Ubaidullah Pandit (عبيدالله پنڈت)

Memories make man. Everything else comes under the sway of change except the memories that a person has of the times he spent, the moments he lived and for the people who later became inseparable part of his life. It’s not only one’s flesh and blood that makes one a living entity but also nostalgic memories which constitute one’s identity, personal as well as social, and help it persist over time through Nature’s foundry. The pleasant and nostalgic past always forms an essential part of one’s whole life. It’s a gallery of recollections that a person often draws upon in order to revisit, refresh and relive what he once lived, enjoyed, observed and absorbed. Like most things in the world, memories too consist of different species. We may remember our past as a child being spoon-fed and lullabied, or sometimes we happen to hit upon a little tinge of the time when we were on the driving seat of our baby carriages that had no wheel to steer. We often evoke the memories of the days of ...

Beyond my home boundary, London be my maiden resort. Jhelum, Ganges crossed, Thames awaits me as the next Stop. From one to all, I’ll go round the world, To the lands between the Seas and Oceans, Black and Caspian, Red and Persian, Indian and Pacific, Atlantic and Arctic. I’ll reach the skies, beyond the clouds Cirrus and stratus, rainy and shadowy; Scale the ranges, snowy and sandy, Alps and Atlas, Himalayas and Andes.

Language, ethnicity, nationality, religion, caste and creed are all contingencies. For a person, any of these could well have been different from what they are now. We are completely disenfranchised when it comes to choosing what language will be our first, what religion will be passed on to us or what region we will be born in. These things just happened, happen and will happen to happen. What follows then is that these factors must never become elements of arrogance for us.   There’s no reason they should come into the way of what we all as humans share with each other. Humanity. Before being Muslims, Christians, Jews, Hindus, or belonging to any other faith, or speaking any language or being born in any piece of land, we are humans and humanity is our first religion. It’s not acquired and unlike the religions we follow, doesn’t come down to us after having been passed on by our parents and social and cultural milieu we are born and brought up in. But rather it’s innate a...

The 20th century mathematician, logician and philosopher Bertrand Russell is reported to have said that he would never die for his beliefs because he might be wrong. In the code of intellectual conduct this is called The Fallibility Principle. It simply says that whenever we go about discussing and debating things, we have to bear in mind that we are fallible and our position and views may not be tenable always. There may come a point in any sort of discourse or confrontation when we have to give up our initial position in favor of the truth even if it comes from the adversary or even if it’s at loggerheads with our ego. In simpler words, it’s accepting that we may be wrong, full stop. Along with this principle, there’s The Principle of Truth-Seeking which states that the main aim of every discussion or exchange of ideas is to arrive at what is true or at least get closer thereto. Both these principles are equally important, work in tandem and for that matter complementary to eac...

The drum is beaten outside. I can hear it as clear as a bell. Even as the Khan beats it To the pitch as high as he can, I conceive verses for you who Sit on the cold sill, gazing out of the window and Looking at the stars above and far to the horizon, Where the dark sky studded with twinkling buttons  Appear to meet the ridges of gods-dwelt Himalayas. My lady, I love you even far and beyond. My Sehri’s arrival is due. So is our Union. Sleep barely comes this night or any night. I keep flipping the pages of Homer Only to bide my night time. Otherwise my Helen is you.

Oft they say, Tell us more of her. Again do I narrate the stories bristled with miracles. How faith healers seek her to be healed. How autumn searches for her the whole year To be bidden come with autumnal beauty. How the glimpse of her countenance Humiliates the hubris of the Sun. How the Earth is blessed as she treads over. (23-May-2016)

If God be absent, wouldn’t you be the originator? If world be an illusion, wouldn’t your womb be only home? O mater, forgive us all, wouldn’t just a day be a sin? Where ain’t you? Extolled in the tales of yore, In the divine scriptures, in the words of the prophets, In the muses of mystics, ever a God’s blessing. Like in Praise of God, words may not suffice here either; All trees may not be pens, all oceans be too scarce an ink, Tell us only where to start; to end, we know, is a grave sin. You give life in all ways, when you part or when you keep, Who could bear what you do? Who could make gods sleep? From labour pains to lullabies, you're what words can’t say.

My wings will bring me life, not hubris. Sun's heat won't burn them, Seas won't damp them.  I would rather be Lazarus than Icarus.

I very much value knowledgeable people and the people full of resources. I never consider my day made if I haven’t met a new one. Whenever I happen to find one, I never let go of the opportunity to strike up a conversation with them, to learn something new, something which I don’t know. In order to make the most of them and whatever valuable they’ve in terms of knowledge, I ask for their phone numbers and every e-means to get and remain connected. What may aptly account for t his type of behavior of mine is the saying of the Prophet of Islam to the effect that Knowledge or Wisdom is the lost property of a believer, let him claim it wherever he finds it. ( الْكَلِمَةُ الْحِكْمَةُ ضَالَّةُ الْمُؤْمِنِ فَحَيْثُ وَجَدَهَا فَهُوَ أَحَقُّ بِهَا ). The Urdu poet Haali has beautifully versified it this way:  حکمت کو اک گم شدہ لعل سمجھو جہاں پاو اپنا اسے مال سمجھو The people of intellect and knowledge are no less than an asset, an invaluable one. To me a treasure that is to be explo...

It’s a day late only to ask again, Since when did she need a day? Tell the earth to slow its whirl a little, No less than an eternity she needs. Only March must not deserve To mark just a day for her, Make each month an eon long, Each day one of God's Seven. Time may senesce, Sun may burn out, Calendar may end, all numbers be counted, Tell men however try as they may, Nothing whatsoever will do, let alone a day.

She rose, she shone. Long ago did misogyny die With an unheard moan. Now let the misogynists hide Under the cloak of arrogance, Bigotry, hubris and specious manliness. Let the daughters of Eve Ever rise, arise and shine. Let them breathe The zephyr of freedom. Let men woo them to win them, Not to own them. (28-Jan-2016)

January isn't all too winter for me. It’s the coming of spring to me; No, it’s the spring unto itself. His blooming in the month Made it all the warm, Ever thawing out the waters of joy. His pater love has been so nourishing That he made this sapling a tree That vies to reach and branch out to light. How I wish my filial love suffice To bear fruits to this gardener of mine, Who's been tilling the soil so well.