Life is A Paradox

A friend of mine had her dholki on Friday night. Right before I left, my mother told me that there had been 2 bomb blasts in Karachi. Some people were stepping into a new and wonderful life together, while others had had their lives so prematurely and barbarically ended. Families were irrevocably torn apart for some; others were just initiating the ceremonies of becoming one.

Prices of so many commodities have been hiked to an unbelievably high level in our country. The number of people who can continue living their lives like they used to is shrinking day by day. And it is just no point talking about those who were already way in over their heads! Even if I want to, I don’t think I could imagine the ceaseless misery of the poor people and the relentless drudgery from dawn till dusk. All this courtesy of our supremely beloved government. On the other end of the spectrum, there are people who are also enduring relentless drudgery—but for the sake of such poor people. They are fighting and protesting for their sakes. Charities and fund-raisers are being organized and efforts are being undertaken to provide these people with subsidized rations, free education and medical care.

A bunch of retards have mistaken one of the most beautiful places in Pakistan—in the world in fact, as their personal demolition ground. They kicked out more than a million people from their own lands last year, and looted our country’s reserves of rubies and emeralds for the future funding of the ‘purification of our land’! As soon as this happened, thousands of hands stretched forwards to help those same lost souls. Tents, blankets, food, water, medicine, clothes and funds poured in. Two groups of people of the same land—one drove them into the ground and the other helped them rise again. Mind you, conditions weren’t—and still aren’t—perfect, but we’ll get there.

What Dr. Aafia has had to go through and still is—if I were her, I would petition for a re-trial and demand my sentence to be changed to Death Penalty so that it would all just end. The physical, mental and emotional torture, to be cut off from your family for so very long with no whereabouts of 2 of your children, the constant twisting of every word you say and every gesture you make into a gross lie and the use it against you on every possible opportunity! You look in one direction and you see people crying, praying, petitioning, and protesting for her. You look in the other, and you see the filthy cowards who deliberately sold her to a nation of even bigger cowards and hypocrites—all of whom are supposed to represent their people; supposed to work for their welfare; supposed to provide security of life and property to them; supposed to demand justice on their behalf. They probably never read the manual and have no idea what their job description is.

I saw a clipping in a newspaper, which marked 5th February as Cancer Day. As I looked at the heading, I thought about Shaukat Khannum and how one man managed to start something so amazing. So many lives have been radically changed because of it. Then I also thought about those cruel dodos who make the lives of these very people so miserable by pointing at their bare heads and wan faces and making fun of them.

Almost 2 weeks back, a friend messaged me about a little boy named Sameer, who rolled off the bed and fell down when he was 6 months old. He is 3 years old now, and he has brain damage. He has had 3 surgeries so far and his fourth and last one is on 9th February 2010. If that goes well, he will be perfectly fine again InshAllah. When the message came, I had such a horrible feeling that someone so little had to suffer like this. What was even worse was that, Sameer’s family was not very well off, and the total cost of the final surgery was Rs. 2.5 lakhs and they were still struggling to raise half of it. They had contacted an NGO by the name of WAFA and in turn they had contacted my friend. Our university was about to start in a few days, so we set to work and began spreading the word.

This past Wednesday, I was flooded with donations. I had been given a photo of that little boy that day too, and as everyone saw it, more people promised to bring donations the next day. We had to attend a seminar that day too so I also got a chance to talk to people of the other section. As I took my seat, a friend from the other section looked at the photo and asked me who it was. I told her about Sameer. A nanosecond after I stopped talking, she called her mother and asked how much money was left in the Khairaat account. She put the phone down and said, “Sakina, right down Rs. 100,000 for Sameer.” I just stared at her.

Oh and yes, like all the other people who had contributed large amounts, she also strictly forbade me to tell anyone what she had done. I want to scream out her name for everyone to hear, but I know that if I do that, I’ll be decreasing Allah’s reward for her and her family’s deed.

“Don’t act in order to be mentioned, and hide your good deeds like you hide your bad ones.”(As-Siyar: 10/476) [Source]

The next day, I went ahead with the hope of collecting even more than the day before. Most of the people had forgotten to bring their donations, and the average amount was running at around Rs.150, as opposed to the previous average of Rs. 500. I was dejected, I mean every penny counts, but these were people who I knew could do more than this. The day dragged on, and I went up to another girl from my class and I asked her if she had remembered to bring any money. She had forgotten too. I asked her if she could just give me a rough amount of how much she was planning to donate because I had to give in my total soon.

Now here is where the paradox comes in this particular scenario. The girl from the other section—even though we’re friends, I don’t know a lot about her. More specifically, I know she’s rich but not the exact level of her affluence. This other girl from my own section, on the other hand, I knew full well about her financial background. More so because only a few months back, her father had gotten a promotion and they had shifted into an even more posh area of Islamabad and gotten a bigger house and a bigger car.

I waited for her to answer my question; pretty sure she would say at least Rs. 500. She replied, “Yeah of course I’ll help. I’ll give around 200.” I didn’t know what to say, but I knew that I felt angry. She’d spent Rs. 100 at the canteen just before we talked. Someone who does that on one trip to the canteen can surely afford to give more for a 3-year old poor kid with brain damage who had a Rs. 250,000 surgery in 5 days.

Maybe I am being too judgmental here—maybe there’s something that I missed out. But being an outside observer, I can only marvel at the similar positions of these 2 girls and how differently they chose to act. More than that, how different those people are from these two, who heard the same sad story, but did not care enough to help out in any way at all. In the end I’ll just say that whoever gave and whoever didn’t, the NGO who had contacted us had a balance of Rs. 85,000 that remained to be collected. Rs. 20,000 came from another university, and we had collected Rs. 30,000 so far. The remaining Rs. 35,000 or so were donated by a very generous person, who I know would have given the full Rs. 100,000 if that had been the requirement.

Life is full of so many paradoxical situations and people, I do not know whether to be proud to belong to the human race or disgusted. To be happy and smile, or to be sad and cry. It can be very confusing sometimes. All we can hope is that when we are faced with a difficult choice, we choose to do the right thing within our means and prove to be a positive paradox more times than not.