Monday, March 31, 2008
Today is:November 07, 2006 Tuesday 14 Shawwal, 1427 A.H.
US didn?t attack the Bajaur seminary
George L. Singleton USA
The Nov. 5, 2006 letter to editor of The Frontier Post ?An open invitation? by Muhammad Mahtab Bashir of Islamabad makes a false statement about US predators being used in the recent attack in fact carried out by Pakistani armed forces. The world is complicated enough without people making up falsehoods to blame their problems on others. The fact is that too many Madrassahs are used to brainwash and train young Pakistani boys to become Taliban terrorist fighters, sending them straight into Afghanistan in the hundreds of late. The missing alternative, which I do blame the Govern-ment of Pakistan for, is the lack of free, therefore affordable public schools in all parts of Pakistan. That need for free public schools in the NWFP and PAK is particularly acute. All moderate and rational Pakistanis need to stand up to such falsehoods. And, my friends at The Frontier Post know such wild stories are untrue and should not act like the PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER to sell newspapers at the expense of the truth.
George Singleton USA
9:53AM on Nov 8th 2006
Sunday, March 30, 2008
Argument- to me is the inimitable yet simplest philosophy of learning things around. They say argument leads to ignorance but to me, in a larger extent the only way one can learn is to keep nudging others mentally and keep absorbing the gut-feelings of one's intellectual rival.
Remember, you can not explore new avenues of knowledge unless or until you show contrasting approach of a person next to you. But let not allow those arguments switch into a verbal duel followed by a physical brawl. One can not broaden his mental horizon agreeing upon others merely using the words … yes, exactly, you are right. So to me, clash of mind is one of the blessings that facilitate us to think beyond our rational thoughts.
My cousin Nomi is a person to whom I'm engrossed all the time with exchange of my limited thoughts and ideas. Fortunately, we both have the patience and knowledge to counter each other aspirations and dreams ranging from socio-economic to religio-politcal aspects to disseminate with tete a tete. And I am with no pang in admitting, Nomi is one of my inspiration in life, not because of his dedicated contribution and laudable services when Moazzam bhai was on his death bed but I find this gentle boy every time with selflessness at its extreme in the herd of selfish people. Moazzam bhai had a strange reverence for this soft spoken lad, always calling him… Nomi bhai. With the sudden death of Moazzam bhai, Nomi quite a lot of time questioned me in melancholic gesture, "Is there anyone NOW, who can call me.. NOMI BHAI?" with tears in his eyes. And every time he found no reply from my side. Nomi remained quite literally a shadow of Moazzam bhai during those 14 months. One day bhai wrote in his diary….
Aye dost mein to dasht-e-tamanna ka phool hoon
Girnay ka mujhko darr nahi teri kitaab say
Nomi used to ask me, "What is the most important part of your body"? Through the ages I would take a guess at what I thought was the correct answer. When I was in my teens, I thought sound was very important to us as a human being, so I promptly replied, "my ears". He said, "No, many people are deaf on this planet". But you keep thinking about it & I will ask you soon about the same. Several months passed by before he asked me the same question. Since making my first attempt, I had contemplated the correct answer. So this time, I told him, "yar, sight is very important to every individual, so it must be our eyes". Nomi looked into my eyes and smilingly said, "Nahi Mahtab..You are learning fast but still far away because there are so many people who have no judge of colors, they are blind." Stumped again, however I continue my quest of knowledge. Over the months, Nomi asked this question couple more times and always his counter reply to me was, "No.., but you are getting smarter every month, my brother".
At the beginning of 2008 when Moazzam Bhai breathed his last, Nomi was the first person to whom I hugged in my darkest moment of life with the words, "Tum bhi kuch nahi kar sakay, yar" and he replied with watered eyes, "mein kuch nahi kar saka, may nakaam ho gia hoon, Mahtab, may nakaam ho gia hoon".
Everybody was devastated. Nomi looked at me and repeated the same question, "Do you know the most important body part yet, my dear"? I was shocked when he asked me this question as I thought it was a game between me and him. He saw the confusion on my face and told me this question is very important, Mahtab. It shows that you have really lived in your life. For every body part you gave me in the past, I considered wrong and given you example, why? But today is the moment; you need to learn this important lesson, he stared at me gently as only he can. I saw his eyes well up with tears as he continued to whisper, "My dear, the most important body part is your shoulder". I swiftly questioned, is it because it holds up my head"? "No, it is because it can hold the head of a friend, relative or a loved one when they cry. Everyone needs a shoulder to cry on when you really need it." Nomi concluded.
Then and there I knew the most important part of body is not a selfish. A shoulder is a symbol of sympathy against the pain of others. People will forget what you say, people will forget what you do, but people will NEVER forget how you made them feel. True or not, you have all the rights to argue. But this piece of writing makes you pause and think. Be blessed. Be a blessing. Get your shoulder always ready.
Allow me to hum few lines from the glorious ABBA:
Chiquitita, tell me the truth
I'm a shoulder you can cry on
Your best friend, I'm the one you must rely on
You were always sure of yourself
Now I see you've broken a feather
I hope you can patch it up together.
For more ... please click on these links...
Farhat from Islamabad emails':
Mar 31, 2008 4:27 PM
that is excellent mehtaab..
Assistant Research Officer
Islamabad Policy Research Institute
House no 2, Street 15,
Main Marglla Road ,F 7/2 ,
Islamabad 44000 Pakistan
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Unrest, fraud, killing and terrorist activities are not unprecedented in this country called the Islamic Republic of Pakistan. Killing spree based on ethnicity and rivalry has been carried out regularly, but the government has always failed to arrest the murderers. These occurrences have reached such a level that even police officers were recently gunned down by unidentified persons in Lahore. This type of incident surely develops anxiety and fretfulness within a common man and he starts thinking, “If police officers’ lives are at stake, how can a common man like me expect the smooth flow of my life?”
According to Aristotle and Plato, the primary responsibility of the state is to implement law and order and justice should be provided to all. Unfortunately, it has never been observed in this country since its inception. The responsibility of the state is also to provide food and shelter to its citizens, failing which causes social abnormality. Social conflict and social deviance is the outcome of injustice and injustice persuades the individual to record his protest. In a way to satisfy his inner needs and to shed his frustration, he opts to use unfair means. The ultimate question arises, how can one improve the deteriorating law and order situation?
In the new set up, the district council has the authority to create a public safety commission to ensure that police personnel are not used inappropriately as well as to look after the welfare of the police cadre. Offices of the ombudsman are to be set up at the district level to redress complaints against maladministration. The ombudsman will be appointed by the district council. A citizen tribunal is also being established at the union council level. Concerted efforts from law enforcing agencies are required at every level, without discrimination as the first step.
By creating the above openings under the decentralised policy framework, the government has recognised that all reforms need to have a rights based approach and human rights in all sectors and perspectives need to be protected. The state of human rights and law and order can never be improved unless (a) judicial systems are robust in providing access to justice to the communities, (b) improving law and order and (c) creating social and civic awareness about human rights, its issues and situation in the country. A stringent implementation regime will lead to improvements in its efficacy and consequently stimulate economic growth and encourage private investment, both domestic and foreign, which will directly and indirectly lead to alleviating poverty, thus be a major tool for improving not only the law and order situation but also human rights.
Police should handle the law and order situation with professionalism and refrain from illegal actions like extra-judicial killings, torture or fake encounters. “The duty of police officers ranges from prevention and detection of crime to behaving with members of the public with due decorum and courtesy.” Guiding and assisting members of the public, particularly the poor, the disabled and the physically weak helps in promoting amity. Police should not interfere in matters involving civil disputes. Police should advise the person coming to them for registration of cases in civil matters to approach the concerned court. Police officers should do everything to meet the call of their duty, complete investigation and submit challans in court within time. This will greatly contribute to the improvement of administration of justice. The policemen should maintain idealism in life and never lose patience, objectivity and human values. A police officer must enter the profession with a commitment and zeal to bring a change, a pleasant change.
In spite of all its tall claims, the government has failed to reform the country’s police. Police stations remain torture cells. Police personnel have been found involved in dacoities. Recently several persons in police custody have been tortured to death. Rape cases of innocent young girls belonging to poor families have taken place in these police stations. If the government itself orders the police to raid students’ hostels at night, and resort to violence against teachers, women and students, how then does it hope to reform it?
Instead of sincere and serious efforts to remove people’s hardships, the government merely depends upon superfluous tactics. At times, people are invited on the phone to talk directly to the prime minister, and at times, the drama of open public kachehri is arranged. Neither the government will gain anything nor problems of the public would be solved through such useless activities.
He poked fun at the idiocy of the rich, the famed and the influential for half a century as the most widely read newspaper humourist of his time. His column, syndicated to more than 550 newspapers at one point, won the Pulitzer Prize for commentary in 1982. In 1986 he was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Letters. He began writing columns, later syndicated, for The Washington Post in the late 1960s. The humourist authored 33 books, including two memoirs, Leaving Home (1993) and I’ll Always Have Paris (1996). He also wrote: Paris After Dark (1950), Son of the Great Society (1961), Washington is Leaking (1976) and While Reagan Slept (1983).
The last year didn’t start well for the writer. In February, he entered Washington Home and Community Hospices, which he described as “a place where you go when you want to go”. But by July, despite his physicians’ predictions, he left the hospice. He finished his last book, Too Soon To Say Goodbye there and it was published in November 2006. He kept his sense of humour until he slipped into unconsciousness just before he died. He was a columnist who delighted in the absurd. He was Art Buchwald.
Arthur Buchwald was born with rickets in New York on October 20, 1925 in Mount Vernon N.Y to struggling parents. His father, Joseph, Austrian-born, was a drape installer and mother Helen was a victim of chronic depression. Shortly after his birth, his mother was institutionalised. She lived for another 35 years but virtually never saw her son again. “I preferred the mother I had invented to the one I would find in the hospital,” Buchwald wrote in a 1994 memoir, Leaving Home. With the outbreak of World War II Buchwald, a Jew who was in high school then, ran away to join the Marines, hitchhiking to North Carolina. “The Marine Corps was the first father figure I had ever known,” he wrote. Assigned to the Fourth Marine Air Wing, he spent most of his tour on a Pacific island cleaning aircraft guns and editing his squadron’s newsletter while earning a sergeant’s stripes.
After the war, Buchwald went to the University of Southern California (USC) in Los Angeles under the G.I. Bill and became managing editor of the campus humour magazine. But he neglected to tell USC that he had not finished high school. When officials found out, they told him that he could continue to take courses but that he could not be considered for a degree. (Thirty-three years later, the University gave him an honorary doctorate.) At 23, he sailed to Paris on a converted troop ship and enrolled at the Alliance Française, also under the G.I. Bill. Soon he talked his way into a job with The Herald Tribune’s Paris-based European edition, writing a column about entertainment and restaurants for $ 25 a week. In his 14 years in Paris, Buchwald became as much a celebrity as those whose names he dropped in his columns. But it was in Washington where he moved in 1962 that he stole the limelight. By 1972 his column was appearing three times a week in about 400 newspapers in the US and in 100 other countries.
With his trademark wit, Art Buchwald used his newspaper column to skewer politicians in the nation’s capital. Over the decades, millions of Americans began their morning by reading his unfolding chronicle of history writ small and satirical. At the end of his life, ill health gave him a new subject, his looming death, and he wrote a series of poignant dispatches from a hospice centre he later left after outliving his stay. At the height of his popularity, Buchwald was syndicated in hundreds of newspapers, where he poked fun at the foibles of celebrities and politicians.
As he continued to write his column, he found material in his own survival. “So far things are going my way,” he wrote in March. “I am known in the hospice as ‘The man who wouldn’t die’. How long they allow me to stay here is another problem. I don’t know where I’d go now, or if people would still want to see me if I weren’t in a hospice. But in case you’re wondering, I’m having a swell time — the best time of my life”.
He continued writing, winning a Pulitzer for commentary in 1982. He also wrote books and plays and pitched a script to Paramount Pictures about an African prince visiting the US. But Paramount made the Eddie Murphy movie Coming to America with the same storyline and said it wasn’t Buchwald’s plot. In 1990, a Superior Court in California ruled in his favour. His last book, Too Soon to Say Goodbye, published in November, is a humorous account of how he moved into a hospice in Washington, D.C. last February, expecting to die within weeks and ended up having “the time of my life.”
In a 54-year career as a syndicated columnist, first in Paris, then in Washington, Buchwald was known for his wit, his cigars and his gentle political satire. In his 1993 memoir, Leaving Home, he revealed he was hospitalized twice — in 1963 and 1987 — for suicidal depression. Buchwald and his wife adopted three children. After nearly 40 years of marriage, the couple separated but reconciled while she was dying of cancer. (She died in 1994.)
Despite his popularity he never took on literary airs. His writing was not as stylish as Mark Twain’s but he was funny on deadline, decade after decade. He said he could write a 400-word column in less than an hour: “My craft is more sketching than writing; my column is almost a cartoon in words.” “What was difficult was him almost dying and then not,” his daughter Jennifer of Roxbury wrote in an online forum on the Washington Post’s website. “And then it was great for a year. Every day was a gift. That made it easier … to accept his death.” Mr. Buchwald had lived in Washington nearly 45 years, dividing his time between the capital and a summer home on Martha’s Vineyard for the past 35 years.
Shortly after he entered the hospice last year in February, he organised his last hurrah by calling up gossip columnists and radio talk show hosts to declare, “I’m still alive!” His March 7 column began, “I am writing this article from a hospice. But being in the hospice didn’t work out exactly the way I wanted it to. By all rights I should have finished my time here five or six weeks ago — at least that’s all Medicare would pay for.”
Buchwald reveled in the parade of famous visitors who came to see him and dealt publicly with more serious aspects of wrapping up one’s life. The existence of heaven and hell is possible, he decided, and if it provides comfort, people should believe in it. “I have no idea where I’m going but here’s the real question: What am I doing here in the first place?” In December, he told admirers at Wesley United Methodist Church in the district that he did not want to be remembered as dying after a long illness. “I want to die at 95 playing tennis against Agassi — because he couldn’t handle my serve,” he told the crowd. “I just don’t want to die the same day Castro dies,” Buchwald told his friends.
Before death and dying presented itself as a topic for his columns, politics was a favourite jumping-off point. As a long-running observer of the nation’s political scene, Buchwald said his favourite President was Richard Nixon, whose delusions made for rich satirical material. “I worship the very quicksand he walks on,” Buchwald quipped. Most of his books were collections of his columns which were syndicated by the Los Angeles Times and appeared in The Washington Post.
Two of his books Leaving Home (1993) and I’ll Always Have Paris! (1996) were memoirs. They told the story of his journey from a lonely, insolvent childhood lived largely in foster homes, to the salons of the famous. His entertaining, name-dropping memoirs — published in a period when some said his column was losing its edge — also won him new respect in the publishing world.
Although he had been elected in 1991 to the American Academy of Arts and Letters, he said in a 1996 interview that “people don’t take humourists seriously; they don’t even call them writers.” “It was those two books that made me a writer,” he said. “Now, I’m being reviewed seriously. That gives me great pleasure, because I want to be known as a writer, not a humourist. It’s one step up, and that’s the direction I want to be headed at this stage of my life.”
Buchwald also wrote about his bouts with mental disorders with a frankness that won him new fans around the country. He had been hospitalised for clinical depression in 1963 and for manic depression in 1987. Both episodes nearly drove him to suicide, he said; drugs and therapy were his salvation. He joked to friends that if he had a third bout of depression, “I will be inducted in the Bipolar Hall of Fame.”
His children, he said, were initially upset with his decision to turn down dialysis treatments last year, but he insisted that he preferred to control his last days, which lasted longer than even he expected. “I don’t know if this is true or not, but I think some people, not many, are starting to wonder why I’m still around,” he wrote while in the hospice. “In fact, a few are sending me get-well cards. These are the hard ones to answer.”
Buchwald, who wrote about 8,000 newspaper columns and 33 books, found a way to laugh about most everything. In the final year of a life filled with career highs and personal lows, he had become what he called “the poster boy for death”.
Buchwald suffered a stroke in 2000, and was plagued by kidney and circulation problems. Last year, he also suffered a series of setbacks to his health. When his kidneys started to fail, he refused dialysis and instead, prepared for his own death. Mike Wallace asked his friend about his legacy. “He virtually shouted it,” Wallace recounted. “Joy! That’s what I’m going to leave behind.”
Arthur Buchwald, who satirised the follies of the rich, the famous and the powerful for half a century as the most widely read newspaper humourist of his time, died in Washington on Wednesday evening, January 17, 2007. The columnist was 81. Early in February 2006, he entered the hospice care when his kidneys failed as a result of diabetes and doctors gave him just weeks to live. He left his hospice and survived for another 11 months.
Buchwald’s syndicated column was a staple for a generation or more of newspaper readers, not least the politicians and government leaders he squeezed so regularly. His life was a rich tale of bravery, calamity and hilarity, with chapters in Paris, Washington and places around the globe. His legacy is not to be measured but to be treasured.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Dear Earl Russell,
Will you interrupt your busy life for a moment, and play the game of philosophy with me?
I am attempting to face, in my next book, a question that our generation, perhaps more than most, seems always ready to ask, and never able to answer — what is the meaning or worth of human life? Heretofore this question has been dealt with chiefly by theorists, from Ikhnaton and Lao-tse to Bergson and Spengler. The result has been a species of intellectual suicide: thought, by its very development, seems to have destroyed the value and significance of life. The growth and spread of knowledge, for which so many reformers and idealists prayed, appears to bring to its devotees — and, by contagion, to many others — a disillusionment which has almost broken the spirit of our race.
Astronomers have told us that human affairs constitute but a moment in the trajectory of a star; geologists have told us that civilization is a precarious interlude between ice ages; biologists have told us that all life is war, a struggle for existence among individuals, groups, nations, alliances, and species; historians have told us that ‘progress’ is a delusion, whose glory ends in inevitable decay; psychologists have told us that the will and the self are the helpless instruments of heredity and environment, and that the once incorruptible soul is only a transient incandescence of the brain. The Industrial Revolution has destroyed the home, and the discovery of contraceptives is destroying the family, the old morality, and perhaps (through the sterility of the intelligent) the race. Love is analysed into a physical congestion, and marriage becomes a temporary physiological convenience slightly superior to promiscuity. Democracy has disintegrated into such corruption as only Milo’s Rome knew; and our youthful dreams of a socialist utopia disappear as we see, day after day, the inexhaustible acquisitiveness of men. Every invention strengthens the strong and weakens the weak; every new mechanism displaces men, and multiplies the horrors of war. God, who was once the consolation of our brief life, and our refuge in bereavement and suffering, has apparently vanished from the scene; no telescope, no microscope discovers him. Life has become, in that total perspective which is philosophy, a fitful pullulation of human insects on the earth, a planetary eczema that may soon be cured; nothing is certain in it except defeat and death — a sleep from which, it seems, there is no awakening.
We are driven to conclude that the greatest mistake in human history was the discovery of truth. It has not made us free, except from delusions that comforted us, and restraints that preserved us; it has not made us happy, for truth is not beautiful, and did not deserve to be so passionately chased. As we look upon it now we wonder why we hurried so to find it. For it appears to have taken from us every reason for existing, except for the moment’s pleasure and tomorrow’s trivial hope.
This is the pass to which science and philosophy have brought us. I, who have loved philosophy for many years, turn from it now back to life itself, and ask you, as one who has lived as well as thought, to help me understand. Perhaps the verdict of those who have lived is different from that of those who have merely thought. Spare me a moment to tell me what meaning life has for you, what help — if any — religion gives you, what keeps you going, what are the sources of your inspiration and energy, what is the goal or motive-force of your toil; where you find your consolations and your happiness, where in the last resort your treasure lies. Write briefly if you must; write at leisure and at length if you possibly can; for every word from you will be precious to me.
William James Durant (November 5, 1885 — November 7, 1981) was an American philosopher, historian, and writer. He is best known for writing, with his wife Ariel Durant, The Story of Civilization, an 11-volume work written between 1935 and 1975. The Durants were awarded the Pulitzer Prize for literature in 1967 and the Presidential Medal of Freedom 1977
Monday, March 17, 2008
Pakistan is surely an entertainment starved country. There are hardly art and cultural related activities taking place. Frustration, anxiety and fretfulness are pet words of today. And almost everything related to fun is seen skeptically by our conservative community. However, it never stopped people to have fun and to engineer different modes of enjoyment. Illegal street racing on a two-wheeler among few privileged is getting popular. Knowing the fact that this kind of unsupervised activity has its price but can we blame the common mass?
Basant is perhaps the only national festival that has nothing to do with religion. In Islam, constructive activities and creative sports (those which develop one's abilities of intellect, power, stealth, combat, etc) are encouraged immensely. Islam never prohibits anyone to take part in games and enjoy the fruits of life but within limits and limits are set for both gender rather woman alone.
In my humble views, if people of Pakistan love to celebrate basant, let them do it and cash this festivity to attract tourists. Top hotels reported full booking during these days, a lot of people have their means of earning through this gala as it exerts a pull on millions of people not across the border but across the world. It is an event not to be missed. Lahore is undoubtedly the hub of basant celebrations but on basant day the entire country from Karachi to Peshawar rejoices with one voice.
Conversely, such a blissful fiesta has its dark side as hospitals invariably are packed with kite-flyers whop fell off roofs and children who are hit by vehicles as they run down the streets and roads with faces turn towards sky to watch the kites. Quarters of the city are plunged into darkness when razor-sharp kite cord rolled in powdered glass and metal cord cut throats and electricity wires respectively. The chemical and metal cord is banned but manufacturers are still report roaring trade.
On the other side of the picture, such festival does not suit a country where poor masses are deprived and openly realized their deprivation by mass fashion exhibits of material possessions. Kites and cords are not cheaper for a meager class. In a nutshell, safe kite flying, Yes. The pretentious way of exhibits, No.
There are rules and regulations for every sport. If one starts playing football on a busy road, people will start dieing. It doesn't mean playing football is bad as it kills a many but the venue and methodology needs to be regulated. I would hate to buy the idea that basant is a Hindu festival and I can argue about this. Practically, Pakistan is not an Islamic state as we commit a lot of things un-Islamic. We carry many traditional Hindu belongings; look at our marriage ceremonies for instance. Some people in Pakistan are determined that no one has the right to have fun whatsoever and thus they use the name of religion to advocate their point uselessly. I find this super-ridiculous.
To avoid casualties, my suggestion is to find a way to coax kite-flyers into cosmic playgrounds and vast stadiums. Organized kite-flying competitions with attractive cash prizes and lucrative gifts may lure professional kite-flyers out of their dens towards open grounds, where life is safer. Last but certainly not least, a lot many opines that festival of basant is a source of earnings to those who waited for whole year to come by. We must share our maximum finances to the manufacturers of kites, cords and related stuff makers but minimum to hospitals, doctors/ surgeons, blood banks and grave-diggers.
Published in daily The Post, 17 March, 2k8, THE NATION, 16th Mar 2008, Pakistan Observer, 28 Jan, 2007
MUHAMMAD MAHTAB BASHIR
Saturday, March 15, 2008
How do you like my blog? What is the most detested aspect you find here (other then me) :( what you like the most and what you want DIFFERENT here that makes you glad? Feel free to give suggestions & feedback.
Please, LEAVE your COMMENTS here.
You can also send email, snail-mail or SMS.
Thanking you in anticipation.
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Cell: 0300 52 56 875
WHAT READERS SAY...
Bilal from unknown place comments': June 24, 2008 10:19 PM
Brother if the role models are Rumi, Iqbal and Michealangelo than I think the sex oriented discription of life and work at the top is not required. To be a better person you need to be a better human.. You have a good vision and are actually going to make it high, but believe me brother try to be a humble and sublime person.
Sadaf (Kulsoom) from Nawabshah emails': May 13, 2008 1:30 PM
i m really thrilled and extremly happy to see this BLOG ..this blog gives me immense pleasure and satisfaction that current issue of the ARTICLES.Excellent standard of the ARTICLES,POEMS specially for their beloved brother which he had written..Poems in ENGLISH reflect the original creativity ,flair and knowledge for ME specially.The enthusiasm and fervour with which they contributed their thoughts to the blog are indeed encouraging ..the quality of blog depends entirely the efforts of the writer(editor)..i really appreciate ...in the end, i must express my gratitude to the MR MAHTAB..for his encouragement and full support ..again i congratulate MR MAHTABfor bringing out this blog,,,,i pray to ALMIGHTY ALLAH to grace u with grandeur and gratness to maintain the achieved standards of the bolg..and BLESS u with wisdom and courage to further raise the quality and standards of blog..MAY ALMIGHTY ALLAH BLESS AND REWARD FOR UR FINE EFFORTS..WISHING U ALL THE BEST..
Romiya Mansoor Ali emails from Karachi:
May 3, 2008 3:24 PM
very nice maintain blog
keep it up
impress by your work, thoughts.
God Bless You
Farhat Akram from Islamabad writes:
March 17, 2008 9:25 PM
Dear Mehataab!!with much of your request i am making my opinion about your blog.. fit ha laley... and continue doing it.. i like every bit of it. Like all the cafeteria pundits please do write on the restoration of Judges issue, which i belive is still missing. One more thing please divide your poems and opinions in to sections as every thing seems mixed up. Take loads of care and keep me posted toooooooooo.
HAFSA MOHSIN from Texas, USA writes:
Wed, 12 Mar 2008 23:38:57 -0700 (PDT)
i like everything EXCEPT this f***** intro..education is like bla bla...report abuse!! other then this...all the articles are nice..i've read few of them and i feel like..wat happened when u lose ur loved ones...anyways..edit the intro and Best of luck!
Counter Attack Emaad Qureshi from Rawalpindi writes:
March 8, 2008 2:51 AM
GReat Blog Keep it up..
Friday, March 14, 2008
(An anthology of English poems)
Poetry creates imagination and imagination is the window to tomorrow and fountain of one’s life. Einstein reckons imagination more important than knowledge. In fact, it is imagination that removes the layers from our eyes and awakens our senses just before the real things that surround us. To me, nothing could be happened or exist without imaginations. A poet is a sensitive soul who takes care of his inner-self and outer-self at one fell swoop. He not only writes about the things around him with yawning thoughts but he can access where the sun can not. And I believe, a soul-stirring poetry is composed or painted with poet’s life-blood.
I can remember my feelings when I am with other people. Many of us remember days but I remember moments, the moments when I feel happy or angry, safe or afraid; my feelings can help me – to make good choices. I am struggling against my will-power, I was indecisive initially but now … I am not too sure:) Now I want to fantasize owing help from reality because at the end of the day, “It is better to read the weather forecast before you pray for rain”.
To my WIFE & to my GIRL FRIEND
& I pray to Almighty Allah, may they never meet:)
Keep reading, http://mahtabbashir.blogspot.com/
& keep praying!
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
House # 2026, Street # 32,
I-10/2, ISLAMABAD.Cell: 0333 53 63 248
Sidra from Bahawalpur said...
January 31, 2010 8:46 PM
& I pray to Almighty Allah, may they never meet.:).........:)..........:)
Lalarukh from Rawalpindi emails':
+92 333 53 63 248
Mother is the most priceless blessing God has personally gift- wrapped for each one of us. As the saying goes,'God cannot be everywhere so he created mothers,' no amount of words will ever be enough to thank mother for all that she has done for me.
You are a paragon of love, a sparkling star
You curb my woes, you and dad stand at par
You teach me religion, a value of chastity
Love-oriented disciplining facts, a way of eternity
You are a soothing balm when I’m bogged down
I need your shadow not diamond, pearl or a crown
Your existence in this world is my prized possession
Every word you utter is my own expression
You express your mirth upon all my successes
You buy for me, chic toys, and posh dresses
My childish trivial worries are massive for you
You solve them with ease and that is true
You are a precious jewel in a setting of my life
Your erudite wisdom, gives me comfort, vanish strife
You lend me hands when I fell down and cry
Your presence makes me ten feet tall and high
You stand besides me neglecting everyone
I’m regretted, in response I give you none
I feel so indebted and so grateful to God
Who blessed me a simple mother, not a mod
‘The hand that rock the cradle rules the world’
Is the most ultimate truth I’ve ever heard
May your joys through life be as free
As dancing waves on the deep blue sea
Published in The Nation, Jun 2, 2007, Pakistan Observer, May 8, 2005, The weekly MAG, May 7-13 2005, May 8-14, 2004, Dec 6-12, 2003, The Nation Jun 2, 2003.
Romiya Mansoor Emails from Karachi:
May 9, 2008 10:36 PM
nice articulations of words, expressions and feelings
A man whom I hate to criticize
A man of dignity, full of courage
His message- love, peace, friendly ties
There’s no one like you, you polish my mind
You know my faults yet embrace me
Your love and kindness, my built-in find
You work devotedly like a slave till night
That your family can slumber easy and tight
You smile at us and ease the pain
Your sagacious decisions always right
My love for you like a never-ending sky
Your affection on me is right from cradle
No diamonds or pearls can replace your love
If God allowed, I would worship your idol
Published in Weekly MAG, July 2-8, 2005, Jun 19-25, 2004
MUHAMMAD MAHTAB BASHIR
Take care of it and not of dime
Every day to us is a precious entity
One who utilize it, finds eternity
So beware! How you kill your time
In future, you won’t find a way to climb
Take time to learn is the secret of success
Every target one sets, can be easily access
This world has no place for time-killers
Procrastinator and loiterer can never shimmer
‘Do it now’ is a favorite saying of my friend
All worries and frets you can comfortably mend
If you do not embrace time and stand still
Soon it will take revenge and make you kill
Published in Young Nation of daily The Nation, 19 May, 2003
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Our old skirmishes
Lets keep our hearts
Free of malices
Lets show our love
And not of hatred
Lets remove all doubts
That has been fabricated
If you are not
Let me do it first
‘Cause neither in
a book of God,
Nor in a book of thoughts
Passion and serenity
A word, self-centered exists.
Published in Young Nation of daily The Nation, May 13, 2003, Weekly MAG, Feb 14-20, 2004
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
(In memory of a class-mate)
I hate those words sound ‘goodbye’
It snatched my beloved while I cry
She deserted me in hours of need
I’m stranded alone on a shore, indeed
Nights have gone and days slipped away
Alas! I could not get for what I pray
If I had known, you are leaving me
Would have loved you more, I plea
Now days and nights belong to the past
Such is a path where life shows contrast
Those days so remote now eclipsed by time
Like stars behind misty clouds, hazy and sublime
Cherished moments stand still for none
Nostalgic dreams, my wish, my yearn
Let’s share a few minutes together again
First we shared ecstasy now share the pain
Published in Weekly MAG, March 12-18, 2003, The Nation & The News of April 19, 2003
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
The longer I grow, the larger my strife
Standing on a beach, remembering my past
Trying to recollect, those memories I’ve lost
When life meant nothing but too much fun
I spent whole days with my dear ones
Not silver, jewels, neither gems nor gold
I want nothing but my childhood to hold
Those were the days when world looks bright
And everything for me on the height of delight
Naughty feelings, care-free life and bath in rain
Were the chief activities of what I contained
Those days certainly prized possession of mine
When moon smiled at me and stars used to shine
Give me my childhood and take my adult
And I won’t care about the religious cult
Published in Young Nation of daily The Nation, 26 March, 2003, Weekly MAG, Dec 13-19, 2003
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
So do not be afraid of life, they say
One should enjoy maximum pleasure
Who does so gain a real treasure
People who detest laughters and smiles
For them happiness lies but many a miles
Life is a name of ups and down
Who holds his nerves wear a crown
Don’t just watch dark side of a photo
Be optimistic and pragmatic is my motto
Published in Young Nation of daily The Nation, 25 March, 2003
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Shattered into pieces like a wind-blown sand
A terrible noise haunts in my room
That vociferous voice ends a way of groom
That mirror, a memory of my sweet lady
Now makes my life sad and no more shady
Those pieces of mirrors lying next to me
‘Causing great trouble and bring tears to me
Fragile mirror's sound creates massive mess
‘Cause it’s not akin to my heart that is noiseless
Published in weekly Disney discoverer of The News, 08 Feb 2003
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Neither has it contained a habit of scowling
A stone is unable to display emotions
Never your partner in sorrow or singing
The life expectancy of a stone is high
This extended age is all in vain
Flower has the shortest life-span
Its fragrance is eternal, soothes the pain
Published in weekly US magazine of The News, April 19, 2005
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Scintillating and full of temptations
Sparkling dreams with flashy colors
What would you pick without hesitation?
My certain dream will comprise on …
A peaceful country, happiness all around
Law and order, no vex and worry
No jealousy, hatred and bad sound
Published in weekly MAG, Feb 26- 04 March, 2006, US magazine of The News
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Neither every act a danger
A lot of friends amid your ways
Not everyone a stranger
There may be rain or a storm
But smooth breeze will blow too
You’ll go through many autumns
But spring is waiting to greet you
Sorrow, suffering, strife and struggle
May pelt you for a while
Joy’ll prevail over all obstacles
If you’re hardworking and agile
Published in weekly US magazine The News, March 25, 2005, weekly MAG, Feb 26- 04 March, 2006
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
People say me crazy and totally insane
I walked, ran and struggled so hard
Yet failed to gain any reward
No one ever offered me a chair
They wanted me to stand up everywhere
To save myself from public jeers
I filled an ocean with my tears
No leader consoled me when I weep
Nor anyone know if I die in my sleep
The excursion of my life is still un-enjoyed
Because of the curse of unemployed
Published in weekly MAG, May 22-28, 2004
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Buildings converted into pieces of sand
Those were the days wrapped in infamy
Life changed thereafter for he and she
It was a war for oil, not dove-like
Where US cruel incentives ready to strike
Although WMDs were never recovered
The eyes of UNO also got covered
Foes toppled houses but not your pride
All are alive in our hearts who are died
Millions of prayers for those who are lost
Praises, blessings and glories utmost
Published in weekly the MAG, May 15-21, 2004
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
I may capture you and have utmost fun
I wish you’re an exotic flower
I may put you in pages of my book
I wish you’re a precious little gem
I may have a garland around my neck
You’re like flowing water
You’re like a flying bird
You’re like a blowing wind
You’re like a flourishing memory
How can I seize you
You bewitched me under all suspects
O’ my memories! O’ past time!
You’ve made me your obedient slave
Please unleash me from your magic.
Published in weekly MAG, Nov 08-14, 2003, US magazine, The News.
That the caged birds I observe are really few
But there’s abundance of those birds
Who are unshackled, make no cry and hue
To me, it is a matter of sublime joy
A fish can never feel bondage
All it needs, immense water to live
With no extended vision to exploit the age
To me, it is a matter of sublime joy
The flowers have limited time to bloom
Whether they remain intact with a bough
Or a pore of hand makes them gloom
To me, it is a matter of sublime joy
A man needs these things occasionally
‘Cause he craves for birds, flowers and fish
Just to trample them pessimistically
Published in The Nation, Sep 05, 2003, Weekly MAG, Dec 27-02 Jan, 2004.
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Gives new color to life
Fills all souls in bounty
Cuckoo’s voice pulsing in the air
Causing climate to tremble
The flowers mingle with the breeze
And the voice of frolicking boys
Makes life more vibrant
Little gals rejoicing in pouring drops
With singing, swinging and dancing
The overwhelming pleasure
Under a shady tree
I am standing
Sans any clamor
And nostalgia is
Melting my heart
Published in weekly MAG, Aug 06-12, 2005.
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
I’m extremely mortified
We all exploited you
In the name of ‘submissive will’
O’ mute creatures!
The sanctity of your land
If you relinquish
The righteousness of this soil
You’ll be deprived of
All your laurels
Your esteem, reverence
Is bind and intact
To your holy land
This land of pure
Whooping and shrieking
For its salvation
Come on! Bravo!
Take a step
The time is ripe enough
Published in Weekly The MAG, Feb 18-24, 2006 & The Post.
Muhammad Mahtab Bashir
Thursday, March 6, 2008
Just escaping the superstitious numero of thirteen, it was the ferocious moment well before the cracks of dawn get wider and my brother made his way to heaven through that chasm of 4th Muharram-ul-Haraam, 14th January, 2008. My beloved brother ultimately succumbed against the noxious tentacles of squamous cell carcinoma battling valiantly for life over 14 months. I feel honored that he felt comfortable and safe to go to meet his maker peacefully infront of my eyes; however the vision of his last breath will play on my mind once and forever. His diverse traits set him apart from the rest. He impressed everyone to the core and now he is doing it in the air of heavens.
Muhammad Moazzam Bashir, 47, a commoner of 15th & 17th CTP, serving as an additional commissioner of Income tax was a down to earth, munificent, kind-hearted, life-loving, unselfish individual remained involve in a lively conversation to everyone coming his way with the eyes on the future. His calm and composed disposition even in the dark moments of anxiety, spoke volume to us when we were overawed by our position. In his thoughts, beyond a somewhat labored eloquence, I found plenty of wisdom, embodied with improvised phrases. It was delightful to notice in him that rare gift of appreciating the importance of apparently ordinary things and projecting before us with courage, conviction and perfection. To me, my brother's intellectual journey made him more a nomad in the kingdom of knowledge than a sedentary inhabitant who was apprehensive of wondering into unknown tenuous of thoughts. His overwhelming life offered me a lot to think and his premature bereavement left loads to feel.
After the biopsy reports confirmation in positive, Moazzam bhai was well-responsive to the prospect as I knew him a person to go till the bottom to investigate the whole thing while staying on pinnacle. And I have no qualm in saying that this was the clandestine behind his success and lesson to all his remnants. The Biopsy descriptions lead to three major surgeries followed by radio and biotherapy. Nothing hampered the cell growth as it travelled one spot to another freely in no time. Cancer rapidly devoured bhai's insides and chemotherapy left him exhausted. There were over half a dozen deep wounds filled with pus gulping bhai internally, and swelling was on the rise. It was so painful physically for bhai, and mentally for us as communication was mute between us since ten months. He swayed upon us with his hand-writings on note-books. He shed his weight immensly but he refused to shed his intellect till the very end. Despite all these hard times, he survived with a lot of dignity, commitment, hopefulness and utmost patience. I still can't believe Moazzam Bhai has made his exit, I still can't accept it, but I believe it is just a transition from a good place towards a better spot where stars are spelling out his name.
Moazzam Bhai was a person of extreme generosity, never had a second thought of donating things, be it an expensive wrist-watch or an imported shirt. My wardrobe is still stuffed with the generosity of Bhai as sometime I thought, should I buy any locallly-stiched shirt or tie or to get Eue de Cologne with my own expense or should I keep on bragging against my friends and office fellows with imported material courtesy of Bhai? And I always opted the later. I am also a propitious and fortunate not because of the same physical frame structure of Bhai but with the same size of feet. I distinctly remember the day once I visited his home at Gujranwala and he said goodbye to me with a sack, jam-packed with thirteen pair of broche shoes. I shyly picked the bag but I never refused because it was my built-in right and because I am his smallest brother.
Today, when people from cross-section of society embrace me for consolation, a lot many says, it is the same aroma inside you of your brother and I promptly respond, an attire and cologne may be the same but I don't have his brain to match. There is no replica of Moazzam Bhai, not at all.
He was a tastefully well-dressed person always scolding me for my weird choice of outfit and unpolished pair of slippers. He loved to be drenched in fragrance with wide range of perfumes studded in his cupboard. Ironically, I would never forget the day when in hospital room a staff nurse said furiously: "It's so stinky inside, why don’t you use air freshener then"? We were well-prepared for all the questions but we were numb and helpless.
My brother, to me was more like a duplication of father, always concerned for my future. While posted here in capital city as Deputy Secretary in Ministry of Commerce, Moazzam bhai was my room mate at home. I have very doting memories of spending those two years with him. It was the time when I tried my luck to go for competitive examinations with the passion to get parallel to him professionally. "Nothing is impossible, the word itself says, I M Possible", was his life-time message to me. Every night he induced new tips in my brain with novel instructions. Alas! I couldn't follow that man and I flunked with dignity though, but my passion could not be translated into reality.
Many nights later, while cupid struck me and one night I was in washroom, my cell phone was on charging fully utilising the options of silent mode and vibrator. Just after my appearance again in the room, I found Moazzam Bhai reading a book, he tilted the book slightly and whispered: "Study, I mean professional study for the sake of your sheltered future and love … can never be friends, can not be syncronised", my dear brother! I shook my head, stared back at him with a tiny smile & everything went in the air.
I would not fail to remember last year summer when I went through bad experience of developing a skin allergy. I hired the services of different classified dermatolgists who prescribed wide range of liquids, lotions, creams and pills. I still remember the only common medicated cream was with the name of "cutivate", nothing worked to push me back to my comfort zone. And I was feeling like walking through clutches of stress, anxiety, frustration, and mental aggravation because of unemployment, some domestic reasons coupled with broken relations. Moazzam Bhai came, had a glance at me and retorted: "You are your own doctor; remedy is in your hand. Give your thoughts a positive touch. There's nothing good or bad but your thinking makes the difference. Your brain can help you preventing all diseases. This is not a skin problem, it's a brain problem, my kid." And soon after I gave new shapes to my ideas, I never visted any skin specialist till then. I must confess here, he was indeed a trouble-shooter not only for me but every individual of our family, relatives and beyond.
There's not a single occasion I've experienced, when Moazzam Bhai came to Islamabad and not desired to see my photo albums, reading my published articles and diaries of my selected poetry.
He used to take pleasure in every afore-mentioned activity. He ardently watched out my photo albums and complimented me as a "photogenic person". Now my favorite habit of taking my own pictures through my own cell phone is quickly fading, I am out of touch with writings and contributing for newspapers since indefinite period not because I've lost my words but I've lost an admirer.
The year 2006 commenced with the sad note of demise of my Taya Gee, who was residing along Moazzam Bhai in Gujranwala. It was a bright sunny day of 20th of January when Taya Gee became the victim of reckless driver while crossing a road. With the broken legs, right arm, ribs and skull, he breathed his last on the spot. As soon as this dreadful news covered the distance to Islamabad, a deep sense and emotions of outrage against the culprit raised in our home. There was no person more poignant then Moazzam Bhai. The clash of mind gripped us, the offender was held and Moazzam Bhai made the verdict immediately well before the judge of court. His decree for many of us was mind-baffling, but precise and succinct: "I forgive this blood." During his ailing days, Moazzam Bhai came to know about the dark sides of some of close associates and relatives. Those were the persons to whom Bhai devoted fair share of his life but they turned down the value of services Bhai construct for them. However, a strange dazzle of his eyes revealed to me that he has no retribution against any of them.
He was talented in more then one sense of the word, got an aesthetic sense of art and paintings. He was a prolific watercolorist. A lot of paintings of the Quranic verses are hanging on wall to wall of different rooms. He was a fervent music lover of all genres and a passionate reader of books from poetry to prose. Gardening was his second religion. The gardens inside home in Income tax colony were all barren, and Moazzam Bhai single handedly made a green revolution there. I hardly memorize a single evening, when Bhai was at home and not playing with floral and watering the plants. I wonder, had someone ask him if tomorrow is doomsday, what would you do? And his answer could have been, "I would plant a tree."
It was the love and affection of him towards family that he never missed out any auspicious moment of us. No matter, he was in Karachi, Lahore, Gujranwala, or Gujrat, he joined us every time well before time. Last three Eids, we missed him because of his dwindling health with special prayers of mother and father. Though death is unavoidable, Moazzam Bhai's was surely untimely. Life belongs to those who are ready to die and he wanted to live but opted to die.
There is not a colossal cruel moment an aged father can have as hearing this news of his young son. My father, Bashir Hussain Nazim, (pride of performance) a renowned scholar and Naatia poet bear this heartbreaking incident with a lot of audacity, by the grace of God. Although I still wake up with a silent cry, mixed up with hiccup and recitation of the holy Quran from his room. My mother is with my eldest bhabi always engrossed in prayers and recitation of Quran. I found her strolling in every nook and corner of that house, repeatedly opening up all packed closets of her biggest son and put her love inside it with rosary in her hand and tears in her eyes.
Moazzam Bhai's rendered meritorious services in Income tax department of Federal Board of Revenue. He was a team player who brought stability to his departments. He was never divisive, but sought to promote consensus because he saw it as strengthening the discipline. More important, though, were the ways in which he influenced others, but never being influenced. He had a remarkable ability to project warmth, affection, respect, and sincere appreciation for officers, colleagues and friends. His professional career was marked by tireless service as a dedicated and altruistic officer. One of the qualities that made Bhai such valuable officer was the depth of his docile attitude from ministerial levels to staff. Wherever he was posted, he brought business community closer to revenue department. He became increasingly involved in the activities of the Social set-up as his social circle was so enormous. He was one of the eminent members of think tank of Gujranwala. Those who knew Moazzam Bhai well delighted in his talent for evoking shared moments and recounting the minute details that induced mirth and fond memories. My brother will be remembered for the way he dedicated his career to the services of Income Tax department of Pakistan for his genuine, kindhearted nature.
Before I round off this piece of writing, it would be a sheer injustice if I forget to acknowledge the services of Prof. Dr. Sheharyar, Head of Oncology Deptt, Mayo Hospital, Lahore, Prof. Dr. Riaz Ahmed Warraich, Head of Oral & Maxillofacial Surgery, Mayo Hospital, Lahore, Dr. Muhammad Hafeez of Mayo Hospital, Dr. Moazzam Ali Tarar of Jinnah Hospital, Dr. Mukarram Bashir of CMH Thal, and all batchmates and friends of Moazzam Bhai. I would like to owe a huge debt of gratitude to my cousin Waseem, who was great source of strength and inspiration during the laborious work. His continuous assistance and help was literally unparallel. He abandoned 14 crucial months of his career to keep Bhai alive. Words are totally inadequate to express my thanks to Mamu Saleem and his whole family for their confidence and help extended to us. My massive thanks go to my cousin Saqib for his imperative role in difficult moment from dawn to dusk. Words fall short to thank Sabeen for her motivational words. I am also indebted to my friends especially Madiha, Hafsa, Farhat, Leena, Bushra, Rafea, Lalarukh, Attiya, Rabia, Hina, Romia, Tahir, Iqbal, Kamran, Amjad and a few millions other friends of my father and of Moazzam Bhai who were constantly praying for his health. I would never compensate your prayers.
Winding up this article is not difficult but winding up my memories towards Moazzam Bhai is so difficult. Allow me to say something resembling the moral of a story: "Moazzam Bhai was, in a way, a depiction of our own future, observing him, the future seems bright."
Reliving the memory of Muhammad Moazzam Bashir Celestial Realm of awe and admiration of his personality inspires our hearts, kindness, intellect and prudent intelligence kindles our thoughts. It is requested to all dear readers to pray for Moazzam Bhai's maghfirat. May Almighty Allah bless his soul in eternal peace and grant us the fortitude to bear this irreparable loss and give us strength to nurture his all three daughters to his penchant.
I have never imagined you'd ever be so far away, my brother. Your wisdom will continue to shine on us forever. I know you have never flirted in your life then why ... you flirted WITH life?? Even today, when I raise my hands in sincere prayers for dear departed, a voice whispers in my ears…
Yad karo to Aa jaoon' ga aansoo ban kar aankhon' may.
MUHAMMAD MAHTAB BASHIR
House # 2026, Street # 32,
Cell: 0300 52 56 875
Day after day
Time passed away
And I just can't get you off my mind
Nobody knows, I hide it inside
I keep on searching but I can't find
The courage to show to letting you know
I've never felt so much love before
And once again I'm thinking about
Taking the easy way out
But if I let you go I will never know
What my life would be holding you close to me
Will I ever see you smiling back at me?
How will I know if I let you go?
Night after night I hear myself say
Why can't this feeling just fade away
There's no one like you (no one like you)
You speak to my heart (speak to my heart)
It's such a shame we're worlds apart
It's too shy to ask, I'm too proud to lose
But sooner or later I gotta choose
And once again I'm thinking about
Taking the easy way out
But if I let you go I will never know
What my life would be, holding you close to me
Will I ever see you smiling back at me?
How will I know, if I let you go?
Courtesy: WESTLIFE (my personal favorite)
They say, "time is a great healer", but to me… every passing moment gets me spiritually and emotionally more closer to my beloved brother. Every day I get a note of condolence through emails, telephone-calls, letters & Sms. There are many across the world, who made calls & stunned over sad demise of Moazzam Bhai. Your words in any form give us strength. I know well this is where no one can help you but one can feel sorry, that's what only you can do & that's what only we all need. Millions of people including so many dignitaries attended Moazzam Bhai's funeral & console us at the time of lurch. I, on behalf of my father, extend a deep debt of gratitude to all of you. And I sanguinely request with hope, you would remember and pray for my brother's soul more keenly as you did for his recovery during his ailing days. Your overwhelming support reminds all our family members to smile again.
Thank you all of you.
For more .. please visit the following links
WORDS THAT KEEP ME BREATHING ...
Olive from Rawalpindi Sms':
September 06, 2008 20:49
Aug 17, 2008 11:02 AM
It was just now that I read the email about the pain that you have faced and still undergoing due to the sad demise of your brother. May Allah rest his soul in eternal peace and grant you and your family strength to bear this irreparable loss. It is 15th of Shaban tonight... May Allah bless you all...
With profound regards,
Aug 14, 2008 8:41 AM
m really sorry Mahtab n definitely v wil pray for ur brother .Although there can never be any replacement for the loss of a loved one, wepray to Allah to grant u n ur family sabar to bear this huge loss.
Please excuse me very much- for my late reply to you. I have been really busy in the last few days with work, organising my finances, getting ready to apply for visas etc. etc. So i'm a little behind on my emails.
It's 7.30pm here in Sydney- and i am a little tired- so i will reply to your email later.
I just wanted to send a quick email- to let you know i'm not ignoring you- and i do thank you for sharing with me- including about your beloved brother. I read the stories you lovingly wrote. It sounds like you both shared a very special relationship. ... I have thought about your story, your families story since you emailed me- and i really feel for you and your family- it must be very very hard. So i think and say a little prayer for you all in my own way. Life can certainly be hard- loss is very hard- and again i feel for you and your family. I wish you all hope, warmth, love and that you feel the comfort of others in those hard times...
take good care Mahtab
Tue, Apr 1, 2008 at 3:07 AM
AOA I am regularly receiving Mahtab's Articals. I will suggest him to read twice (after taking a print, as on computer you miss a lot of things) before sending these articals to press. I found many small mistakes in the Moazzam sb/s artical as well as of Helmet related one. I have read fully the artical on Moazzam sb some days ago. It is really superb. A prize of US$ 100/- is due to him (although have mistakes).
Baqi sub theek hai. Hashir and Aqib are fine and fully enjoying / wasting time after their first term exams. They are having 1-1/2 months summer vacations now. Aqib is very upset after disappearance of GEO SUPER as he was watching cricket matches of ICL very closely and supporting Lahore Badshahs.
Zaini fell down in school a week ago and escaped a collar bone / shoulder fracture. She is resting at home with a sling but still feeling pain in left shoulder. At night she cries. thats the life.
Baqi sub theek hai. How are Ammi and Abba ji. My respectful salam to them. salam to everyone around. Take care and Allah Hafiz Pls reply in detail soon. MASOOD
March 27, 2008 8:24 PM
My Dear Mahtab,Yaar I was Intentionally diverting myself from this heart-breaking and shocking state of grief by not calling anybody, so, i can escape from this..... But, I cannot Be successful in this try. What a FOOL I was..... Muhammad Moazzam Bashir, Whom i always call Moazzam Mamoo, A True Gentleman , A Legend, An Inspiration to all youngsters,in and out of family. A person with whom you can share each detail of your life. When ever i met him, I always saw him smiling and saying " RAZI BHAI, KI HAAL WAY ".
29 January, 2008
Emaad from Rawalpindi writes:
31 jan, 2008
Its So Sad
Lalarukh from Rawalpindi writes:
Wed, Feb 13, 2008 at 8:28 AM
May his soul rest in peace and May Almighty Allah Give u strength to endure this demise.
Article is touchy. voice of heart. Take care and try to overcome this greif.May Allah always b with u.
Unknown SMS from Islamabad:
27 Feb, 2008 12:46
Asalamoalakum I m a regular reader of ur articles. I m really impressed u have done a marvelous job in the article about ur brother death. I literely cry whil reading last line of the article. Keep up the good work. Take care
Abdul Rashid khan from Yangon, Burma writes:
Wed, Feb 13, 2008 at 4:41 AM
Bhaijan assalam u alaikum!
How are you sir. I have been missing you since your departure. Kindly let us know about your welfare. Since your great father was in Lahore when I visited your Gujranwala home, I could not have the honour of meeting him at that time, could you now convey my Salam to him, please.
We received the eulogy to the dear departed Moazzam Bashir Saheb, "My Brother: A walking Lexicon", by our small brother Mahtab Bashir. It is quite touching and naturally full of younger brotherly feelings and at some places it has gone to be innocent like the author himself.
I would share my view with you brother Mahtab later. Kindly send your e-messages on my e-mail address.
Masood Bhaijan please akhhan kholo. Allah hafiz. aRashidkhan, PA to Ambassador, Embassy of Pakistan, Yangon.
Fazeelat Shakir from Karachi writes:
Sat, 8 Mar 2008 21:30:19 +0000
Assalamoalykum! How r you? I visited your blog. Got to know about your brother. Felt really sorry for the sad demise of your brother...an irrecoverable loss!And you have amazing writing style. I read it all. It was very well done!Take good care!Allah Hafiz!
iftikhar alam writes from Rawalpindi:
Friday, February 01, 2008 1:43:19 PM
Asalam O Alaikum!
Mehtab Bashir Saab!
It was very shocking news for me when our orkut friend A Mian (Attiya Imdad) told me that you have lost your elder brother on January 14.
Inalila-hi-wa-inaa alaihi rajighoon!!!
Allah taala unko janat naseeb kary.
You scrapped me few days back about letter to the editor but did not told me about this dreadful event. I know the importance of elder brother, as I am the eldest brother of my brothers, they all respect me like our father and I treat them alike. And I am sure that your brother was also the same. How old he was and what was his profession?
If you want to write about your brother like Attiya wrote about her mother, I help you in publishing it on our city pages.
May Allah keep his soul in eternal peace.
Duaon ka talabgar
Farhat Akram from Islamabad emails:
Apr 15, 2008 8:30 AM
I offer prayers and Fateha for your loving brother, hope the lesson you or any body connected with him would not go in drain down the life lane ... i didn't know much of the background of the story and this line but i hope what i have told you and sent you my inspiration for this line was not based on this sort of painful experience but the agony i have passed through for the last six years was enough to teach me the lessons Omnipotent taught me. He is excellent teacher Mehtab and teaches the lessons only by letting people go through serious of exercises. If at the beginning of the exercise you raise the cries then HE would be very annoyed but at every step of life one does pay Shukar then i think every step is worthy of His Happiness. Any way
i can speak and go on and on till the end.
I can well imagine regarding your pain and agony you are going through , Allah will help you recover.
I hope things will get better soon.
Aamer W G Chaudhary emails from unkown place:
Mon, 14 Apr 2008 17:30:45 +0000
sorry to hear about the demise of your brother. I have offered Fateha for him. May Allah bless the departed soul! AmeenRegards