I am asked, “Why do you visit dargahs, what can a dead man possibly give you?” by a friend or a loved one every time I have visited a Sufi shrine, which is quite often. A volley of questions regarding my reverence for Sufi saints usually awaits me whenever I tell them that I visit these sanctuaries to steal a few moments of inner peace. Once, on my way back home from the shrine of Abdullah Shah Ghazi in Karachi, I was lectured by a taxi driver about my “haram” worship of graves as he, ironically, played Sufi music in his car. Such is our culture that postulates an incessant objection to all actions and beliefs of others with no disrespect against personal space and freedom of choice. The latest victims of our non-syncretic culture and its harsh ways are those who were targeted in Shah Noorani dargah blast in Hub, Balochistan. One can only imagine the admiration and hopes with which those devotees might have gone to the shrine: paying their respects or tieing threads of vows asking the saint to become a waseela (interposal) between their wishes and Divine commands. These victims, unfortunately, would soon be forgotten once another terror attack takes place. Even before terror outfits design their attacks indulging in sectarian violence, the oft-objecting societal mindset becomes the vessel of their killing. When Amjad Sabri attended a Shia congregation despite being Sunni, his love for Hazrat Ali suddenly made his neighbour — who belonged to a banned religious organisation — unable to sleep at night. Qawaals have always been devoted to Hazrat Ali, Imam Hussain and many other Sufi Dervishes, on whose courtyards their forefathers used to sing kalams, tracing their lineage back to Prophet Mohammad’s family. Our society even showed disapproval when Edhi statrted opening the doors of his facilities to people of all faiths. How dare he? They questioned his tolerance because we only approve of our kind in Pakistan. While everyone seems obsessed with the religious ideologies behind the creation of Pakistan, they do not pay much regard to the presence of Sufi mystics in our lands that predated this country and the even the British rule. Islamic scholars who used to travel the length and breadth of Asi in their pursuit of wisdom oft-recognized the multi-ethnic and multi-faith reality of our culture and, thus, respected all without prejudice. This embracing nature of our religion, in turn, also helped convert many to Islam. However, today, as many as fifty people would hastily admonish me if, God forbid, my dupatta slipped even slightly in a mehfil of milad. In this millennium, Pakistan has become so immune to bomb blasts that everyone automatically blames the involvement of foreign agencies instead of introspecting within, whenever such an unfortunate incident occurs. Nonetheless, the recent times have also seen the Pakistani society master the art of moral sermonising, may it be through WhatsApp forward messages, Facebook posts or an outrage on Twitter. We are apparently always free to volunteer to bring others to the ‘right’ path. Remember Qandeel Baloch? While some mourned her untimely demise, many participated in social media discourses that advocated her murderer. They opined, “Yeh Toh Hona Hi Thaa (This had to happen),’ blaming her choice of attire and bold attitude to have incited her brother. While she was no champion of true feminism, I believe that like any other person, she also had the right to lead her life in accordance with whatever pleased her. Many of us have come across several hijab-clad women who indulge in just about any activity the society deems as immoral. I have known quite a few of these hypocrites. People have mastered the art of objection, which bestows false authority upon each one of us. The manner in which elders used to rebuke children for playing out too late, dirtying clothes or eating junk food has been extended into a greatly intricate role as a critic society. In fact, we are no different than the caricature-like society depicted in the fable of Sufi satirical character Mullah Nasrudin and his donkey. Once upon a time, Mullah Nasrudin and his son were traveling with their donkey. As Nasrudin preferred to walk, his son rode the donkey. Upon passing a group of people, Mullah heard them whisper, “Look, this young man is riding the donkey while his sickly old father has to walk!” Feeling ashamed, Nasrudin and his son decided to switch spots. This time, Nasrudin rode the donkey while his son walked. However, they now passed another group of people and heard them saying, “That poor young boy has to walk while his father rides the donkey!” Nasrudin was upset to hear this. Since he wanted to avoid anybody else’s scorn, he decided to have both his son and himself ride the donkey simultaneously. They passed a third group of people who noted, “Look at those two. Have they no mercy on the poor animal?” Hearing this, Nasrudin told his son to get off the animal and they both walked with the donkey trailing behind. They passed another group who pointed at them, laughing, “Look at these idiots. They have a donkey, and they are walking all the way to the market!” At this point, the frustrated Nasrudin put his son back on the donkey and continued walking, muttering under his breath, “No matter what you do, some people will disapprove, so you might as well do what you want.” The writer is a freelance columnist with a degree in Cultural Studies and a passion for social observation, especially all things South Asian. She tweets @chainacoffeemug