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In the course of history, we have witnessed nations. Nations that have been successful in maintaining their unique identity. Nations that have succeeded in developing constructive attributes. Nations that have witnessed dominative traits in different aspects of life commonly called as the culture of that nation. Life of extra ordinary individuals in the book of nation’s history does not bear more than a chapter and the life of ordinary ones has never been kept in the history book of a successful nation.

And in another chapter of the course of history, we have seen suppressed nations. Nations that have been very successfully maintained their rotten culture. Nations that have been very successfully applied the barbarian regulations onto their individual members. Nations that have assumed this stage of life, a stage of a jungle book and have acted and lived according to the jungle rules.

Today when my present days are rapidly converting themselves into the past, when another page of the history book of nations has been written, I find myself surrounded by some customs that belong neither to the constructive type of nations nor to the destructive type of nations. Today when I look around, I find different species of animals who do not belong to any nation at all, who neither follow the good customs nor follow the bad customs. Who are barbarians having no concept of customs and humanity at all. I once used to be proud of belonging to the part of the world called Islamic Democratic Pakistan, a third world nuclear power.

In some parts of the Africa, individuals are not considered adults unless they spend hours being bitten by fire ants (or some other very poisonous species of ants). They are then considered to be eligible for marriage. When I came to know of the tit bit, I was surprised at the mentality of those people. I was surprised at the difference in those people and between an average person living on earth today, well familiar with the concepts of religion, social morals, humanity and common sense.

How satisfied I was after a comparison of Islamic Democratic Pakistan and that Tribe of Africa and today those lines of my life’s history book now make me realize how wrong I was while making the assumptions of that comparison. In my part of the world, people are also accustomed to the same tradition of slavery of their individuals to their ‘traditions of honor’. Relationships get destroyed, lives get ruined, and individuals suffer in the name of pride and honor, even to the honor of the ones who have passed away from this world. Who are going to have no idea what has been going on after their death until hereafter and who don’t even care anymore. But to the living ones, the honor of the passed ones is more important than the life of the living ones.

When I questioned why love is being sacrificed to something not worth this sacrifice, the final argument I received was.’ I have to this. There are some things that are beyond one’s control.’ That argument is supposed to cover up all the spend years of life and the years that are to come next. This surrender to the old fashioned traditions made me feel that the barbarians of this part of the Indian subcontinent and the barbarians of continent Africa are very distant brother, helpless in front of their own self-made poorly minded meaningless traditions which are a part of their culture. 


The Art to Move On

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Today was my MBA’s first term final exam and it went well in one way or another. There are always some gossips about stuff before and after such exams. I and my friends have this little tradition, we used to get out of the examination hall and actually took a couple of minutes to send all the unnecessary data of the past exam to our minds recycle bin.

I have always been complaining about how I forget things, how I forget my friend’s birthdays, the times we threw each other parties and such normal stuff. Somehow my brain succeeds in keeping the important stuff craved onto the surface of my memory. When such things grasp attention, it feels like it happened very recently. Happens to everyone, I guess and probably everyone wants to move some of these troublesome cravings to the recycle bin.

We all make a model of the world around us, with humans as our objects and expected behaviors as our constants of the equation. Constants are not supposed to change at all, under any condition but when they do, the model gets disturbed, mind’s system gets confused and impulses cease to operate for a while. Reviewing of the system starts and the outcome is the difference factor of ‘how things should be’ and ‘how things actually are’.

Time passes, we move on but this gets carved on the memory. That is when I wish I could get together with friends to take a couple of minutes to move this unnecessary data to the recycle bin but then I realize that I neither can forget it nor do I want to, deep inside. And that is when I realize, out of this bitter experiment time and again that the art to move on is not the art to remember rather it’s the art to forget.

Starting Over

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Everyday we wake up, get ready and get it all done. Someone referred to the best thing about life saying that it comes one at a time. After years, when i combine the day to day steps and all the bits of successes i have made, it all gets blurry. It all gets messed up like a piece of art you rather prefer to paint over once again than to make changes to make it better. That piece of art for me, fortunately or unfortunately, is me life that came to me saying,” Let’s start over.”