Saturday, December 19, 2009

When there was hope….

Is there hope? Or we are bound to stay in this pit of darkness forever? Nobody knows how long this will continue or how long they can bear it. But there was a time we dreamed, and there was a time we hoped. Unfortunately all that is lost below the dust and webs of time, or was it left behind amongst the rubble after a bomb blast? The constant strife, growing hatred, almost criminal callousness, the hidden agenda and subtle manipulations have given birth to an abyss of hopelessness, which even if one wanted to get out of, proves to be a Herculaneum task.

The country seems to be a maypole, the ones who have taken a ride are always preparing for another possibility, and the one’s who are still deprived are ready to fight tooth and nail for their chance. They wait for their turn to gnaw at the limp bones and flesh, like a starving vulture.

In the quest for finding that one shimmer of hope, one stumbles upon piles and piles of rubbish, spewed all over by the Taliban lovers or the ‘Uto-suferes’. There are those who insinuate in their rabid and limited language that every act committed by others is a conspiracy and those who say the same things, but in an intellectual and clever manner, shamming you into believing yourself to be a diamond of the first waters by agreeing to their garbage, no matter how nonsensical it is

If only…. We could dream again…

Monday, November 9, 2009

Indoctrination a religious as well as political vice

While going through several forums on different social networks, a question raises its head every time some religious bigots are under fire by the dogmatic liberals. Is indoctrination only a religious vice? Is it not also a political vice? Why isn’t anybody asking questions about the political indoctrination going on amongst the youth? Especially amongst the good for nothing elite school crowds, who smoke hash and talk about the problems amongst the masses without an iota of being directly involved

Why not curb these drawing room and madaressah politicians? Comrades and Mullahs who do not find it a big deal to suck up to feudals or imperialists just to appease some big fish, so that even if their own party fails to come up to par with the rest they have a chance to fall back on the same old feudal politicians.

There is a similarity as well as contrast between the right and left in Pakistan, thanks to the maderassah as well as drawing room politicians. It seems the only tangible difference is the tactics; otherwise there are more similarities than differences.

Perhaps this is skeptical of me to be thinking on these lines, but this repellant reaction between the right and left I fear will be the undoing of Pakistan itself. What will than be left of it? The Islamic Republic of Pakistan or the Socialist People’s Republic of Pakistan, neither I fear.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Her Story….

She was young beautiful and loved by all, she had been there for thousands of years. From the time when man started thinking, perhaps stood up on two legs and started cherishing her. She was the mother, the nurturer, provider, caretaker everything for them. She deserved to be loved. She prospered and evolved into a shining beauty, coveted by all and worshiped for her qualities.

Then came the marauders. The unrelenting, greedy and blood thirsty invaders who wanted nothing but to rape her. And who could defend her but the ones whom she cherished. They fought for her, died for her but could not save her from the barbarians. Hence, the Barbarians settled there for good or for bad only time will tell. But they settled, started calling her their mother too, but who could love her more than the ones she had nurtured and nourished for thousands of years. Only their heart bled at the pain and agony she suffered. The barbarians pretended to be the caretakers, but they still raped her continuously and why not? She was not their mother, she was only a shining beauty to be taken, dressed in gold and jewels but not because she is the mother, but because she is to be shown as the submitter the conquered.

The barbarians in a few hundred years, are not considered barbarians any more but the owners and caretakers. In their hearts the true sons know that it will not be long when the harbingers of mischief break their mother, tear her into pieces and leave no option but bloodshed. Indeed, they were right in their assumption. It was not merely an assumption but was proved as a fact later. She was no longer their mighty mother, she was broken into pieces. Forsaken by the greed of those invaders who never really worshiped her as their own. Nevertheless, she continued to nourish and nurture even the ones who betrayed her. But that was not all, they broke her again and again and again, until she no longer had the strength to bear them any more. Now she lies, heartbroken, in tears bathed in blood, silently watching her children ruin each other. Perhaps she has lost hope, perhaps she has given up. She no longer awaits for them to worship her, what they give she takes with averted eyes, never questioning, never asking, never showing her wrath. Nevertheless there is anger, it becomes evident when she trembles each time. It says a lot to her true sons who have worshiped each and every part of her. They know their mother is suffering and who can tell when this suffering will end. Indeed if it can ever be stopped.

22nd April 2006 Saturday

(A page adapted from the daily report)

It was a depressing day today, the owner of Site two had died last night, I had heard the siren of an ambulance. That is why we did not work in Kafful Garh today, except check the block making machine. It had to arrive from Bagh on our truck, and we had to take the sizes of blocks and check if all parts of the machine were sent or not. Unfortunately the loader had forgotten to load the motor and now we will have to wait one more day before starting the production.

We went to Hans Chowki as decided to meet Shahid and inspect the progress of our house three. There seemed to be some difficulty for the masons to level the DPC probably because they did not use a steel trowel to level the wet concrete. The owner of the house wanted to discuss a lot of things regarding the roof. He wanted us to make a pitch roof instead of the flat roof that we had earlier discussed. But I guess this is all a part of work, you discuss one thing and then the owner wants something totally different, and we have to adapt accordingly because after all he is the one who will be living in this house. But it was a little disappointing for all of us. Because then we will have to rework a lot of things.

At 2:30 we visited the site where someone was willing to sell his stones to us. It is one of the prettiest places to be. Surrounded by large trees and the ground covered with lush green grass, and it is fun to chase all the chameleons around. The quantity looked insufficient and we will have to think of other alternatives as well.

At three we left the site and started our 2 hour ride towards Kafful Garh for the night. On the way we visited some new under construction buildings for a school and a house, and also invited those people to visit our project. We had to stop at the Bagh base to collect a few things and do some shopping in the bazaar. It was late when we finally did reach here and all of us were very hungry, as we did not have anything for lunch. It looked like we will have to stay hungry because the cook had disappeared and there were no leftovers in the kitchen. But Maggie Noodles saved the day.

We had a long long meeting after that deciding about the sections of the buttresses and walls of site one, using or not using the metal wire or the wire-mesh and chicken mesh.

The septic tank issue, the false ceiling and the repairing of toilets even if they are not a part of our project were finalized. Everything is becoming complicated with time. We have to find a good plan for the transportation of plastic sheets from Lahore and it has to be done as soon as possible.

Contribution as an Architect….

There are some things that are the reality and some things that are perceived as a reality. In our educational system (read Architectural studies), we are brought up on Le Corbusier, and Frank Loyld Wright, and Mies, and Alvar Aalto and....I guess everyone knows how long the list is, but hardly are we told about the actual person walking on the (scarce) side-walk who builds a house for himself. Therefore with our limited education....shaping as well our long term perception we only cater to the elite, or the rich...people who in reality are the only ones able to afford a well trained architect...and leaving the rest to either serve them selves or get some untrained person to do it for them. Though trained, untrained and well-trained architects could be another debate...

We are following the west blindly and devotedly I must say, and in turn rust our own basic knowledge and potential. We treat Form Space & Order as our bible, not paying attention to 'Hasan Fathy's Housing for the poor', though looking at our climate and the indigenous materials we should be considering the latter as that.....(sorry for borrowing the western expression of bible...but m scared of calling it Quran in fear of sounding sacreligious to some...)

All in all.....I am quite skeptical of the architectural community and their contribution towards the profession and environment on the whole....

Friday, October 2, 2009

Concrete Jungle & the Wild Cat


Here she stood today in defiance of her teacher to find out more about this concrete jungle. Yesterday’s vista was still quite clear in her mind and although it did not frighten her she did feel a little intimidated by the surroundings. Already there were a few cats moving about looking at her suspiciously as if they expected her to harm them in some way. They walked with a funny sideways leaning gait. A lot of times rubbing themselves off on weird objects, it took her a while to realize that they were doing exactly the same as she used to do with trees when marking her territory. This is interesting she thought.

As she moved on she saw others of her kind but these she knew instinctively were ferocious she could sense her muscles going rigid and alert as her nostrils filled with their smell. Nobody had to come and tell her that she had to be wary of this clan she already knew by her inborn instincts. She felt relieved to regain her confidence in her instinctual behavior; she had always relied on this natural talent when she was in her own habitat, it kept her safe and also got her food every day. This new jungle was at times confusing for her, she did not rely on her own instincts to feed herself and that is why at times had to go to sleep hungry. But those were rare days like when it rained a lot or she heard something had happened outside the park and there was no movement at all. Nevertheless it was a reassuring factor for her to realize she had not totally lost her gift.

Suddenly she could smell raw mouth watering meat, she couldn’t tell the kind but she knew it would be great to taste so she started sniffing for the direction it was coming from. As soon as she spotted it right across the street, she saw a kitten that in her opinion had recently left her mothers care, crossing towards her being hit by a big fast moving object. It moved on two round items, it seemed that those were cut out portions of a tree trunk but they definitely looked a little bit different. The kitten must have died she thought so she moved ahead towards the smell and finally found it a bit further down the lane. It felt like ambrosia after those left over tidbits she had been eating for the past few months. She had her fill of the fresh meat and moved on to check out the other myriad of smells her nostrils could pick on every second. She saw colorful flowers, a place packed with different skins, another one filled with so many big and small objects, overflowing with colors she never saw before.

She stood looking at all these wonders, thinking why the teacher had asked her not to venture out in this new jungle. To her innocent unused eyes this looked like a wonderful new home, adorned with colors she had not known existed and objects that looked from another world. Venturing on she stumbled across many leafless trees and moving and rolling boulders of different colors. She took note of these things, so she can ask the teacher what they really were.

As it closed towards evening she thought of returning to the park, but realized that she has somehow lost the track. As panic struck she started running in the direction she thought she had come from and suddenly stood right in front of a big black dog. Instinctively she knew the best would be to climb the nearest tree and hide in the branches. No sooner did she do so, she became aware that all along the path the trunks she had thought as trees were not really the trees she was used to; apart from not having branches they also had a surface her claws could not hold on to; in desperation she climbed to the top and felt safe. She knew the dog cannot reach her, but similarly she didn’t know how she will get down.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

For saving the Under-dogs: The book of Evil

The point of contention for the past few days has been, the exaggerations being employed, or rather preferable would be to coin the word exaggeration-ism. Whether it is the atrocities of army, or the politicians or a capitalist system, all in all there seems to be a drive to reach at something, defying all rational to the point of reaction-ism. This drive stems out from frustration at things going wrong, or at something personal is currently a controversial debate. Hitherto one thing is for sure, and that is this reaction-ism has proven to be the undoing of many a nations before.

Even a minimal research on this state of affairs reveals links to a certain book that if read, can easily make a person reach to the point where every other person, or idea could be the enemy that needs to be quenched through a revolution. A book that changed history, a book that foretold of the horrors to come, and the paths it will lead to. This book although not divine in its origins, is still revered as divinity itself. Perhaps if the author had drunk the potion of immortality, he would have been deemed worthy to rival the gods of yore whilst living. However in a dozen or more decades from now, if he is declared a prophet or promoted ahead for petitioning to be one of the lesser gods, one must not wonder.

It gave people the idea to unite, to unite against something bigger, some enemy, real or fabricated, modest or exaggerated, be their own deliverers for their own betterment. The ravages carried out under the emblem of these so-called self appointed saviors are far reaching. They are the color of aggression and anger since time immemorial, and so they proved time and again by their inhumanity towards their fellows. Red is their color and so is their path painted the same red. But who would have thought of this reaction? Not he himself who wrote it.

It would be erroneous to reveal the name of that book, for it is still cherished by most, and it would be similar to signing a death warrant with one’s own hands. Perhaps another century is needed and a few million more deaths before it becomes evident, that the said book is not actually the Savior but the black book of death for not thousands but millions. Nonetheless, at present it is not just being read, but followed as well, not just for personal gain but for instigating long term vendettas in the name of saving the underdogs.

Friday, August 28, 2009

The missing Grays

Once more, here I am writing another post for this blog. The more I see around me, the more I find people and ideologies, opposing each other. If it is not Jihad then it is Revolution, and of course this further reinforces my first post; if it is not Green then it must be Red. The grey shades are some how overlooked at all stages, everything is either Black or White.

A person who speaks of moderation is of course not welcome. Indeed and why should they be welcomed? It does not sell. The idea of moderation will not sell because it is not controversial. In the current consumerism, anything itself being controversial or spreading controversy, not only sells, but prospers as well. Be it Jihadi Muslim ideology or (Islamic) Socialism.

Both the left and right wing have a history that is being forgotten. Let us start with General Zia’s regime, which to some extent is widely accepted, as the worst era in the history of Pakistan. Or better still let us talk about the Islamic Socialist, who tried to sabotage the whole system, who nationalized everything on a massive scale, talked about giving rights to people superficially (because he himself was a feudal and never gave up those ill-gotten privileges), was also responsible for the breaking of Pakistan, brought forward the General who will go down in history as the Mard-e-Momin responsible for the mutilation of the whole psychology of the nation.

This was the person who laid the foundations for the Blame Pakistan Army for each and every atrocity that originally was committed by the Political Civilian Leaders. This concept blew so out of proportion as time passed that now people have stopped questioning the actual hands that move the strings. Be it the breaking away of East Pakistan, be it the invasion of Baluchistan, or even involvement of ISI agents to settle personal scores amongst two political activist of none the less but a communist party. Interestingly, since these sentiments took root, even the incidents that happened before the ‘70’s are now attributed to our Army’s devilishness.

The army and agencies on one hand are labeled as harboring right-wing-extremist tendencies having control over all and sundry, and on the other are accused of supporting the US block. If the same army and right-wing were supporting the Soviet block, of course the left would not have had these issues. Interestingly, the same army that is considered to be a puppet in US hands, is also accused of being so powerful, all on their own, that they were able to shake the foundations of Afghanistan (that were of course already weakened by internal strife and meddling by the USSR).

My only question is, in this tussle between left and right, who is the biggest stakeholder?

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Who elso but the Army?

The current political scenario in Pakistan seems to be a football amongst a few feudal-politicians and military. Interestingly, the same people who are opposed to the military are in favor of privately owned militia, because in their opinion, the government has left them no choice but to do so. A typical case of taking up responsibility on you, which has been self-assigned, but since it is not justified; it needs to be pinned on somebody so it becomes defensible.

The people to take most advantage from this situation are the extreme right as well as left. The left are so far left now, that they have taken a u-turn, and are as dogmatic as the right, and to top it all off, both have become so fanatic, that they cannot differentiate between what is right, and what is good any more. Perhaps these tantrums for some are not alarming, but looking at the current situation, and how the generation that moved on to puberty after Zia’s regime ended, has extremism tendencies, I would beg to differ.

The people who, without having any economic pressures, or tensions, take up arms in the name of Jihad or any such declaration, within or outside the state is controversial. More so because in the current trends, a Religious person can easily be labeled as a terrorist but a person with ideals adhering to Socialism will not/cannot be labeled as such.

The question here is, if militarizing or promoting such ideas is wrong for the religious, what makes it right for the Nationalist or Marxists-Leninist to do so. Both are taking up arms, to not just defend their opinion, but also to implement it without any consensus. Where does the difference lie? The only perceptible difference seems to be, that for one party the cause is divine, and for the other it is worldly.

I think I would end this dabble, with the following lines I came up with while surfing online:

Between 1969 and 1973, instability ruled Afghan politics. The parliament was lethargic and deadlocked. Public dissatisfaction over the unstable government prompted growing political polarization as both the left and the right began to attract more members. Still personally popular, the king, Mohammad Zahir Shah (reigned 1933-73), nevertheless came under increasing criticism for not supporting his own prime ministers.

Monday, August 24, 2009

Go Green or Red?

I know these days it is a common practice for the elite to just collect a few like minded youngsters together, and start propagating their ideas. If they are rich they may even launch a music band. The more I went into the details of these so-called YOUTH GROUPS ,the more I felt it is comparatively easy for foreign educated kids, or elite school grads to sympathize with these mostly western ideologies. They would go so far ; as to even support their implementation without any contextual adaptation. I am not a political science student, and may not have a very sound understanding of Politics and Current Affairs, but I do know this much, that whenever things are done in isolation, and without any context to the current situation; it turns out to be a disaster. These youth groups are mostly propagating Socialism, which I find ludicrous, as they themselves come from mostly rich influential families, and move around in imported high MSRP cars, and live in posh localities. But I also understand that for the common graduate, or under-grad in Pakistan it is very glamorous to see such a person mingling with the peasants and farmers, it appeals to their so-called 'everybody is equal' spirit.

On the other hand I find the extremist 'Islamic Fanatics' propagating about Islam and spreading sectarianism. These guys also appeal to a large number of youngsters, especially to the ones who did not go to even remotely elite schools, and were brought up on Zia's mutilated textbooks. They have a tendency to embrace extremism easily, which should not of course make us wonder. With these two extremes prevalent, and the current situation, I find it has become UNFASHIONABLE to be PATRIOTIC. It seems that these days it is a fad to rebel and very unfashionable not to do so. Bear with me if I say that most people who identify themselves with so called liberals and a lot of times Marxist or Socialist ideologies, be it journalists or individual think tanks, have somehow jumped onto this bandwagon consisting of the "Blame Pakistan First" enthusiasts. Similarly the Religious extremists are following an identical pattern, although they may think they are protecting Pakistan from malignant, evil, foreign forces, their handicap (lack of education) rather than helping the cause, increases the problems.

There is a huge territory in-between that I feel needs to be discovered, we require something that for now helps progress rather then stops it. I feel this cannot be achieved; neither by imposing Soviet ideologies, nor the Taliban beliefs. We need the middle way. I do not know if it is possible or not, but I do know that somewhere someone has to start.

I do hope I haven't caused you boredom by these rantings, but I am worried for the future. Also I am sick of most people, who do want to point out the faults, but cannot offer any solutions. I do not want a red revolution nor do I need a green one, I just want to know if there is anything that can be done practically, or people will only mint money out of either pointing out what is wrong, or by creating more problems.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Concrete Jungle & the Wild Cat


The pond between the tall trees looked very tranquil today, even the swans and visiting geese were not at loggerheads and tactfully avoided coming into each others way. The squirrels were running to and fro collecting tit bits and squeaking at each other about one thing or another. The oldest Mrs. Squirrel in the park was under everybody’s censure for having unruly kids who not only threw berries at every passerby but at times also put other children playing with them in danger of getting squished.

The wild cat pondered near the big neem tree for some time, thinking about her last litter of kittens and the white one she had loved dearly. She had hoped it would perhaps stay near her so that she can see her once in a while. Nonetheless, it went away and so did the rest of them and she knew in the heart of hearts that they will but still it did hurt her if not much, just a tiny bit. She had always accepted it as a part of her life that kittens will leave her and move on, just like she did with her parents. But today she could not help but think what if they had not?

She looked around her hoping to find some diversion for her gloomy thoughts and found the old man and woman sitting on their usual bench. Today the old lady had a bag with her full of colorful fur. She had two long sticks in her hand and seemed to be weaving something like a spider. The cat went ahead to get a closer look and tried to discern what type of web was she making with the colorful fur, but it did not seem to be taking any shape right now.

She started wandering towards the chubby little kid sitting on the next bench and while passing the old couple she heard a muffled sob. She turned around again to look at the moping old lady, she was crying today and her hands were weaving the web faster and faster with each sob. To get a hint as to what was ailing the old lady she crept closer and wedged herself behind the bench between the bushes.

Old Lady mumbled: I wish he had told me earlier that he cannot come and has to cancel his trip for yet another year.

Old Man soothingly: He told me about a month ago that he may have to cancel the trip if his boss decides to promote him, and you know dear how it is with jobs these days. It is first of all hard to get a job and then retaining it is tougher. We should understand his problems.

Old Lady: You know it very well he has no need to work for that silly company when he can run his own business here.

Old Man gets angry: And you know it pretty well why he left in the first place. If you had not questioned him at each and every action or inaction of his he would not have left. I told you when you were behaving in that manner that nothing good will come out of it.

Old Lady goes quiet and continues her sobbing. The old man sniffs at her and lights his cigar. He reminded the cat of the old cocky monkey she so despised and who at times would tease her kittens a lot when she was away in search of food.

The miff that old couple had just now did nothing to alleviate the cat’s mood, on the contrary she was reminded of her white kitten with such a force that she did not pay attention to where she was going and ended up falling in a small ditch dug out in the sanded play area. The kid sitting on the bench came running to rescue her at the cost of getting a scold from his finicky mother, who according to her guess wasn’t pleased about her son touching the sand and also a street cat.

The Wild Cat felt very indignant and wanted to give the yelling lady a piece of her mind by informing she cleans herself every day at least twice and is not at all infested by flees and ticks unlike other cats of ‘her jungle’. But of course she could not do so and in anguish ran towards the same tree where she took her classes. The Teacher was not to be found anywhere and in disappointment she climbed the tree and sat near the top most-branch that allowed her a great view of the whole city.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

Concrete Jungle & the Wild Cat

Part I

The land gave her a desolate picture; trees that were full of colorful birds were lying in a heap at the side of the land mass running exactly parallel to her favorite stream. Even the stream was empty of fish now for the constant dumping of garbage from the neighboring areas, as well as the junk off the nearby garage. Floating rubbish and debris gave out a horrid stench of dying fish mixed with motor oil and decayed vegetation. This is the story of a wild cat, which somehow got close to humans and started mingling with them because she found it a good escape from her loneliness. And lonely she was having lived in a jungle full of animals suddenly being wiped out to make room for some high-rise apartments.

Although in the early stages of adjustment to the concrete jungle the wild cat several times thought of just going out there on the highway and standing in front of a twenty six wheeler caterpillar, she was somehow able to resist the temptation. Or perhaps she had faith in her destiny to find something worthwhile to do. Nonetheless she survived the cutting of the jungle and destruction of her habitat.

Soon roaming about in this new jungle of Grey and black with some shiny stars that appeared to be very gigantic, close and within reach, compared to the ones she saw from within the branches of the luscious green leaves, she made some friends. A few ducks and swans in the city park lake, several crows nesting in the sidewalk trees; once she also spotted a black dotted koel dallying near the crows nest and she knew it is about to destroy the poor crows eggs and lay hers there instead, were a few friends to mention apart from those walking on two legs.

The wild-cat was never short of food especially when near the park as kids and their parents once they got used to her started bringing tit bits for her to devour. Many were daily visitors living in nearby buildings and some were far farers coming once and never seen again.

The old woman and man were one of the few who frequented the park on a daily basis and were also her self appointed daily food providers. She soon got attached to them and looked forward to their presence. They never came separate and often the old lady would be in a depressing mood she noticed. Bit by bit she got to know that they are mates and unlike her species they usually stay with the same mate throughout their life. This fascinated her a lot as she was more used to knowing and having several potential mates at a time. She also wondered about their off-springs, if like hers they left as soon as they were able to fend for themselves or they still lived on them.

This world was very fascinating, she got intrigued and wanted to learn more but how was the question. She soon found out about the teacher who could help her understand these two legged creatures language. Nobody really knew where to find the teacher, only it was considered common knowledge there is one. The wild cat after getting disappointing news from all quarters finally one night went to the owl living in the tallest Neem tree and asked him if he could guide her to the famed teacher. The wise owl looked at her with glittering eyes and asked in a grumpy tone:

Owl: Why are you interested in the teacher?

Wild Cat: I want to learn the language spoken by the creature walking on two legs.

She excitedly informed the owl. He looked at her with disdain and yawned.

Owl: And what good pray would come of that? My dear trust me, when I say no good has come off anybody who has dared to meddle with these lousy creatures, willingly or unwillingly. Rather most have come to grief even with the best of intentions at heart, and you seem to be a green-horn for this city still.

But the cat innocent about the ways of this new jungle insisted on getting the address of the teacher. Looking at her pleading eyes and enthusiasm the owl told her that she is talking to the teacher and he will help her in learning the new language.

Owl: But make one thing clear my dear, you are not under any circumstances to use this knowledge outside the park and I want it upon your honor that you won’t.

Wild Cat: Oh great teacher! Fear not, I shall not use it anywhere but the park and you can take my word upon my honor.

Thus satisfied the timings and days for the classes were discussed and it was decided that every night when the park was empty and there wasn’t much noise they would start. The first week she found it extremely difficult to even comprehend the differences in language but after that she learnt the ropes pretty fast and within a month was able to understand what her new friends spoke about.

Saturday, July 4, 2009


There is no God how is your life affected? What changes in your behavior and ideas alter?

As a firm believer in the existence of God, for me the idea or concept of that being’s non-existence gives rise to innumerable questions. The idea of a being watching over me all my life, who was responsible to nurture me, suddenly ceases to exist would give rise to panic. This being provided me with the support and help I craved whenever I was in trouble. The whole idea of sharing or blaming all your troubles onto someone you were always so sure will take care of them turning out to be useless is not only disappointing, but scary as well. It entails that whatever I used to do, I am doing and will do in future, my triumphs and my failures, were not because that being had something better for me in store but because I did not have the capability to put them through. Possibly the early stages of being a non-believer give rise to doubt, perhaps agnosticism; may be it could be early stage of atheism or is the last stage of theism. But it is very disappointing to discover that whatever you believed in all your life was only a figment of imagination; that God was only a delusion as Richard Dawkins puts it. One wants to believe but is unable to do so since his logic defies all the supportive documentation, (read religious sacred text); one wants to disbelieve but then again is unable to do so for the years and years of training otherwise. All in all it is difficult to break away from the circumstances, and on the other hand following everything as it was makes one feel like a hypocrite.

Further questions that come to my mind are related to existentialism, individual existence, freedom, and choice. If there is no God, how did I come into being, who created me? Am I really just an accidental creation? Do I have no purpose in this life? If that is so, then nothing in this universe has a purpose, then what are we striving for? Why do we exist? How are we sustained? Rhetorically speaking one should then only conform to Descartes philosophy and say, I think therefore I am.

If one takes into account the German philosopher Nietzsche indeed it should be considered freedom to explore the countless possibilities that arise when god ceases to exist, or as he puts it is dead. And perhaps the best way for describing the lack of existence of a being watching over you all the time should be celebrated joyously. The non-existence of god, broadens up the horizon for humans to be better, much better than what they are. It offers new possibilities for better understanding, self-reliance, as well as a chance to make one’s own life the way they please. At first the realization may leave one speechless, later after a certain time period when it is accepted it is an exhilarating experience and a powerful knowledge. To know that one is responsible for his own destiny is in itself freedom. Though pursuing that path is possible or not in the present circumstances or not is another question all together.

Nevertheless for some disbelief can give rise to nihilism, and questions like morality or what is good and what is bad come up. If there is no God, what affect does morality suffer from it? Without that concept of someone is watching over, how will a person continue to lead a moral life? Though the following question should be what is morality? If morality is only dictated by God’s religion, then with the thought of his Non-existence, the concept of morality should stop to exist as well. What is religion? Just a believe in God?? Or it is something more than that?? Is it ancient man's endeavor to understand his existence?? Or to know why his loved ones died? And it is as well to know and discover their whereabouts?? Anyway one has to appreciate the amount of effort that man spent on these quests. Evolving during this process; religions, society, and cultures. Spending time on painting and writing books recording certain relevant facts for us to study and analyze, evaluate “Our Existence”, though they became distorted with time and now proclaim supernatural attributes. Our job is to try and extract whatever good we can get out of it, and build from there. We are now in a different era. We need to collect all our intellect and strength and put it to the task of prolonging our existence on this planet and beyond.

The conclusion is that existence of God or non-existence can be proven with logic, therefore there is no point in arguing about it. Religion-Rituals-Cults are all one and the same thing, you follow them just as a way to meet people and learn their behavior, problems etc. (A means of interaction/socializing) It is a part of our upbringing and if we are comfortable in doing certain activities it can do no harm because it has nothing to do with the existence or non-existence of God. Live and let live; that is to say if someone wants to believe that God exists, and he's all powerful, ever present, merciful, wrathful etc. they have a right to believe so, but they can't dictate it to others and cannot make others believe the same. We should be free of any sexual, religious, cultural, national or ethnic bounds. We should be humanitarians, just helping others on the base of being alive. Therefore embracing a broader spectrum of life instead of worrying our heads over life after death, this technically is a waste of time looking at the amount of work that needs to be done ‘HERE AND NOW’.

Perhaps I can quote Robert Ingersoll here, when he says, “When I became convinced that the universe is natural, that all the ghosts and gods are myths, there entered into my brain, into my soul, into every drop of my blood the sense, the feeling, the joy of freedom. The walls of my prison crumbled and fell. The dungeon was flooded with light and all the bolts and bars and manacles became dust. I was no longer a servant, a serf, or a slave. There was for me no master in all the wide world, not even in infinite space. I was free--free to think, to express my thoughts--free to live my own ideal, free to live for myself and those I loved, free to use all my faculties, all my senses, free to spread imagination's wings, free to investigate, to guess and dream and hope, free to judge and determine for myself . . . I was free! I stood erect and fearlessly, joyously faced all worlds."