Memoirs of a King!

Another thursday! This one comes with additional closure, since, along with the end of another stretch of 5 long and acutely boring work days, this one, falling on the 23rd of November, closes out another salaried month. I’ve been a rather disenchanted employee for the past year and the allure which corporate life had held on me has all but died out during the course of this time, I seem to be going through the motions of what appears to be last stage of this little outing of mine. Recently, when not in a morose state of mind, I have found myself being preoccupied with reading up on antiquity a lot. Baburnama is a fascinating window into the piercing and articulate mind of one of history’s prolific characters. A mere review of the turbulent and adventurous life that he lived, his own sense of morality which jumps out in such pearls as “My own soul is my most faithful friend. My own heart, my truest confidant.” compels me to take stock of my own life. The great Mughal Emperor understood the secret. Hordes of followers does not make a man beloved. Aren't we, after all said and done, alone? The most important thing in life is being true to oneself, this has been one of the most hard learned lessons of my life and one which i can now readily relate to.

The man seems to have a very raw awareness of his own mortality, he seems to be protesting the inevitable judgment of lesser mortals who follow him when he writes something to the effect of I don’t write all of this to complain, neither do I write this to compliment myself, I merely seek to write the truth of the matter, this happened, and I want to make sure I write it down. May the reader excuse me, may she not take me to task. That sentiment of Babur, written all those centuries ago seems to resonate so true with me. I have always been acutely aware of the brevity of this existence and have pondered obsessively on the meaning of it all, it is so refreshing to have discovered this familiar voice but one that is piercing through epochs of bygone years. He was there, he saw everything, he felt everything, he articulated his keen sense of observing, he existed! When he says and I quote “Like us, many have spoken over this spring, but they were all gone in the twinkling of an eye, we won over the world with our might, yet did not take it with us to our grave” doesn’t it arouse a certain awareness of your transience? Even though his journey, like all of ours, was nothing but a fleeting passage through this infinite stretch, and even though he did not take the world with him, with the help of his Babarnama, he seems to have been successful in leaving a little bit of himself in the world. I think that, rather than any country or battle, ought to be his single greatest victory.

And then there is the contradiction in him. He was, as evident from numerous instances in his memoirs, firmly adherent to the idea of being a submissive slave in Islam, he believes in his moral duty to purge the land of unbelief and fashions himself a ghazi, in his own mind atleast. One has to appreciate the fact that this was a rather complex individual, he was among other things, a Mongol, a descendant of the great Khan, a Timurid, an ardent Muslim and for the most part of his life, a drunkard. My very contemporary and rigid sense of judgement is keen to label him a hypocrite but to truly understand him and in the process, begin to grasp the bigger picture as it were, is to realize that not everything about life, religion, society has to be viewed through our very narrow & dogmatic view. I mean, after all, isn’t it true that Allama Iqbal, with his firm understanding of the muslim identity and the eloquence of his pen which shone many a light on the subconscious state of the faithful congregation, was, in his own private space longing to meet his Atiya?  Does it befit a luminary poet of Islamic world to be longing for someone who was not in wedlock with him?  Or what about the time when he penned verses heaping praise and acclaim on the kings and queens of England? Does that make him an opportunist?  I think quite rightly, the best answer to this is from the Allama himself when he writes about the priest:

“Arz Ki Main Ne, Elahi! Meri Takseer Maaf

Khush Na Ayen Ge Isse Hoor-o-Sharab-o-Lab-e-Kisht”

What place does the one who constantly harasses and tangles the people has in a place like heaven? If anything, doesn’t it point to a possibility of being a little less judgmental and rigid when it comes to matters of faith? I guess the same people who are so keen to brand everything haram today share their creed with the ones who labelled Iqbal a heretic all those years ago. But reform is not what this post is about and I will cease to discuss it further for now. I think my point is made aptly by Babar when he quips that only the drinker can understand the enjoyment of wine, how can the sober know what that entails?  And I’m not advocating taking up alcohol here, I was merely protesting this zealous behavior towards religion which I’m sure is more of a subcontinent twist to it rather than the original design.

And to bring this to an end, amidst all the jostling and hoop jumping that Babar did, with all the harsh days and dramatic events his life had, one thing which shines through is his glee for life, be it in his love of the melon (actual melons!), his protest in not being able to get a decent pair of trousers in India and his general attention to details, all of these expands on the zeal with which he lived his life. I guess the key take away for me after “knowing” him would be to try and like my stay here, to actually make the most of whatever time I have been set. for as as he elegantly writes:

"The new year, the spring, the wine and the beloved are joyful.

Babur make merry, for the world will not be there for you a second time.”

The Tricenarian *_*

Even though it would be fair to say that little surprises me now; life, with all its idiosyncrasies has been fairly acquainted with me in this three-decade long (yes three!) sojourn of mine here on this strange planet where I have been blobbed out into existence through no fault of my own. Tedious routines and rituals which we subject ourselves to do result in varying degrees of success in rendering an illusion of some semblance of order to this otherwise frenzied existence with all its variables that we, as sentient beings have been involuntarily been put in. They act as sedatives to lull our intrinsic inquiries of existential crisis, of feeling alone, of not amounting to anything. As that bespectacled comedian aptly puts it- “All of us know the same truth, we spend our lives in trying our best to distort it.” It’s a means to an end really, everyone seems to be so convinced that they have indeed found the true calling of this existence, yet, if you think about it, it’s all that it is, it is their opinion! Subjective and highly skewered to support their self-righteous narcissist leanings.

Suffice it to say that that strand of thought demands a more thorough analysis by its own right, one which I plan on compiling in the not so distant future, there are instances in our lives when the events are so cliched that they back a compelling case for an actual method behind all this madness, that there are forces at play here working for the grander scheme of things which elude the transitory rationale of our limited understanding and force us to behold the ‘bigger picture’ as it were. One look at my carefully planned ledger of personal finance indicates that I have managed to claw back the ungodly loan I owed in relatively short time and made good on a well thought out financial plan. That has got me pondering about the possibilities for the future years, where the pertinent question I seem to be asking myself is after this, what? Although the inexpressible apprehension lies in the subtext to this question, ‘After this, where?’ 

I seem to have run my course with all things UAE, in my mind, I seem to be on the twilight of this blitzkrieg of a career as an employed expat here and considering the natural flow of things, wish to ‘move on’. As it happens, quite a few possibilities present themselves to this effect and it would not be at all inaccurate to label my final decision on the matter as inconclusive up to this point in time.I have spent the last 8 months wrapped in agonizing emotional turmoil of the highest order, there have been periods within that time-frame wherein the mere task of getting up or even being in a conscious state has seemed like an exercise of insurmountable plight. But as is usually with such things, one can only try and keep at it and believe in the old adage that this too, shall pass. As how it often goes in life, so much is intermingled, i.e. the constraints which are forcing our hand and the options that seem readily available are pieces of the same puzzle, that it becomes really easy at times to just go with the flow. But as easy as that sounds, one does need to take a stock of one’s life from time to time, after all we all just get one go at it. I just can’t exist peripherally and not face the fact that not making a decision IS a decision in itself, after all, silence is also an answer, is it not?

Well I know for a fact that walking away from this is going to be  hard, and yet, I am quite convinced that to be loved from a distance is easy but being in close proximity with one’s parents in their heydays, to be close,even if that means trading the golden tinted image which one acquires if separated for a significant period to one of a son who is flawed yet present, emotionally and physically with them, is an opportunity I don’t want to miss out of, no matter how much they appear to not be ready themselves in me taking the gambit. Then, there of course is the allure of immigrating to Saudi, where my Pakistani ex-boss is welcoming me with open arms. Along with the relatively known comforts that goes with such a move is the magnetic pull of the opportunity of going on Umras every weekend, of spending tranquil nights in Medina and living a couple of years in the bosoms of the land which holds an inexpressible spiritual sway over my heart. And if you add the prospect of acting on applying for an Australian citizenship and migrating to the land down under to join my sister and her family, which is what mom so eagerly wishes me to do, you’ve got quite a big conundrum on your hand.

The distressing factor which I alluded to earlier remains at large and so do the options I painfully explained, suffice it to say that they are inexorably interlinked together and represent the most recent cross roads at which I find myself stranded at. While all those variables are at play, I’m about to turn 30 in about 5 hours, that, in itself, is a shock to the senses. I regret not doing so many things now that I’m 30, things which I had no clue were so important when I was 20. In 10 years, the things I held dear have dissipated in such a way that I find myself questioning their existence in the first place, however other things which I paid little heed to back then feel so important now. I so wish to have been better read, instead of turning out to be this half-baked concoction of ideas, a well-versed and informed individual with a narrative backed by  a solid body of work. I wish I was less disenchanted by the world around me to actually figure out my true calling.  I can write more, but I’d much rather watch an episode of Suits and see Harvey Specter play the man! 😊. So yes, obligatory birthday post ends.