Seldom Is Not Never...

I haven't written about the mountains lately. Somehow, I haven't been able to. These majestic creations have captivated me for so long that I can no longer remember when they first left their mark on me. It is unfortunate that it took a tragedy to set the words free again, pouring onto the page like a raging avalanche that sweeps away everything in its path.

Nims Dai—Nirmal Purja—is an extraordinary man, one of the most recognizable faces in modern mountaineering. He stands head and shoulders above many of his contemporaries, seemingly destined to be remembered among the greatest climbers of all time.

Then there is Broad Peak, often described as the gentlest of the world's fourteen eight-thousanders, forever living in the shadow of its savage neighbour, K2. On a clear day, the pairing of such a climber with such a mountain seldom makes headlines. But in the mountains, seldom is never the same as never.

The human desire to challenge nature has always drawn people to these slopes of rock, ice, and silence. Some return with stories etched into their souls. Others become part of the mountain's own story, never to return.

We live in a world that measures everything in probabilities, likelihoods, impacts, and statistics. Yet the mountains have never cared for our calculations. They obey no models, no forecasts, and no assumptions. On 30 July 2026, one of those rare, low-probability but devastatingly high-impact moments unfolded. One instant, it was another climbing expedition pursuing a dream above the clouds. The next, it had become a desperate search-and-rescue operation.

Between those two moments lay a single, terrifying event: a massive avalanche that swept away eleven climbers, among them Nirmal Purja.

As the search continues and more bodies are recovered, hope refuses to surrender quietly. We find ourselves wishing for one final summit push against impossible odds—from the man who once embraced the impossible and called it Project Possible.

Will we see him once more, standing triumphantly among the highest peaks on Earth? Or has he already become part of the mountains themselves, his spirit forever wandering through the silent throne room of the mountain gods, where legends are no longer remembered—they simply belong?

Invisible Footsteps in the Sky!

 

When we look up at the dark sky, we see so many shining stars, yet the dilemma is many of them have been long gone and only now after traversing the huge expanse their light has made us realize of their presence. This is exactly the dilemma the Pakistani climbers face, we are unaware of the presence of these superstars. By the time their light reaches us, they have dwindled away only to live on as memories or tales of extraordinary feats. We come to know of these great beings by their legacies, we grieve their loss but what of their life? We never own them while they are amongst us. We are oblivious to their presence, their strife, their achievements!

 

As Messner said, "Without the possibility of death, adventure is not possible." That is mountaineering, that is adventure, looking the inevitable in the eye and living every moment to the fullest.

What you achieve out of it is not fame, fame is the byproduct the real achievement is self-realization. Mountaineering is not a sport practiced in front of packed galleries or televised to audiences; eyeballs glued to the screen. It is done in the most desolate of places, places humans were not designed to survive as a species. It is done knowing the value of each breath, knowing the price of each step. Done alone or in the company of few who share your will to take on extremes. There is no crowd to cheer you through the tough times, just your self-belief. There is no huge congratulatory party at the finish line waiting for you with garlands, rather the sense that the job is only half done and true success will only come when you reach the safety of the camp. There are no breaks in play due to turbulent weather, just the deep calm spirit inside you to take you through storms. These people are walking at altitudes where commercial airliners fly. It is very easy to understand then, that it takes a select breed of individuals to accept this challenge. It is not a sport for everyone and fewer still will ever truly understand it. To make it easier to understand, this was the best answer that I could find “Somewhere between the bottom of the climb and the summit is the answer to the mystery why we climb.” — Greg Child.

 

In the small villages in the heart of Karakorum, dotted across Gilgit Baltistan people live close to nature but in tough conditions. The means of livelihood are limited, their proximity to nature and mountains makes them better acclimatized for higher altitudes. Their ancestors traversed the many mountain passes and routes to travel, trade, herd cattle in high pastures and hunt. The mountains are in their blood. To earn an ample livelihood these people are used to hardships.

With the influx of foreign climbers came a new means of earning a livelihood, the locals were hired as porters to carry loads to assist these expeditions. Some would be confined to lower altitudes while others worked as high-altitude porters usually referred to as Sherpas in Nepal and Khurpas in Baltistan. Right from the very first ascent of K2 in 1954 these people have been instrumental to making these expeditions a success. Often treated unfairly, snubbed during summit days to avoid sharing the glory. Amir Mehdi wanted to be the first Pakistani to scale the country's highest peak, K2, and as one of the strongest climbers in the first team to conquer the summit in 1954, he nearly did. Instead, he was betrayed by his Italian companions, left to spend a night on the ice without shelter, and was lucky to survive. Lacking the means to fund their own expeditions and a lack of interest by the government to assist or train them, Pakistani climbers remained dependent on foreign expeditions to claim the summits of their own mountains. After a couple of generations passed few made the break through by sheer determination and skill to be made frontline part of some expeditions.

The risks they take, what they put on the line to achieve success is to achieve an honorable livelihood for their families and to make a name for their country and communities. In my many travels to this region and interaction with local communities I realized that they truly want to make the country proud. They have meager resources, often the gear they use is old or simply inadequate but they overcome it with their skill and determination, equal in size to the mountains they take on. They always carry a Pakistan flag in their backpacks when going for summits even when the country is unaware of these genuine heroes. Compared to other climbers their challenge is twofold, they not only take on the mighty mountains but the indifference and lack of interest from their fellow countrymen as well.

 

With so many challenges some question, why do they do this? Putting their lives on the line to conquer these mountains. But then why do people become fighter pilots? Why did man set out to explore space? Why do people become racing car drivers? It is the most primitive of pursuits engrained in our DNAs to conquer what seems to be impossible. The indomitable spirit of man versus the most amazing forces of nature. Some call it madness, yes to the masses it may seem as madness.  The pioneers of manned flight would have appeared mad to the "normal" people. But we forget that all the advancement of the world is owed to these few mad, stubborn and strong-willed people who ploughed on when all others decided to back down.

 

In the last few days many of us suddenly came to know about Muhammad Ali Sadpara thanks to social media and started to show interest in his exploits but in days to come all this will fade away like any other social media fad. We will once again be impervious to the presence of these heroes. Many are just commenting on social platforms because it makes them "cool" but I ask how many of you knew about Muhammad Ali Sadapara before this tragedy? For that matter do names like Lhotse, Mansalu and Makalu seem recognizable to you? Do you know where Shimshal and Sadapara villages are?  These places have given us so many great mountaineers. Do you recognize names like Ashraf Aman, Nazir Sabir, Meharban Baig, Rajab Shah, Hassan Sadpara and Nasir Hussain Sadpara? Do you know who will be future flagbearers of Pakistani climbing? Have you ever heard of Sirbaz Khan, Sajid Sadpara and Fazal Ali? True nations support their heroes when this support can make a difference in helping achieve goals. Sadly, we only realize the importance of heroes when they are gone!

 

Faced with adversity and lack of resources why Ali Sadpara and the many other Pakistani climbers make this great effort? Simply because It is the only means for them to attract tourism and income for their communities. While talking with Alex Tixkon at the Mendi Fild Festival, Ali clearly mentioned that even at the summits of 8000m peaks he is thinking about education opportunities for the children especially girls in his village. He mentions with glee how the love for education in those children makes him proud. All he ever wanted was that by his efforts his country would be proud of him and foreigners would consider Pakistan a peaceful country open for tourism. This would create opportunities for local people and enable them to better support their communities.

If he wanted fame, there were so many means available, people who have not even achieved 1% of what he has are more well known in Pakistan. He was a nice and approachable person who was kind enough to respond to you when you reached out to him. My interaction, though brief but warm was by means of Facebook. On social platforms many created fake profiles with his name to gain followers but even that did not bother the great man. He was so focused in achieving his goals that he did not have time to care for those imposters.  This jovial and down to earth person transformed into a man possessed on the mountains countering the challenges and cutting the mountain down to size. This skill enabled him to be one of the three climbers to summit Nanga Parbat in winters for the first time and to climb three 8000m peaks Lhotse, Manasalu and Makalu in 2019. He is the only Pakistani to have climbed 8x8000m peaks. His friendly nature and toughness on the mountain endeared him to many renowned climbers, with the like of Simone Moroe and Alex Tixkon calling him a friend. He was a man on a date with destiny trying to become the first Pakistani to summit all 14 of the world’s 8000m peaks. He had climbed K2 before but wanted to conquer the savage in winters without supplemental oxygen. So he teamed up with Iceland’s John Snorri to undertake this herculean task.

 

When he had to abort his first summit bid and the Nepalese succeeded in what would be the best weather window for summit push this winter, I felt he took it upon himself to carry our hopes and the green flag to the summit of K2. As soon as the next weather window arrived, albeit a short one he along with his son and Snorri set off for the summit push. Climbing at unbelievable speed they reached camp 3 and then onwards to summit the "Savage Mountain". This is where he was last seen by his son Sajid climbing the section of K2 known as "bottleneck" at 10 AM on 5th Feb 2021. The search started late because everyone expected that sooner or later Ali and his colleagues would reach camp 3 to announce a successful summit. From previous expeditions of K2 once someone passes the bottleneck, the summit is pretty much a surety. Add to this the infamous repute of K2 to get you on the descent even if you managed to summit it.  I can only speculate that Ali might have reached the summit and whatever went wrong was on the way down to camp 3. Weather, logistics and time are against the lost climbers. No one has survived in the death zone this long but survival is a subjective thing, whether he is found alive or not Ali Sadpara is a survivor, he has always been a survivor. We as a nation are the ones at a loss, we lost a legend, a true ambassador of Pakistan. A man if enabled with proper support could have achieved much more and would have given us a whole generation of trained mountaineers. Our inability to acknowledge our heroes will result in loss of such talent over and over again unless we mend our ways as a nation.

Ali Sadpara was very clear about his life goals and mountaineering 'In climbing, there are two outcomes—life or death—and you must find the courage to accept either possibility.' And in either possibility he is a hero to be celebrated, remembered and his legacy to be nurtured so our upcoming generation of talented climbers don’t have to suffer the inevitable to gain prominence. His is a story of courage, perseverance and little bit of luck. His is a story that should be an example to all of us no matter which field we belong to. His is the story of the few who dare and leave their footmarks in the sky invisible to the “normal” people! Sometimes failure is not final and death is not fatal, this tragedy I hope awakens us to the presence of these great men and these amazing communities. May be this shock and grief will motivate some of us to help these amazing people and uplift the areas they belong to. These daredevils who take on the mighty mountains to show to us that nothing is impossible!

“In my state of spiritual abstraction, I no longer belong to myself and to my eyesight. I am nothing more than a single narrow gasping lung, floating over the mists and summits.

دہقاں ‏کی ‏دھرتی

رب نے دھرتی بنائ اور مٹی کے بنائے پتلے کو آخر اس دھرتی پر اتار دیا۔ تھی تو سزا پر اس مٹی کے پتلے نے آخر دھرتی کا سینہ چاک کیا پسینہ اور لہو اس مٹی میں ملایا تو رب کی رحمت بھی جوش میں آئی اور آسمان سے سیرابی کے لئے پانی اترا ۔ لہو پسینہ پانی اور مٹی کے اس میل نے لہلہاتے کھلیانوں کو جنم دیا۔ پھر اس دانہ گندم جس کی وجہ سے بہشت سے رخصت ہونا پڑا کو انسان نے اپنے بس میں کیا ۔ تن ڈھانپنے کو کپاس کے ریشوں سے لباس بنا لیا۔ بر نقشہ بہشت باغ آباد کر کے پھلوں کی بہار سے دل بہلایا۔ پر یہ لہو یہ پسینہ مٹی میں ملا کر دھرتی کو آباد کرنے والا دہقاں آج بھی محروم ہے کہیں وڈیروں کی جاگیر کا اسیر ہے ۔ کہیں چودھریوں کی پنچایت میں اپنی زمین اور زندگی گروی رکھوا چکا ہے ۔ کہیں اپنی ہی زمین پر سرکار کی بیگار میں ہے۔ اور آج ایک اور صیاد اسے اپنے دام میں پھانسنے کو تیار ہے سرمایہ دار کا اک نیا پنجرا اسے قید کرنے کو تیار ہے۔ شاید دھرتی پر آنا سزا ہی تھی پر اس سزا کا بڑا حصہ وہ کیوں بھگت رہا ہے جو اس دھرتی میں اپنا لہو پسینا ملا کر ہم سب کی بھوک کے لئے اناج اور ہمارے جسم کے عیب ڈھانپنے والے لباس کا انتظام کر رہا ہے۔ بہشت میں اس خوشہ گندم کے لئے ابلیس نے استحصال کیا اور دھرتی پر اترنا پڑا اب دھرتی کے استحصالی ٹولے سے بچنے کے لئے کیا موت کی چادر اوڑھ کر پھر امید بہشت لگا بیٹھے۔۔ 

شمال کا پیام ہوا لائی ہے

ہوا  کے دوش پر شمال کا پیام آیا ہے پتوں کے آتش رنگ ہونے کا موسم آن پہنچا ہے۔ سرد سفید جاڑے کی آغوش میں جانے سے پہلے شمال کا ہر شجر خزاں میں رنگوں کی ایسی چادر اوڑھ لیتا ہے کہ کئی بہاریں اس پر قربان۔ شمال کی خزاں کا سفر نجانے کیوں اپنے اندر ایسی کشش رکھتا ہے کہ لاہور کی ہوا میں بھی اپنا پیام پہنچاتا ہے کہ روح کو سکون اور تھکے جسم کو تازگی چاہیے تو چلے آؤ۔ بس ہم ہی غم دنیا اور غم روزگار کے ایسے اسیر ہو کر رہ گئے ہیں کہ کھل کر جواب بھی نہیں دے پاتے اور بس اک کسک دل میں لئے اسی گورکھ دھندے میں جتے ہیں جو روز و شب ایسے کھا رہا ہے جیسے شجر کو گھن۔۔۔

بیاں زیست کی بے ثباتی کا

جب زیست کی بے ثباتی پر مصمم یقین آ جائے تو زندگی میں گھٹن آ جاتی ہے یا بھرپور کشادگی گا پھر زندگی انہی دو دریاؤں کے سنگم میں اڑتی جھاگ کا نام ہے

Kindness

There are many forms of kindness. The kindness that God extends to his creations, the kindness enemies extend to each other in times of war and the kindness that humans extend to stray dogs.
This last form of kindness when extended by a human to fellow humans, speaks volumes about the apathy and the shallow level of values humanity has fallen to. Sadly this is the form of kindness most common amongst the wealthy and powerful of my homeland. And this hurts the soul and pinches the mind.

Board Room Thoughts

The ability of the human spirit to persevere in the most adverse of circumstances is truly amazing. If nothing else it can find solace in a sense of humor, a hearty but hollow smile or immersing oneself in anything deemed to be important. The scars, the gaping wounds hidden behind this cloak. Few see the pain that is hidden underneath, fewer still understand the irreversible torment that pain causes.
Yet knowingly or unknowingly we push people towards that situation leaving them with only that indomitable spirit for sustenance and solace. Never for a moment thinking, what if we were put through the same ordeal how would we react?
People in positions of power and decision making need to be very careful, they are momentarily in charge of someones fate yet their own fate never in their control.

A time to think...

The more I read the research oriented explanations of the evolution of our religion the more I realise how the keepers of faith today have misused it to achieve personal gains. The monsters created by the ideological mess for short term gains are now hurting us in the long term. It is about time that we all try to understand the true message by individual and collective effort, a message where humanity, humility, peace and coexistence form the major pillars. A message where even war is to be waged only to defend oneself when attacked and that too with a ethical code. Do not let religion become a name of ritualistic practices and blind following of those perceived to be the keepers. Understand before its too late, before the monsters keep shedding blood with no respect for any code or ethics and all that's left is a hollow carcass of a grand world entrusted to each of us...

Blood & death return to my city...

جس ملک میں سب کام بیرونی ہاتھ پر ڈالنے کی روش چل پڑے وھاں کوئی یہ سوال کیوں نہیں کرتا کہ یہ ہاتھ ہمارے گریبانوں تک پہنچ کیسے جاتے ہیں۔ وہ ہاتھ جن کی آبیاری یہ قوم اپنا پیٹ کاٹ کر کرتی ہے کہ ہمارا دفاع کریں گے کہاں ہیں؟ کیا ھم اور ہمارے بچے صرف مجبوری کی شہادتوں کے لیے رہ گئے ہیں؟
پارک میں کھیلتے بچوں کا تو ابلیس بھی دشمن نہیں  ہوتا ۔ بنام مذہب کون لوگ ایسا کرتے ہیں کونسا دین یہ راستہ دکھاتا ہے کونسا مذہب اس راہ پر چلاتا ہے ۔

ذہن پر خوف کی بنیاد اٹھانے والوں
ظلم کی فصل کو کھیتوں میں اُگانے والوں
گیت کے شہر کو بندوق سے ڈھانے والوں
فکر کی راہ میں بارُود بچھانے والوں
کب تک اس شاخِ گلستاں کی رگیں ٹوٹیں گی
کونپلیں آج نہ پُھوٹیں گی تو کل پھوٹیں گی

کس پہ لبّیک کہو گے کہ نہ ہوگی باہم
جوہری بم کی صدا اور صدائے گوتم
رزق برتر ہے کہ شعلہ بداماں ایٹم
گھر کے چُولھے سے اُترتی ہوئی روٹی کی قسم
زخم اچھا ہے کہ ننھی سی کلی اچھی ہے
خوف اچھا ہے کہ بچوں کی ہنسی اچھی ہے

Journeys of the Soul

And how does the soul grow but to be inquisitive. To question what is and how it has come to be so, to contemplate how it can be improved. Once you lose the inquisitive nature that raises questions you no longer strive for the answers and then the improvement stops. Don't let someone else's journey dictate your path,they never walked in your shoes and lived your fears. Their is goodness in all of us and in each one around us, to seek the light within each soul is the only path to unlocking the light within us. When you allow others to shine and share their light, you liberate yourself and your surroundings from darkness. If we become afraid of the diversity this world has to offer and want all to be the same then aren't we challenging the powers of creation? Live as an explorer, an observer and soon you will live as a soul connected to many others. The path to the divine cannot be through isolation and rejection of variety, rather through acceptance of this varied existence of which we are just a fragment... 

Of lost stars...

The night was cold and the breeze was chilly, yet the sky was clear. The absent moon allowed the stars their moment of glory and they filled the sky with brilliance. Sitting outside their campsite the elder looked towards the young boy who was gazing at the stars as if he was trying to find something hidden among them. After a brief cough the elder spoke addressing the young one, "do you know many of the stars you see in the sky right now have been dead for millions of years". Amazed and bewildered the young boy shifted his gaze from the stars to the elder and asked how is that possible? How can we see something that has ceased to exist?
 The old man took a sip of tea and replied, "look son these stars were shining in a corner of the universe millions of years ago and their light has just reached us, travelling across vast expanses of space, a journey of millions of years to add another shining dot to the dark sky". The boy wanted to know more and was carefully listening so the old man continued, " They may have died, yet the light they gave to the universe makes this dark night shine, we may never know when they ceased to exist but today in this moment their light shines. Every night when you look up at the sky, take a moment to think and realize that those numerous stars, many of them dead for millions of years, still catch your attention and are a cause for your interest in the sky".
 "My son! like these stars become a person who even when gone would continue to shine, their light illuminating lives. Become the person whose message and deeds would transcend time and continue to shine long after he is no more. Become the shining star that would hold the gaze of people without them realizing when you ceased to exist. Become the person who would illuminate dark nights with his contribution, and remember when we have many such persons, even the darkest of nights would be illuminated. People are mortal, granted a finite existence but our actions and the lived we touch can be infinite and immortal. And my son when i am long gone, i hope i am like this shining star that would keep shining in your dark nights, always assuring you of my presence with my flickering light from far far away".

We all want slaves...

I blame no one for all self proclaimed leader are better than this man who lost his home. All the righteous men who claim this is some curse unleashed from the heaven in return for our wrongdoings, please tell me why does it only sweep away the poor who already have nothing, if this is a curse then why those who stand tall after every crime are spared?Those who live in castles and are afraid of fingers being pointed at them, fear the day when this cry on anguish will become a cry of anger, when the people will have no homes and nothing to eat, they will drag you out of your homes and will dine on your flesh and bones! Fear the day, fear the cries emerging from so many souls, they will haunt you like ghosts...

NO doubt you will say we will not leave u alone, we will feed you people but what you want is for them to be eternal beggars always at your mercy, never having a right to chose. You will have someone to serve with your charity, someone to look down upon and help with your wealth. What you do not want is free individuals, living on their free will, independent and prosperous. In time of peace or times of calamity you need slaves, you need worn down human beings who can receive your alms and thank you in return. People who will helpless gazes will forever look towards you for their tiniest needs and you while granting them what was truly theirs, will stand tall and look great.

This has to stop, this cannot be allowed to continue. It is brazen injustice to the people and we are all responsible for it. We all need weak and needy people to show how giving and kind we are, we all fear independent people because they make us insecure. We allow this injustice to continue by not forming a society where rights of all are safeguarded and a true welfare system exists!

Journeys & Destinations

You think life is a succession of destinations that you reach but all that is to life is the succession of journeys. Once you reach a destination its done, achieved, conquered and you look to the next one but what got you here and what will get you there is the journey. You are shaped n ground to shine not by your destinations but the journeys you take to get there...

Society

Society and its bigotry is becoming too heavy a burden, the only solace is in wilderness. The jungle with trees and ravines may seem dangerous but this jungle of concrete is a bigger killer, some are killed for what they are and some for what they will not become. There are roads, streets and signs yet life is lost. There are only virtues and honors to be used to kill. Humility, tolerance and acceptance have been declared grave sins. Life is slowly dying and death tightening its grip everywhere...

Sunset

What if we could harvest the sunset? could we just pick out all the happiness that was in that day, and discard the moments of sorrow?
What if we could harvest the sunset? could we just gather those moments of happiness and use them on days of famine when no matter what we do, happiness seems far far away...
What if we could harvest the sunset? what if...

But then, end of every day teaches us to live in that moment, achieve what is possible now, leave the worries of what could be to the future and the sorrows of what could have been to the past

A short history of pain & kindness

Streets of a city are like veins in the body, life flow through them, and if you roam through them long enough like the veins in the body they may ultimately take you straight to the heart. Even if you cannot get there there is every possibility that the flow of life will touch you and get you back in touch with the flow of life inside yourself. And so i moved in the streets of old Lahore like a stray soul, eras after era these have been the true carriers of life, stories unfolded every moment here. Even after the beatings of time and modernity, life lives on here in its own unique pace and color. On a misty,wet and cold December morning, while roaming about i saw a malang, sitting in a corner, dressed in rags, a solitary cup of tea placed closed to him but around him sitting so peacefully, heads bowed down in obedience were dogs. Stray dogs were gathered around him but not like courtiers around a king, this was something else, something more, a link that transcended the boundaries we build and adhere to in our lives. You rarely see such a sight and in that moment i was engulfed by the thought that i have to know his story, as if this was the highway when traversed would lead straight to the heart of not only this city but to that lost feeling of life flowing inside.
 But i was afraid of the dogs that surrounded him like watchful companions, Finally curiosity got the better of fear and i decided to move forward but i held a stick in my hand to thwart any attack from those dogs. As i stepped closer their gazes turned towards me and they started to make noises as if to warn me, suddenly the malang opened his eyes and turned to look at me. His eyes had a quizzical look, as if asking me what did i want and why was i intruding in his small peaceful world. To gain his confidence i threw the stick away and tried to ask him in gestures if i could come closer, he nodded in approval and said something to the dogs which made them settle down. I cautiously moved closer and before i could utter a word, he asked me what did i want with him? I told him i wanted to know about this bond he had with these animals. Go away, you will never understand said the malang and closed his eyes again, i persisted with the question and somehow this persistence paid off and he agreed to tell me his story but only if i stopped looking at the dogs with fear. Reassuringly he said to me," they will not hurt you, they have tasted enough hatred for being what they are".
 When i relaxed he began his story, he was neither a mad man nor a drug addict. He was just an outcast, deserted and left alone because he was the product of a relation no one wanted to own. Raised in an orphanage he met with beatings and rants about his birth, till one day he could not take it any more and ran away. He thought the world outside would be easier to survive in if not kinder. But those notions soon disappeared, survival and its necessities took over. The beatings continued, people tried to take advantage and life became a constant grind for him. Jobless, hungry and hopeless he stole some bread and was caught. They beat him up so bad that he fell unconscious, thrown away on a pile of junk and left to die. When he woke up, hunger and pain had only become worse, he could smell rotten food, in the condition he was that would do just fine. So he scavenged through the garbage to collect what he could find, and that is when he saw dogs searching for food in the same pile of junk. They did not bark at him or attack him, rather they were happy to share their food. He could see marks on their bodies which much like his own, seemed to be results of continuous beatings. Day after day the trend continued, his shabby appearance yielded him disgust and detachment from most, a harsh word or slap from many and sometimes very rarely a kind word or gesture from some. Day after day he noticed the same treatment faced by those stray dogs, he could feel their pain, he could understand what showed in their eyes. In the passage of these days he decided that these were the only companions he had and in many ways the only ones he could trust and relate to. Slowly he started to scavenge for food along with these dogs and shared whatever he could find with them. He caressed them, cleaned their wounds played with them and though they could not understand but he talked to them and they quietly listened. Then one day while roaming in the streets with his companions, someone attacked him, before he could react the dogs sprung into action and the attacker had to beat a retreat. They had accepted him as one of their own and he thought of them as the only friends he had.
  I was mesmerized and shocked to hear his story, he closed his eyes once again. He was at peace and was a symbol of pure calm. Even when he was telling his story, i could see no anger or resentment in his eyes and expressions. I thought to myself that we who call ourselves humans, cast this malang away because of no fault of his own and those animals, stray dogs accepted him, shared whatever they had. This bond of kindness transcended species and language. I felt ashamed, have become so incapable of kindness and good while all other species still adhere to this norm in their own way.
  While i was thinking this, he opened his eyes and said, what more do you want, go away and tell these humans if they have to learn, there are traits that even these stray dogs can teach. But before i left i turned around and asked him one last question, "Have you ever thought about revenge?" He smiled and said, "Sometimes one hurts so much for so long that even pain bids farewell, and what remains is numbness, freezing cold, sharp as a dagger,cutting through the very fabric of ones soul. We become indifferent, we seek not revenge but peace and solitude. There is no more hate, no more pain."
  He walked away with his pack of dogs but i was left speechless and in a trance by his words. I have gone there many times after that but he is not there anymore, neither are the dogs. May be they moved, because in me they saw an intruder in their solitude and peace, or may be that moved because they had to spread their message elsewhere.

Lessons from History...

In the words of Mark Twain, “History doesn't repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” 
Not so long ago a killer horde threatened the centers of learning and knowledge, they built minarets with the skulls of their "enemies". No man, woman or child was spared, while they marched on scholars and leaders in Baghdad procrastinated and allowed them to march on. In 1241 the rulers of Baghdad decided to come to terms with the Mongols and pay an annual tribute to the Mongol court. Yet in 1258 the Mongols attacked, ransacked and burnt Baghdad, the cause of defeat was not that the Mongols were irresistible, it was the inaction and indecision!
Today it seems so relative yet again, our culture, lives and livelihood are at stake and we as a nation and our leaders have no clear plan of action. This procrastination will lead us nowhere but to another fall and its time to think where your and mine head will be placed in that minaret. The hordes are advancing, blood thirsty and power hungry and all we exhibit is the silence of the lambs. So slaughter is the destiny!

Doors...

Some doors are closed upon us and some we intentionally lock. In both cases there are avenues unexplored and untouched. But isn't that what we go through in life everyday, experiencing what is and contemplating what could have been. Hope and hopelessness are both shades of the same color, in the right amount both possess the power to create or utterly decimate!

A dedication...

the journey of separation begins in seconds and the evolves into minutes, hours and days. Till one day the count reaches to years, years a unit of time that seem infinite yet in a blink they are gone. As Khalid Husseini aptly put it, "time is a cruel thing, sometimes it keeps all the details with itself". Then what are we left with? Vivid visions, incoherent recollections, untouchable sensations! Time can take away the details but the bond, the link it lasts. It was always meant to be timeless, always meant to challenge the power of time. So no matter what time puts us through and keeps for itself, it can never take away from us the feeling of welcoming a bond, and the sweet pain of the moment when it is finally time to say goodbye...

I can hardly believe, it already been a year. The feeling lingers, that cold winter night still finds a way deep into the soul. It lingers, it lasts...

Dedicated to my father, who passed away on 15th December 2012!

Our souls long for nature and to be natural...

Human soul has a strange bond with solitude and sunsets, out there in the barren wilderness the soul feels its most natural and this strange bond comes alive again. The different colors spread across the sky tell a story of the different shades the day has passed through. And each day though the colors may change and you may attach a new meaning to them, each sunset is always a time for recollection and thought.It is a time to be with yourself and to evaluate yourself!

When you turn to nature, you do not find loneliness,you find solitude instead. You are taught the virtues of 
kindness, humility and benevolence. There is a serenity in nature which if you can make a part of your soul, spread and cherish. It will make the world more peaceful, more natural!

(2012, Jhula Campsite, en route to K2 base camp)