Irreverent Nadeem F. Paracha

It was 1991. I’d just quit the University of Karachi and joined a weekly magazine as a feature writer. My office was on the fourth floor in a building on I. I. Chundrigarh Road. I headed down to get myself a pack of cigarettes and a saada-khushbu paan. The moment I stepped out, my way was politely blocked by three young tableeghi jamaat recruits.

“Aslaamulalaikum,” said one of them in a swallowing Arabic accent. “Walaikum,” said I.
“Jinaab,” he said, ever so courteously, “it is time for Asar prayers. Why aren’t you at the mosque?”
“Well, why aren’t you?” I asked.
“We will be, but we are already doing a naik kaam (good deed),” he said.
“I see. What makes you think that I am not doing a naik kaam as well?” I asked, equally politely.
“I’m sure you are,” he said. “Par lagta hai aap namaz kum parh tey hein,” (it seems you do not pray much).
“How do you know that?” I replied, “Kya namaazioon key parr hotay hain?” (Why, do praying people have wings?).
“Janaab, if you don’t want to go to the mosque, why not give some charity to it,” he said, still smiling.
“Charity for a mosque?” said I. “Merey bhai, mosques are all that Zia-ul-Haq ever built in Pakistan. I think you people will please Allah more if you gathered charity for schools and hospitals instead!”
The guy smiled again, “woh tou bohat hain (there are more than enough).
“Acha. Yeh kab hooah? (Really? When did that happen?)” I laughed.
He shook his head, smiled, half-closed his eyes and said, “Allah aap ko hidayat dey aur ….”
I interrupted: “… Aur aap ko aqal!”
He didn’t look very pleased, and without shaking my hand, walked away. Not smiling anymore.

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