Last evening

while I was walking back

from Khizr’s home

after meeting guest writers and artists

I was wondering,

when

immigrant birds

fly into a new garden in a new city do they nest only on those branches where they feel at home?

I gradually realized

it was so wonderful

to see that

at Khizr’s place,

guests from all corners of the world feeling at home.

When poets and writers

philosophers and artists

from East and West, North and South

come to town

they like to stay at Khizr’s place,

sit in front of the fire,

share their stories

and then travel to unknown destinations.

The sounds and fragrances

of those people and stories

can be heard and felt all over Khizr’s home.

Khizr believes

every artist is a mystic at heart

and blossoms

in the company of other artists and mystics.  He likes to introduce his friends to others and become a creative bridge.

His home

which stands by a lake,

surrounded by seagulls and geese and shady trees,

has become a lighthouse

like its owner

who helps lost boats and souls

to find their destinations

and discover shores of their creative selves.

 

 

Whenever I visit his home

and meet other artists and mystics

I feel inspired

by a new thought

a fresh idea

an incredible passion

a unique dream.

I remember

one evening

when I visited his home

I met his old friends

from university days,

the friends who had

shared the fire of idealism

when they were students.

They wanted to fight

against every injustice

and create a peaceful and just world.

Those were the days

when they used to get together

at the university

and share their poems and stories and songs of peace and love.

But then

they graduated from university

and started to face

the harsh realities of the world

and were divided into many groups

 

 

The first group

got married and had children

because their families expected it.

They wore the chains of traditions

and sacrificed their creations

on the altar of procreations.

They were so tired

after a hectic routine of daily work

they had no free time

to write or create

or even listen to music

or go for leisurely walks.

The routine life

made them hollow people

 

 

The second group was dazzled by the glitter of wealth.

They realized

artists were the merchants of dreams

and in this materialistic world

people want to buy

big houses and cars

not dreams.

So these artists and intellectuals

became business people

gathered wealth and gold

bought expensive paintings

to decorate their drawing rooms

acquired encyclopedias and leather bound books to put in their bookcases but lost touch with other artists and intellectuals.

The third group was

desperate to become famous.

They worked more on

their media coverage than

developing their artistic skills.

To become popular

in the shortest period of time

they wrote cheap novels;

rather than improving

people’s taste in literature and art they ruined their own.

The fourth group

who were so rebellious

clashed violently with tradition

and lost their minds

landing in mental asylums;

their creativity

was eclipsed by insanity.

 

 

That evening I realized

Khizr was one of the few

who went on creating all their lives and kept on doing their own things without worrying about traditions and families and money and fame.

He took the road less travelled,

chose the trail of his heart

rather than

the highway of tradition.

Now

after twenty-five years

he received no awards

but people

from all over the world

come to see him

to be inspired

and discover the sparks of creativity beneath the ashes of their routine lives.

I realized

how lucky is Khizr

who has creative springs flowing in his heart

and how lucky are those

who are inspired in his company

and feel at home in his home

more than in their own homes.

Sohail

March 2006