nothing even remotely
like a quick fix. Qualities most needed to cope with the condition:
intelligence and stoicism. Crucial question: have I enough of those two attributes?
646.
The way that the words ‘racism’ and ‘racist’ are commonly bandied about these
days, i.e. as terms of abuse, tends to make me somewhat uncomfortable. To the
extent that ‘racial characteristics’ are genuinely attributable genetically to
race (rather than environmentally to culture), why shouldn’t they be accepted
as such? Nobody would deny that physical characteristics such as skin colour
and hair type are attributable to a
person’s race. Of course, when talking of mental and moral characteristics, one
has to be much more stringently careful not to ascribe to race features of
behaviour actually attributable to other factors, and not to substitute prejudice
for truth. Nevertheless, one should in all honesty be able to express an
observation or conjecture, tracing an instance of a person’s or group’s
behaviour to their race, without being immediately labelled a racist – as
though that were just as condemnable as being a rapist!
647.
This awful sciatica leg-pain that I’ve been experiencing for about three months
now might – just might – ultimately prove to be a blessing in disguise, but at
present it certainly feels like all disguise and no blessing! The precedence of
pain is incontrovertible; what remains to be seen remains to be seen.
648.
Today,
Quite apart from its merit as a novel,
something else that The Finkler Question made me wonder about is the
seemingly indissoluble bond of Jews to Jewishness, exceeding those in evidence
for adherents of other religions. Bertrand Russell, presumably from a Christian
background, decided he wasn’t a Christian, wrote Why I am Not a Christian, and that was that. Following his
example, about two decades ago, Ibn Warraq (a pseudonym) had the courage (and
scholarship) to write Why I am Not a Muslim, clearly dissociating himself
from Islam. When I was about seventeen, I
too decided not to identify myself as a Muslim, and have never looked back or
agonized about my decision since (though, to drive the point home, on my 38th birthday, I changed my name). Of course, no one can opt out of their race or
ethnicity, which must be mainly why one hears of Jews of all sorts and stripes,
including secular Jews and Ashamed Jews, but almost never of ex-Jews.
649.
According to the report on my lumbar spine MRI scan, one of my intervertebral
discs, having undergone degenerative changes, has herniated and is compressing
certain nerve roots, causing pain to radiate down my right leg. Two other of my
nearby intervertebral discs, details the report, also show signs of similar but
milder herniation. If completely correct and accurate, this is bad news indeed,
for it means that at 63 I’m already facing serious degenerative changes in my
body, which could make me an invalid for the rest of my life. It is especially
ironic that the degeneration is said to be happening in my backbone, which in
the metaphorical sense I’ve always been proud of! Well, what has to be faced
has to be faced. One only has to think of Stephen Hawking to remember how bravely
and tenaciously some people have coped with their physical disabilities.
650.
Logically, of course, you can’t do better than your best, which it is just as
well to remember, especially if you tend to be obsessive or perfectionistic. On
the other hand, it is often by trying
to do better than your (previous) best, by competing with yourself rather than
with others, that you succeed in realizing your full potential and truly doing
your best.
651.
Life (or God or fate) certainly has some nasty surprises in store for some
(most?) people, such as the sudden appearance in my case, about 4½ months ago,
of the double-whammy of degenerative disc disease and sciatica, resulting in
acute and incessant pain. But even a nasty surprise, if confronted intelligently
and resolutely, can sometimes lead to an un-nasty, advantageous outcome. And
the effort to that end is in any case worth making.
652.
I’m sure that a spade, if it had human feelings, would be upset, annoyed and
vengefully outraged if someone called it - ugh - a spade! It would certainly
much prefer and would be mollified and appeased to be called a teaspoon or a
violin or any other politically correct euphemism. Likewise liars, criminals,
terrorists and savages.
653.
Today,
654.
It turns out that last night three persons from our next-door neighbours’ house, according to one of them, actually saw a
speeding vehicle hit our cat Güppoo and
fling him over to the other side of the road. It’s not clear what time it was,
but appears to have been between 8.15 and
655.
Follows an attempt to compare two different kinds of pain: A. the physical pain
of sciatica that I’ve been enduring for over five months now; B. the emotional
pain of having lost my cherished young cat, Güppoo, a week ago. The former,
physical pain has been fairly intense, occasionally excruciating, but in the
last two weeks, probably owing to the effect of some medicine or combination of
medicines, it seems to have alleviated by about 10 to 15 per cent. The latter,
emotional pain can also be called fairly intense for I’m missing little Güppoo,
who was like a ray of golden sunshine, pretty keenly – but there’s no medicine
I can take to alleviate this pain. I think I’ll never forget the relief, and
even something close to joy, evinced by Güppoo on being brought home the other
night – after having been cruelly run over and then callously ignored by the
roadside for perhaps a couple of hours – even though he was grievously hurt,
bleeding from his nose, and had less than an hour more to live. The prognosis
of pain A is uncertain; it may aggravate again, necessitating neurosurgery
which, in
656.
‘There is a special providence in the fall of a sparrow.’ Not, it would appear,
for the sparrow, Master Hamlet! And yet, right before this dubious
pronouncement, in a pattern of alternation fairly typical of his methodical
madness, Hamlet asserts pertinently and superbly, ‘We defy augury.’ This could
be recast in the modern idiom as, ‘One must debunk predictions and
premonitions.’ That’s something that superstitious South Asians, particularly
the Hindus, could most profitably learn to do!
657.
Ignorance may be bliss, but the blissful ignorant cannot usually avoid being
buffeted from one course of action to another, say in the matter of getting
treatment for a medical problem, on the diverse recommendations of those even marginally
less ignorant than themselves.
658.
It may be an overstatement but it’s no mere vilification to describe Islam as
‘a death-cult’. Many, if not most, of its adherents will tell you that they
‘love death’, and that they consider it one’s highest achievement in life to be
martyred and hence qualify for paradise. This is not quite as strange and
surprising as it may sound, in view of the fact that what is generally
available to Muslims as ‘life’ is usually so hidebound, dissatisfying and
deficient in joie de vivre that its
converse, death, beguilingly presented as leading (the pious) to eternal
gratification and bliss, actually begins to appear more attractive. However, to
be impartially fair, the other religions and ideologies in the world, besides Islam,
also display various sorts of anti-life features and tendencies, while
Communism, which Bertrand Russell classified as a religion, arguably is
all-in-all even more anti-life than Islam.
659.
Prejudice can blind one’s mind just as effectively as a blindfold one’s eyes.
660.
It would surely be pretty fatuous to deny that homosexuality is one of the
important issues of our time. And of course, as has been the case with other
important human rights issues over the last 500 years, it’s the West that has taken
the lead in intelligently and innovatively addressing this thorny issue, while
the East as usual is content with bringing up the rear. According to the
arguably conservative estimate of gays comprising about 10% of the general
population, the total number of gays in the world would exceed 700 million,
more than twice the total population of every country on earth except
661.
One side of the coin of reality is space, time and life; the other side of the
same coin can be surmised to be infinity, eternity and divinity. Some coin!
662.
Since one’s life has not always existed, but had a beginning in time, i.e. the
moment of conception, it seems logical, natural and appropriate that it should
also have an end in time, i.e. the moment of death. Sombre but not insubstantial consolation, that.
663.
It’s curious how much even a minor and transient medical problem like wax
blocking one’s ears can disrupt one’s life. It’s five days today since this
phenomenon affected mainly my right ear, and three days since the left one also
got equally affected, leaving me with less than half of my normal hearing
ability. The day before yesterday, I was fully prepared to ask for an
adjournment in a fairly important court-case scheduled for substantive
arguments – except that proceedings had already been adjourned on account of
the adverse party’s unreadiness, even before I
reached court. I have been putting soda-glycerine ear-drops in my ears,
approved by two doctors at the local hospital, since the first day, but the
accumulated wax has apparently not softened sufficiently yet to be removed
painlessly. In the meantime, my impaired hearing quite effectively insulates me
from unmelodious and unwelcome sounds, like the shrill, grating noise of the
electric motor sending water from the underground water-tank to the overhead
one, and like the amplified cacophony from nearby mosques in connection with
Friday prayers (as was the case today). Moreover, this aural discomfort has
temporarily eclipsed the much more serious sciatica pain I’ve been suffering
for over six months (though which lately has diminished considerably anyway).
On the downside, I cannot properly hear my cats’ purrs and miaows, can’t listen
to music or to the radio or t.v., have difficulty using the phone, and
generally feel somewhat disoriented. However, I’m pretty sure that things, both
pleasant and unpleasant, will be back to normal well before next Friday.
664.
Do gays take themselves too seriously? Well, in this part of the world (
(1)
Question: What was the vice admiral’s vice?
Answer: The rear admiral’s rear.
(2)
Remark: My mother made me a
homosexual.
Response: If I give her the wool, will she
make me one, too?
665.
I may be terrible at making money, which as far as I can understand is a skill; but I believe I’m rather good at
spending money – by whatever (ethical) means it may have come my way –
appropriately and with a certain éclat, which I think is something of an art. Having the art does not completely
compensate for lacking the skill, but perhaps to some extent it does.
666.
The last time I saw Doomoo, our tom-cat who has been with us since the summer
of 2006, was on
Considering that Doomoo came to us, out of
the blue, when he was still a kitten, and since then has always had the
opportunity to have a good meal at home (not to mention unfailing love and
relative safety), I find his staying away even for a couple of days hard to
explain and worrisome. The two times, before now, that he’s stayed away the
longest, and when his return seemed miraculous to us, comprised durations of 16
and 14 days respectively, both this summer. Other than on these two occasions,
the longest that Doomoo has ever stayed away from home has been six days or a
week. This time it’s already almost three weeks. So, wishful thinking and
hoping against hope apart, it seems certain that he must have suffered a fatal
mishap. Which, if confirmed, will mean the end of our seven-year-long exemplary
friendship across species. The end, that is, as far as this limited,
space-and-time-bound world is concerned.
667.
I count it as one of my major successes this year (2013) that the intensity of
my sciatica pain, which ranged from moderate to severe during January to April,
has now dropped to mild in mid-August. The medicine that appears to have done
the trick comprises the two enzymes trypsin and chymotrypsin, whose exact mode
of action is however still not clear to me. Nor is clear the likelihood or
unlikelihood of a relapse. What is
gratifyingly clear, though, is that my physical health is much better now than
six months ago.
668.
The character-type, more than other character-types, that Islam produces and
promotes in its adherents is the schizoid one of the ‘pious criminal’. The piousness,
which consists in dutifully obeying the Islamic injunctions regarding prayers,
fasting, etc., is usually quite genuine, but it merely overlies a substratum of
unresolved criminality. That is why even the most decent of Muslims are never
decent all the way through, and are prone to resort to criminal behaviour in
stressful situations.
669.
In a ‘health guide’ pamphlet distributed free by an American pharmacy chain, I
came across the following attempt to differentiate grief and depression:
Nothing
startlingly new in this of course, except perhaps the observation that in grief
the sadness ‘comes in waves’. It’s quite true, it does. That’s the way in which
I’ve been feeling sad at the loss of our tom-cat Doomoo, who I used to call the
apple of my eye, his loss almost fully confirmed now after more than 26 days of
his absence from home. In between being lapped by the waves of sadness, I’ve
been functioning normally, eating, working, shopping, having sex (of sorts),
attending to our two remaining cats, etc. But then rather suddenly I start
missing Doomoo again, for instance when I see the muddy marks, getting fainter
but still clearly visible, on the lowest pane of one of my bedroom windows,
left by his forepaws when uniquely he used to clamber against that pane to
announce that he wanted to come in, often in the middle of the night. Looking
from the inside, I could see the anxiety in his eyes, and would invariably let
him in. That’s not going to be happening any more. Well, at least I have the
satisfaction that ours was a good, healthy, affectionate and stable
relationship lasting seven years – in a country like
670.
Self-deception is one of the commonest, most treacherous and most ruinous of
vices.
671.
Most people are afraid of both death and life; some privileged people appear
not to be afraid of life but seem terrified of death, which threatens to snatch
their privileges; a few fanatics, such as suicide bombers, defy death but have
a dull hatred and fear of life; rare indeed is the person who is not afraid of
either death or life.
672.
Far be it from me to take sides with the adherents of one religion against
those of another (they’ve all been taken for a ride of one sort or another);
but objective, comparative facts regarding the adherents of different religions
should be impartially acknowledged. The total population of Jews in the world
must be about a hundred times less
than the total world population of Muslims. However, the number of Jews awarded
a Nobel Prize in the last hundred-odd years since these Prizes began being
awarded must be (very) roughly a hundred
times more than the number of Muslim Nobel laureates. That (even if my
statistics are halfway inaccurate) surely says something about the relative
mental capabilities of Jews and Muslims. Of course the Nobel Prizes do not
constitute the ultimate criterion of intellectual excellence – aberrantly D.H.
Lawrence was never given one – but they do provide a rough-and-ready yardstick
for measuring it.
673.
Being brutally honest is better than being dishonest – if, as rarely happens,
those are the only two options available. But in fact, almost always, there is
also available the third and best option of being completely but gently and/or drily honest.
674.
One is responsible for being in those bad relationships which one could have
ended had one tried harder, and also for not being in those good relationships
which one could have formed and sustained had one tried more. Of course, in
both of these cases, one has not only to try hard but in the right, effective
way as well.
675.
Quite seriously, quite often I prefer the company of animals, particularly my
cats, to that of my fellow-humans. Unlike the latter, the former don’t tell
lies or dissemble, always respond in kind if they are given love, and never
stab you in the back. Their emotional range is of course much more limited than
that of humans, but that, after sustained exposure to the not infrequently
nauseous rigmarole of human feelings, can sometimes come as a relief.
676.
Miracle of miracles, at least for me: early this morning,
677.
Sexuality sometimes appears to be a law unto itself, but in fact, in humans, it
is not so. Since inherently (not just
cosmetically) we are moral animals, there is no activity of ours whatsoever
that lies outside the scope of moral interpretation and judgement. However, the
morality according to which sexual overtures, acts and omissions may be judged
should never be of the obtuse conventional or hidebound religious varieties. It
should be the morality of life itself, whereby basically that which promotes
life is considered moral and that which denies life adjudged immoral.
678.
Facing up to reality and aligning oneself with it is the basic task and
challenge for every human being alive. The different ways in which this can be
done are at least as many as the number of living human beings (currently over
seven billion). And the various ways in which people can fail to do this are of
course many times more numerous still.
*679.
The translation of the best Urdu verse of Mirza Ghalib that I embarked upon
decades ago, is still only about halfway complete, so it’ll be a while before I
push it into the public domain. The original of the latest (43rd) ghuzul (stylized poem) of Ghalib’s that
I’ve translated (finalized) contains nine couplets, but I’ve chosen only six of
them, which, by way of a preview, are presented below, the transliteration of
each original couplet preceding my translation of it:
kya bunay baat juhaan baat buna'ay na bunay
Where I can’t
even say what I want, getting what I want is impossible.
üs pay bun ja'ay kuchh aisi keh bin aa'ay na bunay
May they1 be brought to a pass where not to come is impossible!
kaash yoon bhi ho keh bin mairay suta'ay na bunay
I wish, as object of their3
teasing, dispensing with me is impossible!
purdah chhorra hai vo üs nay keh üttha'ay na bunay
A veil’s been cast all around, penetrating
which is impossible.
kaam vo aan purra hai keh buna'ay na bunay
The bundle of cares that’s slipped from my head, I can’t lift back;
Such a task confronts me now, performing
which is impossible.
keh luga'ay na lugay aur büjha'ay na bunay
No one can light at will, and putting
out which is impossible.
1 She or he – the beloved.
2 Her or him – the beloved.
3 Her or his – the beloved’s.
680.
The so-called ‘supernatural’ or occult tends to make me rather uncomfortable,
and when represented in art, especially literature, is apt to leave me rather
cold. It seems a form of escapism or abstraction from life. Just nature itself,
non-human and human, is so inexhaustibly vast, so complex, and really so
all-inclusive that it more than suffices for any artist or writer to tap from
it and interpret ever-new aspects of it. To attempt to go ‘beyond’ nature
actually means flying off at a tangent from reality towards sterility.
681.
Yesterday afternoon (10.10.13), returning home on foot from Abbottabad’s main
bazaar, through a mainly working-class neighbourhood called Kureempura, I came
across a boy of about ten using his bicycle to bother an obviously homeless
puppy-dog. The urchin repeatedly pushed or rode his bike at the puppy, making it scamper. I told the boy to stop and asked
him how he would feel if somebody bothered him in the same way. From the boy’s
sullen amazement at my words, and actually even irrespective of it (knowing
Paki culture inside out), I’m convinced that no other adult before me could
have considered the boy’s behaviour worth reproving. The puppy had a fancy blue
cord tied like a noose round its neck, with the other end of the cord trailing
on the ground. I was walking away after rebuking the boy, but then stopped to
untie the blue cord from the puppy’s neck and pat its head, while the little
fellow, in a spontaneous show of canine affection and gratitude, licked my
hands with its warm wet tongue. Of course I could not bring the puppy home,
having three pet cats here already, but the incident has reinforced my
intention to help set up here a properly functional Society for the Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals. If the Brits could do so in ‘
What ails Paki culture that people here exhibit such negligence, callousness and cruelty towards animals, particularly dogs? Well, up to a point, I think this characteristic is common to all primitive cultures – people belonging to these cultures have just never known any better. It’s an ignoble strand in the general ignobility of savages and semi-savages. The particular phenomenon of Muslims’ prejudice against and mistreatment of dogs, however, has an additional unsavoury source. It turns out that there are a number of ahadees – (generally unreliable) records of Mühummud’s sayings and doings – to the following effect: Once there was an unusually long interval between the revelations from Ullah (God) that Mühummud is supposed to have received continually via the angel Jibra'eel (Gabriel). When subsequently Jibra'eel arrived with another revelation, Mühummad enquired about the reason for the long gap, and was told by Jibra'eel: ‘Well, you know you have been staying lately with some people who have a pet dog. Now, we angels never enter a house in which there is a dog.’ So, this hudees is apparently the basis for the widespread Muslim antipathy to dogs. On account of this hocus-pocus, an entire animal species has been unfairly stigmatized for and by a sizeable proportion of mankind (who protects you from thieves, for goodness’ sake, dogs or angels?), for about fourteen hundred years already! I find that outrageous and unforgivable.
682.
The American version of the phrase ‘a new lease of life’, I believe, is ‘a new
lease on life’. Either way, my nearly complete recovery, in a matter of nine or
ten months, without surgery, from the acutely painful and debilitating
concomitant conditions of a slipped disc and sciatica, can just about be said
to represent, for me, a new lease of/on life. So glad about that!
683.
Yesterday,
684.
Reflecting on these Reflections . . .
the only adverse comment on them I’ve received so far that is worth considering
was recently from a friend who said that their tonal range was too narrow, and
that they read like a monologue by Marcus Aurelius. Not having read Aurelius’s Meditations yet, I cannot form an
opinion about the fairness of the comparison (though I can imagine worse
company than that gent’s to be in). Anyhow, my defence against the charge of
monotony of these Reflections is that
that is a price I’m prepared to pay for the sake of their greater authenticity
and forcefulness.
685.
Apart from the question ‘to be or not to be?’, which at some stage should be
answered decisively in the affirmative (see No. 167 above), other less
fundamental questions are also apt frequently to trouble one’s mind, such as
‘to do or not to do (something)?’ and ‘to say or not to say (something)?’,
which questions may be answered correctly in the negative just as often as in
the affirmative. Whereas concerns and doubts about what to do and say in
various situations are natural and inevitable, the best way to resolve, indeed
dissolve, these concerns and doubts is to be genuinely spontaneous. That
involves shunning all manner of deviousness, and having the courage to always
be oneself.
*686. Every flower that blooms – even the tiny mauvish pink zinnia, barely an inch across, the very last of the season from our garden, that I picked yesterday and plonked by itself in a small decorative porcelain vase, and am looking at right now (and have taken a digital photo of, pasted below) – is a clear affirmation of life and of reality. Which must be something like what Wordsworth had in mind when he wrote:
Thanks
to the human heart by which we live,
Thanks
to its tenderness, its joys, and fears,
To me
the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts
that do often lie too deep for tears.
687.
Two months into my 65th year, at long last I can honestly claim that I’m almost
always almost entirely at peace with myself. Not quite always and not quite
entirely, but more often and to a greater extent than ever before. It feels
rather like the stage characterized by
688.
Have you heard yet of ‘sexual jihad’, which so far (mid-November ’13) appears
to have received rather limited media coverage? It is this glorious extension
of the wonderful opportunity of jehad (holy war, including suicide bombings,
rewarded by guaranteed access to paradise) from being available normally only
to Muslim men to becoming available also to Muslim women and girls. How so?
Well, it has been reliably reported that, especially in Tunisia and Syria,
women and girls, either of their own volition or under pressure from their
families, have been having sex with Islamic militants fighting against
‘infidels’, in order to gratify them (in both the vaginal and anal modes) and
boost their morale! Naturally, the more militants (mujahideen) a girl satisfies
the more meritorious her sexual jehad, earning her proportionately more divine
Brownie points, and turning her, wonder of wonders, into a simultaneous whore
and saint! Now, why on earth should anyone want to accuse Islam of sexism any
longer?
689.
Question: With death breathing down one’s neck, more and more insistently as
one grows older, what can one do?
Short answer: Live!
690.
I can never just sit down and produce another, new Reflection by deliberately willing to do so, in the same way that I
can will to eat an apple, go for a walk, or read a book. Usually, quite some
time before I put pen to paper, a sort of creative (as opposed to epileptic) aura develops in my mind, often
triggered spontaneously by a single phrase, word or image. And once I’ve
actually started on my first sentence, unless it’s a very short aphorism, it
feels like I’ve been dropped in the middle of a deep, turbulent lake, and have
urgently to find the best direction in which to swim ashore! At the closing
punctuation mark, as in the present case, I feel I’ve reached dry land again.
691.
On one of the first few pages of Lady
Chatterley’s Lover, occurs the following very short, one-sentence
paragraph:
When the girls came home for the summer holidays
of 1913, when Hilda was twenty and Connie eighteen, their father could see
plainly that they had had the love experience.
Being
read a century later in 2013, this somehow feels particularly poignant to me.
In 1913, my father was probably a toddler, my mother not born yet, and the
First World War, the ‘tragic cataclysm’ referred to at the beginning of
692.
In at least the following one important way, Islam not only legitimizes but
pretty much encourages crime: It teaches that ANYTHING, by implication even the
most heinous of crimes, including perjury, robbery, abduction, acid-attacks,
rape, individual and mass murder, etc., if performed ‘in the path of Ullah’
(i.e. for the sake of God) and as a means of establishing Islam’s dominance, is
not only acceptable but highly commendable and eternally rewardable! What
better justification could a potential criminal want for any proposed crime!
And this grotesque outcome surely stems from Islam’s fundamental, moronic
failure to recognize that ends don’t justify means.
*693. Looking for God, anyone? Well, here are a few tips from a veteran (or inveterate) god-seeker:
(1)
Beware of the semantic trap. The word ‘god’ or ‘God’ is just a word, an anagram of the word ‘dog’.
Other words and phrases that can be substituted for it, depending on the
context, include ‘reality’, ‘truth’, ‘life’, ‘Nature’, ‘Providence’, ‘destiny’,
‘the transcendent dimension’, ‘the Absolute’, ‘eternity-infinity’, and ‘divine
mystery’.
(2) To
the very maximum extent possible, avoid deifying
god, i.e. regarding god as a deity (or deities), which is simply mental
idolatry. However, for the sole purpose
of praying to, some sort of deification of divinity seems unavoidable. Not
so, of course, in the case of meditation.
(3)
Although no conception of God, not even my own pantheistic one, is entirely
satisfactory, the more ridiculous of such conceptions should be clearly
repudiated. For example, despite what the Bible and (especially) the Kuraan
proclaim, God is NOT a fatarse sitting eternally in (seventh) heaven on His
throne (under which, according to a hudees,
the sun retreats at night!), offering the most luscious carrots and brandishing
the most terrible stick. Perish the
thought!
(4) As
with looking for anything else, half the battle is looking in the right, likely
places, and not barking up the wrong tree. The right, promising tree to
profitably bark up when looking for God is the tree of life, i.e. individual
living things: plants, animals and humans, including, indeed starting with,
yourself.
(5) As mantras go, here is a perfectly innocuous one that may serve as an occasional reminder: I am god, you are god, he is god, she is god, it is god, we are god, they are god.
(6) In the quest for God, how are you to gauge how much progress, if any, you’ve made? Well, any progress made in this quest is directly proportional to how much at peace with yourself you feel. And how are you to assess reliably how much you really feel at peace with yourself? Well, by being scrupulously honest with yourself (and concomitantly with everyone else). Looking for God, ultimately and subjectively, is the same as looking for yourself; it has no objective dimension. To the extent that you’ve truly found yourself, i.e. are integrated and at peace with yourself, to the same extent can you be said to have found God.
694.
It’s a hundred times better to kiss your living pet cat or dog (or even one
that’s just died) than to kiss the eternally unliving black stone of the Kaaba,
or any other idol or idol-substitute.
695.
Try to face life in all its enormous complexity, and also, when the time comes,
to face death in all its awesome simplicity.
696. One of the more curious ahadees (reported sayings and doings of Mühummud – singular: hudees) included in the voluminous collection compiled by Imam Bukhari, who, though he lived about two centuries after Mühummud, is considered the most reliable of the hudees-compilers . . . this hudees (volume 6, book 65, No. 4480 / volume 4, book 55, No. 546) tells the following story (in paraphrase):
In 622 A.D., soon after Mühummud reached Mudeena (Medina) after fleeing from Mukkah (Mecca), a Jewish rabbi and scholar of Mudeena, Abdullah bin Sulaam, a secret Muslim-sympathizer, got to see the self-proclaimed Prophet of Islam. Abdullah asked Mühummud three questions, which he (Abdullah) asserted that no one but a prophet could answer, namely:
(1) What will be the first portent of
Doomsday?
(2) What will those who enter paradise
eat first?
(3) What makes a baby look like either
its father or its mother?
In response, Mühummud asserted that just then the angel Jibra'eel (Gabriel) had told him the answers to those three questions; and when Mühummud repeated the three answers, Abdullah was suitably impressed and embraced Islam. The answers were:
(1) The first portent of Doomsday will
be a fire that will drive the people from the east to the west.
(2) Those who enter paradise will first
of all eat the caudate (extra) lobe of fish liver.
(3) If, during sexual intercourse, the
man’s discharge precedes (or, in one Urdu translation that makes little sense,
‘predominates over’) the woman’s discharge, the child resembles its father. But
if the woman’s discharge precedes (or ‘predominates over’) the man’s discharge,
then the child resembles its mother.
Oh, so now we know! What a
fantastic tip that third answer is for couples planning to have a child,
especially in certain circumstances, such as when one out of the couple, man or
woman, is much better-looking than the other! Why on earth haven’t Muslims over
the ages made more (or any) use of this important and helpful piece of genetic information
from an infallible source?
697. The Küraanic conception of God, which is derived mainly from the older Judaic conception, and which has formed the basis of the Islamic conception of divinity for the last fourteen hundred years, is fundamentally anthropomorphic (only in a different way than the ancient Greek and Hindu conceptions), egregiously authoritarian, obsessively literalistic, and, for me, finally quite imbecilic.
698.
No matter how much compassion one may feel for fools, there is just no way that
one can comprehensively save them from the consequences of their foolishness.
The only possible hope for fools lies in their shedding their foolishness by
learning to use their minds.
699.
It’s not supposed to happen so late in life, but at 64 lo and behold I have a
new love-interest, strictly speaking for only the fourth time in my life. M is
just 26 (looks 19 or 20), male, unmarried, a smasher (though not in the
popular, film-star mode), local lower-middle class (but quite affluent), a
practising Muslim (sigh!), with a noticeably firm nose, light complexion, a really
winsome smile, even teeth and not-always-clean fingernails. He seems to have a
mind of his own – insofar as he has a mind at all; and he appears to be quick,
sensitive, spontaneous, sympathetic and relatively truthful. He says he’s never
had sex with anyone yet, but professes to be attracted to women. Can he and I
ever have an intimate, mutually fulfilling relationship? Well, if we can’t, as
seems likely considering the odds, at least it shouldn’t be on account of any
lack of trying on my part. It’s still very early days . . .
700.
If you’re casting about and racking your brains for something profound to say
or write, as I suspect politicians mostly are, you may in a sense be putting
the cart before the horse. Profundity, like the poetic Muse, seems of its own
accord to pick the human mediators through which to be appropriately expressed,
rather than the other way round. What a person can do is to keep all one’s faculties and skills ready and honed in
order to be able to act as a worthy conveyor and purveyor of new and
significant ideas.
701.
I feel that I mustn’t let down my three cats, Doomoo, Minty and Brownie, by
predeceasing them, thereby relegating them to a lower level of care than that
they’ve become used to. So the only other option, insofar as it’s a matter of
choice, is to outlive my little friends.
702.
Self-deception can of course take place in any number of ways. One common way
is when one’s conscious mind ascribes to a person one is sexually attracted to,
qualities of head and heart that they do not have, or have in a much lesser
degree.
703.
Heard from the mouth of a Pakistani t.v. talk-show host (Hamid Meer), illustrating
the illogical and euphemistic sentiment Muslims commonly deceive or beguile
themselves with: ‘Islam is the best religion in the world, but Muslims are the
worst nation.’ This is rather like saying: ‘The
704.
Last week, on 20 March ’14 (the vernal equinox), my old friend, Khushwant
Singh, the grand old man of Indian letters, finally died, aged 98 or 99. I
began corresponding with him in October or November 1995, after reading and
being impressed by his then latest novel,
I met Khushwantji (‘ji’ suffixed to a name
denotes respect and affection in Hindi/Urdu) personally in Delhi three or four
times in July 2000, and once or twice in November 2006, my visa to India for
both those trips being greatly facilitated by my friendship with him. I found
him in person as I find him in his writing: intelligent, forthright, brave,
modest and humorous.
Not very long after Khushwant Singh’s
autobiography, Truth, Love and a Little
Malice, was published in 2002, I wrote a longish essay on it titled A Life Well Lived, which I’ve included
in Deliberations, my collection of
prose pieces that I’m presently seeking to publish.
Only in the last couple of years, it
became well-nigh impossible for Khushwant Singh to write to me or anybody else,
though I continued to send him, by registered post, batches of my Reflections soon after I’d completed
each batch of ten. This current batch will be the first in years that I won’t
be snail-mailing (especially snail-slow between
Follow below the texts of the last two
letters I received from Khushwant Singh:
Dear Preetam,
Your letter which
arrived today was a Godsend. I have quoted it extensively in my columns. They
will appear after a fortnight – all over
I trust you are in good shape. And so are your cats.
With love
Khushwant
Dear Preetam,
I carried your article
in toto in my column 3 weeks earlier. I will carry the one you have sent me now
next week.
Wish you a v. happy New Year.
Love
Khushwant Singh
During
2013 and early 2014, I would periodically get news of Khushwantji over the
phone from his son, Rahul. When I rang up on
705.
Of course we don’t know, and while alive will never know, what lies beyond
death (– if we did know, it would take some of the fun and much of the suspense
out of life). Nevertheless, if we think clearly and fearlessly, we can be
pretty sure what doesn’t lie beyond
death, such as simpering houris and blazing hell-fire, both of which ‘features’
would make even marginal sense only if our sentient flesh-and-blood bodies remained attached (or got
reattached) to us in afterlife – a puerile if not asinine proposition. By
comparison, reincarnation seems much more probable, though of course far from
indubitable. So, as I said, through a process of reductio ad absurdum, one can pretty much rule out what won’t happen after death, yet not really
have a clue about what will happen –
which, however, for anyone with a clear conscience, shouldn’t constitute a
major worry. One’s predominant concern, at any stage of one’s life, should be
what happens not after but before death, and how one can affect or influence that outcome positively. ‘Death,’ as
706.
Unfortunately, or perhaps inevitably, my latest infatuation, with 26-year-old M (mentioned in No. 699 above), in less than four
months since it started, already seems to have come a cropper. It’s a month
today since I last saw him. Is there much point in probing what went wrong? It
certainly wasn’t that I didn’t try enough to make the relationship work; I did,
perhaps too much. I guess it was just the overwhelming odds, both external and
internal, stacked against it that scuppered our relationship. I had expected
the cookie to crumble, yet couldn’t help feeling disappointed and depressed
when it did. On the plus-side, though, can be considered the following.
Firstly, any feeling of strong desire that is more than purely physical, even
if it is unrequited, is still exhilarating and gratifying in itself: it extends
one’s emotional horizon. Secondly and specifically, my strong desire for M has served to some extent to neutralize and diminish
my previous strong, unrequited desire for P
(mentioned in Nos. 550, 551, 569 & 595 above). Some consolation at least!
707.
Brevity may be the soul of wit, but speaking more generally, condensation is
the hallmark of all good writing. That’s because there’s always much more that
can be expressed than there’s room in which to express it.
709.
The best-kept secret of the contemporary Muslim world, which Muslims keep
secret even from themselves, though in their heart of hearts I’m sure they know
it, is this: Muslim societies are fundamentally dysfunctional and nothing
really works properly in them. Government has little more than nominal
administrative presence; laws, many of which are fanciful or draconian, are
only erratically enforced; the courts are more notable for effecting
miscarriages of justice than for carrying out justice; education is largely
uncritical and substandard; corruption is endemic; marriages are mostly a
facade, rarely being based on the spouses’ compatibility; office-workers
generally don’t bother to keep office-hours; trains usually don’t run on time;
traffic on the roads is often haywire, more so during the ‘holy’ fasting month
of Rumzaan; hospitals are almost never adequately clean, hygienic and
efficient; the list is endless. The one and only thing that works exceptionally
well in Muslim societies is death; small wonder, therefore, that in recent
years Muslims have gained an almost unrivalled reputation for killing
themselves and others!
710.
Not being afraid of death is important, but not being afraid of life is even
more important; the former does not include the latter, but the latter, in its
widest sense, does include the former.
711. I’m now about halfway through my
re-reading of Lady Chatterley’s Lover,
the first reading, from which I seem to have retained very little, having taken
place over forty years ago. When I complete this current reading, I hope to
comment at some length on some of the principal concerns or themes of the
novel. In the meanwhile, I can’t help admiring the beauty and felicity of even
casual passages like the following:
Then one afternoon came Leslie Winter, Squire
Winter, as everybody called him: lean, immaculate, and seventy: and every inch
a gentleman, as Mrs Bolton said to Mrs Betts. Every millimetre indeed! And with
his old-fashioned, rather haw-haw! manner of speaking, he seemed more out of
date than bag wigs. Time, in her flight, drops these fine old feathers.
Even
such a passage, particularly its last sentence, notwithstanding any critic’s or
biographer’s ifs and buts, proves Lawrence to be every millimetre a genius.
712.
It’s clear as daylight to me, but apparently to no one else, that the
root-cause, actively or by default, of the chronic malaise, fecklessness,
backwardness, stupidity, intolerance, criminality and violence of present-day
Muslim societies, is the noxious and obnoxious death-creed of Islam itself. At
the same time, I admit that some other contemporary creeds, such as Communism,
are even worse and more deathly than Islam. However, born as I was and living
as I am in Pakistan, it’s the pervasive perniciousness of Islam that affects me
the most.
713.
In a recent e-mail to me, an English friend of mine, from a Christian
background but not a practising Christian himself, wrote that, after seeing the
Blue Mosque in Istanbul, he was sure that Muslim architecture was the most
beautiful in the world. In my reply to him, I said that I disagreed that Muslim
architecture, particularly as embodied in mosques, was the most beautiful in
the world. I went on to explain that I couldn’t dissociate the physical
structure of a mosque from the disgraceful institutionalized grovelling before
‘God’ that took place there five times a day, which I found anything but
beautiful. I don’t think my English friend can have quite understood what I
meant by the disgraceful institutionalized grovelling before ‘God’ that I
said took place regularly in mosques. I was of course referring to the five
daily ritualistic congregational prayers, sulaat
or numaaz, which Muslims are required
to perform, and which I deplore, mainly on psychological and physical
(postural) grounds. Psychologically, the stance of self-abasement adopted in
parroting these prayers is less indicative of real humility than of cupidity –
often for non-material benefits, but cupidity nevertheless. The attempt
basically is to flatter and wheedle ‘God’ into granting one various perceived
favours! Physically, while intoning these prayers, the worshipper adopts a
couple of very curious postures, namely the rukoo
– an almost doubling over of the body while standing, with both hands resting
on both knees, and, climactically, the sujda
– a sort of controlled prostration on all fours, with the forehead and nose
touching the ground, and the buttocks getting raised correspondingly, several
times in a see-saw motion! Now, if that doesn’t constitute disgraceful
grovelling, I’d like to know what does! And coming back to the architecture,
the Arabic word for ‘mosque’, and its etymological root, is musjid, which means a place where sujdas are performed, a whole lot of
them. It seems pretty self-evident that the total impression of any building,
however aesthetically outstanding structurally, will be significantly affected
by what it is mainly used for.
714.
Feeling heavy-hearted about our tomcat, Doomoo, who’s been missing again for
about a fortnight, and not having written original verse for quite a few years,
today (26 May ’14) I put pen to paper and composed the following poem:
TO
MY CAT, DOOMOO
I called you ‘a
nicey, nicey boy’ and ‘the apple of my eye’;
For almost eight long
years, you’ve been my cherished friend.
Your long,
inexplicable absences make me worry and sigh –
The current one’s in
its fourteenth day and still in sight no end.
I cannot wave a magic
wand and whisk you home,
And even if I could,
a few hours later you’d leave again;
Constant constraint’s
unnatural, I have to let you roam,
Though roaming abroad
you can hurt yourself and suffer pain.
That’s what had
happened when with a foreleg hurt and swollen
You came home last
time. I tried to nurse you the best I could,
Not
knowing had your leg been caught somewhere or had you fallen;
But walking you on a
lead was certainly not any good.
If you are still
alive, and able to walk and climb,
I’m sure you’ll turn
up at my window in some time longer.
But if you’re already
dead, and outside space and time,
Then we’ll put death
to shame by proving our friendship stronger.
Doomoo
doesn’t/didn’t like the constraint of being walked on a lead, and, truth to
tell, I don’t like the constraints of metre and rhyme in writing formal verse,
either!
715.
It’s the afternoon of 31 May ’14, and the nineteenth day of his current
absence, but our Doomoo still hasn’t turned up. It seems probable that he’s
suffered a second mishap following on the first one, in which he’d hurt his
left foreleg and been forced to hobble. Life’s like that, I guess. He appeared
in our house out of the blue, as a kitten, almost eight years ago, and now,
middle-aged in cat-terms, he’s disappeared into the grey unknown.
The calendar month of May has been more eventful than other months for my feline family. Last year (2013) on 3rd May, our youngest (only about seven-month-old) cat, Güppoo, was run over virtually outside our front gate, and died a few hours later, about which incident I’ve written in my thinly fictionalized short story, Posthumous Autobiography of a Kitten.
In May 2008, something happier took place,
namely the arrival of Minty, which occurrence I think I’ll never forget. I had
earlier asked some of the soldiers at the nearby Military Veterinary Hospital
(MVH) to find us a female kitten, whom we could adopt as a future mate for
Doomoo, so that he would be motivated to stay home more of the time! So one
day, two MVH soldiers, in mottled camouflage uniforms and heavy boots, arrived
in our living-room. They had brought a sack with them, which one of them
upturned, and two small brown-black-and-white kittens, about four to six weeks
old, one male the other female, tumbled out unceremoniously onto the carpet. Of
the two, the male sibling seemed more subdued and scared, but the female
kitten, later to be named Minty, put on quite a show of defiance. Seeming to be
unintimidated by the four or five two-legged monsters towering over her, she
stamped her little paw and hissed furiously, before retreating behind or under
an upholstered stool! That initial show of boldness and temper, by a creature
so small, young and vulnerable, just bowled me over and won my heart! The
soldiers were asked to take Minty’s brother back with them, but to leave Minty
with us, where she still is six Mays on, still loved and cared for indulgently.
716.
The challenge of death is not to be afraid of it, while the challenge of life
is to learn from it, the latter challenge being far more complex and much more
difficult to face than the former.
717.
I want most of all to be left alone to live in my own way in peace; but to
reach that unsensational destination, paradoxically and sometimes sensationally
(e.g. by changing my name in 1987), I feel I have to be ready to fight with all
my strength, determination and ingenuity every step of the way.
718.
It’s highly doubtful that any religion can ever completely transcend the
historical context of its time of origin. The origins of both Hinduism and
Judaism can be traced back to ancient history, and before that to prehistory;
so mythological and superstitious elements have always been integral to both
religions, though in different ways. Buddhism arose in 5th century B.C. India
as a reaction against Hinduism, and later incorporated various other
influences, but has largely retained its cerebral and agnostic character.
Christianity appeared as a reaction against Judaism, a reaction evidently
catalysed by the Graeco-Roman civilization that was then in its heyday. It was
modernized by the Reformation, but not enough to accommodate modern science,
anthropology and psychology. Islam, of course, arose slap-bang in the middle of
the Dark Ages, when the Western Roman Empire had collapsed and the Byzantine
and Persian Empires were in decline; despite its significant coruscations in
various fields during the Middle Ages, its essential outlook remains
unreformably dark and retrogressive.
719.
When a person’s nature or character turns evil, often under excessive stress,
it doesn’t happen with a sudden click. It usually happens gradually, and one
common way for it to happen is for the evil to masquerade as higher good,
frequently in perceived (or actual) accordance with some religious tenet or
tenets. The resulting mental condition of the concerned person is akin to mild
schizophrenia, and thenceforth he or she is not fully responsible, not quite
fully responsible, for the evil he or she may effect or try to effect. A
significant share of the blame also attaches to the religious tenets (if
involved) that lend themselves to promoting evil in the guise of good.
*720.
Another little gem of a couplet from an Urdu ghuzul (stylized poem) by Ghalib that I translated recently:
Transliteration:
kya furz hai keh sub ko milay aik sa juvaab
aao na hum bhi sairr kurain
koh-e-toor ki
Translation:
Everyone needn’t be accorded
the same sort of response –
Come, let us also go for a
stroll of Mount Sinai*.
* The allusion is to Moses’ famous interview with God,
of which the Kuraanic version, rather different than the Biblical, has Moses
being knocked out by a glimpse of the divine effulgence.
721.
Easterners in general, and Muslims in particular, are not wrong when they argue
that women who do not veil themselves in public endanger their own safety and
greatly increase the risk of being molested. This is true, however, not in all
societies but specifically in their own, which are societies whose members,
more culpably the men, have failed abjectly to create the social and legal conditions that would ensure the safety and security of
unveiled women in public places, as has by and large been accomplished by
Western societies. Eastern and (particularly) Muslim men divert the responsibility
for what is actually a security issue resulting from their own incompetence and
unmanliness (in the true sense) from themselves to their women, by
misrepresenting and/or misinterpreting it (veiling) as a modesty issue for the
latter, threateningly attended on by the opprobrium of sexual shame and guilt.
The women, for their part, take to veiling themselves to the nines, no matter
how stiflingly hot and humid the weather, mostly without even suspecting that
they’ve been duped and morally bullied by their feckless fathers, brothers,
husbands and sons! What a shameful fraud!
722.
To say that homosexuality is hell is not that much of an overstatement. I
should know, having experienced it for a good (pretty bad, actually)
half-century. However, if one is fated by heredity and/or environment to be
gay, the only viable option, other than throwing in the towel, is to find ways
and means of coping with one’s gayness, which is admittedly much easier said
than done. Still, for what they’re worth, here are a few suggestions:
(1)
Be as honest as possible with yourself about your gayness. This includes trying
hard to figure out clearly what exactly you feel for any same-sex person that
you are strongly attracted to. Since figuring out one’s sexual feelings precisely
is often extremely difficult, layers of rationalization sometimes having to be
cut through, it may be helpful to consult a counsellor or psychotherapist, if a
good one is available.
(2)
Don’t expect any quick or easy solutions to the problems attendant on being
homosexual, especially in the more ignorant, backward parts of the world. One’s
sexual orientation is a deep and integral, arguably congenital, part of
oneself, which cannot be wished away, chased away, perpetually suppressed,
simply ignored, or substituted by a different orientation. ‘Aversion therapy’
and ‘conversion therapy’, far from having anything like a respectable
success-rate, can actually make matters much worse.
(3)
Since all the existing religions, to a greater or lesser degree, out of gross
ignorance and majority-prejudice, denounce homosexuality, this is a good enough
reason to reject adherence to any of them. Don’t try to reconcile your gayness
and your religion, say Christianity or Islam, which attempt is bound to involve
a measure of hypocrisy; instead, if you haven’t already done so for other
reasons, renounce Christianity or Islam. They denounce you, you renounce them:
quite fair and square and above-board!
(4)
The golden principle for homosexual relations, as for heterosexual ones, is
that they must be genuinely consensual. Homosexual rape and heterosexual rape
are equally execrable and should be punished equally severely.
(5)
Some of the hellishness of homosexuality derives from the distinct tendency of
gay relationships (especially male gay relationships) to be short-lived,
furtive, acrimonious, mutually exploitative and unsuccessful. Whether this is
so because there is intrinsically ‘something wrong’ with this mode of
relationship, or whether it is because gays have yet to learn how to form more
harmonious and durable relationships (social and religious prejudices
notwithstanding), nobody knows for sure. What you can try to do, nevertheless,
if you happen to be gay, is to keep an open but critical mind, examine
carefully the highs and lows of your sex-life, learn from your mistakes, and be
ready to forge the best relationships that you can, come hell or high water.
723.
The manner in which the majority of
people in Pakistan, including virtually the entire working and lower-middle
classes, get to be married is scandalously barbaric, especially insofar as the
bride-to-be is concerned. The process generally proceeds along the following
lines. The families of young people
in their teens and twenties remain on the outlook for a good rishta (match) for their son or
daughter. When they come to know of such an available match, normally the women
of the household establish contact with the women of the other family, and
information about matters of mutual interest and concern is exchanged between
the two families. So far so good. The barbaric part, which is also the most
important part, is the complete absence of involvement of the two spouses-to-be
in the process of selecting each other. Very frequently, the two haven’t even
seen each other until their wedding-day, and not properly till after the maulvi (priest) has pronounced them husband and wife (when it’s too
late for second thoughts)! It must be especially oppressive for the woman, who
not only is handed over like a pretty package to a complete stranger, but who
thereafter also usually has to live and cope with that stranger’s extended
family. This ignorant disregard, before they get married, of the crucial factor
of temperamental compatibility between spouses, must surely contribute significantly
if not principally towards the horribly high rate of domestic violence in
Pakistan. Who says the Dark Ages came to an end about a thousand years ago? Not
around here, they didn’t!
724.
Says Wordsworth in his Intimations of
Immortality Ode :
Our
birth is but a sleep and a forgetting . . .
A
logical corollary to that assertion could be that one’s death will be a
reawakening and a remembering. Very difficult to prove or disprove either the
original proposition or the corollary; perhaps both encroach a little too far
on the unknowable and imponderable.
725.
Now that it is a few weeks since Abu-Bukur Al-Baghdadi, the leader of ISIS, the
Sunni militant group of Syria and Iraq, announced the setting up of a
pan-Islamic caliphate, to be run purely according to Muslim sharia law, and
asked Muslims worldwide to join him and strengthen his hands, one might expect
groups like Boko Haram of Nigeria, Al-Shabab of Somalia, and the Taliban of
Afghanistan and Pakistan, who profess to have very similar aims and objectives
to ISIS’s, to make a move towards heeding Al-Baghdadi’s call, swearing
allegiance to the new caliph, and accepting his suzerainty. The fact that they
have done nothing of the sort further exposes the mala fide of Boko Haram,
Al-Shabab and the Taliban, reinforcing the impression that they are not
sincerely interested in setting up anything. What fundamentally motivates and
drives these militant groups is the characteristically (though of course not
exclusively) Islamic double-lust for domination and death.
726.
A fair bit like a book comprising several chapters is the course of a person’s
life. A book’s first chapter is often introductory, and that is like a person’s
childhood and adolescence, when propensities and preferences take root. Each of
the important relationships of a person’s maturity is like a subsequent chapter
in the middle of a book. Finally, one reaches the last chapter of a book, which
usually contains some sort of a conclusion, or a denouement of the plot if it
is a novel; this is like a person’s old age. Some books also have sequels; some
lives possibly do, too!
727.
Don’t be content with being brave just occasionally; life is really worth
living only if one adopts courage as a way of life, by making a habit of always choosing one’s bravest available
option. That way, the momentum of the habit makes behaving bravely
progressively somewhat easier as well. It should also mean that the older one
gets the braver one becomes, a welcome offset against the other inevitable deteriorations
that accompany ageing.
728.
It appears that the chattering classes of the past have modernized into the
Twittering classes of today: I find myself feeling about equally tolerantly
contemptuous of both those multitudes of people, past and present, with a
contempt tempered of course with compassion.
729.
I’ve said this before, but it’ll bear repeating: Islam emboldens some criminals
a hundredfold by making them believe that their crimes, e.g. abducting
schoolgirls or murdering non-Muslims, heretics or apostates, are actually
highly meritorious deeds and a shortcut to the eternal luscious gratifications
of paradise!
730.
If I were constrained to nominate the single most important consideration in
art, literature and indeed life itself, it would probably be perspective.
Everything appears different, is different, from different perspectives.
731.
13 August 2014
Doomoo darling,
While you were alive,
it would have been silly to write you a letter, for living cats indubitably
cannot read; however, now that it seems certain that you are (your body is)
dead, the situation is somewhat different, and this letter is primarily for
your spirit, and only secondarily for anyone else, to read.
It
was around 1 a.m. on 13 May ’14, exactly three months ago, that I reluctantly
let you jump out of my bedroom window by yourself, although your left foreleg
was hurt and swollen – kissing your head and left shoulder fervently while you
were still standing on the window-sill. For something like 36 hours before
that, I had kept you indoors, and twice tried
somewhat traumatically to walk you on a lead. Not being used to it, the
experience seemed traumatic for you, hence to a lesser extent also for me.
That’s why I suddenly relented and went against my original resolve not to let
you out on your own till your limping diminished considerably.
I
wonder in what circumstances you (your body) died. I hope you didn’t suffer a
lot of pain, as for instance by being savaged by a stronger cat or dog, whom
you could not escape from because of your injured leg. Did you cry out for help
but no one came to your rescue? You should have had the sense to stay nearer
home in your partially incapacitated condition.
And
now? I still miss you, though not as much as during the first few weeks after
your disappearance. I could urge you to get reborn as another kitten and by
that means come back to me; but were that to happen, I’d suffer in the same way
again when I came to lose that cat.
I
haven’t a clue what it could be like to be the disembodied, immaterial spirit
of a cat, or of a person for that matter. Even so, I’d like to thank you for
all the gladness and joy you brought to my life, and to hope that we can still
stay in some ineffable sort of contact, though probably not again through the
written word.
Your friend and ‘Daddy’
732.
Death is undoubtedly the end of life, but I feel more and more convinced that
it is not the end of the matter. What matter? Well, the matter of ultimate
reality and final consequences. This notion of something conclusive but
ineffable beyond death seems to be, or be like, what all the major religions
have also tried to put across – except that they’ve all screwed it up in the
process by resorting to various forms and degrees of exaggeration, fabrication
and prevarication.
733.
Against all the odds, on 15 September ’14 (two days after my 65th birthday), four months and two days after he had
disappeared, our beloved tomcat, Doomoo, reappeared outside my bedroom
window! We were amazed and overjoyed, for it was as though he’d come back from
the dead, scarcely less miraculously than Lazarus being restored to life!
Doomoo arrived quite late at night, and looked all right, not limping because
of his injured left foreleg as he’d been doing when he’d left on 13 May.
However, about mid-morning the next day, 16 September, I discovered that Doomoo
had a big, deep (fresh) wound under his chin, which had become septic. I took
some time off from drafting a fairly important legal application whose
submission deadline was 17 Sept., and we took Doomoo to the nearby Military
Veterinary Hospital to have his wound dressed and to be given an anti-rabies
injection. Until yesterday evening, 2 Oct., when we last saw him, Doomoo’s
under-the-chin wound had healed considerably, and he’d become more or less
rehabilitated as one of our three cherished pets. Was Doomoo’s homecoming a
slightly belated birthday present to me from the gods?
734.
In a recent e-mail to me, an English friend of mine commented on Reflection No. 730 (above) thus:
. . . I suspect you need to reflect on your
last reflection – the perspective of the thug who beheaded James Foley is no
doubt different from yours and mine, but that does not make it true.
My
friend appears to have understood the Reflection
in question rather differently than I intended. I didn’t mean to suggest that
since people see things differently from different perspectives, their
different points of view are equally valid or ‘true’. I meant that people’s
views, including those that are extreme or fanatical, become comprehensible if one understands the perspectives that generated
them. Then, instead of merely holding the individual extremist or fanatic
responsible for their execrable deeds, one can hold the creed or ideology that
gave rise to their particular perspective more basically and generally
responsible. In the case of the IS executioner (with suspectedly a
Northumberland accent!), who beheaded those two American journalists recently,
the creed that provided the perspective from which his actions must have
seemed, to himself and many others, to be not only justified but commendable
and rewardable, is of course Islam.
735.
At 65, I guess I’m now quite ‘full of years’, and I’m glad to say that it’s a
nice feeling. That must be because hardly a moment of my life so far, at least
in the last four decades, has been outrightly wasted. Instead, virtually all my
waking time has been spent, as envisioned in Lawrence’s poem, Courage, in ‘gathering nuts of ripe
experience’.
736.
What really matters in life is to make perceptible inward progress – from day
to day, month to month, year to year, and decade to decade. What exactly,
though, is inward progress? Well, it’s the mental/emotional/spiritual
development, sometimes slow sometimes rapid, that leads one to a truer
interpretation of reality.
737.
For me, the most persuasive argument for some kind of afterlife is not
intellectual, or even spiritual, but emotional. It derives from the unfinished
feeling one has when one’s fond attachment to another person or animal is
abruptly truncated by that person’s or animal’s death. One cannot believe that
the fund of positive emotion that was generated will simply disappear down the
drain for ever. There must be, one
feels, some sort of spiritual
continuation, resolution or reunion beyond physical death.
738.
No sensible person would probably deny that there is more to reality than meets
the eye. It’s the next cogitative step, however, that can be tricky. Because
there is so much around us that is unknown and seemingly unknowable, should we
therefore blindly believe any charlatan or confidence trickster, any guru or ‘prophet’, who claims to have
esoteric knowledge (e.g. about angels or jinns)
which is inaccessible to the rest of us? Certainly not – not without
thoroughly, fearlessly and impartially scrutinizing any supporting evidence in
existence. At the same time, though, one should keep an open, receptive but
critical mind to grapple with realities for whose existence or non-existence there is no conclusive
evidence, i.e. which are unfathomable mysteries. That is the best sort of
agnostic approach.
739.
Osteoporosis (‘brittle bones’) in the elderly is fairly common and worrisome,
but osteopetrosis (‘marble bones’) in children is rare and heartbreaking.
740. Imam Bukhari (810 – 870 A.D.), usually considered the most reliable compiler of ahadees (reports of the sayings and doings of Mühummud, the Prophet of Islam), includes the following hudees (singular of ahadees) at No. 3303, book 59, volume 4, believed to be originally narrated by Abu-Huraira, a close companion and disciple of Mühummud:
The
Prophet said: ‘When you hear the crowing of a cock, ask for Ullah’s blessings
for (its crowing indicates that) it has seen an angel. And when you hear the
braying of a donkey, seek refuge with Ullah from Satan for (its braying
indicates that) it has seen a satan.’
Now,
that must surely be one of the most egregious and zaniest instances of
anthropomorphism on record! By comparison, Aesop’s
Fables, though written about five or
six centuries earlier, while no more childish than the quoted hudees, are much more meaningful,
unsanctimonious and entertaining.
741. It causes me real pain, verging on
anguish, that I haven’t so far been able to (nor appear likely soon to manage
to) help in setting up an animal welfare centre (or even just a shelter for
stray cats and dogs) here in Abbottabad, Pakistan. Every time I see a homeless
cat or dog, particularly in our neighbourhood – hungry, cold and/or unwell as
they mostly are – I feel a pang of guilt. Yet the recurrent guilt, pity and
pain apparently do not motivate me strongly enough to address and overcome the
practical difficulties involved in running such a centre or shelter. It’s
certainly proving a dauntingly hard nut to crack.
742.
However pressing one’s mental, spiritual, emotional or sexual needs may on
occasion become, one must always try to remain calm and self-contained. These
non-physical needs are not like the physical needs for food and water, which
will cause one to die if not met for longer than a specific span of time. You
may be ‘dying’ to have sex with someone, but if it doesn’t happen because the
other person, for whatever reason, is unwilling or unready, it’s not actually
going to cause you to die, unless you utterly lose your head. If you keep your
head and your self-containment, you’re likely to get over the frustration
sooner rather than later. Be warned, though, that self-containment isn’t easy
and involves considerable struggling with yourself.
743.
At age 65, I cannot now afford to waste any time whatsoever, including that
which I’m sure to lose if I let panic make me hurry too much.
744.
At age 65 (and a quarter), I sometimes wonder whether, as far as an active
sex-life is concerned, it is time to hang up my erotic boots, dispose of my
condoms, and call it a day. For over a decade now, I have been experiencing
mild but persistent symptoms of ED (erectile dysfunction), both in the degree
and duration of stiffness attained. On the other hand, I sometimes feel that it
is only now, since very recently, partly because
of the slight diminution in its intensity, that I’ve gained adequate (or nearly
adequate) control over my sexual (homosexual) urge – which should augur well
for any future relationships I have. To do or not to do, that is the question .
. .
745.
D.H. Lawrence ends his essay Sex Versus
Loveliness, written in 1928, with the following fairly short penultimate
paragraph and single-line last para:
If
only our civilization had taught us how to let sex appeal flow properly and
subtly, how to keep the fire of sex clear and alive, flickering or glowing or
blazing in all its varying degrees of strength and communication, we might, all
of us, have lived all our lives in love, which means we should be kindled and
full of zest in all kinds of ways and for all kinds of things . . .
Whereas, what a
lot of dead ash there is in life now.
As
one might expect, this is trenchant and powerful stuff, more or less
representative of Lawrence’s writing in the last five years of his life. And
yet, it is also romantically utopian, a bit sententious, and suffers from a
lack of comparative perspective. By ‘our civilization’ Lawrence means Western
civilization, but more specifically, the Anglo-American culture of the early
20th century. Despite his indubitable genius, owing to a lack of extensive firsthand
experience, ‘from the inside’, of any culture other than his own, and his
relative youth (he died aged 44 in 1930), Lawrence didn’t realize that other
cultures, past and present, were, on the whole, considerably worse: less life-affirming, less
knowledgeable, more superstitious, more neurotic about sex, clumsier in thought and deed, shabbier and ashier.
746.
The closer one manages to get to reality during one’s lifetime, by any of the
infinite number of means possible, proportionately that much more exciting, I
think, the final departure from life to the inconceivable mystery beyond will
be. Like a great new adventure for someone who has undergone and learnt from
several previous ones!
747.
The millstone round the neck of Communists is Communism, and the millstone
round the neck of Muslims is Islam. So the only real hope of being able to live
in a positive, civilized way in the modern world, for the followers of either
of those creeds, is to free themselves as completely as they can from their respective
millstones.
748.
Enumerated below are some similarities and some differences between eating and
sex:
SIMILARITIES:
(1)
Both, along with self-preservation, appear to be among the three most basic
instincts of all animal life on earth, at least from insects upwards. Both can
alternatively be regarded as the two primary offshoots of the core instinct of
self-preservation, eating necessary for the survival of the individual and sex
for the continuation of the species.
(2)
Since both are instincts, the wish to eat and the desire to have sex are
equally entirely involuntary, beyond rational control or regulation. One can
rationally regulate the incidence of
eating and of sex, but not the craving itself.
(3)
Both eating and sex seem programmed by Nature and evolution to be pleasurable
activities in order to fulfil Nature’s and evolution’s universal, impersonal
purposes, but they get to be felt by individuals as their own intrinsic,
personal needs (which of course they are).
(4)
In humans, moderation in both eating and sex seems to produce the best results.
Too much or too little of either activity tends to cause various sorts and
degrees of physical as well as psychological damage.
DIFFERENCES:
(1)
The greatest pleasure that eating can bring falls considerably short of (though
may be more sustained than) the ecstasy of sexual orgasm.
(2)
Eating needs to be resorted to after finite, comparatively short intervals,
whereas sex can sometimes be abstained from, without obvious ill-effects, for
indefinitely long periods of time.
(3)
Eating does not necessitate any significant relationship with the food one
eats, but sex inevitably brings about an intimate relationship (which may be
deep or superficial) with the person one has sex with.
(4)
There is no substitute for eating in the way that masturbation can substitute
for sex with a partner.
(5)
Dietary predilections, e.g. for meat or vegetables, are nowhere as deep-rooted
and unchangeable as the sexual preference for members of either the opposite or
one’s own sex.
(6)
Eating is more purely physical than sex, which directly impacts one’s emotional
equilibrium, and more obliquely affects one’s mental health and spiritual
development. That is why the purely physical enjoyment of sex (which even
masturbation can basically provide), in order to amount to a truly fulfilling
experience, needs to be complemented by genuine affection and caring for one’s
partner.
749.
People very often try haphazardly to solve a personal (or more general) problem
without first properly analyzing and understanding it. Unsurprisingly, in such
cases, save by fluke, they fail. In medicine of course, but so too in other
spheres, effective treatment is contingent on correct diagnosis.
750.
Even if one goes through life always choosing one’s best and bravest option,
diligently learning from one’s mistakes, and actually acquiring as much wisdom
as one can, there is still no guarantee that, by late middle age, the amount of suffering that one has to face
will be less than at any stage earlier on. It could be more. However, the quality of one’s suffering will be
somewhat different: more inter-permeated (rather than interspersed) with joy,
and alleviated to some extent by the satisfaction that one has done one’s best,
so just that crucial bit easier to bear.
751.
Practical experience is the best corrective of theorizing, indulging in which
one tends to be carried away. I had hardly written out Reflection No. 750 above, theorizing about the possibly elevated
quality of suffering in late middle age, when, on 20 Jan. ’15, while looking
for our cat Doomoo not much further than a stone’s throw from my house, I was
taken into custody by one of the several Pakistani ‘intelligence agencies’, who
kept me incommunicado in nightmarish conditions for nine nights. Mercifully, I
was not subjected to physical torture, though being blindfolded, hooded and
handcuffed even while being led to and back from the toilet was physically
unpleasant enough. Much worse, and surely amounting to mental torture, was the
distress at having unwittingly joined the shadowy ranks of ‘missing persons’,
with no communication with the outside world, at the mercy of non-accountable,
unstable, sadistically inclined people, corrupted by having far too much
authority vested in them. The interrogation itself wasn’t that bad, though I
was denied the option of not answering even the most private and/or irrelevant
of questions. Intermittent pressure was exerted on me to ‘confess’ to imaginary
liaisons with the Indian government. Then there was a gap of four days between
the second and third interrogation sessions, during which I was confined to my
bare, roughly 7ft. by 5ft. cell (with a high ceiling thankfully), except for
trips to the toilet. I had no idea I would miss natural daylight so much; and
of course I was worried sick about conditions at home (this detention centre
was in Rawalpindi, some 115 kilometres from Abbottabad, my hometown). The
constant feeling of complete helplessness and the occasional sense of dread,
while being locked up in that cell, could be almost overpowering. Finally,
after a few more interrogation sessions, I was released on 29 January.
So now, can the nine-day-long bout of
concentrated suffering outlined above be described, as envisaged in the last Reflection, as ‘inter-permeated with
joy’? Not really, for the only joy I can associate with the entire episode is
that which I felt at its culmination, when I breathed the breath of freedom
again. Before that, it was pretty much an unmitigated ordeal. And yet, there
were a few relatively pleasurable moments, such as when an exception was made
to let me have a spoon to eat curry with; or when one of the attendants spoke
solicitously to me and kindly let me have an extra blanket to buffer me from
the cold cemented floor (no mattress provided of course); or when my
interrogators softened their hectoring, threatening tone and became almost
polite. Then there was the novelty of the experience, not available any place
else, including the occasional auditory contact with other terror suspects in
nearby cells. And probably most importantly, there was the satisfaction that the ordeal didn’t break my spirit and I
was released honourably and relatively (only relatively) quickly. Even so, I
think that clearer now than ever before, gravely perilous for me not to heed in
time, are the words of the writing on the wall: THIS IS NO COUNTRY FOR THE
LIKES OF YOU. I must devise a viable exit strategy soon.
752. Who were the ‘other terror suspects in nearby cells’ with whom I had ‘the occasional auditory contact’, mentioned in No. 751 above? Well, the way we were kept, I never actually saw any of the other detainees, but when anyone in a neighbouring cell spoke loudly, or recited the Küraan, or sang a hymn, or wept aloud (once), I could hear him and form some sort of idea of his character. They mostly seemed to be Islamic zealots, Islamists if you like, certainly not apprehended while looking for their pets. One next-door neighbour (for three or four days) was particularly audible, for he frequently sang naats (hymns in praise of Mühummud) in a passable voice, and off and on recounted extravagant, miraculous anecdotes related to Mühummad’s life. From his voice he seemed to be a middle-aged Punjabi, fully sincere in his beliefs. But his beliefs appeared to have seduced and swamped and slightly demented his mind. Consequently, what some people would consider a terrorist act, he would be likely to view as a test of his courage in upholding his faith, clearing which test, according to his faith, would propel him straight into paradise. And meanwhile, he would put up with the extremely un-paradisal conditions of the detention centre, as part of the bargain. What an enormous lot of people over the last fourteen centuries have been duped into making that ghastly kind of bargain!
753.
Ideally, of course, one would never be mistreated at all. One’s ‘vibes’ would
be so strongly deterrent that no one would dare mistreat one. Practically,
however, it doesn’t always work out like that. Through an unlucky combination
of circumstances, or someone’s unexpected viciousness or foolishness, or a
minor slip-up on one’s own part, one can find oneself at the receiving end of
inescapable mistreatment. As happened with me last month when I was apprehended
(‘on suspicion’) and incarcerated for nine days by an ‘intelligence agency’ (I
still don’t know which one).
Once mistreatment has taken place, what
would constitute an appropriate response to it? That surely depends on the sort
and severity of the mistreatment in question, though two responses (that are
usually not even worth considering) are ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’
and ‘turning the other cheek’. However, not responding at all may be perceived as acquiescence, and may contribute to the
mistreatment’s continuation or repetition. In the case of the pretty outrageous
mistreatment that I had to endure recently, there are a few ways in which I
could respond, initiating a lawsuit being one of them. Unfortunately, my
experience of about 20 years of litigation in Pakistani courts has led me to
conclude that the marginal benefits thus to be obtained are quite
disproportionate to the substantial amounts of time and effort that have to be
expended. Pakistani society is just not civilized enough yet for the rule of
law to be a reality here. Moreover, suing as pampered, secretive and
‘sensitive’ an organ of state as an ‘intelligence agency’ would be particularly
difficult, and not without the risk of savage reprisal. Furthermore, two
draconian Sections of the Pakistan Penal Code, criminalizing homosexuality and
‘blasphemy’ respectively, could be invoked against me ineluctably in
retaliation. So I need to think extremely carefully before taking legal action.
What about forgiving the fools and sadists
who mistreated me? Twenty-six days after I was released, I find that I
spontaneously don’t have any very strong feelings of hatred for them –
ham-handedly they were doing what they perceived to be their job. In fact, the
senior interrogator, who on the last day identified himself with the alias
‘Major Humza’, was a fairly interesting and intelligent man, whom I’d quite
like to meet again – but certainly not in the same circumstances!
How one is treated by others during one’s
adult life depends largely on one’s own behaviour, attitude and vibes, but
instances and episodes of mistreatment can still occur almost randomly. When
they do, one needs to respond intelligently, patiently and compassionately,
without rancour or egotism. And then one needs to move on, and sometimes, as seems
imperative in my current situation, to move away as well.
754.
Cats and dogs are NOT wild animals that can live independently of humans, and
just happen to be adopted as pets by people sometimes. On the contrary, they,
and other domestic animals, have co-evolved
with man over tens or hundreds of thousands of years. Our ancestors and their
ancestors evidently made a tacit contract to live together for the sake of
their mutual benefit. So now it is incumbent
on us to honour that ancient, genetically encoded and transmitted contract, and
treat domestic animals as well as we possibly can.
755.
It is no coincidence that the parts of the world, such as the ‘third world’
countries, where animals are treated the most callously and cruelly, are also
the most socially and culturally backward, while (conversely) it is in the more
civilized countries that animals are treated more considerately and humanely,
where SPCAs and other animal welfare organizations function efficiently, and
proper veterinary care is readily available. The qualities of head and heart
that are needed to bring about and sustain a civilized society, such as
intelligence, foresight, sympathy, determination and non-superstitiousness, are
broadly the same human qualities that are required to ensure agreeable living
conditions for domestic animals (and in zoos and game reserves, even for wild
animals). On the other hand, mistreating animals is an unmistakable sign of
essential savagery, no matter how extensive the mistreaters’ intellectual,
cultural or religious pretensions may otherwise be.
756.
Commenting on the spineless policy of appeasement adopted by many countries in
the face of increasingly frequent terrorist attacks by Islamic fundamentalists,
Robert Spencer, author of The Truth About Muhammad (which I’ve read and
appreciated) and Did Muhammad Exist?
(which I’m eager to read), observes in his electronically conveyed Jihad Watch
Daily Digest (for 26 Feb. ’15): ‘The
world continues to bow to violent intimidation, which only ensures that it will
get more violent intimidation.’ How true!
757. Coming across them in an article in Wikipedia, the on-line encyclopaedia, I was impressed enough by the following two comments on the Küraan by Philip Schaff (1819 – 1893), the Protestant theologian, to jot them down in my diary containing addresses and phone Nos. Schaff says about the Küraan:
(1)
‘[It has] many passages of poetic beauty,
religious fervour, and wise counsel, but mixed with absurdities, bombast,
unmeaning images, low sensuality.’
(2)
‘It abounds in repetitions and
contradictions, which are not removed by the convenient theory of abrogation.’
Before reading these comments, I had never even heard of Philip Schaff, but subsequently I’ve tried to find out something about him and his views. www.brainyquote.com presents a collection of his quotes, from which it appears that his comments on the Bible and Jesus are not as balanced or perceptive as the above-quoted ones on the Küraan. What I’d really like to read is some excellent literary criticism of (parts of) the Jewish, Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist and Sikh scriptures. For let us not pretend that any of these scriptures are anything other than works of literature, albeit partly of anonymous authorship. Whether any of them are the word of God depends on what you mean by ‘God’; but far more importantly, all of them are specifically arranged collections of words, just as the works of Homer, Shakespeare or Dickens are, and any true estimate of their worth, as of pieces of ‘secular’ literature, can only be arrived at by scrutinizing the manner in which the words that comprise them have been used. (Some allowance, of course, should be made for what may have been ‘lost in translation’.) And if there’s no one today prepared to write that kind of literary criticism, perhaps I’ll have a shot at it myself! For instance, wouldn’t it be interesting to critically compare The Ten Commandments, The Sermon on the Mount, the Küraanic Surah Rehmaan, Krishna’s eve-of-battle exhortations to Arjun in the Bhugvud Geeta, and some sayings of (or ascribed to) Buddha?
758.
Six days ago (on 26 February 2015), the prominent self-proclaimed-atheist
Bangladeshi-American writer and blogger, Avijit Roy, was brutally hacked to
death in Dhaka. According to media reports, Roy and his wife (with a
Muslim-sounding name) were coming away from a book fair, in which two of Roy’s
books were on display, when, around 9 p.m. (under cover of darkness), they were
set upon by some men wielding butchers’ cleavers. Roy was struck from behind
and died, while his wife was grievously injured. The assailants are strongly
suspected to have been Muslim fanatics, who thought it was their religious duty
to kill Roy because of his propagation through his writings of his secular,
anti-religious views. This gruesome and tragic incident constitutes yet another
piece of evidence, quite irrefutable by now, that Islam motivates and
encourages not only some criminals but some psychopaths as well.
759.
By the time I was just 17 and studying for my ‘A Levels’, I had already
debunked the Islamic conception of God passed on to me by my parents and
milieu, and had begun to consider myself an atheist. However, by the time I was
25, curiously and ironically, I had made the quantum leap from atheism to
pantheism! How did that come about? Well, between the ages of 19 and 22, I
studied English Literature at Selwyn College, Cambridge, where our Director of
Studies was Wilbur Sanders. I was strongly influenced by Wil, and gradually came
to share his opinion that atheism was purely negative. I also remember Wil
saying, some 45 years ago, that Wordsworth made him feel connected even to a
rock. Now, of all the great English poets, Wordsworth can perhaps be most aptly
described as a pantheist. From a logical point of view, my transition from
atheism to pantheism can be traced somewhat along the following lines. There is no God sitting on his throne ‘up
there’ on the seventh heaven. The seven-tiered heaven (with a prophet ensconced
on each of the lower tiers) is a brazen fabrication, and science has proved
conclusively that ‘up there’ is as much an illusion as the sun going round the
earth. The only acceptable conception of God is as synonymous with reality.
Reality includes everything that is real. So must God.
760.
Today, 11 March ’15, is the fifty-fifth day since our tomcat Doomoo’s latest
disappearance, and it’s highly unlikely that I’ll ever see him again (though he
once did return after four months and two days – but that was in the summer,
not in the middle of Abbottabad’s fairly harsh winter). However, if there’s any
‘seeing’ after death, while I don’t much care whether or not I ‘see’ ‘God’ then
(believing that I see him/her/it all the time that my eyes are open right now
before death), I’ll certainly look forward to ‘seeing’ (and cuddling?) our
Doomoo in the hereafter. I guess you could call that my ‘faith’. Equally but
differently important for me is my satisfaction that Doomoo spent about eight
and a half excellent years with us, occasioning some of my fondest memories of
that period of time.
761. A couple of fairly basic clarifications:
Do I believe in God as deity? No, I don’t. Do I believe in God as mystery? Yes,
I do. Do I believe in a transcendent God? No, I don’t. Do I believe in an
immanent God? Yes, I do.
762.
There was, unusually, a little snowfall here in Abbottabad in early March this
year (2015). But today, on 24 March, beyond the vernal equinox, something that
looks like falling snow: petals of the blossoms of a wild apricot tree in our
house, white with the slightest tinge of pink, dislodged by the gentlest breeze
or the movement of birds or just gravity, floating down like snowflakes and
settling on our driveway and part of our rather scruffy lawn. Spring snow.
763.
There is apparently no way to either prove or disprove that metempsychosis (the
transmigration of a soul to a new body after death) ever takes place. But even
if it (sometimes) does, and the same spirit can undergo numerous
reincarnations, it still doesn’t mean that one can ever piggyback on the
achievements of a previous incarnation. Every human being, in dealing with the
challenges of their current lifetime, has to draw on their own currently
available physical, mental and spiritual resources. In that respect,
metempsychosis, whether real or not, is irrelevant.
764.
Never mind about ‘God’, but you only have to look at the star-spangled
night-sky (which modern people rarely do), with the great question mark of the
Great Bear (see Reflection No. 554)
staring you in the face, to feel the presence of profound, eternal, existential
mystery. Of course, the quality of your feeling will depend greatly on what
sort of a person you are. By contrast, if you happen to be awake at around 4.30
a.m. (in Pakistan in late March), you only have to listen to the cacophony of
the pre-dawn uzaan (call to prayer), blaring from the loudspeakers of
nearby mosques, to feel annoyed at this discordant travesty and arrogation. In
this case, of course, your feeling will depend almost entirely on who you are.
765.
It is desirable and important to accept and legalize homosexuality, but not
such a great idea to glorify it, because that’s contrary to the reality.
Homosexuality has always been a part of human life, is most probably
genetically transmitted, and, if strictly consensual, can provide a good deal
of enjoyment to some people, without affecting others. However, expecting
wonders from it, in the form of rapturous lifelong relationships, is likely to
lead to bitter disappointment. Something like that appears to have happened
with E.M. Forster in his (non-)relationship with the about-ten-year-younger
Indian, Ross Masood (Sir Syed Ahmad’s grandson) in the early twentieth century.
766.
If one wants, one can fairly easily change one’s appearance, e.g. by growing a
beard or wearing different clothes. But even if one badly wants to, one cannot
change one’s character with anything like the same facility. A person’s
character can change, but it’s
difficult to figure out precisely how, by what sort of processes. One possible
process is when one comes into close and continued contact with someone with a
strong and impressive character, and quite unconsciously begins to emulate
them. Another possibility is if one spends a considerable length of time in a
culture different from one’s own, and imbibes some of the moral values
prevalent in that culture. A third possibility is if one undergoes an intense,
perhaps traumatic, experience that subconsciously effects a change or changes
in one’s character. Something like this last-mentioned process appears to have
operated in the case of my ‘secret’ incarceration at a terrorists’ detention
centre two months ago (21 – 29 Jan. ’15) (see Reflections 751 – 753 above). That horrible experience seems in
retrospect to have added some breadth and, more importantly, some depth to my
character. The notion of the subsequent benefits of adversity is evidently more
than just wishful thinking!
767.
The richly ironic tone usually adopted by Robert Spencer in his e-mail newsletter,
Jihad Watch Daily Digest, though sometimes a little excessive and cloying, at
other times can be pretty close to brilliant. An example of the latter, in the
Digest for 29 March ’15, is his following comment on a news item captioned UK: New Islam museum hopes to offset image created by Islamic
jihadis:
‘Forget about the murders, the
beheadings, the hostage-takings, the sex slavery, the jihad-martyrdom suicide
attacks, the threats, the boasts of imminent conquest, the institutionalized
oppression of women and non-Muslims, and the rest – just look at this
calligraphy!’
On
top of that, some Muslims and most Islamists, driven by their neurotic,
selective dread of ‘idolatry’ (a non-material variant of which forms the basis of their own creed), would regard
a museum, any museum, as a sinful place liable to be torn down (and looted).
After all, Mühummud is supposed (in)famously to have said (to the effect): ‘Jibra'eel (the angel Gabriel) told me that the angels never enter a house
in which there is a dog or a picture.’ (Suheeh
Bukhari 4.54.539, etc.)
768. Now consider the following two ahadees (reported sayings of Mühummud):
(1)
Ullah’s Apostle said, ‘You should listen
to and obey your ruler, even if he is an Ethiopian (black) slave whose head
looks like a raisin.’ (Suheeh Bukhari
9.89.256, narrated by Unus bin Malik)
But why should people listen to or obey their rulers if the latter, regardless of what their heads look like, are incompetent and/or corrupt? This hudees (singular) reinforces the following exhortatory verse (4:59) of the Küraan:
O ye who believe! Obey Allah, and obey
the messenger and those of you who are in authority . . . (Pickthall’s translation, my emphasis)
The two together (Küraanic verse and hudees) constitute, or form part of, the Islamic version of the divine right of rulers, a highly negative and anachronistic notion.
(2)
The Prophet said, ‘If a man invites his
wife to sleep with him and she refuses to come to him, then the angels send
their curses on her till morning.’ (Suheeh Bukhari 7.62.121, narrated by
Abu-Huraira)
Questions arise. Supposing a man wants to have anal sex with his wife and she refuses (a situation that I believe once occurred with my own parents), do the angels still send their curses on her? The well-known beginning of verse 2:223 of the Küraan addresses male Muslims thus:
Your women are a tilth for you (to
cultivate), so go to your tilth as ye will . . . (Pickthall translation, my emphasis)
‘As you will’ can conceivably be interpreted to include anally; nor am I aware of any prohibition or proscription of male-female buggery elsewhere in the Küraan. On the other hand, the beating of disobedient wives is recommended in the middle of verse 4:34:
As for those [wives] from whom ye fear
rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart, and scourge them. (Pickthall translation).
The hudees and two snippets from the Küraan quoted above, considered together, lend credence to the view that Islam tacitly justifies marital rape, considering it included in the conjugal rights of the husband. Pretty disgraceful! And what about the wife’s conjugal rights? Supposing a woman wants to have sex (of any kind) with her husband but he (for whatever reason) refuses, then don’t the angels send their curses on him till the morning, or at least till midnight? In this dispensation, what is sauce for the goose is obviously not sauce for the gander!
769.
There is a world of difference between, on the one hand, believing so strongly
in some aspect of life as to risk death in trying to accomplish or promote it,
and, on the other hand, ‘loving’ death for its own sake and wanting it for
oneself and others pretty indiscriminately, as frequently professed/practised
by Islamists. The former attitude is essentially heroic, while the latter stance
is fundamentally morbid.
770.
First and last, I only claim to be myself, no more no less. And I hope to abide
by just this identification till my final breath. Subsequent to which will
probably unfold a whole new adventure! With some record hopefully remaining
somewhere of this current one!
771. I recently came across the following statistic, which, if accurate, is pretty shocking: A 2011 study concluded that 93% of Muslim women in Malaysia have suffered genital mutilation. In modern, moderate Malaysia! If this is true, then in this respect (though not in others) even backward, extremist-infested Pakistan, where FGM (female genital mutilation) is barely heard of, is much better. Another equally if not more shockingly deplorable fact about Malaysia, in the context of FGM, that I read about just today in Gabrielle Paluch’s eye-opening article in the Guardian of 1 April ’15, is that Malaysia’s highest religious authority issued a futva (authoritative ruling) in 2009 requiring the ‘cutting’ of all Muslim women! Many Malaysians apparently regard FGM as a sunnut (emulation of the practices of Prophet Mühummud) and recommended by the Prophet himself. Not quite groundlessly either, it turns out. On one occasion in Mudeena (Medina), Mühummud is reported to have advised an FGM practitioner: ‘Leave something sticking out and do not go to extremes in cutting. That makes her (the victim’s) face look brighter and is more pleasing to her husband.’ In other words, moderately invasive FGM is better than no FGM, but don’t go the whole hog! Mühummud is also supposed to have said, ‘Circumcision is an obligation for men and an honour for women.’ Some honour!
The purposes behind or justifications for
the two kinds of circumcision, male and female, purport to be quite different.
The comparatively innocuous procedure generally adopted for males, undoubtedly
copied from the Jews (who may originally have copied it from some other tribe),
is primarily supposed to facilitate penile hygiene, with the additional
(supposed) benefit of greater pleasure during sex, and possibly even the
hoped-for bonus of enhanced virility. By contrast, FGM, which involves complete
or partial clitoridectomy, is primarily intended to curb sexual desire in girls
and women, apparently by leaving them incapable of (properly) experiencing
orgasm. It is meant to work rather like the chastity belts of medieval Europe,
but unlike those external and temporary contraptions, FGM is organic and
permanent. Hence it’s that much more
barbaric, cruel and misogynistic.
772. In No. 768 above, citing a hudees and part of a Küraanic verse (4:59), I criticized Islam for endorsing the noxious notion of the divine right of rulers. However, it appears that, in this respect, Christianity is about equally blameworthy. In the first of his many famous Epistles or Letters, which form an important part of the New Testament, the apostle Paul is believed to have written the following:
Everyone
must submit himself to the governing authorities, for there is no authority
except that which God has established. The authorities that exist have been
established by God [King James Version: the
powers that be are ordained of God].
Consequently, he who rebels against the authority is rebelling against what God
has instituted [New English Bible: anyone
who rebels against authority is resisting a divine institution], and those who do so will bring judgment on
themselves. (Romans 13:1&2, New International Version). In other words,
as regards those in authority, don’t question whether they acquired their
authority legitimately or usurped it, nor whether they are exercising it
properly or misusing it; just obsequiously obey them, or incur divine
punishment! How ironic then that Paul, who recommended this mode of behaviour
to the very early Christians living in Rome, was subsequently (almost
certainly) himself executed by the Roman authorities!
On the other hand, quite different and
much more positive are the implications of Jesus’s own reported reply to the
Pharisees’ disingenuous question as to whether or not they (the Jews) should
pay taxes to the Roman Emperor. Referring dramatically to Caesar’s image and
inscription on a Roman coin currently in use, Jesus is said to have said:
‘Pay
Caesar what is due to Caesar, and pay God what is due to God.’ (Mark 12:17,
New English Bible)
Follow below a few remarks of mine about
this remarkable pronouncement made by (or ascribed to) Jesus.
(1)
Unlike Paul’s recommendation in his Letter to the Romans quoted earlier,
Jesus’s pronouncement does not
directly endorse the divine right of rulers.
(2)
It is sensible and realistic, much more so for example than Imran Khan’s recent
(autumn 2014) irresponsible exhortation to his supporters and Pakistanis
generally not to pay their utility bills until PM Nawaz Sharif resigned!
(3)
Jesus’s pronouncement lacks cognizance of (a) the principle of no taxation
without representation, and (b) the legitimacy, in certain exceptional
circumstances, of civil disobedience.
(4)
Most remarkably, Jesus’s pronouncement implies approval of the separation of
Church and State, something which it took Christians some seventeen or eighteen
centuries more to accept, and which Muslims (as a whole) have been unable to
accept (or even properly comprehend) till the present day!
773.
Any brave and honest person will worry less about what will happen to them
after death, and comparatively more about how their loved ones, humans and/or
animals, will fare in the time-and-space-bound world without them. It’s living
in the material world, and satisfying the material and non-material needs
humans and animals have herein, which require providing for properly. Whatever
lies beyond time and space can surely look after itself!
774. Today (6 May ’15), it’s three months and three weeks (111 days) since our tomcat Doomoo was last seen, and it would be very unrealistic to expect that he’s still going to show up. Doomoo must have suffered a fatal mishap even before I went looking for him on 20 January, and ended up spending eight days in a terrorists’ detention centre in Rawalpindi! I guess Doomoo’s loss and that bizarre episode will always remain associated in my memory. I miss the little fellow and his winsome ways quite a bit even now. However, some time in February or March, I decided to adopt another tomcat, who had in fact, especially after Doomoo’s disappearance, decided to adopt us. Our new pet, who looks a lot like Minty (one of our two she-cats), is called Güggoo, and his presence to some extent compensates for Doomoo’s absence. Brownie (our other she-cat) and Minty, who don’t get on well at all with each other, are both unfortunately extremely scared of Güggoo, which complicates my task of looking after all three adequately. Minty, who’s been with us since May 2008, and shares my room summer and winter, is even closer to me than Doomoo was. She’s quite as dear to me as their children are supposed to be to other people. With the difference that sometimes, when I’m looking at Minty or cuddling her, notwithstanding my due regard for my own species, the thought crosses my mind: Thank God she’s not human!
775.
The first and foremost purpose of education should be to develop, in those
being educated, an independent, discerning and critical mind, strongly
resistant to being duped by anything, and capable of pertinently criticizing
everything, including its own shortcomings.
776.
Recently, I went into a shop in the Abbottabad main bazaar in order to buy half
a litre of spirit for use in a sort of spirit-lamp we keep on the dining-table
to serve as a food-warmer. A man, perhaps in his forties, with a longish beard,
was speaking earnestly to (or rather at) the stolid shopkeeper, and continued
to do so while an assistant filled up the plastic bottle I had brought with me
with spirit, and I paid for it. Delivered in a tone of righteous indignation,
the man’s harangue, or as much of it as I overheard, was to the following
effect:
‘All these wretched sacrilegious modern ideas and practices seeping into our country are ruining our society. They all deal only with worldly matters, and are completely opposed to and incompatible with our Islamic faith, but nobody cares. For instance, the Küraan tells us clearly that two women are equal to one man. But these political elections are conducted as though one woman was equal to one man! You might as well stop thinking along religious lines, and just care about worldly affairs!’
Having tucked the bottle of spirit in my
shoulder bag, I didn’t stop in that shop to hear any more of the bearded man’s
views. Incidentally, if, in court, the evidence of two female witnesses is to
be considered equal to the evidence of one male witness, it should follow that
the verdicts of two female judges be considered equal to the verdict of one
male judge! Hence all the women judges in Pakistan and other Islamic countries
who preside over their courts alone, should immediately resign! Alternatively,
a new category of verdict, ‘the female half-valid verdict’, should be
incorporated in the judicial systems of these countries!
777.
Although it’s the followers of Hinduism who generally consider cows sacred, I
find the other great religion to originate in India, Buddhism, a somewhat
bovine creed! My opinion of Buddhism has also recently been affected adversely
by seeing a video clip on BBC t.v. of Buddhist monks in Burma worshipping in a
grovelling posture very much like the Islamic (probably pre-Islamic) sujda. That said, Buddhism has some
remarkably positive features too, most notably its distinctive agnosticism. (So
who were those agnostic Burmese monks in the video clip grovelling before, I wonder.)
778.
It’s true that we living human beings didn’t ask for the gift of life, but
having got it anyway by whatever mysterious means, it behoves us and is the
path of fulfilment for us, to make the best possible use of the gift. This can
be done by trying to improve, in whatever way and to whatever extent possible,
the quality of life of all living beings, starting with one’s nearest and
dearest.
779.
Follows a famous Urdu couplet of Ghalib’s, whose English translation I’ve just
‘finalized’:
Transliteration:
kaid-e-huyaat
o bund-e-ghum usl mayn doenon aik hain
maut say pehlay aadmi ghum say nijaat paa‘ay kyoon?
Translation:
Bondage of life and subjection to sorrow are
really both the same;
How can a man, prior to death, from sorrow
find release?
Comparable to Ghalib’s couplet, though in
prose, is Nietzsche’s following observation: ‘To live is to suffer; to survive
is to find some meaning in the suffering.’ On the surface, both Ghalib’s
couplet and Nietzsche’s reflection seem overly pessimistic. However, a writer’s
ability to express pessimistic thoughts so unflinchingly and so well is itself
a ground for optimism, for it’s indicative of the writer’s genius, which is
something countless people can benefit from.
780.
While the Islamic State savages reportedly throw homosexuals from tall
buildings in Mosul – and if they survive the fall beat them to death, the
civilized people of Catholic Ireland vote in a referendum to legalize same-sex
marriages. What a contrast! Makes me think Kipling had a point when he wrote of
the irreconcilable difference between East and West.
781. Taking proper care of one’s body, which
can involve seeing doctors and taking medicines, can feel like a big nuisance,
especially as one approaches old age. However, not taking proper care of one’s
physical health is by far the worse and potentially disastrous alternative. Our
bodies are not going to last for ever, but while they do they are us, and in
sickness deserve the best treatment possible. Unfortunately, in Pakistan, the
best treatment possible is frequently not good enough.
782.
Winston Churchill (1874 – 1965) was probably one of the top five statesmen of
the twentieth century, but I still didn’t expect much profound wisdom from him,
especially in his youth. Hence I was somewhat surprised recently to come across
on the Internet, Churchill’s following observations, published in his book The River War in 1899, when he was just
24 or 25.
Individual Moslems may show splendid
qualities . . . but the influence of the religion paralyses the social
development of those who follow it. No stronger retrograde force exists in the
world. Far from being moribund, Mohammedanism is a militant and proselytizing
faith.
Coming
from a 25-year-old 116 years ago, these statements are remarkable for their
pertinence and prescience.
783. A blog called 40 Hadith on Music, posted on an Internet website in 2010 (http://www.muftisays.com/blog/abu+mohammed/362_25-06-2010/40-hadith-on-music.html), presents no fewer than forty hudeeses (reported sayings/doings of Prophet Mühummud) castigating and condemning all forms of music and singing. Six of the more bizarre of these forty hudeeses (with minor adaptations), bearing the original numbers they have in the blog, are reproduced below. The words in brackets at the end of each hudees indicate its source, i.e. the published collection of hudeeses in which it is included.
(4)
Abu-Huraira narrated that, on being asked for what transgression some Muslims
in the last ages before doomsday would be transformed into animals, the Prophet
said, ‘They will be indulging in musical instruments, singing girls, musical
drums, and they will be consuming liquor. They will one night go to sleep after
their liquor and amusement. When they get up in the morning, they will have
been disfigured (and transformed into apes and pigs).’ (Kaf-fur Ruaa)
(8)
Naafi narrates: ‘Once when Abdullah bin Umur heard the sound of a shepherd’s
flute, he placed his fingers in both ears (to block the sound of the music),
and he diverted his mount from that path. (As we rode on) he would say, “O
Naafi, can you still hear (the sound)?” I would say, “Yes.” He would then
continue riding. Only when I said, “I can no longer hear it”, did he remove his
fingers from his ears. Then he returned to the road. He then said, “I saw the
Prophet doing like this when he heard the flute of a shepherd.” ’ (Ahmad and
Abu-Dawood)
(12)
Ibn-e-Masood narrated: ‘Verily, the Prophet heard a man singing one night. He
[the Prophet] then said, “His sulaat
[the prescribed ritualistic prayer to be performed five times daily] is
unacceptable! His sulaat is
unacceptable! His sulaat is
unacceptable!” ’ (Nailul Autaar)
(22)
Unus narrated that the Prophet said: ‘Whoever sits and listens to a singing
girl, Ullah will pour molten lead into his ears on doomsday.’ (Ibn Asaakir)
(29)
Abu-Umaama narrates that the Prophet said: ‘When someone raises his voice in
singing, Ullah sends two [little] satans who sit on his shoulders, striking his
breast with their heels until he stops (singing).’ (Tibraani)
(35)
Abu-Burzah narrated: ‘We were with the Prophet on a journey when he heard two
men singing. The one was responding to the other (by means of singing verses of
poetry). The Prophet then said, “Find out who these two are.” He was informed,
“They are so and so (naming them).” The Prophet then cursed them, saying, “O
Ullah! Cast them upside down in Hell.” ’ (Majmauz Zawaaid)
Of course it can be argued that these hudeeses condemning music are of doubtful authenticity, but that argument can apply to every single one of the thousands of hudeeses on various topics in circulation. Also, in the case of these forty virulently anti-music but apolitical hudeeses, it is difficult to imagine what motive anyone could have had for fabricating them. So, either Mühummud was not the original source of these atrocious hudeeses and they have been falsely ascribed to him; or else he did in fact originate them, in which case he must have been bonkers!
784.
Thank God this year’s Rumzaan, the Muslim month of fasting, is nearing its end.
Of course I don’t fast myself, but nearly everyone around me, including my
manservant, does – which cumulatively occasions a marked general increase in
irritability, quarrelsomeness, lassitude and inefficiency, not to mention
specifically the enhanced profiteering by foodstuff traders. Now, if this
Rumzaan fasting did not affect the fasters’ behaviour for better or worse, one would regard it as merely
ineffective; the fact that it causes a distinct deterioration in people’s
behaviour proves that, on balance, it is actually pernicious. This purportedly
wonderful observance and its paradoxical consequence is just one instance, out
of many, of the way Islam effectively dupes its adherents and works to their
moral detriment.
*785.
Exactly six months ago, on 15 January ’15, our tomcat Doomoo, who had been with
us for about eight-and-a-half memorable years, jumped out of my bedroom window
for the last time, never to return. Even though last year Doomoo did once
miraculously return after an absence of four months and two days, his current
absence is about two months even longer than that, and should now be regarded
as permanent. Is it worthwhile to wonder why ultimately my loss of the little
fellow came about? Did the almighty celestial s.o.b., out of spite and
jealousy, snatch away my Doomoo from me? That doesn’t make a great deal of
sense, not because of the profanity, but because the concept of an almighty
celestial Being is a dud. However, no other explanation makes a great deal of
sense either: the mystery pertaining to the significance of death is absolutely
inviolable.
Among Doomoo’s many endearing habits was
his practice of walking to a particular corner formed by the metallic left
front leg of my writing-desk and the horizontal metallic bars joining that leg
in a right angle a few inches above the floor. He would then nestle comfortably
in that corner, partially resting his head on or against one of the horizontal
bars. When last year Doomoo disappeared from 13 May to 15 September and I was
sure we’d lost him, I took an indelible black felt-pen and marked out Doomoo’s
Corner (see photo).
786.
My primary objection to atheism is that it is basically negative, for it just
seeks to disprove something (divinity), but doesn’t attempt to prove or promote
anything. This distinguishes it distinctly from agnosticism, a much more
positive viewpoint that seeks to disprove nothing and is prepared to consider
everything. In my maverick opinion, the most positive form of agnosticism is
pantheism.
787.
The soothing and evocative sound of rain steadily drumming on the corrugated
tin roof of our house is one of my favourite natural sounds. I feel that Nature
is conveying quite loudly its wordless message of solace and encouragement to
me. It would be nice if this were to be the last sound to enter my ears when I
finally edge away from hearing, seeing and being.
*788.
The ghuzul is a verse-form that for
centuries has been extremely popular in Urdu, Persian and some other languages
of south-west Asia, but is virtually unrepresented in English. A ghuzul comprises a variable number of
couplets (usually between five and ten), all its lines are of approximately the
same metrical length, and the standard rhyme-scheme adopted is aa, ba,
ca, da, etc. Probably the most distinctive feature of the ghuzul is that each of its couplets
constitutes an independent, self-contained, often epigrammatic unit of meaning,
thematically unconnected to its other couplets. What holds the poem together is
its metre, rhyme, and sometimes its overall mood. By far the finest exponent of
the ghuzul in Urdu is Mirza Ghalib
(1797 – 1869), the best of whose work I’ve been trying to translate into
English for donkey’s years. The last ghuzul
of his whose translation I’ve now ‘finalized’ contains ten couplets, of which
I’ve translated nine. Four of these nine couplets, over time, have attained a
proverbial status for Urdu-speakers, in the sense that they or parts of them
are often quoted in the manner that proverbs are repeated at appropriate
moments in daily life. The transliteration and my broadly metrical but unrhymed
translation of these four couplets of this particular ghuzul of Ghalib’s appear below:
ibn-e-murium huaa
kuray koee
mairay dukh ki
duvaa kuray koee
Let Mary’s son be whoever he was;
Let someone relieve me of my
distress!
buk ruhaa hoon junoon mayn kya kya kuchh
kuchh na sumjhay
khuda kuray koee
I
know not what all I’m blathering insanely;
Let no one, pray God, understand what I say!
kya kiya khizr nay sikundur say?
ub kisay rahnuma
kuray koee?
How did Khizur behave with Alexander?*
Who can one now adopt as one’s guide?
jub tuvuko hee uth ga‘ee Ghalib
kyoon kisi ka gilaa kuray
koee?
When no expectations from people remain,
Why should one then complain of them?
___________________
* In one version of Middle Eastern lore, the prophet
Khizur guided Alexander the Great to the elixir of life, only to drink it
himself and gain everlasting life, leaving Alexander deprived and all too
mortal!
The
complete version of my translation of this ghuzul
(comprising nine couplets) is expected to appear as the 51st of 55 ghuzuls in The Best of Ghalib Part 1, a slim volume that may finally see the
light of day in the not-too-distant future.
789. Among the numerous strange or curious verses of
the Kuraan are 62:6 and 7, two versions of whose English translation are given
below.
English translation by Marmaduke Pickthall
62:6. Say (O Mühammad): O ye who are Jews! if ye claim that ye are favoured of Allah apart from (all) mankind, then long for death if ye are truthful.
62:7. But
they will never long for it because of all that their own hands have sent
before, and Allah is Aware of evil-doers.
My English translation of Urdu translation by F.M.
Jallendhri
62:6. (O
Prophet) Say to the Jews: If you would claim that you alone are God’s friends
and other people are not, then prove that you are truthful by (first) desiring
death.
62:7. And
they (the Jews), because of the deeds that they have done, will never desire it
(i.e. death). And God is well aware of the iniquitous.
Insofar as these two verses repudiate the self-proclaimed notion of the Jews as God’s chosen people, they can be commended, though historically Muslims soon began to regard themselves as God’s chosen people, an equally false and delusional premise. What I find strange and pernicious about the quoted verses, however, is their presumption that the criterion (or one of the criteria) of being considered close to God is to desire or long for death. Not just to be unafraid of death, which would be something quite different, but to desire it for its own sake, in other words to ‘love death’, which is exactly what contemporary Islamists claim they do. So members of groups like IS, on the authority of Küraanic verses such as those quoted, must imagine that by loving death (and concomitantly hating life), and hence by being eager to kill and be killed, they will gain God’s favour and certain access to paradise. They therefore need to have no further, specific motivation or justification for committing their murderous atrocities.
790. As one advances beyond the age of 65, which I’m
set to do in a couple of weeks’ time, how best does one cope with the
inevitable, incremental ravages of ageing? Well, firstly by being fully
realistic, secondly by being more fully realistic, and thirdly by being even
more fully realistic!
791. The sexual imperative, in both animals and
humans, can be extremely strong, but the moral imperative in humans (but not in
animals) is overarchingly stronger. That’s because humans, innately and
intrinsically, are moral animals, the only such (extant) species on earth. In
the sexual sphere, therefore, satisfaction is not to be gained by being
licentiously immoral or even amoral, but by behaving in accordance with an
enlightened, non-religious, life-based morality, whose cardinal principle
should be indubitable consensualness.
792. On the whole, ‘political correctness’ is a
politically correct euphemism for mendacity or hypocrisy.
793. Everything is
exactly and precisely what it is: reality exists and operates regardless of how
little or how much we are in touch with it.
*794. Browsing the
Web the other day, I came across an interesting and perspicacious article by
the eminent Irishman, Conor Cruise O’Brien (1917 – 2008). Titled The Lesson
of Algeria: Islam is Indivisible, the article appeared in the Independent
newspaper over 20 years ago, on 6 January 1995 (http://www.independent.co.uk/voices/the-lesson-of-algeria-islam-is-indivisible-1566770.html). Though the
complete article (about four A4 pages) merits being read, quoted below are some
particularly pertinent excerpts from it.
Fundamentalist Islam’ is a misnomer which dulls our perceptions in a
dangerous way. It does so by implying that there is some other kind of Islam,
which is well-disposed to those who reject the Koran. There isn’t. . . .
For more than two centuries now, the House of War [the non-Muslim
world as perceived by some Muslims] has been in
the ascendant, and the House of Islam has been abased. The remedy for this
unnatural and intolerable state of affairs is jihad. Jihad is defined as ‘the
religious duty imposed on all Muslims to wage war upon those who do not accept
the doctrines of Islam’. The Prophet Mohamed himself not merely preached but
waged jihad. God’s word, dictated to the Prophet and preached by him, is
binding on all Muslims, and his example is their inspiration. . . .
What is going on today in the Muslim world is not the advent of some
aberrant thing called Islamic fundamentalism but a revival of Islam itself –
which Western ascendancy and Westernised post-Muslim elites no longer have the
capacity to muffle and control. The jihad is back. . . .
The tragic error of the French in trying to cope with the revival of
Islam [in
Algeria in the early 1990s] derives from a
conceptual error: the illusion that ‘Islamic fundamentalism’ is something
distinct and separate from Islam itself. If separate, then detachable; if
detachable, then eradicable – if necessary, by force. So reasoned those
Cartesian minds, moving with impeccable logic to an erroneous conclusion, since
their basic premise was false. . . .
The Prophet Mohamed did not offer his followers a chance to live in
harmony with their neighbours. He taught them to fight their neighbours, if
they were unbelievers, and kill them or beat them into submission. And it is
futile to say of those Muslims who faithfully follow those teachings today that
their actions are ‘not intrinsically related to Islam’. . . .
Remarkably prescient considering they were
voiced way back in 1995, O’Brien’s above-quoted comments, though ‘politically
incorrect’, are significantly insightful and substantially true.
795. Ten weeks ago,
on 23 July ’15, before which I didn’t even know what it was, I was diagnosed
with inguinal (groin) hernia. The only symptom was a small painless bulge in my
left pubic area, which wouldn’t go away. Of course I was glad and relieved to
learn that it wasn’t some kind of tumour in my innards. However, coping with
even such a relatively minor disorder hasn’t proved easy. For starters, there
are no allopathic medications at all to treat inguinal hernia, and I
don’t feel I can trust homoeopathic medicines to be effective. All the doctors
I’ve spoken to recommend surgery, but particularly as it’s likely to involve
general anaesthesia, and especially in apprehension of post-operative
complications, I’d much rather avoid it, unless absolutely necessary. The
crucial objective is to prevent the hernia from deteriorating and becoming much
more serious, even life-threatening. Towards that end, for the last ten days
I’ve been strapping on a hernia belt or truss, but find it fairly
uncomfortable, and also doubt its long-term efficacy. Certain exercises to tone
up the abdominal muscles are recommended by some Internet pundits, but not by
the local doctors I’ve consulted. So, all in all, it’s quite a quandary. The
important thing, I think, is not to let my abdominal muscles – or my spirit –
sag.
796. In his fairly
short essay, Do We Survive Death?, first published in 1936, Bertrand
Russell (1872 – 1970) first outlines the rational basis for not believing in
any sort of existence after death, and then acknowledges:
It is not rational arguments, but emotions, that cause belief in a
future life.
So far so good. However, the only two emotions that
Russell identifies as promoting belief in afterlife are firstly the fear of
death and secondly the ‘admiration of the (supposed) excellence of man’. But
surely these are not the only two emotions that engender notions of some sort
of post-mortem existence. What about the common deep desire to see justice done
to and between persons in a more complete way than usually happens during life?
Even more importantly, what about the strongest and most wonderful of the
emotions, love, when it is felt by one person for another or for an animal, and
the loved one dies? In such cases, the survivor not only sometimes continues to
feel in some sort of contact with the deceased but also often hopes in some
manner to be reunited with them after death. In the second-last speech of King
Lear, soon after Lear finally expires, Kent says:
I have a journey, sir,
shortly to go;
My master calls me, I
must not say no.
Such sentiments would perhaps
be regarded by rationalists like Bertrand Russell as ‘wishful thinking’ – quite
inappropriately because they’re not thoughts at all but feelings, liable to be
judged as to their emotional not cerebral authenticity. At present, usually
once every morning, I regularly invoke the spirits of six deceased persons,
namely D.H. Lawrence, W.H. Bates (the ophthalmologist), my father, my only
brother, my mother, and Khushwant Singh. With the same regularity, I also
invoke the spirits of our seven dead cats, namely Minky, Tigress, Princess,
Guppoo, Nameless (too briefly with us to be normally named), Giggi and Doomoo.
I don’t think it’s idiotic or superstitious of me to invoke the spirits of
these dead persons and animals, for I continue to feel some measure of
affection for all of them.
I think Russell is right in repudiating the notion, advanced by Judaism, Christianity and Islam, of the resurrection on doomsday of the bodies (pancreases and all!) of deceased human beings. That is ridiculous and puerile, and leads to such lurid, nauseating fantasies of the specifically physical delights and torments of heaven and hell as the Küraan is full of. But utter and final extinction of the self at death is not the only alternative possibility, either. Yes, the body, including the brain with all its functions, will perish utterly; but that part of the self which was non-material ab initio, the spirit, might that not enter some dimension beyond space and time? And might not the wings of love still be strong enough to fly across the Great Divide between that incomprehensible dimension and our material space-time continuum?
797. Like many other people,
I’d heard of a whole string of Gandhis, from the original Mahatma M.K.G. to
Rajiv’s daughter Priyanka, but it was only quite recently that I was surprised
to hear, via the Internet, of Abdullah Gandhi! The eldest of the Mahatma’s four
sons, born in 1888, his original name was Harilal. But he changed it to
Abdullah when he converted to Islam in May 1936! Subsequently he reconverted to
Hinduism and evidently became Harilal again. Harilal/Abdullah appears to have
had a terrible relationship with his father, who thwarted his son’s desire to
study law in England on the grounds that a Western-style education would not be
helpful in the struggle against British rule in India. Why that hadn’t been so
in his own case, the Mahatma seems not to have figured out. Harilal is said to
have renounced all family ties in 1911, and to have remained unreconciled with
his father till the latter’s assassination in January 1948, ‘appear[ing] at his
father’s funeral in such derelict condition that few recognized him’
(Wikipedia). A few months later, Harilal too kicked the bucket. Also according
to Wikipedia, in June 1935, Mahatma Gandhi wrote a letter to Harilal, accusing
him of raping his (Harilal’s) deceased wife’s sister (a ‘child widow’), urging
him to give up ‘alcohol and debauchery’, and stating that Harilal’s problems
were more difficult for him (M.K.G.) to deal with than the struggle for India’s
Independence. This last telling admission of the Mahatma’s reinforces my view
that intricate public issues concerning multitudes of people are usually less
onerous and challenging than intense personal problems initially affecting only
a few individuals.
798. Sunni Muslims often
regard Shia Muslims as kaafirs (infidels or unbelievers, a term of
contempt) while the Shias often view the Sunnis as kaafirs. In a curious
but very real sense, both are right: the adherents of both the major Islamic
sects have precious little real faith between them! But what
exactly do I mean by ‘real faith’, which Muslims of all denominations, despite
their loud protestations, are particularly devoid of ? Well, for me real faith
has little to do with belief in any god or ‘prophet’; it has everything to do
with character and behaviour. It basically involves unswerving commitment to
honesty and truth, and the courage to abide by whatever consequences that
commitment may entail. However, in all my 66 years, about 62 of which have been
spent in overwhelmingly Muslim Pakistan, I haven’t known a single Muslim man or
woman, not one individual, who always spoke the truth or who didn’t
prevaricate under pressure. In this lamentable state of pronounced moral
deficiency, if the proverbial pot and kettle contemptuously call each other
black, as far as accuracy goes they’re both perfectly accurate!
799. According to some recent (late October ’15) media reports, some Muslim taxi-drivers in Toronto, on account of their religious bias against dogs, which is based on a number of hudeeses (reported sayings/doings of Mühummud), refuse to transport prospective visually impaired passengers who are accompanied by their guide-dogs! How shameful, disgraceful and disgusting!
800. There seems to be no way,
short of becoming a hermit, of avoiding all contact with rude, disagreeable
people who gratuitously rub one the wrong way. Such people exist in all
societies, though they are proportionately more numerous in less civilized
countries like Pakistan. They are what they are, with serious character flaws
largely attributable to defective upbringing, and it’s generally naïve to expect them to
significantly improve their behaviour. As far as possible, one should of course
try to avoid coming into contact with such people; to the extent that is not
possible, in order to save oneself from repeatedly getting all riled and
rattled by exasperating encounters with them, one needs to strongly draw on
one’s reserves of composure, compassion, humour and stoicism.
801.
The worst-case scenario of ageing is that, as one approaches the end of middle-age,
both one’s body and one’s mind begin to deteriorate significantly. Even
in the best-case scenario, from that stage of life onwards, one’s body will
slowly but surely become more prone to impairment; but, on the other hand,
one’s mind will continue to gain more maturity and wisdom, and so will become
less prone to making harmful or inappropriate decisions. An important part of
the wisdom of one’s later years is not to hanker bitterly for the greater
physical and sexual activity of one’s youth, but instead to make sure that the potential
compensation, in the form of enhanced mental and spiritual awareness, really
(not just apparently) comes about, and is duly valued.
802. It is one thing to
reflect calmly and independently that there is more to reality than meets the
eye, and that the incomprehensible mystery of its entirety may also be
called ‘God’; it’s quite another thing to be indoctrinated since infancy to
cling to the particular conception of God prevalent in one’s community
and endorsed by one’s religion. Among Muslims, the indoctrination usually
begins on the first day of a newborn’s life, when the uzaan (call to
prayer, in Arabic) is recited in the infant’s ears. In my own case, however,
when I was one day old, by an extraordinary stroke of fortune, the uzaan
that was (probably) recited in my ears by my father (who was more accurately an
agnostic than a Muslim) evidently just went in one ear and out the other!
Subsequently, I became able to think critically for myself. But my case is a
rare exception that proves the rule that stultifying religious indoctrination
in early childhood is still endemic here in the East. It’s far more widespread
than polio, and much worse in its cumulative effect.
803. On 22 November ’15, the
celebrated American author, Joyce Carol Oates (born 1938), whose work I haven’t
had the occasion to read yet, posted the following out-of-this-world remarks on
Twitter:
All we hear of ISIS [a.k.a. Islamic
State] is puritanical & punitive; is there nothing
celebratory & joyous? Or is [the] query naïve?
Understandably, there has been
plenty of outraged criticism of Oates’s remarks on the Internet, one of the
best and shortest instances of which was the following comment by ‘JawsV’,
posted on 24 November on the Jihad Watch website (www.jihadwatch.org):
Yes Joyce, they celebrate and find joy in killing, raping, beheading and
mass-murdering ‘infidels’. Got it now?
I rather doubt that J.C. Oates
is going to be on my short-list of contemporary writers to read in the near
future!
804. The two concluding
sentences of Bertrand Russell’s essay, Do We Survive Death?, in one
version subtitled Death as the Final Event of the Self, read as follows:
The world in which we live can be understood as a result of muddle and
accident; but if it is the outcome of deliberate purpose, the purpose must have
been that of a fiend. For my part, I find accident a less painful and more
plausible hypothesis.
These pronouncements of
Russell’s are impressive in that they reject the wishful comfort of believing
in a benevolent Creator-Sustainer. On the other hand, however, if muddle and
accident brought about life on earth, in all its stupendous interrelated forms
including human life, what is to prevent muddle and accident from bringing
about some form or forms of afterlife as well?
805. Some ten days ago, I
finally finished Khaled Hosseini’s third and latest (2013) novel, And the
Mountains Echoed, having read almost all of it (444 pages) in bed, in small
portions before going to sleep, over many months. On the blank part of page 444
I then scribbled the following in pencil: An interesting, at times
compelling, novel. Its chief shortcoming is its fragmentedness. That, in a
nutshell, is my assessment of And the Mountains Echoed. The novel
comprises nine chapters, each set in a different time-period, from spring 1949
to winter 2010, and the locales in which the plot, or rather plots, develop
range from rural Afghanistan to Kabul to Paris to the Greek island of Tinos to
California. Although the characters are all interrelated, some of their
interrelations are overly tenuous. So much so that each chapter of the book,
with a little editing, would probably work better as an independent short
story, than do all of them together as one novel. Still, in his three novels
cumulatively, Hosseini has demonstrated convincingly that he has considerable
creative talent. I’d like to see what his next offering will be.
806. Last month (Dec. ’15), I
received a brief e-mail from a particularly fair-minded English
old-college-friend of mine, in which, apparently in some exasperation at my
recurrent criticisms of Islam, and as a sort of challenge to my integrity and
intelligence, he fairly flung at me the following two questions: ‘Are there no
Muslims you respect? Are all Muslims deluded fools?’ Let me try and answer
these questions one by one, as coolly, truthfully and competently as I can.
(1) Are there no Muslims I
respect?
First of all, what does ‘to respect’ properly mean? The Concise Oxford Dictionary (1990 edition) gives the primary meaning of ‘respect’ (verb) as: regard with deference, esteem, or honour. Are there any Muslims I regard with deference, esteem or honour? Considering an example or two may help me better answer that question. For almost five years now, I’ve rented a small portion of my house to a tenant, who is a professional singer, a part-time science teacher, and (like about 95% people in Pakistan) a Muslim. He is a good tenant, always punctual with the rent, and quite a pleasant person; so I get on rather well with him. But do I regard him with deference, esteem or honour? I’m afraid not. Some months back, after I’d discovered on an Islamic website an eye-opening article titled 40 Hadith on Music, which presented no fewer than forty hudeeses (reported sayings/doings of Prophet Mühummud) castigating and condemning all forms of music and singing (see Reflection No. 783 above), I gave a photocopy of the article to my tenant, asking him to tell me later what he thought of it. After he’d had plenty of time to read and think about it, when I asked my tenant for his opinion of the article, his response was dismissive and evasive. Had he acknowledged that his vocation and his faith were antagonistic, or even given me cogent reasons why he thought they weren’t antagonistic, I could have respected him. I simply cannot respect evasiveness and hypocrisy – which character flaws, along with mendacity, are virtually universal among present-day Muslims. Of course, evasiveness, hypocrisy and mendacity are commonly found among adherents of other creeds, too; and of course I can’t respect evasive, hypocritical or mendacious non-Muslims, either. So, in conclusion, I can say that it’s not so much that there are no Muslims I respect in any way at all, but rather that all the Muslims that I’ve known sufficiently well have had one or more character traits that I despise. And that, for me, is a clear, logical and convincing indictment of Islam.
(2) Are all Muslims deluded
fools?
Again, Muslims certainly don’t have a
monopoly on foolishness or deludedness. I’m sure there are plenty of deluded
fools among Jews, Christians, Hindus, Buddhists, Communists, and followers of
other religions and ideologies, as well. Indeed, it’s hard to imagine any
human being who hasn’t behaved foolishly or harboured some sort of delusion at
some time or another. That said, the fear-driven indoctrination that
practically all Muslims receive since infancy, robs them of their ability to
think critically, which in turn makes them particularly prone to behave
foolishly. Add to that the inbreeding endemic among Muslims on account of the
prevalence of first-cousin marriages, and the picture becomes bleaker. Still, all
Muslims can’t be deluded fools, can they? Well, not all of them to the same
extent, admittedly!
807. Introducing one of the
news-stories posted on the Jihad Watch website (www.jihadwatch.org) on 5 Feb. ’16, Robert
Spencer remarked rather casually: ‘[In Islamic societies] Women are so
devalued, men look to other men and boys for sexual pleasure.’ Of course, this
remark does not encompass the whole truth about the prevalence of male
homosexuality in Islamic societies, but it does constitute a part of the truth.
It perceptively identifies one of the several factors (some unknown) that
together could be considered to account for the phenomenon. Having been engaged
in an almighty struggle to make sense of my own homosexuality for about the
last 54 of my 66 years, all but three to four of them spent in Pakistan, I – if
anyone – should know!
808. Right in the middle of The
Sermon on the Mount (Matthew chapters 5 to 7), occur the verses 5:39 – 41,
of which my paraphrase (not translation), adapted after comparing three English
translations, namely of the King James Version (1611), the New English Bible
(1972), and the New International Version (1992), appears below. The words
purport to be addressed by Jesus Christ to his followers:
5:39 These are my instructions to you. Don’t resist aggression. If
someone slaps you on one cheek, turn your other cheek to them, too.
5:40 If someone tries to take away your outer garment, let them have
your inner garment as well.
5:41 And if someone in authority forces you to go one mile with them,
volunteer to go two miles with them.
These three verses, exhorting
non-resistance to aggression and citing three similar hypothetical instances or
situations, may sound lofty and altruistic, but how psychologically and morally
viable are they in reality? Apart from the dubious logic of drawing general
conclusions from hypothetical instances (someone doesn’t just slap your
face, but would do so in a particular context), let’s give these three
exhortations the test of reductio ad absurdum.
1.
Turning the other cheek. Suppose that, one of these days or nights, a
young female Christian resident of Rotherham, England falls prey to some
members of the Muslim rape gangs that have been operating there, and is
brutally gang-raped vaginally. Should she then promptly turn over and offer to
be gang-raped anally as well?
2.
Willingness to be dispossessed. According to this precept, when the Moors
conquered most of Spain during the early 8th century AD and began advancing
into France, their advance should not have been resisted. Instead, Christendom
should have willingly relinquished France and any other territories that the
invaders wanted; and the Reconquista of Spain, which took over seven centuries
to complete, should never have been attempted.
3.
Kowtowing to authority. On the last day of his life, according to the
Gospels, after being mocked and beaten, Jesus was forced by the Jewish and
Roman authorities to walk from the Governor’s headquarters in Jerusalem to
Calvary, a short distance outside the city, to be crucified. According to
John’s Gospel, Jesus was made to carry his own (heavy wooden) cross, which must
have made his progress slower and even more excruciating. So when they reached
Calvary, let’s say a mile from where they’d started, did Jesus volunteer to
stagger on for another mile with his tormentors? None of the Gospels report
that he did, and it would have been beyond the bounds of human nature if he
had.
From the above, one can conclude that the
precepts contained in Matthew 5: 39 – 41, while presenting a thought-provoking
alternative to the crudity of tit-for-tat retaliation (referred to in verse
5:38), constitute a swing to the other extreme. They are unrealistic because at
odds with human nature, and most practising Christians must find them
confusing, consciously or subconsciously.
809. The prose style of Dr
Samuel Johnson (1709 – 1784), sometimes pejoratively referred to as Johnsonese,
though long-winded and verbose at times, is usually so in a meaningful not
vacuous way. Consider, for example, the following paragraph from his Preface
to Shakespeare (1765), all of which is just one sentence!
Shakespeare’s
plays are not in the rigorous and critical sense either tragedies or comedies,
but compositions of a distinct kind; exhibiting the real state of sublunary
nature, which partakes of good and evil, joy and sorrow, mingled with endless
variety of proportion and innumerable modes of combination; and expressing the
course of the world, in which the loss of one is the gain of another; in which,
at the same time, the reveller is hasting to his wine, and the mourner burying
his friend; in which the malignity of one is sometimes defeated by the frolic
of another; and many mischiefs and many benefits are done and hindered without
design.
The above-quoted sentence
contains 110 words (about as many as a complete Shakespearean sonnet), and is
punctuated with eight commas and five semi-colons! But these particulars are
far less significant than the fact that, as a whole, it makes a good deal of
sense.
810. In order to gauge the
qualitative level of different cultures in the world, various criteria can be
employed, such as the rate of literacy, medical advancement, encouragement of
art and music, acceptance of the rule of law, etc. But one sound and
straightforward criterion by which to judge the superiority or inferiority of
any culture is the manner in which animals are treated in that culture. The
worst cultures are those in which animals are treated cruelly and callously,
and the best are those in which they are treated kindly and considerately.
Pakistani culture, in which animals (especially, but not only, dogs) are
routinely mistreated, thus does not qualify to be counted among the better
cultures existing on earth today. To qualify for that honour would require
something of a cultural revolution, with Pakistanis learning to greatly improve
their behaviour towards all domestic animals.
811.
Don’t grovel before your boss; don’t grovel before ‘the authorities’; don’t
grovel before ‘God’; don’t grovel under any circumstances.
812.
It’s two weeks today (11 March ’16) since our tomcat, Güggoo, disappeared, so it seems certain that he has suffered some
kind of fatal mishap. I’m missing him more than I could have expected, and feel
sorry that I couldn’t do more for him. Güggoo
first started visiting our house in 2014, initially attracting our attention
because he looked a lot like our she-cat, Minty, but was a little bigger than
her. He looked like a young adult; and having three other cats already, we
thought we wouldn’t adopt him, though we didn’t shoo him away, either. Then, on 15 Jan.
’15, our beloved tomcat, Doomoo, who’d been with us since 2006, disappeared,
and while looking for him quite near our house on 20 Jan., I was taken into
custody by some hyper-intelligent functionaries of an ‘intelligence agency’,
probably IB (Intelligence Bureau). They also apprehended my manservant,
Humayoon, but released him on 22 Jan., while I was finally released on 29 Jan.
During the two days and nights that both Humayoon and I were away, the house
had to be broken into by our tenant and Humayoon’s relatives, partly in order
to feed the cats. Our part-time maidservant, Umraizaan, helped with feeding the
cats, and mistaking Güggoo to be one of
our regular pets, fed him too – hearing of which, on my return, convinced me
that we now had to continue doing so. That’s how, some months after he seemed
to have decided to adopt us, Güggoo
came to be finally adopted by us. Over the next thirteen months, I became quite
fond of the little fellow, regarding him as a friend. To some extent, he filled
Doomoo’s place, although, since he tended to fight with and frighten Minty and
Brownie, our she-cats, I was never able to accommodate Güggoo indoors, even on frosty
winter nights, which made me feel unhappy and guilty. A house of bricks and
cement, with a thick sloping roof, was built for him, but he hardly ever used
it, preferring one or other of the many padded crates installed around our
house. Anyway, with February drawing to its close, we knew that winter’s days
were numbered. Even more so, unfortunately, were Güggoo’s.
The question agitating my mind for the
past fortnight has been: why? Why did Güggoo’s life have to be cut short suddenly? Why did I have to be deprived
of yet another feline friend? Also, who or what can I hold ultimately
responsible for his loss? The deplorably animal-unfriendly culture of Pakistan?
Inexorable, ruthless fate? Bertrand Russell’s arbitrary muddle-and-accident
process? D.H. Lawrence’s inscrutable God-mystery? I really don’t know. What I
know and am glad about is that I was able to provide reasonable living
conditions and a measure of affection for Güggoo for thirteen months. Just days before he disappeared, not only was
he sexually involved with a pretty black-and-white cat, but she also followed
him one evening to our front porch, almost as though ‘to meet the family’! That
cat is probably pregnant now with a kitten or kittens sired by Güggoo, and maybe – just maybe –
after her little ones are born, one or more of them will be adopted by some
kind-hearted person or persons, for whom they will be a source of pleasure and
satisfaction, as Güggoo was for us.
Birth and death keep chasing each other incessantly in the material world,
wherever there is life. Beyond which, tantalizingly, is the awesome Unknown,
where maybe – just maybe – I’ll eventually meet up with Güggoo, Doomoo and all my other
feline and canine friends.
813. There is this brief
window of opportunity – called life – during
which you must be and do everything that you want to be and do. For soon
enough, slowly or suddenly, but finally and irrevocably, that window will swing
shut. So don’t squander or fritter away any of life’s opportunities; live as
fully as you possibly can, while you can.
814. It’s never too early, or
too late, to face up to reality. The earlier, and the more comprehensively, a
person can manage to do so, though, the better it is for them.
815. Before setting out from
home on a long journey, two important considerations that one needs to pay
attention to are (a) what things to take with one, and (b) what arrangements to
make for the satisfactory conduct of one’s domestic affairs during one’s
absence. However, in the case of that final, one-way journey that everyone has
to undertake at the end of their life, consideration (a) is fortunately not a
consideration: no need to pack even one’s toothbrush: one can’t possibly travel
lighter! But the equivalent of consideration (b) does require a good deal of
thought and planning. If it seems likely that one is going to predecease some
of one’s loved ones – humans and/or animals – one will feel responsible for
making the best possible provision for their subsequent welfare in a doubtful
world. A significant responsibility, this.
816. Just as I didn’t even
know what inguinal hernia was until I was diagnosed with it last July, I had
never even heard of sacroiliitis until the orthopaedist at the local hospital
diagnosed it as the cause of my low back pain ten days ago (on 22 March ’16).
Now I know that sacroiliitis is the inflammation of the sacro-iliac joint(s),
formed at the junction, on either side, of the spine and the pelvis. This
current episode of my low back pain had begun three or four weeks before I even
went to the doctor, but I had supposed that the severe sciatica pain I suffered
for a few months three years ago had probably returned. The pain this time,
though, was not quite as severe, and seemed to be in a different location. But,
at its worst, it was debilitating enough, particularly in that it made
excruciatingly difficult the process of passing a motion, followed by first
using toilet paper and then vigorously washing the anal area with hot water the
way that I’m used to doing. It was especially painful to use the
‘Pakistani-style’ WC that one squats or crouches over, which, for hygienic
reasons, I definitely prefer to the sit-on ‘Western’ model. Quite early on, I
had started to self-medicate, using a combination of anti-inflammatory,
analgesic and muscle-relaxing drugs, which the doctor subsequently approved of,
and – albeit frustratingly slowly – the pain has now abated considerably though
not completely. Sacroiliitis can sometimes lead to ankylosing spondylitis,
resulting in an unsightly permanent forward-bending of the spine, which I’d
hate to acquire. To cope more effectively with this and my other geriatric
ailments, I wish I could have access to the more advanced and varied treatments
available in the UK and US. Hopefully, in the not-too-distant future, despite
visa problems and financial constraints (and sit-on WCs there), I’ll eventually
be able to revisit (and culturally reassess) one or both of those countries.
That obviously needs to happen before
I am either incapacitated by my ailments from travelling overseas or, as is
unfortunately more imminently likely, I’m murdered or incarcerated indefinitely
by some of my compatriots for being what I am and/or saying what I believe.
817. During the just-elapsed
winter months, when I used to see from indoors through different windows of our
house our tomcat, Güggoo, sitting or
lying in one of the padded crates installed around the house, not accommodated
indoors like our she-cats (see No. 812 above), in those circumstances I
sometimes used to tap rapidly with the back of my fingertips on the inside of
the window-pane outside which was Güggoo, as a way of expressing solicitude for him. Güggoo would always respond,
even if he was half-asleep, by moving some parts of his body, often his ears,
as much as to say, ‘I hear you. I’m O.K.
I feel cold and would like to be indoors, but know that I can’t. Never mind,
I’m not unbearably uncomfortable.’
I last saw Güggoo on 26 Feb. ’16, almost
six weeks ago, so presume that he’s dead and gone. But I still sometimes tap
rapidly with the back of my fingertips on the inside of certain window-panes.
The crates outside are empty, but I feel sure that Güggoo’s disembodied spirit can
earlessly ‘hear’ me, i.e. is somehow cognizant of my gesture. It may be an
illusion, or it may not be an illusion. I incline enough towards the latter possibility to have my belief reinforced
that not only love, but also true friendship, including between members of
different species, is stronger than death. In Güggoo’s case, it has apparently enabled me to have
eternity literally at my fingertips!
818. I have fairly serious
reservations about the manner in which love is interpreted and recommended in a
number of places in the Bible. Taking the Old and New Testaments together,
people are sporadically exhorted to love (a) God, (b) their neighbours, and (c)
their enemies. Some verses exhorting these three modes of love are quoted
below:
Deuteronomy 6:5. [Moses says that
God says that] '. . . you must love the Lord your
God with all your heart and soul and strength.' (New
English Bible). In Matthew 22:37, this is endorsed by Jesus as God’s greatest
commandment (with the slight though curious alteration of the third faculty
with all of which one must love God from ‘strength’ to ‘mind’.)
Leviticus 19:18. [God directed
Moses to tell the Israelites,] ‘. . . love your
neighbour as yourself . . .’ (New International Version). In Matthew 22:39, this is
endorsed by Jesus as God’s next-greatest commandment, almost at par with the
one to love God.
Matthew 5:43-44. [Jesus said to
his disciples during The Sermon on the Mount:] ‘You have heard that it was said, “Love your neighbour and hate your
enemy.” But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you
. . .’ (New
International Version)
Now, I have no idea which word or words in
the original languages (Hebrew/Aramaic/Greek) has/have been translated as
‘love’ in the English translations of the above-quoted verses. But the way
these verses appear in English (including in the King James Version), their
concept of love-on-command is not really psychologically sound or viable. Love,
let’s be clear, is essentially an intense involuntary
feeling of affection, which a person just can’t be commanded or directed to
have or not-have; it’s a spontaneous emotion which you either feel or don’t
feel. Regardless of who or what its object may be, love is not something you
can be made to feel, even by
yourself. In fact, if you try deliberately to love anyone or anything
(including ‘God’), you will probably start subconsciously to hate them.
The injunction ‘love your neighbour as
yourself’, besides misconceiving love as something voluntary, is extravagant
and unrealistic in any case. Some neighbours can be extremely unpleasant,
vicious or even murderous. If you think loving such neighbours will make them
change their character or behaviour, that’s very unlikely to happen, and it
could even make their behaviour worse in reaction to your (perceived)
condescension or self-righteousness. It’s plain common sense that your
behaviour towards your neighbour will depend mainly on what that neighbour is
like. Yes, it’s advisable, and ennobling to your own character, to have
consideration for and empathy with your neighbour; but you should love your neighbour only if you find him
or her irresistibly lovable!
As for the injunction to love your enemies
and pray for those who persecute you, its second half, i.e. praying for your
persecutors, is possible, innocuous, and may be worthwhile if you like and
derive solace from praying. But the injunction’s first and more important half,
i.e. loving your enemies, is semantically and psychologically specious. If you could love your enemies, they wouldn’t be your enemies, but would become your
beloved friends! No, I’m afraid that, human nature being what it is, it’s
natural, normal and appropriate to hate your enemies, and there’s no need to
feel guilty or defensive about it. However, there’s hate and hate. While hating
your enemies, it’s in your own moral interest to simultaneously bear in mind
(which few people do) the important caveats enumerated below:
(1) Make sure, and review
periodically to re-confirm, that the basis of your hate and enmity is your
enemy’s hateful and injurious behaviour towards you or yours, and not something
else, such as envy or malice (or a misunderstanding) on your own part.
(2) Whereas hate and love, for
the same person at the same time, are mutually exclusive, hate and compassion
are not. Even while hating your enemies, you can and should retain a sense of
compassion for them, trying to imagine what it would be like to be in their
shoes. Which may be what Jesus was getting at (but missing by a fair margin).
(3) Don’t let your hate,
however justified, dominate your life. Avoid hateful people as much as
possible. If you find all or almost all people hateful, spend more time with
animals, who are almost always lovable.
While I’m at it, let me also comment on
the second part of 1 John 4:16, which has become a central part of Christian
doctrine. It reads:
God is love;
he who dwells in love is dwelling in God, and God in him. (New English Bible)
Now, this pronouncement I find fairly
impressive, for at least two reasons. Firstly, it dispenses with the impossible
love-on-command concept found in the other biblical verses quoted above.
Secondly, by identifying God with an abstract emotion (love), it avoids
conceiving God as a deity, which is how God is conceived by both
mainstream Judaism and mainstream Islam, and which I regard not only as
theology’s pathetic fallacy but also as simply a non-material form of idolatry.
Even so, John’s asseveration leaves me somewhat uncomfortable; it is a bit too
abstract and generalized, and reminds me of Keats’s ‘Beauty is truth, truth
beauty’. I suppose I baulk ultimately at John’s use of the word ‘God’, which,
through excessive and indiscriminate use over the ages, has by now lost most of
its meaning. Still, were I to use it now, compared to John’s dictum it would be
more meaningful for me to say: God is reality; he who is in touch with reality,
to the extent he is in touch with it, is, to the same extent, in touch with
God.
819. A few days ago, I
happened to play, after maybe years, an audio-cassette containing songs from
two very old Indian films, Mun ki Jeet
(side A) and Ruttun (side B). While I
enjoyed a number of songs on both sides of the cassette, I was especially taken
with the last song on side B, sung by Kurun Divaan, and particularly with its
refrain, transliterated and translated below (my name occurring as a common
noun in the third line of the original).
Transliteration:
jub tüm hee chulay purdais
lugaa kurr
thais
to preetum
pyara
dünya mayn kaun humara?
Translation:
When even you are
heading abroad,
Leaving us
in the lurch,
Then, O
dearly beloved,
Who in the world can we
call our own?
In my imagination, something
like this would be what my two remaining beloved cats, Minty and Brownie, would
feel if either (a) my somewhat forlorn hope of emigrating actually
materialized, or (b) if I predeceased them. Regarding (b), I’ll try my best not
to predecease either but to outlive both of them, even though that will
naturally entail experiencing twice-over the pain of losing them. In the event
of (a), what to do with my cats could be quite a problem. Initially, I think I
would have to leave them here in my manservant’s care, but as soon as
practicable, I’d arrange to have at least Minty join me wherever I decided to
settle. Never, while I’m alive, will I leave the little ones in the lurch.
820. Imagine what it must have
been like to be living in any part of the world before Columbus, Magellan and
Copernicus, when the earth, which was considered the centre of the universe,
was generally assumed to be flat as a spread-out carpet (with mountains acting
as pegs to hold it down, according to the Küraan); when it had not yet been discovered that the earth simultaneously
revolved around the sun and rotated around its own axis: so that the sun would
inexplicably emerge from beyond the eastern horizon in the morning and sink
beyond the western one in the evening (into a muddy pool, as witnessed by the
mysterious Zülkurnain, the
infallible Küraan informs us);
and when the causes of natural phenomena such as thunder, rain, droughts,
eclipses and earthquakes were not yet understood at all. Ignorance breeds superstition,
so it’s not surprising that the vast majority of pre-Renaissance people were
superstitious in one way or another. Unfortunately, there are lots of ignorant
and superstitious people in the ‘third world’ even today. I wonder if the unprecedented and accelerating
proliferation of information technology in the last couple of decades (coupled
with the virtual universalization of English) will finally begin to turn that
sad situation around.
821.
The difference between truth and falsehood is similar, in some ways, to the
difference between music and noise. The human sense of hearing always finds
noise jarring and distasteful; the human mind, at its deepest level, invariably
finds lies repugnant.
822.
I’m about halfway through Karen Armstrong’s monumental, informative and
interesting book, A History of God (1993), and about ten pages into its
seventh chapter, titled The God of the Mystics. While discussing Throne
Mysticism, an early form of Jewish mysticism, Armstrong quotes the following
lines from a fifth-century AD text, translated from Hebrew by T. Carmi:
A quality of holiness, a quality of power, a
fearful quality, a dreaded
quality, a quality of awe, a quality of dismay, a quality of terror –
Such is the quality of the garment of the
Creator, Adonai, God of
Israel, who, crowned, comes to the throne of his glory;
His garment is engraved inside and outside
and entirely covered with
YHWH, YHWH.
No eyes are able to behold it, neither the
eyes of flesh and blood,
nor
the eyes of his servants.
Evidently
quite impressed by these lines, the author (Armstrong) comments on them thus: ‘If
we cannot imagine what Yahweh’s cloak is like, how can we think to behold God
himself?’ Unlike Armstrong, however, I find this description of Yahweh’s
garment comically unimpressive. If it’s so difficult to imagine God’s awesome
outer garment, maybe one can try imagining His presumably skimpier
undergarment, and then try visualizing what lies under that undergarment! With or
without His (new or old) clothes, this Emperor appears equally ridiculous!
823.
Having now come to the end of the 53-page-long seventh chapter of Karen
Armstrong’s A History of God (1993), titled The God of the Mystics
(see above), I consider it to be the book’s most interesting chapter so far. In
it, Armstrong succinctly but insightfully discusses the progress of the Jewish,
Islamic and Christian mystical traditions from about the 5th to the 15th
centuries AD. Some of Armstrong’s insights from the said chapter are quoted
below:
A facile belief that a disaster is the will
of God can make us accept things that are fundamentally unacceptable.
The prophets had declared war on mythology: their God was active in
history and in current political events rather than in the primordial, sacred
time of myth. When monotheists turned to mysticism, however, mythology
reasserted itself as the chief vehicle of religious experience.
Unlike dogmatic religion, which lends itself
to sectarian disputes, mysticism often claims that there are as many roads to
God as people.
There are obvious differences between
medieval mysticism and modern psychotherapy[,] but both disciplines
have evolved similar techniques to achieve healing and personal integration.
Mysticism was able to penetrate the mind more
deeply than the more cerebral or legalistic types of religion.
Armstrong ably recounts some of the
achievements of the more prominent Jewish, Muslim and Christian mystics of the
Middle Ages, including Rabia Busri, Munsoor al-Hullaj, Ibn al-Arabi, Jalaluddin Rumi, the Kabbalists, and some northern European Christian
mystics such as Meister Eckhart. Researching the lives and teachings of some of
these mystics a bit further, mainly on the Web, I’m surprised to find myself
more impressed by Meister Eckhart, whom I hadn’t even heard of before, than by
any of the others. Meister Eckhart (circa 1260 – 1328) was a German
Dominican friar who, according to Armstrong, was a brilliant intellectual and
poet, whose mystical teaching brought him into conflict with the Archbishop of
Cologne, who arraigned him for heresy in 1326. Armstrong goes on to paraphrase
Eckhart’s teachings and quote from his writings, two instances of which are
given below (followed, in each case, by my comments):
(1) Indeed, we [people in general] had to purify our conception of God, getting
rid of our ridiculous preconceptions and anthropomorphic imagery. We should
even avoid using the term ‘God’ itself. This is what he [Eckhart] meant when he said: ‘Man’s last and highest
parting is when, for God’s sake, he takes leave of God.’
This is rather in accord with my
observation that atheism can sometimes, as in my own case, be a precursor to
pantheism.
(2)
. . .
Eckhart taught that the mystic must refuse to be enslaved by any finite ideas
about the divine. Only thus would he achieve identity with God, whereby ‘God’s
existence must be my existence and God’s Is-ness (Istigkeit) is my
is-ness’. Since God was the ground of being, there was no need to seek him ‘out
there’ or envisage an ascent to something beyond the world we knew.
Hence, as I’ve long held, there was no
need for Moses to climb Mount Sinai, or for Mühummud to tour the seven heavens;
nor is there ever any need for anyone to perform sanctimonious pilgrimages to
distant or nearby shrines.
Apart from Armstrong’s brief exposition of
Eckhart’s teachings in The God of the Mystics, I found the following two
Eckhart quotes, spotted somewhere on the Internet, particularly impressive:
(1)
Only the
hand that erases can write the true thing.
How
true – as every writer knows!
(2)
The eye
with which I see God is the same eye with which God sees me.
Wow! That surely verges on the profound.
It also happens to approximate to what I’ve been feeling consistently for the
last three-and-a-half decades, since I was about thirty. I think, though, that
the hard-to-grasp meaning of this quote becomes a little clearer if it is
turned around, like so: The eye with which God sees me, is the same eye with
which I see God. Meaning still hard to grasp? Well, I’m afraid that
mystical truths can’t usually be made much easier to grasp than that; if they
could, they wouldn’t be mystical; to comprehend them adequately (it’ll never
be ‘fully’), you probably need to have had some sort of prior mystical experience
yourself.
824.
As mentioned above, the German theologian and mystic, Meister Eckhart, was
arraigned for heresy by the Archbishop of Cologne in 1326 AD. The (Roman
Catholic) Church authorities took their time (about two-and-a-half years)
conducting Eckhart’s trial and deciding his appeal, and finally reached a
guilty verdict. In the meanwhile, however, before he could be grievously
‘punished’, Eckhart (mercifully/miraculously) kicked the bucket, thereby
knocking some of the wind out of the sails of his prosecutors/persecutors. The
Church authorities, though, including the incumbent pope, were still not
satisfied, and about a year after Eckhart’s death, Pope John XXII condemned
some excerpts from Eckhart’s writings as heretical, undoubtedly had the tracts
containing them burnt, and excommunicated Eckhart posthumously! Reading in the
21st century about this poignant 14th-century spiritual saga, I was reminded of
Einstein’s famous observation, made in a letter supporting Bertrand Russell’s
appointment at City College, New York in 1940 (about 612 years after Eckhart’s
death): ‘Great spirits have always encountered violent opposition from mediocre
minds.’ Not just violent but often murderous opposition, I might
add.
825.
To state the obvious, thinking clearly is very important in life. The clearer
one thinks the more ably one can act in one’s chosen field of activity. But
what if one happens to be a thief, whose chosen (or partly chosen) field of
activity is stealing goods of some sort from other people? Well, in that
case, a thief who thinks clearly will sooner rather than later reach the
conclusion that theft is hurtful not only to its victim but even more so to its
perpetrator; the victim loses some property, but the perpetrator loses some of
his conscience and hence his inner balance, and so gets more easily pushed
(further) down the slippery slope of disintegration. A thief who has thought
clearly enough to reach that conclusion will probably be reined in by his very
instinct of self-preservation, and yanked towards choosing a different field of
activity and means of livelihood.
826.
In order to assess the actual viability of its claims, any and every theology
and ideology needs to be critically examined in the light of the principles and
insights of psychology.
827.
Among the various threats and intimidations that the Küraan frequently
brandishes at people, something of a favourite seems to be the
oft-repeated ‘warning’ of doomsday. Two of the several verses containing this
‘warning’ are 22:1 & 2, whose translation by M.M. Pickthall follows:
22:1 O mankind! Fear your Lord. Lo! The earthquake of the Hour
(of Doom) is a tremendous thing.
22:2 On the day when ye behold it, every nursing mother will
forget her nursling and every pregnant one will be delivered of her burden, and
thou (Muhammad) wilt see mankind as drunken, yet they will not be drunken, but
the Doom of Allah will be strong (upon them).
In
actual practice, the crude but forceful imagery of verses like these succeeded
in impressing the impending terror of doomsday (kuyaamut) on the Muslim
consciousness for over a thousand years. But fortunately not for ever. In the
19th century, the great Urdu poet, Mirza Ghalib (1797 – 1869), in one of his ghuzuls
(stylized poems), included the following couplet:
Transliteration:
tiray surv-kaamut say ik
kud-e-aadum
kuyaamut kay
fitnay ko kum daikhtay hain
Translation:
A man’s height less
than your* cypress-stature**,
I consider the havoc of doomsday to
be.
_____________
*
The beloved’s.
**
The beloved was traditionally held to be tall and graceful as a cypress-tree,
wreaking havoc on lovers’ hearts.
Bravo!
What a delightful way of calling doomsday’s terrifying bluff! And it’s the abundance
in his work of brave and beautiful couplets like this one which justifies the
claim that Ghalib makes in another couplet, included in another ghuzul:
Transliteration:
paata hoon üs say daad küchh
upnay sükhun ki mayn
rooh-ul-küdüs ugurcheh mira
hum-zübaan nuheen
Translation:
I do receive some praise for my
verse from Angel Gabriel*,
Despite the linguistic
difference between the two of us**!
_____________
*
The original has ‘Holy Spirit’, but in Muslim as opposed to Christian theology,
this doesn’t mean the third person of the Trinity, but the angel Gabriel,
credited with conveying God’s messages to the prophets, especially Mühummud.
The Küraan is believed by Muslims to have been dictated word for word by
Gabriel to Mühummud while he was in a state of trance.
**
An audacious pun. Not only is the poet’s language Urdu, as opposed to Gabriel’s
Arabic or some other, but also his use of language, suggests the
couplet, is a cut above the angel’s!
And
this couplet itself further justifies the claim made in it!
828.
Someone on the Internet recently rather aptly described IS (Islamic State,
a.k.a. ISIS, ISIL and Daesh) as ‘Islam on stilts’; an even apter description of
it could be ‘Islam on steroids’. Somewhat similarly, the Inquisition of the
late Middle Ages could be called ‘Christianity on steroids’.
829.
Western civilization is frequently characterized as being of Judeo-Christian
derivation, but this characterization is pretty one-sided. The other major
source of Western civilization, as important as (if not more important than)
Judeo-Christian culture, is surely the ‘pagan’/secularistic, rationalistic and
proto-democratic Greco-Roman culture of antiquity. The greatest and most
influential cultural florescence of the last millennium was the Renaissance,
which, though it took place in Christendom, mainly sought to revive and build
upon the knowledge of the ancient Greeks and Romans, in some cases ably
transmitted and added-to by the Muslim scholars of Spain and the Near East.
Credit (and discredit) should always be apportioned accurately and impartially.
830.
Although I tend to marvel at brightly coloured butterflies and love to eat the
honey that bees produce, perhaps my favourite insect is a small species of
spider that I occasionally see in my bedroom. Only about half an inch long,
roughly the size of my thumbnail, it is anatomically compact, unlike most
spiders. It often chooses to scuttle along the two gauzewire-fitted windows of
my room, no doubt making use of the gauzewire as an extended ready-made web.
What I like about this spider is that, unlike ants, which are assiduous
communal food-gatherers, it is a solitary hunter, with sharp reflexes, that
knows instinctively that it can’t afford to pounce a moment too soon or too
late. Despite its tiny size, its undauntedness in fending for itself is a
lesson in self-reliance that any man, including me, could profitably learn or
learn better.
831. The bitterest truth is better (though of
course less palatable) than the sweetest falsehood.
832.
With each passing year, sometimes it seems with each passing month, sometimes
it even seems with each passing day, my race against death ‘hots up’, i.e.
becomes more intense. The day before yesterday, 13 Sept. ’16, was my 67th
birthday, and it feels like old age has finally caught up with me. It’s
probably time now to say bye-bye to sexual activity, which has been the most
problematic aspect of my life for over five decades. Hopefully, with the
abatement of that massive distraction, I’ll be able to reach some of my desired
creative goals before the final whistle blows.
833.
Follows, for general interest’s sake, an exact transcript of part of an e-mail
I sent yesterday (15.2.17) to an English friend of mine, in reply to his e-mail
of five days earlier:
Having thought about the two main observations
in your 10.2.17 e-mail, I offer my response to them below:
(1) Hatred mirrors or begets hatred.
Sure, but does that mean that one should deny, suppress or misinterpret the
hatred that it is natural for one to feel for things and people that are truly
hateful? That would surely be psychologically unsound and counter-productive.
I’m intrigued and irritated by the huge proportion of people, especially in the
West, who seem to regard hate as something illegitimate and culpable per se.
In reality, as with other emotions, both negative and positive, it is the quality
of one’s hate, and whether or not it is accompanied by compassion for the
person(s) one hates, that counts. Reading the article ‘Why We Hate You &
Why We Fight You’ on pages 30 – 33 of Dabiq 15*, the IS on-line magazine that I sent you, convinces one
that IS’s fanatical, ideological, murderous** hatred of the West
would exist and be reinforced quite irrespectively of Trump or Bannon.
(2) Salvation will be found only amongst the
good and kind people of the world, whatever their religion. Or their lack
of religion, one should add. Though I’m unclear and unenthusiastic about
‘salvation’, I do care deeply about people being good and kind, to one another
and to (especially domestic) animals. Now, you can’t say that people’s
religions, ideologies and/or beliefs have no effect on how good and kind their
character and hence behaviour is. How one behaves is mainly determined by what
one believes. Of course there can be great variations, as to goodness and
kindness, in the behaviour of different subscribers to the same creed.
Nevertheless, at the present time, speaking in overall terms, exceptions apart,
the best and kindest behaviour can be expected from true agnostics (not
atheists), and about (though not absolutely) the worst and cruelest behaviour
from Muslims, with Christians and Buddhists hanging somewhere in between.
__________________________
**
An apter choice of adjective here than ‘murderous’ would have been
‘implacable’.
834.
Only sometimes is something better than nothing; quite frequently in
everyday life, something can be worse than nothing. Having a
‘sexperience’ that is more disintegrative than enjoyable is worse than having
no sex at all (in which specific situation, masturbation may occasionally
constitute a viable and innocuous-enough third option).
835.
Part of the biographical blurb on the opening page of the 1986 Penguin
paperback edition of John Thomas and Lady Jane, the misnamed second
draft of D.H. Lawrence’s novel, whose third and final version could have borne
this title but instead (and more appropriately) was called Lady Chatterley’s
Lover, reads as follows:
Lawrence spent most of his short life living.
Nevertheless he produced an amazing quantity of work – novels, stories, poems,
plays, essays, travel books, translations and letters.
Quite true are the observations made in
the above two sentences. Except that, that ‘nevertheless’ beginning the second
sentence implies that while engaged in the process of writing (‘producing
work’), Lawrence was somehow less or other than ‘living’, which is fallacious.
Every great writer, during all the time that he or she is writing, ipso
facto is living most intensely.
836.
The above-mentioned second draft of Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover,
mistitled John Thomas and Lady Jane (better for it to have just been
called The Second Lady Chatterley), while different in some particulars
from (and less polished than) the final version, shares most of the strengths
and weaknesses of the latter. As an illustration of which point, I’m quoting
below a paragraph that is not in the novel’s final version, but appears on page
238 of the 1986 Penguin paperback edition of the second draft. Contextually, it
is presented as a sort of reverie of Connie Chatterley following an especially
thrilling and fulfilling sexual encounter with Parkin the gamekeeper (called
Mellors in the final version); Connie’s reverie proceeds to meld into authorial
comment:
And this [phallic] godhead in him [Parkin] had always been wounded, yet even now was
not dead. In most men it was dead. To most men, the penis was merely a member,
at the disposal of the personality. Most men merely used their penis as they use
their fingers, for some personal purpose of their own. But in a true man, the
penis has a life of its own, and is the second man within the man. It is prior
to the personality. And the personality must yield before the priority and the
mysterious root-knowledge of the penis, or the phallus. For this is the
difference between the two: the penis is a mere member of the physiological
body. But the phallus, in the old sense, has roots, the deepest roots of all,
in the soul and the greater consciousness of man, and it is through the phallic
roots that inspiration enters the soul.
Who in the world but D.H. Lawrence could
have written a passage such as the above? It still almost bowls me over, as
much of Lawrence bowled me over at university a long time ago. It still almost
bowls me over, but not quite. After reading the quoted paragraph in The
Second Lady Chatterley recently, I underlined its last eleven words, i.e. it
is through the phallic roots that inspiration enters the soul, and
scribbled a query next to them: what about in women? Then the reference
to ‘a true man’, whose penis has a life of its own, in spite of puportedly
being validated in the character of Parkin, is still too much like a romantic
ideal (albeit of a distinctively Lawrencean stripe) to be fully convincing. And
more broadly, the passage illustrates microcosmically how Lawrence, despite his
undeniable genius, was ultimately only moderately successful in presenting
convincingly the predominant theme in most of his work, i.e. the glorification
and sanctification of ‘real sex’. Had Lawrence lived to be as old as I am now
(67), he’d probably have realized this himself!
837.
In practical (and even unpractical) terms, some loose ends in my life
are bound to remain untied even by the time I die, which I currently imagine
may be best to happen at age 76, in 2026, though of course it could easily
happen earlier or later. However, I fervently hope that by then I manage to tie
up most of my life’s important loose ends, those that have a significant
bearing on my material and/or literary legacy, such as completing both Parts of
my Ghalib translation, only Part 1 of which is now finally nearly ready for
publication.
838.
Follow below six short excerpts from William Hazlitt’s essay On Poetry in
General, which was delivered as a lecture at the Surrey Institution, London
in January 1818, and published later the same year (very nearly 200 years
ago!):
. . . He who has a contempt for poetry cannot
have much respect for himself, or for anything else. . . .
Poetry is the high-wrought enthusiasm of fancy and feeling. . . .
. . . Poetry is only the highest eloquence of
passion, the most vivid form of experience that can be given to our conception
of anything, whether pleasurable or painful, mean or dignified, delightful or
distressing. . . .
Poetry is in all its shapes the language of the imagination and
passions, of fancy and will. . . .
. . . It is to common language what springs
are to a carriage, or wings to feet. . . .
All is not poetry that passes for such; nor does verse make the whole
difference between poetry and prose. The Iliad does not cease to be
poetry in a literal translation; and Addison’s Campaign has been very
properly denominated a Gazette in rhyme. . . .
What Hazlitt, in his distinctive, often
brilliant but sometimes somewhat stodgy style, principally asserts in this
essay is that poetry, as opposed to verse, is not simply metrical composition.
It is rather the imaginative expression, usually but not necessarily metrical
in form, of passionate feeings and elevated thoughts. That’s why a prose
translation of the Iliad can still be considered poetry. And, according
to Hazlitt’s criterion, couldn’t most of these Reflections, perhaps even
including this current one, qualify and be appropriately regarded as prose
poems?
839.
Curiously, many Westerners, including Prince Charles (of all people), tend to
gush about ‘Islamic spirituality’. Well, I’ve lived almost all my life (so far)
in overwhelmingly Muslim Pakistan, and can state unequivocally that ‘Islamic
spirituality’ is very largely bogus spirituality. Which is not to say, however,
that Jewish, Christian, Hindu and Buddhist spiritualities are not largely bogus
as well – I simply haven’t enough experience of them to properly assess their
comparative degrees of authenticity or spuriousness. Nevertheless, my hunch is
that in this day and age, post Darwin, Freud and Einstein, in order to
be truly spiritual, i.e. to genuinely and consistently give precedence to
spiritual over material considerations, one needs to be an agnostic. That’s
because true spirituality is categorically opposed to all forms of falsehood,
whereas all current creeds and ideologies – except agnosticism – require one to
believe in multiple falsehoods (or gross exaggerations) of one sort or another.
840.
Quite recently, I read a fairly interesting if rather long-winded article by
Brandon Ambrosino that was published on the BBC website on 28.6.16, titled I
am Gay – but I wasn’t Born this Way (http://www.bbc.com/future/story/20160627-i-am-gay-but-i-wasnt-born-this-way), in which the author refers to a previous article of
his, published in the New Republic on-line magazine on 29.1.14, titled I
wasn’t Born this Way. I Choose to be Gay (https://newrepublic.com/article/116378/macklemores-same-love-sends-wrong-message-about-being-gay). A Google search led me to a third article by
Ambrosino, also published in the New Republic (on 7.2.14), titled What
my Angry Critics get Wrong about my Choice to be Gay (https://newrepublic.com/article/116517/what-my-angry-critics-get-wrong-about-my-choice-be-gay). As just reading the titles of these three articles
of his suggests, Ambrosino’s maverick position is that he is gay not because he
was genetically predetermined to be so, but because in early adulthood (during
his college years) he started feeling more sexually attracted to men than to
women. But how can Ambrosino be sure that he wasn’t genetically
predetermined (or, more accurately, genetically predisposed) to be gay
or bisexual? There can be several other possible explanations for his professed
transitioning from heterosexuality to homosexuality in his early twenties.
Also, he may have consciously chosen to be gay during that time, but subconsciously
that choice may have been made for him years or decades earlier. In any case,
even if Ambrosino’s contention that he voluntarily transitioned from being
straight to being gay while at college is accepted at face value, his case
would still constitute a rare exception, statistically representative of
probably fewer than 1% of homosexuals. The vast majority of straight, gay and
bisexual people can no more choose their sexual orientation than they can
choose the colour of their skin or eyes. In the latter case, they can choose to
use bleach creams or to wear different-coloured contact lenses, but that won’t
change the underlying reality one jot.
841. In a very real and immediate sense, I
love my two cats, Minty and Brownie, more than I love ‘God’. Now, the preceding
statement, a straightforward, matter-of-fact expression of my own feelings, is
likely to evoke hostile incomprehension in many, especially religious,
quarters. Some Muslims will consider it ‘blasphemous’ and want me to be
brutally punished, preferably extrajudicially, for making it. Even some Jews
and Christians, indoctrinated and forcefully exhorted, by Moses and Jesus no
less, ‘[to] love the Lord [their] God with all [their] heart and soul and
strength/mind’ (Deuteronomy 6:5, Matthew 22:37 – see No. 818 above), will
regard my avowal of greater love for my cats than for ‘God’ profane and
reprehensible. But the question is, what is really at fault here: my
‘disrespectful’ statement comparing my cats to ‘God’, OR the touchy,
monarchical, anthropomorphic, deity-based (hence idolatrous) conception
of ‘God’ subscribed to by the followers of these so-called Abrahamic religions?
It’s clear enough to me that the fault lies with the latter. By contrast, true
pantheists would have no problem with my comment. According to their (our)
conception, divinity inheres in absolutely everything, and relatively more so
in living beings like animals and humans. Moreover, it is more natural and
genuine to love flesh-and-blood creatures than a bodiless abstraction like
‘God’. Hence I stand by my claim of loving Minty and Brownie more than ‘God’.
842.
Politically, M.A. Jinnah, the founder of Pakistan, was pretty astute, outfoxing
M.K. Gandhi, who was fairly foxy himself; but spiritually, i.e. as an arbiter
of or authority on what constitutes true as opposed to bogus spirituality,
Jinnah seems to have been pretty much a cipher. Which, to be fair, is also true
of just about every professional politician worldwide, past and present.
843.
Ten days ago, on 3.6.17, the third terrorist attack in three months took place in
England, this time on London Bridge, in which eight people (excluding the three
Muslim attackers) were killed and dozens were injured. On 5.6.17, UK’s Guardian
newspaper published a news-story by their religion correspondent, Harriet
Sherwood, captioned Imams refuse funeral prayers for ‘indefensible’ London
Bridge attackers, followed the next day by an update, also by Harriet
Sherwood, captioned More Muslim leaders refuse funeral prayers for London
attackers (https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/jun/06/more-muslim-leaders-refuse-funeral-prayers-london-attackers?CMP=Share_AndroidApp_Outlook). Follow below some excerpts from the latter
(in italics), alternating with my comments on them (in roman):
[Qari Asim, imam at the Mukkah
mosque in Leeds, said:] ‘This decision was not taken lightly. One of the last
things you offer to the deceased is to seek forgiveness for them from God.’
If they’re deceased, you don’t
– can’t – offer them anything!
[Asim continued:] ‘By not
performing the funeral prayer, we are not asking for forgiveness.’
They’re not looking for
forgiveness, but for congratulations, the highest accolades and the sexiest
houris, which they believe (on explicit scriptural grounds, e.g. Küraan 4:74,
9:111 & 61:10-12) to have been promised to those who kill and are killed
for Ullah’s sake.
The imams’ statement did not
rule out funeral services being held for the perpetrators, he [Yunus Dudhwala,
another Muslim ‘religious leader’] added. ‘The families could do a private
funeral.’
What’s the difference, in that
case? Nobody expected state funerals to be held!
Asim said the attackers were
‘not martyrs but criminals.’
That’s what you need to prove
scripturally! Which can only be done (attempted) if the available evidence is
considered superficially and selectively, not if it’s examined carefully and
impartially.
[Asim continued:] ‘These
so-called jihadists are not fighting a holy war.’
But they think that they are!
[Asim said:] ‘Jihad is a
religious term misused by terrorists and misunderstood by the wider public.
Terrorists are using the term to destroy our values in society.’
‘Values in society’ such as?
All in all, I found the said
‘grassroots, cross-denominational initiative’ from Muslim ‘religious leaders’,
praised highly by many people worldwide, to be, at best pretty ‘underwhelming’,
and at worst an attempt to throw dust in the eyes of the küffaar (infidels or non-Muslims).
844. What do I think of the
standard Christian asseveration that ‘The only way to God is through Jesus
Christ’? Well, in a modern (20th or 21st century) context, I don’t think much
of the asseveration, but concede that, in earlier centuries, that sort of
absolute belief may have been necessary to fire the Christian imagination into
making the civilizational advances that Christians are rightly credited with.
Now, however, the words ring hollow, at least to my ears. Why? Because,
firstly, the concept of ‘God’ presented in the Bible (and Küraan) is no longer
credible or tenable in light of the scientific, astronomical, anthropological
and psychological discoveries made in the last five or six hundred years.
Secondly and concomitantly, the notion of Jesus being the only conduit to this
incredible ‘God’, by virtue of being His only begotten Son, doubly beggars
belief, more so today than in the less well-informed, more credulous and
superstitious past.
845. Of course all Muslims are
not terrorists; however, most of those who are not, are not so by default.
These so-called ‘moderate Muslims’ are either (a) largely ignorant of what
their scriptures contain (many not being able to read or understand Arabic, and
not motivated enough to read translations); or (b) they have been significantly
impacted and influenced by other, less violent cultures, particularly by
contemporary Western secular culture; or (c) they are hypocrites. In the case
of Sadiq Khan, son of a Pakistani bus-driver and current Mayor of London, all
three modes of default just mentioned, (a), (b) and (c), seem to be operative,
in what relative proportion I’m not sure.
846. The power of truth is
nothing short of immense; it can perhaps be considered second only to the power
of love, which (it has been an article of faith for me since my mother’s death
in 2003) is greater than the power of death. Or perhaps the order of precedence
as to the relative power of these two abstract entities should be reversed:
truth first and love second. There could also be, at some point, a complete
unification of the two entities, somewhat like in Eliot’s idiom:
When the tongues of flame are in-folded
Into the
crowned knot of fire
And the fire
and the rose are one.
847. According to Matthew’s
Gospel, about halfway through The Sermon on the Mount, before he
gave his disciples a pattern of the way they should pray (the ‘Lord’s Prayer’),
Jesus said to them: ‘In your prayers do not go babbling on like the heathen,
who imagine that the more they say the more likely they are to be heard. Your
Father knows what your needs are before you ask him.’ (Matthew 6: 7 & 8, New
English Bible)
On the basis of his above-quoted comments
alone, Jesus could be more justifiably accused of ‘heathenophobia’ (‘babbling
on’!) than I can be of ‘Islamophobia’.
848. Here’s some really good
news: You can ask for, expect and receive divine/‘supernatural’ help without
believing in ‘God’ as a deity (or deities)! But how, you might ask, can you ask
for divine help without believing in God? Well, that’s where you need the
combination of considerable mental ingenuity and complete spiritual sincerity.
For myself, after working on it for decades, I’ve devised a form of address
that I use routinely every morning, after waking up and before getting up,
while flat on my back in bed, at the beginning of seven or eight short, set
prayers. It goes, ‘O mysterious divine reality, please –’,
followed by the particulars of the help that I’m asking for. I guess you could
call these agnostic or a-religious prayers, but I’ll bet my bottom dollar or
rupee that, in terms of eliciting a favourable response, they are not less but
more effective than the prayers parroted in churches, mosques and temples.
849. The fact that I am
homosexual – and have been for over fifty years since early boyhood – does not
(or at least should not) mean that I have to compromise on my passion for
cleanliness, which I’ve had for even longer. However, it should not be hard to
appreciate the formidable challenge that reconciling the two sets of demands,
those of indulging in anal sex and those of staying clean, presents. Very recently,
doubly because I no longer get a stiff enough erection to anally penetrate my
partner while we’re on the bed, I’ve hit upon a plan to attempt to do so in the
bathroom, liberally applying the lather of good-quality soap on my penis and
around his anus. The soap should act as a first-class lubricant, and later help
in washing everything off. Unfortunately, this plan precludes my wearing a
condom, though my partner can still wear one if he wants. The plan has yet to
be carried out in practice, but I have obtained willing consent to it from two
local previous partners, Zulfikaar and Zahid (not their real names). However,
the last time I spoke to Zulfikaar about the new proposal, he wanted what
amounted to an ‘admission fee’! So I think I’ll soon ask Zahid over, keep
plenty of soap and hot water on hand, and hope that we’ll both have an
enjoyable – and reasonably clean – experience, even though it’s bound to be
more or less a ‘damp squib’ (see Nos. 1 and 308 above) since Zahid and I have
no real affection, but only this pesky attraction, for each other.
850. It’s not homophobic but
simply truthful to assert that homosexuals (my own tribe and constituency) are
frequently badly integrated psychologically (worse on the whole than
heterosexuals), scatter-brained, neurotic, furtive and unreliable. Similarly,
it’s not ‘Islamophobic’ but just truthful to maintain that Muslims
(superficially my former co-religionists) are frequently dishonest, foolish,
impulsive, aggressive, irresponsible, and callous towards animals. Fortunately,
while I can’t choose to be non-homosexual, I can choose, though at some
peril to myself and my loved ones, to be non-Muslim.
851.
I often wonder at and admire the wonderful malleability and adaptability of the
English language, especially how it assimilates words from other languages, and
also how new English words get coined and gain currency. For instance, Lewis
Carroll (1832 – 98) coined several new words, including chortle, galumph
and frabjous. I, too, would like to be credited with coining a couple of
neologisms, firstly the compound preposition near-here, conveying a
slightly different sense than nearby, and secondly the verb pedestalize,
shorthand for put (or set) on a pedestal, yielding the abstract noun pedestalization.
Follows below an example of how my second neologism may be used (from which
also the success or failure of such usage may be assessed):
It was ultimately a bad mistake for D.H. Lawrence to attempt to pedestalize
sex. While the pedestalization of sex is
far preferable to its trivialization, it is nevertheless symptomatic of an
opposite sort of misinterpretation of reality.
*852.
The slow and gradual emergence, from a tiny, barely visible, inturned marigold
bud, of the opulent golden glory of a full-bloomed marigold flower, with its
superabundance of tightly crimped petals (see photo below), for me constitutes
real revelation – far more so than the bizarre, misogynistic fantasy produced
by John’s fevered imagination, tacked on as the last (and least) book of the
Bible, and mistitled Revelation.
853.
Follows a snatch from (probably) an Urdu kuvaali (devotional choral song
accompanied by hand-clapping), heard on the radio decades ago, that has stayed
essentially intact in my memory ever since, addressed (or referring) to ‘God’:
Transliteration:
too dil mayn to aata hai purr sumujh
mayn nuheen aata . . .
Translation:
Literal: You enter my heart but not my understanding.
Idiomatic: I can feel you but can’t understand you.
The
quoted fragment makes an important point about ‘God’, namely that it (rather
than ‘he’) is a mystery that is impossible to comprehend or conceptualize
mentally, but which can be apprehended emotionally, in simple words, felt.
However, a corollary of this realization is that the genuineness of
one’s feeling of ‘God’ is directly proportional to the sincerity and refinement
of the whole gamut of one’s feelings for everyone and everything.
854.
It’s pretty incontrovertible that, for every single person alive, life is a
struggle of one sort or another. However, it can take one a lifetime to figure
out correctly what constraints one is struggling against and what
aspirations one is struggling for. While most people reach death’s door
without having clearly figured this out, it’s very important to try to
achieve clarity on this point as early in life as possible. At 68, I can perhaps
claim justifiably that I’ve finally almost managed to do so!
855.
Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Jews and Muslims are ALL idolaters, only of
different stripes. Hindus, of course, worship idols made of various solid
materials, mostly considering them to be representations or manifestations of
deities inhabiting another, transcendent level of reality. Buddhists, whose is
the only largely agnostic religion out of the ‘big five’, strangely still bow
down before statues of the Buddha. Christians, especially Roman Catholics,
kneel before statues of Jesus and Mary, and venerate the cross. Jews and
Muslims claim not to be idolaters, but in reality their claims are quite unjustified.
Both the Old Testament and the Küraan present the concept of an all-powerful
Deity, ensconced on a heavenly throne, having at His beck and call multitudes
of obedient angels. Even though this image of ‘God’ (Jehovah/Ullah) is not
materially represented, it nevertheless constitutes, for most intents and
purposes, an idol in the minds and imaginations of Jews and Muslims. Hence the
bowing and scraping integral to Judaic and Islamic forms of worship, more particularly
to the latter.
It can be cogently argued that the human
mind, being apt to think in symbols and images, has an inherent and inevitable
tendency to fashion idols of one kind or another, either material or imaginary.
Even professed atheists tend to idolize various personalities or ideologies,
for instance in contemporary North Korea. So, fanatically condemning other
people’s forms of idolatry because they are different from your own form is
arrogant and unreasonable. Nevertheless, those fatuously obsequious forms of
idolatry that tend to extinguish the mind’s critical faculty, regardless of
whether they involve adulation of material or imaginary idols, are strongly to
be deplored and deprecated.
856.
Having just reread Four Quartets after a gap of over four decades, my
assessment, in a nutshell, of Eliot’s reputed masterpiece follows. Comprising
sporadic flashes of insight amid a dense fog of abstruseness, Four Quartets
seems currently to be significantly overrated in literary circles. But can it
be that the fog of abstruseness in the mega-poem somehow is necessary in
generating its flashes of insight, like clouds are necessary in generating
lightning? No, I’m afraid the meteorological analogy doesn’t extend quite as
far as that; the pervasive abstruseness of Four Quartets is largely
gratuitous and pretentious.
857.
According to a probably true anecdote I heard a long time ago, a woman once
asked T.S. Eliot, regarding (a passage in) one of his poems, ‘But what does it
mean?’ The poet replied, ‘It means exactly what you want it to mean.’
While Eliot’s riposte may be considered
moderately witty, it was also a cop-out. ‘But why should I want it to mean anything?’
his questioner could very justifiably have persisted. The onus is never on a
reader to imbue anything they read with any sort of meaning, but only to
intelligently interpret the meaning already imbued therein by the
writer. And the greatness of any writer is directly proportional to the amount
of meaning that they manage to pack into their writing. Recourse to
abstruseness, as became fashionable in English poetry after W.B. Yeats, and
which characterizes the work of many twentieth-century poets including Eliot
and Ted Hughes, suggests (at least to me) a vacuousness or paucity of anything
truly and clearly meaningful to say on the poets’ part, worth transmitting to
their readers.
858.
At 68, only two years short of biblical life-expectancy, I might as well take
stock, briefly, of my present existential situation. Physically, of course, my
capabilities have been in gradual decline for many years, and I’m currently
beset by a laundry-list of fairly minor ailments, including inguinal hernia and
mild osteoarthritis, though mercifully I’m so far unafflicted by any major
malady like heart-disease or cancer. Mentally, by contrast, I believe I’m
stronger now than I was ten, twenty or thirty years ago. Emotionally, too, I
feel rather more in control than I used to feel, though my sex-life is still
just as unfulfilling as it has always been. What about spiritually? Well, I
feel pretty strong in spirit, satisfied that I’ve lived as fully and well as I
could, and ready to face calmly whatever the future may bring, both before and
after death.
859.
It’s generally believed these days that the single biggest cause of terrorism
in today’s terror-rattled world is religious extremism, as espoused by
fanatical adherents of the various currently practised religions – notably
Islam, but to some extent the others as well. However, this view is disputed by
the neuroscientist and philosopher Sam Harris, who, in one of his numerous
videos now accessible on YouTube, contends that religious extremism per se
is not the problem, but rather it’s the tenets of specific religions,
particularly Islam, which, when followed single-mindedly, lead to violence and
terror. He cites interestingly the example of Jainism, whose central tenet of ahimsa
(non-violence) leads extremist Jains to obsessive behaviour, but in the
opposite direction from terrorism. A pertinent point, Mr Harris.
860.
If you just look out of the window at the clear night sky, even if you’re
somewhat near-sighted like me, what do you get to see practically beyond the
tip of your nose? Why, innumerable sparkling stars of course, which are literally
innumerable because no one so far, despite notable advances in astrophysics in
the last couple of centuries, has actually been able to count them or even come
up with a remotely credible estimate of their total number. A recent BBC t.v.
report profiled the latest mega-telescope or series of telescopes, currently
being installed in the Atacama desert or somewhere, with whose help
astrophysicists think that they’ll be able to see as far as three-quarters of
the entire extent of the universe. But if astronomers know how far
three-quarters of the universe is, they should also know where the universe
ends, which is not at all the case. They may have some idea where the observable
universe ends, but that is obviously the limit of their (current) powers of
observation, not of the universe. Now if, as cannot currently be disproved,
there are an infinite number of stars, there must also be an infinite number of
planets orbiting (some of) them, of which a minute proportion (but still an
infinite number) of planets must be inhabited! Mathematically, infinity divided
by a trillion (or zillion) will still be infinite. So the next time you glance
or gaze at stars on a clear night, you can be aware that you may be looking
straight at hundreds or thousands of extremely distant inhabited worlds, whose
inhabitants may have achieved much higher levels of evolution and civilization
than us here on earth, and that more distant still there must be an
(infinitely) greater number of inhabited planets, whose stars are so far
invisible to us because their light, speeding through the cosmos for aeons, hasn’t yet had enough time to reach the earth!
Finite space measurable in millions of light-years can be intriguing and
exciting to ponder, while the concept of infinity constitutes a further
tantalizing enigma.
861.
Fools come in all sorts of often very dissimilar stripes; their only consistent
similarity is their foolishness.
862.
Living as I (still) do in backward, Islamophilic, homophobic Pakistan, when I
recently read the following paragraph in an article by the Canadian author
Michael Rowe (born 1962), published on-line in HuffPost Queer Voices (https://www.huffingtonpost.com/entry/to-the-man-who-wrote-fuck-you-fag-on-my-facebook_us_5a04ae0be4b0204d0c171556) on 9 Nov. ’17, it struck me as pretty remarkable:
You see I’m not
fifteen years old now. I’m an adult. I’m a man. I’m an accomplished writer who
has been married to a brilliant, handsome, loving man for thirty-three years. I
have a wide, varied, and sophisticated group of friends. I have family, chosen
and otherwise, who love me passionately and whom I love. I have been an out gay
man since I was nineteen, and I am no stranger to activism.
Rowe’s claims in the above paragraph seem
remarkable to me on account of their candour, matter-of-factness and
astonishing positivity. However, it’s the last-mentioned characteristic of his assertions, i.e. their unqualified positivity,
that I find hard to accept at face-value. I don’t like being cynical, but the
picture Rowe has painted seems to me too rosy by half, too good to be
completely true. Might he not be labouring under
some degree of self-delusion? If not, and if gays in Canada can really
live lives as positive as Rowe’s, then Canadian society, at least on this
count, deserves a lot of praise.
863.
I think there must be something seriously wrong either with me or with other
human beings (or both, but not neither), considering the fact that I find it
easy to form deep and durable friendships with animals, particularly cats and
dogs, but not with other members of my own species!
864.
Death is death no doubt – the inevitable and irrevocable end of life as we know
it – but still a quick or sudden death is better, I think, than a slow or
protracted one, both for animals and humans.
865.
The opening paragraph of an article titled Islam’s Three Worst Doctrines
(From the West’s Perspective) by Raymond Ibrahim (an arabo-phone American
scholar and author of Coptic descent), published on 12.12.17 in multiple
on-line publications, including FrontPage Mag (https://www.frontpagemag.com/fpm/268654/islams-three-worst-doctrines-raymond-ibrahim#.WjWXWFQOMbg.email), reads as follows:
Because Islam gets criticized for many things
— from hostility to modernity and democracy to calls for theocratic rule,
radical ‘patriarchy’, misogyny, and draconian punishments, to name a few — it
is helpful to step back and distinguish between those (many) doctrines that
affect Muslim society alone, and those that extend to and affect Western or
non-Muslim peoples in general. On doing this, three interrelated
doctrines come into sharp focus. They are: (1) total
disavowal from, and enmity for, ‘the infidel’, that is, constant spiritual
or metaphysical hostility against the non-Muslim (in Arabic
known as al-wala’ w’al bara, or ‘loyalty and enmity’); this naturally
manifests itself as (2) jihad, that is, physical hostility
against and — whenever and wherever possible — attempts to subjugate the
non-Muslim; finally, successful jihads lead to (3) dhimmitude, the degrading
position of conquered non-Muslims who refuse to forfeit their religious freedom
by converting to the victors’ creed.
Having thus identified what he considers
to be Islam’s three worst doctrines from a non-Muslim perspective, Raymond
Ibrahim goes on to explicate and give instances of the badness of these three
doctrines one by one. He then concludes his article with the following closing
paragraph:
These
three interrelated teachings of Islam — loyalty and enmity, jihad, and
dhimmitude — are unequivocally grounded in Islamic law, or Sharia. They
are not matters open to interpretation or debate. By eliminating or
lessening the focus from all those other ‘problematic’ teachings that affect
Muslims only but which tend to be conflated with these (three) teachings that
directly affect the non-Muslim — one can better appreciate, and thus place the
spotlight on, the true roots of conflict between Islam and the West.
Well, not residing in the West (yet), though having
gone to university there, while I acknowledge the validity of much of Raymond
Ibrahim’s article, and am certainly interested in the roots of conflict between
Islam and the West, I’m even more fundamentally interested in the roots of the
conflict, in the present day, between Islam and life itself. And by life I
don’t just mean human life but terrestrial non-human (animal and plant) life as
well. For instance, dogs in Muslim societies, far from being considered man’s best
friends, have always been (and still are) particularly badly mistreated, partly
on account of a hudees (reported saying of Mühummud) to the effect that
angels (of mercy) never enter a house with a dog or a picture in it (Bükhari
4.54.539). It’s quite immaterial whether or not Mühummud ever actually made
such an asinine statement; many Muslims believe that he did, which for them
justifies their appalling callousness and cruelty towards the animal species
most affectionate and loyal to humans. Other animal species in Muslim countries
may fare somewhat better than dogs, but only somewhat. In Pakistan, for
example, there is a lamentable lack of veterinary medical facilities,
especially in urban areas, and any SPCA centres that the Brits set up here
before Independence in 1947 have long since ceased to exist.
Raymond Ibrahim, in his article, highlights
how thoroughly Islam alienates Muslims from non-Muslims, contemptuously lumped
together as küffaar (infidels). However, even more pernicious are the
ways in which Islam, in the modern world, alienates individual Muslims from
themselves, embroiling them in mental and moral tensions and conflicts
that, in aggravated cases, split those individuals down the middle,
facilitating the onset of psychotic disorders such as schizophrenia. Something
like that happened in the case of my own only brother, who died aged 57 in
2001, after enduring more than his share of pain and suffering.
All religions and ideologies should be
criticized, clearly and boldly but fairly and impartially, for their negative,
unrealistic and anti-life features. One fairly good interactive website on the
Internet that regularly offers forthright criticism of Islam (and where I first
encountered Raymond Ibrahim) is Jihad Watch (www.jihadwatch.org), which is regrettably no longer accessible in
Pakistan. To anyone who subscribes for it, Jihad Watch e-mails a ‘daily
digest’, comprising around ten articles or news-stories (occasionally videos),
followed by readers’ comments. I started subscribing for this ‘daily digest’
almost six years ago, and their e-mails, listing and introducing the articles
published the previous day, still pop into my Inbox every afternoon. However,
for most if not all of 2017, on account of censorship by the largely
dysfunctional but self-righteously avuncular Pakistani government, I was unable
to access any of the complete articles that were briefly introduced and
provided links to in the daily e-mails. In 2016, though, such was not the case,
and I managed to read several interesting Jihad Watch articles and some quite
perceptive and insightful readers’ comments (amongst some other crude and/or
vituperative ones). Three short but scathing readers’ comments, on three
different Jihad Watch articles published in 2016, which I considered striking
and noteworthy enough to actually jot down in my phone diary, are reproduced
below:
(1)
Islam is the sickness that it purports to be the remedy for, and the remedy
only nurtures the sickness – an explosive vicious circle and a catch 22.
(posted by ‘Mubarak’ on JW on 6.6.16)
(2)
Islam is like a runaway train with a dead engineer with his hand on an open
throttle[,] hurtling down the track towards inescapable disaster and mass
murder. (posted by ‘mortimer’ on JW on 22.9.16)
(3)
I can see why so many imprisoned criminals are attracted to Islam. Certain
parts of Islam seem tailor-made for criminals. (posted by ‘Mark A’ on JW on
18.10.16)
866.
Aged 68, I still have two important journeys to make: firstly, from the
familiar surroundings of backward, dangerous Pakistan to the unfamiliar
environment of a more civilized, safer country; secondly and lastly, from the
by-now accustomed-to realm of life to the unknown kingdom (or republic) of
death. While both these impending journeys promise to be pretty exciting, it
may be the second one that turns out to be the more so! And, unlike the first,
it won’t involve bothering with any type of visa, either!
867.
Amongst the plethora of incredible miracles that Jesus is credited with in the
four Gospels of the New Testament, a curiously revealing one, found only in
Matthew (15: 21-28) and Mark (7: 24-30), concerns the exorcistic curing of a
Canaanite (i.e. Gentile) woman’s daughter. Matthew’s version of the miracle,
which is a little fuller than Mark’s, is paraphrased in the following
paragraph, with two statements supposed actually to have been made by Jesus
quoted verbatim and italicized for emphasis.
One day, while Jesus was passing through
the region of Tyre and Sidon, a local Canaanite woman approached him and begged
him to drive out a ‘devil’ that according to her was tormenting her daughter.
Because she was a Gentile and not a Jew, Jesus was reluctant to help her, and
said, ‘I was sent to the lost sheep of the house of Israel, and to them
alone’ (New English Bible). When the woman continued to plead for his help,
Jesus (startlingly) replied, ‘It is not right to take the children’s bread
and throw it to the dogs’ (New English Bible). The woman was still not put
off but argued that even the dogs ate the scraps that fell from their masters’
table. This last argument greatly impressed Jesus and he immediately exorcised
the ‘devil’ from the woman’s daughter in absentia.
Apart from the unseemliness of being involved
with the extremely dubious, ignorant and superstitious practice of exorcising
‘devils’ or ‘evil spirits’ (jinns in Islam) from mentally and/or
psychologically disturbed individuals, a little critical examination of the two
Jesus quotes italicized above leads to interesting and not very flattering
conclusions. The first one, ‘I was sent to the lost sheep of the house of
Israel, and to them alone’, suggests that Jesus thought of himself
categorically as a reformer only of Judaism, and had no interest in guiding or
‘saving’ non-Jews. Nothing particularly wrong with that, but then he shouldn’t
have sought to assume universal-sounding and grandiose titles like ‘Son of Man’
and ‘Son of God’. The second quote, ‘It is not right to take the children’s
bread and throw it to the dogs’, shows that Jesus fully believed the Jews
to be God’s chosen people, as superior to the Gentiles as humans are to dogs!
Rank racism? Sure looks like it – though there are two very different
types of racism: firstly that based on prejudice and a superiority complex,
such as historically harboured by many Jews, including Jesus (as well as by
various other peoples); secondly that based on accurate factual knowledge of
behavioural differences between people that are verifiably attributable to
their race, which I consider just informed common sense (see Reflection
No. 646 above). In Jesus’s case, the irony of ironies is that he was rejected
and judicially murdered by his ‘superior’ fellow-Jews, but his message was
subsequently embraced by millions of ‘inferior’ Gentiles, who together
constituted, and do till today, the vast bulk of Christendom!
868.
The expression ‘for dear life’ implies – what is self-evident in any case –
that to every living person their life feels precious, to be necessarily
maintained and tenaciously held on to. Science, too, corroborates this view by
holding that self-preservation is the first and most basic instinct of all
living creatures on earth. Nevertheless, strangely enough, situations may
sometimes arise in which a person can achieve a cherished goal only at
the cost of relinquishing their life. While thus making the ultimate sacrifice
requires a fair bit of courage, which naturally evokes a degree of admiration
in others, whether a particular instance of sacrificing one’s life should
really be considered admirable or not depends on what kind of goal it was to
achieve which it was undertaken. In the case of Islamists blowing themselves up
in order to cause maximum carnage among ‘unbelievers’ (non-Muslims or ‘heretical’/‘traitorous’/unobservant
Muslims), the cherished goal is to be rewarded by instant access to the eternal
pleasures of junnut (paradise), notably the dallying with houris,
explicitly promised by the Islamic scriptures. Since the goal is not admirable
but despicable, so too is the act. On the other hand, being resolutely prepared
to sacrifice one’s physical existence in order to vindicate one’s principles of
honesty and kindness towards man and beast – holding life dear but not too dear
– is certainly highly admirable.
869.
One of the stupider phrases to gain currency in the last decade or so, trotted
out glibly by political leaders, including ex-POTUS Barrak Obama, purportedly
to explain why Islamists recurrently conduct terrorist acts in the West, is (.
. . they may have been) radicalized on the Internet. Why is the phrase
stupid? Well, because the sort of explanation it provides is imprecise and
superficial enough to be nearly meaningless.
Speaking of the Internet, though, it must
be the most significant invention of the last 30 years, if not the last 300,
much more extensive and stimulating than television. Personally, while browsing the Net, I think I subconsciously remain on the
lookout for writing that is concise and aphoristic, and encapsulates the
biggest truths in the smallest possible number of words. Instances of such
writing are of course few and far between, but therefore all the more pleasing
when they are encountered. Just yesterday, I came across, and jotted down in my
‘notebook’, the following perceptive observation in an otherwise not
particularly brilliant article by Lachlan Brown, published on www.ideapod.com on 7.11.2017:
We are so busy searching for the pot of gold
at the end of the rainbow that we rarely spend enough time just admiring the
rainbow.
Almost
like something I might have written myself!
870.
A profound thinker is, and has always been, a greater person than the most
powerful head of state or government. Examples abound: Socrates was greater
than Alexander the Great; the Buddha was greater than Emperor Asoka; Guru
Naanuk was greater than Maharaja Runjeet Singh; Shakespeare was greater than
any British monarch or statesman before him or since.
871.
Two varieties of BS (bullshit) that I find particularly infuriating are SBS
(sanctimonious bullshit) and PBS (platitudinous bullshit). One of the better
ways of responding to a torrent of either variety of BS that is being directed
at you, in person or over the phone (or even in writing), is to tell the SBSer
or PBSer loud and clear: YEAH, LIKE HELL! I hope that even on my deathbed, if
anyone begins to spout SBS or PBS at me, as people are apt to do on such
occasions, I’ll have the presence of mind to tell them, perhaps weakly but quite
clearly: LIKE HELL!
*872.
I don’t believe that it’s possible to be truly kind to anyone without being
rigorously and scrupulously honest to oneself; compassion and honesty are two
sides of the triangular prism of character, whose third side is courage, with
intelligence and a sense of humour forming its two closing ends respectively.
Only when all five faces of this inner prism get to be properly proportioned
and put together, and function complementarily, does it begin to transmute the
neutral white light of reality into all the brilliant rainbow colours of life.
873.
The last paragraph of the second-last chapter of Karen Armstrong’s A History
of God, titled The Death of God?, reads as follows:
Yet it is also true that even in Auschwitz some Jews continued to study
the Talmud and observe the traditional festivals, not because they hoped that
God would rescue them but because it made sense. There is a story that one day
in Auschwitz, a group of Jews put God on trial. They charged him with cruelty
and betrayal. Like Job, they found no consolation in the usual answers to the
problem of evil and suffering in the midst of this current obscenity. They
could find no excuse for God, no extenuating circumstances, so they found him
guilty and, presumably, worthy of death. The Rabbi pronounced the verdict. Then
he looked up and said that the trial was over: it was time for the evening
prayer.
What light does the above-related anecdote
shed on human psychology and behaviour? Does it principally show, as Armstrong
suggests, that people adhere to religious observances even in intolerable
situations because ‘they make sense’? That may be partly and superficially
true. But what the anecdote shows more importantly is that religious people
continue with the observances they’ve been accustomed to performing, even in
the most intolerable situations, because of the sheer force of habit: piety is
more a matter of habit than anything else. Besides, the religious Jews in
Auschwitz probably did hope against hope that ‘God’ would somehow rescue them,
especially if they remained faithfully observant; from the point of view of a
pious person, belonging to any creed, piety is also a trade-off for perceived
future benefits of one kind or another.
874.
The same saying, almost word for word, in three languages:
Farsi:
huk tulkh ust.
Urdu:
such kurrva hota hai.
English:
Truth is bitter.
In
many other languages too, I can bet, the same or a very similar saying must
exist, suggesting that this is an age-old and universal realization.
Home-truths can indeed feel extremely bitter to swallow; however, if you can
manage to disable your ego, they can also form the basis for significant,
sometimes stupendous, improvement in your character and conduct. For truth,
after all, howsoever bitter it may sometimes be, is always and unfailingly
liberating.
875.
Nature certainly seems to have made sex uniquely and intensely pleasurable for
the members of all animal species on earth, including humans, with the ulterior
motive of ensuring the reproduction and continuation of these species. So all
of us, animals and humans, from adolescence on, get to dance to the enchanting
tune of sex, sometimes risking life and limb, apparently of our own volition,
but subliminally in order to fulfil Nature’s procreative purposes. In humans,
much more than in animals, the process of obtaining sexual gratification is
fraught with emotional, social and moral complications, often of a devious
and/or gratuitous kind. (A male lion, I hear, is apt to kill his own cubs in order
to sooner bring their mother to her heat and become sexually receptive again –
a sort-of reverse leonine Oedipus complex!) Among humans, the group that seems
to have the rawest deal while seeking sexual fulfilment are homosexuals (like
me), who do not reproduce but are nevertheless impelled by persistent desire,
till late in life, to go through the (weirder) motions of sex, often gaining
very little real satisfaction thereby.
876.
While I am alive, my spirit, the non-material part of me, is seamlessly and
inseparably united with my material body; whatever affects my body affects my
spirit as well, but not necessarily in a simple, directly proportional way;
something that gratifies my body can sometimes cause revulsion and remorse in
my spirit. This curious but palpable divergence between the physical and
spiritual interests of one and the same person decreases in proportion to how
psychologically well-integrated that person is; it also forms one of the main
bases for the various systems of spiritual edification, the various religions,
none of which, however, presently at any rate, can truthfully claim to have
many psychologically well-integrated adherents. Eventually, at the moment of
death, the material body and the immaterial spirit part company, the former
turning to dross and starting immediately to decompose; what happens to the
latter no sage, ‘prophet’, philosopher or scientist has yet been able to know
fuck-all about, and probably never will. But while the fate of the spirit
post-death is evidently an inviolable mystery, the fact nevertheless remains
that the goal pre-death should always be to achieve the greatest possible
integration of one’s physical and spiritual selves, which does mean the
subordination of the former to the latter, but not in any crude, conventionally
religious way.
877.
Insofar as I know anything much about him at all, I’ve always had a somewhat
ambivalent impression of M.K. (‘Mahatma’) Gandhi, admiring his ingenuity,
courage and tenacity, but suspecting him, at times, of sentimentality,
hypocrisy and mendacity. Hence I was pleasantly surprised yesterday to come
across on the Web his following quote, adopted as a motto by the (inchoate)
Animal Care Association of Pakistan, with which I wholeheartedly agree: ‘The
greatness of a nation and its moral progress can be judged by the way its
animals are treated.’ Now, this may well be the truest statement that the
Mahatma (literally ‘great soul’) ever made!
878.
In his interesting essay titled Of Persons One Would Wish to Have Seen,
published in the New Monthly Magazine of January 1826, William Hazlitt
gives a serio-comic account of a gathering two decades earlier of some of his
literary friends including Charles Lamb and Leigh Hunt, at which the main topic
of conversation (or rather speculation) was the following: If it were possible
to have audience in the flesh with (i.e. to see and speak informally to) the
illustrious (or infamous) deceased persons of the remote or recent past, with
regard to whom would one want to avail of such an opportunity, and why? Between
them, in Hazlitt’s account, Lamb, Hunt and the others present at that gathering
considered the possibility of being confronted by some more than forty deceased
personages, including Newton, Shakespeare, Dr Johnson, Donne, Chaucer, Spenser,
Pope, Oliver Cromwell, Garrick (the actor), Leonardo da Vinci, Ninon de
l’Enclos, Guy Fawkes and Judas Iscariot. It was Lamb’s self-declared personal
‘crotchet’ (whim) to want audience with the two last-named persons, and he gave
the other litterateurs fairly detailed reasons for his choice, in both Guy
Fawkes’ case and Judas Iscariot’s. Then follows the short second-last paragraph
of Hazlitt’s essay, quoted in full below:
‘There is only one other person I can ever think of after this,’
continued Lamb; but without mentioning a name that once put on a semblance of
mortality. ‘If Shakespeare was to come into the room, we should all rise up to
meet him; but if that person was to come into it, we should all fall down and
try to kiss the hem of his garment!’
By ‘that person’ and ‘a name that once put
on a semblance of mortality’, Lamb and Hazlitt of course meant Jesus of
Nazareth, the Christian Messiah. Which shows that even among leading British
intellectuals of the early 19th century, traditional Christian notions still
held sway; not so in the early 20th century, and even less so now in the early
21st. It would be great for everyone concerned (which means virtually everyone
in the world) if a gradual de-indoctrination, similar to what has
happened in Christendom over the last couple of centuries, would now take place
in Islamdom as well; but the chances of that happening seem pretty bleak, for
Islam’s stranglehold on the minds of Muslims is more comprehensive and
ineluctable than Christianity’s on the minds of Christians.
As for which deceased personages I
would choose to encounter in the flesh, were it possible, my short-list of the
top-twelve, in historical order, is as follows: Homer, the Buddha, Jesus,
Mühummud, Guru Naanuk, Shakespeare, Wordsworth, Mirza Ghalib, D.H. Lawrence,
W.H. Bates (the ophthalmologist), Freud and Einstein. If any one of them were
to come into the room, would I rise up to meet him? Probably. Would I fall down
and try to kiss the hem of his garment? Certainly not. What I would want
to do is to query each of them about his own assessment, in hindsight, of the
way he’d lived his life, his correct decisions and his mistakes, and what he
would do differently if he could spend another lifetime on earth.
879.
My sympathies, very much including my spontaneous sympathy for ill-treated cats
and dogs, are an integral and essential part of me; indeed they are more
intrinsically a part of me than is even my own body. Due attention to one’s
bodily requirements (dietary, medical, etc.) can sometimes be postponed or
withheld justifiably, but one’s sympathetic impulses should always be attended
to immediately and for as long as they last.
880.
If there are people and animals suffering pain and distress in Timbuktu or Novaya
Zemlya (as there are bound to be), but you don’t happen to live in or near
those places, then it’s best to accept, in an un-messianic spirit, that you can
do little or nothing, in practical terms, to alleviate the suffering of those
people and animals. On the other hand, if there is a person or animal in your
own home, neighbourhood, town or country, whose suffering it is in your power
to alleviate, then it’s incumbent on you to promptly intervene and try to
effect that alleviation on a priority basis, putting other, more narrowly
personal concerns ‘on the back burner’. That’s the way to become a better
person yourself, while also becoming better able to cope with your own pain and
distress.
881. Speaking of pain and
distress, just days after the above was written, I’ve suffered an acutely
painful episode of sacroiliitis, which is the inflammation of the joint where
the second-lowest section of one’s spine (the sacrum) is fused with the bones
(the ilia) forming the back part of one’s pelvic girdle. I experienced a
similar episode of sacroiliitis a couple of years ago, but recovered from it
rather quickly; this time, however, the pain is considerably worse, and shows
not much sign of abating even after almost three weeks of intensive medication.
While several simple movements, such as sitting down, getting up, bending,
stooping, kneeling, and even turning my side in bed, are accompanied by a
measure of pain, the most difficult manoeuvre is the process of passing a
motion, for which I prefer the ‘Pakistani-style’ w.c., over which one squats or
crouches, one’s feet bearing all one’s weight. I prefer using this style of
w.c. because, after passing a motion, I can clean the anal area well, first
using toilet paper and then really hot water conveyed a number of times in the
scooped palm of my left hand, which then rubs and rinses the area (see Reflection
No. 310 above). But this horrible sacroiliitis has made squatting over the w.c.
for more than a few minutes extremely painful. Some days back, I bought a
metallic commode, which can be placed over the ‘Pakistani’ w.c., and on which
one can sit as on a chair. While this is comfortable to sit on, even more so
than a ‘Western-style’ w.c., the problem with both is that there isn’t enough
room to use one’s hand to properly wash the anal area. And though I’d got used
to using only toilet paper after passing a motion when I was in the West in the
late 1960s and early 1970s, I no longer consider that modus operandi
good (i.e. clean) enough. So, for the sixth consecutive day today, I’ve just
had to endure the pain of squatting on the ‘Pakistani’ w.c., shifting my weight
about, and trying to hurriedly go through the process of emptying my tummy and
washing the anal area with hot water, clutching at two or three supports when possible.
How true that what can’t be cured must be endured! At the same time, since
sacroiliitis is not considered an incurable ailment, I should be able to
recover from it fairly soon by means of more effective medical treatment than
I’ve received so far. In conjunction with substantial periodic doses of
patience.
882. With my 69th birthday
falling on 13 Sept. ’18, in less than seven weeks’ time, it’s only to be
expected that the condition and performance of various parts of my body will
continue to slowly (or suddenly) deteriorate. Some cases in point, during the
last three months, are: (1) the stiffness and pain at the base of my left
thumb, diagnosed by the orthopaedist as De Quervain’s disease; (2) the acute
immobilizing left lower back pain due to sacroiliitis mentioned in No. 881
above, mercifully considerably (but not fully) abated now; (3) the sudden
pronounced deterioration in the vision of both my eyes, possibly triggered by
some of the medicines I took to recover from (2), because of which everything,
both near and far, appears blurred to me, and which has therefore made walking
about town, anyway a risky proposition because of most Pakistanis’ deplorable
traffic sense, much riskier; (4) the worsening of my ED to the point
that my last attempt at masturbation, involving almost frantic manual exertion,
resulted in ejaculation even without an erection! Now, the question obviously
is how best to cope with these debilitating and depressing physical infirmities
that form an inexorable part of the ageing process. Should one try to ignore
and stoically endure the distress attendant on these geriatric ailments, and
not seek proper medical treatment for them? No, that’s being unfair, if not
cruel, to one’s own body. But becoming excessively or obsessively concerned
about one’s age-related health problems is also much to be deprecated. Perhaps
a third approach, a via media, is possible. Perhaps, while dutifully
attending to one’s body’s medical needs, one should try to gain a measure of
detachment from it. After all, if one has reached (or will soon reach) old age,
the time is not so far when one’s body will have to be finally relinquished,
all ties with it utterly abrogated. That realization could help one to identify
a little less closely with one’s physical being, integral though that is to
one’s total being as a living person. If one can begin to regard one’s body as
an integral but somewhat extrinsic part of oneself, as a necessary appurtenance
or appendage, then perhaps one can bear the ravages of advancing age on it with
greater equanimity.
883. Everything has been
exactly as it has been; everything is exactly as it is: what one needs is the
ability to interpret past occurrences and present situations with unflinching
honesty, depth of vision, and true objectivity.
884. If it weren’t for my
feline and canine friends, who depend on me in a number of ways, and whom I'd hate
to leave in the lurch – if it weren’t for this consideration above others, I
might be willing, at nearly three score and nine and in indifferent health, to
call it a day. For I sometimes think that I’ve already done almost (but not
quite) everything important that I wanted to do, and have already written
almost (though not quite) everything of significance that I wanted to write.
But the very thought of leaving my dear cats and dogs defenceless amidst this
backward, callous and hostile Pakistani society, most of whose members have
never even heard of animal welfare, makes me determined to stay around in the
flesh for as long as I can in order to prevent, or at least delay, my little
friends’ almost certain subsequent ill-treatment.
885. I’ve lived my life as best I
could;
To have lived it better
would’ve been nice;
But for that I’d need a new
life, I would,
Which, to pay, may be too
high a price!
886. It’s the 8th of August
(2018) today, and about the middle of the curious, protracted rainy (monsoon)
season, which is a climatic phenomenon virtually unique to the Indian
subcontinent. In north-west India and much of Pakistan, the season begins about
the end of June and lasts till about the middle of September. It arrives when
summer is at its hottest and driest, and when it’s over, the rather muted
autumn begins, which is usually dry, with warm days and cool nights. Thus the
rainy season, known in many indigenous languages as bursaat (literally
‘the rains’), wedges itself between summer and autumn, as the fifth distinct
season of the year. It can be dramatic, unreliable, soothing, oppressive and/or
enjoyable, depending on how well you can appreciate its positive
characteristics, including its distinctive sights and sounds, and on how
well-equipped you are to combat its negative features, such as plentiful
mosquitoes and other troublesome insects. It’s the foremost season, more
markedly than spring, for tumultuous growth in the plant kingdom; in folklore,
it’s also considered most suitable, again more so than spring, for the sexual
union of ardent lovers.
887. The Küraan in a nutshell:
ravings of paradise and rantings of hell, with rather more of the latter than
of the former. Of course one can seek to justify this by arguing that forceful
continual reminders of divine rewards and punishments in the hereafter are the
most effective means of promoting people’s good moral conduct during life. But
does this argument hold much water? No, for if it did, those who (literally)
swear by the Küraan, i.e. Muslims, would show outstanding and exemplary moral
behaviour in their everyday dealings, while in fact they generally display
quite the opposite. This is so because the Küraanic and Islamic approach to
morality is basically misconceived. True moral behaviour takes place when it’s
undertaken for its own sake, in order to benefit someone in need, not for the
sake of securing rewards or escaping punishments, whether here or hereafter.
888. For quite a while, I’d
been planning to reread that Old Testament classic The Book of Job,
first as it appears in the New English Bible, and then possibly once or twice
more as presented in the King James Version and the New International Version.
I want to reread The Book of Job in order to appreciate afresh Job’s
sufferings and his response to them, and to compare them with my own current
very different sort of suffering. But, since about six weeks back, I’ve been
virtually stopped in my tracks from reading Job (or anything else) by a
bad case of diplopia (double vision), which has so far proved untreatable. How
bitterly ironic that my latest significant affliction is preventing me from
knowing more about and drawing useful lessons from the story of a man
proverbially patient in the face of extreme undeserved affliction! However, if
and when my diplopia diminishes to the point that I can read, write and type
comfortably again, I mean to properly peruse The Book of Job, and then
to present a short critical interpretation of it in a subsequent Reflection
(or a separate essay).
889. Follows a short
exhortatory excerpt from an irate e-mail that I received from an English friend
of mine over a year ago: Buy a camera, go walking, photograph and talk to
ordinary people. Ask them about their lives. Learn from them.
The pivot of my friend’s exhortation is
‘ordinary people’, a phrase also parroted sometimes by presenters of reputable
t.v. channels like the BBC. But do ‘ordinary people’, as a genus of universal
distribution, with uniform characteristics, actually exist? No, they’re pretty
much a politically correct figment of the ‘liberal’ imagination. It may be just
about meaningful to speak of ordinary Brits or ordinary Pakis, but not of
ordinary people as though they were essentially the same worldwide. In reality,
ordinary people of one culture or race can be fundamentally different from
those of another. Photographing ordinary people, especially female ones, in
some of the ‘tribal areas’ of north-west Pakistan, could cost you your
life, even before you can begin asking them about theirs! Now, that’s obviously
not something within my liberal English friend’s ken.
890. Fifty years ago today, on
13 September 1968, I turned nineteen, having cleared my ‘A’ Levels and Punjab
University B.A. earlier, excited about proceeding the following early October
to Cambridge University for three years, with most of my life, and it seemed
life itself, ahead of me. So how, in retrospect, has the last half-century
turned out for me? One hell of a roller-coaster ride wouldn’t be putting it too
strongly. The following are some of my important experiences during this period
of time: rebelling at Cambridge and not getting a degree; sampling New York for
six months in 1972; living in rural Punjab for about four years; teaching
English as a foreign language in Islamabad for 18½ years; the deaths of my
father, elder brother and mother in 1982, 2001 and 2003 respectively; changing
my name on 13 Sept. 1987, exactly 31 years ago; trying and failing to run two
shops in Abbottabad for two years (roughly 2003 - 2004); struggling to make
ends meet for most of these fifty years; struggling to make sense of my
homosexuality for this entire half-century; adopting and forming close
relationships with dogs and cats, first from about 1972 to 1977, and then from
2006 to date; being plagued intermittently but increasingly by various bodily
ailments during the last six years, from an excruciatingly painful ‘slipped
disc’ in 2013 to this awfully disconcerting diplopia (double vision) right now;
keeping up sporadically or steadily with my writing, both verse and prose,
through thick and thin. Would I rather that all this hadn’t taken place, and
that I’d kicked the bucket on my nineteenth birthday? No, despite all the pain
and suffering I’ve subsequently encountered, I quite emphatically wouldn’t: the
struggling has been worth it after all.
Fifty years from today, on 13 Sept. 2068,
it’ll probably be several decades since I’ll have (hopefully bravely) kicked
the bucket. Will anyone still be reading these Reflections, or my Ghalib
translation, then? Perhaps, perhaps not.
891. My small tricoloured (white, brown and
black) cat, Minty, whom I love dearly, came to us as a kitten in May 2008,
which makes her well over ten years old now (about 58 in human years). Of
course I don’t want to lose her to the Reaper any time soon, especially as
she’s so far shown no obvious signs of senile decrepitude. Yet, since we’ve
already spent over a decade as the best of room-mates, and since by now I’ve
also adopted three (provisionally four) stray dogs in desperate need of a home,
whose presence has imposed considerable constraints on the freedom of movement
of Minty and my other cat Brownie, I’m almost reconciled to the prospect of
losing Minty one of these days. After all, life wouldn’t be life if it weren’t
followed by death.
892. The rhetorical question What’s
more you than your body? can be treated un-rhetorically and answered
bluntly in two words: My spirit!
893. It’s better to insult a
person to their face (not gratuitously of course) than to be snide about them
behind their back.
894. If ‘God’ exists, ‘he’ must
exist everywhere and in everything, and be active in every living thing,
which means, on earth, in every single plant, animal and human being, of
whatever (or no) gender. Hence the stupidity of conceiving ‘God’ as a deity (or
deities). Indeed, insofar as its adherents tend to harbour a more
literal, authoritarian conception of ‘God’, monotheism is worse than
polytheism, though both of them are much worse than agnostic pantheism. But
what exactly is ‘agnostic pantheism’? Well, it’s the position or belief (rather
than a creed or doctrine) that reality and divinity are one and the same thing:
ubiquitous, approachable in an infinite number of ways and to an infinite
extent, but ultimately unfathomable.
895. In my younger days, I
tended to be impatient with anyone extolling the benefits of patience; it
seemed to me then a rather dull and pedestrian virtue. Not so any more. For its
possessor, patience is in fact an extremely valuable asset, especially in times
of adversity. When a crisis of any kind shows no signs of abating, despite
one’s best efforts, it’s patience that one needs to strongly hold on to. The
sooner that children are taught, by example rather than exhortation, to be
patient, the better for them in the course of their subsequent lives. However,
the Islamic claim that the day-long fasting during the ‘holy’ month of Rumzaan
enhances the fasters’ capacity for patience, like most other Islamic claims, is
illusory and bogus. In fact, fasting during Rumzaan almost invariably increases
people’s impatience and irritability. The following common Urdu saying
merits being better known by anglophones:
Transliteration: subur ka phul
meettha hota hai.
Translation: The fruits of
patience are sweet.
The converse, or a corollary,
of the above saying can be framed thus: On the other hand, the fruits of
impatience are sometimes bitter, more often sour, and most often just
distastefully and disappointingly insipid.
896. Since early childhood, I
remember feeling mentally and emotionally different from other children, adolescents
and adults, always conscious of being an unusual individual. But in the
last six years, from 2013 on, grimly ironically, I’ve had to endure a series of
equally unusual and unexpected physical ailments! First, for a couple of months
in spring 2013, I had to bear the intense pain of a ‘slipped disc’ and
sciatica, which though isn’t all that unusual. Then, in summer 2015, I was
diagnosed with inguinal hernia, which I’d never even heard of till then, and
was advised an operation, which I’ve avoided undergoing till now. Subsequently,
concurrently with more run-of-the-mill maladies like osteoarthritis and a
(somewhat) enlarged prostate, I’ve suffered two painful episodes each of
sacroiliitis and DeQuervain’s disease, the outlandish names of both of which
ailments again I first heard upon being diagnosed with them. Most recently, in
July last year (2018), about six months ago, I suddenly started suffering from
diplopia or double vision, which I’d barely heard of before and never
personally known anyone else to suffer from. The diplopia appears to be caused
by a slight squint, which is not uncommon in children but rare in adults; it’s
extremely disconcerting, at least three-quarters incapacitating when I try to
read, write or use the computer, and has made walking along or crossing a busy
road distinctly dangerous; it’s causing a good deal of mental strain as well,
though no pain. Of course, being diagnosed with a less uncommon eye-ailment
such as cataracts, glaucoma or even AMD (age-related macular degeneration)
would also have been distressing, but at least it probably wouldn’t have been
so very perplexing to deal with. Whether or not this latest rare
disorder has anything to do with my being something of a rara avis –
probably not, I certainly hope that, like its predecessors sciatica and
sacroiliitis, it parts company with me before my patience does! Not like in the
case of poor Milton three-and-a-half centuries ago, who was reduced by his
blindness to stoically ‘only stand and wait’, unable to quite fully express
‘that one talent which is death to hide’.
897. If it’s more important
for you to be ‘politically correct’ than to be factually correct, then you’re
an egregious fool, no matter if you’re the current POTUS (sounds foolish
anyway) or the incumbent Pope or a double Ph.D.
898. Adversity not only tests
one’s character but can serve to build it as well. It does so by forcing one to
reach deeper into oneself and tap reserves of fortitude, ingenuity and
compassion that may otherwise remain untapped. Consequently, adversity may
bring out the best or the worst in a person, depending on the strength or
weakness of their character.
899. While clever nerds all
around the world fuss and agitate about ‘global warming’ and/or ‘climate
change’, the current northern hemisphere winter of 2018-19 is reported to be
especially severe and deadly in many parts of Europe and North America. Here in
Abbottabad (Pakistan), too, the winter so far (end of January) has been pretty
hard to cope with for me and my family of two cats and four dogs. To make
matters considerably worse, the supply of gas from the mains this winter has
been insufficient, especially from about 6 p.m. to 12 midnight, when it’s most
needed. I worry most about my four dogs, who cannot be let into the house
because of the cats, but must make do with their outdoor kennels, which shelter
them from the rain and snow, but not the freezing cold, particularly at night.
My pets and I right now could certainly do with a bit of ‘global warming’,
which in any case it is unnecessary to invoke while advocating strict
restrictions on the use of fossil fuels; that the copious use of coal and oil
indubitably causes atmospheric pollution is quite enough reason to adequately
restrict their use – even if their unrestricted use could be shown to be
causing ‘global cooling’ instead of ‘global warming’. Let’s try to get our
priorities straight, and not strain at the dubious gnat of ‘global warming’
while swallowing the plainly evident elephant of worldwide air and water
pollution.
900. At sixty-nine and in poor
health, plagued for the last more than six months by the distressing and
intractable disorder of binocular diplopia (double vision), I’m nonetheless
determined to extract whatever enjoyment I can from my remaining years of life.
And how do I plan to do that? Well, in a number of different ways, including
the following: (1) Eating good, delicious, nutritious food, both savoury and
sweet (not being diabetic thankfully), so as to keep up my physical strength as
well as my spirits; (2) staying comfortably warm in the winter and reasonably
cool in the summer, by employing effective but affordable mechanical means of
heating and cooling, besides wearing the most appropriate clothes for either
season (shorts from about mid-May to mid-September); (3) abandoning any further
expectation of significant pleasure from sex, and accepting that I’ve come to
the end of that (for me) exceedingly bumpy road; (4) taking good care of my
pets, currently two cats and four dogs, and being truly gratified by their
spontaneous joyous response; (5) trying to remain calm and collected in all
circumstances, notwithstanding ‘the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’
and ‘the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to’; (6) listening
frequently, on any good-quality technical device, to the sweet strains of
music; (7) continuing to gain delight from the critical reading of the best
writing available; (8) making small contributions,
whenever and for as long as I can, to the universal pool of good writing, which
other discerning readers can enjoy and benefit from.
901. Today, 15 Feb. 2019, is
the 150th death anniversary of Mirza Ussudüllah Ghalib (1797 – 1869), my
favourite Urdu poet, and one of the greatest poets that ever wrote in any
language. Ghalib lived about the first 60 years of his life, mainly in Agra and
Delhi, in the twilight of the Müghul Indian Empire, and the last 12 or so, only
in Delhi, under the British Raj established in 1857. His best verse is full of
vitality, emotional intensity, mental acuity, pathos, humour, self-irony,
striking imagery and true musicality (all of it can be sung), and compares, not
at all unfavourably, with the best verse of the likes of Dante and Wordsworth.
I’ve been trying, on and off for several decades, to come up with a worthy
English translation of Ghalib’s best verse, and would’ve been delighted if the
publication of Part 1 of my translation could have been made to coincide with
his 150th death anniversary. Unfortunately that’s no longer possible. Still,
while there’s life there’s hope . . . As Ghalib himself says in one of his
couplets:
Transliteration:
koee din gurr zindigani aur
hai
upnay jee mayn hum nay tthani
aur hai
Translation:
If some more time is left for me
to live,
Something exceptional I’m
determined to do.
902. Being almost halfway into
my seventieth year now (early March ’19), only two things seem to matter
greatly to me any longer: firstly, looking after my six pets (two cats and four
dogs) properly (and exemplarily in this distinctly animal-unfriendly Pakistani
society) for as long as they need me to and I possibly can; and secondly, by
means of the written word, saying what I still have left to say. All my other
concerns have gradually diminished in significance, though I’d still like to
see published, as soon as possible, the following three volumes comprising the
bulk of my life’s work: (1) my collected original verse, (2) my English
translation of Ghalib’s best Urdu verse, and (3) my selected narrative,
discursive and aphoristic non-fiction, including these Reflections
(which could also constitute a separate fourth volume). But even having these
manuscripts published can be done fairly satisfactorily by someone else, not
necessarily (though preferably) by myself personally. The two major concerns
that unavoidably and imperatively require my personal attention revolve round
keeping faith with my beloved pets and with my own persistent urge to write
creatively.
*903. Says Wordsworth in his famous poem, possibly the longest-titled in English, Ode on Intimations of Immortality from Recollections of Early Childhood, a.k.a. Intimations Ode:
Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting; 1
The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star, 2
Hath had
elsewhere its setting 3
And cometh from afar; 4
Not in entire
forgetfulness, 5
And not in
utter nakedness, 6
But trailing clouds of glory do we come 7
From God, who is our home: 8
Heaven lies about us in our infancy! 9
The excerpt quoted above contains nine lines, which
I’ve numbered consecutively on the right-hand side, for ease of reference while
considering my following detailed comments on them.
Line 1: The use of ‘but’
in this line, while rhythmically felicitous, makes the claim made in it seem
extravagant: contending that our birth is only and nothing more than
a sleep and a forgetting is going rather too far. Replacing that ‘but’ with
‘also’ would yield ‘Our birth is also a sleep and a forgetting’, i.e. one
aspect of our birth is that it is a sleep and a forgetting. This
alteration, with regard to meaning would moderate and improve the line under
consideration, but would somewhat adversely affect its rhythm.
Lines 2 – 4: These are three
of the best lines in this long poem, and indeed among the best in all of English
poetry. They dexterously evoke the potent but inviolable mystery of where one’s
non-material spirit originates from, before it is incarnated at conception and
then born as the core of a unique new individual. It’s a mystery that can never
be ‘solved’, but only intelligently speculated on and, as done here, skilfully
adumbrated in art.
Lines 5 – 8: These four lines,
which make more distinct the adroit adumbration initiated in the preceding
three, are pretty brilliant as well, the phrase ‘trailing clouds of glory’
having become almost proverbial with the passage of time. I usually feel
irritated and disdainful when people speak or write about ‘God’, suspecting
that they are thereby trying to intimidate others into agreeing with them.
Here, however, Wordsworth has referred to ‘God’ much more innocuously and
acceptably as ‘our home’, not as a deity but a mystery, which is a diametrical
and immensely significant distinction.
Line 6: ‘Not in utter
nakedness’? Every human being (or other creature) that has ever popped out of
their mother’s womb, has done so in utter and absolute nakedness! But
then perhaps Wordsworth is talking of spiritual nakedness. Ah well!
Line 9: The claim made in
this line may be true of most, but by no means all, human infants, especially
not in poor ‘third world’ countries. The infants that appear to me to have
heaven obviously lying about them, at least physically, are new-born kittens
and puppies, with eyes still shut, blissfully suckling their mothers’ teats and
sleeping most of the rest of the time. Unfortunately, many of these little
ones, especially in the ‘third world’, are in for a horribly rude awakening
before or as soon as their infancy is over.
904. One morning almost a
month ago, I happened to hear, on the Indian radio-station Vividh-Bharti, just
a snatch of an old ‘devotional song’ that immediately grabbed my attention.
Twelve hours later, when the same fragment was re-broadcast on the same
radio-station, I managed to memorize its opening few words, using which I
accessed on YouTube the complete song, together with some particulars
concerning it. It was written by Pundit Madhur and sung by Dhununjoy
Bhuttacharya, under Punkuj Mullick’s musical direction, for the 1952 film Yatrik
(‘Pilgrim’). The YouTube video (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p6kDsk7OPv4)
contains two versions of the song, first a faster, shorter version and then a
slower, longer one. Below I’ve attempted to translate the words (and mood) of
the shorter version (up to about 2:03 in the video), taking it as a
particularly Indian exposition or interpretation of the fascinating (for
me at any rate) concept of pantheism.
Transliteration (some lines
repeated purely for musical effect omitted):
tü dhoondhta hai jis ko
busti mayn ya kay bun
mayn,
voh saanvra sulona
rehta hai –
rehta hai tairay mun
mayn.
musjid mayn, mundiron
mayn,
purbut ki kundron mayn,
nudiyon kay paaniyon
mayn,
gehray sumundron mayn,
lehra ruha hai vohi
khüd upnay baankpun
mayn:
voh saanvra sulona
rehta hai –
rehta hai tairay mun
mayn.
hurr zurray mayn ruvaan
hai,
hurr phool mayn busa
hai,
hurr cheez mayn üssi ka
julva jhuluk ruha hai;
hurkut voh kurr ruha
hai
hurr ik kay tun-budun
mayn:
voh saanvra sulona
rehta hai –
rehta hai tairay mun
mayn.
Translation:
the one that you are
seeking
in habitations or in
forests,
that gorgeous beloved
resides –
oh he resides within
you.
in mosques and in
temples,
in mountain caves and
caverns,
in gushing waters of
streams,
in oceans extremely
deep,
that selfsame one is
swaying
in his own flamboyancy:
that gorgeous beloved
resides –
oh he resides within
you.
he moves in every
particle,
he dwells in every
flower,
it’s his glory
that shimmers in everything;
active is he indeed
in everyone’s flesh and
blood:
that gorgeous beloved
resides –
oh he resides within
you.
What a delightful little gem:
written with visionary insight, brilliantly set to music, beautifully sung,
nicely picturized – and hopefully accurately and ably translated!
905. From the time in
childhood when one gains clear consciousness to one’s dying day, one’s most
important concern should be how to integrate and improve one’s character.
906. The broad and sharp blade
of truth can and should cut through, without fear or favour, the false claims
and pretensions of any and every religion and ideology that people adhere to
currently (or have adhered to formerly). Hence the modern knight errant (of either
gender) needs to be armed with and proficient in wielding only the bright
broadsword of truth.
907. It’s about 12.30 a.m.
(half an hour after midnight) on 16 April ’19 as I begin to write this Reflection.
I haven’t felt so sick at heart in years, for I fear that I’ve finally lost my
cat Brownie, whom I adopted about nine years ago, and who was attacked by my
four dogs around 2 p.m. yesterday, roughly ten-and-a-half hours ago. I’d just
let Brownie out from the ‘computer-room’, which was also Brownie’s room,
through the outer door of my sister’s bathroom, when I heard some unfamiliar
scuffling sounds outside. Hurrying to investigate, I saw Brownie break free
from the virtual pack of my four dogs, whom I adopted one by one over several
months starting November ’17 (as described in my full-length essay Pet
Antecedents). My manservant, Humayoon, had arrived on the scene of the
attack before me, and had tried rather ineffectually to intervene. But he
hadn’t called out to me that Brownie was being attacked; had he done so, I’d
have rushed out of my room sooner. Humayoon gave a somewhat garbled account of
the incident, which I didn’t listen to very attentively. Since I’d seen Brownie
escape up the staggered custom-built wall towards the houses of our neighbours
to the east, I thought she’d be all right and would return once she got over
her fright. But she hasn’t returned so far, and I’m beginning to fear the
worst. On closer questioning around 4.30 p.m., Humayoon stated that, at the
time of the attack on Brownie, he’d seen some blood on the mouth of our most
aggressive dog, Sungi. So it’s cruelly possible that Sungi’s bite ruptured an
important blood-vessel in Brownie’s body, and she has haemorrhaged to death
without being able to return home. If that proves to be the case, I’ll miss my
little friend sorely, and inevitably feel guilty about not having protected her
better. It’s now nearly 2.30 a.m., with a thunder-storm spluttering outside:
what wouldn’t I give to have Brownie safe and warm in one of her favourite places
in the computer-room! If she doesn’t turn up tonight, I’ll go to our eastward
neighbours’ houses in the morning and try to retrieve her body. It’s also
possible that she might be badly hurt but still alive, and in critical need of
help. So I’d better go to bed now, so as to get up as early in the morning as I
can.
*908. No. 907 above was written
between 12.30 a.m. and 3 a.m. very early yesterday morning, before I went to
bed, and writing it brought me a measure of much-needed relief from the intense
heartsickness that I’d been feeling for some time before I put pen to paper.
Later yesterday morning, after getting up, washing and changing, but before
breakfast, I made a comprehensive round of the houses of our immediate
neighbours to the north and east, in a bid to find Brownie dead or alive, but
to no avail. I showed two photos of Brownie to the neighbours, and promised a
reward of Rs 500/- if anyone provided information leading to us getting her
back alive, or Rs 200/- if anyone found her dead and informed us. Morning
turned to afternoon, evening and then night, but despite calling aloud to her
numerous times to come home, there was no sign of Brownie or information
regarding her from the neighbours. By dinner-time, I was convinced that she was
dead and gone, having haemorrhaged and lost consciousness soon after Sungi had
bitten her. I slumped and dozed off on my desk, but groggily got up at about
9.45 to go for dinner. Just then the phone rang, and Aalumzaib, one of the
young sons of our eastward next-door neighbour, informed me that he’d seen
Brownie a couple of hours earlier, heading towards our house. I quickly went
and opened the outer door of my sister’s bathroom, and was delighted to hear
Brownie on the roof of our northward next-door neighbour’s house, from where
she soon made her way, by means of one of the sloping ladder-like planks
installed specially for the cats to use (see photo below of the view from my
bedroom window), to the ledge outside my bedroom window, and then, through my
sister’s bathroom into the computer-room. She seemed unhurt, though rather
dazed, and didn’t want to eat anything. Boy, was I relieved and glad to see my
little feline friend, who I’d been despondently thinking had been killed by the
four much bigger but, compared to humans, still quite small canine friends of
mine! Love, even for one’s multiple pets, can be a complicated affair.
909. If you call a thief a thief, or a hypocrite a hypocrite, the person concerned is bound to be deeply offended. So therefore, in order not to cause offence and be ‘tactful’ and ‘politically correct’, should one not call a thief a thief or a hypocrite a hypocrite? That would surely be foolish, timid and hypocritical on one’s own part. Instead of that . . . know people for what they are, and don’t shy away from letting them know what you think of them: fuck ‘political correctness’.
910. When I appear to be
perfectly still and motionless, for instance when I sit in my armchair with my
feet on another chair and shut my eyes, I am in actual fact hurtling at
stupendous speeds – firstly, along with everything else on the earth’s surface,
as our planet rotates around its axis, and secondly and simultaneously, again
in common with everything on earth, as the planet rushes to complete its year-long
revolution around the sun. This is a concurrent double roller-coaster ride that
earthlings cannot feel at all – mercifully for us!
911. God is nowhere if not
right before your eyes: you only (only!) have to learn to see beyond the tip of
your nose.
912. In an extraordinary,
almost miraculous, turn of events, after having finally given up expecting any
further significant pleasure from sex (see No. 900(3) above), I now (early May
’19) find myself involved in an ardent, if incipient, sexual relationship with
Ijaaz (not his real name), a 43-year-old working-class heterosexual father of
six (!), who initially thought that homosexual relations were na-ja‘iz
(illicit) and caused AIDS, but who, in the last few days has consented to some
kissing and caressing. This is only the sixth time in all of my 69 years that
I’ve felt as deeply emotionally-sexually involved with anyone as I do now with
Ijaaz. How our relationship turns out depends on several factors, over some of
which we have control, but not over others. In any case, I feel I must give it
my very best shot. It’s still very early days . . .
913. From times, about 40 to
45 years ago, when I literally didn’t know where my next meal was coming from,
to the present time, when I almost have more money than I know what to do with,
it’s been an exciting adventure, during which I have never prostituted my
talents (such as they are), but made use of them as best I could, praying every
morning till a few months ago to Lukshmi, goddess of wealth, to help me make ends
meet. Now approaching seventy, I still don’t know what exactly my financial
prospects for the future are like, but if the past is anything to go by, I
should muddle through quite satisfactorily right to the end. All hail great
goddess, Muha Lukshmi!
*914. My erotic relationship
with Ijaaz (see No. 912 above) is developing apace, the kissing and caressing
having become much more intense and intimate now (early June ’19). However, the
Islamic month of dawn-to-dusk fasting, Rumzaan, began in Pakistan on 7 May, and
is due to end in a couple of days. Ijaaz, a (sort-of) practising Muslim, has
announced that he won’t be taking off his clothes during erotic contact during
this month, prompting me to make the highly unusual move of writing a poem in
Urdu about it (which he has subsequently read). The free-verse poem appears
below, first in roman transliteration and then as translated into English by
myself.
Transliteration:
RUMZAAN KI BAYJAA RÜKAVUTAIN
aap ki lumbi si kumeez
hai
chumgaadurr ki turrah,
jissay ooper kurna aur
ooper rukhna
mushkil vu muhaal hai.
aur aap ki sulvaar ka
nala hai
üss saanp ki turrah,
jo aap kay budun kay
khuzaanon kay girrd
pehra luga‘ay baittha
hai.
aap keh chukain hain
keh dauraan-e-rumzaan
yeh chumgaadurr aur yeh
saanp
upni jughain na
chhorrain gay.
kya kubhee koee mairay
jaisa ghair-muslim bhee
eed ka itna müntazirr hua ho ga!
Translation:
RUMZAAN’S MISPLACED IMPEDIMENTS
Your longish shirt is
like
a bloody bat,
to raise and keep raised which
is hard and cumbersome.
And the draw-string of your sulvaar[1],
is like a snake
encircling and guarding
the treasures of your body.
You have stated that during Rumzaan[2]
this bat and this snake
shall not abandon their places.
Has ever before any non-Muslim like me
so eagerly awaited Eed[1]?!
_______________
[1] Loose cottony trousers, fastened at the waist with a draw-string.
[2] The Islamic month of dawn-to-dusk fasting.
[3] The festival following the end of Rumzaan.
915. How nice, even wonderful,
life can be after one has finally managed to fully separate, case by
case and strand by strand, the multifarious lies and half-truths one
continually encounters from the untainted truth, and proceeded to base all
one’s acts and omissions on the latter. But don’t expect to have done so by
your twenties or thirties, unless you’re an absolute genius; if you’re very
bright, you may be able to do so by your sixties. Nonetheless . . . better late
than never.
916. To some extent, as was
the case with D.H. Lawrence, I am writing more for the coming generations of
people than for the present ones. And, apparently, I’ll be awaiting, in spirit,
the judgement of those future generations, rather than of my contemporaries,
regarding the quality of my work. For I truly believe that at least some of my
work, including some of these Reflections, will live on after me for a
quite substantial length of time. If only I could see a clear path to having
some of this stuff properly published!
917. The natural world of
various distinct weather patterns, of plants and animals, has a reality and
rhythm of its own, not to be out-of-sync with which is important for every
living human being.
918. There is a paragraph on
the first page of Chapter VII, titled Strain, in the pioneering but
little-known book, Better Eyesight without Glasses, by the heterodox
ophthalmologist Dr William Bates (1860 – 1931), which I cannot resist quoting
in full:
It is as natural for the eye
to see as it is for the mind to acquire knowledge, and any effort in either
case not only is useless but defeats the end in view. You may force a few facts
into a child’s mind by various kinds of compulsion, but you cannot make him
learn anything. The facts remain, if they remain at all, as dead lumber in the
brain. They contribute nothing to the vital processes of thought, and because
they are not acquired naturally and are not assimilated, they destroy the
natural impulse of the mind toward the acquisition of knowledge. By the time
the child leaves school or college, as the case may be, he not only knows
nothing but is, in the majority of cases, no longer capable of learning.
Well spoken, as far as I’m
concerned!
919. When one’s body is
healthy and well, it sometimes feels like a not-quite-integral auxiliary or
appendage of oneself (see No. 882 above). But when one’s body is in the throes
of severe sickness, it certainly feels like the core of one’s being. I may just
be beginning to recover from an intense week-long bout of apparent
food-poisoning, and am sort-of in between the two mental-emotional states just
mentioned – a good time, perhaps, to probe the actual reality of the matter. So
what is that? Is one’s body totally and inseparably integral to one’s living
being, from conception until death, or is it not? Well, I’m afraid that so far
I’m unable to provide a definitive answer to the preceding question. However,
my answer to the further question, Does it matter?, remains: Yes, it
matters greatly, especially as one ages.
920. Most modern allopathic
medicines have side-effects, but, curiously enough, some illnesses also have
unexpected side-effects. Almost all of last week, I felt extremely sick with a
strange, wrenching gastro-intestinal malady, probably caused by food-poisoning.
I couldn’t eat anything for about four days*, and experienced one instance of
vomiting and several of equally unpleasant retching. I started feeling
exceedingly weak, so went to the nearest (government) hospital, where I was put
on a drip (actually two). The curious side-effect of this awful episode of
sickness has been that it has considerably dampened my fervent erotic ardour
for Ijaaz! (See Nos. 912 & 914 above.) The thought of my almost frantic (of
course willingly consented) groping of his body, including his private parts,
which till just ten days ago seemed so exciting to me, now tends to make me
feel nauseous. I don’t know what the future holds for our relationship, but my
sickness certainly seems to have made it change course significantly.
___________________
* Did the Buddha fast for forty days, while
continuing to meditate? I don’t believe it; even fourteen days would be
impossible; four days would perhaps be just barely possible, given exceptional
personal determination: that’s how frail flesh is.
921. While there are bound to
be plenty of skirmishes still left for me to fight in my remaining years, I
really believe that I’ve already won my main battle of life. For I’m no longer
significantly afraid, either of anything that life can throw at me, or of
anything that death can do or undo. So glad about that!
922. There are dull,
commonplace ways of spending money, and there are interesting, ingenious ways
of spending it; but, for the latter (unlike the former), you need to have not
only the money to be spent but also brains and character, which of course money
cannot buy. On a scale of fortunateness from zero to ten, having money without
brains or character would barely get you up to a two; having brains and
character without money would easily qualify you for a seven; having brains,
character and money would secure you a nine or ten.
923. Speaking from a male
perspective, in the final analysis, in the final moments before one’s orgasm
occurs, regardless of how much one may love and care for one’s partner, the
motivation in those final moments is solely to gain gratification for oneself.
Which suggests that basically sex, like eating, is a selfish activity, and D.H.
Lawrence, in attempting to glorify and spiritualize it, only rushed off at a
tangent. That sex should always be wholly consensual (including in the case of
married couples), and should preferably be accompanied by strong mutual
affection, is obviously and independently true.
*924. After only one-and-a-half
or two days of feeling unwell (possibly on account of being bitten by a snake
or something else), one of my four dogs, a sweet-tempered part-Rottweiler
female called Biscuit (photo below), suddenly died today, 19 Aug. ’19. I feel
considerably upset, especially because I had dithered and failed to get her the
prompt professional treatment that she needed (yesterday being Sunday didn’t
help). How I came to adopt Biscuit has been recounted in my essay, Pet
Antecedents. So, I’m no longer going to see her joyfully prancing about
(despite her broken right femur), or hear her loud, high-pitched barking. Would
it have been better if I hadn’t adopted her about a year ago, and so
been spared the distress of losing her now? Certainly not! This way, Biscuit at
least enjoyed a year of loving care – pitifully short compared to her potential
life-span, but still something. Had I not adopted her, she’d probably have
lived on for just a few weeks or months, beset by hunger, disease and misery,
before being run over, or slowly and painfully succumbing to illness. That’s
the common fate of stray dogs in this animal-unfriendly, dog-hostile,
Islam-shackled Pakistan. However, now that Biscuit has gone (where? will we
ever meet up again?), I can perhaps provide a good home to another unfortunate,
homeless dog or puppy: that’s about the most I can do on an individual,
non-institutional basis.
R.I.P.
925. In principle, I don’t
believe in forgiving anyone who has been rude to one, unless and until they
apologize sincerely for their rudeness. But in the rough-and-tumble of
practical life, matters are rarely so cut and dried. For one, the unheeded but
ceaseless passage of time almost always attenuates the impact of the rudeness
one has suffered, so that it becomes less and less difficult to bear. Then, one
may also begin to relent and sentimentalize in the spirit of letting bygones be
bygones. That’s all very well, but it could lead to another, worse instance of
rudeness from the same person who behaved rudely to one earlier – with
impunity, in their estimation. This is something that one needs to keep a close
eye on and monitor carefully.
*926. Just the other day, while
skipping through a collection of sayings by Guru Naanuk (1469 – 1539 AD),
founder of the Sikh religion, my attention was attracted by the following
brilliant little gem:
As fragrance abides in
the flower,
As the reflection is
within the mirror,
So doth thy Lord abide
within thee –
Why
search for Him without?
Now, which of the other, more famous religious leaders
in world history could have uttered anything as poetic, pantheistic and
profound as the above quote? Certainly not Moses, nor Jesus, nor Mühummud, nor
even the Buddha (nor Martin Luther for that matter). Such words could only
emanate from a true mystic and pantheist, which none of the five persons just
mentioned can be claimed to be, however eminent any of them may otherwise have
been. Naanuk’s quote could be cast in modern English as follows:
As fragrance resides in
the flower,
As the reflection is
inside the mirror,
So does divinity inhere
in you –
Why look for it outside?
Had this realization dawned on
Moses in time, he’d have been saved from making that arduous trek up
earthquake-prone Mount Sinai!
927. At last, today (13 Sept.
’19) I’m seventy! While I don’t really feel any different than I did yesterday,
reaching this milestone, marking the end of middle age and the arrival, in
earnest, of old age, seems specially, even forebodingly, significant. In my
‘exit strategy’, I’ve tentatively envisaged kicking the bucket at age
seventy-six, in 2026: that would give me six to seven more years to live,
though of course this ‘grace period’ (by biblical estimation) could be much
shorter or longer than that. How best, then, to spend the time still left at my
disposal? In a word, by trying to get closer and closer to reality, and being braced
for whatever that may practically entail.
928. By far the thorniest
problem of my life, dogging me for about 57 of my 70 years, whose true
relationship to reality I’m still at a loss to understand, has been the
unremitting erotic attraction I’ve felt since puberty for members of my own
sex, i.e. my homosexuality. That I’m genetically predisposed to be homosexual
seems incontrovertible, but not all that relevant any longer. For me, the
crucial issue is (and has always been) how to deal appropriately and adequately
with this strong, ever-present propensity. My recent involvement with Ijaaz
(see Nos. 912, 914 & 920 above) appears to have reached an impasse, for,
after letting me caress him in the most intimate of ways, he’s no longer
willing to continue with the instances of our erotic contact, much less to go
the whole hog. The reasons for his unwillingness are probably multiple, and
aren’t easy to fathom. The most likely scenario seems to be that Ijaaz, being
basically heterosexual, felt no more than a mildly pleasant sensation (merely
‘got a kick’) during our preliminary erotic contact, which he began to expect
would lead to financial rewards for him later on. Now that I’ve made clear to
him my refusal, on principle, to pay him (or anyone else) for sex, he no longer
considers it worthwhile to continue, leaving me deeply frustrated and
disappointed. Among the other factors inhibiting Ijaaz from having a full-blown
sexual relationship with me, may be counted: (1) Islamic homophobia, (2) severe
social stigmatization, especially of the passive partner in male anal sex, and
(3) his own regrettable but understandable lack of courage to confront and defy
Nos. (1) and (2). Cumulatively, the odds seem stacked heavily against my ever
having a mutually satisfying sexual relationship with Ijaaz, though I’m still
(perhaps foolishly) clinging to some vestiges of hope. If these, too, are
eventually erased, it’ll mean the collapse of the sixth (and probably last)
major homoerotic involvement of my life, forcing me to conclude that
homosexuality itself, as a means of gaining emotional fulfilment anyway, is an
utterly unviable proposition, at least in this backward part of the world.
929. It’s 38 days today since
my dog, Biscuit, died (see No. 924 above), but I still haven’t been able to get
over the feelings of grief, regret and guilt occasioned by that event. The
regret and guilt stem from what I now regard as my wrong decision to delay
getting professional treatment for Biscuit on Sunday, 18 Aug. ’19, the day
before she died, until the following Monday, by when it was too late: my
failure to fully grasp the urgency of the situation, coupled with a certain
niggardly hesitation in spending the money and time required for her immediate
treatment, probably cost my little friend her life. And this disturbing
realization, I’m afraid, will remain with me, albeit becoming attenuated with
time, for the rest of my life.
930. Life itself – just being
alive – simultaneously makes so many multifarious demands, of the physical,
mental, emotional, spiritual, sexual and other kinds, on the limited amounts of
time, attention and energy one has at one’s disposal, that it’s quite
impossible to fulfil each and every one of those demands. Hence one has to
prioritize which demands to try to fulfil first and which to ‘put on the back
burner’. But on what basis, or according to what criterion, is one to conduct
such prioritization? Well, the rule-of-thumb is to attend to those matters
first which one genuinely feels are the most important. For that, however, one
needs to be truly and fully in touch with one’s genuine feelings,
which ability it can take a whole lifetime of practice to properly acquire.
931. Morpheus must have his due:
several people are said to have gone without any food for longer than a
week, but no one has ever managed to go without some sleep for longer
than about 72 hours. As a fairly common Urdu saying, sooli peh bhee neend aa
jaati hai, puts it: one falls asleep even hanging on a cross. (See No. 26
above.)
932. As has been said: One
has always been rich – only one hasn’t had money! And now rather suddenly,
embarking on my seventies, I do have enough money, and some to spare:
fantastic! But, on the other hand, apart from the physical debility that old
age inevitably brings with it, I’m still surrounded by a number of formidable
unsolved problems, together amounting to something of a crisis. Let’s see if
I’m able to use my new-found (relative) affluence to effectively help in
dissipating this crisis, or at least preventing it from getting worse.
933. The seven deadly sins,
regarded in medieval Christian Europe as leading to damnation, were held to be
pride, covetousness, lust, gluttony, envy, anger and sloth. Accurately
speaking, none of these are sins per se, in the sense that they can be committed,
but rather are vices, which can give rise to sins. Three of them, namely pride,
envy and anger, also have positive aspects to them, and can sometimes give rise
to commendable behaviour. Possibly, the case of anger is the most ambivalent
and interesting of all. Everyone feels angry at some time or another, as indeed
do animals; if there was someone who never ever felt angry, that would be
completely unnatural. Moreover, when one is faced with truly infuriating
behaviour from anyone, it is both appropriate and healthy to respond by
expressing one’s anger; not to do so would point to cowardice and/or hypocrisy
on one’s part. Sometimes, anger can act like dynamite and blast a way forward
in a relationship that is stuck in an impasse owing to the parties between whom
that relationship exists – one or both of them – being habitually
mealy-mouthed. However, outbursts of anger, during which one loses all
self-control, can also be highly destructive, leading to subsequent regret and
remorse. In short, there’s anger and anger. The fury of a patient man, which
one needs to be beware of, is the good, admirable kind of anger, while the
spluttering rage of a fool, which accomplishes nothing, is the bad,
disintegrative kind.
934. Over the years, my relationships
with female dogs and cats have been very much better than those with female
human beings. For instance, of the six she-dogs that I’ve had as pets in my
adult life, not one has even come close to being as bitchy as some of the women
of my acquaintance! Could it be that my gayness is partly attributable to the
bitchiness (including of the sugar-coated kind) that I encountered in some
women as I was growing up, which reactively but subconsciously generated a
measure of misogyny in me? Conversely, could it (also) be that my gayness, or
the vibes thereof, impel some women to behave bitchily towards me?
935. One tends to assume that
the so-called Romantic period of English poetry, stretching from the end of the
eighteenth century to the middle of the nineteenth, is adequately represented
by Wordsworth, Coleridge and (arguably) Blake, representing the older or first
generation of Romantic poets, and Keats, Shelley and Byron, representing the
younger or second generation. In fact, however, notable, even excellent, verse
was produced during this period by several other poets, including Thomas
Campbell (1777 – 1844) and Thomas Hood (1799 – 1845). Of the few poems by
Thomas Hood that I’ve read, the one I like most, though not very well-known or
acclaimed, is The Death Bed. This poem apparently has two versions, a
longer four-stanza’d version, and a shorter two-stanza’d one, which I prefer
and am quoting in full below.
THE DEATH BED
We watch’d her breathing
thro’ the night
Her
breathing soft and low,
As in her breast the wave of
life
Kept heaving to and fro.
But when the
morn came dim and sad
And
chill with early showers,
Her quiet
eyelids closed – she had
Another morn than ours.
In my opinion, the eight lines
of verse quoted above are quite as good as anything that Wordsworth or Keats
ever wrote; that last stanza, in particular, is an embodiment of sheer genius.
936. Having had cats as pets
continuously for over thirteen years now – Minty’s been my room-mate for over
eleven – one of the things I seem to have become an expert at is taking
catnaps! But the catnaps that I take, usually while sitting in my bedroom
armchair, or on a living-room sofa-chair, or even on a straight-backed
dining-chair, don’t seem to refresh me quite as much as the naps that my cats
take, in various favourable places and postures, appear to refresh them. But
then they evidently have a long evolutionary head-start over me in this matter!
*937. Two brief conversations that recently took place, in Urdu, between me and Ijaaz (not his real name), who is basically working-class, are recounted below, roughly translated into English:
1st conversation:
Ijaaz: You
sure have a lot of money.
Preetum: Well,
Lukshmi [the Hindu goddess of wealth] gives it to me,
and I accept it gratefully.
Ijaaz: O what can Lukshmi do? It’s Ullah that gives
it to you.
Preetum: That’s
according to your concepts, not mine.
Ijaaz: Yes.
2nd conversation (a couple of days later):
Preetum: You
know, I’ve got the answer to what you said the other
day about Lukshmi and Ullah.
Ijaaz: Oh yeah?
Preetum: Yes, in reality, Lukshmi is Ullah’s aunt, the way a cat is said to be a lion’s aunt [as per an Urdu saying regarding those two feline species]. So, whatever a nephew can do, his aunt can also do!
Ijaaz (seeming to digest the above): Well, yes.
938. For people who tell lies,
whether routinely or occasionally, the world is full of terrors, a new one at
every turn, to be dodged at any cost. On the other hand, people who never tell
lies are not really afraid of what the future, near or distant, may hold in
store for them; if they’re challenged to explain their behaviour by someone
having legitimate authority to do so, explain their behaviour they will,
forthrightly and without squirming or equivocating.
939. Right now, it’s about
6.30 a.m. Pakistani time on 7 Nov. ’19; but, interestingly enough, I’m sitting,
not in Pakistan, but at Juddah airport, Saudi Arabia, where it’s 4.30 a.m. I’m
waiting for the flight due to leave for New York in about two hours’ time to
begin boarding passengers. I have a return plane ticket from Islamabad to New
York, stopping for a few hours in Juddah both ways, arriving back in Islamabad
on New Year’s Eve. I’m travelling by air after 47 years, so finding it fairly
exciting. More exciting, however, though also much more complex, is what I may
accomplish, or fail to accomplish, during my stay in New York. The urgent
impetus for this trip has been the seriously challenged physical and mental
health conditions of my only and elderly sister, living all by herself in New
York, and diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease about five years ago. My sister’s
condition appears to have suddenly and greatly deteriorated over the past month
or so, and judging mainly by the manner in which she’s been speaking to me on
the phone during this period of time, she no longer seems to be capable of
living alone in her Elmhurst, Queens apartment. So, when I’m in New York, I
should be able to get a much better idea of what might constitute my sister's other future options. Moreover, I also
want to get treatment in the U.S. for some of my own medical conditions, most
importantly the awful binocular diplopia (double vision) that has afflicted me
since July ’18, and my occasionally painful inguinal hernia, which has very
slowly been getting worse since being diagnosed in July ’15. Furthermore, I’d
also like to get in touch in New York with one or more publishers willing to
publish my three (arguably four) completed manuscripts on mutually acceptable
terms. Quite a tall order for an eight-week-long trip! But the important thing,
surely, is to make an intelligent, brave and responsible attempt, regardless of what may ensue subsequently.
940. It’s about 4 p.m.
Pakistani time on 7 Nov. ’19 now, and I’m sitting in my window seat in the
flight from Juddah to New York, which has already been in the air for about 7½
hours (about 6 more to go). I’ve been getting a pretty spectacular view
from the window inches away from my face, despite my seriously problematic
diplopia: I’m wearing an eye-patch that covers my left eye when I look at
distant objects, such as through this plane window, but which I slide to cover
my right eye to look at near objects, such as the piece of paper on which I'm
writing this (it's easier to write in a flying plane than in a moving car). The
two most interesting views through the window so far have been when we flew
over the Swiss and French Alps, with fair amounts of snow already on them, and
secondly, the sight of scattered fluffy white clouds well below us, but of course well above
the people on the ground and those at sea (we appear to be crossing the vast
blue Atlantic now). So, flying at such high altitudes does give one a
significantly different perspective than that available at ground-level. Hence,
on a cloudy or rainy day back on earth, it may be just as well to remember
that, higher than the clouds, it’s never cloudy but always sunny, except when
it’s night and there’s no sun shining at all.
941. Perhaps death, or the
start of it, will be like sitting in an aeroplane heading towards an unknown
destination.
942. After spending 54
difficult days in New York, I’m now sitting in the Saudi Arabian Airlines plane
that is taking me to the Saudi capital Riyaaz, from where another plane of the
same airline will fly me to Islamabad. It’s about 5.45 p.m. U.S. Eastern Time
on 31 Dec. ’19, and since we’re flying east, we’ll meet (and greet) the New
Year 2020 perhaps a couple of hours sooner than it arrives in America. Why were
my 54 days in New York as difficult as they were? Principally because my
sister’s health, to check up on which was the main purpose of my trip (see No.
939 above), turned out to be much worse than I’d anticipated, and she needed
round-the-clock help with performing her ADLs (activities of daily living). She
has no family other than me, and of course no personal servants, though for about
the last half of my visit, we were able to arrange, through the local health
authorities, some ‘home aides’ to look after my sister for a few (maximum six)
hours a day. But for the other (minimum eighteen) hours a day, I had to take
care of her, which task was made much more (sometimes almost unbearably)
difficult by her inability to face reality or her nexus of deep-seated
psychological problems. Add to that my half-blindness on account of my
unremitting binocular diplopia (double vision), for which even the
ophthalmologists at Elmhurst Hospital, thorough as they were in examining my
eyes, could suggest no remedy other than prism glasses or surgery, both of
which options I’m far from eager about. I felt severely handicapped by my
eyesight problem in the unfamiliar surroundings of New York, would sometimes
lose my way, and remained hesitant about travelling by subway (underground)
trains, which I actually did only once. During the last two or three weeks of
my trip, what greatly increased the strain and tension I was under was the
issue of whether my sister should return with me to Pakistan, which option, in
the obtaining circumstances, seemed to me undeniably better than the
option of her staying alone in her apartment, the presence of the ‘home aides’
for a few hours a day notwithstanding. But my sister, employing perverse and
illogical arguments, strove indefatigably to deny the undeniable, and finally
this morning refused outright to accompany me, though her air-ticket had been
bought, with much difficulty, some two weeks ago. So, I’m returning alone to
Pakistan, on two plane seats, with mixed feelings about the success or
otherwise of my mission (of sorts) to New York. I think I have the satisfaction
that I tried my very best. I’m longing to get back to my two cat-daughters,
Minty and Brownie, and my three dog-children, Sungi, Laila and Gülloo.
943. Apart from my severely
strained relations with my sister during the 54 days I spent in New York
recently (7 Nov. to 31 Dec. ’19), I want to mention two other seriously
annoying features of life in NYC. Firstly, everyone there uses the
Western-style w.c. when they need to relieve themselves, women sitting on the
plastic seat for both urination and defecation, and men generally only for the
latter function. Toilet paper is (almost) always available, but the facility to
wash one’s private parts with water is extremely rare. Even if one procures a
beaker or jug to fill with water with which to wash one’s anal area after
passing a motion, there is no place where one can squat comfortably during the
washing process, and no convenient exit point for the dirty water; the best one
can do is to remain seated on the toilet seat, knees apart in a ‘V’ position,
and push one hand between one’s thighs (more difficult for men than women, naturally), while pouring
water from the jug into the ‘V’s apex, using one’s other hand. The whole
operation is so much more satisfactory (and hygienic) if one uses the
Paki-style w.c., featuring an elongated receptacle that one squats over to
defecate, then uses toilet paper, and then washes the anal area properly with
hot water (followed, of course, by washing one’s hands with soap). Hence I
strongly advocate a toilet revolution worldwide, which will make universally
available the facility of using both the sit-on and squat-over types of w.c.
For starters, in a well-publicized move, squat-over w.c.’s should be installed,
in addition to the sit-on ones already there, in all the bathrooms of the White
House in Washington!
The second (somewhat similar) seriously
annoying feature of NYC life that I want to mention is the complete absence of
public toilets. This results in significant inconvenience, not so much for the
locals, but definitely and dauntingly for visitors to the city, who can only
risk being on the streets for the limited amount of time that they don’t need
to relieve themselves. London, with its scattering of ‘public conveniences’, is
much better and more civilized in this respect; New York badly needs to catch
up, on a top-priority basis.
944. Back home in Abbottabad,
Pakistan for almost two-and-a-half months now, I frequently feel appalled and distressed at the sight of stray dogs
and cats (especially the former): hungry, disease-ridden, sometimes grievously
injured, with no one so much as batting an eyelid at their condition. What an
unenlightened, callous and resourceless society this is, in this respect!
945. Life after seventy, for
men and women: a life-and-death struggle, which of course will ultimately be
won by death. But penultimately,
isn’t it possible for one to score significant victories, in the form of
establishing or maintaining mutually satisfying relationships with other people
and animals? There seems to be no compelling reason why this shouldn’t be
possible, if one goes about it with honesty, courage and intelligence, except
when these very qualities are vitiated by serious illness or senile
decrepitude.
946. Whether it be with regard
to abstract concepts and notions, or to people’s thoughts and feelings, it’s extremely
important and beneficial, over the course of one’s lifetime, to become adept at
differentiating the authentic from the counterfeit.
947. The strong recommendation
that I made towards the end of the first para of No. 943 above, for a worldwide
toilet revolution, which would make universally available the facility of using
both the sit-on and squat-over types of w.c., merits even more serious
consideration now that the whole world is plunged in the coronavirus crisis.
For, think about it: nearly all Westerners use a sit-on w.c. for defecation,
then wipe their anal cleft with dry toilet-paper, and – probably – most of them
don’t wash their hands afterwards, loos in the West often not being equipped
with a wash-basin. So, if a person infected with coronavirus follows this
common but unhygienic procedure, he is very likely to spread the virus by means
of all the surfaces he touches immediately afterwards. On the contrary, if an
infected person defecates over a squat-over w.c., and then first uses toilet-paper
and then (hot) water to clean his anal area, he is sure to wash his hands
afterwards, with soap and hot water if available, and so be much less likely to
transmit the virus to others. Much as I admire Western civilization in several
ways, I have to say that in this respect, and especially in the current crisis,
Westerners lag dangerously behind, and can learn a thing or two, even from
ordinary impecunious Pakistanis.
948. Some good news and some
bad news – or perhaps more accurately, at this stage, some good expectations
and some bad apprehensions. First the bad. As I write this with a marker
(fine-pointed felt-pen) on a page of my drafts register, my right hand is not
quite steady, and my handwriting not nearly as elegant and precise as it used
to be. This could well be one of the earliest symptoms of Parkinson’s disease
(PD) or, less likely, of essential tremor (ET): I have yet to get a
neurologist’s diagnosis. However, having witnessed the devastating effects PD
(of the type known as PIGD – postural instability and gait disorder) has had on
my elder sister, who was diagnosed with the ailment between five and six years
ago, the apprehension is real (though, curiously, not very scary) that I may
have to face similar devastation in five or six years’ time.
The good, but perhaps too unrealistically
hopeful, expectations concern my relationship with Ijaaz (not his real name),
who’s been mentioned several times in preceding Reflections. The
best-case scenario of the current state of our relationship may – hopefully –
be expressed by the following first stanza of A Ditty (Golden
Treasury version) by Sir Philip Sidney (1554 – 1586):
My true-love hath my heart, and I have his,
By just exchange
one for the other given:
I hold his dear, and mine he cannot
miss;
There never was a
better bargain driven:
My true-love
hath my heart, and I have his.
I can barely dare to hope
that, at seventy and in poor health, such joy may still be in store for me –
suspected incipient PD and the coronavirus pandemic notwithstanding!
949. Ijaaz (see above) is
forty-four, tall (and thin), good-looking, light-complexioned, quite
intelligent (but unintellectual), working-class, uneffeminate, diligent, kind
and considerate, sensitive, self-respecting, good to and with my pets, and has
a nice sense of humour: I could hardly ask for more in a partner. The foregoing
attribution of qualities to Ijaaz would suggest, wouldn’t it, that I feel
strong affection for him. However, the tricky point here is whether I really
have genuine affection for him, or whether the attraction I feel for him
is masquerading as affection; in previous actual or wished-for intimacies, it
has tended to be the latter. I dearly hope it’s different this time round.
950. While FDR, at least to
Americans, usually means Franklin Delano Roosevelt, their War-time President,
MDR, for me, stands for mysterious divine reality, an
appellation that I have contrived, after decades of thinking about it, in
preference to ‘God’ or ‘gods’ or even (the Lawrencian term) ‘God-mystery’. The
concepts of both ‘God’ and ‘gods’ involve, in slightly different ways, the deification
of divinity, which in itself is a big mistake, leading to mental and material
idolatry respectively, the mental idol being the Deity of monotheists and the
material idols the various represented deities of polytheists. In contrast,
when I invoke or pray to MDR (sometimes, for rhyme, adding ‘whatever you are’),
I avoid divinity’s deification altogether, and hence both mental and material
forms of idolatry as well.
951. Whatever else death may
or may not be, it’s incontrovertibly a disjunction: it finally and
irrevocably separates one’s physical and non-physical selves, and freezes all
one’s relationships in their tracks. But, says Lawrence in his short essay, Love:
‘Love is a coming together. But there can be no coming together without an
equivalent going asunder.’ Implied, though not stated, is that there can be no
going asunder without an equivalent coming together. Death, plainly, is a going
asunder, so it must be followed by some sort of coming together: that’s quite
enough consolation for the likes of me!
*952. Yesterday, 1 May ’20, I
celebrated the 12th birthday of my beloved cat-daughter, Minty. Minty came to
us around 20 May 2008, when she looked about three weeks old; so I’ve
retrospectively nominated 1 May as her birthday. Yesterday, in the middle of
horrid Rumzaan (Ramadan) and the coronavirus crisis, I invited two old friends
to afternoon tea, having ordered a three-pound special chocolate-almond-walnut
birthday cake (photo below) and some other delectables. We had a good time
together, though of course the birthday-girl
wasn’t fed any of the cake or savoury items. According to the Cats’ Age
Conversion Chart on About.com, when a cat is 12 years old, she’s at the same
stage of life that a human reaches at 64; so little Minty is already in late
middle-age! In two years’ time, at 14, she’ll catch up with me in age: we’ll
both be (the equivalent of) 72 human years old! Of course, I’d rather that
Minty dies before I do, for the converse would almost certainly mean neglect
and ill-treatment for her in her old age.
953. I believe that now, about two-thirds into my 71st year, I’ve really and truly done what I have wanted and tried to do for at least the last half-century, i.e. live as fully as I possibly can! It sure hasn’t been easy, but all that rigorous struggling, in the event, has been well worth it. Even death, whenever it occurs, cannot undo what’s already been done and dusted! Good for me!
954. Thank God, the worst and
most egregiously hypocritical month in the Muslim calendar, Rumzaan (Ramadan),
has finally come to an end this year; yesterday was Eed-ul-Fitur, the post-Rumzaan
festival, itself a fairly scatter-brained affair. Next year, I fervently hope
to be able to spend the whole of this wretched month in a non-Muslim country –
having made arrangements beforehand for my cats and dogs to be properly looked
after in my absence.
*955. One week ago, on Friday,
22 May ’20, my beloved cat, Minty (see No. 952 above), suffered a terrible
mishap. Although, since about a year back, I’d fenced off the open space in
front of and along the sides of my house, where my three dogs romp about, from
the space at the back of the house, constituting a safe haven for my two cats,
somehow or other, early last Friday morning, Minty had managed to appear on our
scruffy front lawn, where she was violently set upon by the three dogs, Sungi,
Laila and Gülloo. At the time, I was
asleep in bed in my bedroom at the back of the house, but, through my sleep,
heard what sounded like Sungi’s continual whining. Upon asking my manservant,
Humayoon, about the noise, I was told that Minty had been attacked and injured
by the dogs, so he had tied up Sungi and Laila. When I reached the
‘crime-scene’, I saw little Minty wedged uncomfortably in the fork of a loquat
tree, dishevelled, distraught and angry. I went back in to fetch a
double-zipped pet carrier-bag, and on returning saw that Minty had jumped or
fallen from her perch, and was on the ground in a quivering heap, bleeding from
two or three places. She let me pick her up and put her in the carrier-bag, by
which means I then brought her back to my (and her) bedroom. It was obvious
that she was badly injured and her left hind leg was broken.
For the following six days, poor little
Minty suffered pain and anguish with a patience and steadfastness I’d scarcely
thought possible in an animal, and which could put most humans to shame,
thereby earning my respect, in addition to the love I already had for
her. A ‘digital’ x-ray done some eight hours after her mishap showed that her
shin-bone (tibia) had been smashed just below its junction with the thigh-bone
(femur). However, the best treatment I could get for her, after hectic efforts,
from both military and civilian veterinarians in Abbottabad, was fairly
perfunctory and inadequate. Three times, she was attempted to be put on a
dextrose drip, the second time abortively because the correct tiny vein in her
foreleg couldn’t be accessed. Minty became progressively weaker because she
hardly ate anything, though she would intermittently lick up some water. On
Thursday, 28 May, when the government civilian veterinary dispensaries opened
after the unconscionably long 5-day break for the weekend plus Eed, I took
Minty by taxi to the one in Mundian, about five miles from our house. The
doctors there didn’t put her on a drip again, which I think they should have
done, but instead put a plaster-of-Paris bandage tightly round her fractured
leg, and sent us home. The same evening, at about 8.45 p.m., after nothing
short of a valiant struggle with impending death, Minty breathed her last,
while I was stroking her fur and kissing her. Soon after that, I laid her in
the little grave that I’d got dug up beforehand, about six feet from my bedroom
window. After kissing her again, I started shovelling earth over her, stopping
for a bit before covering her head, and taking a photo (below) in which she
appears asleep (though with an open, glazed eye), tucked up in a blanket of
earth.
Minty was my room-mate for about 12 years,
whereas I have never, since late adolescence, shared a room with another person
for even 12 days! She was like a beloved daughter to me, and I’m missing her
enormously. Still, in a way I’m glad that she died when she did – at 12 years
old, which is the equivalent of 64 in human years, and covers a good 17% of my
lifetime till now. My relationship with her was about as complete and natural
as any person can ever have had with an
animal. And you know what? I’m sure as eggs is eggs and cats are cats, that my
relationship with Minty is still not completely over, and will continue in some
manner, shape or form, after I, too, kick the bucket: for it’s been an article
of faith with me for a long time now that love is stronger than death,
and that the former will always find a way round the latter.
Minty Giani (2008 – 2020)
R.I.P.
*956. Had I not adopted my dog,
Sungi, in November 2017 (see my full-length essay Pet Antecedents), I
subsequently probably wouldn’t have adopted Laila, Gülloo or Biscuit either,
and in that case Minty wouldn’t have been attacked and fatally injured by my
dogs on 22 May ’20. However, it’s not as if I didn’t know at the time of
adopting the dogs that it could well be at the cost of my cats’
well-being; I did know, quite clearly, that such could be the case. So, then,
why did I choose to imperil my cats’ lives by adopting the dogs? Well, in
Sungi’s case, he would surely have died of mange, malnutrition and cold had I
not adopted him (see photos below). He evidently had
Sungi in November
2017 Sungi & me in August
2019
never had a home, whereas
Minty, by then, had already enjoyed living in a comfortable and caring one,
ours, for 9½ years, and Brownie, my other cat, likewise for about 7½ years. So,
according to the strictly logical computation of comparative needs, Sungi’s
need for a home, at that point in time, was much greater than theirs. In an
incident that occurred in April 2019 (a bit over a year ago), Brownie was
attacked but not noticeably injured by my dogs, who had come towards the back
side of our house, supposed to be reserved for the cats (see Nos. 907 and 908
above). After that deeply troubling incident, I had two strong wire fences
installed, which subsequently effectively prevented the dogs from coming to the
back of the house again. On 22 May ’20, Minty
must have climbed our roof from the back, which both
cats often did, but then unfortunately strayed to the front and climbed down or
fallen off, with disastrous consequences. What an indictment it is, though, of
this miserable, animal-unfriendly society in which I live, that, in order to
provide a home to some homeless dogs, I had, in effect, to sacrifice the life
of my best-loved cat! To Minty’s disembodied spirit, I want to say: Please
forgive me for what happened to you in the last seven days of your earthly
existence. Thank you for all the joy that you brought into my life for twelve
long years. I shall always love you!
957. I wonder if I’m the only
person on the planet who feels that the current caronavirus pandemic has made
life (and death) more, not less, interesting. It’s brought down modern people’s
techno-arrogance by a peg or two, and exposed ‘world leaders’ from Trump to
Imran Khan as little better than feckless, dithering idiots. People in general,
thankfully, are a little more likely now to appear as their true, vulnerable
selves.
958. When I used to lovingly
stroke the fur of my dearest cat, Minty, who died 25 days ago, and she looked
at me and purred, it was not as if ‘God’ was watching the scene
approvingly from above; instead, I felt sure that I was in direct
visual, tactile and aural contact with divinity itself, with no need at all for
any third-party approval (or disapproval). Now that Minty no longer exists in
the flesh, which precludes perception of her by means of any of my five senses,
the situation is somewhat different. But perhaps I can still have some sort of
direct, exclusive spiritual contact with her disembodied spirit. I hope
so. And, in any case, I honestly expect to meet up with her, one way or
another, once my own spirit is finally disembodied (what an adventure that
process is likely to be!).
959. Up to (and including) the
nineteenth century, at least in the West, it was considered normal and natural
to express contempt for people and things that one found contemptible. But
gradually, over the course of the twentieth century and the first two decades
of the twenty-first, it became increasingly objectionable and ‘politically
incorrect’ to express contempt for anyone or anything. Moreover, even highly
educated people today are unable to differentiate clearly between contempt and
hate. In actual fact, while the two feelings often overlap, in themselves they
are quite different. For instance, I’ve always felt (and still feel) a
part-amused, part-disdainful contempt for conventionally religiose people
(belonging to any religion), especially of the voluble proselytizing sort. Yet
I usually don’t feel any (or much) hatred for such people, unless they also
happen to be exceptionally obnoxious and/or pushy.
960. Everything considered, I really
find animals nicer to have around me than humans, the latter almost
invariably being pretty badly ‘fucked-up’ inside (i.e. neurotic – in the
colloquial or/and clinical sense – or worse), in one way or another.
961. While I’m not against
the routine killing of certain animals for food, if it is conducted in a quick,
efficient and humane manner, I do find the institutionalized cruelty unleashed
on ‘sacrificial’ animals in the Muslim world every year at Eed-ul-Uzha to be
distressing, disgraceful and deplorable. I’d greatly appreciate it if anyone
who can think of any sort of practicable plan to prevent or curb this bloody
annual sanctified savagery would get in touch with me.
962.
Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 87
Farewell!
thou art too dear for my possessing,
And
like enough thou know’st thy estimate:
The
charter of thy worth gives thee releasing;
My
bonds in thee are all determinate.
For
how do I hold thee but by thy granting?
And
for that riches where is my deserving?
The
cause of this fair gift in me is wanting,
And
so my patent back again is swerving.
Thyself
thou gav’st, thy own worth then not knowing,
Or
me, to whom thou gav’st it, else mistaking;
So
thy great gift, upon misprision growing,
Comes
home again, on better judgement making.
Thus
have I had thee as a dream doth flatter:
In
sleep a king, but waking no such matter.
Modern English Translation
Goodbye! You are too precious
for me to possess,
And very likely your worth
you’re well aware of.
Your manifold merits warrant
your release;
My claims on you are all
quite circumscribed.
For I only have you because
you grant that I may,
And not because I deserve
that wealth at all;
There’s no justification in
me for your lovely gift,
So now it’s swerving back to
you again.
You gave yourself, not
knowing then your value,
Or else misjudging my, the
recipient’s, worth.
Hence your wonderful gift,
given in misapprehension,
On subsequent realization,
rebounds to its source.
Thus my having you has been
like, in a deceptive dream,
One may be a big big-shot,
but on waking, nothing of the sort.
963.
Shakespeare’s Sonnet No. 71
No
longer mourn for me when I am dead
Than
you shall hear the surly sullen bell
Give
warning to the world that I am fled
From
this vile world, with vilest worms to dwell.
Nay,
if you read this line, remember not
The
hand that writ it; for I love you so,
That
I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot,
If
thinking on me then should make you woe.
O
if, I say, you look upon this verse
When
I perhaps compounded am with clay,
Do
not so much as my poor name rehearse,
But
let your love even with my life decay;
Lest
the wise world should look into your moan,
And
mock you with me after I am gone.
Modern English Translation
Don’t mourn for me when I am
dead, for longer
Than you do hear the
melancholy bell
Announce to all and sundry
that I have left
This horrid world, to stay
with most horrid worms.
Indeed, if you read this
line, try not to remember
The hand that wrote it; for I
love you so much
That, in your sweet thoughts,
I’d rather be forgotten,
Than that your thinking of me
then should make you grieve.
So, as I say, if you happen
to read these lines
When I am mixed and merged
with mud,
Don’t even repeat my name
aloud,
But let your love, along with
my life, abate:
Lest cunning people pry into
your grief,
And taunt you about me,
posthumously.
[See, also, Nos. 609 &
610 above.]
964. If it weren’t for the
wisdom and sanity of death, life on earth would be completely insane and
intolerable. Just imagine the scene if, from tomorrow, people, animals, plants
and microbes (including the Corona and AIDS viruses) simply stopped dying!
965. Life, at its finest,
feels very much like a voyage of discovery; even though all shades of pain can
accompany the discovery of various sorts of truth, the delight of discovering
any sort of hitherto undiscovered truth is inherently and deeply exciting and
fulfilling.
966. One of my literary old
university friends thinks that these Reflections on Reality of mine are,
at least in part, the pretentious ruminations of a would-be sage, the word
‘sage’ of course being employed ironically and pejoratively. But, quite apart
from my desire or lack thereof to be (or be considered) a sage, what is wrong
with anyone being, or wanting to be, a sage, provided they resort to no
fakery or deception (including self-deception)? And why shouldn’t any genuine
sage be accorded maximum appreciation in the modern world, where there is
arguably a surplus of knowledge but a deficit of wisdom? Specialists in pretty
much every branch of knowledge abound today, but specialists in wisdom are
quite as scarce as they have always been. Going back just two centuries, one
can probably count on the fingers of one hand the sages that the nineteenth and
twentieth centuries each produced planet-wide. Among nineteenth century sages,
I’d include Wordsworth (ironically enough), Darwin, Thomas Hardy, and the great Urdu
poet, Mirza Ghalib; in the twentieth century, my pick would be Freud, D.H.
Lawrence, Einstein and, possibly, Rabindranath Tagore. The twenty-first
century, in this respect, has yet to show its hand! In my (very un-sage-like?)
opinion, even compared to a saint, a sage is, and has always been, a (much less
contentiously) worthier person.
967. With barely two weeks
left to my 71st birthday, my relationship with Ijaaz (not his real name) is
showing some signs of becoming (hopefully mutually) more fulfilling. The other
day, he let me see (for the first time) his naked very light-coloured left
buttock, above which he was showing me the scar from a (probable) insect-bite.
I was pretty much bowled over, and gently kissed the putative insect-bite scar,
while even more gently placing the side of my right hand against the cleft of
his buttocks, before he yanked up his sulvaar (see No. 914 above), and
the show was over! On the other hand, since my inguinal hernia operation a
little over five weeks ago, Ijaaz, apparently very willingly, has been helping
to disinfect and dress the incision (made in my left pubic area), before and
after the removal of the stitches. He laughs, it seems to me part-embarrassedly
and part-gleefully, when I start getting an erection (not much more than that
can be expected to happen any longer, except with the aid of a vasodilator like
Viagra), and lets me briefly fondle with my hand his privates, front and back.
It’s taken me almost two years to get as far as this with Ijaaz; I’m hoping
that the next six months will see a dramatic increase in our intimacy, both
physical and emotional, while also hoping that I continue to bear in mind that
hopes keep getting dashed all the time.
968. I’m pretty sure that I’ve
commented before, somewhere in these jottings, on Keats’s breathless
proclamation that ‘beauty is truth, truth beauty’, but I’d like to comment once
more, somewhat differently, on that sweeping, almost proverb-like contention.
Yes, beauty is truth, but usually not the whole truth, and
sometimes no more than a tiny sliver of it. Or, put another way, beauty can
sometimes be like the exquisite icing on a cake that has gone wholly rancid.
969. If death is synonymous
with the spirit’s disembodiment, it should also be synonymous with its de-incarnation;
by the same token, conception (not birth) should be considered synonymous with
the spirit’s embodiment or (re)incarnation. What an inviolable
and unfathomable mystery!
970. At around 5.30 early this
morning (before going properly to bed!), I did a Google search
concerning the following question: Why are male homosexuals almost
invariably promiscuous but lesbians famously monogamous? In response,
underneath the blurb, ‘About 685,000 results (0.54 seconds)’, there appeared,
to Auntie Google’s credit it should be admitted, the intimation: ‘It looks like
there aren’t any great matches for your search’. Nevertheless, Auntie did come
up with a list of ten articles (on the first page) concerning various aspects
of homosexuality. Out of these, the one most relevant to my query seems to be
the curiously titled The thing about lesbians and gay men is . . . by
Jake Kroeger, dated 6 November 2017. (https://www.tcs.cam.ac.uk/the-thing-about-lesbians-and-gay-men-is/).
In it, the author, identifying himself as a gay man, asserts that there is an
enormous casual sex culture involving gay men, but no corresponding lesbian
casual sex culture worth the name, to account for which difference he mentions
a number of social and psychological factors. Another of the articles listed by
Google, dated summer 1997, quotes Ogden Nash’s ‘widely-shared stereotype’
encapsulated in the jingle, hogamus higamus, men are polygamous; higamus
hogamus, women monogamous. So the explanation for the distinct difference
in the extent of promiscuity prevalent among gay men and lesbians seems to be differences
in both nature and nurture. What exactly these differences are, however,
I’d like to gain further insight into.
971. Listening repeatedly for
the last couple of days to an audio-cassette of old Indian film-songs, I’m
struck by the refrain of one of them, a duet sung by Shumshad Begum and Lata
Mangeshkar for the film Babul (1950), the song-writer being the renowned
Shukeel Budayooni. Below is presented the said refrain, first transliterated
and then translated by me.
Transliteration:
kisee kay dil mayn rehna tha,
to mairay dil mayn
kyoon aa‘ay?
busaee thee koee
mehfil,
to iss mehfil mayn
kyoon aa‘ay?
Translation:
If you were to stay in
someone else’s heart,
Then why into my
heart did you enter?
If you had set up camp
somewhere else,
Then why into this
camp did you venture?
It’s on the rare side for
Indian film-songs, especially new ones but even the golden oldies, to muster
this degree of ‘emotional intelligence’ or ‘logic of the heart’.
972. It goes without saying,
that every human being on earth makes some mistakes some time or other,
usually multiple times every day. However, out of the various skills that
constitute the art of living, an important and useful one is the ability to
realize, really quickly (or instantaneously) after making a mistake, that one
has erred. That leads to one’s mind starting to work at once to devise a way
(or ways) to undo the damage, to oneself or/and others, that that particular
mistake is expected to entail: the sooner such damage-control is initiated, the
better for everyone concerned.
973. The other day, while
reading Harry T. Moore’s Introduction to a selection of Lawrence’s essays,
titled D.H. Lawrence and the Censor-Morons, dated Easter 1953, I came
across the following passage:
Most recently, Lawrence’s old friend Aldous Huxley, in The Devils of
Loudon, published in 1952, made a passing reference to ‘the sexuality of
Eden and the sexuality of the sewer,’ pointing out that ‘there is an element in
sexuality which is innocent, and there is an element in sexuality which is
morally and aesthetically squalid. . . . Jean Genet, with horrifying power and
copious detail,’ has dealt with the latter, while ‘D.H. Lawrence has written
very beautifully of the first,’ the sexuality of Eden.
Well, I’m not so sure about
any of that, and feel uncomfortable with the dichotomy of sexuality into that
‘of Eden’ and that ‘of the sewer’. It would be more realistic to think in terms
of a spectrum of human sexuality, from the very crude to the
over-refined. The phrase ‘the sexuality of Eden’ strikes me as particularly unfelicitous
and priggish. Also, if Aldous Huxley found Jean Genet’s writing ‘powerful’, how
could he at the same time be ‘horrified’ by it? Unless he meant it in the sense
that the stench from a sewer can be ‘powerful’! But that’s not the sense
in which any writer’s writing can normally be considered ‘powerful’. In
literature, true ‘power’ (not mere novelty) is directly proportionate to
excellence.
974.
Right now, it's about 3.25 a.m. Pakistani time on Wednesday, 30 Sept. ’20, and
about 6.25 p.m. New York time on Tuesday, 29 Sept.; however, I'm neither in
Pakistan nor New York, but in mid-air, flying from Islamabad to New York, with
a shortish stopover in Abu Zhubi (Dhabi). As I mentioned in an earlier Reflection (No.
940), writing in an airborne plane is usually easier than writing in a moving
car. Why am I flying to New York again, though, only nine months after my last,
arguably unsuccessful trip? Well, my only and elderly sister has been shut up
in an NYC nursing home called Regal Heights for the last 3½ months; she is not being allowed to return home
because of inadequate arrangements there for her to be looked after. So what
will I be able to do about that situation? Hopefully, a good
deal, especially if I'm accorded, on application to the relevant local
lawcourt, my sister's guardianship. That will enable me to sign on her behalf
on documents relating to matters important to her welfare, but on which she can
no longer take appropriate decisions. By the end of my proposed 55-day-long
stay in New York, it should become clear(er) whether or not it’s going to work
out that way.
975.
Follows a set of recommendations concerning the three important human feelings
of love, hate and respect: Love whoever and whatever is lovable; hate whoever
or whatever is hateful; respect (only) whoever and whatever is respectable. If
your neighbours are not lovable – most neighbours aren’t – don’t try to love
them, for that (the deliberate effort) will make you subconsciously hate them;
just be as considerate towards them as you can (even if they
are not considerate towards you – don’t stoop to their level). If anyone,
because of their behaviour, feels hateful to you, don't pretend otherwise to
yourself; learn to express your hate appropriately, without letting it
overwhelm you (‘don't get mad, get even’, as the saying goes). If,
unfortunately, your parents or (any of) your bosses at work happen not to
be respectable, don’t feel obliged to respect them (no matter
what any religion’s ‘scriptures’ may exhort to the contrary); give everyone
only as much respect as they deserve. However, in the case of people (not
things or ideas), even the lack of love or respect for them, or the greatest
intensity of hatred felt towards them, should all invariably be tempered with
compassion.
976.
(See second sentence of No. 972 above.) Among the various skills that
constitute the art of living, another important one, though in itself more of a
faculty than a skill, is foresight, i.e. being able to gauge to a significant
extent beforehand what the consequences of one’s (and others’)
actions and omissions are going to be. This is a faculty that no one is overtly
born with, but which everyone should try to develop and enhance until they die.
The main way of making one’s foresight more accurate and reliable is to
judiciously use one's hindsight, i.e. to investigate honestly and accurately
which specific causes, in the past, led to which specific effects.
Mathematically, this might be represented as: foresight + hindsight = insight.
977.
What, I think, distinguishes me from most other people is that, now at 71 years
old, I'm pretty much wholly myself. By contrast, most people are
not nearly wholly themselves, but rather (each one is) a ragbag of partially
assimilated influences, as I too used to be till my thirties, forties and even
fifties. Perhaps the best example that I can give, in my own case, is of the
enormous influence of D.H. Lawrence that I came under in 1969-70, my second
year at university (see my nominally fictionalized essay, The Man Who
Read Lawrence). For about forty years, Lawrence's influence was so strong
that I was unable to fully assimilate or 'digest' it, resulting in a degree of
mental indigestion: no one at all, I thought, could be compared favourably with
him, and almost no adverse criticism of his work was possible. But slowly and
gradually, complete assimilation of Lawrence's influence took place in my mind,
so that I became able to clearly see both the (many outstanding) merits and the
(few but not insignificant) demerits of his writings, which ability signified further
liberation of my critical sense, and enabled me to become more unequivocally
myself.
978.
In an e-mail to me some months ago, an old friend of mine suggested that I
should write my autobiography before I die. In my reply I said, to the effect,
that I didn't think I would bother to do so, but that these Reflections constituted
a sort of autobiography-substitute, especially as, arguably, my thoughts were
more interesting than my life. However, were I some day to
write my autobiography, I already know what would be an appropriate title for
it, namely No Regrets, No Complaints. Now, how does that sound? A
possible objection to that title could be along the following lines: O.K.,
so it's understandable that you have no regrets regarding your life any more, but
didn’t anyone at all mistreat you as a child or adult, about which you'd like
to complain in writing? Well, the question is a valid one, so needs to
be answered carefully. Mistreatment of or misbehaviour towards children is a
common phenomenon, but it needn't always lead to long-lasting psychological
damage; most people have an inbuilt psychological counterpart of their physical
immune system, which helps them to outgrow the worst effects of traumatic
childhood experiences. That seems to be true in my case. As for suffering
mistreatment from anyone after I'd become an adult: if it
happened, why did I let it happen? Far better, therefore, than
complaining about others, or holding grudges against them, is to psychoanalyse
myself as best I can. That way, the hoped-for end-result is a sort of nirvana (total
release) from regrets and complaints.
979.
The only thing that can be more real than any particular reality, and so in a
sense trump it, is another more significant reality. Ultimately, of course, all
realities, both less and more significant, form varyingly bright facets of the
single resplendent diamond of reality.
980.
A saying (or proverb) in Urdu that I've always been fond of, and quote
occasionally when speaking in that language, can be transliterated thus: dhoondnay
say khuda bhi mil jaata hai, translatable as ‘By searching you can even
find God’. The subtle implication here is that you cannot find
God without searching. The second more obvious implication is that by searching
you can find anything and everything, including God. The way that I interpret
the saying is that ‘God’ is not a deity to be appeased and flattered by means
of religious observances, but an unfathomable (though not imponderable) mystery
that you can come to experience (transiently or consistently) if you search
long and hard enough.
981. My first language being
English, I usually think, read and write in this language. However, when
speaking in Urdu, I’m mostly thinking in that language, and, very occasionally,
manage to write something in it, too. A few months ago, I wrote a short
dialogue (of sorts) in Urdu, which I’ll transliterate and then translate,
below:
aik mükhtusur, neem-furzi güftugoo
Preetum (Ijaaz kay
surr ko chhoomtay hüay):
uggur mayn nay koee chhoti kussum khhani ho, to mayn keh sukta hoon, ‘tairay
pyaaray surr ki kussum.’ muggur, uggur mayn nay koee burri kussum khhani ho, to
kuhoon ga, ‘tairi huseen gaand ki kussum!’
Ijaaz (müskuraatay hüay): tauba, tauba, tauba . . .
A brief, half-imaginary conversation
Preetum (kissing Ijaaz’s head): If I have to take a minor
oath, I can say, ‘I swear by your dear head.’ But, if I have to take a major
oath, then I’ll say, ‘I swear by your lovely arse!’
Ijaaz (smiling from ear to ear): Tauba*, tauba,
tauba . . .
*An
exclamation similar in meaning to ‘God forbid!’
982. Today, Tuesday 24
November ’20, was the originally scheduled date of my return flight to Pakistan
(from NYC). However, I first postponed it to 3 December, and then to 8 Dec., on
account of altered travel plans and my need to stay here a little longer, in
order to better monitor my invalid sister’s options for the (near) future.
Today also marks six months since my
best-loved cat, Minty’s death, which occurred in Abbottabad (Pakistan) on 24
May ’20* (see Nos. 955 & 956 above). During this half-year, I’ve missed
Minty a lot, on par with (if not more than) if she’d been my natural daughter.
The last time that I flew back from NYC to Islamabad on 31 Dec. ’19, I had been
eagerly looking forward to being again with my two cats, Minty and Brownie, and
three dogs, Sungi, Laila and Gülloo (Biscuit, Gülloo’s sibling, having died
earlier, on 19 Aug. ’19). This time when I reach home, Minty will not be
physically there, but along with Brownie and the three dogs, there’ll be
Lukshmi, the beautiful white mare I bought last July. On the other hand, Minty
will remain in my heart until the day I die – after which I (seriously) expect,
in some way or other, to meet up with my little darling again. Indeed, that
expectation is another, not-insignificant reason for me to prefer to die
somewhat sooner than much later!
* Date mis-remembered; in fact
Minty died on 28 May ’20.
983. The internal dialogue (or
trialogue or multi-logue) that goes on continually in most people’s minds,
including mine, can be a useful resource if it is conducted freely and
moderated impartially. You should let any and every voice that seeks to speak
inside you to speak freely, without trying to suppress or repress it. Let it
have its say; and if there’s another internal voice that seeks to contradict
the first, let the second one have its say, too. And then if a third wants to
jump in, well let it! Each one will probably draw attention to an aspect of the
truth that also needs to be taken into consideration; cumulatively, a
keener and more comprehensive apprehension of reality will therefore ensue.
984. During his official trip
to India in February 2000, the then POTUS, Bill Clinton, was reported to have
said (to the effect) that: The world can be divided between those persons
who have seen the Taj Mahal [in Agra, India], and those who haven’t seen it.
Employing a somewhat more significant criterion (though admittedly not a
supremely significant one), it can be said that: The world can be divided
between those persons who routinely wash their anal area after defecating, and
those who don’t do so. (Divisions between people, deep or superficial, can
of course be postulated by employing various criteria; the foregoing is just
one attempt to, well, get to the bottom of it!)
985. A life lived to the very
hilt, followed by a brave, quick death: that, as I traverse my 72nd year, seems
to me to constitute my best-case final scenario.
986. Is ‘erring on the side of
caution’ less of an error, or a less dangerous error, than erring in
recklessness? Well, in a commonplace sense, it may be a less dangerous error;
but, as a character trait, over-cautiousness can be just as detrimental as
recklessness. An over-cautious person tends to be timidly risk-averse, fussy, and
not much fun to be with.
987. The webpage, https://www.blissquote.com/2019/10/suffering-quotes.html,
currently features 70 interesting, nicely presented quotes of different people
on the single topic of human suffering. Out of these, if I were asked to pick
the top ten, I’d choose the following:
(1) When suffering happens, it
forces us to confront life in a different way than we normally do. - Philip
Yancey
(2) We are healed of a suffering
only by experiencing it to the full. - Marcel Proust
(3) Almost all our suffering
is the product of our thoughts. We spend nearly every moment of our lives lost
in thought, and hostage to the character of those thoughts. You can break this
spell, but it takes training just like it takes training to defend yourself
against a physical assault. - Sam Harris
(4) Contrary to what we may
have been taught to think, unnecessary and unchosen suffering wounds us but
need not scar us for life. It does mark us. What we allow the mark of our
suffering to become is in our own hands. - Bell Hooks
(5) Happiness is not a reward
– it is a consequence. Suffering is not a punishment – it is a result. - Robert
Green Ingersoll
(6) The trick to healing from
suffering, I think, is deciding that the pain was worth it. - Aella
(7) It is that we are never so
defenseless against suffering as when we love, never so helplessly unhappy as
when we have lost our loved object or its love. - Sigmund Freud
(8) Fire tests gold, suffering
tests brave men. - Seneca
(9) We need the compassion and the courage to
change the conditions that support our suffering. Those conditions are things
like ignorance, bitterness, negligence, clinging, and holding on. - Sharon
Salzberg
(10) Sometimes it takes great
suffering to pierce the soul and open it up to greatness. - Jocelyn Murray
988. Following my return home
to Abbottabad (Pakistan) on 28 Jan. ’21, after four gruelling months in
New York, it appeared that my relationship with Ijaaz, my partner of sorts
(mentioned several times above), was set to become more intimate and more
fulfilling; he certainly seemed more amenable to the mutual caressing and
stimulation of our private parts. Then on 24 Feb., a strange and highly
annoying disruption occurred: Ijaaz divulged that a maulvi (cleric) in
his neighbourhood had got him to begin a 40-day non-stop course of ‘spiritual
chastisement’, during which he was required to repeat sotto voce the
phrase ya vudood (one of Ullah’s 99 putative epithetic names)
1000 times every day, and absolutely abstain from sexual contact of any
sort with anyone! In the two weeks since then, no matter how many times and how
forcefully I’ve tried to argue with Ijaaz not to let his foolish ‘spiritual’
(i.e. superstitious) drill trump our incipient physical relations, he feels
that that would constitute a grave and culpable breach of duty. So, it’s a
perplexing, distressing, tragicomic situation that I’m faced with, which, to be
satisfactorily resolved, will require greater patience, honesty, ingenuity and
resilience on my part – plus a bit of (routinely solicited) help from
Kama/Eros/Cupid, the god of sexual love.
989. I was pleasantly
surprised the other day to stumble upon, on YouTube, a short (7 mins 12 secs)
remarkably good video presentation by Alex Chevez, titled Ten Tips for
Better Gay Sex (read . . . for Better Male Gay Sex) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n9SsLXz3Lag). The presentation
is candid, forthright, informative (e.g. about douches, HIV transmissibility,
etc.), to-the-point, sensible, and not without humour. The topic may not be of
universal interest, but for those who are interested in it, Chevez does
a good job of making pertinent observations and suggestions relating to it. Ten
Tips gets just about ten out of ten (and a thumbs-up), from me at least!
990. It may seem rather
low-brow, but I happen to derive actual solace and encouragement (besides
pleasure) from listening to old Urdu and Hindi film-songs, particularly from
the 1940s, ’50s and ’60s. A case in point is the following lyric, written by
Shukeel Budayooni, sung by Lata Mangeshkar, from the film Dulari
(1949). (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4cxYfniBBlU&list=RDMM4cxYfniBBlU&index=1).
Transliteration:
ay dil tüjhay kussum hai tu himmut na
haarrna,
din zindagi kay jaisay bhi
güzrain güzaarrna.
ülfut kay raastay mayn
milain gay huzaar ghum;
bun ja‘ay jaan purr bhi to
ghum say na haarrna.
ronay say kum na hongi
kubhi tairi müshkilain;
bigrray hüay nuseeb ko huns
kurr sunvaarrna.
dünya situm kuray to na kurrna gilla
koee;
jo tairay ho chükain hain
tu ün ko pükaarrna.
ay dil tüjhay kussum hai
tu himmut na haarrna,
din zindagi kay jaisay bhi
güzrain güzaarrna.
Translation:
I charge you, my heart, not to
be discouraged,
But to spend life’s days
howsoever they get spent.
On the road of love will a
thousand sorrows be encountered;
Even if life gets imperilled,
don’t be defeated by sorrow.
By weeping, your difficulties
will never diminish;
By laughing, your blighted
fortunes you may revive.
If the world does oppress you,
utter no complaint;
But call out to those who’ve
already become yours.
I charge you, my heart, not to
be discouraged,
But to spend life’s days
howsoever they get spent.
It’s curious how such
seemingly exhortatory, auto-suggestive thoughts have combined to constitute
such a fine lyric, and been turned into a melodious song.
991. If anyone had been able to inform Moses
or Jesus or Mühummud, during their lifetimes, that humans, dogs and cats have co-evolved
over tens or hundreds of thousands of years, the response from the three named
religious personages would surely have been one of hostile incomprehension
(maybe a little less hostile from Jesus). However, if the same information had
been proffered to Socrates or Aristotle or any other pre-Darwinian philosopher,
the response from them would still have included some surprise and
incomprehension, but no bitter hostility. Which goes towards confirming that
religion is far more bitterly dogmatic than philosophy.
*992. A little free-verse
snippet that I wrote in Urdu today, followed by its English translation, appear
below:
Transliteration:
junnut kay aik
durvaazay tuk russaa‘ee
tairay hulkay phülkay payr,
tairay pyaaray, goray payr,
jub mairay kundhon peh
do pink kubootron
ki turrah,
nukeerain ko dislodge kurr
kay,
busaira kurrtay hain,
to phirr tairi mukhni tuk
saamnay ki turruf say
russaa‘ee
mümkin ho jaati hai,
yuni junnut kay aik durvaazay
tuk
russaa‘ee mümkin ho jaati hai.
Translation:
Access to One of Paradise’s
Doors
When your feather-light feet,
Your dear, light-coloured
feet,
Like two pink pigeons,
Alight on my shoulders
(Dislodging the Nukeerain*),
Then access to your
butter-hole,
From the front-side, becomes
possible,
Which is to say that access
To one of Paradise’s doors
becomes possible.
* In Islamic lore, Münkir and
Nukeer (together referred to as Nukeerain) are two angels who sit
on the two shoulders of every living person, infallibly enumerating all of that
person’s good and bad deeds.
993. The whole world is
currently (April 2021) in the unrelenting grip of the Covid-19 pandemic;
however, I feel that its effects are being made considerably worse by what I
can best describe as Covid-phobia. Of course it’s not Covid-phobic to
try to provide the best possible treatment to the people already infected, nor
to adopt means like universal vaccination to protect those not yet infected.
What I find Covid-phobic and alarmist is for governments to impose strict
restrictions on how citizens work, play, shop, socialize and travel. For the
sake of saving the lives of a statistically tiny minority of people, everyone
else’s lives should not be held hostage and blighted by ubiquitous,
interminable, irritating and inconvenient restrictions. Saving lives is fine,
but not at the cost of depriving a lot of other lives of their freedoms and
enjoyments. (See interesting article: https://www.theepochtimes.com/mask-wearing-represents-fear-and-blind-obedience-not-science_3764312.html?utm_medium=email&utm_source=hardwallpromotion&utm_campaign=EET0410&utm_term=1for4M-Premium&utm_content=5.) Our numbskull,
clueless ‘world leaders’, political and religious, need to show less
sentimentality and more sang-froid in their public statements about
Covid, and not completely disregard the fact that we are already a
significantly over-populated planet.
994. During my recent
four-month-long trip to New York, I tested negative for Covid-19 five times, on
2.10.20 (PCR), 10.10.20 (PCR), 17.10.20 (PCR), 21.10.20 (Antibody), and 23.1.21
(PCR), but I also tested positive three times, on 26.12.20 (PCR), 28.12.20
(Rapid), and 2.1.21 (PCR), which raised doubts in my mind about the complete
reliability of these Covid tests. In any case, apart from a fairly mild but
persistent dry cough, I was ‘asymptomatic’, but apparently still capable of transmitting
the virus. I was worried about infecting my very frail elderly sister, in whose
apartment I was staying; but when she was admitted in Elmhurst Hospital on
8.1.21, she tested negative for Covid. Also, the doctors at the Hospital told
me that when she returned home in a few days’ time, it wouldn’t be possible for
me to infect her, because by then the virus would be dead in my body (and I’d
have gained immunity from re-infection for the following three to six months).
My return flight to Pakistan on 29.12.20 of course had to be postponed, and I
wasn’t able to fly out from Covid-phobic New York till 26.1.21. Overall, I
think I took Covid in my stride, as can most other people.
995. Arguably the most
important thing in life is to be truly in touch with your feelings, i.e. to
know precisely what you are feeling when you’re feeling it, what you felt on
various occasions in the past, and what you’ll most probably feel in certain
hypothetical future situations. The benefits of being able to do this are immeasurably
immense; its antitheses are self-ignorance and self-deception.
996. Here in Pakistan, we are
now (28.4.21) in the middle of the worst, most egregiously hypocritical month
of the Muslim calendar, the month of pre-dawn to dusk fasting, Rumzaan (Ramadan)
– described almost identically by me last year in No. 954 above. However, the
fervent hope expressed in that Reflection, that this year (2021) I’d be
able to spend the whole of this horrid month in a non-Muslim country,
unfortunately did not materialize. During this month, in Pakistan (and almost
certainly in all other Muslim-majority countries), the general public’s
individual and collective behaviour, far from becoming even marginally better,
becomes considerably and undeniably worse than it is during the other
eleven months. Which clearly serves as an example of the lamentable inefficacy
of Islamic injunctions. For myself personally, though, knowing full well what
sorts of misbehaviour to expect from all these fasters around me, it seems to
be gradually becoming somewhat less difficult to get through this annual
month-long ordeal of deteriorated inter-personal relations all round, evidenced
by a distinct surge in quarrelsomeness, abusive language and pretty ubiquitous nukhras
(putting on airs). The main reason for Rumzaan gradually becoming less irksome
for me is that, each time it comes around, I feel still more forcefully the
ludicrous comicality of the whole endeavour.
997. Follows a well-considered
and decisive declaration of intent: I not only shall but will (!) follow
wheresoever my spirit leads me, to heaven or to hell, or alternately to both.
998. My white mare (with some
rather faint mottled-grey markings), Lukshmi, is such a beautiful creature that
it gives me real pleasure just to look at her: she is a poem in fluid motion –
at least a prose-poem, like most of these Reflections.
999. Sixty-four years ago, in
May 1957, when I was seven years old, a Pakistani commercial ‘musical’ film
called Vaada (The Promise) was released. It contained a number of
nice, melodious songs, one of which (a particularly elegant and
courteous/courtly duet) I’ve chosen to make a raunchy un-courtly homosexualized
adaptation of, and then transliterated and translated into English both the
original duet (partly and cornily picturized on https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KnmyyvaK_NA) and the
adaptation, which are presented in turn below:
Original duet, sung by Suleem
Ruza (man) and Kausur Purveen (woman)
Transliteration:
Man: nuzzur nuzzur
say milaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
Woman: nikaab rükh
say hutaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur
ijaazut ho.
Woman: vo geet jis ko
mühubbut juhaan may kehtay hain . . .
Man: . . dillon kay
saaz peh gaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
Man: tumhaari
raishmi baahon ka aasra lay kurr . . .
Woman: . . gullay say
tüm ko lugaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
Woman: koee ruhay to
ruhay durmiaan kyoon upnay?
Man: yeh doorian
bhi mita lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
Translation:
Man: One gaze with
another let us entwine if it be permitted,
if
it be permitted.
Woman: The veil from my
face let me remove if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
Woman: That song which
in the world is known as love . . .
Man: . . on our
heart-strings let us sing if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
Man: Assured of the
support of your silky arms . . .
Woman: . . let me clasp
you to my bosom if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
Woman: Why should
anything at all come between us?
Man: These distances,
too, let us erase if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
Homosexualized Adaptation
Transliteration:
1st Man: lun ko lun say
milaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur
ijaazut ho.
2nd Man: sulvaar bünd
say hutaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
1st Man: vo geet jissay
na-ja‘iz juhaan mayn kehtay hain . . .
2nd Man: . . tutton ki
thaap peh bujaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
1st Man: tümhaari hairy taangon ka aasra lay kurr . . .
2nd Man: . . thullay
say tüm ko lugaa lain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
1st Man: condom ruhay
to ruhay durmian kyoon upnay?
2nd Man: yeh doorian bhi
mitaa dain uggur ijaazut ho,
uggur ijaazut ho.
Translation:
1st Man: One dick with
another let us entwine if it be permitted,
if
it be permitted.
2nd Man: The sulvaar* from my arse let
me remove if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
1st Man: That song which
in the world is called ‘illicit’ . . .
2nd Man: . . to the beat
of our balls let us belt out if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
1st Man: Assured of the
support of your hairy legs . . .
2nd Man: . . let me clasp
you to my bottom if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
1st Man: Why should even a
condom come between us?
2nd Man: This distance,
too, let us erase if it be permitted,
if it be permitted.
*Loose cottony trousers tied
at the waist by means of a draw-string.
1000. Battered and bruised though
I may be, both physically (healthwise) and psychologically, I nonetheless
consider myself to be an exceptionally lucky (even blest) old fellow. Why?
Well, for having eventually achieved (any possible ‘personality disorder(s)’
notwithstanding) what I regard as an impeccable moral character (my enemies may
think otherwise), and for having found my way in life in most spheres,
including the crucial sexual and financial spheres. Eureka!
END OF PART 1
PART 2
2. 1. If you continue to reach
more and more deeply within yourself, even your ‘best’ can keep on being
bettered.
2. 2. After 35 days of bravely
enduring the cruel paralysis of her hindquarters that misfortunately occurred
after a (possibly botched) surgical operation to remove some tumorous lumps on
her abdomen, my last surviving cat, Brownie, died at about 4 p.m. today, 22
June ’21. During these five weeks, I’d tried my level best to spare no effort
or expense in getting the best possible treatment for her, but to no ultimate
avail. However, I do derive a measure of consolation from the facts that
Brownie was now about twelve years old (64 in human years), and that for the
last over eleven years had lived comfortably and been loved and well cared-for
in my home. Nonetheless, I’ll miss her considerably, and look forward to some
sort of reunion with her in the hereafter (and thereafter, why not?).
Rest in peace (requiescat in pace), little friend!
2. 3. The physical body, human or animal, must
finally go under;
That it ever is alive and kicking, indeed, is
no small wonder.
2. 4. DIALOGUE OF LIFE AND
DEATH
LIFE: On blest planet Earth
(and elsewhere as well), my presence has continued for aeons upon aeons, for
billions of human years: I’m invincible.
DEATH: But each and every form
you take, each and every creature you inhere in, I ultimately destroy: I’m
inexorable.
LIFE: You destroy the bodies
of all living creatures, it’s true, but you cannot destroy their incorporeal
spirits: they’re beyond your grasp. And they, the disembodied spirits, seek me
out again and again, one way or another. And so I ripple on and on and on.
DEATH: But one day, someday,
all your endless rippling will eventually and finally end, won’t it?
LIFE: No, it won’t: there
never will be such a day, not ever.
DEATH: But that means, then,
that your inseparable companion, suffering, will also keep on afflicting and
tormenting all living creatures eternally; only I will eventually end each
sufferer’s suffering.
LIFE: Fair point. However,
while it’s true that suffering is a frequent companion of mine, it is by no
means my Siamese twin; we are two separate entities that often coexist, but
also, rarely, remain poles apart. Besides, some refined forms of suffering very
nearly infringe on joy. Joie de vivre is clearly evident at times in all
species of living creatures. You may bring relief and release to everyone in
the end, but can you match the magnitude of positive satisfaction that a strong
living heart experiences during and after notching a truly worthwhile
achievement?
DEATH: Well, no, not really.
Except insofar as I’m the doorway to mysteries of a magnitude beyond mortal
ken.
2. 5. See No. 1. 990 above.
Another case in point is the following lyric, written by Sahir Ludhianvi, sung
by Geeta Dutt, from the film Baazi (1951) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgwfvDh7cPc),
hearing which on an audio-cassette this morning, gave a real fillip to my
spirits, drooping badly mainly on account of my incessant and seemingly
intractable health-problems:
Transliteration:
tudbeer say bigrri hüee tukdeer bunaa lay:
upnay peh bhurosa hai to ik
dao lugaa lay.
durrta hai zumaanay ki nigaahon
say bhula kyoon?
insaaf tairay saath hai,
ilzaam ütthaa lay.
kya khaak vo jeena hai jo
upnay hee liay ho?
khüd mit kay kissi aur ko mitnay say buchaa lay.
tootay hüay putvaar hain kushti kay to ghum kya?
haari hüee baahon ko hee putvaar bunaa lay.
tudbeer say bigrri hüee tukdeer bunaa lay:
upnay peh bhurosa hai to ik
dao lugaa lay.
Translation:
Use your ingenuity, your blighted
fortunes to revive:
If you do trust yourself, then
wrestle with your fate.
Why are you afraid of the world’s
censorious glances?
Justice is with you, be unfazed by
people’s indictments.
How unworthy is the life that’s
spent solely for yourself;
By annulling yourself, save someone
else from being annulled.
If the rudder of your boat is
broken, don’t despair;
Use even your vanquished arms as
rudders with which to steer.
Use your ingenuity, your blighted
fortunes to revive:
If you do trust yourself, then
wrestle with your fate.
It’s quite true that, if you
wrestle with your fate, rather than merely submit to it, the outcome is likely
to be vastly better. This lyric, though exhortatory as well, is also full of
encouragement, and, when music was added to it, became a delightful and
memorable song!
2. 6. Hindsight is a curious
and tricky faculty. Months, years or decades after taking a certain decision,
you seem to realize that you could have taken a different and better decision.
But could you really have done so, given the set of circumstance operative at
the time? No, you couldn’t. All that you can do with the realization of
a faulty past decision is to compare its circumstances with those of a similar
situation in the present or future, and diligently avoid making the same sort
of mistake again.
2. 7. My relationship with my
partner-of-sorts, Ijaaz (not his real name), is currently (mid-July ’21) rather
in the doldrums. We seem to enjoy each other’s company and physical touch quite
a lot, but I feel frustrated that he always stops short of actual fucking:
there is always one excuse or another. I’ve told him a number of times, ‘We’ll
just try it twice, on two separate occasions; if you don’t like it even after
the second time, we’ll never, ever do it again.’ Probably the biggest
impediment to Ijaaz ‘going the whole hog’ with me is his Islamic brainwashing,
which began on the day he was born, when the Arabic uzaan (call to
prayer) was recited in his tiny ears. Forty-five years on, he still performs
five ritual prayers a day and fasts the whole dreadful month of Rumzaan
(Ramadan). However, in spite of his being a brainwashed practising
Muslim (like most of my former partners), I think that Ijaaz would be ready to
have penetrative sex with me if he really wanted to. And therefore, if
he really doesn’t want penetration to occur (for whatever reason or reasons),
then the fact of his disinclination, once credibly confirmed, will have to be
accepted by me as a solid wall that I can never surmount, nor should be foolish
enough to try to scale.
2. 8. My favourite Concise
Oxford Dictionary (COD), 1990 edition, defines ‘supernatural’, as an adjective,
as attributed to or thought to reveal some force above the laws of nature;
magical; mystical, and as a noun (preceded by the), as supernatural,
occult, or magical forces, effects, etc. These are succinct, competent
definitions, but they only identify the tiny tip of a massive iceberg. There
are worlds upon worlds that the so-called laws of nature, at least insofar as
anyone has understood them yet, are simply unable to explain. For example:
Where do the disembodied spirits of humans and animals go after death? Is it
possible in any way and to any extent for a living person to communicate with a
deceased loved one’s spirit? In what circumstances, and hoping for what comparative
benefits, might one usefully resort to (a) prayer, (b) meditation? Can one
become aware (and, if so, how credibly) of some supernatural laws that operate
over and above the natural, scientific ones?
I personally find, especially of late, the
supernatural (though not the occult or magical) to be a fertile field
that I can resort to at any time, in any number of ways. Good for me!
2. 9. If you, like me, are
beset with some painful physical ailments (in my case, pain at the base of my
left thumb, also sometimes in my malfunctioning eyes, and lately toothache;
probably completely differently evident in your case), the first obvious thing
to do is, without losing your nerve, to palliate the pain to a tolerable level.
Then, with or without the help of a physician, but making the best possible use
of your own mind, try to trace the symptom of pain to its actual cause or
causes. Next, consider critically the available treatment options, and begin
with the most promising. However, this whole process requires not only a strong
and capable mind (yours or/and your doctor’s), but, crucially, it also
requires, solely on your own part, an un-dejected heart, a resilient spirit,
and most vigilant avoidance of self-pity.
2. 10. Misfortune – Miss
Fortune – can do her damnedest in heaping afflictions upon me and my loved
ones, still she will never, till my final breath, manage to cow my spirit.
‘Does the foregoing defiant declaration then,’ I hear a voice ask over my
shoulder, ‘constitute a challenge that you’re bound to honour for the rest of
your life?’
‘You bet it does, Missy,’ I retort.
2. 11.
I wish I could debunk once and for all the sanctimonious and utterly false
notion, widely prevalent among Jews, Christians and Muslims, that only
polytheists or ‘heathens’, such as Hindus and Buddhists, are idolaters, while
they themselves are nothing of the sort. What bullshit! Is the One God, sitting
eternally on His throne in Heaven (ever wondered what’s between His legs?), anything
but an imaginary mental idol, to be worshipped in ways much like those in
which ‘heathens’ worship their material idols? Of course not! Mental idols and
material idols are both equally idols, and the worship of both types of idols
is incontrovertibly tantamount to idolatry. Only if you can learn to outgrow
and discard both the material and mental forms of idolatry can you truly
be considered a non-idolater. Meanwhile, the pot should refrain from calling
the kettle black!
2.
12. Somewhere (I don’t recall where) in D.H. Lawrence’s work occurs the
following thought-provoking snippet (to the effect that): You can’t really
solve problems, you have to dissolve them. What exactly does that mean?
What’s the difference between solving a problem and dissolving it? Of course,
Lawrence was talking about psycho-social problems, not scientific or
mathematical ones. My interpretation of Lawrence’s comment is that, if you
(even quite intelligently) try merely to solve a particular
psycho-social problem, separately and symptomatically, you’re unlikely to
succeed. Instead, if you consider the problem in its widest context, especially
as it relates to your current life-style, and try to dissolve it by
dealing with its causes rather than its symptoms, you have a much better chance
of success.
2.
13. In order to avoid becoming too obsessively focussed on always choosing the
best possible option, it’s sometimes more effective to tell yourself: OK, so
go ahead and choose this or that worse option if you really want to, but be
prepared to face the consequences. The important thing is to develop your
foresight to a degree that you can accurately predict the likely consequences
of all the options you can choose from at any particular time, and then give
yourself free rein to turn in whatever direction you want.
2.
14. It’s more than distressing, almost torture, not to be able to see well
enough to read or write properly, either in the old way or on the computer.
Actually, the computer is a little easier to read and type on, compared to
printed pages, and pen and paper. At this very moment, as I draft this little Reflection,
my fine-point felt-pen is barely able to adhere to the lines of the paper I’m
writing on, and what I’ve already written appears almost unreadably blurred. My
current episode of binocular diplopia (double vision) started just over three
years ago, and later (about ten months back) was made considerably worse by the
onset of so-called dry eyes syndrome (glaucoma also being ‘suspected’ in both
eyes). Neither conventional ophthalmology nor the Bates Method have provided me
much relief so far. All I can do is to keep trying to obtain some sort of
relief from somewhere, while (hopefully) holding self-pity at bay. And to keep
hoping, too, for a bit of divine help, particularly from Surusvuti, the goddess
of art, literature, and music.
*2.
15. The fourth-last paragraph of the Second Chapter (titled Space and
Time) of Stephen Hawking’s highly acclaimed book, A Brief
History of Time, is reproduced in full below:
Newton’s laws of
motion put an end to the idea of absolute position in space. The theory of
relativity gets rid of absolute time. Consider a pair of twins. Suppose that
one twin goes to live on the top of a mountain while the other stays at sea
level. The first twin would age faster than the second. Thus, if they met
again, one would be older than the other. In this case, the difference in ages
would be very small, but it would be much larger if one of the twins went for a
long trip in a spaceship at nearly the speed of light. When he returned, he
would be much younger than the one who stayed on Earth. This is known as the
twins paradox, but it is a paradox only if one has the idea of absolute time at
the back of one’s mind. In the theory of relativity there is no unique absolute
time, but instead each individual has his own personal measure of time that
depends on where he is and how he is moving.
So, let us imagine that when Stephen
Hawking was born in Oxford, UK on 8 January 1942, a twin brother of his, Peter
Hawking, was also born a few minutes after Stephen. On 8 January 1972, when
both twins turned 30, let’s suppose that Peter Hawking decided to go and live
on the Pamir plateau (the so-called ‘roof of the world’) for 20 years, but
returned to England on 8 January 1992, expecting to celebrate his and Stephen’s
common 50th birthday with their families, only to find that Stephen didn’t
consider him (Peter) to have quite turned 50 yet. Disappointed, Peter Hawking
boarded a well-equipped spaceship the next day, and kept travelling in it from
galaxy to galaxy, at nearly the speed of light, for the next 26 earth-years,
reappearing in Cambridge on 8 January 2018, to wish Stephen a happy 76th
birthday, to congratulate him on his brilliant achievements, and to express
concern about his brother’s failing health. Stephen Hawking died on 14 March
2018, aged 76 years, 2 months and 6 days. To add to Peter Hawking’s sense of
loss, was his confusion and regret that he’d been unable to ascertain from his
brilliant twin, before Stephen finally kicked the (four-dimensional) space-time
bucket, exactly how many years, months and days younger than him (Stephen), he
(Peter), on account of his inter-galactic travels, had managed to become. Had
that happened, it would have been a convincing case of relativity beginning at
home! Now we’ll have to wait (decades? centuries?) for some other practical,
empirical verification of the ‘twins paradox’.
In my own lay but considered opinion, both
space and time, insofar as humans are able to conceptualize them, do
seem to be absolute, separate and interminable entities, relative only to
whatever (and there’s plenty) that lies outside the space-time
continuum.
*2.
16. Today, 31st July (2021), coincides with the middle of the Indian month of Saavun,
which, together with the following month of Bhadoon, comprise the bulk
of the annual post-summer rainy season in much of the Indian sub-continent.
This year, here in Abbottabad (Pakistan), true hot summer didn't arrive till
late May, and by about mid-June had begun to be doused and displaced by bursaat,
the rainy season. Now, in mid-bursaat, the hills all around Abbottabad
have turned a vivid green, the skies are often a dark, misty grey, the breeze
feels caressingly cool, and there are frequent heavy downpours. In our rather
scruffy front garden, though we avoid growing flowers for fear the dogs and the
mare will not let them be, there are nevertheless three beautiful flowering
trees. Two of them are crepe myrtles, one a bright pink and the other a deep
purple. The third is a spread-out hibiscus tree, with scattered mauve flowers
that remind me of stars. I’m able to regale even my stubbornly malfunctioning
eyes with the unsensational but vivid spectacle of these three trees in bloom,
against the soothing backdrop of green hills and grey skies: something to look
forward to, here, every July and August.
2.
17. I think that for most people (including me), their seventies (and any
subsequent years they may live for) feel markedly different than the previous
seven decades. They are an equivocal sort of bonus added on to your basic
‘natural’ life-span of three-score and ten. The bonus is equivocal because it
is simultaneously a liability and an opportunity. The feeling that old age is a
liability is of course mainly on account of the multiple and incremental
deterioration in the physical (and often mental) health of the over-seventies.
The deterioration is pretty much inexorable, and before it reaches the stage
that you become a mere burden on yourself and others, you should coolly decide
not to cling on to life any more, but to take the plunge into whatever comes
next. On the other hand, old age can also be a valuable opportunity to
truthfully and critically review the course of your past life, where possible
to rectify mistakes made due to inexperience or folly, to attempt in a relaxed
way what earlier you were too tense to tackle, and above all to gain a level of
equanimity that had consistently eluded your younger self. So it’s really the
way it usually is with life: loss matched by gain, ebb by flow, the ultimate
responsibility for the outcome resting inevitably on your own ageing (but
hopefully unbowed) shoulders.
2.
18. While life is a rigorous proposition for every person alive, it becomes
more rigorous in proportion to how talented anyone is. This is because more
talented persons inevitably and invariably get called upon to exercise their
talents to a greater extent than those less talented. A genius, therefore, will
have to face exceedingly rigorous challenges in life – compensatory poetic
justice, apparently!
2.
19. To ‘pull yourself together’, or not to do so, is also an important
question, at all stages of your life, especially the later ones. Not to pull
yourself together can mean two rather different things. It usually means giving
up on life, and allowing yourself to disintegrate, slowly or rapidly. However,
there’s also the Lawrencian prescription of ‘lapsing out’, which deprecates the
tension involved in pulling yourself together, and considers ‘letting go’ to be
a better means of achieving integration. My experience is that ‘lapsing out’
works sometimes, but not always. On occasions that it doesn’t work, the only
other brave alternative is to try, as intelligently as possible, to become more
integrated by pulling yourself together.
2.
20. I personally interpret the supernatural as being the sum total of all those
profound aspects of various natural phenomena (e.g. conception and
death), which are, and will always be, beyond human comprehension. But what is
incomprehensible need not necessarily be unapproachable. Indeed, there is a
whole spectrum of ways in which the supernatural can be approached, from the
grossly superstitious to the calmly enlightened. Practically all religious
approaches, basically comprising various sorts of observances, are tainted in
varying degrees by superstition. What, then, would constitute a
non-superstitious, ‘enlightened’ approach? Well, I think it would be the calm
conviction that, despite your undeniable human limitations, it is possible for
you, provided you are fully sincere, to interact with and receive help from the
manifold mysteries of the supernatural (sometimes invoked by me as ‘Entity X’).
2. 21. Every single human
experience, major or minor, pleasant or unpleasant or partly both, invariably
contains within itself a lesson on what to do or avoid in the future. The
important and difficult part is to interpret that lesson honestly and
objectively, and then to learn it unforgettably.
2. 22. There are now just two
weeks left for my 72nd birthday, which falls on 13 September 2021. As of now,
my considered preference is to kick the bucket before my 77th birthday in 2026,
which gives me barely five years to plan for. So what acts and omissions do I
want to be included in my final ‘five-year plan’? First and foremost, I think,
is my work. Only about a month ago, I re-started working on my English
translation of Mirza Ghalib’s best Urdu verse. I’d completed Part 1 of the
translation, comprising 55 ghuzuls (stylized poems) in February 2019,
but Part 2, to be made up of about 200 individual couplets, is still likely to
require several months, if not longer, to complete. As for my original writing,
these Reflections continually keep cropping up and being harvested,
which I expect to be the case till the very end. Any longer pieces of writing
planned? Not really, except I expect a few more thought-provoking essays to see
the light of day. Aside from my work, for the coming five years, I’ll need to
keep taking good care of my four remaining pets, three dogs and a mare, and to
resist the temptation of adopting any more pets (whose welfare, after me, I’m
unlikely to be able to ensure). Of course there are many other concerns that I
will need to attend to during the next half-decade. Probably the most pressing
of these, further progress towards whose resolution I still hope to keep on
making, is the disturbing, sometimes distressing, 60-year-long enigma of my
homosexuality.
2. 23. Buddhism seeks to
promote spirituality at the cost of sensuality, which is a big mistake
because, while you are alive, your sensual self is as much you as is your
spiritual self: neither should (or even can) be eliminated, and both need their
different sorts and modes of gratification. The Buddha is supposed to have
said: When a tree is burning with fierce flames, how can the birds
congregate therein? Truth cannot dwell where passion lives. Despite
(and partly because of) the appealing imagery employed, these statements are
somewhat misleading. It depends on what is meant by ‘passion’ for it to be
considered antithetical to truth: if ‘passion’ means compulsive or addictive
lust, there is some truth to the proposition, but if ‘passion’ only means
strong desire, then that can often be a positive, invigorating force. You can,
for instance, have a passion for adhering to and abiding by the truth, which
will naturally lead you closer to, not farther away from, the truth. Coming
back to your sensual and spiritual selves, these need to be held in a fine
balance, not pitted against each other. However, it also seems to be true that
your sensual self, though worthy of being fully gratified in its own right, does
need to be tacitly subordinated to (but not suppressed by) your spiritual self.
2. 24. It’s important to
periodically review your most basic assumptions and presumptions in order to
determine whether, and to what extent, you still find them tenable. And those
that you find not as tenable as before, you must modify or dispense with.
However, the pre-requisite for this to happen is to be absolutely honest with
yourself: that’s the one exceptional assumption that never needs to be
reviewed.
2. 25. A few days ago, I was
interested and pleased to come across on YouTube a short (5 mins 49 secs) video
titled Is there God or Not? What did Buddha Say? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zpcnxrIDhjM) Though the video
is not very well-presented, its message comes through clearly enough. The story
it tells, of how the Buddha answered on the same day the same question asked by
two different people diametrically differently, may be summarized as follows.
One morning, a man who was a traditional theist and worshipper of Lord Raam (as
a divine incarnation), recently having felt some qualms regarding his belief,
came to the Buddha and asked to be told definitively whether God existed or
not. Buddha answered point-blank in the negative, which caused the man to go
away in some distress. The same evening, another man, who was a confirmed
atheist, for his part lately having had some doubts regarding his unbelief,
also came to Buddha and asked to be given a definitive answer as to God’s
existence or non-existence. Buddha answered the second man point-blank in the
affirmative, which caused him to go away in much perplexity. After the second
man had left, one of Buddha’s disciples, who had heard the same question put by
the two men answered seemingly contradictorily by Buddha, ventured to ask for
an explanation. Buddha replied that he had given each of the men the answer
that would stimulate, in opposite ways, their quest for the truth, which was
all that really mattered. Well said, Siddhartha!
2. 26. Two similar mistakes
that you can make are, firstly, to pretend to have feelings you don’t really
have but are expected by others to have, and secondly, to pretend (to others
and/or yourself) not to have feelings you do really have. Both are bad
mistakes, but the second one is generally worse, because it involves emotional
suppression or repression, which is always unhealthy and can be disastrous.
2. 27. Contrary to common impression, agnosticism is
actually no closer to atheism than it is to theism, but is as far-removed from
both of those convictions as they are from each other. This can be depicted
geometrically (see below) in the form of an equilateral triangle, with the
three tips or apices, A, B & C, respectively representing theism, atheism
and agnosticism (including agnostic pantheism, my own sub-category of
conviction – see No. 849 (Part 1) above).
It can be argued
that pantheism is the third major (though much rarer) form of theism, so should
be classified as such, along with monotheism and polytheism, and not identified
with agnosticism. Literally, that is true, but in fact pantheism is far more
different from both monotheism and polytheism than they are from each other (a
triangle depicting the three would not be equilateral but isosceles), and
agnostic pantheism is more reasonably regarded as a form of agnosticism than as
a form of theism.
2. 28. It’s generally accepted
that Siddhartha Gautuma Buddha lived in northern India around the 5th century
B.C., and that after founding Buddhism and preaching it for several decades, he
died when he was about 80 years old. His last words before death, addressed to
the monks gathered around him, have been reported in a number of versions,
three similar ones of which that I find impressive, are as follow:
(A) ‘Work hard to gain your
own salvation.’
(B) ‘Be a light unto
yourself.’
(C) ‘Be your own saviour.’
The last of these three versions, (C),
gloriously succinct as it is, appeals to me the most. Concomitant to the fairly
straightforward positive advice (‘do’) that it conveys, it impliedly contains
the following two negative warnings (‘don’ts’):
(1) Don’t let anyone else
become, or try to become, your saviour.
(2) Don’t try to become anyone
else’s saviour.
One would be hard put to find
an exhortation as psychologically sound as this brief one in the entire
scriptural corpus of the so-called Abrahamic religions, Judaism, Christianity
and Islam. However, in what numbers and to what extent professed Buddhists follow
this advice, and endeavour to save themselves and themselves alone, is
debatable.
2. 29. Why is it that people, including highly
educated ones, are so averse to admit the extent of their ignorance regarding
various natural phenomena and metaphysical matters – to say simply and
truthfully, ‘I don’t know how this came about’, or ‘I have no idea how that can
be explained.’? Most people pretend to know far more than they actually do, and
are reluctant to acknowledge that we are still surrounded by unfathomable
mysteries. For instance, astrophysicists today seem to concur that the
observable material universe came into existence on account of a Big Bang about
16 billion years ago, and has been steadily expanding since then. Well, clever
of them to have discovered that, but the catch lies in the phrase ‘observable
universe’. What about the extent of the universe which is so far not
observable to us even by means of our strongest telescopes? What about other
universes that may have existed before the Big Bang and subsequently may (or
may not) have collapsed into nonexistence? In a spirit of truthfulness and
humility, it behoves us to admit that we just don’t know the answers to these
and lots of other similar and dissimilar questions.
2. 30. It seems to be gradually
becoming clearer to me that my partner-of-sorts, Ijaaz (not his real name), for
the last over two years, has been deceiving me by consenting to my sexual
overtures (kissing, touching intimately, etc.) not primarily because he
enjoys the experience, but tacitly in return for material benefits such as
foodstuffs, electrical appliances, etc. That must be why, even after all this
time, he doesn’t want to go the whole hog – unless, as he jocularly maintains,
he is adequately remunerated. Now, as it takes two to tango, so does it to
deceive: a deceiver and a deceivable, without both of whom deception cannot
take place. So, instead of bitterly blaming Ijaaz for having deceived me, I
should try for my own part to become more circumspect and less deceivable henceforth.
2. 31. Among all the branches
of human knowledge and learning, the three that interest me the most, in
ascending order, are philosophy, psychology and literature. How may these three
be compared and contrasted very succinctly? Well, all three attempt to
interpret reality, but in different ways: philosophy abstractly, psychology
pathologically, and literature imaginatively. And thorough acquaintance with
any one of them will help you to get better acquainted with either or both of
the other two. If PPE (philosophy, politics, and economics) is offered as a
degree course at Oxford University, why not PPL (philosophy, psychology, and
literature)? The terrible trouble, though, with a degree course in literature
is that the conventional sort of examination conducted by universities at the
end of it, is hopelessly incapable of assessing the depth of the critical
acumen acquired by a student (which is all that really matters) in the previous
three years. (That’s what I discovered, to my distress, at Cambridge University
(in 1968 - 71), where, arguably, I gained the critical acumen at the cost of
the fucking degree!)
2. 32. The day before
yesterday, 13 Oct. ’21, while trying to edit my (old) blog (www.pgiani.blogspot.com), I
inadvertently and inexplicably caused the entire blog (except the title and
subtitle), comprising (the equivalent of) some 200 to 300 pages, to vanish
without a trace! The blog had been put together painstakingly and continually
updated over a period of about 15 years, so it distresses me to think it’s been
lost irrevocably. While it’s true that my blog was made possible only on
account of advances in cyber technology, it does seem that unexpected glitches
in that same technology are capable of causing one significant distress.
2. 33. Ten perspectives on human life as a whole:
(1) So much suffering, so
much pain;
So little gladness,
so little gain.
(2) Tough, but sometimes deeply enjoyable.
(3) Lurching from one crisis to the next.
(4) Never without some sorrow or pain.
(5) An extended, continuous process of trial and error.
(6) An opportunity to learn and improve oneself.
(7) An opportunity to not learn and destroy oneself.
(8) ‘Nasty, brutish, and short.’ (Samuel Johnson)
(9) Worth going through and putting up with – but only just.
(10) A breathtaking, mind-blowing adventure.
2. 34. At those times (and
they’re not infrequent) when doing nothing is your best option, being pushed (by
others or yourself) into doing anything is a mistake and a sign of
weakness. Imagine the following conversation taking place 20 years from now:
A: Don’t just sit there, do something!
B: Well, no, not right now. In
such circumstances, old P.G. says, doing anything is a mistake and shows
weakness. So, I’d rather just sit here and do nothing. You can suit yourself!
2. 35. I’m surprised it’s taken me so long (well over two years), but I think I’ve finally figured out the main reason why my relationship with my partner-of-sorts, Ijaaz (mentioned several times above), has failed to progress the way I wanted it to. I was hoping against hope that we would eventually achieve complete sexual and emotional intimacy. Now I can see that that’s not possible, principally because Ijaaz is basically heterosexual, and while he also seems to enjoy homosexual contact, he actually does so only superficially. The primary, unmistakable indication of male sexual arousal is getting an erection, but during all the numerous instances of our close physical contact, never once has Ijaaz experienced anything like a proper erection. Now, as Lawrence said, ‘that gentleman has a will of his own’; so, if Ijaaz’s own hormones, during close physical contact with me, are not active enough to give him an erection, nothing, not even a vasodilator like Viagra, will do so; it’s not his ‘fault’ but just the way he is (i.e. another HH – 'hopeless hetero'!), which bitter pill I have no option but to swallow. So, for the future (however little of it is left), I should remember that successful sex needs not only to be consensual, but also to be based on mutual erotic desire strong enough to liberally release the concerned hormones and properly ‘turn on’ both participants.
2. 36. It’s important not to
be afraid of death, but it’s much more important not to be afraid of life.
2. 37. Rather than harbour just one conscience, which can be monotonous and not always reliable, it’s better to have at least two or three consciences, inner voices that disagree with one another and present competing versions of the truth. After a robust internal exchange of argument and counter-argument between these voices regarding a particular issue, any consensus to finally emerge will constitute a more balanced and reliable approach to addressing that issue.
2. 38. ON MILTON’S ON HIS BLINDNESS
Original text:
When I consider how my light is spent
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is
death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account,
lest He returning chide –
‘Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?’
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies: ‘God doth not need
Either man’s work, or His own gifts; who best
Bear His mild yoke, they serve him best; His
state
Is kingly; thousands at his
bidding speed
And post o’er land and ocean without rest –
They also serve who only stand and wait.’
Modern English translation:
With half my life in this dark, wide world
remaining,
And that the talent* suicidal to
suppress
Is uselessly lodged in me,
though my spirit is eager
To use it to serve my Creator,
and to present
My true report, averting His
subsequent censure –
Then, I foolishly ask, ‘Does
God demand day-labour,
With daylight denied?’ But Patience, to suppress
That grumble, soon replies:
‘God neither needs
Man’s work nor His own gifts;
those who best
His mild yoke bear, do serve
Him best;
His state is kingly;
thousands rush to obey His orders,
And indefatigably scour the
land and ocean –
They serve Him, too, who only stand and wait.’
What I consider the main demerit of
Milton’s poem is its persistent, somewhat stupid religiosity, notwithstanding
that that is what is presented as providing the poet his only consolation in
his terrible affliction. ‘Serving God’, as one’s aim in life, doesn’t really
resonate with me, though ‘serving mankind’ does so even less; ‘serving life’,
and even more, ‘serving the truth’, are clearer, worthier aims. Milton was a
republican, not a royalist, but here he describes God’s ‘state’ as ‘kingly’,
with ‘thousands’ scrambling to obey His orders – hardly a huge deal!
Does religiosity really provide one
consolation and encouragement in affliction and adversity? Not to any adequate
extent, I don’t think. And not in the case of each and every sort of affliction
or adversity. For argument’s sake, suppose that Milton, instead of (or in
addition to) going blind, had, like many other poets before and after him, been
homosexual, a condition now all but proved to be genetically acquired, hence in
that sense ‘a gift from God’. How, in that case, would Milton have squeezed any
consolation out of his religiosity? Would he have written a sonnet (later to
be) titled On His Gayness, which might have begun When I consider how
my spunk’s been spent, and have ended interrogatively with Do they serve
as well who only masturbate? (with a pun on ‘as well’)? Such a poem
couldn’t accord with Milton’s restricted and restrictive, strait-laced, Protestant-Christian,
‘kingly’ (i.e. authoritarian) notion of God, but it could conceivably
invoke the irresistible, irreverent god of sexual love: Kama in India, Eros in
Greece, and Cupid in Rome. He’s the one that I can expect some help from in
dealing with my chronic gayness, and perhaps, while he’s at it, even
with my distressing current ‘quarter-blindness’. I think we need to completely overhaul our crude, dull, jaded notions of divinity.
2. 39. Einstein is most well
known for his Theory of Relativity, which is supposed to be encapsulated in the
proposition or equation E = mc2. It is less well known that
he also subscribed to the proposition put forward by Spinoza over 200 years
earlier, expressible in equation-form as divinity = reality. Of these
two propositions, the former may be more immediately important, but it’s the
latter which, owing to the deeper insight it embodies, ultimately may
turn out to be the more significant.
2. 40. Ill health is definitely worse than old age, but both together constitute a truly formidable ‘double-whammy’. It’s best not to remain under any illusion about this, but to remain as fully prepared for it, mentally, emotionally and financially, as possible.
2. 41. Old age: when suffering, slowly and gradually, attenuates to s-h-u-f-f-l-i-n-g!
2. 42. One of my all-time favourites, among old Indian film-songs, is a ‘semi-classical’ song sung by Lata Mangeshkar for the film Büzdil (1951). Having listened to it on an audio-cassette at least 30 times in the last 10 days, let me first transliterate its words, and then translate them into English, in the process hopefully being able to convey a sense of its extraordinary musicality. (YouTube link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qqEytqkUvY)
Transliteration:
jhun jhun jhun jhun jhun paayul baajay
kaisay
ja‘oon pee say milun ko, kaisay ja‘oon pee say milun ko
laaj
ki maari muroon, kaun juttun kuroon
rama
jhun jhun jhun paayul . . .
paarr
jigurr kay baan birhaa ka
kaajur
kaari rain
üth kujraa ray budraa
bursay
ith
bursay moray nain
pa‘on
mayn bairri laaj ki, turrup turrup reh ja‘oon
mayn
dünya
ki reet nibha‘oon, ya mayn preet nibha‘oon?
rama,
jhun jhun jhun paayul baajay, jhun jhun jhun paayul baajay
kaisay
ja‘oon pee say milun ko, laaj ki maari muroon, kaun juttun kuroon
rama,
jhun jhun jhun jhun paayul . . .
ghum
say bhura dil bojha bhaari, hum say
chulaa na ja‘ay
kudum
kudum mori chünri üljhay, aur kaanta lug ja‘ay
aanchul mayn ik deep chhupa‘ay nikli jogun ghurr say piya ki, nikli jogun ghurr say
aayaa puvun jhukora, deepuk thurr thurr kaampay durr say
nikli
jogun ghurr say piya ki, nikli jogun ghurr say . . .
jhun
jhun jhun jhun, jhun jhun jhun jhun, rama, jhun jhun jhun jhun
paayul
baa-aa-jay, jhun jhun jhun jhun jhun, jhun jhun jhun jhun jhun,
jhun
jhun jhun jhun jhun paayul baa-aa-jay, baa-aa-jay, baa-aa-jay
jhun
jhun jhun jhun
Translation:
Jhun jhun jhun jhun jhun, my anklets jingle-jangle,
How can I go to meet my lover, how can I go to meet my lover?
Overcome by modesty, what stratagem can I adopt?
Rama, jhun jhun jhun go my anklets . . .
Separation’s shaft has pierced my heart,
Kohl-dark is the night;
There the kohl-dark clouds do pour, here do pour my eyes.
Modesty’s fetters on my feet, I remain all agitated:
Should I abide by the world’s ways, or should I abide by love?
Rama, jhun jhun jhun go my anklets, jhun jhun jhun go my anklets.
How can I go to meet my lover? Overcome by modesty, what stratagem can I adopt?
Rama, jhun jhun jhun jhun, my anklets . . .
My heart full of sorrow a heavy burden, I’m unable to walk:
At every step my veil entangles, and thorns do prick my feet.
Hiding
a lamp in her veil, her lover’s lover leaves her house,
Her
lover’s lover leaves her house;
Comes
a gust of wind, the lamp-flame trembles with fear,
Her
lover’s lover leaves her house, her lover’s lover leaves . . .
Jhun jhun jhun jhun, jhun jhun jhun jhun, Rama, jhun jhun jhun jhun,
My anklets jingle-jangle.
Jhun-jhun-jhun-jhun-jhun, jhun-jhun-jhun-jhun-jhun, jhun-jhun-jhun-jhun-jhun, my anklets jingle-ja-a-angle, jingle-ja-a-angle, jingle-ja-a-angle,
Jhun jhun jhun jhun.
Oh well, you really have to listen to the song itself to properly appreciate its music.
2. 43. Last Friday, I actually rode my beautiful, rather headstrong mare, Lukshmi (no old nag, she), for about an hour. Not bad for a 72-year-old who’d recently recovered from a 20-day-long severely debilitating illness!
2. 44. Six weeks ago (mid-November ’21), I suddenly fell seriously ill with a strange composite illness (possibly including Covid) that lasted around 20 days, and seemed to take me about midway across the Great Divide. Curiously, during the worst two weeks or so – the nadir – while my dominant feeling was probably wanting desperately to become well again, a significant subsidiary feeling seemed to be the wish to be ‘done with it’ and cross over to the further shore, which appeared to be a nice, agreeable place! What principally seemed to hold me back from that ‘option’, was concern regarding my following three responsibilities:
(1) My life’s work, comprising one volume of original verse (about 130 poems), my English translation (in 2 Parts) of Mirza Ghalib’s best Urdu verse, and one or two volumes of original ‘creative non-fiction’ prose, needs to be published while I’m still alive, so that I can be sure that the published versions are exactly what I want them to be.
(2) I need to make reliable provision ensuring that my pet-children, three dogs and a mare, are treated well after me.
(3) I need to make some sort of binding legal provision that our house, after both my sister and I have kicked the bucket, is turned into a properly functional private (or state-run) veterinary hospital.
Had I not had these three major responsibilities still left to fulfil, I apparently wouldn’t have minded at all to call it a day!
2. 45. The dilemma involved in publishing my writings in book-form, particularly these Reflections, is that if it’s done while I’m living in Pakistan, most probably I couldn’t continue living for much longer, but my life would be brought to a juddering halt at the hands of a frenzied lynch-mob of Muslim zealots, all fired up to avenge the ‘blasphemy’ committed by me, thereby securing places for themselves, as promised by their scriptures, in junnut, the Islamic paradise (while actually basically gratifying their blood-lust). On the other hand, if I don’t have my work published in book-form during my lifetime, who’s going to get it done with adequate accuracy afterwards? A third possible option could be to emigrate to another less fanatical country, and have my books published there, but at my age that doesn’t seem to be all that viable an option, either. Besides, in some ways I prefer living in Pakistan to living in, say, New York. So . . . best to just watch and wait for now, I guess.
2. 46. Speaking of watching and waiting, the older two of my three dog-children, Sungi and Laila, somehow managed to get out of the enclosing boundary wall of our house at about 10 this morning (29 Dec. 2021), and haven’t been seen or heard till the present moment (11.45 p.m.). Never before have they absconded for so long, missing their single meal of the day at around 4.30 p.m., so I’m feeling rather worried about them. Could it be that the gods (anagram of ‘dogs’) have thought it best to remove them (their physical selves) from my life, leaving behind only memories, and the anticipation of some sort of reunion in the hereafter? I don’t know.
2. 47. It’s about 7.40 a.m. on 31 Dec. ’21 right now, but Sungi and Laila (see above) still haven’t returned home. Yesterday, my part-time servant, Izhaar, who was employed about 2½ years ago specifically to help prepare the food for our then four dogs, and I, scoured the neighbourhood for any sign of Sungi and Laila, alive or dead, but to no avail. Today, I intend to lodge a complaint at the local police station, but am not hopeful at all that that will yield any positive results. I just can’t understand how two (not one) quite-large, collar-wearing, home-accustomed dogs could have vanished into thin air. Sungi is/was about 4½ and Laila about four, which apparently translates to about 34 and 32 in human years respectively, and I was considering stopping giving Laila the effective-for-three-months contraceptive injection (progesterone), so she could have pups (most likely Sungi’s) for the first time. Man proposes, God disposes? What I do know for sure is that I’m keenly missing my dear canine friends, and that, no matter what, they’ll remain in my heart for quite as long as my heart remains in me.
2. 48. Metempsychosis, or transmigration of souls, or reincarnation, is an intriguing, unprovable, un-disprovable possibility (and a tough challenge to the blasé Heaven/Hell concept), but formalizing and building upon it, as done in Hinduism and Buddhism, is a big, stupid mistake. Ultimately, it is completely irrelevant whether or not the spirit/soul active in me now had previously lodged in another body, or any number of other bodies. I am principally and finally responsible for what I make of my life, notwithstanding my heredity, environment, or possible previous incarnations.
2. 49. Darwin: Survival of the fittest.
Jesus (in effect): Survival of the meekest.
Both of them couldn’t be right, now, could they? Although, theoretically, there’s nothing to stop a very fit (i.e. capable) person from being very meek as well, practically that combination of qualities manifested in the same person would be very unlikely indeed.
2. 50. How beautiful life can be if one has managed to learn how to live it, but how dreadful it may be if one hasn’t!
2. 51. Today (4 Jan. 2022) is a cold, drizzly day here in Abbottabad (Pakistan), with a slight to moderate chance of snow, but my dear dog-children, Sungi and Laila, who disappeared most mysteriously on 29 Dec. ’21, have not returned home yet (see Nos. 2. 46 & 2. 47 above). It seems highly unlikely that I’ll ever see them again. As a matter of fact, in these weather conditions, instead of them being trapped somewhere – cold, hungry and/or ill-treated – I’d rather that they were dead and beyond further suffering, bringing to a close the four-year-long period of our predominantly joyful association.
Laila (left) & Sungi (right) lying unperturbed in our front porch, a couple of years back. (See also, if accessible, my essay, Pet Antecedents.)
2. 52. Shukeel Budayooni (usually spelt ‘Shakeel Badayuni’) (1916 – 1970) was a gifted Indian poet and songwriter, many of whose lyrics have been sung by renowned Subcontinental singers. Four couplets from one such ghuzul (stylized, thematically disjointed poem), sung beautifully by Tulut Mehmood (Talat Mahmood) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DKEXQqPV7pg), I like particularly, and will transliterate and then translate below:
Transliteration:
mairi zindugi hai zaalim tairay ghum say aashkaara
taira ghum hai dur-hukeekut müjhay zindugi say
pyaara
tu ugurr bürra na maanay to juhaan-e-rung-o-boo mayn
mayn sukoon-e-dil ki
khaatir koee dhoond loon suhaara
mayn buta‘oon furrk
naaseh jo hai müjh mayn aur tüjh mayn
mairi zindugi tulaatüm tairi zindugi
kinaara
koee ay Shukeel poochhay yeh jünoon nuheen to kya hai
keh üssi kay ho gu‘ay hum
jo na ho suka humaara
Translation:
Owing to your sorrow*, my life is an open secret;
Your sorrow* is, indeed, dearer than life to me.
If you take it not amiss, in this colourful and scentful world,
To provide my heart some comfort, I may find myself a means**.
I’ll tell you, my advisor, how I do differ from you:
My life is tempestuous turbulence, yours is the placid shore.
The question does arise: what is it if not mania,
That theirs we did become, who ours could not become?
* The sorrow felt, not by you (the
beloved), but on your account by me (the poet).
** From, it seems to be implied, the
colourful ‘red-light area’ (locally ‘diamond-market’).
2. 53. How many people in Pakistan could routinely be having scrambled egg on toast for breakfast? Very, very few, I’m sure, but I happen to be one of the lucky ones that do. My cook and full-time servant of over 22 years’ standing, Humayoon, makes me a perfect version of the dish (which he calls ‘scrammer’) every fourth morning. It’s good to count one’s blessings, my late mother used to say . . .
2. 54. As mentioned in Reflection No. 1. 980 above, one of my favourite Urdu sayings is dhoondnay say khuda bhi mil jaata hai, translatable as By searching, you can even find God. On the basis of my personal experience, I can vouch for the veracity of this saying. For at least the last 50 years, I too have searched for ‘God’, and have found, so far – wait for it – not just one but four gods (and counting, albeit slowly)! Following are the four gods that I’ve already conclusively identified:
(1) Surusvuti, the goddess of learning, art and music (see my poem Invocation to Surusvuti).
(2) Lukshmi, the goddess of wealth – providence deified.
(3) Kama/Eros/Cupid, the god of sexual love.
(4) Morpheus, the god of sleep (see Reflection No. 1. 26 above).
Along with these personal ‘big four’ . . . as Lawrence said, I admit a God in every crevice, recastable as I admit a god in every corner, restateable as God is everything, everything is God.
2. 55. Among native-English, homegrown sayings and proverbs, along with Where there’s a will, there’s a way, the other one of my top-two favourites is Beware the fury of a patient man. It’s well worth anyone’s effort and time to try and become a truly patient man or woman, so that all and sundry will think (at least) twice before messing with you beyond a certain point, knowing beforehand (word spreads . . .) the peril to themselves involved in doing so.
2. 56. Islam and Muslims seem to have found a new, highly unlikely apologist in Rabbi Tovia Singer, who has an apparently very popular YouTube channel and website (https://outreachjudaism.org). In one of his YouTube videos, titled Is Christianity or Islam Closer to Judaism?, Singer begins by saying that there is not even a contest regarding which of those two off-shoots of Judaism is closer to it, but that indubitably Islam is so. He goes on to denounce the doctrine of Trinity, rejected by both Judaism and Islam, as ‘hideously odious’ – surprisingly and suspiciously vituperative epithets. Without going into the nitty-gritty of Singer’s stance, the question does arise that, if he is right, why is Western civilization often characterized (albeit exaggeratedly) as being based on Judaeo-Christian culture? Why has no one ever heard credibly of a Judaeo-Muslim culture? (By contrast, there was an intermixed Hindu-Muslim culture in most of India for centuries, before Partition occurred in 1947 – a lovely example of which culture, and a foil-of-sorts to Singer’s rant, can be seen and heard in the following clip from the classic 1942 ‘hit-musical’ film, Busunt: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QhP0CNDAR-s.)
2. 57. Who would have thought that, three months into my 73rd year, I would be feeling euphoric enough to consider claiming that my seventies, in terms of overall contentment, may turn out to be the best, most ‘golden’ decade (or part thereof) of my life?! Currently, I feel not a bit afraid of death, or life, or even Covid-19, which some people no doubt will consider foolhardiness on my part, but I even more doubtlessly think otherwise. On the other hand, as far as physical health is concerned, the multiple deteriorations inexorably and incrementally attendant on ageing are bound to continue to take place, eventually making life not worth living. In my own case, the limit I have in mind is my 77th birthday on 13 September 2026, before which I plan to complete (in the true sense) all my leftover living, and then bow out gracefully and in style.
2. 58. Probably in his A Passage to India (or else one of his essays), E.M. Forester came up with a hilarious substitute for ‘white’, as used in ‘the White race’ or ‘White people’, namely ‘pinko-grey’. Now, while I cannot honestly claim that I am presently in ‘the pink of health’, nor I should think can many other over-70s, in view of the recent distinct reduction in the symptoms of my physical (and psychological) ailments, it would be quite honest to assert that I’m currently in ‘the pinko-grey of health’! The gods be thanked!
2. 59. Yet another interesting and lively old Indian film-song that
I want to transliterate and translate, is the following duet, cast in a
question-answer mode, sung by Shumshaad Baigum and Muhummud Rufi for the 1948
film, Nudiya kay Paar (Across the
Stream) (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fD4YrMe-hBg):
Transliteration:
Woman: nunhi see jaan mayn hai
juvaani ka situm kyoon?
rug rug mayn hai nusha,
aur nushay mayn hai durrd kyoon?
Interlocutor (male): haan, ub kuhay
koee, nushay mayn hai durrd kyoon?
Man: iss lee‘ay . . . iss lee‘ay keh
zindugi mayn pyaar kiya ja‘ay
yeh iss
lee‘ay keh zindugi mayn pyaar kiya ja‘ay
Man & Woman: do chaar din yeh
pyaar say güzaar diya ja‘ay
do
chaar din yeh pyaar say güzaar diya ja‘ay
Man: haan, do dil jub aik hotay hain,
tub do bunay hain kyoon?
milnay ki tumunna
hai mugurr miltay nuheen hain kyoon?
Interlocutor: hum bhee to sünain, kyoon nuheen
miltay?
Woman: iss lee‘ay . . . iss lee‘ay
keh dil peh dil nisaar kiya ja‘ay
yeh iss lee‘ay keh dil peh dil nisaar kiya ja‘ay.
Man & Woman: do chaar din yeh
pyaar say güzaar diya ja‘ay
do
chaar din yeh pyaar say güzaar diya ja‘ay
Woman: haan, aankhon say aankh mil
guyee, phirr bhi na chan kyoon?
haan, pehchaan
ho guyee hai mugurr bay-busi hai kyoon?
Interlocutor: haan bhu‘ee phirr yeh
bay-busi kyoon?
Man: iss lee‘ay . . . iss lee‘ay keh
ishk ka izhaar kiya ja‘ay
yeh
iss lee‘ay keh ishk ka izhaar kiya ja‘ay
Man & Woman: do chaar din yeh
pyaar say güzaar diya ja‘ay
do chaar din yeh pyaar
say güzaar diya ja‘ay
Man: haaaan, in must nigahon mayn
puraishaanian hain kyoon?
bay-taab do dilon
mayn yoon juvaanian hain kyoon?
Interlocutor: zurra kehna to phirr
kyoon?
Woman: iss lee‘ay . . . iss lee‘ay
keh ub na intizaar kiya ja‘ay
yeh iss lee‘ay keh ub na intizaar kiya ja‘ay
All Three: do chaar din yeh pyaar say
güzaar
diya ja‘ay
do chaar din yeh pyaar say güzaar diya ja‘ay
Translation:
Woman: In my tiny little life, why is the tyranny of hot-blooded youth?
In every vein is craving, and in the craving, why is there pain?
Interlocutor (male): Yeah, let someone explain, in the craving, why is there pain?
Man: So that . . . so that, in this life, love does get to be made,
Oh, so that, in this life, love does get to be made.
Man & Woman: These couple of days of life, with love let us spend,
These couple of days of life, with love let us spend.
Man: Aah, when two hearts become one, why do they exist as two?
They desire to merge together, but merge together they don’t.
Interlocutor: Someone do tell us too, why don’t they merge together?
Woman: So that . . . so that one heart is gifted over to the other,
Oh, so that one heart is gifted over to the other.
Man & Woman: These couple of days of life, with love let us spend,
These couple of days of life, with love let us spend.
Woman: Aah, contact between eyes has occurred, but why’s there still no solace?
Covert recognition has occurred, but why the helplessness?
Interlocutor: Yeah, friend, why then this helplessness?
Man: So that . . . so that an overt avowal of love is made,
Oh, so that an overt avowal of love is made.
Man & Woman: These couple of days of life, with love let us spend,
These couple of days of life, with love let us spend.
Man: Aa-a-ah, in these bold, brazen glances, why are there perplexities?
In two impatient hearts, why course the demands of youth?
Interlocutor: Someone just say, why is this so?
Woman: So that . . . so that now all waiting be abandoned,
Oh, so that now all waiting be abandoned.
All Three: These couple of days of life, with love let us spend,
These couple of days of life, with love let us spend.
2. 60. It’s a month now since my dear dog-children, Sungi and Laila, disappeared in a manner that has left me utterly baffled (see Nos. 2. 46, 2. 47 & 2. 51 above), which bafflement is of course in addition to the considerable amount of grief that their simultaneous disappearance (‘in one fell swoop’) has caused me. I also feel intermittent twinges of guilt that, owing to an untoward streak of fatalism in me, I may not have done enough to find them, dead or alive – even though it’s hard to say realistically and precisely what more I could have done (beyond what I did do, i.e. scour the neighbourhood, offer a generous cash reward for information leading to their recovery, and lodge a complaint with the local police). Nevertheless, the charge of fatalism, resulting in passivity and/or complacency on my part, may still need to be addressed.
What, if anything, is fate? Many people think that there’s no such thing, and in some ways, I agree with them. On the other hand, it can be said that it was fate, in the first place, that I adopted Sungi (in November 2017) and Laila (in January 2018), for at that time I already had two beloved she-cats, Minty and Brownie, and was very hesitant about adopting dogs as well (see my essay, Pet Antecedents). It can also be argued that, a couple of weeks after Sungi and Laila’s disappearance, it was by fate that I spotted a young female puppy with a deformed right foreleg foraging around a dustbin in town, and decided to bring her home. The little one, diagnosed with rickets due to severe malnutrition (see photo below), has now settled into her new home, been named Durga (after the Hindu goddess), plays around with our slightly lame part-Rottweiler, Gülloo (adopted in the summer of 2018), and is proving to be something of a compensation for the loss of Sungi and Laila.
2. 61. What do I think of the much-vaunted basic Islamic tenet of tauheed, or oneness of God, culled as it is so obviously from Judaism? Not very highly at all, I’m afraid. One fat-arse sitting eternally on His throne in Heaven is no more credible or acceptable than several slim- or medium-arses romping about in some other dimension. The truth of the matter is that no living human being (putative ‘prophets’ included) has ever had a fucking clue as to what, if anything, constitutes divinity. Monotheism, in effect, is a form of monomania; don’t feel obliged to pay much heed to tauheed.
2. 62. What do I think of the widely-held notion that artists are fanciful, irresponsible people, whose utterances should ‘be taken with a grain of salt’, whereas scientists are precise, responsible persons, whose every statement is empirically verified? Well, by way of assessing said notion itself empirically, consider the following two excerpts from Chapter 5 (titled Elementary Particles and the Forces of Nature) of A Brief History of Time by the late renowned physicist, Stephen Hawking, acclaimed as ‘One of the most brilliant scientific minds since Einstein’:
(1) We now know that every particle has an antiparticle, with which it can annihilate. (In the case of the force-carrying particles, the antiparticles are the same as the particles themselves.) There could be whole antiworlds and antipeople made out of antiparticles. However, if you meet your antiself, don’t shake hands! You would both vanish in a great flash of light. (page 75 of paperback edition)
Well, thank you so much, Stephen, for this extremely timely warning. I’d suspected for a while now that Anti-Preetum, my antiself, was dying to shake hands with me, but now I’ll remember to keep him at arm’s length – or would that perhaps still be too close for comfort?
(2) The next category is the electromagnetic force, which interacts with electrically charged particles like electrons and quarks, but not with uncharged particles such as gravitons. It is much stronger that the gravitational force: the electromagnetic force between two electrons is about (sic) a million million million million million million million (1 with forty-two zeroes after it) times bigger than the gravitational force. (page 77)
Oh, so that’s (about) how many times the electromagnetic force is stronger than the gravitational force! However, one wouldn’t mind also to have been informed how exactly scientists have managed to determine that the electromagnetic force between two electrons is 1-followed-by-42-zeroes times (rather than 1-followed-by-41-zeroes times or 1-followed-by-43-zeroes times) bigger than the gravitational force.
As for the fancifulness and irresponsibility of artists’ utterances, that’s amply borne out by an intelligent reading of Shakespeare’s Complete Works – right?
2. 63. While it may be good to count one’s blessings (see No. 2. 53 above), it is also useful, from time to time, to keep track of one’s curses and disabilities, and how well or badly one has been coping with them. In a recent e-mail to me, an old, long-distance (overseas) friend of mine wrote, ‘I don’t remember you writing so much before about what you see as the curse of homosexuality . . .’ Do I see my homosexuality as a curse? Or a blessing in impenetrable disguise? Both ways, it’s something I still, at age 72, need to strive hard as hell to come to terms with, and make some sense of.
2. 64. Present-day humans, regarded as a species, are classified as Homo sapiens, which literally (in Latin) means ‘wise man’, but that’s an egregiously euphemistic label, considering how the vast majority of members of the species are anything but wise. If the term is supposed to highlight the difference between the mental capacity of humans as opposed to that of the lower animals, well, another marked (though not absolute) difference between the two could serve to classify or characterize humans as Homo homosexualis!
2. 65. Turning-points in one’s relationships with others, when they happen spontaneously and of their own accord, are exciting, instructive events that signify that one is still growing inwardly. Two such turning-points occurred in quick succession for me personally very recently:
(1) Firstly and more importantly, my three-year-old relationship with my partner-of-sorts, Ijaaz (not his real name), seems at long last to have fully unravelled. Even after I’d finally figured out (a month or so ago – see No. 2. 35 above) that the main reason my physical relations with Ijaaz could not progress was that basically he was an HH (‘hopeless hetero’!), I’d still been clinging on to the forlorn hope that eventually we’d bed (and even wed), if not here then maybe in New York. That dream is now dead, and intermingled with the inevitable regret about love’s/lust’s labour lost, I feel a distinct sense of relief (and clarity).
(2) Secondly and less importantly, my 53-year-old relationship with an old college-fellow of mine, Ronald (not his real name, either) also ground to a halt last week. Ronald and I were quite close (platonic) friends during our first two years (1968 – 1970) as undergraduates at Selwyn College, Cambridge; became less close during our third year at Selwyn; lost touch completely from about 1975 to 2002; had a renewed pretty-good, long-distance relationship, mainly by e-mail, from 2002 to 2017; started developing major attitudinal/ideological differences thereafter, resulting in increasingly irregular intercommunication, and then the final blow-up (or show-down) the other day. The attitudinal/ideological differences that cropped up sharply between Ronald and me after 2017 (sitting though we were 6000 miles apart in two different continents) might be encapsulated as follows: Ronald seemed to think that I had become virulently ‘Islamophobic’ and unappreciative of the (imaginary) virtues of ‘ordinary people’; I thought that Ronald was abjectly ignorant of Islam and Muslims, was severely restricted by his LLL (lily-livered liberalism*), and showed signs of incipient senility. So, rather than continuing further with an acrimonious, evidently unsalvageable relationship, it’s much better that that relationship has finally dithered to an end.
I’m forcefully reminded, yet again, of Lawrence’s inspired observation: the breath of life is in the sharp winds of change.
* The deplorable part of which was not the liberalism but the lily-liveredness.
2. 66. What makes for good, interesting, really readable literary criticism? Many pedantic academics consider that, in order to be ‘good’, a piece of literary criticism should be closely ‘relevant’ to the text or/and author being assessed. Not so, in my view. I think that a literary critic should merely (but cogently) use the text to be evaluated as a launching-pad for rocketing into the ether of reality itself, and then, on his return, present in the public domain the discoveries he has made there, in the form of affirmations, repudiations, comparisons, etc. That’s what I attempted to do in my piece, On Milton’s ‘On His Blindness’ (Reflection No. 2. 38 above); how successful was my attempt I’d like to know from other non-pedants.
2. 67. While it would be a blatant exaggeration to claim that the mysterious loss of my two dog-children, Sungi and Laila, on 29 Dec. ’21 (12 weeks ago) ‘is killing me’, it would also be quite false to assert that I’ve got over and don’t feel their loss any more. I still frequently (many times every day) remember my two little friends and the four mainly joyful years that they spent with me. Had they simply died on 29.12.21, the finality of that occurrence would have made it easier for me to bear it. As it is, I’m still baffled by the dogs’ disappearance, cannot discount some manner of foul play having taken place, and cannot entirely get rid of the thought that they (or one of them) might – just might – still be alive and rescueable – though that very remote possibility is getting yet more remote with each passing day. My poor Sungi and Laila! Why couldn’t we have stayed together for at least another four years? Can any sage, disembodied spirit, or god answer me: WHY BLOODY NOT??
The putative resident ‘sage-in-me’, taking up the above challenge, proffers the following analysis: The manner in which I lost both Sungi and Laila together 12 weeks ago is mainly attributable to three causes or factors: (1) Its root-cause is the lamentable level of callousness towards animals, particularly dogs, prevalent in this semi-civilized Islamic Pakistani society, and hence inevitably also present, with some variation, in all my dear neighbours, some of whom may well be implicated in my dogs’ disappearance. (2) A minor contributory factor may also have been the rather slow, dazed sort of initiative on my part, after the dogs’ disappearance, to enlist and insist upon efficient assistance from the local police. (3) Inscrutable and imponderable fate.
2. 68. Give (ungrudgingly) the devil his due, yes, and allow (likewise) the fool his occasional flash of wisdom.
2. 69. Did you know that male gay penetrative sex was possible with both partners in essentially frontal positions? Well, it is – as I discovered practically only recently, well into my 73rd year! But how exactly can it be done? Well, in one of several possible variations, the passive partner lies flat on his back, preferably on a narrow (under 22 inches wide) folding-bed or beach-chair. He then raises both his legs perpendicularly, and holds them there by grasping his right foot with his right hand, and left foot with left hand, which nicely exposes his anus. The active partner (no escaping these labels unfortunately) straddles the bed or chair while keeping his feet firmly on the floor, and having ensured adequate lubrication of the body-parts about to come into contact, pushes his penis into his partner’s rectum, possibly triggering the reputedly ecstatically pleasurable ‘prostate orgasm’ in the latter, and experiencing the undoubtedly intensely pleasurable ‘penile orgasm’ himself. Take an unsqueamish look at the two pics below:
2. 70. Horrid, hypocritical Rumzaan (Ramadan), the Islamic month of pre-dawn-to-dusk fasting, when Muslims’ overall behaviour invariably becomes considerably worse than in the other eleven months, has arrived once again in Pakistan (April 2022). All I can basically do about it, I’m afraid, is to grin and bear it. Thankfully, however, my grin is not wholly a grimace of revulsion, but is partly attributable to the contemptuous amusement that this yearly charade of collective piety evokes in me.
2. 71. One sort of progression or prognosis, relating to a neurotic individual, as per conventional psychology, may be thus represented: from neurotic to severely neurotic to psychotic. But another sort of progression, which actually takes place more commonly, is: from neurotic to highly neurotic to idiotic. I know at least two persons, one of either gender, both now in their seventies, who’ve followed the latter trajectory.
2. 72. Life wouldn’t be life if one could simply wish or pray one’s problems away. No, virtually every human being is fated to first analyse and then try hard to solve their problems, or else face being overwhelmed by them: there is really no third option. What about ‘letting go’ and ‘lapsing out’? Well, that works only occasionally, and is in any case just another way of trying to solve (or ‘dissolve’) one’s problems, collectively instead of individually.
2. 73. Even if one is super-good at analysing and then eliminating the perceivable causes of one’s suffering, it is apt to promptly reappear on account of other, previously unperceived causes, cyclically. Hence the inevitable need to inculcate in oneself staunch, if possible unflinching, stoicism, especially as one ages.
2. 74. Today, 29 April ’22, it’s exactly four months since my two dear dog-children, Sungi and Laila, both about four years old (in their early thirties in human terms), disappeared together most mysteriously and tracelessly. What on earth could have happened to them I simply don’t know. My most likely conjecture, but still only a conjecture, is that someone among my dear neighbours, out of spite and Islam-backed dog-hatred, managed to trap Sungi and Laila, and taking them somehow in a motor vehicle, off-loaded them somewhere so far away that they, for all their wonderful sense of smell, were unable to find their way home. This horrendously cruel practice, of transporting and dumping unwanted dogs so far away that they cannot find their way back, is considered quite acceptable in this callous-savage part of the world. If this is what was done to Sungi and Laila, I shudder to think of the multiple agonies that my poor pets must have undergone. Laila was last given a contraceptive injection on 15 October ’21, whose effect would have lasted till 15 January ’22, seventeen days into her disappearance. After that, if she was alive, she must have come to her heat, most probably mated, and become pregnant. Then, if she continued to be alive, she must have delivered puppies towards the end of March – which is what I was tentatively planning for her, but in vastly better circumstances here at home. Both she and Sungi must have faced starvation, disease and the agony of disorientation. My hope is that death mercifully cut their suffering short.
Soon after the dogs’ disappearance on 29 December ’21, I verbally announced a cash reward for information leading to their recovery. Subsequently, I got ready two printed, laminated posters with details of the reward offered and a coloured photo of the dogs (see image below), and affixed the posters firmly on the two gates of our house.
Now that four full months have elapsed since I last set eyes on Sungi and Laila, I intend this evening to take those two posters down – with a very heavy heart indeed. But then, however much one may want it to be otherwise, intermittent heavy-heartedness, on one account or another, does seem to be an integral and unavoidable part of human life. Upon kicking the bucket, though, I do hope, in some unimaginable way, to meet up with Sungi, Laila and all my other beautiful beloved pets. Not so very long left to wait for that, either!
2. 75. Death per se doesn’t scare me much; however, the preceding physical and mental decrepitude (and the resulting incremental reduction in independence) that afflicts most old people, does appal and terrify me. Is there no way whatsoever for anyone over seventy to avoid this deeply distressing decrepitude? Well, keeping one’s body and mind active helps to an extent. Beyond that, the only thing I know of that can help to make this final, onerous period of life bearable is to face up to all the important facts about oneself and others with scrupulous and unflinching honesty.
2. 76. The Buddha appeared to believe that sensuality causes suffering, which is not really true; it’s truer to contend that suffering encompasses life in spite of the momentary pleasures that sensuality provides.
2. 77. Beauty is said (perceptively enough) to lie in the eyes of the beholder, but if one delves deeper, it can also be conjectured to lie in the beholder’s genes, as the brief encounter described below would seem to confirm:
On his 45th birthday in March 2021 (about fourteen months ago), for reasons best known to himself, my partner-of-sorts, Ijaaz (not his real name), suddenly decided to let me view his naked bent-over buttocks, as I’d been hankering for him to do. His sulvaar (loose, cottony trousers fastened at the waist by a draw-string) fell to the floor like a punctured balloon as he leaned almost double, placing both his elbows on the seat of an arm-chair in front of him. I flung his kumeez (long shirt worn with a sulvaar) over his very light-coloured back, and took in what was for me a spectacular sight. Pendulous between his legs I could see the underside of his dick and the elongated sac of his balls. His creamy-white, faintly downy buttocks seemed to me the epitome of desirability. Very gently, I parted with my hands the cheeks of his arse, exposing the clean-as-a-whistle orifice, surrounded by a slight, tangly growth of hair. ‘Beautiful,’ I gasped. ‘Beautiful.’ Then Ijaaz pulled up his sulvaar, and the show was over, not to be repeated in the same way again, but having left an indelible imprint on my mind.
Now, surely, most heterosexual people with ‘normal’ genes would have found the sight that I found exquisitely beautiful nothing at all of the sort, but pretty repulsive instead. Which lends further credence to the ‘gay gene’ theory, doesn’t it?
2. 78. Even though I invariably admired the graceful beauty of my mainly white mare, Lukshmi, ever since I bought her on 1st July 2020, for some reason I never got to bond with her in anything like the way that I’ve been bonding with my cats and dogs for decades. In the latter case, I would categorically never consider selling any of my pets, but in Lukshmi’s case I’m seriously considering that option. Today, 18 May ’22, Lukshmi and the taanga (tonga) she used to pull were handed over to a remarkable gentleman who runs a ‘wedding hall’ on the outskirts of Abbottabad and plans to (re)start a riding school. I haven’t sold Lukshmi yet, but if I’m convinced that the said gentleman will treat her well, and subsequently, if he needs to, will sell her only to a party that he’s convinced will treat her well, then I may well sell Lukshmi soon. In that case, I’m likely to miss her sometimes, but nowhere as much as I miss my deceased feline and canine friends.
2. 79. One of my foremost and most basic recommendations for a full and contented life is to always remain in touch with your feelings. But what exactly constitutes being in touch with your feelings? Well, first of all you need to become aware, clearly and in detail, what you feelings are towards all the important people (and animals) in your life, and indeed towards yourself. This is by no means easy, for it means acknowledging the presence in yourself, not only of ‘positive’ emotions such as love and admiration, but also of ‘negative’ ones like hate and jealousy, and additionally, especially carefully, of feelings that are mixed or paradoxical. Next, you need to analyse, with professional help if necessary, why it is that you feel what you feel. Finally, unless there are cogent reasons for not doing so, you need to act upon your feelings in all good faith and as straightforwardly as possible. Keep in mind, however, that in order to do all this, as the means of becoming truly in touch with your feelings, you’ll need to make use of all the honesty, intelligence, courage and perseverance that you can muster.
2. 80. Exactly two years ago, on 28 May 2020, my best-loved cat, Minty, died after having been attacked and badly injured by my dogs about a week earlier (see Reflections No. 955 & 956 (Part 1) above). Previous to her death, Minty had been my room-mate (and almost soul-mate) for about 12 years; by contrast, I’ve never, post-boarding-school, shared a room with any person, partners included, for more than two days. I still miss Minty a good deal, and keep glancing at her little grave a few feet outside my bedroom window. One of Minty’s favourite resting-places in my (our) room used to be the top of a books cupboard, right in front of a framed print of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus. Following her death, I placed three photos of Minty, in laminated frames, on this cupboard top (see below):
From left to right, let’s call these photos (A), (B) & (C). Photo (A) was taken during the last week of Minty’s life, when she was in pain. Photo (B) shows Minty with her two kittens, Tigress and Princess, who were born on 27 July 2009. In photo (C), probably taken between 2016 and 2019, Minty is lying, as she often liked to do, on a special long cushion on my bed. Their relative sizes roughly proportional to the incidence in Minty’s life of the emotional states that they depict, these three photos epitomize for me, respectively, the following universal realities: (A) Pain; (B) Joy; (C) Placidity.
2. 81. Out of the three laminated, framed photos of my late cat-daughter, Minty, kept on top of the books cupboard in my bedroom, as shown in the picture in the Reflection right above, I’ll paste the clearer, original version of photo (B) again, below:
I think most people will agree that this is a really remarkable photograph. The kitten in the centre-left of the photo, with her eyes open, I named Tigress on account of her colouring, while her grey-white sister in the centre-right, with her nose buried and eyes shut, was named Princess. Although their mother, Minty, may not actually have been asleep when the photo was taken, her eyes, too, are shut in complete contentment. As a whole, this feline group-shot epitomizes not only ‘joy’ in a general sense, but also, more specifically, the motherhood-infanthood bliss experienced (all too briefly) by all terrestrial mammals, including humans.
2. 82. As though my poor eyes weren’t already afflicted enough by multiple onerous ailments, including myopia, astigmatism, presbyopia, diplopia (double vision) and ‘dry eye syndrome’ (which paradoxically makes them water sometimes the whole night long), I’ve now been diagnosed additionally with cataracts in both eyes, more so in the right one. Cataracts are held to be the leading cause of blindness worldwide, so naturally I’m considerably worried. The vision of my right eye has become hazy and blurred most of the time, though once in a while it seems a bit less so. The standard treatment for cataracts is to surgically replace the cloudy lens of the affected eye with a clear artificial one; however, I’m determined to do my best to find a non-surgical solution, which might, just might, be possible in one of two ways (or both together). Firstly, scientists are supposed to have ‘edged closer’ to discovering eye-drops that will simply dissolve the cataract, as lanosterol drops are credited with doing in some animals’ eyes. Secondly, there’s the claim of the Bates Method practitioners that specific relaxation techniques, particularly ‘palming’, can eventually reverse cataracts. Until I can get my hands on lanosterol (or similar) eye-drops, I intend to try out the recommended Bates techniques as fully and perseveringly as possible.
2. 83. After about a month of clear, torrid weather, with daytime outside temperatures pushing 35° Celsius, the day today, 17 June ’22, here in Abbottabad (Pakistan) has been mostly cloudy and comparatively cool (28° C. at 3 p.m.), which is most welcome. Another welcome feature of today for me has been the presence, just outside my bedroom window, for a number of hours, of a cat that I have not adopted, but for the last few months have been feeding or getting fed about twice a day. I’m still not sure of the cat’s gender, but best-guess it to be male. The colour of his fur is quite unusual, being light whitish-grey with dark blackish-grey markings, on account of which I call him Cloudy. He could well be the reincarnation of one of my several beloved deceased cats, guided by some ineffable instinct back to our house. But that possibility is really quite immaterial, for he’s obviously no recycled entity, but an entirely new individual. Also, I’m quite determined to keep a certain distance between us, and resist the temptation to adopt him, for when any of my adopted pet-children die or disappear, it hurts just too bloody much. Two pics that I felt impelled to take today appear below:
2. 84. Not infrequently, a situation arises in which, if you decide to do something, you later regret having done it, but if you decide not to do that same thing, you later regret not having done it! How should you deal with such a situation the next time that it presents itself? Well, one way is to try and pre-judge correctly the magnitude of the regret likely to follow the commission of an act, as compared to that likely to follow its omission. Then, whichever option seems likely to entail fewer subsequent twinges of regret, choose that option.
2. 85. Human life is nothing if not complex. Hence it is that most, if not all, of one’s important relationships tend to operate on multiple levels, and feature various emotional characteristics and combinations. The so-called ‘love-hate relationship’ is only one crude example. On my personal testimony, one can feel, for the same person, concurrently or alternately, affection, admiration, desire, distrust, disdain, envy and compassion – just to mention some of the main feelings that I’m able to discern that I currently harbour for my partner-of-sorts, Ijaaz (not his real name). Quite a diverse and complex set of feelings, these, which I have no option but to grapple with as best I can! Other people of course have other sorts of relationships to deal with – quite different as to the particular feelings involved, but more or less similar in the degree of complexity of the interactions of those feelings.
2. 86. In our single-storey house in Abbottabad, Pakistan, apart from a servant’s room and bathroom, there are four bedrooms and four adjoining bathrooms, out of which one bedroom and bathroom form part of a portion rented out to a tenant. One bathroom, next to my sister’s bedroom, is almost never used because my sister, who lives in New York and is very sick with Parkinson’s disease and breast cancer, hasn’t visited Pakistan for nearly eight years. The two remaining bathrooms I routinely use every day. Why both of them? Well, because, while both are fitted with similar sorts of wash-basins and showers, the w.c.’s that the two are fitted with are quite dissimilar. The w.c. in the bathroom adjoining my bedroom is of the sit-on ‘Western’ type, with toilet-paper on a dispenser within easy reach. In the bathroom across the passage from my bedroom, next to the bedroom used as a ‘computer-room’, the w.c. is of the squat-over ‘Pakistani’ type, with both a toilet-paper dispenser and a hot-water tap (with a spouted jug or lota under it) at hand (see photo below). Now, whenever I need to urinate, I go and stand before the wide, raised bowl of the ‘Western-type’ w.c., whose plastic seat is always kept lifted back, and relieve myself, using a bit of folded toilet-paper to dab the urethral opening, to finish-off. However, when I need to defecate, which is normally once every morning, I head straight to the other bathroom, adjacent to the ‘computer-room’, and squat on my heels over the ‘Pakistani-type’ w.c., and after relieving myself, first use a triple-folded length of toilet-paper to wipe my anal area, and then ample hot water (without soap) to manually wash the same (of course followed by washing my hands with soap): only then do I feel adequately clean ‘down there’ for the rest of the day. The ‘Western-type’ w.c. is nearer to my bedroom, but only very rarely, if the pressure to pass a motion is too strong to allow me to reach the ‘Pakistani-type’ w.c. without mishap, do I reluctantly sit on the former, and even then, after wiping with toilet-paper, I get up and squat on two bricks on the floor, and wash with hot water with the help of another lota kept in a corner for the purpose. Using only toilet paper after defecation, as is the norm in the West, inevitably leaves some residue behind (pun unintended), and is incontrovertibly less hygienic than washing with water.
Now to the question: is all of the above as important as I’m making it out to be? Short answer: for me, it is. Defecation is not something one does once in a blue moon, so that it doesn’t matter how one cleans oneself afterwards; it’s something that one normally does every single day of one’s life, so the manner in which one cleans oneself afterwards cannot but matter. How much it matters to me may be gauged from the following: I have had, and still have, plans of emigrating to America, most importantly because, in Pakistan, my life is in perpetual danger at the murderous hands of a suddenly-assembled, frenzied, bloodthirsty mob of Muslim zealots. One significant factor holding me back from flying-off to New York is that there I’ll have to suffer the daily discomfort of using a sit-on rather than a squat-over w.c.! Unless of course I can have my personally-owned house or apartment there, the plumbing of whose bathroom(s) I can then modify to accord with my perfectly reasonable standards of anal and perineal hygiene.
2. 87. One of Ijaaz’s several stated reasons for not consenting to be fucked by me (to put it plainly) is that subsequently I would (feel and) express contempt for him. While I don’t think it absolutely inevitable that that would be the case, unfortunately there is some likelihood that it just might. So, is there really something inherently contemptible (and also grossly comical) about a man being anally penetrated by another man’s dick? If there is, then that’s terrible news for all male homosexuals, both active and passive, for either way, indulging in sex with someone you hold in contempt, or with someone who holds you in contempt, will ultimately lead to psychological disintegration of both partners – while non-indulgence due to repression or suppression could prove to be even more disintegrative. Do it and be damned, don’t do it and be doubly damned: what cruel misfortune it is to be born with the (reliably suspected) ‘gay gene’! But then people are born with all sorts of genetic aberrations and other cruel misfortunes: character resides in and develops with facing misfortunes honestly and bravely.
2. 88. In at least two out of my collection of numerous audio-cassettes (mostly from the 1970s and 80s), there is this lovely, incredibly joyful song from the 1949 Indian film Dulaari, written by the talented Shukeel Budayooni and sung by the legendary Lata Mangeshkar. I’ll transliterate and translate it below.
Transliteration:
muhubbut humaari, zumaana humaara,
too ga‘ay ja ay dil turaana
humaara,
muhubbut
humaari . . .
ruhain gay suda hum khushi
kay chumun mayn,
milay ga na ghum ko
tthikaana humaara:
too ga‘ay ja ay dil turaana
humaara,
muhubbut
humaari . . .
o-o-o huseen hai muhubbut
humaaray hee dum say,
na bhoolay gi dunya fusaana
humaara,
too ga‘ay ja ay dil turaana
humaara,
muhubbut
humaari . . .
o-o-o hum iss zindugi ko
ujurrnay na dain gay,
yaihi zindugi hai, yaihi
zindugi hai,
yaihi zindugi hai khuzaana
humaara,
too ga‘ay ja ay dil turaana
humaara.
muhubbut humaari, zumaana
humaara,
too ga‘ay ja ay dil turaana
humaara,
muhubbut humaari . . .
Translation:
Love is ours, the times are ours,
Keep singing, O heart, this song of ours,
Love is ours . . .
Always shall we stay in the garden of joy;
Never will sorrow find our abode:
Keep singing, O heart, this song of ours,
Love is ours . . .
O, love is lovely just due to us:
Never will the world our story forget.
Keep singing, O heart, this song of ours,
Love is ours . . .
O, never shall we let this life turn desolate:
This very life, O this very life,
This very life, indeed, is our treasure,
Keep singing, O heart, this song of ours.
Love is ours, the times are ours,
Keep singing, O heart, this song of ours,
Love is ours . . .
It beggars belief that, in this pain-filled world, anyone could feel so wholly joyful, upbeat and exultant. However, in the YouTube video of this song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=difjBwyV9bU), which I saw only the other day, there are clear hints of imminent menace in store for the happy singer – which could represent reality catching up with fantasy.
2. 89. After about age 60, and even more so after 70, the older that one continues to get, that much proportionately more medical attention one usually requires: if it’s not one doctor that one is running after to treat a certain ailment, then it’s another to treat a different one. Good doctors are essential for any society, and can help to shore up the deteriorating health of their elderly patients – but only up to a point; it’s best to bear in mind that permanent relief from some kinds of pain will come about only at the unerring, indubitably reliable hands of good old Doctor Death.
2. 90. In the well-known Taj Company edition of the deevaan (poetical works) of Mirza Ghalib, the great 19th century Urdu poet, a worthy English translation of whose best verse I’ve been working on for donkey’s years, the very last item to be included is the following famous, autonomous couplet:
Transliteration:
chund tusveer-e-butaan, chund huseenon kay khutoot
baad murnay kay miray ghurr say yeh saamaan nikla
In my translation, at serial No. 164 of Part 2 (Individual Couplets), this couplet is presented thus:
Translation:
Some pictures of beloveds and some letters from lovelies:
These effects, after my death, in my house were found!
What insouciance and vivacity of manner, and what endearing self-irony this couplet exudes! With plenty of other equally (and some even more) excellent couplets to be found in his Urdu deevaan, it’s no wonder that I regard Ghalib to be one of the greatest poets of any age in any language.
2. 91. Some three weeks back, on 12 August 2022, at a literary event in New York State, 75-year-old Salman Rushdie, author of several novels, including Midnight’s Children and The Satanic Verses, was brutally stabbed and grievously injured by a 24-year-old Muslim, Hadi Matar, who was born in the U.S. of Lebanese parents. After being arrested, Hadi Matar is reported to have said that he had read a couple of pages of The Satanic Verses and found them insulting to Islam, which had motivated him to murderously attack Rushdie. It is not clear (to me) whether Matar knew of and was partly also motivated by the futva (religious edict) issued by Ayutüllah Khomeini of Iran in 1989, placing a bounty of $ 3 million for Rushdie’s murder; most probably, Matar was at least aware of the murder-inciting futva, even if claiming the bounty was not uppermost in the young assailant’s neurotic/psychotic mind. As a matter of fact, in the sense that they can’t/don’t make anything like adequate use of them, Matar and most of his present-day co-religionists can’t even be said to have any fully-functional minds, having been so thoroughly brainwashed from an early age. One component of that brainwashing is the inculcation in Muslims of the fanatical zeal ‘to kill and be killed for the sake of Ullah’ (Küraan 9:111), for which the promised reward is nothing short of eternal bliss in paradise: Matar is obviously one among innumerable such zealots. Another related effect of Islamic indoctrination on Muslim ‘minds’ is the formation therein of this arrogant and morbid, sometimes psychotic, over-sensitivity to verbal or written criticism of their creed. In Matar’s case, if he’d found two pages of The Satanic Verses offensive and insulting to Islam, the obviously sensible thing to do was to put the book away, and read something else that he found more agreeable, instead. But his zeal, spiritual (and possibly material) cupidity, and his arrogant, psychotic over-sensitivity to criticism led him to plan and execute Rushdie’s attempted murder. Fucking outrageous!
Another aspect of Rushdie’s predicament that I want to highlight is as follows. He is reported to be a dual British-American citizen, though he was born in India and holds a PIO (person-of-Indian-origin) card. Now, what shameful spinelessness the British and American (and Indian) governments have shown for so many years by not challenging the mad mullahs of Iran over the latter’s brazenly proclaimed, blatantly criminal threat to the life of their current/former citizen! If I (god forbid) had been the British or Indian Prime Minister, or the American President, I would have stopped ALL diplomatic and trade relations with Iran unless and until the Iranian government categorically and unconditionally rescinded Khomeini’s futva. Instead, all that the British, American and Indian governments have done is to pay platitudinous lip-service to the ‘cause’ of freedom of expression. Shame on them!
2. 92. Translating verse from one language to another is much more difficult than translating prose, because in the former case the translator has to find not only the most apposite words in the target language but also some means of replicating or imitating the rhyme and rhythm of the original. Consider, for example, the following transliterated stand-alone Urdu shairr (couplet) that I composed some days ago, followed by the best English translation of it that I’ve so far been able to contrive:
Transliteration:
do gillay
jub nibhaani na thee, to kussum khaee kyoon thee?
jub dainee na thee, to gaand dikhaee kyoon thee?
Translation:
Two Grouses
If you weren’t to honour your pledge, why did you depose it to me?
If you weren’t to give me your arse, why did you expose it to me?
Now, apart from the arguably excessive poetic licence taken with the word ‘depose’ in the first line, discerning bi-linguals will probably consider that a fair bit of the merit of the original has been ‘lost in translation’. Even so, I think I’ve managed to largely retain the flavour of the original, and can pat myself on the back for that!
2. 93. Some overly intricate calculations, which are beyond the scope of one’s mind, however competent, even brilliant, that instrument may be, are best left to be done by God, a.k.a. the gods – my own self-chosen current pantheon comprises the foursome of Surusvuti (goddess of art, music and learning), Lukshmi (goddess of wealth), Kama/Eros/Cupid (god of sexual love), and Morpheus (god of sleep) –, a.k.a. the God-mystery, a.k.a. MRD (mysterious divine reality), a.k.a. Entity-X, a.k.a. AWL (phonetic version of ALL, i.e. the aggregation, individually and collectively, of absolutely everything).
2. 94. My only sister, who logically should be genetically very similar to me, says that s.s.r.i.’s (selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitors), the new (now quite old) generation of anti-depressants, including Prozac (fluoxetine hydrochloride), don’t agree with her at all. However, with me, fluoxetine seems to agree remarkably well. Only a few days on it, and I begin to feel an elevation in my mood; with continued use, I sometimes seem to experience euphoria and the feeling, especially in the morning, of ‘raring to go’. Shaabaash (well done!) to the inventor(s) and manufacturers of the ‘wonder drug’: it has my (though not my sister’s) thumbs-up: anyone feeling continually depressed should give it a try.
2. 95. Yet another milestone crossed: I’m 73 today, 13 Sept. ’22! When the year-counting digits appeared in the reverse order and I turned 37, on 13.9.1986, I was still Mahboob Ghani, but on my 38th birthday on 13.9.87, changed my name and became Preetum Giani, which I intend to remain till the end, planned (insofar it can be planned) to occur in 2026, some time before reaching my 77th birthday on 13.9.26: seventy-six seems like a pretty good age to die – fully ripe, probably somewhat overripe but not too, putridly overripe. Be that as it may, I’m determined to live the next four years even more fully than I’ve lived the past 73, leaving no room at all for any significant regrets.
2. 96. Am I a ‘believer’ or an ‘unbeliever’? Well, both, depending on the context in which, and the connotations with which, those terms are used. I’m definitely an unbeliever of the superstitious mumbo-jumbo integrally embedded, in various ways and degrees, in all the world’s major organized religions. But I’m a believer in the mystery that lies at the core of everything, and which interacts continuously with the mystery at the core of oneself: that, in a nutshell, constitutes my version of ‘faith’, and the kernel of my ‘agnostic pantheism’ (see, also, Nos. 894 & 2. 93 above).
2. 97. Monotheists are just one category of ‘believers’, of which a sub-category is rabid (i.e. literalistic and/or fanatical) monotheists. Most Muslims, many Jews, and some Christians fall appropriately in the said sub-category.
2. 98. As indicated in No. 2. 95 above, in my mind I’ve now embarked on the fourth-last year of my life, which percentage-wise means that about 95% of my life is already over, and a mere 5% remains: that’s the way the life-cookie – made of the DNA dough that it is – crumbles! On the other hand, I may also have already done about 80% of all that I wanted to do in life, so there may be no huge deficit after all. And a good part of the as-yet-unfulfilled 20% of my desires I may manage to bring to fruition within the next four years. Overall, I’m content.
2. 99. Behind the actual brick building of our house in Abbottabad (Pakistan), there’s no backyard as such, but, in the space up to the back neighbours’ wall, there is an about 6-to-8-foot-wide strip of uncovered ground, on to which opens the four-panelled window of my bedroom. Just outside my bedroom window is a decorative sort of raised flower-bed, and further along, outside the two windows of my sister’s bedroom, there are also a couple of similar raised flower-beds. This narrow, rather unkempt strip of ground has special significance for me, for herein lie buried no fewer than six of my deceased beloved cats: Minky and Tigress in the raised flower-bed outside my bedroom window; Princess and Güppoo in the raised flower-bed outside one of the windows of my sister’s bedroom; Minty across the strip from my bedroom window, against the neighbours’ wall; and Brownie, who was the last of the six to die, further along against the neighbours’ wall, across the strip from my sister’s bathroom. These cats died and were interred over a period of about 14 years, from December 2007 to June 2021. Currently, when I step on to or traverse this strip of ground, I almost always remember (some or all of) the departed members of my feline family, and feel both sad and happy – sad because they’ve irrevocably departed (where, O where?), and happy because we spent some delightful times together, and also because they predeceased me, rather than the other way round, which would have amounted to leaving them in the lurch. Three pics of the strip of ground mentioned above, followed by some comments on each of them, appear below:
(1) (2) (3)
(1) Our strip of ‘backyard’, looking northward.
(2) Sitting beside Brownie’s grave, holding a laminated ‘collage’ of two of her photos (‘zooming out’ may enlarge it), on 22 June ’22, her first death anniversary.
(3) Same strip, looking southward. On the right is my bedroom window; on the left, against the back neighbours’ wall, is Minty’s grave and a little ‘cats’ dining-table’. In the upper centre of the photo are four wooden planks, roughly 10 ft by 6 ins by ¾ in. (each), constituting literal sloping ‘catwalks’, their lower ends fixed to the brick back-wall of our house and upper ends resting on the neighbours’ back boundary wall: I call these my ‘Jacob’s ladders’. Looking closely, you can see at the base of the distant-most of these ‘ladders’, his eyes glowing, little tom-cat Cloudy, whom I have not adopted, but still prefer to see climb up and down these ‘ladders’ a thousand times more than any angels! (See, also, Reflections No. 907 & 908 (Part 1) above.)
2. 100. The somewhat childish notion of ‘my (his, her, etc.) good deed of the day’ is not so childish after all, for even one spontaneous act of kindness a day may offset many (or all) of the bad, blameworthy decisions one makes during the rest of that day. This Sunday morning (25.9.22), when I got out of bed, our unadopted tom-cat, Cloudy, was still sleeping in one of the two wooden crates affixed outside my bedroom window many years ago for use by our then adopted cats. But only a few minutes after getting up, I heard a gurgly, retching sound from outside my window, and saw Cloudy throw up a fairly copious amount of vomit. Even though it was outside, this needed to be cleaned, a task I couldn’t really ask a servant to perform, but had to do myself, and which I therefore did as well and quickly as I could, getting a bit out of breath in the process. I think I did a few other good things today as well, such as going out of my way to help my tenant sell a huge old-fashioned double-bed that he wanted to get rid of, and making some fairly important phone-calls, but my good deed of the day must surely have been cleaning up little Cloudy’s vomit early this morning.
2. 101. Almost sixty years ago (amazing!), when I was just 13 and studying as a ‘day-scholar’ in the ‘Junior Cambridge’ and ‘Pre-Senior Cambridge’ classes at the Roman-Catholic-missionary-run Burn Hall school in Abbottabad, Pakistan, I fell ardently (and mutually) in love with a ‘boarder’ class-fellow, Munsoor (not his real name), a year older than me. Our relationship was extremely intense, and physical to the extent of passionate kissing and caressing, but no fucking or sucking. As might be expected, the relationship kept running into snags, at which times I would naturally feel depressed and confused, and would sometimes intone to myself bits of the following 1950s classic Urdu (non-film) song (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Lmom7zEbeYQ), written by Sujjun, and sung very beautifully by Tulut Mehmood:
Transliteration:
maira pyaar müjhay lauta do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do
mayn
jeevun mayn ülujh guya hoon
mayn
jeevun mayn ülujh guya hoon
tüm jeena sikhla do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do . . .
thükraanay say pehlay müjh
ko
lauta
do voh preet ki baatain
mairi
hunsee, mustiyaan mairi
lauta
do voh chandni raatain
mairay
supnon ko lauta do
maira
toota dil lauta do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do . . .
mayn
nay jis ko jeevun sumjha
tüm nay üs ki
hunsee ürraee
dikha
dikha phoolon kay supnay
müjh ko kaanton ki rah butaee
maira
upnapun lauta do
mairay
geet müjhay lauta do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do
mayn
jeevun may ülujh guya hoon
mayn
jeevun may ülujh guya hoon
tüm jeena sikhla do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do
maira
pyaar müjhay lauta do . . .
Translation:
Give
my love just back to me,
O
give my love just back to me.
Entangled
in life have I become,
Entangled
in life have I become:
You
please teach me how to live!
Give
my love just back to me,
O
give my love just back to me . . .
Before
abandoning me for good,
Give
me back those words of love,
My
fits of laughter, that horseplay of mine,
Give
me back those moonlit nights,
Give
me back those dreams of mine,
My
broken heart give back to me.
Give
my love just back to me,
O
give my love just back to me . . .
That
which I considered to be life,
You
proceeded to make fun of that;
Showing
to me those flowery dreams,
You
led me to the path of thorns.
Give
my selfhood back to me,
My
songs of yore give back to me.
Give
my love just back to me,
O
give my love just back to me.
Entangled
in life have I become,
Entangled
in life have I become:
You
please teach me how to live!
Give
my love just back to me,
O
give my love just back to me . . .
Well, then was then, and now is now. The last time that I met Munsoor was in 1970, only once speaking to him on the phone after that, around 1998. Recently, however, I’ve felt the wish to see Munsoor again, before either of us kicks the bucket. I’m reminded of the following closing lines of Byron’s untitled poem:
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?—
With silence and tears.
It wouldn’t be like that at all in our case, I’m sure: certainly no sentimental tears, and hopefully no awkward silence, either. If the right chords were struck, we would detachedly and rancourlessly remember our intense calf-love, and compare notes on how our lives, particularly our sex-lives, turned out subsequently (he married and had kids, unlike me). I wouldn’t ask him to give my love right back to me, for it would be far too late to do so: time and life have a curious way of softening hard feelings and righting wrongs – provided that one has the strength of character to face facts and recognize reality.
2. 102. The most notable event for me, of the just departed year 2022, was my engagement, at age 73, with my 46-year-old long-time ‘partner of sorts’, Ijaaz (of course not his real name), which, against all odds, took place on 20 November ’22, and which I celebrated, pretty openly, for some good 20 days! The special 3 lb.+ chocolate-almond-walnut engagement cake pictured below, was followed by another identical one, then a third, and then a fourth!
On 20.11.22, Ijaaz and I exchanged the silver rings that can be seen on the left in the photo, and became each other’s fiancés. I sometimes think that this is something that I should’ve done 50 years earlier, when I was twenty-three (except of course that Ijaaz hadn’t even been born then!). What happens next, though? Well, that surely depends on how well (or badly) the two of us make use of our minds, hearts and penises.
2. 103. After almost two years of trying and failing to run even a marginally viable business venture centred on my beautiful mottled-white mare, Lukshmi, tasked to pull a passenger taanga (tonga) on the only route in Abbottabad on which taangas still ply, on 10 June 2022 I sold both Lukshmi and the taanga she used to pull to Mr A.G., who runs a ‘wedding hall’ on the outskirts of Abbottabad, and who was planning to (re)start a riding school. Mr A.G. looked after Lukshmi well for about two months, but then sent her (and another mare and foal of his) to stay with a friend of his, Mr U.J., who has some sort of a farm near the Punjabi city of Jhung, some 300 or 400 miles from here. In November ’22, poor Lukshmi reportedly contracted glanders, and on 26 Nov. I was informed by phone by Mr U.J. that Lukshmi had died. As may be appreciated from the photo below, without her the world is a less beautiful place. R.I.P., friend!
2.
104. Fifty-odd years ago, my Director of Studies at Selwyn College, Cambridge,
Dr Wilbur Sanders, whose critical acumen I was greatly impressed by, remarked
in passing that John Keats’s untitled fragment, This living hand, now warm
and capable . . ., was ‘the best thing he [Keats] ever wrote.’ I no longer
agree with that opinion, and, on 27 Dec. 2022, I wrote a poem of my own, titled
My Lucky Left Hand, referring in a number of ways to Keats’s poem. For
comparison’s sake, I’ll transcribe both poems below, mine, in keeping with the
changed times, followed by a photo.
Keats’s poem:
This living hand, now warm and capable
Of
earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And
in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That
thou would wish thine own heart dry of blood
So
in my veins red life might stream again,
And
thou be conscience-calm’d – see here it is –
I
hold it towards you.
My poem:
MY LUCKY LEFT HAND
This living, lucky left hand of mine, recently graced
With the silver band of our novel,
same-sex engagement,
I will not, like Keats, use to
emotionally blackmail you.
When, in due course of time, it’s dead,
buried and fleshless,
For a while the silver ring will
stay on its segment of bone.
But, if my body is cremated,
which I’d prefer,
Then remove from my finger
beforehand the ring,
Which the fire would disfigure,
and keep it next
To its companion, the band that I
slipped over your finger.
See, I hold my lucky hand
towards you – to photograph!
2. 105. Seems to me, at
seventy-three, that the uncommon combination of stubborn stoicism and an
unsinkable sense of humour constitutes one’s best bet for weathering the storms
of suffering that life seems to have a habit of engulfing one in.
2. 106. Throughout human history, the
phenomenal amount of suffering that homosexual people, always a
minority, have endured at the hands of the heterosexual majority, beggars estimation.
All of the five major world religions, namely Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism,
Christianity and Islam, are hopelessly homophobic, the three ‘Abrahamic’ faiths
of Judaism, Christianity and Islam having been, and still being, the most
oppressive. The idiotic myth of Sodom and Gomorrah, first concocted by the Torah
and regurgitated by the Bible and Küraan, has contributed to millennia of
oppression of gays. It was only in the late 20th century AD that the Gay
Liberation Movement in America and Europe showed that the tide had begun to
turn. But even now, when almost a quarter of the 21st century has elapsed,
there remain huge swathes of the world (including Pakistan) where intense
oppression of homosexuals is routine. That makes me wonder if, in my final few
years, even if I’m temperamentally not quite suited to do so, I should devote
more time and effort to gay activism, thereby better helping to halt the
immemorial momentum of grossly uninformed prejudices and abominable, sadistic
injustices against homosexuals. Minority rights do need to be struggled for,
particularly strongly by the members of those very minorities.
2. 107. I’m not able so far to put my
finger on what exactly it is, but there must be something wrong with me
that the people I trust, especially in monetary matters, quite frequently tend
to betray my trust. (See, if accessible, my short story What Happened to
Harry, written some 25 years ago, and included in my prose collection, Deliberations.)
2. 108. Only two months and one week
after the joyful, even triumphant, event of my engagement to Ijaaz on 20
November ’22 (see No. 2. 102 above), hateful dark doubts are threatening our
relationship from within. From some money put away in a locked cupboard, in a
specific place that only Ijaaz and I knew of, Rs 50,000 (about $ 200, though it
feels more like $ 2000) appear to have gone missing. I keep pretty
detailed accounts of whatever sums of money come into and go out of my pocket
every day, and having scrutinized these accounts about six times since the day
before yesterday, I can’t escape the conclusion that Rs 50,000 are
unaccountably short. So, what could have happened? There seem to be only three
main possibilities: either I’ve made a ghastly but undetectable mistake in my
accounts, or Ijaaz has unknowingly mislaid the money, or – horrible thought –
he has stolen it. I have no evidence whatsoever to back up the last-mentioned
suspicion, but the fact that that suspicion has even entered my mind is a
depressing indictment of our relationship: I hope most fervently that it turns
out to be unfounded. I badly need to get over this significant setback, which
ironically has occurred just when Ijaaz and I, after years of waiting on my
part, seemed to be on the brink of engaging in (hopefully ecstatic) penetrative
sex.
2. 109. Just this afternoon, 30 Jan.
’23, a bomb blast in a mosque in Peshawar, Pakistan, believed to be carried out
by a worshipper in the first row, is reported to have killed at least 59
people, most of them police personnel, and injured many more. In the brilliant
opinion of the incumbent Pakistani Prime Minister, Shehbaz Shareef, the fact
that the blast took place in a mosque proves that it had nothing to do with
Islam. You dolt, it proves exactly the opposite, that it had everything to
do with Islam!
2. 110. With reference to No. 2. 108
above, would giving Ijaaz the benefit of the doubt and then jumping into bed
with him, constitute the best possible resolution of a seemingly intractable
situation? Or would doing that merely constitute a short-sighted and ultimately
disastrous cop-out? How I wish I could stop being tossed between the horns of
this distressing dilemma!
2. 111. About two weeks after discovering that Rs 50,000 were missing from some money I’d put away in a locked cupboard on 31 Oct. 2022 (see No. 2. 108 above), it turns out that there is a fourth possibility of what could have actually happened. On 31 Oct. ’22, I closed a saving certificates account worth Rs 800,000 at the local branch of the National Savings Centre, and brought the money home. Ijaaz was with me at the Centre, and was supposed to carefully count the money that the cashier had handed us. Now he says that he only counted Rs 400,000 and assumed that the rest would be there. However, it’s not impossible that, inadvertently or deliberately, we were handed only Rs 750,000 by the cashier, but on account of Ijaaz’s foolishness, the shortfall went undetected. I’ve known Ijaaz for about four years now, and out of the two eternal categories of fools and knaves, it’s the former and not the latter that I’d be inclined to include him in. Not a huge consolation that, but still something of a relief. Some fools can gradually learn to become less foolish, but knaves are usually incorrigible.
2. 112. There is a BIG difference between sexual gratification and sexual fulfilment, the former being much easier to come by than the latter. This is true for both heterosexuals and homosexuals, but more especially so for the latter. During the last 60 years that I’ve felt a strong homosexual urge in myself, I’ve gained sexual gratification sporadically on several occasions, but sexual fulfilment has always evaded me. Only very recently have I experienced some occasional glimmers of fulfilment with my same-sex fiancé, to whom I got engaged less than four months ago. Wouldn’t it be fantastic if these intermittent glimmers would eventually coalesce into a steady glow of fulfilment!
2. 113. Unless some hitch related to inadequate immunization against Covid stops me at the last minute, I expect to fly from Islamabad to New York the day after tomorrow (27 March 2023). The main purpose of my proposed trip is to try and improve the quality of life of my elder, seriously incapacitated sister who lives alone in NYC. She was diagnosed with Parkinson’s disease in 2014 and with breast cancer in 2021, so is faced with an enormous double-whammy. I’m dissatisfied with the treatment she has been receiving for her breast cancer from the doctors at Elmhurst Hospital, who seem to be fixated on having her undergo a mastectomy, and refuse to consider alternative options like radiotherapy and immunotherapy. My experience of arguing with those doctors by phone or e-mail has been like banging my head against a brick wall, so I feel I must deal with them face to face. Moreover, my sister seems to have lost the ability to pay her rent and utility bills, about which, too, I can do precious little from ten thousand miles away in Pakistan, but which I should be able to put back on track once I’m in NYC. On the other hand, I don’t have a satisfactory place to stay at in NYC, a home aide (attendant) being present in my sister’s one-bedroom apartment around the clock. I’m also dreading having to start using again the unhygienic sit-on w.c., as opposed to the squat-over w.c., such as I use here, which facilitates washing one’s anal area with (hot) water after defecation. But then, it is right that the more important consideration of my sister’s urgent need should trump the less important consideration of my own inconvenience. So, fly to New York I should in two days’ time, ‘with a heart for any fate’.
2. 114. Despite almost unnerving tension and anxiety that I might miss my flight, I did after all get to the airport in time on 27 March '23, and flew from Islamabad, via Abu-Zhubi (Abu Dhabi), to New York, reaching my destination about 9.30 a.m. on 28 March, a full month and some hours ago. So, what has the past month been like for me here in NYC? Exceedingly difficult, both emotionally and physically. My sister is in a terrible condition, despite being looked after day and night, in shifts, by one or other of a number of ‘home aides’ (female attendants). She is almost entirely bed-ridden, and just keeps lying on her back, unable (or unwilling) even to turn her side; she can speak, but not always coherently. It has been agreed upon by her doctors and us that, as there is no other viable option available at this stage, she will undergo complete mastectomy (surgical removal) of her left breast as soon as possible. However, this is predicated, firstly, on the anaesthesiologist clearing her for general anaesthesia, and secondly, on a PET scan confirming that the cancer has not yet spread to other parts of her body. She is alive but almost completely helpless -- arguably more dead than alive, which current state of her existence is distressing for me to witness at close quarters, and which I'm determined not to live so long as to ever be in myself. Then there is the culture shock that hits me each time that I visit the U.S. Not having a room to myself, sleeping on the living-room sofa, and with an aide present in my sister's apartment around the clock, the only privacy I can get is by repairing to the only bathroom. But there, in the loo, I have an epic struggle every morning, getting to wash my anal area after defecating! The procedure that I have adopted is, first of all, to strip to my skin; then to lift back the w.c. plastic seat in order to make a little more room for manoeuvre; then to clean the top of the ceramic bowl well with damp toilet paper; then to throw a fair bit of toilet paper in the bowl to minimize splashing; then to sit on the bowl (minus the plastic seat) and relieve myself; then to use a thick wad of toilet paper to wipe my anus; then to fill up a plastic lota (brought from Pakistan) with hot water from the over-the-basin tap; then to hold the lota in my right hand and pour water from it over the palm of my left hand, held palm-up between my legs; then to rub my anal area vigorously with the fingers and palm of my left hand about seven times (keeping count of the number of times); and finally to rinse my groin area with hot water, using a plastic beaker, before getting up from the sit-on w.c., and washing my hands with soap. Phew! It's at least twice as convenient and hygienic to use the squat-over w.c., such as I'm used to doing at home (see No. 2. 86 – with photo – above). When on earth will these unhygienic (and, in this one instance, downright dirty) Westerners catch on?! Can't they see that getting oneself properly clean immediately after defecating is much more important than building sky-scrapers?
2. 115. Never coerce or bully yourself into doing or not-doing anything, no matter how importunately a part of you wants that thing done or not-done. Coercing yourself, being on par with coercing anyone else, is absolute anathema. All you can do is to suggest to yourself that it would be good to follow a certain course of action; then, pay attention to any contradicting, disagreeing or questioning voices that arise from within yourself; and, finally, after a robust internal discussion, decide whether or not to take the step under consideration.
2. 116. It may have been really interesting if the two unrelated namesake contemporaries, D.H. Lawrence (1885 - 1930) and T.E. Lawrence (1888 - 1935) had ever met or corresponded with each other. Both were extreme adventurers, but in very different ways; both were good writers, with D.H. of course being the better one overall; both have been categorized as 'repressed homosexuals', a somewhat vague but acceptable category; and both were unmistakeably early-20th-century British. D.H. was mainly heterosexual, with a 'streak' of unresolved homosexuality in him; T.E. has been called 'asexual', but seems certainly to have felt some homosexual desire, which acquired a distinct masochistic tinge in his later years, when he is believed to have paid to be whipped on his naked buttocks. My hunch is that T.E. must have experienced prostate orgasm when (professedly) he was subjected to violent sexual abuse by the Turkish governor of Daraa (Syria) and his guards in November 1917, and therefore later sought similar situations so that he would feel that sort of orgasmic pleasure (supposed to exceed the usually intense enough pleasure of a penile orgasm) again and again. Would D.H. Lawrence (or S. Freud) have been in agreement with my hunch, I wonder, considering that the mystery of the prostate orgasm has been properly unravelled in more recent times. I feel sorrier for T.E. Lawrence because, in spite of being brave and sensitive, he seems consistently to have been dogged by misfortune and trauma, which left him distressed and confused.
2. 117. Quite near (about 'two blocks') from where I'm currently putting up at (and putting up with) my sister's apartment in Elmhurst, Queens, NYC, close to the junction of Baxter Avenue and Roosevelt Ave., from inside the glass window of a bank, there has been visible ever since I got here six weeks ago, a poster with a large picture of 'the Ramirez family', publicizing some facility that that bank can provide to people looking to buy their own house. Well, I'd certainly like to buy my own house in NYC, but am afraid that's quite out of the question at present; my interest in the Ramirez family poster is for a completely different reason. This afternoon, I took a photo of the poster using my decrepit old digital camera, and will try to paste it below:
So, that (above) is the poster that's been grabbing my attention each time I've walked past it, utterly impossible as it would be for a similar poster to appear outside a bank in Pakistan! Why? Because the pictured Ramirez family comprises two men, each other's husbands, and their little adopted child of unclear gender (he/she could be the real child of one of them). You may or may not be able to enlarge the picture on your device so as to bring out the finer details; in case you can't read the small oblong of print (white on black) in the bottom-right corner of the picture, it reads:
The Ramirez Family
We wanted the freedom
of owning our own place.
And why not? The bearded fellow on the left in the picture seems a little sexually aroused by his red-shirted husband even at the moment the photo was snapped. Local New Yorkers walk past this poster all the time without batting an eyelid; in Pakistan, a bank displaying such a poster would be torched in no time! Likewise, probably, in all other Muslim-majority countries. While there may be several factors that account for this rabidly reactionary Muslim homophobia, one of the more obvious ones, no doubt, is just that, as has been astutely observed, 'we hate in others what we fear in ourselves'. So, you're not likely any time soon to hear of an Abdur Rehman family made up of members like the Ramirez family of the bank poster. And yet, on 20 November 2022 (almost six months ago), in backward, Muslim Pakistan, (then 46- now 47-year-old) Ijaaz and I (then and now 73) did pull off our same-sex engagement, which has survived so far, much to my satisfaction.
2. 118. Every morning these days, at about 9 a.m. New York time (6 p.m. Pakistan time), I speak by phone to my fiancé, Ijaaz (not his real name) in Abbottabad, and when he asks me how I'm doing, I sometimes reply by quoting Ghalib's following classic couplet:
Transliteration:
runj say khoogurr hüa insaan to mit jaata hai runj
müshkilain müjh purr purreen itni keh aasaan ho gueen
Translation:
Once one is used to distress, distress does disappear:
So many hardships befell me they became easy to bear!
Which is to say, in plain prose, that, after spending six extremely difficult weeks since I arrived here in NYC, I seem to be coping a little better with my circumstances with each passing week. The helpful gods, specifically Surusvuti (goddess of creative art), Lukshmi (goddess of wealth), Kama/Eros/Cupid (god of sexual love), and Morpheus (god of sleep), to whom (collectively) I currently address four brief prayers while lying on my back after waking up each morning, be thanked!
2. 119. One of the most beautiful momentary spontaneous gestures that I've ever witnessed happened some three months ago in my house in Abbottabad (Pakistan), involving my fiancé, Ijaaz (not his real name), who also works as a domestic employee there. I had just finished my thorough weekly shower-bath, dried myself with my medium-sized towel, and tied the towel round my hips and upper thighs, fastening it in place by tucking one of its upper corners inside its upper hem on my tummy, like one usually does. I opened the bathroom door leading to the passage, and called out to Ijaaz, who was in the dining-room, to come and remove the small wooden stool that I sit on (in Abbottabad, a bath-chair here in NYC) while scrubbing my feet. Ijaaz came promptly, but before picking up the stool, he did something that I wasn't expecting at all. Utterly spontaneously and gently, he raised the flap of the towel covering my dick and so exposed it for about one second. I don't think I'll forget that one second until the last second of my life!
2. 120. Death-in-life: that's the reality that I can now see quite clearly has all but engulfed my only, 80-year-old sister (seven years older than me), mainly to try to improve whose quality of life I came six weeks ago from Abbottabad to New York; Don Cupitt (days short of 89 himself now) called it 'outliving oneself'; Coleridge's memorably (though arcanely) personified 'life-in-death' in Part 3 of his Rime also possibly bears a tenuous resemblance to it. (Frankly, I can't make much sense of 'life-in-death', while I certainly can of 'death-in-life'.) What I'm talking about is the common phenomenon of people being so afraid of dying physically, that they cling on to physical existence long after they, in reality, have stopped living, and have joined the copious ranks of the living dead. Now, I can hear someone say to me, 'Well, that's going to happen to you, too, when you're as old as your sister.' To which my reply is: 'Since that is quite possible, I plan to pre-empt it by kicking the bucket (resoundingly) before my 77th birthday (in 2026). I'll try to make sure that it's I, not death-in-life, who has the last laugh, exclaiming, even if it's under my breath, 'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
2. 121. While it's true, as my father used to quote somebody, that 'over-simplification is the death of truth', it's also true that over-complication can threaten truth with asphyxiation.
2. 122. An unexpected, soothing solace-of-sorts, while I remain cooped up in my sister's small 5th-floor apartment in Queens, NYC, has turned out to be the occasional cooing sounds of pigeons that have apparently made their home on or beside the air-conditioner jutting out of the window of the living-room, where, as mentioned above, I sleep on a sofa at night. I don't know if these are nesting sounds, or mating sounds, or feeding-the-young sounds, but they usually go oonh-oonh-ooonh, reminding me of the Urdu phoneticization of pigeon-talk, which is ghütur-ghoon ghütur-ghoon. I feel a kinship with the creatures making the sounds: they are living their lives as best they can -- and so should I. I also like the sound, and sometimes the sight, of a pigeon flapping its wings when flying off from or returning to its abode near the air-conditioner -- I like this sound and sight a hundred times more than if I somehow got to hear and see Gabriel and/or the other winged angel-form figments of the Jewish/Christian/Muslim imagination!
2. 123. What a difference seven weeks can make! After I got here (NYC) about that time ago, for a couple of weeks I felt pretty confused, depressed and cornered, and seriously wondered if I'd made a big mistake in flying over. Now, it's a different story: I feel fairly comfortable, quite upbeat, sometimes with a song (an Urdu/Hindi one) on my lips, in my heart, and increasingly frequently, on the cassette-player or computer. I attribute my optimism partly to the one capsule of fluoxetine (Prozac) I take every morning, and partly to having taken the bull of my unfortunate circumstances by the horns (and partly, not to forget, to my gods' help). What now? Well, I think I'm ready for anything and everything!
2. 124. Some Comments on Tennyson's Crossing the Bar
Transcript of the text:
Sunset and evening star,
And one clear call for me!
And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,
But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,
When that which drew from out the boundless deep
Turns again home.
Twilight and evening bell,
And after that the dark!
And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;
For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place
The flood may bear me far,
I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crost the bar.
Comments:
(1) Tennyson wrote this poem in 1889, when he was about 80, around three years before he 'crossed the bar'. It's an interesting poem, probably Tennyson's best, but not on a par with the best verse of poets like Wordsworth, Keats or Mirza Ghalib (the great 19th century Urdu poet).
2) What is wrong and what is right with the poem? First, its merits. Its theme, death, is not so commonly, nor so directly, grappled with in poetry (or prose, for that matter), suggesting that its composer had a strong and original mind. The lines of the poem that I like best are the third and fourth lines of the second stanza, and the first and second lines of the third stanza; while I'm pretty ambivalent about the whole of the fourth-and-last stanza.
(3) When that which drew from out the boundless deep / Turns again home is wonderfully concise and evocative (though I'd have sacrificed or re-done the rhyme and used 'Turns home again'). Twilight and evening bell, / And after that the dark! is beautiful and dramatic. My reaction to the complete fourth stanza is mixed: its first and second lines, For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place / The flood may bear me far, pertinently envisage that death may involve transitioning beyond time and space; its third and fourth lines, I hope to see my Pilot face to face / When I have crost the bar, however, I feel rather uncomfortable with. Who is Tennyson's Pilot? God/Jesus? What makes him so sure that it's going to be Him that he sees face to face beyond the sand-bar of death? Since death itself is a complete mystery, anything beyond death must also be so. An improved version of the poem's last two lines, in my opinion, would be: I hope to see Reality face to face / When I have crost the bar.
(4) I don't understand the third and fourth lines of the first stanza: And may there be no moaning of the bar, / When I put out to sea. Why should any moaning of death's sand-bar occur when Tennyson (or anyone else) approaches it? Does he mean 'moaning (i.e. mourning of family/friends) at the bar', i.e. at the moment of his demise? Or, does he mean the noisy scraping of the sand-bar by the keel of a vessel if it crosses it at low-tide? The only obvious reason for including 'moaning of the bar' at the end of the third line seems to be that it rhymes with 'evening star' at the end of the first.
(5) See my 'full-length' essay, Looking Death in the Eye, written a month after my mother's death in 2003, and included in my prose collection, Deliberations – if and when that collection sees the light of day. In that essay, I briefly compared Crossing the Bar with D.H. Lawrence's poem, The Ship of Death, expressing my preference for the latter, which opinion I still hold 20 years later. But Crossing the Bar is a pretty good poem, too, despite its demerits pointed out above.
2. 125. Considering her present awful 'death-in-life' condition, it seems highly unlikely (though not impossible) that my 80-year-old, extremely unwell sister will ever again read these Reflections on the computer or anywhere else. So, I might as well come on record now (as later) that I think it would be best, for herself and everyone else, if she would/could stop clinging on to life, and die. I have cared for and admired her in the past, and she's done a lot for me, especially in financial terms, but now she's really come to the end of her tether, and it's useless to pretend otherwise. Everyone comes to the end of their tether ultimately, and at that point, everyone should break free and plunge into the unknown, without dragging their feet excessively. That, however, requires a degree of courage that not everyone, but only a small minority of brave people, can muster.
2. 126. This morning, 3 June '23, while still lying in bed (i.e. on one of the living-room sofas in my sister's NYC apartment), I suddenly realized that the date of the third death-anniversary of my beloved cat, Minty, which fell on 28 May, had slipped my mind. How I loved that cat, who was with me, in the flesh, from about 20 May 2008 to 28 May 2020! My room-mate for about 12 years, I doubt if I've ever loved a human being (including my present fiancé) as much as I loved Minty. So, it's three years and six days today since my cat-daughter passed (or scampered) away. Where to? Nobody, but nobody, has a clue, though so many (fools or knaves) have falsely claimed that they do. For my part, when I pass (or hurtle) away, what I'll immediately after look around for, if there is any looking around then, will be my beloved cats and dogs, arguably the most beloved among them being Minty. In keeping with the occasion of her death-anniversary, I'll paste below a few photos relating to her in some way or other:
Lying peacefully on my bed.
Sitting comfortably in her bed,
In her bed, but wide awake.
'Neath the sod (and rose-petals), 29.5.20.
-- as above --
Cloudy sitting in one of the places where Minty used to sit.
2. 127. A spontaneous exchange with my severely sick sister this morning (6.6.23), which is irking me a bit even now (midday), took place when she called out to me from her bed, to which she is virtually confined, when I was on my way to, or had just come out of, the only bathroom in her one-bedroom apartment in Queens, NYC. The dialogue given below is not word-for-word accurate, but a slightly shortened, from-memory version:
She: I have decided to cancel my application (malapropism for 'operation').
Me: Oh, brilliant!
She: Well, I have the right to change my mind, don't I?
Me: (in some exasperation): You don't have much mind left, so what are you going to change? You have very little mind remaining any more!
She: (uncomprehending? pained?) silence.
Was it unkind of me to have said what I did? My considered opinion, as of now, is that it wasn't.
2. 128. Yesterday (15.6.2023), after more than 50 years, I re-read Chapter 14 of Lawrence's third (and partly autobiographical) novel, Sons and Lovers, on the computer (being too visually impaired to read printed books any longer). The version that I read can be found by accessing https://www.sparknotes.com/lit/sonsandlovers/full-text/chapter-xiv/. Sitting in my extremely sick sister's apartment in Queens, NYC, with her home aides (attendants) continually clattering about or using their smart-phones, I managed to read the chapter with almost as much engrossment as I did the first time, as an undergraduate at Cambridge University, in 1969. Lawrence was about 26 when he wrote Sons and Lovers, in itself evidence enough of his being a genius. My reason for re-reading Chapter 14, however, was that I wanted to be reminded of the exact circumstances in which Paul Morel gives his mother an overdose of morphia when she is terminally ill and in pain but unable to die, so that I might compare those circumstances with the circumstances in which I currently find myself vis-à-vis my exceedingly sick sister. I, too, would like to hasten my suffering sister's trip across the Great Divide, giving her a warm send-off, but I don't think administering an overdose of a strong sedative (like Valium) constitutes a viable option for me. Do any other options exist? Can't I do anything at all except wait (for months? years?) for my sister to stop dragging her feet, or be ultimately dragged away regardless, kicking and screaming (inwardly, rather than outwardly, which could be even worse)? Common sense says there must be something I can do, but common sense hasn't let on yet what that something might possibly be!
2. 129. I'm happy to record that, with each passing week, more and more pieces of the life-and-death jigsaw puzzle seem to be falling into place for me. Looks like my truthfulness, to others and to myself, is bearing abundant fruit at last! It certainly feels good . . . in spite of everything! I may gradually be losing my eyesight, but then I've very nearly, almost fully, gained my authentic, spontaneous voice (for both the spoken and the written word). My cup feels almost full to the brim -- and I'd rather it didn't run over.
2. 130. I've thought a good deal about death since my only brother, six years older than me, died suddenly, aged 57, in 2001. My current thoughts and feelings about physical death are enumerated below:
(1) It's inevitable -- a universal human realization, encapsulated in the apt comparison, sure as death.
(2) Since one's physical existence had a beginning, i.e. the moment of one's conception, it's logical that it should also have an end, i.e. the moment of one's death.
(3) As Shakespeare put in Julius Caesar's mouth:
Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once.
(4) Every end is the beginning of something else, so death, being the end of physical life, must also be the beginning of something -- except that no one has ever had, nor will ever have, the foggiest notion of what that something could possibly be.
(5) Clean-cut, decisive death is infinitely better than life-in-death, i.e. being trapped in useless, burdensome (to others and oneself) physical existence, because one is terrified of letting go and passing on.
(6) 'Passing on' seems to me a better synonym for death than 'passing away', and not necessarily more euphemistic, either.
(7) I think I've reached a stage now where I'm not only not at all afraid of death, but am also rather bored by it.
2. 131. What an inwardly rich and full life – albeit not an outwardly particularly eventful one – I’ve lived so far, having turned 74 two weeks ago! And that’s exactly how I’d like the remaining fraction of my lifetime to be, too: a thrilling inward adventure! Preceding that other, utter adventure into the unknown that’s steadily drawing closer.
2. 132. In the present
day, there are broadly (OK, very broadly) two sorts of supporters of Islam: in
the outside, non-Muslim world, particularly the ‘liberal’ West, there is a fair
sprinkling of vocal useful idiots, while the Muslim world itself is
bursting at the seams with useless idiots!
2. 133. Uncertainty
can often be disconcerting, and sometimes even nerve-wracking; but
occasionally, it can also be quite delicious. For instance, yesterday,
12.12.2023, I encashed an interest-yielding savings certificate of mine worth Rs 5 lacs (PKR
500,000), equivalent to about USD 1750, though it feels more like USD
5000. Now, at the moment, I hardly have a clue how I’m going to spend this
money! There are several competing possibilities, but nothing is certain yet,
and that, right now, I find a pretty euphoric state of mind to be in.
2. 134. Just over
twenty years ago, I wrote an essay titled Looking Death in the Eye,
which hopefully will make it into the public domain sooner rather than later,
as part of my prose collection, Deliberations, which is expected to
include these Reflections on Reality as well. In that essay, as the
title suggests, I’ve tried to look death in the eye. Apart from the huge
benefit of doing so in itself, an even greater benefit to be derived from the
practice is that it then becomes much easier to look life in the eye, which
basically means looking every person one meets unflinchingly in the eye.
2. 135. I didn’t
actually ring out the old year 2023 or ring in the new year 2024, but, sure
enough, they’ve dutifully rung themselves out and in: it’s 1 January ’24 today.
So, how did the year 2023 and I treat each other? Pretty damn well, overall,
I’d say. Almost half of the year, from 28 March to 18 September, I was in NYC,
trying to sort out the haywire affairs of my extremely unwell elder sister who
lives there by herself. My efforts were by no means wholly successful, but to a
considerable extent they were, which resulted in my feeling a distinct sense of
satisfaction. My time in Abbottabad, Pakistan, from 1 Jan. ’23 to 27 March ’23,
and from 20 Sept. ’23 to yesterday, was also spent pretty fruitfully. The older
I get, the better I seem to be getting at living – let’s hope this trend
continues in 2024!
2. 136. Quite
recently, I heard for the first time a lovely duet sung by Lata Mangeshkar and
Mükaish
for the 1957 Indian ‘feature film’, Chhotay Babu (when I must have been
seven or eight). The words of the duet, which I’ve transliterated and
translated below, were written by Indeevur.
Transliteration:
Woman: aa--aa--aa---
Man: tairi chumukti aankhon
kay aagay yeh sitaaray küchh bhi nuheen
Woman: aa--aa--aa- too jo burrha
day haath zuraa, dünya kay suhaaray küchh bhi nuheen
Man: tairi chumukti aankhon
kay aagay yeh sitaaray küchh bhi nuheen
[instrumental music]
Man: maan liya
dilkush hain bohut, yeh raat huseen yeh chaand juvaan,
baat jo
daikhi hai tüjh mayn nuzaaron mayn vo baat kuhaan?
saamnay
mairay too ho ugurr, dünya kay nuzaaray küchh bhi nuheen,
tairi
chumukti aankhon kay aagay yeh sitaaray küchh bhi nuheen
Woman: aa--aa-- saath hai mairay too jub tuk, roshun hain jeevun ki
raahain,
saath hai mairay too jub tuk,
roshun hain jeevun ki raahain,
kyoon
ho müjhay munzil ka ghum, putvaar hain jub tairi
baahain:
maanjhi
hai gurr too nuyya ka, toofaan kay dhaaray küchh bhi nuheen
Man: tairi chumukti aankhon kay aagay yeh sitaaray küchh bhi nuheen
[instrumental music]
Woman: baandh liya bundhun mayn tumhay, bus mayn kurr liya buhaaron ko
Man: hai yeh vo bundhun jo kurr day aazaad ghumon kay maaron ko
Both: pyaar kay tairi chhaon milay, to ghum kay shurraray küchh
bhi nuheen
Man: tairi chumukti aankhon kay aagay yeh sitaaray küchh bhi nuheen
Woman: aa--aa--aa-
Translation:
Woman: aa--aa--aa---
Man: Before your sparkling eyes, the heavenly stars are nothing at all.
Woman: aa--aa--aa. If you extend your hands, the world’s supports are
nothing at all.
Man: Before your sparkling eyes, the heavenly stars are nothing at all.
[instrumental music]
Man: Admitted that this lovely night and youthful moon are attractive
indeed;
But
what I’ve seen in you, where can I that in nature find?
When
you are there before me, all the world’s sights are nothing at all.
Before
your sparkling eyes, the heavenly stars are nothing at all.
Woman: aa--aa-- For as long as you’re with me, bright are the paths of
life,
For
as long as you’re with me, bright are the paths of life.
Why
should I worry where I’m headed while your arms as a rudder serve?
If
you’re the steersman of my boat, the tempest’s waves are nothing at all.
Man: Before your sparkling eyes, the heavenly stars are nothing at all.
[instrumental music]
Woman: Having bound you in a bond of love, over springtime I’ve gained
control.
Man: This is the bond that sets free those who’re with sorrows bound.
Both: If I do gain the shade of your love, the sparks of sorrow are
nothing at all.
Man: Before your sparkling eyes, the heavenly stars are nothing at all.
Woman: aa--aa--aa-
The (Hindi/Urdu)
original of this duet can be heard on YouTube via the following link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAW27-WAIP0. Happy listening!
2.137. A second, even
lovelier duet that I also discovered quite recently on YouTube (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H8cdjZtNO9w) was sung by Tulut Mehmood and Sürruyya for the 1954
Indian film, Vaaris (when I was four or five). The words were written by
Mujrooh Sültanpuri,
and are transliterated and translated below:
Transliteration:
Man: door hotay nuheen jo dil mayn ruhaa kurtay hain,
door hotay nuheen . . .
Woman: tairay kudmon mayn ruhain, hum yeh düa kurtay hain,
tairay
kudmon mayn ruhain . . .
[instrumental music]
Woman: ub milaaya mairay maalik, to chhürraana na humain,
ub
milaaya mairay maalik, to chhürraana na humain:
hum
to vo dil hain jo kismut say milaa kurtay hain,
tairay
kudmon mayn ruhain . . .
Man: hum vo rahee hain jo khüsh hain keh julee shum-e-vufaa,
hum vo rahee hain jo khüsh hain keh
julee shum-e-vufaa:
raah ka shikva na munzil ka gila
kurtay hain.
door hotay nuheen . . .
Woman: aa kay saahil pay hai yoon kushti-e-dil ka dhurrka,
aa
kay saahil pay hai yoon kushti-e-dil ka dhurrka,
kubhi
saahil peh bhee toofaan üttha kurtay hain.
tairay
kudmon mayn ruhain . . .
Man: tinkay chüntay hain vohee jin ko nushaimun ki ho dhün,
tinkay chüntay hain vohee jin ko
nushaimun ki ho dhün:
dükh jo sehtay hain, vo aakhir ko
hunsaa kurtay hain.
Both: dükh jo sehtay hain, vo aakhir ko hunsaa kurtay hain.
door hotay nuheen jo dil mayn ruhaa
kurtay hain.
Translation:
Man: They’re never far from each other, who live in each other’s heart,
They’re never far . . .
Woman: I pray that I always stay with you, and never depart,
I
pray that I always stay . . .
[instrumental music]
Woman: Now you’ve brought us together, O Lord, don’t pull us apart,
Now
you’ve brought us together, O Lord, don’t pull us apart:
We
are such hearts as with destiny’s help do meet.
I pray that I always stay with
you, and never depart.
Man: Such wayfarers are we who’re glad the candle of fidelity has lit,
Such wayfarers are we who’re glad the candle of
fidelity has lit.
We have no complaints regarding the
way or about our destination.
They’re never far from each other, who live in each
other’s heart.
Woman: The boat of our hearts has reached the shore, but still we worry,
The
boat of our hearts has reached the shore, but still we worry:
For
sometimes storms do devastate the shore as well.
I pray that I always stay with
you, and never depart.
Man: They gather straws who are determined to build a nest,
They gather straws who are determined to build a nest;
Those who suffer sorrows are apt to rejoice
in the end.
Both: Those who suffer sorrows are apt to rejoice in the end.
Both: They’re never far from each other, who live in each other’s heart.
Looks like this duet
will always live in my heart, as, hopefully, will also my one-in-a-million
fiancé and (IF all goes well) my same-sex spouse-to-be, Ijaaz (not, of course,
his real name).
2.138. A logical
extension (or projection) of Jesus’s recommendation of ‘turning the other
cheek’ could be, vulgarly put, ‘turning the other hole’, in compliance with
which exhortation a woman who has been raped/gang-raped vaginally should offer
to be raped/gang-raped anally as well! What say you to that, Yeshua (or your
present-day followers)?
2.139. Yet another old
Indian film-song, from the 1963 film, Taj Muhul, composed superbly by
Sahir Ludhianavi, scored melodiously by Roshun, and sung beautifully by Lata
Mangeshkar, is transliterated and then translated below:
Transliteration:
jurrm-e-ulfut pay humain loge
suza daitay hain,
kaisay na-daan hain sholon ko
huva daitay hain,
kaisay na-daan hain . . .
hum say deevaanay kuheen
turrk-e-vufa kurrtay hain?
hum say deevaanay kuheen
turrk-e-vufa kurrtay hain?
jaan ja‘ay keh ruhaay, baat
nibha daitay hain,
jaan ja‘ay . . .
aap daulut kay turaazoo mayn dillon
ko tolain,
aap daulut kay turaazoo mayn
dillon ko tolain,
hum muhubbut say muhubbut ka
silla daitay hain
hum muhubbut say . . .
tukht kya cheez hai, aur
laal-o-juvaahur kya hain?
tukht kya cheez hai, aur
laal-o-juvaahur kya hain?
ishk-vaalay to khudaee bhee
luta daitay hain,
ishk-vaalay . . .
hum nay dil day bhi diyaa,
ehd-e-vufa lay bhi li‘aa,
hum nay dil day bhi diyaa,
ehd-e-vufa lay bhi li‘aa,
aap ub shauk say day lain jo
suza daitay hain.
jurrm-e-ulfut pay humain loge
suza daitay hain
Translation:
For the crime of love do
people punish us,
For the crime of love do
people punish us:
How foolish of them to further
fan the flames,
How foolish of them . . .
Do dare-devils like us ever
abandon fidelity?
Do dare-devils like us ever
abandon fidelity?
Whether we live or we die, we
do stay the course,
Whether we live . . .
In the scales of wealth, you
hearts do weigh,
In the scales of wealth, you
hearts do weigh;
We, with love alone do love
recompense,
We, with love . . .
What is a throne, and what are
rubies and diamonds?
Votaries of love will even
renounce divinity,
Votaries of love . . .
I’ve already given them my
heart, their fidelity-vow obtained,
I’ve already given them my
heart, their fidelity-vow obtained:
Now, howsoever you like, you
can punish us.
For the crime of love do
people punish us . . .
The original movie-clip, visually a bit corny and not as impressive as it is aurally, can be viewed on YouTube via the following link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VqhV7191zuQ.
2.140. A few days before 2023 expired and 2024 was born, I got it into my head to propose anew to my fiancé, Ijaaz (not his real name). However, for reasons (possibly) best known to himself, he declined my proposal, at one point expressing his willingness to defer the wedding date from 1.1.2024 to 1.1.2025. I had drawn up and read out to him, translating it phrase by phrase into Urdu, the following marriage contract draft:
MARRIAGE CONTRACT
1. This contract pertains to the same-sex marriage, expected to commence on (1 January 2024), between Preetum Giani, aged 74, and I.E., aged 47.
2. Both husbands-to-be, after having been engaged to each other for over a year (since 20 November 2022), have decided, completely voluntarily and freely, to enter upon the reputedly deeper and stronger bond of marriage, and to become each other’s husbands.
3. It is I.’s wish (though not Preetum’s) that their marriage be kept completely secret from everyone in Pakistan, but I. does not mind if it is revealed to Preetum’s friends and acquaintances abroad. As for the total of six persons in Pakistan who are already aware of the identity of I. as Preetum’s fiancé, it would obviously be impossible to hide from them his identity as Preetum’s spouse.
4. Before the wedding takes place, Preetum will not make any marriage settlement, nominating I. as the recipient, before or after Preetum’s death, of any share of Preetum’s property. However, Preetum will certainly consider gifting to I., before the former’s death, an appropriate share of his moveable and/or immoveable property.
5. If conditions develop in which either Preetum or I. feels that he would rather not continue with their marriage, the marriage will end in a divorce.
Signed in good faith and with a good deal of hope by:
and
[PREETUM GIANI] [I.E.]
(Bridegroom No. 1) (Bridegroom No. 2)
Dated: (1.1.2024)
Ijaaz said that he agreed with clauses (1), (2), (3) and (5) of the draft contract, but not with clause (4), as he thought that that clause was an attempt to pull the wool over his eyes, seeming to undertake to gift him a share of my property, without actually pledging anything. So, the contract remained unsigned and invalid.
Disappointed that I wouldn’t be able to marry Ijaaz on 1.1.2024, I went for the next best way to celebrate the New Year: I announced the launch of a new religion, the Religion of Reality, as a more viable alternative to the ten or so already existing major religious creeds. To mark the occasion, I got made to order a special chocolate cake, whose photo appears below:
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So, what on earth is this new Religion of Reality supposed to be? Well, it’s something I’ve been thinking about, on and off, for about the last 40 years, having been deeply dissatisfied, for at least that long, with various aspects of ALL the religions that people profess to follow. I’m presenting it as the most preferable option for the people who need, or who think they need, to profess ANY religion. I’m clear in my own mind, though, that the very best option today is not to adhere to any religion at all, but to critically pick, choose and adopt any positive features found in any creed, and roundly reject its negative features. To do so, one needs an unwavering sense of faith in honesty and truth, and in repudiating all forms of hypocrisy. When you’re spiritually advanced enough to have that kind of faith, you won’t even need the Religion of Reality any more – you’ll simply BE reality. However, while you’re still a spiritual novice, with the millstone of any one of the other existing religions round your neck, substituting that millstone with the school-tie bearing the insignia ‘Religion of Reality’ would arguably constitute a significant spiritual step forward for you. In this sense, the Religion of Reality could serve, for any spiritual novice, as a stepping-stone, or rather as a half-way house, to real and complete faith.
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