Posted by Haris Gulzar on November 26, 2010
But I was wrong. You win. You beat her, or probably she let you beat her. Probably she accepted defeat herself. Maybe you were too much for her, though I’m sure she gave you a tough fight. Two and a half years, long surgeries, all sorts of medicines, frequent visits to the hospital and staying admitted there at times, bearing all those pains that are easier to talk about but extremely difficult to feel, not eating anything that might have ignited you again, it isn’t easy you know. She was definitely very strong. You were almost asleep for good, but then you woke up, only to prove her strength was not enough…
But hey cancer, don’t you see the tears a father has in his eyes after losing his princess? Don’t you see how broken he feels? Don’t you see him bursting into tears all of a sudden? Don’t you see how shaken he is with what you have done? A father who, she used to tell me, loved her more than anyone else. She told me, if there was anyone to go to the extremes of doing something for her, it would be her father. Someone who could do whatever it took only to make his daughter smile. But you don’t see all of this do you? You just don’t know how terrible it is for a father to see his child lying dead in front of him. For you, it’s only your strength to prove isn’t it?
And you don’t even see the confusion on the face of a five year old boy who wakes up the next morning and doesn’t find his mother around him. Who doesn’t even know why isn’t he being sent to the school. Who doesn’t know who to call if he needs a feeder of milk, or wants to get cleaned after getting his pants wet. And you certainly don’t see the tears a three year old girl has in her eyes, not because her mother is not living anymore, but only because everyone around her is crying. This child wouldn’t even know what actually happened. She wouldn’t know where her mother went and if she’s ever coming back or not. You just don’t care do you?
And I’m sure you are least concerned with what a mother felt when she was told her daughter is no more. With what a brother and a sister felt when they came to know about the death of their eldest sibling, and no doubt, you’re least concerned with whatever each individual associated with her felt when the news of her death broke. You’re just concerned with winning aren’t you? You just know your strength. But is it what you call winning? Is this how you defeat people? If only you had feelings, I’m sure you’d be ashamed of yourself today.
You haven’t won Mr. Cancer, you might have shown your strength alright, but this isn’t a win. She might have been beaten, but this is not a victory for you. In fact, from where I’m seeing it, you’ve actually lost. I’m just so proud of my friend to have fought with you, and to have fought so well. You’ve lost Mr. Cancer, you’ve lost…
Posted in English | Tagged: Death, Friends, Memories | 17 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on August 22, 2010
I never thought I’d write about this person when I started writing about the people who mattered in my life. But that’s what life is all about I guess. Who knows who’d be living the very next moment…
Muhammad Umar Khan. I first met him on the 5th of June 2008 at the PC hotel Lahore where we gathered for our group discussion and interviews for IBA admissions. That entire day was enough to make the 10 or 11 of us become friends of each other, because we all were to be part of the IBA hostelite family once selected. I had my interview taken ahead of everyone else because of the alphabetical order and I wasn’t allowed to see my other fellows waiting to be interviewed, so I could only exchange mobile phone number of Umar, that too in a hurry, before I left the hotel. Hence, Umar was the person I communicated with for anything related to IBA before we actually submitted our fee. I would ask him if he is planning to join IBA or waiting for other options, or if he’d start his job? I’d ask him if he had filled out all the forms or not? I’d ask him if his other class fellows who got selected for IBA were willing to join IBA? I’d ask him to stop thinking much and to make up his mind once and for all and submit the fee…
The second time we met each other was on the 30th of July, 2008. That was in Karachi, when we had our orientation. The journey started from there. I moved into my hostel room on the 31st of July 2008, and Umar moved in on the 1st of August. We would just sit together in the TV lounge and talk about everything. We would go to the market together. We would wait for each other before we had our meals in the mess. We would be found in each other’s rooms more often than being found in our own rooms. We would make project groups together. We would participate in competitions together. We would walk to the campus together and would come back to hostel together. Umar Khan was one of the closest friends I had at the IBA.
I also wrote about one of the experiences I had with Umar in a competition held at the IBA. That post can be found here. Before summer vacations were to start, several companies came to IBA for recruiting our seniors and for our internships. One of them was GSK who, when they came, gave the attendees some gifts. Their gifts included a small tension reliever ball, that we played catch catch with :-P. I remember whenever I went to Umar’s room, I got hold of that tension reliever ball of his and would throw it on his room walls as hard as I could and would catch it. Sometimes he would sit on his bed and I’d stand in front of one of the walls and would throw the ball on another wall in such a way that made it difficult for Umar to catch it, and Umar would have to dive on his bed to catch the ball.
We also used to celebrate our birthdays at the hostel, though it was always a four or five member gathering, but we would bring cakes and would cut them at exact 12 midnight. We used to take pictures and make videos of those celebrations using Umar’s mobile. He just had his 24th birthday on the 2nd of April this year and I remember Shahid and Waqar trying to get hold of him and me making a video of the entire event, to make him wear things we brought for Umar that he didn’t want to wear :-P.
Umar was one of the luckiest guys from our entire batch at IBA who got a job before the exams ended. He started his job on the 12th of July in Karachi. On the 27th of July, I had a chat with him and he told me he’d be coming to Rawalpindi to attend to his mothers surgery, and that he might also come to Lahore over the weekend. I asked him to stay at my place if he does come to Lahore. He told me the details about his mothers operation and that he had taken three days off from office and would be flying the next morning.
That flight didn’t allow him to see his mother get well after the operation :-(, in fact, it even took him away from his family. The ill-fated airblue flight from Karachi to Islamabad had one of my best friends in it, and that flight took him away from all of us. A few days back I was going through the pictures of my stay at IBA and was recalling the times we were together. The pictures at the beach, at the restaurants, at ice-cream parlors, at the hostel, in the funniest of poses.
His memories are never ending and ever lasting. I pray that his soul rests in peace at the highest of places in Jannah Insha-Allah, and that Allah gives sabar to his family. Ameen. Umar Khan, you will always be remembered Insha-Allah. I miss you…
Posted in English | Tagged: Death, Friends, Hostel, IBA, Life, Memories, Qismat | 13 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on July 22, 2010
When I came back to Lahore after my final exams ended around mid June, I met one of my street friends who started off his conversation by asking me if I came to know about Omer. I asked him what happened and was told that Omer passed away a week back. Omer was another street friend, exactly my age, as in we had the same date of birth. We’ve played so much cricket together and have spent so much time together that it was extremely difficult for me to even believe he is not living anymore :-(. I remember when we used to sit late in the evenings after our matches were over, and we used to discuss what we wanted to become in our lives. We would discuss our options and which Universities we could apply to. I remember him telling me that he cleared the entry test for Army and that he had decided what he wanted to become.
We used to organize cricket matches amongst the adjacent blocks of the society we lived in. We would just walk to the streets of other blocks, find boys playing cricket there and would ask them if they wanted to have a match with our team. These street matches were starters to big matches that were played in grounds on Sunday mornings. We would fight on the stupidest of things such as if the bowled ball was a no ball or not, and if the runner had completed the run. I even remember us backing for each other if any of us got engaged in a quarrel or something. He was an extremely good batsman and lead our team most of the times. I just can’t stop visualizing his face right in front of me every now and then. We used to be together for most of our evenings, specially in Summers.
But then he joined Pakistan Army, and I started my Engineering studies. Another street friend left for abroad for his studies, and yet another friend went to GIKI for his studies. That was when the members of our cricket team chose their own paths, and though we still met but not that regularly. But Omer and I met a bit more frequently whenever he was in Lahore, maybe because we were the same age.
This friend who told me about Omer’s death told me that Omer was the commanding officer of his sepoys at Siyachin post and was coming back after completing his term there when he slipped off the mountain :-(. Although his body was recovered but he had fatal head injuries and he couldn’t survive. It is just so difficult to believe that the person I’ve spent my childhood with is not living anymore. He is one person I probably won’t forget, not in my near future atleast. May Allah grant him Jannah and me his soul rest in peace. Ameen
Posted in English | Tagged: Death, Friends, Life, Memories | 11 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on September 8, 2009
Its amazing how we develop associations with those we hardly know. Associations that aren’t only associations on the face of it, but are deep and meaningful. And not always do we realize the sense of association unless we part with those whom we feel associated with. These people may not be our closest of friends, but only someone we met a couple of times only. These people themselves may not be valuable to us, but a feel of their existence after we part might be very valuable.
In my first semester here at IBA, I was a teaching assistant of a course that was being taught to the first year BBA students. There were 3 sections of this course, about 120 students for whom I was assisting the teacher. Although I didn’t know each and every student by name and face by the end of semester, but I did know quiet a lot of them, specially those with whom I used to have a bit more interaction. Students usually came to me to submit their assignments or reports, or occasionally a couple of them would come to ask something from some other course they were taking.
That was the entire relationship I had with those 120 students. A sort of a student teacher relationship, where the teacher (not exactly a teacher but sort of a teacher) didn’t even know each and every of his students, but still I felt associated with them. In the second semester, whenever any of my students would see me, they would say Salam to me and I’d reply and ask about their health. Some of them used to discuss with me their teachers and their gpas and their progress in courses etc, although I wasn’t assisting any of their teachers in the 2nd semester. It somehow felt good to see them.
One morning when I was getting ready for my class, a fellow hostelite who happened to be one of my students as well, came to my room and told me that one of their class fellows had a severe accident while to coming to university. A bus ran over him. He just told me about the accident and didn’t tell me if that student made it or not, but his shaky voice and the hurriedness said it all. When I reached the campus, which is hardly a 7~8 minutes walk from hostel, I could tell immediately that he did not make it. The way people were sitting in groups, saddened, a few of them having tears in their eyes, and a few faces shocked by the news, it was apparent that my student had died.
He was 19. I didn’t know him much, but he was my student. That day, whenever any of our teachers asked our class if we knew the boy, I raised my hand and said he was my student. I so felt bad every time I mentioned it. I felt bad only because I knew him. Only because I had a feeling of association with him, and I only realized it when he was no more…
Posted in English | Tagged: Death, Friends, Memories | 14 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on August 3, 2009
Long ago I heard from someone:
Friendship is like a china ware,
Always precious, rich and rare,
Once broken, can be mended,
But the crack is always there…
Is it true? Can the crack ever be mended? What good is that friendship for if it can be broken? Or is it just us to be that stupid to think there is a crack in our friendship, when actually there isn’t?
Posted in English | Tagged: Friends, Life, Optimism/Pessimism | 18 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on July 10, 2009
We’ve been writing essays since we were young. That was when we used to write for the sake of it. We wrote because we were told to write. The teacher usually announced to the class to start writing an essay, and everyone would just start writing, without thinking what should actually be written. Whatever we wrote never came from within us. We never knew the meaning of a single word that we wrote ourselves back then. Essays like “A visit to a hill station”, “A rainy day” and the favorite of many of us, “My Best Friend” were the most commonly written essays.
We never knew what the word “friend” meant. A friend for us was someone whom we used to see every day, without realizing how life would be if we didn’t see a friend for even one day. A friend was someone we used to sit in class with, without realizing what it means to be with someone you feel comfortable with. A friend used to be someone we shared our lunch with, without realizing that sharing things with friends can give the best feeling ever. A friend was someone we waved back to while leaving school, where waving back only meant for a maximum of a day. A friend was someone who invited us on to his birthday party; in fact the number of our friends was somewhat directly proportional to the class fellows who invited us on to their birthday parties, but we never realized what emotions can there be behind one single invitation. Back then, we never knew if a friend could be someone we’d want to be with when we’d be all alone in a crowd of a thousand people. We never knew if a friend could be someone we’d share all our problems with, and would love to listen to and try solving all the problems that friend has. We never knew if we could trust a friend with whatever goes on in our lives, if we could care for that person and get care in return. This six character word just didn’t have any meaning back then, but words change meanings don’t they…
Actually, words don’t change meanings. We start giving meanings to words. We define them the way we want to. There was a time when I searched for words that could complete my definition of the word “Friend”, but as if there wasn’t any word that could properly define this word the way I wanted to. That’s when I realized, that a friend is just a friend, and that there are words that do not need help of other words for their definition. I found out that this word doesn’t need any supporting words, that you know it inside you who is your friend and who is not, and that your words lose meaning if you forcefully try giving meaning to your words.
For me, my best friend is only my best friend. I don’t need to satisfy myself and remind myself saying that I trust my best friend, or that I care for my best friend, or that I share everything with my best friend… I just know it inside me that I have a best friend, and this feeling is enough for me to stop analyzing people on the criteria of how others define best friends. I now have my own definition of my best friend, and that definition has no words…
Posted in English | Tagged: Friends, Life | 10 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on June 8, 2009
Some time back, I wrote a post titled “Food for thought” that had a few questions relating to life and the way we live our lives. One of the questions in that post was “Are relations important? Is it important to express their importance?” What I have gone through in the past couple of days has really made me think hard on this question.
Let me directly jump to the main theme of this post. How important can the relationship of care and trust be for a person? For someone, trusting a person and caring for that person would mean a world, but for someone, that very same caring attitude might even make his/her life hell. If I care for a person, I’d ask that person if he’s ok or not, I’d constantly ping that person to be sure that person is feeling good, I’d make that person tell me and share with me whatever there is in his mind that initially made him sad. I’d want to rectify and get rid of all the causes of sadness for that person. But won’t this care hurt that person? Won’t this constant pinging make that person live in his past and not allow him to come out of the tragedies he went through? Should I leave that person alone? Should I give that person enough time with himself to try forgetting his past? Does a caring friend constantly ping and ask his friend if he’s ok or not, or does he leave his friend alone in trying to make his friend comfortable? This takes me to the second question of my post “Food for thought” that asks “Is loneliness important? Why or why not?”
Posted in English | Tagged: Friends, Life | 11 Comments »
Posted by Haris Gulzar on April 27, 2009
ایک تحفے کی قیمت کیا ہوتی ہے؟ کیا وہ تحفہ قیمتی ہونا چاہیئے، کیا وہ تحفہ ہماری پسند کا ہونا چاہیئے، کیا وہ اس انسان کی پسند کا ہونا چاہیئے جسے آپ تحفہ دینا چاہتے ہیں؟ کیا یہ سب سوال عجیب ہیں؟ نہیں، ہر گز نہیں۔ ان میں سے کوئی سوال عجیب نہیں ہے، بلکہ ان تمام سوالوں کا میری نظر میں صرف ایک ہی جواب ہے۔ اور وہ یہ ہے کہ اس دنیا میں کوئی شخص کسی تحفے کی قیمت کا اندازہ نہیں لگا سکتا۔ تحفہ تو انمول ہوتا ہے، تحفہ بزاتِ خود کسی کی پسند کا نہیں ہوتا، بلکہ یہ تو تحفہ دینے والے کی نییت ہوتی ہے جو اس تحفہ کو پسندیدہ اور انمول بناتی ہے۔ ۔ ۔
اگر یہ سچ ہے کہ تحفہ دینے والے کی نییت ہی ایک تحفہ کو نایاب بناتی ہے، تو پھر اس شخص کا کیا حال ہوا ہوگا جب اسکا تحفہ کسی نے کھول کر دیکھا بھی نہیں۔ اس شخص پہ کیا گزری ہوگی جب اس نے پوچھا ہوگا کہ تحفہ کیسا لگا اور اسے آگے سے جواب ملا ہوگا کہ میں نے تو تحفہ کھولا ہی نہیں۔ اس شخص کا دل کتنا ٹوٹا ہوگا جس نے اکیلے، ایک انجان شہر میں، اتنی ہمّت کرنے کی ٹھانی کہ وہ کہیں سے بھی ایک ایسا تحفہ لائے گا جو اسکے خیال میں اسکے دوست کو بہت پسند آئے گا، فقط یہ سننے کے لیئے کہ ابھی تو میں نے وہ تحفہ دیکھا بھی نہیں۔ کیا اس شخص کا مان نہیں ٹوٹا ہوگا جب اس کا بھیجا ہوا تحفہ کسی نی پڑے رہنے دیا ہو گا۔ اس شخص کے انتظار کی کیا قیمت لگایئے جسنے تحفہ بھیجنے کے بعد اگلے دن شام گئے تک صرف شکریہ کہ دو الفاظ سننا چاہے، مگر اسے سننے کو ملا کہ میں نے تو وہ تحفہ کھولا ہی نہیں۔ ۔ ۔
اس جرم کا ارتکاب کرنے والا شخص ہوں میں۔ ۲۵ اپریل 09 بروز ہفتہ میری ۲۵ویں سالگرہ تھی۔ رات کے ۱۲ بجتے ہی مجھے دوستوں کے میسج آنا شروع ہو گئے۔ ان تمام میسج میں اس دوست کا میسج بھی شامل تھا جس نے مجھے تحفہ بھیجا تھا۔ مجھے معلوم تھا کے اس دوست نے مجھے لاہور سے تحفہ بھیجا ہے، حالانکہ میں نے اس دوست کو کئی بار تحفہ بھیجنے سے منع کیا، مگر شاید میرا اپنا بھی دل تھا کہ میرا دوست مجھے تحفہ بھیجے۔ پہلے میں نے اپنے دوست کو اپنا پتہ نہیں بتایا تھا، مگر پھر اچانک بتا دیا۔ میں نے اپنے دوست سے پوچھا بھی کہ کیا تحفہ بھیجا ہے، مگر اسنے انتظار کیا کہ میں خود تحفہ کھولوں اور دیکھوں کہ تحفہ کیا ہے۔ میں رات کو اپنے دوست سے بات کرتا رہا، اپنے دوست کو یہ بتاتا رہا کہ مجھے کتنی خوبصورت دعایئں بھیجی جا رہی ہیں، اپنے دوست کو بتاتا رہا کہ میرے دوسرے دوستوں نے مجھے نظمیں بھیجی ہیں۔ اس وقت وہ دوست یقینن یہی سوچ رہا ہوگا کہ جب میرا بھیجا ہوا تحفہ اِسے ملے گا تو کیا یہ اس وقت بھی اتنا ہی خوش ہوگا؟ اس وقت میرا وہ دوست یقینن اس انتظار میں تھا کہ کب اسکا بھیجا ہوا تحفہ کھولا جائے گا ۔ ۔ ۔
اگلا دن ہوا، دوپہر ہوئی اور پھر شام ہوگئی۔ میں اپنے دوست کا بھیجا ہوا تحفہ دیکھے بغیر امّی سے ملنے خالہ کہ گھر چلا گیا۔ امّی ان دنوں لاہور سے آئی ہوئی ہیں۔ یونیورسٹی سے واپس آنے کے بعد میں نے صرف کھانا کھایا اور اپنے دوست کے بھیجے ہوئے تحفے کا سوچے بغیر ہی ہاسٹل سے نکل پڑا۔ پتہ نہیں کیوں مگر مجھے اپنے دوست کا وہ تحفہ اس وقت ذہن میں ہی نہیں آیا۔ شام کو جب اس دوست نے مجھ سے پوچھا کہ مجھے اس دوست کا بھیجا ہوا تحفہ کیسا لگا، تو میرے پاس صرف یہی جواب تھا کہ وہ تحفہ تو میں نے کھولا ہی نہیں۔ میں یہ کہتے ہوئے شرمندہ تھا مگر اس وقت بھی میں نے یہ نہیں سوچا تھا کہ میری اس حرکت نے میرے دوست کو کتنا دکھ دیا ہوگا۔ ۔ ۔
جب میں خالہ کے یہاں سے واپس ہاسٹل آیا تو کمرے میں گھسنے سے پہلے ہی میں ہاسٹل انچارج کے دفتر میں گیا اور اپنا تحفہ وصول کیا۔ میں چاہتا تھا کہ اپنے دوست کو کال کروں، اور اس سے بات کرتے ہوئے اس تحفے کو کھولوں۔ اس وقت جب میں اپنے دوست کو کال ملا رہا تھا، مجھے احساس ہوا کہ میں نے کیا حرکت کی ہے۔ اس وقت مجھے رہ رہ کر یہ خیال آ رہا تھا کہ میرے دوست نے مجھ سے صرف اپنے تحفہ کا پوچھنے کے لیئے کتنا انتظار کیا ہوگا۔ اس وقت مجھے احساس ہو رہا تھا کہ میں نے اپنے دوست کے انتظار کو صرف ایک دن نہیں بلکہ شاید کئی صدیاں بڑھا دیا ہوگا۔ اس وقت میرا شدید دل کر رہا تھا کہ میری جلد سے جلد اس دوست سے بات ہو جائے۔ شاید مجھے میرے کئے کی سزا مل رہی تھی۔ میری میرے دوست سے بات نہیں ہو سک رہی تھی۔ ۔ ۔
غلطی کے اس احساس میں جو مجھے اس وقت ستائے جا رہا تھا، میں نے اپنے دوست کے لئے ایک نوٹ لکھا اور اس سے معافی مانگی۔ اس وقت نا جانے کیوں وہ معافی بھی بہت بے معنی سی لگ رہی تھی۔ اس وقت مجھے احساس ہو رہا تھا کہ ہم کسی کے جزبات سے کھیل کر معافی مانگ لیتے ہیں، اور نا صرف اس دوست کے جزبات کا مزاق اڑاتے ہیں بلکہ اس دوست کو مجبور کر دیتے ہیں کہ وہ کھل کر شکوہ بھی نہ کر سکے۔ اس وقت میں لگاتار یہی دعا مانگ رہا تھا کہ میرا دوست خیریت سے ہو، جلدی سو کہ اٹھے، میرا نوٹ پڑھے اور مجھ سے بات کرے۔ شاید مجھ میں اتنی ہمّت نہیں تھی کہ میں اپنے اس عزیز دوست سے زبانی معافی مانگ سکتا، اس لئے میں چاہتا تھا کہ میرا دوست وہ نوٹ پڑھ لے۔ اس وقت میں سوچ رہا تھا کہ ہم سے کیسے انجانے میں ایسی غلطی ہو جاتی ہے جو غلطی ہم کبھی جان بوجھ کہ کرنے کا سوچ بھی نہیں سکتے۔ شاید ہم انسان ہیں اس لئیے۔ اس وقت اپنے آپ کو تسلّی دینے کا مجھے صرف یہی زریعہ نظر آیا کہ میں اپنے آپ کو یہ کہ کر بہلا لوں کہ غلطی بھی تو انسان سے ہی ہوتی ہے۔ ۔ ۔
اور پھر میری بات اس دوست سے ہو گئی۔ اس دوست کے فون اٹھاتے ہی، اور اس دوست کی آواز سنتے ہی اس بات کی تسلّی ہو گئی کہ وہ دوست خیرییت سے ہے الحمدللہ۔۔ حالانکہ اس دوست کی آواز پوری طرح ٹھیک نہیں تھی اور اس آواز میں دکھ کی سی کیفیت نمایاں تھی، مگر میں نے اس وقت اپنے دوست سے یہ بات کرنا مناسب نہیں سمجھا۔ اس دوست سے بات کے دوران ہی میں نے وہ تحفہ کھولا۔ میرے دوست نے میرے لئیے ایک ایسی کتاب بھیجی تھی جسکا جانے انجانے میں اس دوست سے اتنی دفعہ ذکر ہوا تھا کہ اس کتاب کہ نام پہ ہی میں نے اپنے بلاگ کا نام رکھا۔ وہ کتاب تھی امر بیل۔ اس کتاب کو دیکھ کر میرے پاس الفاظ نہیں تھے کہ میں اپنی غفلت پر شرمندہ ہووں یا اپنے اس عزیز دوست کو اس خوبصورت تحفے کا شکریہ کروں۔ میرے بلاگ کا نام صرف اس وجہ سے امر بیل نہیں ہے کہ مجھے یہ نام اچھا لگا تھا، بلکہ اسکی ایک بڑی وجہ یہ ہے کہ میرے بلاگ کا یہ نام میرے اسی دوست نے تجویز کیا تھا، اور وہ بھی اسی ناول پہ مبنی تھا۔ میرے اسی دوست نے ایک دفعہ امر بیل سے ایک اقتباس مجھے سنایا تھا، اس دن کے بعد سے مجھے کہیں بھی امر بیل کا کوئی حصّہ کہیں بھی لکھا ہوا ملتا، میں وہ اپنے دوست کو سناتا۔ میرا اس ناول کو پڑھنے کا اشتیاق بڑھتا جا رہا تھا اور ٹھیک اسی وقت میرے دوست نے میرے لیئے یہ ناول بھیج دیا۔ ۔ ۔
فون پہ تو میرے پاس الفاظ نہیں تھے جن سے میں اپنے اس دوست کا شکریہ ادا کر سکتا، نا ہی کوئی ایسے الفاظ موجود ہونگے جن سے میں اپنے دوست کو یہ بتا سکوں کہ میرے اس دوست نے مجھے کتنی خوشی دی ہے۔ میں شاید الفاظ میں یہ بات نہ کہ سکوں کہ میرے دوست کا یہ یاد رکھنا کہ مجھے یہ ناول پڑھنے کا شوق ہے، اور ایک انجان شہر میں اس ناول کو ڈھونڈ کر مجھے بھیجنا میرے لیئے کیا معنی رکھتا ہے۔ میں شاید اپنے دوست کو یہ نہ بتا سکوں کہ مجھے اس وقت وہ تحفہ کھول کر کتنی خوشی ہو رہی تھی ۔ ۔ ۔
دوست، کوئی لفظ شاید اس بات کو بیان نہ کر سکے کہ اس تحفے کی میرے لیئے کیا قیمت ہے۔ میرے لیئے یہ تحفہ انمول ہے، جس خوش دلی اور جس نیّت سے آپ نے یہ تحفہ بھیجا، میرے لیئے وہ انمول ہے، اور جس دوستی کے لیئے آپ نے مجھے یہ تحفہ بھیجا، میرے لیئے وہ انمول ہے ۔ ۔ ۔
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