Whispers of the Soul by Nadia Nizam

  One Missed Call… And a Lifetime of Truth The Mirror Our Children Hold Up Yesterday, someone from our extended family called after decades of silence. At the time, my daughter was using my phone, so I remained unaware. Today, when I noticed the missed call and asked her about it, she replied calmly: “Mom, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t understand why they would call after so many years. Do they need something? Or is it some very special occasion? People like this don’t call out of love, they call when they need something.” I tried to defend them. I said it might be something important, that perhaps they wanted to say something meaningful, and that she should have answered the call. But her response stopped me in my tracks. “Mom,” she said gently, “I’m sorry if this hurts you, but as long as I can remember, such people reach out only on their own terms, when they need you, when it suits them. And once their need is fulfilled, they disappear. Sometimes they even point out your f...

Piles of Property and the Massacre of the Present By Nadia Nizam Today, as I stand under the scorching sun of life, my father’s presence returns to me like a dense, cool, sheltering tree. I write this piece not only in his memory, but also as a lament for that lost simplicity which has quietly vanished from our times. Walking in his footsteps, I realize with piercing clarity that life was never a burden—we turned it into one ourselves. My father was a living book of logic and reason. He never accepted nonsense, yet paradoxically, his own life was built upon the logic of love. A modest salary, six children, and a three-room house in Islamabad—where my uncle also lived—felt like a small guesthouse. I still remember how the aroma from the kitchen and the laughter of guests could not be contained within the walls. Whether friends or relatives, my father’s dining table never felt small, because its measure was not his income, but the openness of his heart and my mother’s patience. While the...

My daughter often asks me how I manage to rise above the hypocrites around me who have tried hard to break me. What has helped me throughout my life is the strength of my faith and my friendship with God. It feels as though He is always by my side, holding my hand. I know that He will be there for me at every step of my journey. As Allah reminds us in Surah Al-Baqarah (2:286), "لَا يُكَلِّفُ اللَّهُ نَفْسًا إِلَّا وُسْعَهَا" (Allah does not burden a soul beyond that it can bear) . This gives me confidence that whatever happens is part of His will; He has reasons for everything in our lives. Thus, it’s important to remain calm and grateful in every situation. Believe me, I see challenges whenever people around me discourage me. When someone tries to block my path, I make sure to follow my heart. As we learn from Surah Al-Imran (3:139), "فَلَا تَهِنُوا وَتَدْعُوا إِلَى السَّلُكِ" (So do not lose hope, nor be sad). This verse encourages perseverance despite setbacks. ...

A family friend called me yesterday, expressing mixed emotions about her son moving to California. She asked for my honest opinion, and here it is the general opinion of majority of the pakistani people, my friend. The story of the hard-earned lives of self-made individuals in foreign countries begins the day they receive a visa, and families celebrate their child's achievement. However, in reality, this often leads to a loss of genuine love and bonding. Families cannot see the hardships faced by their children living far away, out of sight and reach. These individuals start their lives from ground zero, without support and affection during tough times. Parents cannot perceive their child's suffering, and siblings cannot feel the miserable foundation of their brother's or sister's life. While children in Pakistan live comfortably under their parents' roof, one child struggles day and night to earn enough money to pay rent, bills, insurance in a foreign country. That...

My father always taught us to be self-reliant and to never rely on anyone else's generosity. Visiting someone’s house frequently is equivalent to losing your self-worth. Perhaps because of his upbringing, I still make it a point to buy valuable gifts before visiting someone. Even a simple cup of tea at someone else's home feels like a burden to me. It seems like my father's voice follows me everywhere, reminding me of this lesson. Spending a night at anyone's house, aside from my parents, is the most uncomfortable thing for me. To this day, I haven’t been able to explain this to anyone. It feels like an intrinsic part of my nature. Meanwhile there’s a truth I’ve wrestled with, learned through more than a few bumps and bruises in life, and it’s this: opening your home to someone long-term (more than 2 weeks), no matter how much you love them, is a gamble you’ll almost always lose. I know the impulse well. That deep desire to help, to offer a safe haven to a friend in nee...

سلام ہو اس بیٹی پر جس نے اپنے والدین کو بڑا ہونے میں مدد کی۔ ان کی سرد مہری کو قبول کیا، ان کے غصے کو معاف کیا، ان کی غلطیوں کو درگزر کیا، انہیں انسان بننا سکھایا۔  سلام ہو اس بہن پر جس نے بغاوت کی قیمت چکائی۔ پوری قوت سے چیخی، پتے کی طرح کانپی لیکن سر بلند کھڑی رہی، آمریت کو کبھی بھی بغیر لڑے جانے نہیں دیا، اپنے بہن بھائیوں کے لیے آسانی سے سانس لینے کا راستہ ہموار کیا۔   زندگی میں اپنا مقصد تلاش کرنے کے لیے بے چین، اپنے عقائد میں مضبوط، نسلوں اور نسلوں کی ثقافتی اقدار کی نفی کرنے والی۔   اس لڑکی پر جس نے اپنی ماں کے صدمے کو اپنے کندھوں پر اٹھایا۔ اسے اپنے اندر سمو لیا، خود کو اس رحم کی تصویر میں بدل لیا جس میں وہ کبھی رہتی تھی، خود کو ان مصیبتوں میں غرق کر لیا جو اس کی تھیں بھی نہیں، ان زخموں کو چھپایا جنہیں وہ پہچان بھی نہیں سکتی تھی۔  سلام ہو اس عورت پر جو یہ بھول گئی کہ وہ کون ہے۔ ہر کسی کی نجات دہندہ بننے کے لیے اتنی پرعزم، اپنے خاندان کو ٹھیک کرنے کے لیے، اپنے اردگرد کے ہر فرد کی پرورش اور محبت کرنے کے لیے۔ اتنی گہری کھوئی ہوئی کہ وہ بھول گئی کہ وہ بھ...