The truths we seek are entirely subjective, forged in the crucible of our unique upbringings, environments, and experiences
MUFTI JAMEEL FAROOQ
In the tapestry of life, we encounter countless individuals, each serving as a silent teacher. Yet, human perfection remains an illusion; no one is ever kamil (complete). It is this inherent incompleteness that compels us to strive—to transition from bad to good, from better to the ultimate best. Humanity exists in a perpetual state of flux, an endless pursuit of betterment that ceases only when the soul takes flight from this earthly realm into eternity.
I have often believed that bookish knowledge can never eclipse experiential wisdom. A book offers information—a repository of data archived for future utility. However, stepping into the arena of experience and navigating its complexities is entirely different; it is a cup of tea not meant for everyone.
Some people, quite frankly, remain fools throughout their lives. Paradoxically, there is a school of thought suggesting that “fools do not weather soon”—they remain perpetually young, unburdened by the gravity of wisdom, enjoying life to its fullest. Like all philosophy, this is an open-ended proposition devoid of objective answers. The truths we seek are entirely subjective, forged in the crucible of our unique upbringings, environments, and experiences.
Recently, during a conversation with a military Commanding Officer, we crossed intellectual swords on this very subject. He argued that experience is unsurpassable, insisting we must defer blindly to our elders purely by virtue of their years.
I countered his premise: “I have seen individuals remain absolute nincompoops through the entirety of their lives. In such cases, does mere chronological experience truly count?”
My train of thought found a clearer anchor during a recent interaction with the Chairman of a quiet, premier institute, a man who has spent over three decades deliberately scrubbed of a public profile, operating simply as The Anonymous Guardian.
We often ponder existential questions: Why are some people showered with abundance while others are left wanting?
Abundance is not a cosmic accident. Some are blessed because they deserve to be. The Almighty, in His infinite wisdom, bestows treasures upon specific souls whom He trusts—souls who will neither abuse that power nor assume the mantle of lordship, but will distribute it with absolute justice. As Hazrat Ali (R.A.) profoundly remarked:
“Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”
Power does not change a person; it simply removes their mask.
In my interactions with this quiet architect, I discovered a man wrapped in profound humility. Despite helming a premier institution for thirty-two years, he views himself not as a monarch, but as a chowkidar (watchman) entrusted by the Sovereign Supremacy to guard a fragment of His creation. He has consistently refused to let his name grace any building, placard, or letterhead, actively choosing the shadows over recognition.
I used to marvel at how he answered every random phone call, never deliberately disconnecting a single solicitor. When I finally asked him why the head of a massive institution would subject himself to such raw, unshielded accessibility, his reply was striking in its simplicity: “It breeds humility. And ultimately, dust returns to dust.”
A few days ago, I sat with him when an unknown caller began peppering him with odd, highly irrelevant, and frankly irritating questions. While the conversation tested my patience, he remained entirely composed and sober. When the caller bluntly demanded to know his name and supreme position at the school, he gently bypassed the personal identity and replied, “I am just a manager.”
On another occasion, an administrator complained to him that a hired carpenter was taking far longer than necessary to complete a task, implying inefficiency. His response was a masterclass in empathy: “Do you wish for me to snatch away his riziq (sustenance)?”
The incident that moved me most deeply, however, occurred when an employee faced dismissal due to staff dissatisfaction. The decision to terminate him seemed imminent. The school Principal was summoned alongside the employee to finalise the departure, though the Chairman’s underlying intent was to find an alternative role so the man’s family would not suffer.
The principal repeatedly advocated for immediate termination without considering that it was mid-session. Each time the word “relieve” was uttered, I watched this inherently private soul recede into deep contemplation.
I do not know the final verdict of that meeting. But that afternoon, a profound realisation washed over me: those who are blessed are not chosen at random. They are selected because of the rare architecture of their hearts.
Having worked in the corporate sector—where people routinely trample over one another, where owners terminate livelihoods without a second thought to save a fraction of a profit margin, and where schools freeze teachers’ salaries for months or discard them before winter to save money—finding a soul with a genuine spiritual tinge is a rarity among rarities. This man, who shuns a name, is a reminder that even in a transactional world, grace still finds a place to reside.
(The author is a columnist and can be reached at: mufti.jameel97@gmail.com)