Living With Blindness
Lessons from the Life of Imran SabIr
Abdul Aziz Ahmed
Smashwords Edition
Copyright Kitaba 2009
All rights reserved. Aside from fair use, meaning a few pages or less for non-profit educational purposes, review or scholarly citation, no part of this publication may be reproduced without prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Publisher: Kitaba - Islamic texts for the Blind, Glasgow, UK
email: info@kitaba.org
Website: http://www.kitaba.org
Cover design by: Que Media Ltd
- Acknowledgements -
I would like to acknowledge the support and openness that Imran’s family provided in the production of this book. They were involved at all stages of the work and I pray that Imran is pleased with the outcome. I thank those that contributed, most of whom are mentioned by name within the text. Thanks are due to all those who provided time and assistance especially my family, friends and members of the Kitaba team and community. Thanks are due to Coinneach Campbell for editing the final draft. I would also like to acknowledge the generosity of the Islamic studies trust (Glasgow) who provided much needed financial support to cover the printing costs of the book.
Table of Contents
The Spiritual Path - Patience And Contentment
In the name of God,
Most Gracious
Most Merciful
- Foreword -
By Imam Zaid Shakir
At the recently concluded convention of the Islamic society of North America (ISNA), I was blessed to participate on a panel that focused on the struggles of disabled Muslims. The well-attended session was eye-opening for me in many different ways. Although I was present to help educate the attendees to the plight of our disabled brothers and sisters, I am confident that I learned far more than I was able to teach.
Among the things I learned was the definition of the word “disabled.” I learned that the word is not an indictment against the individual who is struggling with a particular physical or mental challenge. Rather, it is an indictment against the society that has disabled that individual through its failure to adequately accommodate him or her. As Muslims we have no excuse for our failures in this regard, because one of the salient features of our religion is accommodating those who may be lacking in a particular regard. God mentions in the Qur’an, concerning the responsibility of the wealthy towards those who lack material resources: …those in whose wealth there is a well-known right, established for those forced to request assistance and those deprived. (70:24-25)
Consistent with this meaning, Imran Sabir was not disabled. Although he was afflicted with a wide array of crushing physical challenges that would rob him of his mobility, his eyesight, his speech, his teeth, and nearly his very breath, as he spent most of his life breathing through a tracheosmy tube, he could not be denied the ability to make a rich contribution to society during his short lifetime. Imran was able to overcome the challenges he faced physically, as a result of his battle with LOGIC Syndrome, by developing himself spiritually and intellectually. By so doing, he was able to tap into a deep, pure river of humanity that brought forth the character, talents, and an indomitable love of life that so deeply touched all who knew him.
I cannot recall the first time I met Imran. It was probably around the year 2000, during the years I was studying in Syria, during one of my occasional visits during to the United Kingdom. After a lecture in Glasgow, Scotland, I was approached by a young man in a motorized wheelchair. He had a number of penetrating questions related to the lecture I had given, although he had to ask them by means of a device he held against his throat.
I do not know what it was about Imran that attracted me to him. Perhaps it was the genuine inquisitiveness displayed in his questions; perhaps it was the purity of his soul, maybe it was the infectiousness of his smile, framed by a beaming face. Whatever it was, whenever I was in Glasgow from that day onwards, I would look forward to seeing him, and if he could not make it to a particular program, because it was being held in an inaccessible location, or because he was too drained by his struggles on a particular day, I would make sure that my hosts conveyed my greetings to him.
The plan of the God Almighty is truly amazing. As we look back over the course of our lives we can all bear witness to divine arrangements (al-tartib al-ilahi) that fill us with awe before our Lord, remind us of just how blessed we truly are, and emphasize how very deserving our Lord is of all the thanks and praise we sometimes so inadequately offer him. My last trip to Glasgow less than two years ago was one such occasion. I was invited to deliver the Friday sermon at a mosque in downtown Glasgow. My schedule was very tight, but I felt that I had to see Imran. Hence, arrangements were made for me to stop at his home for an early lunch and then to continue on to the mosque for the sermon.
Our car made its way through one of the poorer areas of the city, finally arriving at Imran’s building. The family’s flat was a humble affair. However, the love and warmth radiating within the confines of its wall was readily perceptible and priceless.
Imran proved a most gracious host. He proudly displayed his dexterity with the computer. Aided by a specially designed software program, which rapidly and audibly read anything appearing on the screen, Imran was able to maneuver between various files and internet sites more rapidly than I could ever hope to do.
We had a pleasant and rich conversation. As it deepened, I learned that Imran was a very capable writer and poet, and a scholar with a wide range of interests. He was also a philosopher who thought deeply about God, the meaning of life, self, and the nature of the human condition. As I read through his moving and provocative poems, I found one of them to be particularly powerful - Disabled Society. Rarely with such power and passion is a writer able to summarize his struggle with the forces that have shaped his life, both personal and societal with such clarity and focus. I was moved by that work and convinced that I had to do everything in my power share that poem with a wider audience. That conviction led to me posting the poem on my blog.
It is fitting that Abdul Aziz Ahmed has chosen to structure his moving account of Imran’s life and struggles around Disabled Society. However, despite the power, pain, and passion the poem articulates, it does not fully capture who Imran was. Imran was definitely a passionate advocate for the disabled, and the strength and indignation of an effective activist comes through in Disabled Society. However, Imran was much more than an activist.
As I sat with him in his humble flat, talking and enjoying the delicious food that had been prepared by his saintly mother, I realized that I was blessed to be in the company of a man who could smile despite his pain, who could love despite his tears. I realized that there was something inside of me that was being enabled by a man who despite his fierce struggle harboured no bitterness in his heart. I realized that before me was a man whose faith, dignity, and humanity would not prevent him from effectively playing the hand he had been dealt in the game of life. He was playing his hand and he was playing it well. He had earned a university degree, he had mastered the computer, and most importantly, he had conquered his soul. Armed with those accomplishments he was going forth to rid his society of its disabling ability.
As I rose to move on to the mosque, I stopped to briefly chat with his loving and dedicated mother. The love that Imran expressed for her and his constant acknowledgment of the debt he owed to her and his siblings for their boundless sacrifices gripped my heart. Here was a woman who radiated a deep spirit, and whose commitment and dedication to her son embodies the best of our religion.
To return to the theme of God’s divine arrangement; I oftentimes reflect on how my own life has unfolded. I am the son of a woman who was relegated the ranks of America’s “welfare” underclass, herself the daughter of a de facto indentured servant in the cotton belt of georgia. Despite those humble origins, I have been blessed to travel the world and to become part of so many people’s lives. Whatever the wisdom is behind that, I have been humbled and uplifted through meeting the likes of Imran and his mother. Humbled, because their struggles have bequeathed unto them a wealth of character that dwarfs my own, uplifted because their lives and examples help to reaffirm for me the immense goodness that is still to be found in the Community of Muhammad, peace upon him.
Little did I realize, as I bade farewell to Imran, this would be the last time I would see him in this world. However, the image of the beaming face of my gracious host lives on in my heart. It is my fervent prayer that Abdul Aziz Ahmed’s moving account of Imran’s life not only familiarizes Imran to the wider world, but that it helps to disable our society’s failure to fully accommodate and appreciate its members who are struggling with various physical and mental challenges.
Imam Zaid Shakir
17/7/09
Introducing My Friend
‘I am 31 years of age. I have multiple disabilities caused by a rare genetic condition. To my knowledge there are only five individuals with this condition in the UK. Records show that I am the eldest of these and the most severely affected. The condition is Asian in origin as all affected people have roots in the Punjab area of the subcontinent.’
Imran Sabir, 2007
Imran Sabir is my dear departed friend. He died after struggling with the effects of LOGIC Syndrome on March 3rd 2009. He had lost his sight as a young boy, suffered from serious respiratory problems and had only one functioning lung. Despite his many physical disabilities, his mind and spirit remained strong until the last.
I have been blessed to have met many great people. I have learnt from them. I have admired them. I found pleasure in their company and I have loved them. None have affected me in the way that Imran did. He was unique. He was my student, my teacher and my friend. When he departed to the mercy of his Lord, he left a massive gap. This short account of his life is a reflection on the greatness of a brave young man. It is my way of sharing the blessing of my brief time with him and an attempt to fill the gap that his death left.
Two weeks before he passed away, lying in his bed in intensive care, he told me that he wasn’t ready for death. He had too much unfinished business. He had too many things he still had to do. Despite his multiple disabilities, he lived his life to the full. His intentions were always greater than his physical ability. It was inevitable that on his death bed he would still be intending, planning, hoping and looking to the future. I feel that I have to write this book. I feel I owe it to him. His life was an inspiration. Anyone that met him was enthused. I need to write this book so that others can reflect on his intentions, his limitations and his successes and perhaps others might finish off his work.
Imran was a book waiting to be written. His gallant life and dignified death are lessons for anyone who thinks about society and how it includes or excludes the disadvantaged and marginalised. He faced many challenges and once said, ‘the challenges have made me the person I am today. Many may call me an activist but I just see my work as benefiting others with my skills and experiences’. He may have been blind but he had vision. His life was dedicated to establishing that vision. For this reason, his biography is not just a story about my blind friend, but it is a story of the development of a vision and the struggle to establish it and how God took him from us before that vision was realised. This is the story of Living with Blindness. These are some of the lessons from the life of Imran Sabir.
Before his death, I had never thought of writing a biography, neither his or anyone else’s. However, the sense of loss at losing my friend made me think how fortunate I had been, how much I had learnt from his state and condition and how he would have wanted those lessons to be shared. The book was not easy to write as it was a constant reminder of my loss. Much of it was written by his graveside where I would read each paragraph to him as if to seek his approval. I would then visit his mother and share what I had written. I could feel the therapeutic value of reliving the fond memories and reflecting on the lessons. It helped me reorganise my thoughts and feelings. It made me think about my vision of society and my role within in it. Writing about it challenged my perception of justice and fairness and the meaning of relationships, friendships and societal bonds.
A close friend who shared the challenges of sight loss summed up the magnitude of trying to describe Imran’s multifaceted nature and depth of character:
His funeral prayers were a testament to the profound manner in which he touched the lives of others; the hall at Glasgow Central Mosque was packed with friends, family, teachers, scholars, acquaintances, work colleagues, non-Muslims from near and far, those who knew Imran, those who knew those who knew Imran, and those who had heard small but powerful anecdotes from his life and felt they ought to be there. Imran had an innate ability to create a connection which was exclusive to that particular individual, so that if all those who knew Imran were to write a biography, they would each teach us something we might never have been able to imagine as a facet of his powerful persona.
There are many things I could have written but I tried to stick to a loose chronological account of his life. Each period offered a chance to reflect on its lessons. Each section of the book begins with a quote, sometimes from his own words but more often from a Quranic verse or Prophetic tradition or an aphorism that contextualised the lesson to be learnt from that particular part of his life. In the beginning, I have tried to show the influence of his parents and lineage. Although Imran transcended his cultural roots, he remained influenced by them. He was born and brought up in Glasgow and was as Scottish as any other Irn Bru drinking Glasgwegian but he also had a strong connection to his family roots in Pakistan. As he grew older, those ties became less physical and cultural and more spiritual and religious. Their importance was not due to some nationalistic arrogance. Their importance was in the way he defined his self concept and how he used his self concept and experiences to mould his vision of society. He drew on his past and tradition to define who he was and what he hoped to do with his life. The book attempts to explain some of his conclusions. It describes how he understood blindness and how the blind and sighted should relate to each other and work together. He did not feel that he was a victim of some cruel fate needing sympathy and help. As a blind and disabled person, he felt he had a great deal to offer the sighted. I have tried to show this in the section entitled ‘inner and outer sight’. I have tried to describe his spiritual journey through three sections entitled ‘seeking knowledge’, ‘the spiritual path’ and ‘the value of breath’. Most of his ideas about disability, inclusion and discrimination as well as a reflection on his own struggle and state can be found in the poem entitled A Disabled Society. This poem won a prize in a local poetry competition and was circulated on the internet after a well known American religious scholar posted it on his blog. After Imran’s death, it seems to have grown in popularity. It is included in this biography and I have attempted to make a few comments based on what I have heard from Imran and my own experience of inclusion and exclusion from society. I may be accused of turning his poem into a manifesto for the two charities he founded, ethnic enable and The Islamic texts for the Blind. I have done this unashamedly because I believe that his intention was not simply to write a tragic poem, but to make us think and act. I am unapologetic in this. The book ends with a description of Imran as a family man and concludes with an account of his death and a short poem written on the day after his burial.
I pray God showers mercy upon his soul and grants us the enabling success to fulfil his mission.
BORN INNOCENT
‘Every child is born in a natural state.’
Prophetic tradition related by al-Bukh?ri and Muslim on the authority of Abu Hurairah
As we sat in the waiting room knowing in our hearts that Imran’s time was approaching, one of his relatives said, ‘Imran was so innocent. He never did anything wrong’. The prophetic tradition ‘every child is born in a natural state’ came to mind. One version of the tradition goes on to suggest this natural state continues at least until the child begins to speak or interact. It is then that the influence of the parents and those around him or her begins to either strengthen that state of innocence or move the child away from it and corrupt the child’s innate purity.
Conversations with Imran showed that he believed, as did Locke (1632-1704) from the Western tradition and al-Ghazali (1058-1111) from the Islamic tradition, that the child is like a ‘ blank slate waiting to be written on’ or as Imran liked to say ‘a computer waiting to be programmed ’ by experience and learning.
WE ARE BORN OF OUR PARENTS
‘My family have given me much invaluable support and assistance and I would not be where I am today without their contribution and involvement in my life.’
Imran Sabir, 2007
With the impending partition of India, many of the Muslim residents of the Indian village of Jagrawan decided to migrate to what was to become Pakistan’s Punjab Province. Two brothers found an appropriate spot and established a new village with the same name and called their district after the district they had left behind them, Ludhana. The residents of this village are all descendents of those two brothers. The strongest man in the village was affectionately known as Kaka, tiny. He became a local hero, famous for his wrestling. He was tall and muscular. Tiny’s son, Muhammad Yaqub was later to try and find a new life in the United Kingdom, first settling in Wales for a few years before returning briefly to Pakistan. He made another attempt at settling in the UK, this time in Glasgow, Scotland. He brought his young family with him in 1967 and made a living buying and selling and eventually establishing a shop. Scotland was to be his final resting place. In 1973, he was tragically killed in a car accident in Bathgate outside the capital Edinburgh and was laid to rest in Glasgow’s Shettleston graveyard.
A year after tiny’s arrival, his wife’s cousin Muhammad Faiz brought his own young family in search of a better life. Muhammad Faiz, like his cousin, established a shop. Both families faced many difficulties. The first generation of migrants faced discrimination and sometimes hostility. Integration was a long and painful process. Faiz’s adopted son, Muhammad Sabir, struggled at school. Despite special help with English, first at Copeland Primary cShool and then Govan High School, Muhammad Sabir did not thrive in the school environment. Conscious about his poor English and lacking confidence in his ability, the young Muhammad Sabir focused his attention on his father’s shop. Aged fourteen and a half, although still officially at school, he took over the newsagent. He left school six months later without sitting any exams.
In 1976, he married the daughter of Muhammad Yaqub, Shafqat. Their first son, Imran Sabir, was born a year later.
Imran later wrote about the blessed union and the birth of their disabled son:
First cousins vowing to be true,
Joined in holy matrimony.
His coming having no portent
All being well in his infancy.
Only a couple of years later
Realising his pathology.
EVERY CHILD NEEDS CARE AND HELP
Imran wrote that the child:
‘…emerges into a tumultuous world full of stimulating sensations, which must be a logically traumatic experience for a newborn infant. It is perhaps analogous to a person walking into a boisterous disco, very bewildering until all sensations of heat; sound vibrations and light are all sorted out and adapted to. Logically, people adapt more quickly to a change in environment when such changes have been experienced before. Moving house or changing schools is easier when one has been through the process already. For a newborn infant it is all new, only having the caregiver to help it through this experience.’