The alarm rang at five am sharp. I hurried to perform my wuzu (ablution) and quickly got down to reading certain ayats (verses) that had been prescribed to me by the new maulana on the block. “Read this 1,000 times, followed by reading that 300 times and repeat the process three times a day,” he had said. I was going through a long, distressful patch: I had been informed that someone had done kaala jadu (black magic) on me. Words like rukawatein (obstacles), bandish (obstruction) and jinnaat (djinns) formed a part of my daily vocabulary. There was no surprise involved though; jealousy is a national sport with us Pakistanis irrespective of where we live. We cry “Haaye nazar lag gayi” (the evil eye has struck) even when we come down with a simple fever. Houses with in-your-face Mashallah boards work in a similar fashion as trucks with ‘Buri nazar wale tera moo kaala’ (person with the evil eye has a black face) signs shooing away other cars on the roads. Characteristically, the people of the subcontinent are great proponents of the crab mentality; keeping a close cctv like watch on the life events of others to compares notes is accepted social behaviour. The fireplace of envy is forever warm and someone is always being roasted. After two days of reading the wazifa (prescription of verses) by the new spiritual doctor, I could see a glow on my face. Yes, he is the one, I confessed to myself. Even though I was living in Canada at the time I was not detached from desi issues or remedies. In fact, I was forever surrounded by them. Every household of Pakistani origin seemed to have a secret and special ‘aalim’ making pacts with God on their behalf. I just needed to find the one that was made for me. I had been maulana-hopping for sometime now ever since the first one yelped kaala ilm (black magic). This was my fourth time purchasing a jaadu ki kaat (black magic removal) package and we had settled for $ 350 (roughly Rs 27,000) as his fee. “I will give you a discount if you go for the family deal,” he said. “No, I think my family can wait till you bring out your Ramzan sale event,” I retorted. This fourth priest in my life was a learned man with a PhD in Islamic Studies. He spoke fluent English unlike the first one who conducted his business on Skype from Karachi. “Keep reading,” the Skype baba had said every time I complained of no change in my disadvantageous period. What good are you if I have to read everything? Why can you not send your jinns to fight off the magic done on me? I protested after a month or so and logged off, chucking him out of my life forever. We like to pretend that maulana giri (chasing after priests) is a practice amongst the economically backward section of society but, in reality, I have encountered many educated mothers-in-law who blame their bahus (daughters-in-law) for snatching their sons with the help of jaadu. Many white collared shirts also hide a taaveez (amulet). Our faith in the supernatural is so fervent that it keeps the bazaar of fear in great spirits. The uncertainty of a low phase and the unforgiving world bring us back to the market: the medically unfit, the unhappily married and the jobless all indulge in transactions with these ‘holy’ men, who assure them of a stress-free life. Islam is not only being hijacked by those blowing themselves and others up in the name of religion but a majority of these practitioners are exploiting the vulnerable and extending false information at a great rate. Once you fall into their trap, it is hard to wean yourself off of it. The mind becomes conditioned to blaming nazar for every curve in the road of life. Once, on a trip to India, I happened to notice seven green chilies and a lemon tied together with a black string and hung discreetly by the front gate of Amitabh Bachchan’s residence. This nimbu (lemon) and mirchi (chilly) totka (remedy) is known to ward off evil spirits. If it works for the Shahenshah of Bollywood, who am I to say no to it? Soon enough, I was emulating the same remedy on our door and surprisingly the situation at hand improved. But it was short lived; perhaps it was just beginner’s luck for the new energy deserted me and left, I suppose, for home to help Abhishek Bachchan. The Nizammudin and Ajmer Shareef Dargahs in India are also dotted by similar maulanas handing out naqsh, taaveez, blessed water and even pricking needles into putlas (miniature dolls) to inflict pain upon your sworn enemy. These people operate from the periphery of the dargah compound and are polluting the very essence of what the great Sufi saints symbolised. The western side of the world, on the other hand, has been hit by the new age ‘positivity’ wave. Self-help books occupy front space in bookstores. Their themes often revolve around the ways of the rich and famous; exercises can include writing a million-dollar cheque to yourself and visualising one’s finances growing and relationship advice is doled out with precision too. Lack of success in any sphere is disapproved of, the focus is on being cheerful at all times, the ‘be positive’ authors and their readers regard all other emotions as negative. You are not allowed grumpiness or introspective days. This bubble of new era positivity shall also burst soon; it is impossible to be happy at all times but imperative to live with hope. If poets like Ghalib and Jaun Elia were alive today they would have been shunned by society and told “Kaisi depressive aur suicidal baatein karte ho yaar, bade negative aadmi ho, hatto yahan se” (your conversations are laced with depression and suicidal tendencies, you are such a negative man). Our failures can be our greatest teachers if we let them whisper in our hearts. We must experience all seasons of life, all moods of the day in order to have a wholesome perspective. The need to meet social deadlines keeps us from being emotionally present in the moment. Most of us have allowed our fears to live our lives and not our soul or its desires. There may be genuine maulanas out there but it is like finding a needle in a haystack. Making quick bucks off our misery seems to be the imaan (faith) of many. Genuine cases of mental illness will keep getting treated as exorcisms until it is very late in the day and the ailment is irreversible. At some point we will have to buy back our peace of mind from the vendors at the fear bazaar and go through the valleys and peaks of life ourselves. Every dark tunnel ends at some point; the key is to keep on going, one breath at a time, one day at a time. The alarm rang at five am again and this time I pressed the snooze button. My courtship with the jinnats (djinns) had come to its natural end and I decided to call it off. It was okay to not be okay and I was not going to punish myself for it anymore. The writer is a freelance columnist