My heart was an old sinner.

On October 8, I am set to depart for the Holy Land to perform Hajj. I request your prayers that I fulfill this sacred obligation with grace. Additionally, I have some confessions, revelations, and grievances to express, and I believe there could be no better opportunity than this.

I grew up in a deeply religious household where, like millions of Muslims, devotion to religion was based more on reverence than rationality. It was a strictly Deobandi family, and my fascination with religion stemmed from my mother, who came from a well-known family of scholars.

Our father wasn’t overtly religious, though he did perform prayers and fast. My father’s business, worth millions at the time, collapsed overnight. Gradually, poverty entered our home, but we maintained a semblance of dignity, which was more about worldly appearances.

As a child, I began to despise worldly matters. There was a lingering resentment toward God—why did this happen to us? I was in seventh grade at the time. Somewhere around the eleventh grade, when I was a student of F.Sc. at Government College Lahore, I began to be put off by the element of blind reverence in religion.

Meanwhile, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto had emerged on the scene, and I was introduced to the term ‘socialism’ for the first time. Despite only having a superficial understanding of this economic system, my inclination still leaned more toward religion.

In my first year at Nishtar Medical College, I became involved with the Tablighi Jamaat. In the second year, a regular doctor who was part of the Tablighi group at Peshawar University’s mosque started rubbing my hands and thighs under the pretext of “Ikram-e-Muslim,” or respect for fellow Muslims, in front of everyone. That was the first time I felt a shiver.

I had seen such inappropriate behavior in mosques before, but this was the first time I was subjected to it. Out of fear and disgust, I left the mosque and quietly returned at 1 AM to sleep there.

On the way back, our van overturned into a ditch near Gujar Khan. I was sitting in the front seat, but I wasn’t injured. However, as I tried to break the window with my elbow to escape, a hot liquid splashed onto my face.

Battery acid had entered my eyes. I spent months suffering from blindness, impaired vision, and abnormal light sensitivity. At this point, I became doubtful about religion and the existence of God. I stopped praying.

After a particular incident, I attempted suicide, leaving a note that read, “I am dying of my own accord, not by God’s hand.” However, thanks to two friends, both of whom have since passed away—one due to suicide in youth, and the other of natural causes recently—and the efforts of the doctors, I was saved from death.

Of course, it was God who saved me. This realization made me more stubborn. I became anti-religion and inclined toward workers’ rights. Yet, throughout this period, God is my witness, I never once insulted religion or its associated figures, nor did I even think about doing so.

I believe the reason for this was that I considered the relationship between man and the divine to be a personal matter. In reality, this was the last trace of faith that remained within me. Time passed, and I relied on knowledge, reasoning, and rationality, though I wasn’t ignorant of worldly pleasures.

Then came May 9, 1999. I was in Moscow at the time when someone struck me on the head from behind in broad daylight. My skull fractured in three places, and blood seeped into my spinal cord. The doctors said that death could occur within 24 hours, but I was confident I wouldn’t die.

Something was revealed to me during my unconscious state. I began reading about metaphysics and cosmology and even completed a course in parapsychology. I left Russia and moved to the United States.

Psychologists say that sometimes a severe blow to the head can cause a person to lean toward spirituality, but I never developed a taste for spirituality. However, I did realize that there is something beyond consciousness.

While living in the U.S., I gradually returned to religion. Surprisingly, it was the former President of the U.S., George W. Bush, who played a significant role in my return to faith. After the 9/11 incident, when he vilified our civilization and culture, I felt personally challenged.

Even if Islam is viewed merely as a religion, it remains a significant part of our country’s cultural heritage. Thus, when Bush attacked our culture, he compelled people like me to return to Islam. Perhaps I am extreme in my responses, like my family members. I abandoned worldly pleasures entirely. While I didn’t become an extremist, I began praying and fasting regularly. Living in Russia, I didn’t even notice that alcohol was widely available.

A new problem has now arisen. Although I have a wide circle of friends, I share common ground only with those who, like me, consider themselves progressive. However, I’ve become almost alien to them because I can neither agree with many of their ideas nor participate in their gatherings where trivial conversations don’t occur. Nor can I play the role of a moral enforcer.

Initially, they thought what was happening to me was a temporary phase that would eventually pass. But after years had gone by, they distanced themselves from me, calling me a cleric, a mullah, a lunatic, and worse. Those who view religion solely as blind devotion and recoil at hearing rational critiques of faith or become furious—these people cannot understand me.

Then there are those who are well-versed in religious matters yet fully engage in worldly pursuits. I cannot understand them. They seem to believe that God is merely the Most Merciful and that their charitable deeds will absolve their sins. How can those who claim to be devout Muslims yet continue to engage in immoral acts still call themselves Muslims?

There are many who, once abroad, reveal their true selves. If there were personal freedom in Pakistan, everything that is hidden today would be out in the open.

Personally, I don’t object to these people, but I do question why they call themselves Muslims. Is being Muslim simply a matter of reciting the Kalma? I take issue with them, but I know the confusion that weighs on my mind as I head to perform Hajj.

People are driven by devotion, so what’s the point in raising issues that I consider intellectual matters? Today, we live in the era of the Taliban’s version of Islam, unaware that one action by their sworn enemy, Bush, has brought countless people like me back to Islam.

The Taliban is not just the name of an organization; it is the name of a mindset steeped in blind devotion, devoid of reasoning, tolerance, or interfaith harmony. Therefore, I request that you not only pray for me but also for the Taliban—that they become humane and embrace compassion, which is the essence of any religion.