Emerson once said, “be the opener of doors”.   Other writers believed that there will always be a time when the doors will open, others said if there is no opportunity build a door. The topic I have given to my page has not been the result of too much of deliberation. It just happened as has been always this way. Flashes and waves of my mind always allow stumbling to subjects such as this -A Door Always Opens. Frankly whenever I choose to write I allow too much of randomness to take better of me. I may during the course of creation of this page ramble from one to another event by no single event preferred over the other. Ideas, people, and places bounce in my head like never before. Please turn a blind eye if there is something amiss, I do not expect myself to be perfect every time. I am not a Penman. But I am now in these last years crossing 60 is fun. You are no more worried by this, that, if, who, where and what. Who says you cannot break walls and cross those taboos and have no fear of excommunication. Doors will open, doors always open. Since childhood, my father has been a beacon, a guiding light. A man with whom I remember not conversing too much. His aura, his undertone, and overtone petrified all the siblings. There was something in him which enthralled us, it was like we were ceremoniously preserved, his mercurial and incalculable mood swings was something he could never have full control over. He had two very stark personas, his magnetism was extremely strong. He was a superstar at one time who was well organized polished and a self-assured personality. Whilst at another extreme he was fanatical, extremist with outrageous temperament. We were growing up in a household full of vibrations of life which were coming from a man who had a very austere life with unbending and unyielding character. He did not believe that losing of temper he will lose he believed more in ‘satisfaction’ of his heart no matter how many odds were pitched against him. His unpredictable nature was repeatedly reflected in his military appraisals and he could not come to terms with it. Though he died trying to find out what was against him. He was always apprehensive of conspiracy being weaved against him, even decades after his retirement. He died not ever knowing about those reports, something I read much after his passing away. The details I reserve for some other day and hour.

Right now there is a deluge of ideas, stories, and events, nothing to do with philosophical ruminations.  The memories of one such story which was narrated to me back in 1995 have gradually moved around full circle opening a number of doors if you come to think of that.   I am glad I did not set them free too soon. The time is now to write the full hoop as the door has revolved full circle. For the seclusion of the hero behind the Door, I have chosen to call him Snow Leopard or ‘Ess Ell‘. I saw him first time on the assumption of command after I was my promoted. Ess Ell a Captain then with a countryman appearance with few nicotine stains on his teeth was one of my Staff Officer. His accent heightened his rural background image. The outgoing commander perhaps did not ever try to know more of Ess Ell, instead, with his opinion about him tried to put him in a disadvantageous position to me. I stopped him for doing that. I believed always I should myself be the judge with my professional experience of who is what. Soon I was able to know much more of him than what I would have known through the flawed approach of the gentleman who tried to fill me up with Ess Ell’s abilities. At times we can be a poor judge of men. Senior Leaders should be wary of this very important attribute and not be swayed by personal appearances alone. As we got along we settled down to discuss various non-professional matters, give our opinion and thoughts. I now could see how the young captain viewed things in life which was of his own. I found them interesting and original. On first appearance he looked rustic, a man with no outward force of personality. His spoken English was laden with native Punjabi accent, which betrayed his personality more than was necessary. To be fair to him he could not help himself on that score. That is how Ess Ell was chiseled. A small opening in the door I gave to Ess Ell allowed me to gauge gradually prowess of his mental superiority and excellence. I soon realized that the young man was much more than running an eye over. Now he conversed with ease with me. He spoke more as I began to listen.

Ess Ell came from a needy family. He had his major misfortune at an early age when he lost his father while he was in school. He struggled with his problems which exacerbated with the death of his father.  He applied to different colleges in Islamabad but failed to get an admission. Appeared as a private student. Sometimes worked as a laborer during the day, crushing stones with bare hands, lifting them at different construction sites, and other times on meager pay in different factories of Islamabad Industrial Area. At night he huddled along with other fellow students in over crowded flats earning just barely to make his modest ends meet. He took his examinations as a private student. One day resting on a mat on the floor he glanced through the first page of the paper and went to work. His colleagues and fellow laborers considered him as a misfit in even their circle of work. They found him an odd man out who worked during the day, remained aloof as he studied at night. It was a queer situation, untypical of a laborer, they thought. After he came back Ess Ell picked the newspaper and started reading again. He was thrilled and his animated movements got better of him. People gazed at him in wonderment. laborers with whom he worked called him “Baghi” (Rebel). I remembered James Dean movie A REBEL WITHOUT A CAUSE.  Ess Ell was not that. He had a cause and an ambition, a dream which was getting closer to fulfillment. They knew something extraordinary had happened for they had never seen him like that before. Soon he broke the news to those who really would not have understood the true meaning of his achievement. Another Door had flung open for Ess Ell. He had topped his examination not only amongst the batch of private students but the whole lot of appeared students for that examination. At first, he could not fathom the significance of his achievement but initially also did not believe it to be true. He went to buy the Result Supplement to confirm his accomplishment. He got a scholarship which eventually resulted in his successful graduation. His odd jobs did not cease which he continued.

Ess Ell then applied for the commission in the Army. He failed the induction test but persistent as he was he applied again and got selected. A Door had opened wide this time. Self-analytical as he was, he did not let failures to dash his hopes. He had no strings and he never complained about non-fulfillment of his dreams. Ess Ell has risen to a One Star General in the Army. He also did his Masters in Strategic Security Studies with HUMAN SECURITY as a special subject from NDU USA. The University offered him to stay and teach which he politely declined. Ess Ell has now recently completed his Ph.D. on “Human Security in Gilgit Baltistan. Role of Geography in Human Security – Case Study of Gilgit. He has also written a book on HUMAN SECURITY. I am proud to have a copy of his book duly endorsed by him. During his command in Northern Areas, he applied his concept of Human Security successfully.

As I ponder over the yester years I am really lost for words to chronicle his achievements. He humbly calls me as his mentor, but I never thought like that. He is a self-made man his doors were difficult to open but he opened them with his sheer hard-work and perseverance.  When I started writing I thought I will narrate more than this event in my life. I will write again as a sequel to this page at a later time.

“When God Opens a door no one will shut when he shuts no one will open”

Lailah Gifty Akita. (A Ghanian and an Author of Think Great)



“Description is what makes the reader a sensory participant in the story. Good description is a learned skill,one of the prime reasons you cannot succeed unless you read a lot and write a lot. It’s not just a question of how-to, you see; it’s a question of how much to. Reading will help you answer how much, and only reams of writing will help you with the how. You can learn only by doing.”
― Stephen King

Everyone was loyal honest and hardworking, this is what I remember when I was a young officer and was required to write confidential reports, of my under command. During the same period when I had the opportunity to read through reports of other officers who were reporting officers I found how conventionalised they were too. The space provided for the pen picture was so small one could only write 6 to 7 lines. I felt otherwise. This was enough writing space if one knew what exactly to write. However, I found there were very few officers who had the ability to paint a word picture about the work and ability of the person reported up. Everyone then who were reported upon was professionally sound. This I later discovered that if such reassurance of the abilities were not reflected there was a good probability it would mar the individual’s career both in a long and short term. By nature, my experience is that we are unfavorably inclined about knowing or reading our negative reports.

Gradually as I grew in years in uniform I started to understand and practice the art of understanding and then transforming my thoughts and convictions about the impression I absorbed of people on whom I was required to write. This was not the only thing I did. I read biographies and autobiographies and paid attention how different people described the subject they chose. I noted and absorbed them. Steadily to understand the art of recounting and narration became an area of my interest. To know a person no matter how long I knew him, how closely he interacted with me became a habit with me of unraveling him or her through my observation winding into words. I started with rough notes to practice myself to describe as detailed as possible randomly in all aspects of personality. How he spoke, what he spoke, what kind of person he reflected and revealed to be irrespective of the period of time he was exposed to me; like a surgeon with knife  who would operate and be able to stitch him back, not really be affected or biased of what was thought of him as a friend, colleague, co-worker, leader, part of team or not. The purpose obviously not to be carried away by my assessment. We are after all humans and not perfect. In an intimate social interaction and meeting of less than an hour I started writing a pen picture – no matter if he was actually what I was describing him to be. It was not for anyone’s consumption but mine and mine alone only.

To write about someone also reflects on your own character, in an official capacity especially. This is what I saw when I started writing and reading reports. I saw more of people who wrote rather than those who were reported upon. In my military career especially I observed that those who wrote good reports and chiseled perfectly their choice of words were recognized but generally not very popular or liked because of their clarity of thought and understanding among all shades of officers under command. One thing is however absolutely clear when years pass and history written it is they who stood out and mentioned. Their reasoning and study became benchmarks of research. Now as years have passed and overgrowth is also thing of the past, level-headedness at times also becomes unsteady I enjoy observing faces of people. It is such a treat and suddenly you come across people with calm exterior yet they display so much in their eyes and expressions. Pain, joy, excitement, expectations and eagerness, helplessness all are there for me to form my batting line up to play with.

Bipolar Affective Disorder

Bipolar Affective Disorder

Bipolar Adult

After five years of passing away of my bipolar son at the prime age of 32, I am struggling today whether to share his life leading up to the fateful day of 4 May 2007 when he took his own life or keep it confidential and off the record. The feeling of guilty conscience and remorse I have has never let me go. Why I am writing this to admit my guilt of ignorance then? One and one reason alone; there may be thousands of parents like me, there may same number of children like my son, so if I can be a reason to bring a change some where in any corner of the world I must. I must join those brave men and women who are confronted with this disease in any form helping the needy.

It is essential to say a few words at this point about ‘Moody’ his alias. His name was Nasir Mahmood. Between father and son we exchanged many letters. He wrote a total of 22 poems. His writing skills made a 360 degrees turn and something about the quality of his thought and expression surprised me even. It was so sudden that for some time I thought it was not his original work. Till few months after I knew it was. What caused this change? More on this later. With the benefit of hind sight I can now identify changes which I noticed some I ignored till now. In his last email half an hour before he died exactly between my flight from Accra, Ghana to Monrovia on my way back from leave. He died. I felt something strange, I felt restless during my flight. I knew when I landed and opened cell phone that he had taken his life. The connection was lost during the flight. I do not know what are rules of ‘Squidoo’ for me to reproduce his last letter and poems which I have taken off from the net every where. I will though quote from his writings to give the reader some idea what was going through his mind.

I would leave this section with a quote from his last letter Death in life is one thing that everyone tries to avoid but it is inevitable. It is only a matter of how long we live. In my case I have to fight these spirits and had to live this life for a shorter span by giving it up for the sake of freedom in the next one. Now I will tell you where I went wrong Another quote from a passage, I have no regrets about life other than this that I have put you and our family in a difficult position in front of your friends and relatives. You see Agha everyone has to die eventually only in my case it is a little sooner. You must consider that there is happiness for me in the next life because I have suffered to much as it is. When I walked in to the library of Australian National University in Australia all the famous people on the shelves are dead.

Bipolar Stories

The first change which I noticed in my son Moody was in 2004. He was not a child who was fond of reading or writing. His written expression was not noteworthy. I always wanted my kids to read books but they never did. Then one day Moody told me that he had bought few books and was enjoying reading them. He was not a fictional reader. He was doing a job in Lahore about 375 KM away from us, used to visit us once or twice in a month. He had done his Masters in Business Administration. Played Golf his new found love for the game; would swing and swing for hours and would proudly tell me that he was driving the ball over 300 Meters. Day in and out it was only golf. He went crazy for the game. Bought expensive golf clubs. Always selected the best things for himself no matter what the price tag was. This lasted for some time till he started reading books. Then like he was reading hours and hours and finished book after book. Then came another brain wave. He wanted to go to Germany for study in a German University. I told him without German Language it was a no go. I never thought that he would learn German. He perfected his language skills to an extent that he read and memorized Shakespeare’s Hamlet in German.He got me by complete surprise, something I never expected will happen. As parents we some times fail so badly to know our children. He would buy very expensive clothes. He would spit polish his shoes and shine them to an extent you could see your face in the toe. Started learning to type and perfected it to some 70 words per minute. Book reading kept on increasing in pace and his selection of books did make me happy. Little I knew he was going into an amazing metamorphosis. Never picked up anything unusual about all his activities. I was rather happy mostly the reading part of it. Then one day we had a disagreement on his choice of University abroad which was beyond my means. There was no way I could afford it. He tore all his forms and left home. We did not speak for a month till I decided to visit Lahore and took him to an Italian restaurant. The idea was to mend our differences. I succeeded. Then he wrote his first poem which he emailed me and titled it “An Eve of Poultry and Profusion.” I could not believe it was Moody who wrote it. I enjoyed the following stanzas ” To ounce and pound the chick of Tuscans, In the glistening lights of hub and hotel, an ode to jaw and jibe, for just the jubilant and joyful. A Father! God be wi’ you Sir! ” He started reading books at high pace. His selections included, Nietzsche, Kant, Plato, Whitman, Aristotle, Malcolm X, Nelson Mandela, Ataturk, almost all books by Bertrand Russell his most favourite of all writers was Bertrand. Others included Edward Said, Rumi, Khalil Gibran and many more. In 2005 I was employed by United nations in Liberia and could afford his studies abroad now. As part of his enrollment he failed in his first attempt of IELTS Examination. In a letter he wrote he said I watched FINDING FORRESTER the other day and Sean Connery being a writer teaches his student not to think when writing anything. Only when rewriting it. I never read my books deliberately, he said. Never shopped for them with an intentive certitude rather they just found me. Why they came to me is something I understand, because I needed them, but where they will take me from here only time can tell, he wrote. He wrote many poems, 22 in all to be precise. The titles were very meaningful and had deep logic embedded in each verse. Some times very difficult for me to decipher what was going on in his mind. He chose subjects like, Fate, Judgement, Reason, Silence, Air, Time, Citizen, Eye, Truth, Temperament, Wisdom, Life, to name a few.

He would say, “There are no hard and fast rules in life any more. I have started on with Plato and in next month and half will angulate more on Philosophy. My most favourite happy hobby. Reading without writing is effortless he said and wrote extensively to me in form of letters describing what he was thinking. ‘I find’, he wrote, ‘the handwritten matter to be more fluid, fun and invigorating_the expression ability.’ I never knew that he was interacting with some other people whom I could not find neither wanted to pry when he wrote that that he has been dissipating emails around and assuredly he said, ‘must have estranged people with my sift erratic attitude and empathy in this sudden whole heartedness.’

He wrote me that I will be getting lengthy emails from him. “In retrospect” he said, ” please don’t try to position me in any club Like Fascists, Socialists, Liturgics, or Democrats because no system is right. I am only the poet of God or you can call me Captain Packard of the Enterprise is more like it.” Ending that para he wrote, ” I know Mom gets worried of me landing in a lunatic asylum.”

Moody did finally secure his admission in Australian National University. His selection as intimated by the Australian High Commission was made purely on his Letter of Motivation to join ANU. It was and excellent written abstract three-fourth of a page. Then it all started to happen in Australia. Moody would write pages and pages about accounting which made no sense to me why he was telling me all that. I did not stop him. Then the change started happening and I could notice something was not well. Few lines from his various letters:

You must know that some of the things I started apprehending during my final lectures of e-commerce. In that the lecturer was indirectly addressing through slides with words such as “the double edged sword, it is no longer a secret, the person who carried this information had a tattoo on his head and that his head is clean shaven”. Each time he would look at me while addressing them. I was becoming convinced of my teacher’s words being real because the first night that I had spent in Canberra, in the morning when I woke up there was a big deep dip on my head. I wore the cap all day because it seemed that part of skull had gone down.

In the last few years I think that I have been reading books to seek refuge for being dissatisfied with the life I had before I started reading. The book reading before going to Australia was like a medicine for me that did not let me fall. I started believing in books so much that it felt that as if not reading despite that I had a semester to look forward was beyond my control.

I have not been honest to everyone. I have also been withholding information for quite a while because I wanted to be certain of what I am experiencing.

I do not think if I still have the precise words to explain or anyone would comprehend this explanation but I am giving it a try. The night I wrote to you about my reverences for prophets and Sufism I witnessed something out of the life ordinary. Not long ago I read a Persian treatise on Sufism in which there was a reference to expansion and contraction of the heart. I would also like you to bear in mind that I am not a Sufi because I cannot attain their levels of piety and mortifications. Anyhow, what I mean to tell you is that during that early morning in Australia after I had sent you the email that I have mentioned above, I was abducted by a spirit and still am. I withheld this because I was estranged of his existence.

I started experiencing tapping on my arms, shoulders, feet, legs and sometimes my thumb or other fingers would flicker momentarily especially when I am writing. Every muscle of my body responds. Even right now I am experiencing this writing to you. But gradually he has started to become more resilient. He communicates with me through words spoken on TV, while I am reading, when I am writing my office work, during conversations with people. I can’t even begin to explain you how difficult living has become when someone is being distracted after every few seconds and is corrected each time.

Imagine as if someone grabs me from behind my neck and moves it around to look at certain objects, as he desires me. I try to not move and stay still but I cannot do that because he strangles me by the neck. If I could feel his hand then I can move it away because it is physically possible.

My life is living hell in every true sense of my sentences. He is living and acknowledging my thoughts. The sort of thoughts those are mute. No shrink in the world can help me and no medicine can cure it. I know you are ladened with family engagements and work in Liberia.

I have enough to write but it is difficult for me to do so right now. I have shared enough I guess. I know my lapses but it is too late for me but sharing it with all of you may not be. Some where someone needs help, so lets not fail and help him or her.

Thank you for your patience.

Moody’s one of the last quotes in letters he wrote

Up from Earth’s Centre through the Seventh Gate

I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate

And many knots unravel’d by the Road

But not the Master-Knot of Human Fate.



hamshi5433 2 years ago
I read every word you wrote on this page and had tears in my eyes as i was reading it. I am deeply sorry that this has happened to your son. I believe in god and because i believe in god, i know evil spirits exists all around us too. I have had some nasty experiences in the past but recovered from them with the help of my lord Jesus Christ. I know you must be going through a real hard time, but please stay strong. I will pray for your son and for you. As I was reading this page, my mind was imagining and picturing the situations and its like I was feeling some of the pain, discomfort and fear that he was going through. To me, what your son went through is something more than Bipolar disease and science. Its hard to explain by words but only those who`ve experienced it know how real it is. God bless you.
anonymous 2 years ago
Terry,I can feel wat you must be going thru typing all this in your quiet study,Boots perched on the sofa and the Nth movie of the day on the screen.Thanks for sharing all this. Greaat servis to the world and the parents. May Allah bless Moodie. Regards
anonymous 2 years ago
Thank you for sharing your story. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder in 1995 and am just now having the courage to confront it. My parents labeled me “moody” too…as if I was trying to be. I received that label as a teenager-which made it seem as though my moodiness was due to my normal hormonal changes. Bipolar Disorder is hard to diagnose during that age, but as it get progressively worse, it becomes easier. I must say, if it wasn’t for the Grace of God I would not be here. It is through my Faith that I am able to fight my own tendencies to leave this life. At this point in my life I fight it on most days. But I am educated and mindful enough to let it pass…or talk to a friend I’ve been blessed with. I confronted my mother with this disorder. I showed her my medical records. I am not sure if she’s able to process this. I mean, all those years of yelling at me and ridiculing me to just do something about my moodiness and other symptoms. All the pain of punishment I suffered for things that were not intentional on my part. But I must recognize my part in this. I was diagnosed at the age of 19. And I chose to dismiss it. I lived 17 more years in confusion and hell and I didn’t have to. Education is key. It was something I, and I believe my family is afraid of. In my culture, anything dealing with a mental disorder is taboo. A figment of our imagination even. Thank you for sharing. I would pass it on to my mother, but I’m not sure she would be able to accept this. Her narcissism would tell her that I am “attacking” her.
But thank you.
anonymous 2 years ago
Dear Bilafond, Thanks so much for your comment. I already took a look at your link and all I can say is that your son was a great person and a very tanlented one. Sometimes it is hard to accept, to have peace when things like this magnitude happen, but we also need to remind ourselves that there are people who come to this world only to remind us how to be happy. I think your son did a great job with this no matter how the circunstances turned out. This work of yours will for sure help several others, me included. We need people like you on this world. Thanks so much!

SusanDeppner 2 years ago from Arkansas USALevel 7 Commenter
This must have been very difficult to write, but I hope it was therapeutic for you. Surely this will touch others and perhaps even save lives as people recognize the patterns from Moody’s life that they see in a loved one or even in themselves. Thank you so much for sharing. My heart goes out to you.

bossypants 2 years ago from America’s Dairyland
You are generous to share your experiences, despite the pain it must have caused to relive this in writing. Your son sounds like an amazing man and I’m sorry for your loss. You may never know how many others will see something familiar in your writing and be able to avert a tragedy.

darciefrench lm 2 years ago
I have bipolar and my heart goes out to you and your family.

Charlino99 2 years ago from USALevel 1 Commenter
Thank you for sharing your experience. Living with one who is bipolar is like living with Forest Gump’s box of chocolates. From day to day, no one ever knows what they are going to get. The symptoms of this disease are difficult to recognize, especially when the bipolar loved one is very intelligent. May your brave tribute help others recognize some of the symptoms of this complex disease.

anonymous 2 years ago

Tahir, we all can visualize your state. It requires a herculean effort to come out of such a state and share your inner feelings so openly. I commend you for this but while you are at it please do keep adding more content…… may benefit others.

anonymous 2 years ago

Remembering Moody is always a painful experience but it is enlightening at the same time. Anybody, who ever met this young genius can never forget him. I have been following his thought provoking talks and writings through his father who has always been sharing some of them with me. I shall always feel honored and proud of the trust, confidence and sincerity of my very intimate, caring and loving friend Tahir who always kept me posted even on very personal matters like ailment of his son Moody. I wish if I could be of any help to him.

Apart from this new chapter he has opened, I have to commend and salute the courage with which he faced this biggest shock of his and our’s life. Years have passed but I still remember that longest and most tiring walk of my life when I was walking behind the Janaza of Moody in Army Graveyard, Rawalpindi. I recall Pasha, Naeem, Nadeem, Mehboob, OQ, Jingo, Liaqat Toor and all others from our course-mates. Those few steps were so heavy that the tiredness still exists. I recall Tahir walking shoulder to shoulder with me. He was like a moving ROCK. Fully composed and dignified. My honest opinion is that nobody other than Tahir could show that courage, Tawwakal and contentment on Allah’s wish.

As Moody used to say, Every one has to leave this world. We all have to join him, some of us ( General Sadaqat) who were present on the funeral of Moody have already joined Moody and we are on our way.

It is an irony that non of us could be of any help to Tahir who is now trying to help so many others suffering from this agony of Bipoler Disorder.

May Allah be with you Tahir and reward you for this in form of Sabr for you, your family and above all Peace for Moody in the heavens.

anonymous 2 years ago

I am not sure but someone said âwounds heal -up but scars remain.â This may be true in other circumstances but not when the loss is of one to whom you brought to this world, nourished, saw them growing, interacted, took care of their material and spiritual needs, smiled at their silly moves, words, and expressions, and agonized at anything small that happened to them. But loss of a child and that also at his prime age is no small happening. It is the worst that can happen to parents. It leaves behind so many memories, so many thoughts, and so many inner-pains. My heart goes for both of Moodyâs parents.

I read Punjabi sufi poetry when I have time and again I am not sure who said this but the words beautifully translate the feelings of the parents: âPuttar Maray nain bullday, banwain ho kay maran fakirâ ( one could never forget the death of a son/children even if they die as destitute). I know Moody was not a destitute, but he was a fakir (a thinker) in philosophical terms.

I never met Moody but his poetry tells a lot about him. What a fine young man, what a fine literary jewel, and what a fine passionate human person he was. I wish, I had met him and learned from his metamorphic and thought-provoking ideas, but jewels always disappear in the dust and one spends their life in finding them.

Rest in peace Son! May your parents, siblings, and all of their friends and relatives have the courage to bear the loss of your untimely departure.

anonymous 2 years ago

@bilafond lm: Dear Tahir, I know it is difficult to come over such tragedy but remember it was will of ALLAH. Nexus stands with you firmly and will always be there to support you

anonymous 2 years ago

Tahir loss of a Moody a talented hand some boy who left the family at prime age is a Living Tragedy which will never have faced it with courage and very courageous of you that you are sharing your sorrows with a mission to help needy and especially those who are unaware of this disease and there nearer and dearer one are suffering.May Allah be with you and family and showers his blessings.

anonymous 2 years ago

Dear Tahir,

While with you, at your residence for some time, in April/May 2011 I could not pick up courage to talk about your son Nasir Mahmood and probably intentionally avoided this topic. I reminisced about my family and the hard times we faced, also what went on when we entered the professional life/career. I am happy that you have opened your heart and shared the dilemma you faced during those critical days. I am confident that many, around the world, will benefit from your experience. Tahir, you are the dearest friend of mine; only time & distance have come between us. May Allah be with you.



I am today, 25 Dec 2015, transferring my real life stories which I had originally posted on These lens’ I wrote were transferred early this year to Hubpages. I wrote a total of 16 Lens’. To my dismay only four were migrated. The rest I have lost. The touch and the feel I wrote them I cannot do that again. I cannot feel the same intensity. Despite my best efforts, I could not retrieve them. I have now decided to post them on my Blog here. I will cut and paste the comments which I got on them for the benefit of the readers. I am posting them as they were I wrote these two years ago. I would be appreciative of your comments. Please feel free to write whatever you feel.


“You’ll get over it…’ It’s the cliché that cause the trouble. To lose someone you love is to alter your life forever. You don’t get over it because ‘it’ is the person you loved. The pain stops, there are new people, but the gap never closes. How could it? The particularness of someone who mattered enough to grieve over is not erased by anyone but death. This hole in my heart is in the shape of you and no one else can fit. Why would I want them to?” ~ Author Unknown

Why Must I Write? – About The Letter!

For many days now I have been only writing and nothing else. I have been doing that since all my life but this phase is very different than ever it has been before for me. There are always triggers which change course one has been following in life. Some do not realise when they happen, but in hindsight when events have sped past you, you take stock of your life; sit in one quiet corner of your house delete the cache of your mind and you realise how much is there to select, rewind and restart. It was exactly 13 days after my son’s 5th death anniversary I was reading a heart wrenching story of a bipolar case. That triggered a chain of thoughts so powerful that I could not help but to immediately sit with a pen and paper and decided it’s time to take a very bold step and open myself. It started with About Me, then within 6 weeks I wrote TimeBipolar Affective Disorder , Wisdom , The Interview , Unique Birthday GiftBipolar’s Gift . The list of people visiting to read has steadily grown and I realised that ordeal of hundreds and thousands across the globe has to be shared in every possible manner and trust me it will effect some one some where in the world for better. I realized in Pakistan there are many suffering but I could count them on fingers, not because they are not there but because the taboo and stigma of depression, mental illness, bipolarity, being possessed and other labels it carries have plunged so many into depths of despair and struggle. It is a painful experience to have known about their stories. There are some who have even failed to confront this disease, others have remained in the closet some even have no idea what ‘Bipolar’ is. There are others whose parents have just brushed aside the reality their children are facing till it was late, till it will be late.

Never in my life time I have actually read a dying letter of a person who has died of suicide. Yes I have known a colleague who committed suicide few months back. His death has left many questions unanswered. That itself is trauma for those who knew him and his family. The answers are all speculative and all those who mattered for him will NEVER know his last thoughts before he took his life. I have put myself in that shoe and the mere thought of not knowing the real “WHY” would have been afflicted me with every passing day of my life. The ‘Last Letter’ I believe has taken care of it.

Today I will share only the crux of the letter. I wanted to share that in full, however it seems it has been on net some where else and I have been asked to make alterations in my module to allow this to be published. I have tried to explain the purpose but unlocking may not be forthcoming hence I am altering my original text. I have absolutely no doubt it will help many families to understand the true meaning of the importance of their presence, support and care for all those effected in and around their life. I hope I will as a result of this sharing will be shared with candid thoughts especially by those who are suffering. Thank you very much indeed.

Breaking the News

I landed in Monrovia on 4 May 2007, the last day of my 25 Days leave. Monrovia City is about 85 Km from the airport. Little I knew that very soon this would be my longest 85 Km journey. I sat in my car and changed the SIM. No sooner I did that my cell phone rang. My son-in-law was on the other side and he said those unforgettable words which no parent would ever like to hear ” Agha I have very bad news. Moody is no more. He shot himself. He sent you an email which says everything.” This was a short call and I did not ask any question. I did not really know what to think, my mind just froze for few moments. I had tears in my eyes and the driver realised something was very wrong till I told him and then made a couple of calls. Those were excruciating moments. I thought of my wife and her condition, my other children and wondering what was happening at home right now. Moody’s life kept on going to and fro in front of my eyes. No picture really stood still for me to see. Then I tried to capture his last frame. His last words, what was he wearing, how did he look, why I did not see him when I left home, why I did not hug him like I always did when I left home. So many whys. I had lost a piece of me forever. I reached home and first thing I did was to read his mail; his last letter. No amount of water is enough to flow under the bridge and ease the pain and trauma for me, my wife and my children. Things have never got back the way it used to be. I am thankful as a father after his passing away that he wrote that letter.

“There is some comfort in dying surrounded by one’s children”. Ann Radcliffe

Moody’ Last Letter – The Gist

Nasir Mahmood 21 March 1975 ~ 4 May 2007

After reading Moody’s letter, I would like to bring out his thoughts at that point of time when he was writing his last letter and till he took his life. He seemed to wander directionless and the intensity of his thoughts overcame his better judgement. He justifies taking his own life with an argument that he is saving us from spirits which have been haunting him, controlling his mind and body to an extent that he is unable to take his own rationale decisions. He, in fact believed if he left this state to prolong it will not be long that these would start influencing us his close family members. This thought was pushing him closer and nearer to the precipice and point where he seemed to see the right rationale and justification of taking his own life to save ours. The two spirits which he repeatedly talked about for months and especially when these thoughts surfaced in Australia while he was in Canberra doing his Masters in Accounting. I did not believe him and presumed incorrectly that he cannot do his Masters and now seeking a way out, knowing well that he had made me spend quite a sum of money so to make an excuse. This was a crucial error of judgement on my part. The time was the critical factor and both of us did not realise how fast he was being allowed to slide down. He was unwell so I would not blame him now, the fault had been mine which I had sent him as warning in my letters. Poor Moody still would not like to let me down and continued till it was beyond his control.

He remembers his memorable times and praises me and his mother for making a man he was and our complete support for him. Since he read a lot his thoughts on critical subjects like philosophy, poetry and Sufism and works of other eminent writers brought to surface his own philosophy which he wrote in his devastated frame of mind. These became so strong that he started to believe in them and that they were the ones controlling his destiny. It only dawned to him that the control was so powerful and clutching that they started to drive him against his own wishes.

Once he decided that he will take his own life from that point on I think now he was just waiting for the right time. I cannot for sure say how he determined that it was the right time. I have my theory which may be wrong. While at home he would stare at things and get lost somewhere, he would smile in presence of own family and they also did not notice the severity of these actions. One day when he was with a friend in a gathering he did the same and smiled being oblivious of the surroundings till some one from the crowd laughed at time maybe in a ridiculing gesture, and there he realised his ‘disability’ is now noticeable. He told this to his mother as I was in Liberia and from then on for next 8-10 days did not go out till he died. Other factors which may have also contributed was the girl he loved married and may have ( I am not sure) spoken to her, the exchange must have triggered his reaction. She had a child and sadness and heart-stricken and depressed as he was, did not give any more space and will to, live notwithstanding what all was going in his head.

He knew that, ‘suicide’ is a sin in Islam, but he mentions that since the spirits are so overwhelmingly strong that the only way out to get rid of them was to take his own life. He does state very clearly ‘ my judgement for the sanctity of spirits is different from Arabs’ meaning the religion of Islam at this point. He believed that what he will do and take his life will not be judged sinful by God. He also was convinced that what ever he was about to do was not wrong. He said he knew exactly why and what he was doing and that we will one day judge him as a brave man rather than a person lost in life. He did not really believe that the treatment will help him. He avoided taking medicines, and his mother used to powder the tablets and give him in coffee. A drink he liked to take. He urged me to take care of his mother and explain him in detail why he had taken that step. he wanted me to get married his younger brothers sooner than later. Forbade us to find solutions for his death in books. Told me that every one should avoid reading poetry especially Rumi.

He also mentions what must be done after he is no more. His savings to go to charity. The car to be returned to the company he was working for. He laid out things neatly on his made up bed. A DVD – Last Temptation of Christ – which I think he watched more than once. Finally, most painful for me in this whole letter was that he realised he will be causing lot of pain to us and yet he was sure in his mind what he was suffering was much more than we were about to go through. He was also spot on when he said that we would face a silent condemnation of such a demise which would bring host of speculations. He was right, when Chief of Military Intelligence dropped in with his wife asking idiotic questions with Moody’s dead body lying in front of his mother. I was very much pained for that. Moody visualised correctly knew the situation after he was gone and there fore in the last line pleaded that we must not cry or feel remorse on his passing. He finished his letter writing God is The Greatest, Allah O Akbar and like always never failed to miss to write Your most loving son Moody.

Some Selected Comments

Bellezza-Decor 2 years ago from Canada

Very few seek wisdom and truth, for the journey is long and arduous. Our perspective of this World is distorted because of the evilness that has overridden this planet. For those that take the journey through to conclusion, can only hope that the truth and beauty within the human beings will overcome the distortions of this reality and that we will one day live in peace and harmony and that everything on this planet will be treasured and valued and not manipulated and destroyed for the lowly dollar.

Life is a journey and very few realize they actually have free will, albeit limited. The free will is the choice between the right path and the wrong path. It sounds simple but it is the hardest thing to do in a World where truth is a revolutionary concept. This time here is the most challenging, the most distorted and the most intolerable of human conditions. Beauty, truth and honor will destroy the evilness here and the awake and aware souls watch now as evil implodes upon itself. This is a difficult time for many souls as we walk among the soulless. Your Son is not judged; may he rest in peace.

delia-delia 2 years ago

My heart aches for you and your family…I can only imagine the pain. We have had friends and family commit suicide, and it’s always hard to understand, but as I read your sons plight I see his suffering and how can we understand that. I am a Christian and believe that we are not to judge – God is the Judge. I find it interesting that Moody watched “Last Temptation of Christ” maybe he saw how Christ suffered. I’m sorry for your loss and pray that you and your families hearts are healing.

norma-holt 2 years ago

What a struggle for you and by writing you are releasing tension and stress so don’t stop. There are never answers for suicide and parents are left in the dark, often blaming themselves. No one dies before their time and suicide is just another way that it happens.

darciefrench lm 2 years ago

My heart goes out to you and your family. Your son is in my prayers; I believe souls can still be reached through Jesus Christ, who knows know boundaries. I have bipolar and I understand the depth of the depression and the overwhelming attraction that death, can hold. Bless you for bringing awareness of the disorder to light, from your first hand experience.

kabbalah lm 24 months ago

I’m saddened to hear about your loss. Bipolar and all mental illnesses are very difficult to deal with.

kimark421 23 months ago

Very sad, and this must have been very hard to share. My condolences to you and your family.

NibsyNell 23 months ago

I’m so sorry for your loss. Hopefully, your writing will help to reduce the stigma surrounding mental illnesses and so make it easier for people to seek help. Lots of love to you and your family. 🙂

Melissa Miotke 23 months ago from Arizona

Very chilling to think of what’s going through someone’s mind before they commit suicide. It seems your friend had really thought things out. I’m sorry for your loss.