My grandfather had joined the Khilafat Movement. He lost his job, his property and the laurels won by his father by courtesy of the British bosses. Worst of all, he had boycotted the British school system ruining the careers of his seven sons of no mean abilities. Since grandpa is always right, no one ever questioned his judgment. I had visited Turkey twice before, on official purpose. Our hosts were extremely friendly, fervently recalling the historical ties between the two brotherly states, and especially the sacrifices made by the Muslims of the subcontinent in defence of the dying Caliphate. Intellectuals like Justice Amir Ali had written letters to Kamal Ataturk pleading with him to save the Caliphate. While we thoroughly enjoyed the welcome and the hospitality extended by our hosts, my grandpa never seemed to miss the opportunity to emerge on my subconscious with a triumphant smile. Last month in transit at Istanbul the pleasant memories of the past turned into a nightmare. Despite repeated requests the wheelchairs never came. Eventually, crawling at snail’s pace, we reached the office dealing with the facility. The nonchalant young woman told us to wait for another hour. She could not conceal her indignation when I told her that we had already wasted three hours waiting. I showed her my green passport hoping for a much more positive response. With dirty looks she stomped out of the office, and started to wave away all the golf trollies used as wheelchairs in different directions. The thought that we were not on an official tour calmed down my nerves. Still I wondered whether the huge behaviour differential was due to change in the visit status alone. Pakistanis are privileged as they can also get a Turkish visa on arrival. The visa fee for the Pakistanis is $60.70 while for a poor American it is only $30; that says it all about our deep-rooted historical and religious affinities. The Jeddah landing in 1982 was a unique experience. The customs official had drawn his knife through the wafer-thin Samsonite suitcase cover in search of prohibited goods. When told that the group belonged to the Pakistan army, he had inflicted a bigger gash on the next Samsonite, but then in those days the Pakistan army was not so much in demand in Saudi Arabia. In Egypt, nothing moves without baksheesh (tip). An official delegation or not, you could miss your flight if you did not grease the palm of the immigration officer who had to just put an exit stamp on your passport. In Indonesia, ‘share’ of various officials like the governor, the police chief and the regional political boss are considered legitimate in every business transaction conducted, at least by foreigners. Nigeria is an oil-rich poor country and elsewhere, kings, sheikhs, autocrats, dictators and feudal lords enslave their people, devour their wealth and usurp their rights in the pre-Islamic traditions of the Caesars and the Khusros. The less said about Pakistan, the better, the poorest nuclear power that has yet to discover its moorings. We are badly stuck with the legacies of the Bhuttos, the Sharifs, Fazl-ur-Rehman and Altaf Hussain. Their combined menace could baffle even the most established of the democracies. In another Muslim country, I lit my pipe in the departure lounge. My Canadian grandson whispered in my ear, “Baba, it is a non-smoking area.” Yes, I know. I am only trying to prove a point. What if I did the same in Canada? You could be fined to the tune of 10,000 Canadian dollars and sent behind bars. Provided the security saw me. No, the people would report on you. And here, the classy gentleman sitting across or the lady sitting two seats away and many others in the lounge seemed to be least pushed. Malaysia is an exception, a calm island untouched by the sound and fury of the tumultuous sea surrounding it, the lone shining star in the Muslim world. On a tour of the Kuala Lumpur golf course that had the singular honour of hosting a major world golf tournament won by Tiger Woods, I was told that Mahathir Mohamad, the former prime minister, was also a regular member of the course. Mahathir was still loved for the way he had catapulted the Malaysian economy to be one of the most developed in the world. There were no pretentions to be seen, no VIP movements, long traffic blockades, royal protocol or violence. It is an Islamic state where Islam is least talked about, where all non-Muslims are free to practise their religion, and where near perfect communal harmony could be the envy of every other Muslim country. The rest of the ummah is a multitude full of anger, discontent and frustration. Here Muslims kill other Muslims for reasons that the later historian will term as simply stupid and worthless. Hindus kill Muslims as they mistake parting with a piece of land for losing a human limb. Then the outsiders inspired by lofty notions of liberty and human freedom arrive from distant lands to help the oppressed Muslims. They kill more Muslims. The Zionists kill the Palestinians on the smallest pretext because they are the easiest to kill. In our societies, rituals have turned into drills without consciousness or spirit. We shirk individual responsibility while Islam equates dedication to duty with worship. Staggeringly unjust societies form the bulk of the ummah that had once flourished on the basis of equality and justice. We remain introverts while our faith makes it incumbent upon us to meet our societal obligations. Islam aims at inculcating greater human values amongst its followers. Prophet Mohammad (PBUH) had said: “ The most favoured of God is he from whom the greatest good comes to His creatures.” A faith that exalts love for humanity as the ultimate spiritual refinement is being perceived as the nursery for extremism and violence, a death cult. Rejection of philosophy and spiritual knowledge, and cessation of ijtihad (independent reasoning) have left intellectual thought stagnated, and closed the doors on enlightenment of the heart. The mainstream intellectual is shy of entering a religious discourse leaving the field entirely at the mercy of mainly the mediocre and the uncouth. It is not only Turkey or Pakistan; the whole ummah is groping in darkness of the pre-Islamic ignorance. I am reminded of Sadique Salik’s book on his days as a prisoner of war in India, Haman Yaran Dozakh (all friends in hell). We, all friends, are indeed together in hell. With the advantage of hindsight I can safely assume that efforts of my grandpa and his like had gone completely waste in chasing the shadow of a mere fantasy symbol. The writer has served Pakistan Army as a Major General