Donate now at hdfpk.com
Donate now at hdfpk.com
With the spread of COVID-19, many daily wagers and labourers are unemployed now.
Hashim Khaskeli from Village Ishaque Khaskeli (Sindh) is one of them.
HDF is supporting him plant his own kitchen garden as a means to earn, with essential training and required seed kits.
Family is one of the most powerful institutes of a society. If functional as a generation long social structure, it nurtures a closely knit society with indomitable social values: if not, a society may rise to great but hollow internal structures. With personal and professional discontent being rampant among its members as an unknowingly accepted social trend. Consequently, keeping in view the indispensable importance of a family in shaping an individual’s personality, and in effect the character of a society, every 15th of May is globally celebrated as the International Day to honour and understand the significance of a family in sustaining us and our respective societies.
Sociologists believe that from the time a child is born to when he begins to reckon with the world as an adult, family serves to be the very soul of his emotional and physical well-being. In early childhood the child strives to grab his parents and siblings attention by bringing toys to them, playing games with them, breaking things, or by insisting upon them being indulgent to his childish fancies. The consequent do’s and don’ts prescribed and the appreciative or admonishing gestures expressed, allows the child to employ his impressionable and eager consciousness to establish a social identity by recognising his familial values as practised by his parents and siblings to be his guiding star in determining what is right and what is wrong.
For a functional family often provides an ever dependable comfort for the overbearing and scattering emotions of that turbulent age, and protects their child from the world which demands to be compensated for the offences caused by the misdemeanors of a teenage life.
Moreover, sociological researchers have also confirmed that familial bonds also constitute to be financial security for one’s future. They urge the elders in the family to invest in the education of their young ones, when entering in their practical life. Such affections never let these elders withdraw their socio-economic protection from their children.
Keeping in view such functions of a family, it is believed that a society, enriched by a strong family system creates an awe inspiring affinity between all segments of its social hierarchy. A bond so powerful, that it essentially governs all aspects of an individual’s life living as a part of such a closely knit social system.
In essence, by making sure that we nourish our familial affections with all our heart and passion, our time and money, we can contribute into bringing about the change we all so crave for, not only in our own respective nations but by at large in today’s global society throughout the world. For the question is, if we cannot devote ourselves to our immediate families, how can we even think of being devoted to the welfare of our communities, nations, and the entire humanity?
Our #COVID19 emergency response teams are leading the efforts diligently and responsibly to support our vulnerable communities during this time of distress.
We are proud of them.
The lock down might have eased but we will not rest until the #COVID ends.
Our teams are reaching out and distributing flyers to prevent corona virus to ensure that our communities are staying safe.
We have reached our second phase of providing #rations, where we committed to provide 5000 underserved families of our communities with ration of 3 months.
There comes a time in your life when pain breaks all illusions and suffering teaches you the value of honest relations, as mine revealed to me the purity of my mother’s love for me.
Seventeen years ago my eyes were closed to the colors of this world but my heart was opened to the brightness of another; to a world where every sound taught me to see the soul of this universe and to hear the music of its ancient songs. Melodies, which sung to me the truth of many relations, the sincerity of my connection with my Lord the most merciful, and the depth of intimacy I have with my family and friends. They taught me how to breathe in the affections of my loved ones as a part of my own soul, making them an inseparable part of my own being. They infused in me the significance of my mother’s love for me as the core of my existence. Even as I write these words, I can hear their heavenly voices singing softly with in my very soul, urging me to add some notes of my own to their eternal symphony. So joining my voice to theirs, I pen these following thoughts as a tribute to my mother.
To say that I can ever truly understand the extent of love that you feel for me would indeed be a lie. For no one but the all-knowing has the knowledge of that sacred mystery. However, to teach us the value of such heavenly blessings, He has gifted us the wisdom to seek within our own hearts the truth we all desire but for which few are able to find the courage to make that deep a journey.
Daring to look deep within my soul, I find myself walking across the bridge of time to a strange land of immense beauty, a land of memories. A place where the black blanket of my blindness is lifted, and I behold once again the enchanting smiles of all those I love and remember. Their affectionate faces make me relive all those joys and achievements, healing my unconsciously weary heart and filling it with an inexpressible gratitude towards my most benevolent Master. And Maa; among all these faces yours shine the brightest, like the dawning sun who’s blazing majesty dominates all the shining stars, the twinkling guardians of the night sky.
Radiant with pride at my achievements, your smile is the widest and most beautiful of them all. For it not only heals my heart but has become the warmth of its life. If I ever lost the sight of your innocent face, I would indeed lose my way in the harshness of my reality. For though your face is as angelic as I remember it to be, your eyes are full of an unearthly wisdom that silently shows me the story of your motherhood. Teaching me the virtues of an honest soul.
Standing here, looking into your eyes, I see myself as an infant in your arms and feel your unrestrained happiness at holding your first born. The scene shifts and I see myself a crawling baby, having cut my finger by sticking it between a closing door and a toy I was playing with. The cut was deep and I bled so terribly that abu’s shirt was soaked red and once again I feel the pain you felt at that time, as if it would tear apart your heart. In another image I see myself sitting on a tricycle trying to paddle it over a stepping stone in our garden and falling Face first on the stone, cutting open my chin. I feel your frantic confusion and see you carrying me to the neighbours, asking them through your uncontrolled sobs to take me to the hospital.
The story continues and I am four years old. You are scolding me for not doing my homework. when I cry, you feel guilty and hold me to your chest and ask me, “Do you really want Ahmed and Fahad to get a head of you and leave you behind?” Your challenge still spurs me on, Maa! More images follow these and I see you walking to and fro in our driveway; Wrapped around you, is your grayish black cloak and you hold a rosary in your hands, praying for me. I see you standing in the window, waving goodbye to me when I used to leave for the school in the mornings and in the evenings, standing in the same spot, I see you, just watching, made me feel protected and apprehensive of your watchful eyes. Another image shows me laughing, in an army uniform, with yourself glowing with affection and amusement on seeing me, playing the soldier.
The images that follow are the most vivid and are richest in detail. Perhaps because they concern a part of your story that you abhor but which I believe makes you one of the greatest mothers in our Lord’s eyes. For now I see myself an eight years old boy, bathed in my own blood. Screaming for you. Trying to fathom the thunderous explosion, the sudden darkness, the fear of death that filled my soul. Maa, had the world been able to reflect the agony and the turmoil of my childish heart, mountains would have crumbled to dust, oceans would have risen to a hundred tsunamis, and the very earth would have cried out in agony “Oh Lord have mercy on us”. Such was the pain that you took within your own heart with a single caress of your loving hand. I can see your kind face covered with your tears, as if you were trying to wash away all my hurt and confusion by letting your tears lose their anguished love into the blood of my agony.
For these last seventeen years you have lived a life of two souls. Your tireless devotion became the vessel for my education. No matter how many times you had to read a text, you would do it, even for hours on end. Your love cradled even the most churlish of my childish fancies. When I wanted to watch cartoons, you would become my eyes and tell me every little scene. When I wanted to play a game, and I would not play owing to my unseeing eye and disfigured hands s, you would hold my hands and run with me in races, hold up the remote for me to press its buttons, move about its joystick, to let me play like others on PlayStation.
Indeed my words are fading into the unfathomable depths of your love for me. Life goes on and so does the song of your affections. Your tenderness has taught me the value of honest emotions and sincere relations. Not to judge their devotions nor to question their sincerity, not to expect a return, just acknowledge their affections as you acknowledge mine. For the fact is that we humans have no capacity of returning the unconditional love of a mother.
I spent the earliest days of my life living in a very small Dhok, Basira near a small village Mustafaabad in the Soon Valley. I was born there, at home, without any trained medical person in attendance or nearby. During the next five years we moved back and forth between army cantonements and Basira. Abbajee was gone most of the time, so Ammanjee was the care taker.
My fondest memories are from Basira.
I would wake up very early in the morning to the sound of the Chukee, with my mother grinding wheat into flour. When she was done with that, she would go milk the cow(s). One of my cousins or uncles would then come to take the cows to the hills for grazing. Meanwhile my mother would get busy with churning yogurt into “lussie”, “udh ridka” and butter, and then prepare breakfast for us. The sounds of the Stone wheat grinders and later yogurt churning coming simultaneously from 10 to 15 homes in the Dhok, are a fond memory that often still ring in my ears.
My mother was a simple and loving person. Later when we moved more permanently to the cantonements, she still lived with the same values. We used to spend our summer vacations in the village, and even though she was now the wife of an only army officer within several miles of the village, she would transition seamlessly into her role described above. Plus now she became the defender of the right to respect of all the poor and the “excluded” members of the society, and the care taker of the less privileged members of the family.
Meanwhile back in the cantonments, she took care of all of us, and any members of the extended family that had moved to the city, mostly through my father helping them find jobs there. She prepared all the meals herself. The “workers” who serviced the family ate the same meals that we all did. But they were served the meal before Abbajee, and the children. She did not want the family helpers to serve us any food with empty stomachs.
I spent lots of my younger days away from my family, because my father would periodically get posted to places where there were no “good schools”, so as I grew older to be able to learn more from and about her, I could not make enough time for it.
Three of my sisters died very early, miles away from any meaningful health care facility, and became part of the high IMR statistics of Pakistan. She rarely spoke of these experiences, and I was never smart enough to ask her about how she felt about it. But deep down, I know she suffered immense pain.
And I know even today, millions of my mothers, sisters, and daughters are suffering the same pain, all over the world.
Dear friends, that is why I live my life the way I do, and that is why there is an HDF, trying to end this pain.
Every 3rd of May is celebrated as the International Day for Press Freedom. Throughout the world on this day people celebrate and honor all those journalists who in vogue truth and honesty within a society, stood rock solid in their profession and did not fear revenge from the powerful,did not accept any favours to be quiet to let things be, and did not let the political or social ineptitudes infect the proper functioning of the societies. Consequently, since 1993 UN has celebrated this day to honour all those journalists who lose their lives while reporting on wars, terrorist activities, or in their investigations of heinous crimes and those guilty of committing those crimes. The day serves to remind every journalist the true spirit of journalism and to inculcate feelings of respect and honour in the general public for journalists who consistently remain true to themselves and to their profession.
Journalism is a profession both noble in its conception and delicately balanced in its practicality. For though the dictates of journalism are ideally the only mirror of a society’s political and social structure as a powerful tool to appreciate our society’s virtues and vices to be rewarded or punished accordingly, it should also be acknowledged that in such a quest for truth of a societal magnitude, to remain wholly unaffected by the political influences, and by the socially dynamic stakeholders is indeed a daunting challenge for one’s judgment and integrity. As a result, where there are those selfless souls who make their profession praiseworthy by their selfless sacrifices, there are those too, who are coerced by fear or favour to bend their knees before the powerful. It is because of this precarious balance which hinges on one’s personal morality and daring character which has made journalism susceptible to doubt and apprehensions when being considered by an individual as his or her potential profession.
Nevertheless, the pull of policing the circulation of truth within a society, to ensure people’s right to know the exact political and social facts about their respective nations, and above all to be instrumental in highlighting and eradicating all the vices of human society is so strong that despite its dangers people are still willing to earn the honour of choosing journalism and becoming a part of this call to honesty from all.
It should also be acknowledged that journalism as practised in its truest values is one of the essentials of democracy. For it establishes an effective bridge of communication and accountability between the general public, political leaders, and the affluent class keeping the entire society connected by attempting to create an atmosphere of trust and understanding between all segments of the society. Thus, To imprecate such practices of journalism which manifests in its practice its truest believes and norms is to openly suggest that one does not believe in being governed by a rule for the people and by the people and to applaud such consistently honest efforts for a political and social harmony is to appreciate every person’s right to live in an honest, untrustworthy and a peaceful society.
So let our choices define what we believe in! Let our sport for such people and their efforts for a peaceful world display our own passion to advocate the cause of trust, honesty, and a sustainable productivity of our societies in all its political and social spheres.