http://www.dawn.com/weekly/dmag/dmag10.htm

I AM a Muslim, devout or otherwise, although I do not believe in stabbing somebody to earn a berth in Paradise, especially in a foreign country, which is kind enough to accept me and gives me the right to a decent living and education. I also do not believe in burning half of my city just to protest against an insult or plan to blow up the underground rail of my adopted country or destroy the giant Buddhas of Bamiyan to prove my credentials as a Muslim. Well, am I a fit candidate to be kicked out of the circle of Islam?

Anyway despite being a Muslim, good or bad I truly believe in reincarnation. Now that should raise some pious eyebrows because the belief in reincarnation is held sacred only by infidels Hindus and Jains. If you do good deeds in this life then in your next life you could be a king or a saint and if you are a bad boy, well, be prepared to be born again as an insect or a dog. Naturally I do not believe this interpretation of reincarnation otherwise I am sure to be reborn as an insect or a dog considering my deeds.

I believe that you have just one life on this planet earth and you are not going to be born again and again. But during this one lifespan you are, for sure, born again and again and on every birth you are a different man altogether. Your firm beliefs, your nature and your general attitude towards life takes drastic turns. When for the very first time you see a human being totally crushed by a truck, a part of his arm still twitching, when your mother dies or when for the first time you are insulted, after each of these and many more such experiences you are born again, you are a different person with a totally reshaped perspective towards life.

Well, why be so morose and philosophical about this reincarnation business, why not look at it from a different and more pleasant angle. For instance, once upon a time I almost hated children, I avoided these little brutes like plague, and I could not understand those people who kissed and cuddled these dirty brutes, saying all sorts of silly things to extract a smile from them. I also avoided my married friends with kids. I could not even force myself to declare that their babies were so cute and lovely, especially when their noses were running profusely.

Finally, like most human beings, I too was trapped in marriage and I accepted it as an inevitable hand of fate, but as far as kids were concerned, I was still in neutral gear. One of these married friends was dear old Nawazish, who was very late for a certain luncheon appointment and when admonished, he said apologetically, “Yaar, I went to bed very late this morning, 3.30am to be precise so I got up very late hence this delay.”

“What kept you awake till 3.30 am?” “Well, during the night my little son got up and insisted that he wanted to see a parrot. Although I tried to convince him that at this time of night all respectable parrots are fast sleep but he kept on howling for a parrot. So to prove my point, I took him to the zoo which was closed naturally, and told him, “Look sonny, no parrots around here like I said they are all sleeping.”

“Nawazish you must be out of your senses, you knew that the zoo was closed at that hour and even then you got up in the middle of the night in search of a parrot?”

“What could I do? The kid wanted to see a parrot.”

“You could have been a little stern with him, may be a slap would have done the trick.”

Nawazish grinned broadly, “Yaar Mustansar, when a kid insists that he wants to see a parrot you cannot slap him, you have to show him a parrot or at least prove to him that the damn bird is sleeping. When you will have kids only then you will understand.”

“I assure you I will never be that stupid, I will raise my kids in a way that they never demand to see a parrot in the middle of the night. And if they do I will thrash them good and proper.”

“We will see,” these were the last and golden words of my friend Nawazish.

I always wondered how could he foresee what was to happen in future, because exactly that happened only three years later. My son, Seljuk started howling in the middle of night, “Abbu elephant, one elephant!”

And Abbu immediately gets up, places him on the petrol tank of his Honda 175 and rushes to the local zoo and then curses the authorities because it was closed. Didn’t they have the common sense to know that a kid may want to see an elephant in the middle of the night? Heartless people! At that moment, I wanted to present all the famous elephants of history to my little kid.

Now what about my utter dislike for the little brutes? Well, there was this pleasant evening with my little kid, firmly placed on my head, I am casually walking on the Mall when I feel that a watery substance, rather warm, is running down my cheeks. Then I realise its source and even then I do not disturb the process lest the kid is frightened. What would you call this total change in my attitude, nothing else but a rebirth, a reincarnation? Now even the dirtiest, and not much to look at, plain kids become the royal breed for me. They were the princes of my re-birth. I wanted to hug and kiss every kid who came my way. Now my kids are grown up and even have kids of their own.

Once upon a time Madam Noorjehan told my wife that she had strictly forbidden her grandchildren to call her “Dadi” or “Nani” because it gives her the creeps and she has instructed them to call her “Ammi” or “Apa” instead. I agreed with her philosophy wholeheartedly, because I also shivered at the thought of being called a “Dada” and specially a “Nana”. This “Nana Jan” thingy immediately conjured up visions of Nana Farnavis and Nana Patekar in my mind and I was not too keen to join their ranks.

Then my daughter Annie, who resides in Florida, came to attend the marriage of her brother Sumair along with her little kid Noffel. I thanked God that this kid of hers, my grandson was still muttering “Bla Bla” and did not utter a single proper word, but then one fine morning he came to me and, lo and behold!, he uttered his very first word and it was what I feared. He grabbed my arm and casually said “Nana”, and — can you believe it — that it was the most beautiful word I had ever heard. Now I follow him wherever he goes, hoping that he will once again call me “Nana” and when he obliges me, my eyes start brimming. Reincarnation it is.

The only negative aspect of being a “Nanajan” is the realisation that now I am married to a woman who is a “Nanijan”. How awful!



I would like someone to ask ZJ for comments. :)