It is very cold in Islamabad. These days, I feel overwhelmed by joblessness, the constant lack of money, an upcoming medical exam, and the slow progress I am making in life. Apart from studying for my upcoming medical exam, the most consistent part of my routine has become counting money. I check all my bank accounts, calculate every remaining rupee, and make small, anxious plans about how I will manage my daily expenses, especially on days when I need to commute.
Every December, as the cold settles in and exams are scheduled from late January to mid-February, my thoughts grow restless. Since childhood, I have loved reading almost anything, old newspapers, random pages, words found anywhere, except for course books. I dislike studying and have never been good at memorizing.
During medical school, I watched other students cram with ease, understanding things that felt difficult and distant to me. As a child, I wanted to be a librarian, someone who could sit all day with a cup of tea or coffee nearby, surrounded by interesting books (unlike the thick and heavy medical textbooks). It felt like the perfect life, even if it was never meant to be financially rewarding.
The burden of daily calculations
This evening, like so many others, I was returning from the library after a long day when I booked a cab. As I waited, I thought about how fares rise in winter, and how much of my mental energy is consumed by calculating costs. I briefly wished for a car with a driver so I would not have to search for a cab, guide drivers who struggle with GPS, or constantly do these small, exhausting calculations in my head.
During the ride, I looked out the window and saw a man on a motorcycle with two children. He was wearing a helmet and seemed to be in his 30s or 40s. The children, no older than five or six, were dressed in dark green school coats and grey beanies topped with soft grey fur pom-poms. One child sat at the front of the bicycle, while the other held tightly onto the man’s back, seemingly afraid of falling.
Watching them brave the cold wind while I sat inside a warm car with the windows closed made my heart feel heavy. I prayed that God would grant them a car before granting one to me, making their lives easier. I prayed that He would protect them from the cold and wrap them in warmth.
The quiet power of knowledge
Still, there was comfort in one thought: They are going to school. As someone trained in medicine, I often think about how much we focus on comfort, outcomes, and cures, yet how easily we forget the quiet power of knowledge itself. Their poverty may not last forever, but the knowledge they are gaining will stay with them for life. It will open doors, carry them forward, and perhaps one day allow them to change the world in ways we cannot yet imagine.
When I was young, I learned a quote that has stayed with me: “Knowledge is light, and it is the will of God to illuminate the hearts of whom He wills.” Thinking of this brings me peace. Although God may not have given them comfort today, He has already placed something precious within them, the quiet, lasting light of knowledge.
Somewhere in my memory, a childhood prayer begins to echo, “Bachay ki Dua” (A Child’s Prayer) by Dr. Muhammad Iqbal, the national poet of Pakistan. What follows is an English rendering of that poem, one I learned long ago.
“A Child’s Prayer,” English rendering
(from “Bachay ki Dua” by Dr. Muhammad Iqbal)
A prayer comes to my lips as a longing, O Lord,
Grant that my life be like a candle, glowing and bright.
May the darkness of the world be driven away by my breath,
May light spread everywhere through my shining presence.
May I become an ornament of my homeland,
As a flower is the pride and beauty of a garden.
Let my life be like that of the moth, O God,
Let me love the flame of knowledge deeply.
May my work be to support the poor,
To love the weak, the suffering, and the helpless.
O my Lord, protect me from all evil,
And guide me always on the path of goodness.
This piece is dedicated to those who step out into the cold every day to learn and help others in any way they can. May your quiet efforts and courage continue to brighten the lives of those around you.
Damane Zehra is a radiation oncology resident in Pakistan.
